“Oh, those stars don’t count for anything. That’s a sailor shirt. And maybe I stole the pants. My wife calls me ‘Autie,’ the men call me ‘Jack,’ but once in a while somebody calls me ‘Colonel,’ so I suppose I’m a sort of an officer, after all. But here—if you’re a white boy you’ve got to have something on. Aren’t you cold? You must be cold. Take my coat. Captive to the Indians, you say? Where? How did that happen? Put on that coat, and tell me. I’ll be cutting out this buffalo’s tongue. Did you ever see a buffalo’s tongue cut out? It’s quite a job, isn’t it! Hi! Hello, pups! (For the dogs were arriving.) Down, Maida! Down, Flirt! Blucher! Good dog, Byron! Where’s Rover? Oh, yes; I see. Hurry, Rover, or you’ll be too late. There! That’ll do. Next time you hunt with the old man you’ll save your wind for the final spurt, won’t you!” The dogs were splendid animals: three gaunt, rough-coated stag hounds, a deer hound, a fox hound or two. They came in panting and eager, whining and gambolling and sniffing right and left. Colonel Custer knelt and whipping out his hunting-knife pried open the dead bull’s mouth and slashed at the thick tongue. Ned didn’t want to put on the buckskin coat, but he had been ordered to, so he did, and dropped the ragged blanket. The coat almost covered him. While the dogs nosed him and excitement still reigned, he answered the questions. “The Dog Soldiers killed my father and burned the ranch and took my mother and sister and me away with them. My mother is dead—they made her work too hard (and Ned choked up), and I don’t know where my sister is but I’m going to find her.” “Where was the ranch?” “On the Bijou in Colorado.” “How long ago?” “About a year. I was traded to the Sioux. But when I had a chance I ran away.” “From their village?” “No, sir; on the march.” “Who were the chiefs?” “The Sioux chief was Pawnee Killer, and the Cheyenne chief was Cut Nose. I ran away from Pawnee Killer. My sister’s out with old Cut Nose’s Cheyennes, I think.” “Where do you want to go, my boy?” “Anywhere, so that I find my sister.” “All right.” Colonel Custer had finished cutting out the tongue. Now he wiped his knife on the buffalo’s wool, and stood. “We’ll take you back to Riley, first. That’s where I live—Fort Riley. It isn’t far; a day’s ride. We’re out on a little scout. There comes my orderly, now. The lazy fellow! Eh, Phil?” and the handsome bay horse, thus addressed, pricked his ears. “First we leave the orderly, then we leave the dogs, and we kill a buffalo and pick up a boy! That will be something to tell the old lady when we get back.” About this handsome, energetic army officer was an air so happy-go-lucky and boyish that Ned, another boy, found himself already loving him. Now the orderly galloped up. He wore fatigue cap and blouse and trousers, of the regulation service blue; and by yellow braid and chevrons and the brass horn hanging from his shoulder he was a bugler.