The Osages had “made medicine” for the warpath at Fort Hays; the Kaws had made their medicine on the way down. They all were armed with the new breech-loading Springfield rifles; and were paid seventy-five dollars a month and expenses. To show how they could shoot, that evening the Osages on their war-ponies galloped past a log of wood, firing at it; and every shot struck.
The Sheridan column reported terrible weather, on their march down from Fort Hays. One blizzard after another had assailed them; the plains were covered with snow; the Arkansas River at Fort Dodge was thick with floating ice.
This very evening the winter descended upon Camp Supply also. The snow began to fall heavily; but standing out in the storm the Seventh Cavalry band lustily serenaded the Sheridan headquarters. The Seventh were proud of their band. Odell said that it was the best in the army. It could play as well on horseback as afoot. Wherever the troopers went, the band went too. General Custer was fond of music and believed that it did the regiment good.
General Custer was in consultation with General Sheridan that evening; and in the morning was it soon known that the Seventh Cavalry would not wait for the Kansas Volunteers, but would start at once against the Indians. The General Sheridan column, in coming down from the Arkansas, had struck a fresh trail of an Indian war party heading north, on a raid. The Seventh Cavalry were to follow this trail backward, so that it would lead them to the village.
Ned heard his general reading the orders over to Adjutant Moylan. They sounded just like Sheridan, as they said:
To proceed south, in the direction of the Antelope Hills, thence toward the Washita River, the supposed winter seat of the hostile tribes; to destroy their villages and ponies; to kill or hang all warriors, and bring back all women and children.
The snow was still falling fast; but nobody cared, and least of all General Custer. He had told General Sheridan that he would be ready to move out in twenty-four hours; and so he was. By night the wagon-train of supplies for thirty days had been made up. Only a few tents were allowed; the baggage was stripped down to blankets and overcoats.
Reveille was at three o’clock; into the snow and the dark tumbled out the troopers of the Seventh; and at stables and mess and even at roll-call sundry jokes passed about. Everybody was uncomfortable, but nobody was complaining.
The sentries were knee-deep in the snow; the horses shivered; the cooks had hard work to cook the breakfasts.
“How’s this for a winter campaign?” demanded Adjutant Moylan, trudging almost over his cavalry boots, to the headquarters tent.