California Joe never was seen without his greasy black slouch hat on his abundant hair, and his short, black briar pipe between his whiskered lips. Baggy trousers were tucked deep into dusty boots, and a venerable cavalry overcoat was draped over several layers of other garments. He rode a large mule, which he declared beat a horse “all hollow.” As he lounged about, he was ready to talk to anybody. By his numerous quaint remarks he plainly was an odd character.
The arrival of the troops from Fort Leavenworth brought a squad of Delaware Indians, as more scouts. They were from their reservation near to Fort Leavenworth. The chief was Fall Leaf, a well-built, fierce-looking old man, war chief of the Delaware tribe, and a great fighter. Of the train he grunted: “Heap good! Went whiz! Beat buffalo and pony.” Of the telegraph he said: “No understand, but heap good. Heap swift! Like arrow or bullet between wide places; but heap better.” His nephew General Jackson was another member of the squad. General Jackson was slender and small, but brave.
The troops who arrived by train from Fort Leavenworth were one battery of light artillery, and six companies of the Thirty-seventh Infantry, with a company of engineers, for laying bridges. They pitched their tents outside the post.
At the same time arrived also General Winfield Scott Hancock and his staff, including General Smith. General Hancock was the department commander in the field; but General Smith, as colonel of the Seventh Cavalry, commanded the march. A round-faced, heavy moustached, energetic man proved to be General Smith, who would fall to and do things himself in order to have them done right. He had made a great reputation in the late war.
All of the officers were glad to shake hands with General Custer, the youngest of the whole bevy except a few “tads” fresh from the Academy or just appointed from the civil life.
But among the most interesting of the new-comers was a little Indian boy who had been captured from the Cheyennes when, on Sand Creek, at Thanksgiving time, 1864, the Colorado volunteers attacked Black Kettle’s village of Cheyennes and Arapahos and shattered it. The Cheyennes and Arapahos claimed that the attack had been a massacre; and they had demanded that the whites return the little boy and his sister to them. Now General Hancock had brought the little boy along, to return him and thus show the Indians that the heart of the Great White Father at Washington was good toward them. The little boy had been taken care of in the East and spoke English, and except for his color was like any white boy.
“Sure, ’tis foolishness,” declared Odell, at mess. “The Injuns will only think the Government be afraid of ’em, and they’ll take the lad and do nothin’ in return. What of all the white captives they hold? What o’ Ned’s sister? Do ye see ’em returnin’ her?”
“Well, but wasn’t that Sand Creek fight a big mistake on the part of the soldiers?” asked the talkative recruit—who had been a lawyer before he enlisted. “As I understand, the charge was made on a friendly village that had hoisted the United States flag for protection.”
“This whole Injun question is a problem, anyhow,” quoth Odell. “If you treat ’em as you’d treat white men, they don’t understand, because they live by different rules. And if you treat ’em as red men, and fight fire with fire, then you have to do things that a white man ought not to do. At Sand Creek the white men took revenge jist as red men take revenge; and while it wasn’t exactly a civilized way to foight, nivertheless it gave the settlers peace for a time, b’gorry.”
Hearing this discussion gave Ned a great thought. What if General Custer would have the little Indian boy traded for Ned’s sister? What if! Perhaps that was the plan. But before he ventured to ask the general, he found out.