These were new barracks, the post of Fort Abraham Lincoln, built this summer and fall beside the Missouri, above Fort Rice and opposite the town of Bismarck which was the end of the railroad.
Fort Abraham Lincoln belonged to the Seventh Cavalry. It was their headquarters post, housing six companies. The four other companies on Dakota duty were stationed at Fort Rice.
’Twas rather dull being a soldier at Fort Lincoln, or Rice either, in the long, snowy, below-zero winter. No trains came into Bismarck; mail and supplies must arrive by horse and sleigh. There was little mounted drill for the soldiers, and the men moved about well muffled in fur caps and buffalo-hide shoes and mittens.
Out near the agencies the friendly Sioux gathered, waiting till spring; and further in the reservation had gathered in their villages the unfriendly Sioux, under Sitting Bull the medicine chief. But who was friendly and who was unfriendly could not be told; so that nobody in the post was permitted to wander beyond rifle shot, except on business.
The Arikara or Ree scouts and their families were camped at the edge of Fort Lincoln. Bloody Knife the chief scout was the general’s favorite. The best white scout at Fort Lincoln was “Lonesome” Charley Reynolds. He had long-lashed, dark-blue eyes, and small, fine features. He was quieter than even Will Comstock; and rarely spoke unless spoken to. He did not look like a scout or act like a scout, yet he was one of the bravest men of the West.
In the spring came out upon a visit from the East another Custer—Boston Custer, the general’s youngest brother; a thin, pale stripling about the age of Ned the trumpeter. He did not look well, but he expected that the fresh air and the out-door life of the western plains would make him strong.
When the spring opened, there had been much talk about the mysterious Black Hills, which the Indians called Pah-sap-pa. The newspapers had contained a great deal of reference to the Black Hills, and now the frontier people of Wyoming, to the southwest of it, and of Dakota, to the east of it, were asking that the Government let explorers in. However, this was Sioux country, guaranteed to them by the United States in the treaty of 1868; and it was very dear Sioux country.
“You see,” said Charley Reynolds, in one of the moments when he talked among the men, “it’s like this. Now, I’ve never been in the Black Hills—away in, I mean. I’ve no doubt there’s gold there. The rocks look so, to me; and trappers, and the Injuns too, say there’s gold. But it’s medicine country. The Injuns say those mountains are full of bad spirits who mustn’t be disturbed. The fact is, it’s the only good country the Sioux have. Lots of timber and fine water and grass; both a summer and a winter country; and the Sioux don’t mean to give it up. You can’t blame ’em. They know that as soon as the miners get in there, the game will be scared out or killed, and timber cut, and water spoiled, and the Indians driven off. They watch that region mighty close.”
“You’re right, I guess,” agreed Sergeant Butler, and Odell also nodded. “But I’ll wager my buffalo coat against a pipeful of tobacco that the Government isn’t going to let those Black Hills stay unexplored. The army’s got to have a map of this reservation, so that in case of trouble we know where we’re going. Then if the Injuns retreat into the Black Hills, we can follow ’em.”