“Indians! Over yonder! Got him—surrounded. Almost got me—too.”
“How far?”
“About five miles.”
The general’s voice pealed louder than Ned’s trumpet.
“Prepare to mount—mount! Fours right, trot—march!”
Out from camp sallied, at brisk trot, the remnants of the squadrons, to the rescue of Captain Hamilton and Lieutenant Tom Custer and their troop. The doctor, on his blown horse, acted as guide.
There was no sound of firing; but as the column pushed on, trying to make best speed and yet save strength for the fight, the doctor explained.
“Indians tolled us on, then separated. Hamilton took after one party, Tom after other. I went with Tom, until I dropped out at one side, somehow, while I was looking about. Next thing I knew I was lost. Pretty soon I heard a lot of firing, and when I reconnoitered I saw Hamilton’s detachment, only half a mile away, with Indians all around them. Thought I’d ride right through and help him; but the Indians saw me first, and away they came, six or eight of ’em, making for me. Almost got me, too, I tell you! Closed up within arrow range, and if my horse hadn’t been as frightened as I was, and if camp hadn’t appeared just when it did, my scalp would have been gone. I’m afraid Hamilton is in a bad box. They out-numbered him, and had plenty of ammunition.”
“Tom may join him.”