Then mounting a snowy white horse--a gallant stepper--I rode down from the fort to the camp, rifle in hand.

I felt first-rate that morning, and looked well.
The expedition was soon under way.

Our road for ten miles wound through a wooded ravine called Cottonwood Canon, intersecting the high ground, or divide, as it is called, between the Platte and Republican Rivers.

Upon emerging from the canon we found ourselves upon the plains.

First in the line rode General Sheridan, followed by his guests, and then the orderlies.