“Prepare to mount!” was shouted the order. “Mount! By fours—right! For-r’d—march!”
All along the line of tents hands waved and voices called, for good-by and good luck, as in column of fours out at a walk rode the Seventh Cavalry, eleven companies, 800 men, bound against the storm and the Indians. Bravely blared the band, playing “The Girl I Left Behind Me.”
General Custer wore a round wolf-fur cap with ear-tabs, fur mittens, and on his feet great buffalo-hide over-shoes with the hair inside. That was trapper style. His double-breasted cavalry overcoat kept his body warm. The whole command was dressed after any fashion that would be comfortable. California Joe was rigged as customary in his old slouch hat tied down scoop-shape, on his hands were enormous buffalo-hide mittens, on his feet hide shoes like the general’s. The Osages, who were taken, sat stiffly with their buffalo robes projecting above their heads, behind. Hard Rope shivered and shook, and murmured plaintively.
“What’s he saying?” queried the general, of the interpreter.
“He says it’s bad for an old man to be alone in cold weather, and he will capture a Cheyenne squaw to keep his back warm,” explained the interpreter.
But the scouts were soon out of hearing and out of sight. They were supposed to take the advance, so as to read sign and guide the column to the next camping place, fifteen miles. After them trailed the long column of snow-covered troopers and horses, with the baggage wagons toiling at the rear. Behind the wagons rode a troop as guard.
The scouts knew where the trail of the hostile war party had been crossed, but the snow concealed it and all landmarks. And still the snow fell, until when after the fifteen miles march (which required all day) the column went into camp the chill white mantle was eighteen inches thick.
“How is it, Joe? Cleared off, hasn’t it?” invited the general, as on a short tour of inspection in the gray of the next morning he encountered that worthy.
“Yep, trav’lin’s good overhead to-day, good mornin’, gen’ral,” answered the ready Joe. “An’ I’ve got an infarnal chronical cough that’s been nigh scuttlin’ me this two days, an’ I’ve bin thinkin’ that I cotched the glanders, an’ they might as well shoot a fellow to onct as to have that botherin’ him.”