A TRYING TIME
For a moment following the announcement no one spoke.
The Professor gazed straight into the stern face of the guide, whose
whiskers were still drooping.
"We are prisoners here? Is that it, Nance?" stammered Professor Zepplin.
"That's about it, I reckon. The trail's busted. There ain't no other
way to get out that I know of and I reckon I know these canyons pretty
well."
"Then what shall we do?"
"Well, I reckon we'll wait till somebody misses us and comes down
after us."
"Oh, well, they will do that this morning. Of course they will miss
us," declared the Professor, as if the matter were entirely settled.
The expression on Dad's face plainly showed that he was not quite so
confident as was the Professor. There was one factor that Professor
Zepplin had not taken into consideration. Food! There was barely
enough left for a meal for one person. Dad surmised this, so he asked
Tad just how much food they had left.
"Our supply," said Tad, "consists of three biscuit, one orange and two
lemons."
The boys groaned.
"I'll take the biscuit. You can have the rest," was Chunky's liberal
offer. "How about it?"
"You will get a lemon handed to you at twelve o'clock noon to-day,"
jeered Ned Rector.
"Then I'll pass it along to the one who needs it the most," retorted
Stacy quickly.
"The question is," said the Professor, "is there nothing that we can do
to attract the attention of others?"
"I have been thinking of that," answered Nance. "I wish now that we had
brought our rifles."
"Why?"
"To shoot and attract attention of whoever may be on the rim."
"We might shoot our revolvers," suggested Tad.
"We will do that. It is doubtful if the reports can be heard above, and
even then I am doubtful about any of the tenderfeet understanding what
the shots mean. About our only hope is that some one who knows will
come down the trail. They won't go further than the Gardens, but
finding our mustangs there a mountaineer would understand."
"Shall I take a shot?" asked Walter.
"Yes."
Walter fired five shots into the river. After an interval Chunky let
go five more. This continued until each had fired a round of five
shots. After each round they listened for an answering shot from
above, but none came. Thus matters continued until noon, when the
remaining food was distributed among the party.
"This is worse than nothing," cried Chunky. "This excites my appetite.
If you see me frothing at the mouth don't think I've got a dog bite.
That's my appetite fighting with my stomach. I'll bet my gun that the
appetite wins too."
The day wore away slowly. Tad made frequent trips down the river as
far as he could get before being stopped by a great wall of rock that
rose abruptly for nearly a thousand feet above him. He gazed up this
glittering expanse of rock until his neck ached, then he went back to
camp. An idea was working in Tad's mind, but it was as yet undeveloped.
At intervals the shots were tried again, though no reply followed. Night
came on. Before dark Dad had gathered some driftwood that he found in
crevices of the rocks. The wood was almost bone dry and a crackling,
cheerful fire was soon burning.
"If we only had something to eat now, we'd be all right," said Walter
mournfully.
"You want something to eat?" questioned Chunky.
"I should say I do."
"Oh, well, that's easily fixed."
Stacy stepped over to a rock, made a motion as if ringing a telephone
bell, then listened.
"Hello! hello! Is that the hotel, El Tovar Hotel? Very well; this
is Brown. Brown! Yes. Well, we want you to send out dinner for six.
Six! Can't you understand plain English? Yes, six. Oh, well, I
think we'll have some porter house steak smothered in onions. Smothered!
We'll have some corn cakes and honey, some--some---um---some baked
potatoes, about four quarts of strawberries. And by the way, got any
apple pie? Yes? Well, you might send down a half dozen pies and-----"
Chunky got no further. With a howl, Ned Rector, Tad Butler and Walter
Perkins made a concerted rush for him.
Ned fell upon the unfortunate fat boy first. Stacy went down in a heap
with Ned jamming his head into the dirt that had been washed up by the
river at flood time. A moment more and Ned was at the bottom of the
heap with Stacy, the other two boys having piled on top.
"Here, here!" shouted the Professor.
"Let 'em scrap," grinned Dad. "They'll forget they're hungry."
They did. After the heap had been unpiled, the boys got up, their
clothes considerably the worse for the conflict, their faces red, but
smiling and their spirits considerably higher.
"You'll get worse than that if you tantalize us in that way again,"
warned Tad. "We can stand for your harmless jokes, but this is
cruel-----"
"---ty to animals," finished Chunky.
"What you'll get will make you sure of that."
"Come over here and get warm, Brown," called the guide.
"Oh, he's warmed sufficiently," laughed Tad. "We have attended to that.
He won't get chills to-night, I promise you."
Breathing hard, their eyes glowing, the boys squatted down around the
camp fire. No sooner had they done so than a thrilling roar sounded
off somewhere in a canyon to their right, the roar echoing from rock
to rock, from canyon to canyon, dying away in the far distance.
"For goodness' sake, what is that?" gasped Stacy.
"Mountain lion," answered the guide shortly.
"Can---can he get here?" stammered Walter.
"He can if he wants to."
"I---I hope he changes his mind if he does want to," breathed Stacy.
"I wish we had our rifles," muttered Ned.
"What for?" demanded Dad.
"To shoot lions, of course."
"Humph!"
"Couldn't we have a lion hunt while we are out here?" asked Tad
enthusiastically.
"You could if the lion didn't hunt you."
"Wouldn't that be great, fellows?" cried Tad. "The Pony Rider Boys as
lion hunters."
"Great," chorused the boys. "When shall it be?" added Ned.
"It won't be till after we get out of this hole," declared Dad. "And
from present indications, that won't be to-night."
"Tell us something about the lions," urged Walter. "Are they ugly?"
"Well, they ain't exactly household pets," answered the guide, with
a faint smile.
"Is it permitted to hunt them?" interjected the Professor.
"Yes, there's no law against it. The lions kill the deer and the
government is glad to be rid of the lions. But you won't get enough
of them to cause a flurry in the lion market."
"No, there's more probability of there being a panic in the Pony Rider
market," chuckled Tad.
"I'm not afraid," cried Stacy.
"No, Chunky isn't afraid," jeered Ned. "He doesn't want to go home
when the marbles roll down from the mountain! Oh, no, he isn't afraid!
He's just looking for dangerous sport."
Their repartee was interrupted by another roar, louder than the first.
But though they listened for a long time there was no repetition of the
disturbing roar of the king of the canyons.
Soon after that the lads went to bed. Tonight they slept soundly, for
they had had little sleep the previous night, as the reader knows.
When they awakened on the following morning the conditions had not
changed. They were still prisoners in the Grand Canyon not far from
the foot of Bright Angel Trail. All hands awoke to the consciousness
that unless something were done, and at once, they would find themselves
face to face with starvation. It was not a cheerful prospect.
There was no breakfast that morning, though Chunky, who had picked
up a cast-away piece of orange peel, was munching it with great
satisfaction, rolling his eyes from one to the other of his companions.
"Don't. You might excite your appetite again," warned Ned.
Tad, who had been out for another exploring tour along the river, had
returned, walking briskly.
"Well, did you find a trail?" demanded Chunky.
"No, but I have found a way out of this hole," answered Tad, with
emphasis.
"What?" exclaimed Dad, whirling on him almost savagely.
"Yes, I have found a way. I'm going to carry out a plan and I promise
that with good luck I'll get you all out of here safely. I shall need
some help, but the thing can be done, I know."
"What is your plan?" asked the Professor.
"I'll tell you," said Tad. "But don't interrupt me, please, until I
have finished."