“Hark!” said the youth, bending forward in a listening attitude.

The next instant silence prevailed, and the twain anxiously listened.  Wafted down across the plain came in faint piteous accents the repetition of the cry they had first heard, only it was now much fainter.  Evidently whoever was in distress, was weakening rapidly.  Soon the cries would be inaudible.

“It’s straight ahead!” exclaimed Fearless Frank, at last.  “Come along, and we’ll soon see what the matter is!”

He put the spurs to his spirited animal, and the next instant was dashing wildly off over the sunlit plain.  Bent on emulation, the “General” also used his heels with considerable vim, but alas! what dependence can be placed on a mule?  The animal bolted, with a vicious nip back at the offending rider’s legs, and refused to budge an inch.

On—­on dashed the fearless youth, mounted on his noble steed, his eyes bent forward, in a sharp scrutiny of the plain ahead, his mind filled with wonder that the cries were now growing more distinct and yet not a first glimpse could he obtain of the source whence they emanated.

On—­on—­on; then suddenly he reins his steed back upon its haunches, just in time to avert a frightful plunge into one of those remarkable freaks of nature—­the blind canal, or, in other words, a channel valley washed out by heavy rains.  These the tourist will frequently encounter in the regions contiguous to the Black Hills.

Below him yawned an abrupt channel, a score or more of feet in depth, at the bottom of which was a dense chaparral thicket.  The little valley thus nestled in the earth was about forty rods in width, and one would never have dreamed it existed, unless they chanced to ride to the brink, above.

Fearless Frank took in the situation at a glance, and not hearing the cries, he rightly conjectured that the one in distress had again become exhausted.  That that person was in the thicket below seemed more than probable, and he immediately resolved to descend in search.  Slipping from his saddle, he stepped forward to the very edge of the precipice and looked over.  The next second the ground crumbled beneath his feet, and he was precipitated headlong into the valley.  Fortunately he received no serious injuries, and in a moment was on his feet again, all right.

“A miss is as good as a mile,” he muttered, brushing the dirt from his clothing.  “Now, then, we will find out the secret of the racket in this thicket.”

Glancing up to the brink above to see that his horse was standing quietly, he parted the shrubbery, and entered the thicket.

It required considerable pushing and tugging to get through the dense undergrowth, but at last his efforts were rewarded, and he stood in a small break or glade.

Stood there, to behold a sight that made the blood boil in his veins.  Securely bound with her face toward a stake, was a young girl—­a maiden of perhaps seventeen summers, whom, at a single glance, one might surmise was remarkably pretty.