about three
o'clock
Keen black eyes shone from beneath heavy black brows , just sprinkled , as were the thick moustache and imperial , with gray . The lean jowls were closely shaved . The nose was straight and fine , the chin square and resolute . The face and hands were tanned by sun and wind well nigh as dark as many a Sioux , but in that strange garb there stood revealed one of the famous sergeants of a famous regiment , the veteran of a quarter century of service with the standard , wounded time and again , bearing the scars of Stuart 's sabre and of Southern lead , of Indian arrow and bullet both ; proud possessor of the medal of honor that many a senior sought in vain ; proud as the Lucifer from whom he took his Christian name , brave , cool , resolute and ever reliable -- Schreiber , First Sergeant of old `` K '' Troop for many a year , faced his post commander with brief and characteristic report : -- `` Sir , Chief Stabber , with over thirty warriors , left camp about three o'clock , heading for Eagle Butte . '' `` Well done , sergeant ! I knew I could count on you , '' answered Webb , in hearty commendation . `` Now , one thing more .