The vista opened out, with never a tree or a shrub to break it, until it was cut sharp by a motionless battle-line. There they sat, upon their ponies, bay, black, white, and spotted—half a thousand Indian warriors, all panoplied for fight. Shields shone white, yellow, and red; lances floated crimson tufts; great war-bonnets of feather crests brightly tinted almost covered the riders; war-paint streaked face and body and pony; and the glitter of rifle and revolver showed that the array was armed like the white men. Midway between the two parties were the scouts, in extended order. The Delawares had dropped their blankets from their shoulders and naked to the waist they sat alert and restless, eager to fight. Fall Leaf held aloft his rifle and shook it tauntingly. Up and down the line of mounted warriors were riding the war chiefs gesturing and talking, as if keeping their men in order. But General Hancock had not been idle. Instantly his aides had spurred to right and to left, bearing his commands. The infantry and artillery bugles pealed shrill; and on came the aide to instruct the cavalry. Pulling his yellow moustache, General Custer waited impatiently. Arriving, the aide (he was a young lieutenant) reined his horse to its haunches, and saluted. “The commanding general sends his compliments, sir, and directs that the cavalry form line of battle on the right.” “Troops right front into line. Two troops in reserve,” spoke the general, instantly, to his adjutant, Lieutenant Moylan; and he nodded at Ned to blow the call. His blue eyes were flaming; he looked happy. Away spurred Lieutenant Moylan, down the column of fours, bearing the orders. Bugle after bugle took up the strain. Out to right trotted the fours, extending the cavalry front, by troop after troop, until six were on the line. Two composed a second line, as a reserve. The infantry also had double-quicked into company front, and company after company had come upon the battle line. Into the center had wheeled at a gallop the artillery, and had unlimbered. “Companies—load!” With rattle and thud the long Springfield breech-loaders remodeled from the muzzle-loaders of the Civil War came to a “load,” and prepared for the “aim, fire.” “Draw—sabres!” The general’s voice rang high. With rasp of steel six hundred sabres flashed in the morning sun. VI THE ABANDONED INDIAN VILLAGE Recalled by one of the aides, the scouts had slowly ridden back, the Delawares especially being reluctant to leave the fore. As they passed, General Custer called out, to Wild Bill: “Is it a fight, Bill?” “Looks peculiar,” answered Wild Bill, jogging on. He was not a man of many words. But California Joe neglected no opportunity to talk, and obligingly pausing, in front of the cavalry, from his mule he took up the conversation.