I was now on my old familiar stamping ground, and it seemed like home to me.

Fifteen years before, I had ridden the pony express and driven the overland stages through this region, and the command was going into the same section of country where Wild Bill's expedition of stage-drivers and express-riders had recaptured from the Indians a large number of stolen stage-horses.
Leaving the infantry to guard the supply camp, Colonel Mills struck out for the north with the seven companies of cavalry.

One day while we were resting on a prairie near the head of Powder river, a horseman was seen in the distance approaching us.

At first it was thought he was an Indian, but as he came near we saw that he was a white man, and finally when he rode up to us, I recognized him as "California Joe," a noted scout and frontiersman who had spent many years in California, on the plains and in the mountains.

He was armed with a heavy old Sharpe's rifle, a revolver and a knife.