“What’s the matter there?” sung out loudly the general and the captain. “We’re friends! White men! Cavalry!”
“Bang! Bang-bang! Crack!” And more bullets.
“Get your men out of here quick, captain. Those fellows are crazy,” directed the general. “Send somebody forward to parley, and tell ’em who we are.”
Lieutenant Tom Custer volunteered.
“You’d better crawl,” advised the general.
Colonel Tom advanced, in the dusk, toward the low mound beside the station buildings. Presently he had disappeared; he was crawling. “Bang!” greeted him a shot.
“Hello!” he hailed. “Don’t shoot. We’re cavalry, I tell you.”
“Come in close then; stand up an’ show yourself, if you’re white,” retorted a voice.
“I’m coming,” answered Tom. “I’m Lieutenant Custer of the Seventh.”
The lieutenant arrived, and the column, listening, could hear him earnestly explaining. Now from the dug-out a light flickered, and the lieutenant shouted to the column to come on.