CHAPTER I.
FEARLESS FRANK TO THE RESCUE.
On the plains, midway between Cheyenne and the Black Hills, a train had halted for a noonday feed. Not a railway train, mind you, but a line of those white-covered vehicles drawn by strong-limbed mules, which are most properly styled "prairie schooners."
There were four wagons of this type, and they had been drawn in a circle about a camp-fire, over which was roasting a savory haunch of venison....
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