Everything adjusted to Bob’s practical taste, he proceeded to run the new beauty over to where it was to do duty at a busy lumber camp. Arrived in that vicinity at about the same time was a full-fledged Sunday school out for a picnic in the woods. When Bob let loose with the great siren screecher--now low and mournful--then wild and alarming--and again to its limit, as if some eighty-foot, hundred-ton dinosaurus had suddenly come to life and was setting up an unearthly howl for its mate, Bob’s heart fluttered with delight. Hearing the awful sounds, four of the Sunday-school girls rushed back to the grove where half a hundred children and adults stood spellbound, and cried out: “Wolves--panthers--bears--monsters--save us! save us!” After long consultation, half a dozen men, with guns and dogs, started out to scour the country for the “roaring hyenus,” as one of the men called it. By this time scores of people came rushing pell-mell from a near-by settlement, armed with shotguns, rifles, axes, pitchforks, and fence stakes. “Whatever is it?” they shouted, and “What is to become of us?” from many of the women formed into groups with their young ones shielded behind their barriers of skirts. “Go, men, and slay that awful beast before we are all devoured like the martyrs of yore,” yelled one tall, wild-eyed matron, pointing a long, bony finger in the direction of the terrifying sounds, which again broke forth, with even greater fury. Soon there was a crashing of underbrush, wild cries of excited men, barking and howling of numerous hounds, occasional shots, as the attackers advanced toward the spot from which the alarming sounds came. Now hundreds of telephones were in use throughout the country. “What is it?” one would ask. “What is what?” comes the reply. “That awful noise we hear,” another would explain. “Cyclone, I guess,” still another would answer. In time the attacking force came to the clearing where Bob was amusing himself with the try-out of his screeching pet. The attackers and their dogs, the former seeing that the enemy was nothing worse than a man of average height and weight and some sort of hissing locomotive, made a football rush, and, as they came to a halt, all exclaimed as one man: “Well, what the h--l!” “Jest tunin’ her up,” said Bob, with a characteristic grin. “Tunin’ her up!” angrily exclaimed one of the Sunday-school scouts. “Don’t ye know yer tunin’ up the whole county with that thar crazy whangdoodle affair? Want ter skeer people ter death?” “Oh,” said Bob calmly, “they’ll like it in time--it’s more fun than a cage o’ monkeys.” “Jes’ so, I don’t think,” said the angry man. “And I’ll tell you what, mister, ef thet thingumbob scares any of them wimmen and children to death, we’ll bring heavy damage suits against the company, that’s what we’ll do.” “You can’t blow that thing around these diggings any more,” said the superintendent of the Sunday school.