They were escorted in by Wild Bill, and were introduced to General Hancock. Pressing their horses to the horses of the white men, they shook hands.
“There’s Pawnee Killer!” exclaimed Ned, excited as he peered. “See him? The man with the yellow shield, on the spotted horse.”
General Custer heard the words, and reined back a moment.
“The scouts all say that he won’t tell you anything about your sister,” warned the general. “It’s very likely he doesn’t know. But we’ll find her. Maybe not this week, or next, but sometime; we’re on the right track to do so.”
“Yes, sir,” answered Ned, earnestly.
The chiefs’ party had turned and were riding along with the commanding officer’s staff; their painted ponies pranced nimbly; blankets and fringes shook in the breeze.
Night was falling, the march had covered twenty-one long miles, and the infantry soldiers were well weary. So within nine miles of the Indian village the column went into camp, upon the banks of the Pawnee Fork.
Not till then did Ned have opportunity to get near Pawnee Killer. He was not afraid of the chief, now; for did he not carry a six-shooter revolver and wear a sabre, and besides, was he not a soldier, in the uniform of the United States army? However, he felt sure that Pawnee Killer would recognize him. And at last, in the dusk, as Pawnee Killer, blanket wrapped, was stalking by, Ned hailed him, in Sioux, with a short:
“How, kola?” (Hello, friend?)