"Got anything to eat?" asked Tad. "My appetite this morning is a
thing to be feared."

"Depends upon how much the guide has eaten," replied Walter. "I guess
you will have to lick the frying pan."

"Yes, that's all he'll get," added Ned. "Any fellow who has filled up
on canned peaches and the like doesn't need any more than that."

"Professor," continued Tad, "I would suggest that we pack up and move
along down until we come to the trail. We can all then work into the
gorge leaving the ponies on top. It will be an easy matter for us to
pack the stuff to the top. We'll be in good shape then. Shall we do
it?"

"Yes, yes," answered the Professor absently.

"Come on then, fellows. I'll tighten my belt and save my appetite
until we get something like real food to eat. Licking a frying pan
won't satisfy my longings this morning. I'll pack the ponies while
you are striking the tents. I--"

Tad turned, gazing at them curiously. They were strangely silent.
The lad felt instinctively that something had gone wrong, for Tad
Butler was quick to catch a suggestion.

"Well, what is it all about? You are as solemn as a lot of owls at
sunrise. Anything happened?"