side, and a little escort attending, rode away down to
the Chaduza, to report to the general commanding, and then go on to his
own, for ominous tales had come from the Bad Lands. There was trouble
in store for all.

[Illustration: UNITED STATES CAVALRY IN WINTER RIG]

First, however, there was wonderful welcome for him at Niobrara. The
skies had grown wintry. The snow patches were beginning to dot the
prairie, but the camp-fires burned the brighter, and men clustered
about them and talked of the "luck" of the new lieutenant, whom the
general himself alighted from his escort wagon to greet and to
question. For several days the chums were needed at the fort, where
both prisoners and witnesses were held, but the case against the
self-styled hunters was so overwhelming that the demand for their stay
was soon at an end, and, in the train of the general, they went on
westward to the winter camp of the assembled cavalry, whither "the old
regiment" had preceded them, and there, one dark and wintry evening,
with the snow-flakes sifting down, and the depths of a distant valley
all dotted with tiny blazes--the cook fires of a whole brigade--they
were met by a troop of cavalry in fur caps and gauntlets, and huge,
blanket-lined overcoats--swarthy, bearded fellows, with service-stained
boots and trappings, but looking fit for the hardest kind of
campaigning and any kind of a fight. It swung from column into line,
saluted the general with advanced carbines, and then, wheeling by fours
to right, trotted briskly away with the little cortege, and presently
its commander, after a few words with the general, fell back, peering
from under his bushy headpiece, and sung out in cheery tones Geordie
had not heard for many a day, yet knew on the instant:

"Ah, there you are, Mr. Graham! We have a horse with us ready for you
now!" And lo! it was Captain Lane, with his own troop ("E" of the
--th), sent out to lead the general's escort into camp. Leaving the
companions of the long, jolting ambulance ride, Geordie sprang to the
back of a mettlesome bay, led forward by a muffled-up trooper who
steadied the young officer's stirrup before turning aside to remount,
while a tall, spare, wiry-looking sergeant sat stiffly in saddle, his
fur-covered hand at salute, his long gray mustache and stubbly beard
and thin hooked nose being almost all that could be seen of the face;
yet the twinkle in his waiting captain's eyes and a twitch in the
muscles of