“Fine! Fine!” declared General Custer, peering out. “Just what we want.”
“Well, we’ve got it, then,” assured the adjutant, snow-covered.
So they were off, willy-nilly, thought Ned.
It was just daylight when at the word from the adjutant he blew “Boots and Saddles.” The notes not only set the cavalry into action, but seemed to awaken all the camp; for tents were thrown open and officers and men of the infantry and the volunteers poked out their heads. The general went galloping across to the tent of General Sheridan.
“Is that you, Custer? What do you think about the storm?” The words of General Sheridan issued muffled but plain, into the driving flakes.
“Just the thing, general,” answered so buoyantly “Old Curly.” “We can move but the Indians can’t. I’d ask nothing better than a week of this.”
“Good-by, old fellow. Take care of yourself,” called from the door of his tent Lieutenant Taylor, an aide, as General Custer galloped back. Wrapped in a huge buffalo-robe, Lieutenant Taylor looked like a chief.
The general waved at him.
“To horse,” sounded Ned.
The troopers, misty in the storm, stood ready.