All the camp was in commotion. Orders issued thick and fast, from where the general was standing, with sabre buckled on and eyes flashing. “Bring in those stray animals! Have those horses secured, major. One platoon of each company with the horses. The other platoons fall in. Sound the assembly, trumpeter.” A heavy mist hung low along the horizon; but through it could be descried, dimly, almost a mile away, a group of moving horsemen. They seemed to be riding rapidly for the camp. Wild Bill had reported at once to headquarters, and peering through field-glasses, to him the general spoke. “What do you think of them, Bill?” “They’re up to mischief, I should think,” coolly replied Wild Bill, whose eyes were as good as the general’s glass. “Act as if they meant to ride us down.” “Line of skirmishers ahead; main body in reserve,” murmured the general, studying them. “By Jove! They’re as well disciplined as regular troops! Let ’em come. All we want is a fair fight.” These words, “a fair fight,” were among General Custer’s favorites. “Form line of platoons, adjutant. Have the men take intervals, and lie down, enclosing the camp.” Captain Robbins had been posted upon the knoll whence the sentry had given the alarm. From him came reports that the enemy seemed to number about eighty; presently he reported that the enemy had halted; and next, the enemy had turned and were making off. “Pshaw!” exclaimed the general, in that brisk voice of his. “Confound them! I was hoping they’d try closer quarters. Look into this, Moylan. Send out a small detail, for a better view of those fellows. Not too far, remember.” Gladly into the saddle sprang the young Captain Hamilton and Lieutenant Tom Custer, and leading their detail raced out at a gallop. The mists were breaking under the rising sun; and it could be seen that the detail were galloping on and on, right into the waiting company before. “Hamilton must intend to settle the war,” quoth Adjutant Moylan. However, here galloped back again the detail. Pulling up short, Captain Hamilton saluted the general. “Colonel West’s company, sir, confused in the mist. They mistook our Sibley tents for Indian tipis, and were about to charge us.” “Plucky enough!” commented the general. “But West won’t hear the last of this, for some time.” When, toward evening, Colonel West returned, with his weary company, he reported that there was no hope. The Indians had struck the stage line, and raiding right and left had crossed it. Probably all the bands and tribes to the north would be aroused. This was war. Now the wagons had rolled in. To the bugles the Seventh Cavalry grimly buckled on its sabres, and bridled and saddled. “Prepare to mount! Mount!” They mounted. “By fours, right! For-r-r’d—march!”