At Smoky Hill River we rested our animals. Then the general, who was
impatient to be off, ordered a fresh start. I told him we had still
forty miles of sandhills to cross, and advised an easier gait.
"I have no time to waste on the road," he said. "I want to push right
ahead."
Push right ahead we did. I continued quietly spurring my mule and then
counseling the brute to take it easy. Presently I noticed that the
escort was stringing out far behind, as their horses became winded with
the hard pace through the sand. Custer, looking back, noticed the same
thing.
"I think we are setting too fast a pace for them, Cody," he said, but
when I replied that I thought this was merely the usual pace for my
mule and that I supposed he was in a hurry he made no further comment.
Several times during the next forty miles we had to stop to wait for
the escort to close up. Their horses, sweating and panting, had reached
almost the limit of their endurance. I continued patting my animal and
ordering him to quiet down, and Custer at length said:
"You seem to be putting it over me a little today."
When we reached a high ridge overlooking Pawnee Fork we again waited
for our lagging escort. As we waited I said:
"If you want to send a dispatch to the officer in command at Fort
Larned, I will be pleased to take it down for you. You can follow this
ridge till you come to the creek and then follow the valley right down
to the fort.
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