THE FINDING OF THE BABES.
“Get up yere, pard,” said one of the two men who were standing guard over Macklyn Morgan’s bivouac. “I sure hears some queer sort of a wild critter a-yowling out yander.”
Morgan himself had been eager to push forward through the night toward Merriwell’s valley, but the men lately released from the custody of Pete Curry were exhausted by their tramp and refused at nightfall to proceed farther. Therefore, it had been necessary for the party to divide or to stop where they were and make camp. The latter course had been decided upon.
Not feeling positive that Curry and his comrades would not follow them, Morgan had given orders for two of the men to remain constantly on guard through the night. Of course the guard was to be changed at intervals. Now, shortly after nightfall, one of the original two appointed to watch over the camp called his comrade for the purpose of listening to certain strange sounds which came to his ears through the darkness.
They advanced cautiously to the top of a ridge, where they halted and stood listening. The sounds could be faintly heard now and then.
“Whatever does yer make of it, partner?” asked the one who had first heard them.
“Mighty quar sounds for a wild critter to make,” declared the other.
“Just what I thought. More like some sort o’ music.”
“That’s it. Dinged if it ain’t something like a fiddle!”
“Mebbe we’d better nose out that way and see if we can diskeever what it is.”