It was a motley assembly that took part in this Black Hills rush. In earlier bonanzas the type had been pretty well formalized, for the difficulty of the overland journey to California, for example, or across to the Pikes Peak region, had kept all but the roughest—and toughest—at home. But on this occasion the West was by no means as wild as it had been in those earlier days. Distances had been conquered; transportation methods, even beyond the railroads, were much safer and more adequate; and the Black Hills, although cold in the middle of winter, offered none of the climatic ferocities of the Rocky Mountains. Thus, to partake of this feast of yellow dust hopeful clerks brushed shoulders with desperadoes, professional men of every accomplishment traded rumors with crease-faced sourdoughs from the dead land south of the Mogollon, and oldsters who had thought they might never again hold a pan in their hands dug alongside mere boys from whom the apron strings had been relaxed. In the meantime, even as the good citizens of Custer, Gayville, Central City, Golden Gate, Anchor City, and a host of other thriving towns, most of which have long been given over to the ghosts, were bustling about their exciting business, matters in the west were taking a slow but inexorable turn for the worse. The army had let the situation ride for the summer and fall, keeping a careful watch over the enemy Sioux, but feeling fairly assured that they would attempt no large-scale raid of the Hills, populated now by at least fifty thousand people. Summer and fall were not normally times to worry over, in any case, for the buffalo were still on the range and forage was plentiful for the tribes. It was in the depths of winter that the tale would be told—either the Indians would come docilely to the reservations for their rations, or they would steer clear of the white man’s soldiers and supply their own necessities by raiding the isolated ranch and stage line outposts. By mid-December the reservations were still empty, and General Terry sent out a call to Sitting Bull, ordering him to bring his people in to the military posts. January 1, 1876, was given as the deadline. The haughty Sioux chief paid scant attention to Terry’s order, replying simply that the general knew where to find him if he wanted to come for him. Sitting Bull knew that the army would attempt no large maneuvers with the weather as it was—one of the bitterest winters in recorded history. Then he simply waited.