Free A Dangerous Promise by Joan Lowery Nixon

he could hear Todd's bugle. Mike could only hope the call to battle spurred the soldiers of his company onward, helping them to fight even more aggressively.
    Near Mike a man cursed and nearly dropped his musket.

    "The damned barrel's too hot!" he yelled. "It burnt my hands!"
    A soldier at Mike's left fell. With an angry yell, Ben charged into the breach, cutting in front of Mike. But before he could shoot, an enemy bullet struck Ben's head, splattering his blood and brains onto Mike's face and jacket.
    More powerful even than the wave of nausea that enveloped Mike was one horrible thought: He was alive only because Ben, brutally killed, had blocked a bullet aimed in his direction. As the battle raged around him, Mike beat his drum numbly, as though he were no longer a part of his own body.
    A sudden burst of fire brought down General Lyon's horse. Lyon pulled himself out from under the animal and limped forward, waving his sword and shouting. Mike saw blood streaming from the general's forehead and his leg.
    Soldiers from the First Iowa straggled back. "We have no leader!" someone shouted. "Give us a leader!"
    "You have a leader," Mike heard Lyon call to them. "Sweeny, lead those troops forward. We will make one more charge!"
    On his orderly's horse Lyon rode into the fray, swinging his hat and calling out to the Second Kansas, "Come on, my brave boys! I will lead you! Forward!"
    His horse had taken but a few steps before Lyon clutched his chest and fell. His orderly caught him and carried him gently to the ground. "Our general is dead!" he cried.
    The fierce blast of musket fire killed Colonel Mitchell, too. Many of the Union soldiers, dazed and confused, turned to retreat.
    Mike slammed the drumsticks into their rat-tat-a-tat with all his strength. "This is not a call to retreat!" he shouted. "Fight, men! Fight the Rebs!"
    Harley's strong voice bellowed, "Does the boy have

    more spirit than the rest of us?" Harley ran ahead. The soldiers who had hesitated now turned and followed him.
    "Good work, Mr. Kelly!" Sergeant Gridley called out, and Mike's eyes filled with tears. That was what Captain Dawes would have said. Mike's arms were heavy and painful from the relentless pounding of his drum. But beneath the mercilessly shining sun, Mike beat on.
    Hearing the loud blare of Todd's bugle, Mike glanced to his right and saw Todd standing near the front lines.
    "We'll beat them, Todd!" Mike yelled.
    But before Todd could respond, Confederates surged toward the Federals. Whooping with excitement, a Reb charged directly at Todd, plunging his bayonet through Todd's chest.
    "Todd! No! No!" Mike screamed, but there was nothing he could do.
    Clutching his chest with a cry, blood spurting through his fingers, Todd fell to the ground and lay still.
    With a grin the Reb scooped up Todd's bugle, tucked his trophy into his shirt, and plowed forward, holding his bayonet before him.
    Mike started after the Reb who had killed Todd. "I'll get you!" he sobbed over and over.
    But just as Mike stooped to pick up a musket, a horse rode into Mike's path. "Drummer!" the rider shouted. "Keep to your business! Sound retreat, boy! Now!"
    Fighting nausea, tears streaming from his eyes, Mike obeyed orders. He dropped the musket and stood his ground, beating out the call, as the Rebs advanced with eager shouts.
    Suddenly, a gray-uniformed Reb slammed through the underbrush and came face-to-face with Mike, his musket and bayonet pointed at Mike's forehead. Mike closed his eyes. This was it. He winced as he waited to be shot.
    But the soldier groaned. "I can't shoot a boy!" he muttered.

    The Reb roughly brushed past him, but there was no time for relief. Other Confederates were pouring up the hill and through the gap in the underbrush. A shot ripped through Mike's drum, tearing it from the strap around his neck, and another shot struck his right leg.
    Mike fell from the ledge where he'd stood. He rolled uncontrollably down the hill, sharp pebbles