“Well, Bill,” addressed the general, buoyantly, “I didn’t mean to desert you fellows, but I needed exercise.”
“I see,” nodded Bill, gravely. His keen, steely eyes noted the buffalo tongue; they read every detail of Ned’s face and figure; and swiftly sweeping the horizon they returned to him.
“Killed a big bull and found a small boy,” continued the general. “Ned, this gentleman is Mr. James B. Hickok, better known as Wild Bill. He’s a valuable friend to have.”
Mr. Hickok reined forward his horse, and offered Ned his hand.
“How do you do?” he spoke, politely. His voice was soft, but vibrant, and Ned liked him. “Count me at your service.”
Ned was certain that Mr. Hickok was not making fun of him; and, abashed, he shook hands. Whereupon Mr. Hickok gracefully reined his horse back to the general.
All the soldiers had arrived. “By their blanket-rolls and haversacks, they must be on a scout,” thought Ned, “and not merely on a hunt.” Among the last to arrive was another young officer—a captain, said the double bars of his shoulder-straps.
“All right, Hamilton. Now that you’ve shown us you’re safe, we’ll go on,” called the general, still in joking frame of mind. That he had distanced all his company and had an adventure pleased him immensely.
With quick gesture he waved his hand, and accompanied by Mr. Hickok trotted to the fore. Captain Hamilton escorted at one side of the column, as two by two the soldiery strung out. Behind the general rode the lance-corporal, and Bugler Odell, Ned holding tightly to him. Now and then Bugler Odell let information drift over Ned’s shoulder.