yet was conscious only of an effort to retain his strength. Once
within, he saw only the short, sturdy figure sitting behind a table,
the shaggy gray beard, the stern, questioning eyes which surveyed him.
He stood there straight, motionless, his uniform powdered with snow,
his teeth clinched so as not to betray weakness, his face roughened by
exposure, grimy with dirt, and disfigured by a week's growth of beard.
Sheridan stared at him, shading his eyes from the glow of the lamp.

"You are from Custer?"

"Yes, sir."

He drew the papers from within his overcoat, stepped forward and laid
them on the table. Sheridan placed one hand upon them, but did not
remove his gaze from Hamlin's face.

"When did you leave?"

"The evening of the 27th, sir. I was sent back with an Osage guide to
bring you this report."

"And the guide?"

"He gave out on the Cimarron and I came on alone."

"And Custer? Did he strike Black Kettle?"

"We found his camp the evening of the 26th, and attacked at daybreak
the next morning. There were more Indians with him than we expected to
find--between two and three thousand, warriors from all the southern