"Pony fall down! Pony fall down!" exclaimed the Indian, with a trace
of excitement in his tone.

"He means our long-eared friend has taken a header over that rock
there," Ned Rector informed them.

"I am afraid it is more serious than that," added Tad. "It looked to
me as if the pack mule went over a cliff."

"Him fall down, fall down, fall down," repeated the guide.

Chunky, frightened at the result of his prank, had quickly scrambled
into his own saddle and drawn back from the scene of his late exploit.

Professor Zepplin did not understand how it had happened.

"I'm to blame, sir," announced Chunky, plucking up courage and riding
up beside the Professor. "I hit him with a stick and he ran away."

In spite of the disaster that had come upon them, the boys could not
but laugh at the boy's rueful countenance. Nor did the Professor find
it in his heart to be harsh.

"You deserve to be punished, sir, but somehow when I look at you my
anger vanishes instantly. The next question is, how are we going to
get the beast up here? What do you say, guide?"

"Him dead."

"What's that?"