For an instant longer the horse, with Ned thus suspended beside him, careened on. Then in response to vigorous command and tug of gauntleted hand holding both revolver and lines, he wheeled and stopped. Giddy, clinging desperately to the buckskin waist, Ned gazed before. The great bull was prone, feebly kicking his last. Ned looked up, into a face looking down. It was a handsome, manly face; lean and deeply tanned, with sunny blue eyes, broad high forehead, straight nose, flowing tawny moustache, firm cleft chin, all under a large soft-brimmed black slouch hat, from beneath which the bright yellow hair fell in long curly waves to the shirt collar. This shirt collar was generous and rolling, of blue flannel with a white star at either point in front. Under the collar lay a long soft tie of crimson silk, its ends loosely knotted and hanging down outside a fringed buckskin coat. Between skirt of coat and tops of riding-boots showed dusty trousers of army blue, with broad yellow stripes down the seams. Altogether, to Ned’s quick and wondering eye he was a most attractive and remarkable individual. Looking down, while Ned looked up, he smiled heartily, and said: “Well, we got the buffalo before he got you, didn’t we? Let’s see.” With a “Whoa, Phil! Steady, now!” to the horse, he carefully lowered Ned and set him back upon the ground; then swinging easily off he dismounted, and leaving the horse to stand, with revolver ready he approached the buffalo. But the buffalo was stone dead. “All right,” he called back, to Ned, who was anxiously watching. “Hurrah! He’s a big fellow, isn’t he! And there come the dogs! Hi!” and raising a cow-horn from its sling to his lips he blew a stirring, rollicking blast. “Watch them leg it! The pace was too hot for them, this time. Well,” he spoke, more directly, to Ned, “come over here, and tell me about yourself. You’re a white lad, aren’t you? My name’s Custer—Autie Custer; what’s yours?” “Ned Fletcher,” faltered Ned. “I’m a white boy, but I’ve been captive with the Indians. Now I’m escaping. You—you’re an officer in the army, I guess.” “What makes you think so?” The query was quick and crisp—with blue eyes twinkling behind it. Ned hesitated. His gaze strayed to the blackish specks, said to be dogs, rapidly nearing across the prairie; and returned to this straight, lithe, square-shouldered figure, standing there so fascinating in face and form and garb. Ned could not tell exactly why, but he felt that this man was every inch a soldier and a leader. If he wasn’t an officer he ought to be, anyway. So Ned hazarded: “By those stripes—and you’ve got stars on your shirt collar.” The blue eyes twinkled merrily.