"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.