The carcass of the dead buffalo bull had been left behind. The prairie before was free of other buffalo, for all the great fleeing herd had vanished. General Custer, riding superbly, his crimson tie ends and his yellow hair streaming together, his dogs panting on either side and at his heels, was rapidly increasing his lead; his young horse was a racer and a thoroughbred, and the trooper’s horse was heavy and ordinary. Clinging tight to the mane with his hands and to the saddle-flaps with his shins, Ned, secure and not a whit afraid (he had ridden bare-legged and bare-back too often, with the Indians) enjoyed the gallop, but wished that they might be nearer to “the general.” Black specks, moving about over the surface of the prairie, appeared before. The general slackened pace, and as the bugler and Ned approached he ordered, over his shoulder: “Sound the rally.” Bugler Odell attempted to salute, to pull his horse down to a trot, and to raise his bugle to his mouth—all in a moment. But the horse shook its head and champed and tugged, and the bugle, swinging between the man rider and the boy rider, wedged fast. Odell muttered several angry, chagrined remarks. “I’ll blow it,” offered Ned, friendly. “Shall I?” “You!” grunted Trooper Odell. “It’s the rally, by the bugle, the general wants. If you’ll hold this hoss a second, now——” and red and flustered he hauled hard. “I’ll blow it. I can,” repeated Ned, eagerly, anxious to show his mettle and to help the embarrassed Odell. As the obstinate horse pranced the bugle swung free again, jerked fairly around so that Ned needed only to reach and grab it. He promptly applied it to his lips (while clutching tight with his one hand and his two shins), and blew the rally the best that he could. Clear and passably regular pealed the high notes. “Good enough, b’gorry!” muttered Odell. “But what’ll the general say? Give me that horn.” The moment that the last note died away the general had wheeled his horse, to gaze. “Who blew that call?” he shouted. “I did,” announced Ned, bravely. “Mr. Odell was managing his horse, and he didn’t say I might but I did.” “The boy took the horn before I could stop him, sir,” explained the flurried Odell. “I’ll blow it now, sir. This pesky hoss——” and Bugler Odell jerked savagely at the bit, pulling his mount to its haunches. “He blew it mighty well, then,” declared General Custer. “Try it again, boy. Put more force behind it, so those soldiers yonder’ll hear. We’re sounding the rally for them to come; see?” 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.”