“’Pears to me as how them sound sorter human like,” said the old guide, trotting along beside the young man’s horse, as he made known the discovery.  “Jes’ listen, now, an’ see if ye ain’t uv ther same opinion!”

The youth did listen, and at the same time swept the plain with his eagle eyes, in search of the object from which the cries emanated.  But nothing of animal life was visible in any direction beyond the train, and more was the mystery, since the cries sounded but a little way off.

“They are human cries!” exclaimed Fearless Frank, excitedly, “and come from some one in distress.  Boys, we must investigate this matter.”

“You can investigate all ye want,” grunted Charity Joe, “but I hain’t a-goin’ ter stop ther train till dusk, squawk or no squawk.  I jedge we won’t get inter their Hills any too soon, as it ar’.”

“You’re an old fool!” retorted Frank, contemptuously.  “I wouldn’t be as mean as you for all the gold in the Black Hills country, say nothin’ about that in California and Colorado.”

He turned his horse’s head toward the north, and rode away, followed, to the wonder of all, by the “General.”

“Ha! ha!” laughed Charity Joe, grimly, “I wish you success.”

“You needn’t; I do not want any of your wishes.  I’m going to search for the person who makes them cries, an’ ef you don’t want to wait, why go to the deuce with your old train!”

“There ye err,” shouted the guide:  “I’m goin’ ter Deadwood, instead uv ter the deuce.”

“Maybe you will go to Deadwood, and then, again, maybe ye won’t,” answered back Fearless Frank.

“More or less!” chimed in the general—­“consider’bly more of less than less of more.  Look out thet ther allies uv Sittin’ Bull don’t git ther dead wood on ye.”

On marched the train—­steadily on over the level, sandy plain, and Fearless Frank and his strange companion turned their attention to the cries that had been the means of separating them from the train.  They had ceased now, altogether, and the two men were at a loss what to do.

“Guv a whoop, like a Government Injun,” suggested “General” Nix; “an’ thet’ll let ther critter know thet we be friends a-comin’.  Par’ps she’m g’in out ontirely, a-thinkin’ as no one war a-comin’ ter her resky!”

“She, you say?”

“Yas, she; fer I calkylate ’twern’t no he as made them squawks.  Sing out like a bellerin’ bull, now, an’ et ar’ more or less likely—­consider’bly more of less ’n less of more—­that she will respond!”

Fearless Frank laughed, and forming his hands into a trumpet he gave vent to a loud, ear-splitting “hello!” that made the prairies ring.

“Great whale uv Joner!” gasped the “General,” holding his hands toward the region of his organs of hearing.  “Holy Mother o’ Mercy! don’t do et ag’in, b’yee—­don’ do et; ye’ve smashed my tinpanum all inter flinders!  Good heaven! ye hev got a bugle wus nor enny steam tooter frum heer tew Lowell.”