He saw Ned, and waved. Ned drew rein barely for a moment, as they met.
“Where you been?”
“Back to get a fresh horse.”
“Where’s Captain Benteen? Seen him?”
“Just left him. Straight on. Keep the trail. A fight, isn’t it?”
“You bet.” And Ned was away, in the one direction; “Bos” galloped on to join his big brother. Five of the Custer family were to be together in that battle: three brothers, a brother-in-law, and a nephew.
Ned kept watch ahead for any token of the Benteen column. Hurrah! There they were—a long mass of dusty blue, moving at a trot, down the trail, Captain Benteen and his aide leading. The pack-train was not in sight. On galloped Ned (revolver stowed again in holster), and met Captain Benteen, who had been watching his approach.
“A dispatch from headquarters, sir,” panted Ned, holding it out.
As he rode, Captain Benteen rapidly read it. Ned held himself prepared at a word to whirl and carry the order on to the packs. But as the captain read, the spattering of shots in the distance before suddenly swelled to a continuous clamor. The captain raised his head, listening, gazing. Louder, and louder, rang the gun-fire, as if the battle was approaching. The Indians were being driven this way? What——? But the captain’s order rang smartly.