He saw Ned, and waved. Ned drew rein barely for a moment, as they met. “Where you been?” “Back to get a fresh horse.” “Where’s Captain Benteen? Seen him?” “Just left him. Straight on. Keep the trail. A fight, isn’t it?” “You bet.” And Ned was away, in the one direction; “Bos” galloped on to join his big brother. Five of the Custer family were to be together in that battle: three brothers, a brother-in-law, and a nephew. Ned kept watch ahead for any token of the Benteen column. Hurrah! There they were—a long mass of dusty blue, moving at a trot, down the trail, Captain Benteen and his aide leading. The pack-train was not in sight. On galloped Ned (revolver stowed again in holster), and met Captain Benteen, who had been watching his approach. “A dispatch from headquarters, sir,” panted Ned, holding it out. As he rode, Captain Benteen rapidly read it. Ned held himself prepared at a word to whirl and carry the order on to the packs. But as the captain read, the spattering of shots in the distance before suddenly swelled to a continuous clamor. The captain raised his head, listening, gazing. Louder, and louder, rang the gun-fire, as if the battle was approaching. The Indians were being driven this way? What——? But the captain’s order rang smartly. “B’tall-_yun_, draw—pistols! Gallop—march!” With a cheer they lunged ahead, pistols held high, eyes alert, ready to meet the fleeing Sioux and turn them back again. The valley widened; in this direction had ridden the Major Reno battalion, recalled Ned, as he, too, galloped, pistol high. “Right and left into line—march!” shouted Captain Benteen, to cover the ground with battle front. Then, as all were galloping, forming the line, the draw opened upon a wide cross valley, and there was the battle field—a brushy, broken arena, cut by the willow-bordered crooked stream, hazy with smoke of burning grass and powder through which echoed shot and shout and chant, and through which dimly could be seen horsemen careering in all directions, as if attacking a common object in their midst. Upon a bluff to the right was another battle—soldiers above, Indians below. The gallop quickly ceased. Now where to go, or what to do, first? “Look out! Here come some!” The cry and the murmur swept from man to man. A confused mass was rapidly bearing up the valley, toward them. “No, that’s all right. They’ve signaled. They’re Crows, with a pony herd.” So they were. As they wildly scampered past, driving off their spoils, Indian-fashion, voices hailed them, inquiring where was Reno, where was Custer. One of the Crows waved his hand at the bluff. “Soldiers there,” he said. “Right oblique, trot—march!” ordered Captain Benteen. And for the bluff they made.