I informed him that I had explicit orders from General Miles as to my mission, and that if he interfered with me he was violating the orders of his commanding officer and running into very serious trouble.
At last he reluctantly sent for the quartermaster, and ordered him to have a span of good mules hitched to a light spring-wagon.
The wagon was driven to the post-trader's store, where I found my guide and interpreter, and loaded aboard the presents I had bought for the old warrior.

With plenty of robes to keep out the intense cold, we started out on our journey, a little apprehensive, but fully determined to go through with it.

Five or six miles from the Post we met three men in a wagon driving toward the Agency.

They told us that Sitting Bull's camp had been lately moved, and that it was now further down the river.
I knew that if the old man was really on the warpath he would be moving up the river, not down, so I felt considerably reassured.
When we had proceeded a few miles further we heard a yell behind us, and, looking back, saw a rider approaching at full speed.

This proved to be one of Major McLaughlin's Indian scouts.