Following the line of bluffs had ridden away the three brave couriers. The two battalions must wait. “That may be Terry, don’t you think, major?” queried Adjutant Hare. “No. If cavalry, they must be Custer. Terry would hardly have had time to get in this far.” “Look for the gray horse troop, then,” suggested Captain Benteen. “Troop E; Smith’s. That will tell the story.” An hour passed; and hurrah, here came the three couriers, hastening along the ridge! With them was a fourth rider. The dust also was nearing; soon the men under it would be in sight. The squad of four arrived panting with their haste. The extra man was a scout, by his rig. He was weary and travel-worn. “’Tis an army column; cavalry and infantry both, sir,” reported the corporal of the three couriers; and the strange scout handed to Major Reno a soiled note. The major read it—read it twice, and passed it to the next officer. “What do you make of it, gentlemen?” he asked, anxiously. “You say that’s Terry yonder?” he queried of the scout: The scout nodded, and out of drawn face answered. “Yes, sir.” “And Custer isn’t with him?” “No, sir.” “This note is addressed to General Custer,” said Lieutenant Hare; “from General Terry.” And he read it aloud: “General: A Crow scout has just come into camp, saying you’ve been whipped. I don’t believe it, but I’m coming with medical aid.” “Tried to get into your lines last night,” informed the white scout, “but the blamed Sioux were so thick they held me back. I s’posed you were Custer. Where is Custer, might I ask?” Whitening face turned to whitening face. Ned knew himself grown pale and shaky with a great fear. “If Custer didn’t meet Terry——” “And hasn’t communicated with us——” “Or with him——” “We must hope for the best, gentlemen,” faltered Captain Benteen. Sped like lightning through the rifle-pits the rumor that the Custer battalion had met a great disaster. Little exclamations of wonder and pity were succeeded by an expectant silence. But here along the valley, right where had stood the proud Sioux village, appeared the head of the column; appeared cavalry and infantry, under guidon and banner. Hooray for Terry and Gibbon! Hooray for comrades in blue! Hats were swung, grimy hand gripped grimy hand. On came the column, to the cheering lines. General Terry, leading, was grave. Evidently he bore very bad news. Sober were all the officers with him, sober were the men; and sober grew the awed camp. “Custer! What about Custer?” Heads were shaken. “Don’t know yet, for sure. But some command has been killed off, every man, apparently, yonder on those hills. We passed about two hundred stripped bodies.” Ned glimpsed a familiar face. It was that of Curly, the Crow scout. He rushed to Curly. “Where’s the general, Curly? Where’s the Long Hair?” Curly shook his head, as other heads were being shaken.