“Well, you must mean Captain Stanley, who was at that time bandmaster of our regiment. He went in that day at Sandy River when our mounted band was cut to pieces. Orders was to play us in, an’ he done it.”
There was a silence.
“Where is he—buried?” she asked calmly.
“Buried? Why, he ain’t dead, is he?”
“He died at Sandy River—that day,” she said gently. “Don’t you remember?”
“No, sir; our bandmaster wasn’t killed at Sandy River.”
She looked at him amazed, almost frightened.
“What do you mean? He is dead. I—saw him die.”
“It must have been some other bandmaster—not Captain Stanley.”
“I saw the bandmaster of your regiment, the Fourth Missouri Cavalry, brought into that big white house and laid on my—on a bed——” She stared at the boy, caught him by the sleeve: “He is dead, isn’t he? Do you know what you are telling me? Do you understand what I am saying?”