Tremendously Ned blew—glueing his lips and puffing his cheeks and popping his eyes. Far pealed the notes, across the brown prairie. And now the specks must have heard, for by twos and threes they were coming, ever growing larger, and turning into mounted men.
The general jogged easily, with Bugler Odell and Ned close behind him.
“Where did you learn the bugle?” he demanded.
“From my father,” answered Ned, proudly. “He knew all the army calls.”
“He did, did he? Where’d he learn them?”
“In the war. He was a bugler.”
“What regiment?”
“Sixth Michigan Cavalry.”
“What!” General Custer stopped his horse, as he turned in the saddle and scrutinized Ned, his blue eyes shining. “Was he a Michigander? In my old brigade, then! He was one of my boys! The son or daughter of any of my boys is like one of my own family. Of course you’ll come with me to Fort Riley. What do you want to do?”
Sudden resolve seized Ned.