“What do you think of them, Bill?”
“They’re up to mischief, I should think,” coolly replied Wild Bill, whose eyes were as good as the general’s glass. “Act as if they meant to ride us down.”
“Line of skirmishers ahead; main body in reserve,” murmured the general, studying them. “By Jove! They’re as well disciplined as regular troops! Let ’em come. All we want is a fair fight.” These words, “a fair fight,” were among General Custer’s favorites. “Form line of platoons, adjutant. Have the men take intervals, and lie down, enclosing the camp.”
Captain Robbins had been posted upon the knoll whence the sentry had given the alarm. From him came reports that the enemy seemed to number about eighty; presently he reported that the enemy had halted; and next, the enemy had turned and were making off.
“Pshaw!” exclaimed the general, in that brisk voice of his. “Confound them! I was hoping they’d try closer quarters. Look into this, Moylan. Send out a small detail, for a better view of those fellows. Not too far, remember.”
Gladly into the saddle sprang the young Captain Hamilton and Lieutenant Tom Custer, and leading their detail raced out at a gallop. The mists were breaking under the rising sun; and it could be seen that the detail were galloping on and on, right into the waiting company before.
“Hamilton must intend to settle the war,” quoth Adjutant Moylan.
However, here galloped back again the detail. Pulling up short, Captain Hamilton saluted the general.