"That's pretty tough on the mountain. I'm afraid it will have a bad case of indigestion," laughed Tad.
"You needn't be. It has swallowed tougher mouthfuls than you are," returned the guide, ever ready with an answer.
"Dad's able to give as good as you send," laughed Ned.
"That's good. All the better for us," nodded Tad. "What about some light?"
"Unload the wood from your packs. This is where you are glad you did pack some stuff."
In a few minutes a fire was blazing, lighting up the interior of the crater. The boys found themselves in a circular opening of almost terrifying roughness and something like a quarter of a mile across. Here, in ages past, the forces of Nature had been at work with fearful earnestness. Weird shadows, mysterious shapes, somewhat resembling moving figures, were thrown by the flickering blaze of the camp fire. While the boys were exploring the crater Dad was busy getting the supper ready, talking with Professor Zepplin as he worked.
The voices of the boys echoed from side to side of the crater, sounding strange and unreal. The call to supper put an end to their explorations. They sat down with keen edges to their appetites. It was their first meal in the open on this journey. All were in high spirits.
"I think we should agree upon our work for the future," declared theProfessor.
"Work?" exclaimed Chunky, opening wide his big eyes.
"Yes. It is not going to be all play during this trip."
"We are willing to do our share," answered Ned.
"Yes, of course we are," chorused Walt and Stacy, though there was no enthusiasm in the fat boy's tone.
"I am of the opinion that you boys should take turns in cooking the meals, say one boy to cook for an entire day, another to take the job on the following day."
"I'll cook my own," declared the guide. "No tenderfoot experiments in my chuck."
"They know how to cook, Mr. Nance," explained the Professor.
"All right; they may cook for you," said the guide, with a note of finality in his tone. He glanced up at the sky, held out his hand and shook his head. Tad observed the movement.
"What is it?" asked the boy.
"It's going to snow," said Dad.
Tad laughed, glancing at his companions.
"What, snow in June?" questioned Stacy.
"You must remember that you are a good many thousand feet up," theProfessor informed him.
"Up? I thought I was down in a crater."
"You are both up and down," spoke up Tad.
"Yes, I'm usually up and down, first standing on my feet then on my head," retorted Stacy. "How are we going to sleep?"
"Same as usual. Pick out your beds, then roll up in your blankets," directed Dad. "You are used to it, eh?"
"Well," drawled Chunky, "I've slept in a good many different kinds of beds, but this is the first time I ever slept in a lava bed."
True to Dad's prophecy, the snow came within half an hour.
"Better turn in before the beds get too wet," advised Dad.
All hands turned in. Sleep did not come to the boys as readily as usual. They had been sleeping in real beds too long. After a time the snow changed to rain in the warmth of the crater. Chunky got up disgustedly.
"I'm tired of sleeping in the bath tub," he declared. "Think I'll move into the hall bedroom."
Chuckles were heard from beneath other blankets, while Stacy, grumbling and growling, fussed about until he found a place that appeared to be to his liking.
"When you get through changing beds perhaps you will give us a chance to go to sleep," called the guide.
Stacy's voice died away to an indistinct murmur. Soon after that quiet settled over the dark hole in the mountain. The rain came down harder than ever, but by this time the Pony Rider Boys were asleep. They neither heard nor felt the water, though every one was drenched to the skin.
Toward morning Tad woke up with a start. He thought something had startled him. Just then an unearthly yell woke the echoes of the crater. Yell upon yell followed for the next few seconds, each yell seeming to be further away than the preceding one, and finally dying out altogether.
"It's Chunky!" shouted Tad, kicking himself free of his blankets and leaping up. "Some thing's happened to Chunky!"
"What is it? What is it?" cried the other boys, getting free of their blankets and in the confusion rolling and kicking about in the cinders.
"What is it?" shouted the Professor, very much excited.
Ned, dragging his blanket after him, had started to run about, not knowing which way to turn nor what had occurred. In the meantime the guide and Tad had started in the direction from which the yells had seemed to come.
"It was this way," shouted Tad.
Ned headed them off running toward the west edge of the crater. All at once a new note sounded. With an unearthly howl Ned Rector disappeared. They heard his voice growing fainter, too, just as Stacy's had done.
"They've fallen in!" cried Tad.
"Everybody stand still!" commanded Dad.
Recognizing that he was right, the others obeyed, with the exception of Tad Butler, who crept cautiously forward, feeling his way with the toes of his boots, that he too might not share the fate of his two companions.
Dad, from somewhere about his person, produced a bundle of sticks which he lighted. He was prepared for just such an emergency. A flickering light pierced the deep shadows, just enough to show the party that two of their number had disappeared.
"There is the place," cried Tad. "It's a hole in the ground. They've fallen in."
"Chunky's always falling in," laughed Walter half hysterically.
With his rope in hand, Tad sprang forward.
"Light this way, please," called Butler. "Hello, down there!" he cried, peering into the hole in the ground.
"Hello!" came back a faint answer from Ned Rector. "Get us out quick."
"What happened?"
"I don't know. Chunky fell in and I fell on him."
"Is he hurt?"
"I don't know. I guess I knocked the wind out of him."
"How far down are you?" demanded Dad peering in, holding his torch low, exposing a hole about six feet square at the top, widening out as it extended downward.
"I—-I don't know. It felt like a mile when I came down. Hurry. ThinkI want to stay here all night?"
"If Stacy isn't able to help himself, tie the rope around his waist and we will haul him up," directed Tad.
"Serve him right to leave him here," retorted Ned.
"All right, we will leave you both there, if you feel that way," answeredNance grimly.
"He doesn't mean it," said Tad. "Ned must have his joke, no matter how serious the situation may be." Tad lowered his rope, loop first. "Well, how about it?" he called.
"I've made it fast. Haul away." Chunky was something of a heavy weight.It required the combined efforts of those at the top to haul him out.Dragging Stacy to the surface, Tad dropped beside the fat boy, givinghim a shake and peering anxiously into his eyes, shouting, "Stacy!Stacy!"
Chunky opened one eye and winked knowingly at Tad.
"Oh, you rascal! You've made us pull until we are out of breath. Why'd you make a dead weight of yourself?"
"Is—-is he all right?" inquired Professor Zepplin anxiously.
"He hasn't been hurt——-"
"Yes, I have. I'm all bunged up—-I'm all shot to pieces. The—-the mountain blew up and——-"
"Well, are you fellows going to leave me down here all the rest of the night?" demanded the far-away voice of Ned Rector.
"Yes, you stay there. You're out of the wet," answered Stacy.
"That's a fine way to talk after I have saved your life almost at the expense of my own."
"Pshaw! Saved my life! You nearly knocked it all out of me when you fell on top of me."
"Here comes the rope, Ned," called Tad. "If you can help us a little you will make the haul easier for us."
"I'll use my feet."
"Better take a hitch around your waist in case you should slip," advisedButler.
Ned did so, and by bracing his feet against the side of the rock he was able to aid them not a little in their efforts to haul him to the surface. Ned fixed Stacy with stern eye.
"Were you bluffing all the time?" he demanded.
"Was I bluffing? Think a fellow would need to bluff when a big chump like you fell in on him? I thought the mountain had caved in on me, but it was something softer than a mountain, I guess," added Stacy maliciously.
"What did happen?" demanded Ned, gazing at the hole wonderingly.
"It's one of those thin crusts," announced the guide, examining the broken place in the lava with critical eyes, in which occupation the Professor joined.
"Yes, it was pretty crusty," muttered Chunky.
"You see, sir, this occurs occasionally," nodded the guide, looking up at the grizzled face of Professor Zepplin. "One never knows in this country when the crust is going to give way and let him down. I guess the rain must have weakened the ground."
"And I fell in again," growled Stacy.
"You were bound to fall in sooner or later," answered Tad. "Perhaps it is just as well that you fell in a soft place."
"A soft place?" shouted Stacy. "If you think so, just take a drop in there yourself."
"I thought it was the softest thing I ever fell on," grinned Rector, whereupon the laugh was on Stacy.
There was no more sleep in the camp in the crater of Sunset Peak that night. Nor was there fire to warm the campers. They walked about until daylight. That morning they made a breakfast on cold biscuit and snowballs at the rim of the crater. But as the sun came out they felt well repaid for all that they had passed through on the previous night. Such a vista of wonderful peaks as lay before them none of the Pony Riders ever had gazed upon.
To the west lay the San Francisco Peaks, those ever-present landmarks of northern Arizona. To the south the boys looked off over a vast area of forest and hills, while to the east in the foreground were grouped many superb cinder cones, similar to the one on which they were standing, though not nearly so high. Lava beds, rugged and barren, reached out like fingers to the edge of the plateau as if reaching for the far-away painted desert.
"Where is the Canyon?" asked Tad in a low voice.
"Yonder," said Dad, pointing to the north over an unbroken stretch of forest. There in the dim distance lay the walls of the Grand Canyon, the stupendous expanse of the ramparts of the Canyon stretching as far as the eye could see.
"How far away are they?" asked Tad.
"More than forty miles," answered Dad. "You wait till we get to the edge. You can't tell anything about those buttes now."
"What is a butte—-how did they happen to be called that?" asked Walter.
"A butte is a butte," answered the guide.
"A butte is a bump on the landscape," interjected Stacy.
"A butte is a mound of earth or stone worn away by erosion," answered the Professor, with an assurance that forbade any one to question the correctness of his statement.
"Yes, sir," murmured the Pony Rider Boys. "A wart on the hand of fairNature, as it were," added Chunky under his breath.
"Come, we must be on our way," urged Dad. "We want to make half the distance to the Canyon before night. I reckon the pack train will have gone on. We'll have to live on what we have in our saddle bags till we catch up with the train, which I reckon we'll do hard onto noon."
No great effort was required to descend Sunset Mountain. It was one long slide and roll. The boys screamed with delight as they saw the dignified Professor coasting and taking headers down the cinder-covered mountain.
By this time the clothes of the explorers had become well dried out in the hot sun. When they reached the camp they found that the pack train had long since broken camp and gone on.
"Where are the ponies?" cried Walter, looking about.
"I'll get them," answered Dad, circling the camp a few times to pick up the trail.
It will be remembered that the animals had been hobbled on the previous afternoon and turned loose to graze. Dad found the trail and was off on it running with head bent, reminding the boys of the actions of a hound. While he was away Tad cooked breakfast, made coffee and the others showed their appreciation of his efforts by eating all that was placed before them and calling loudly for more. Dad returned about an hour later, riding Silver Face, driving the other mustangs before him. When the boys saw the stock coming in they shouted with merriment. The mustangs had been hobbled by tying their fore feet together. This made it necessary for the animals to hop like kangaroos. The boys named them the kangaroos right then and there.
Tad had some hot coffee ready for Nance by the time Dad got back. The guide forgot that he had declared against eating or drinking anything cooked by the Pony Rider Boys. He did full justice to Tad's cooking, while the rest of the boys stood around watching the guide eat, offering suggestions and remarks. Dad took it all good-naturedly. He would have plenty of opportunities to get back at them. Dad was something of a joker himself, though this fact was suspected only by Tad Butler, who had noted the constantly recurring twinkle in the eyes of the guide.
"We shall hear from Dad one of these days," was Butler's mental conclusion. "All right, we deserve all we get and more, I guess."
Shortly afterwards the party was in the saddle, setting out for their forty-mile ride in high spirits. They hoped to reach their destination early on the following morning. Some of the way was dusty and hot, though the greater part of it was shaded by the giant pines.
They caught up with the pack train shortly before noon, as Nance had said they would. A halt was made and a real meal cooked while the mustangs were watered and permitted to graze at the ends of their ropes. The meal being finished, saddle bags were stocked as the party would not see the pack train again until some time on the following day. Then the journey was resumed again.
The Pony Rider Boys were full of anticipation for what they would see when they reached the Canyon. Dad was in a hurry, too. He could hardly wait until he came in sight of his beloved Canyon. But even with all their expectations the lads had no idea of the wonderful sight in store for them when they should first set eyes on this greatest of Nature's wonders.
That night they took supper under the tall trees, and after a sleep of some three hours, were roughly awakened by the guide, who soon had them started on their way again.
"We'll make camp here for a time, I reckon," announced Dad about two o'clock in the morning.
"I thought we were going on to the Canyon," said Tad.
"We shall see it in the morning," answered the guide somewhat evasively. "You boys turn in now, and get some sleep, for you will want to have your eyes wide open in the morning. But let me give you a tip: Don't you go roaming around in the dark here."
"Why—-why not?" demanded Stacy Brown.
"Oh, nothing much, only we're likely to lose your valuable company if you try it. You have a habit of falling in, I am told. You'll fall in for keeps if you go moseying about in this vicinity."
"Where are we?" asked Butler.
"'Bout half a mile from the El Tovar," answered Nance. "Now you fellows turn in. Stake down the pintos. Isn't safe to let them roam around on two legs."
Tad understood. He knew from the words of Nance that they were somewhere in the vicinity of the great gash in the earth that they had come so far to see. But he was content to wait until the morrow for the great sight that was before them.
The sun was an hour high before they felt the heavy hand of Jim Nance on their shoulders shaking them awake. The odor of steaming coffee and frying bacon was in the air.
"What—-sunrise?" cried Tad, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.
"And breakfast?" added Ned.
"Real food?" piped Stacy Brown.
"Where do we wash?" questioned Walter.
"You will have to take a sun bath," answered the guide with a twinkle. "There isn't any water near this place. We will find water for the stock later in the morning."
"But where is the Canyon?" wondered Tad.
"You're at it."
"I don't see anything that looks like a canyon," scoffed Ned.
"No, this is a level plateau," returned Tad. "However, I guess Dad knows what he is talking about. I for one am more interested in what I smell just now than anything else."
Chunky sniffed the air.
"Well, it will take more than a smell to satisfy me this morning," declared Chunky, wrinkling his nose.
"This is my day to cook," called Tad. "Why didn't you let me get the breakfast, Mr. Nance?"
"I'm doing the cooking this morning. I've had a long walk and feel fine, so I decided to be the cook, the wrangler and the whole outfit this morning. How do you feel, boys?"
"Fine!" chorused the Pony Riders. "But we thought we should see theCanyon when we woke up this morning."
A quizzical smile twitched the corners of Dad's mouth. Tad saw that the guide had something of a surprise for them. The lad asked no further questions.
Breakfast finished, the boys cleared away the dishes, packing everything as if for a continuation of their journey, which they fully expected to make.
A slight rise of ground lay a few rods ahead of them. Tad started to stroll that way. He halted as a party of men and women were seen approaching from the direction of El Tovar, where the hotel was located.
"Now, gentlemen, you may walk along," nodded the guide, smiling broadly.
"Which way?" asked the Professor.
"Follow the crowd you see there."
They saw the party step up to the rise, then a woman's scream smote their ears. Tad, thinking something had occurred, dashed forward.
He reached the level plateau on the rise, where his companions saw him halt suddenly, throwing both arms above his head.
The boys started on a run, followed by the professor, who by this time was a little excited.
Then all at once the glorious panorama burst upon them. There at their very feet lay the Grand Canyon. Below them lay the wonder of the world, and more than five thousand feet down, like a slender silver thread, rippled the Colorado.
The first sight of the Canyon affects different persons differently. It overwhelmed the Pony Rider Boys, leaving them speechless. They shrank back as they gazed into the awful chasm at their feet and into which they might have plunged had the hour been earlier, for it had burst upon them almost with the suddenness of the crack of a rifle.
They had thought to see mountains. There were none. What they saw was really a break in the level plateau. From where they stood they looked almost straight down into the abyss for something more than a mile. Gazing straight ahead they saw to the other side of the chasm twelve miles away. To the right and to the left their gaze reached more than twenty miles in each direction.
This great space was filled with gigantic architectural constructions, with amphitheaters, gorges, precipices, walls of masonry, fortresses, terraced up to the level of the eyes, temples, mountain high, all brilliant with horizontal lines of color—-streaks of hues from a few feet to a thousand feet in width, mottled here and there with all the colors of the rainbow.
Such coloring, such harmony of tints the Pony Rider Boys never had gazed on before. It seemed to them as if they themselves were standing in midair looking down upon a new and wonderful world. There was neither laughter nor jest upon the lips of these brown-faced, hardy boys now.
Professor Zepplin slowly took off his hat in homage to what was there at his feet. He wiped the perspiration from his forehead. A glance at Tad Butler showed tear drops glistening on his cheeks. He was trembling. Never before had a more profound emotion taken hold of him. Ned Rector and Walter Perkins's faces wore expressions of fear. No other moment in the lives of the four boys had been like this.
Dad's face shone as with a reflected light from the Canyon that he loved so well, and that had been his almost constant companion for more than thirty years; whose moods he knew almost as well as his own, and whose every smile or frown had its meaning for him.
The travelers each forgot that there was any other human being than himself present. They were drawn sharply to the fact that there were others present, when one of the little party of sight-seers that had come over from the hotel picked up a rock, the weight of which was almost too much for him.
The lads watched him with fascinated eyes. The man swung the rock back and forth a few times, then hurled it over the edge. The Pony Rider Boys waited, actually holding their breath, to catch the report when the rock should strike the bottom.
No report came. It requires some little time for a rock to fall a mile, and when it does land it is doubtful if those at the other end of the mile would hear the report.
The faces of the Pony Riders actually paled. This was indeed the next thing to a bottomless pit. Walter Perkins recalled afterwards that his head had spun dizzily, Ned that he was too frightened to move a muscle.
Suddenly the silence was broken by a shout that was really an agonized yell. The voice was Stacy Brown's.
"Hold me! Somebody hold me!" he screamed
The others glanced at him with disapproving eyes. Could nothing impress Chunky? The fat boy had begun to move forward toward the edge, both hands extended in front of him as to ward off something.
"Hold me! I'm going to jump! Oh, won't somebody hold me?"
Even then only one in that little party appeared to understand. They were paralyzed with amazement and unable to move a muscle. The one who did see and understand was Tad Butler. Chunky was giving way to an irresistible impulse. He was at that instant being drawn toward the terrible abyss.
Tad caught his breath sharply. He, too, for the instant seemed unable to move. Then all at once he sprang forward, throwing himself upon the fat boy, both going to earth together, locked in a tight embrace.
"Leggo! Leggo!" shrieked Stacy.
The fat boy fought desperately. He had appealed for help; now he refused to accept it. He was possessed with a maddened desire to throw himself into the mile-deep chasm. It was all Tad Butler could do at the moment to keep from being rolled to the rim himself.
Dad, suddenly discovering the situation, ran at full speed toward the struggling boys.
"Grab his legs. I will look out for his shoulders," gasped Tad, sitting down on Chunky's face for a brief respite.
"I'll handle him," said the guide quietly. "They get taken that way sometimes when they first look into the hole."
By this time the others, having shaken off the spell, started to move toward the scene of the brief conflict. Dad waved them back; then, with Tad holding up the fat boy's shoulders, Dad with Chunky's feet in hand, the two carried him back some distance, where they laid him on the ground. Stacy did not move. His face was ghastly.
"I think he has fainted—-fainted away," stammered Tad.
"Let him alone. He'll be all right in a few minutes," directed the guide.
"What made him do that?" wondered Tad, turning large eyes on Nance.
"He jest couldn't help it. I told you you'd see something, but I didn't think Fatty would be taken quite so hard. You go back."
"No, I'll wait. You perhaps had better look after the others, Ned or the Professor might be taken the same way," answered Tad, with a faint smile.
Nance hurried back. After a time Chunky opened his eyes. He sat up, looking dazed then he reached a feeble hand toward Tad.
"I'd 'a' gone sure, Tad," he said weakly.
"Nonsense!"
"I would, sure."
"Come back and look at it."
"Not for a million, I wouldn't."
"Oh, pooh! Don't be a baby. Come back, I tell you. You've got to get over that fright. We shall have to be around this canyon for some time. If you haven't any nerve, why——-"
"Nerve? Nerve?" queried Stacy, rousing himself suddenly. "Talk about nerve! Don't you think it takes nerve for a fellow to start in to jump off a rock a mile high? Well, I guess it does. Don't you talk to me about nerve."
"There come the others."
The Professor, the guide and the other boys walked slowly up to them at this juncture. Chunky expected that Ned would make fun of him. Ned did nothing of the sort. Both Ned and Walter were solemn and their faces were drawn. They sighed as if they had just awakened from a deep sleep.
"What do you think of it, Professor?" asked Tad, looking up.
"Words fail me."
"I must have another look," announced Butler.
He walked straight to the edge of the rim, then lying flat on his stomach, head out over the chasm, he gazed down into the terrible abyss.
Jim Nance nodded approvingly.
"He's going to love it just the same as I do." The old man's heart warmed toward Tad Butler in that moment, when Tad, all alone, sought a closer acquaintance with the mystery of the great gash. After a time the others walked back, Dad taking Chunky by the nape of the neck. Perhaps it was the method of approach, or else Chunky, having had his fright, had been cured. At least this time he felt no fear. He was lost in wonder.
"Buck up now!" urged the guide.
"I am bucked. Leggo my neck. I won't make a fool of myself this time,I promise you."
"You can't blame him," said Tad, rising from his perilous position and walking calmly back to them. "I nearly got them myself."
"Got what?" demanded Stacy.
"The jiggers."
"That's it. That describes it."
Professor Zepplin, who had informed himself before starting out, now turned suddenly upon them.
"He's going to give us a lecture. Listen," whispered Tad.
"Young gentlemen, you have, perhaps, little idea of the vastness of that upon which you are now gazing."
"We know it is the biggest thing in the world, Professor," said Ned.
"Imagine, if you can," continued the Professor, without heeding the interruption, "that this amphitheatre is a real theatre. Allowing twice as much room as is given for the seat of each person in the most comfortable theatre in the world, and you could seat here an audience of two hundred and fifty millions of people. These would all be in the boxes on this side."
The boys opened their eyes at the magnitude of the figures.
"An orchestra of one hundred million pieces and a chorus of a hundred and fifty million voices could be placed comfortably on the opposite side. Can you conceive of such a scene? What do you think of it?"
"I—-I think," stammered Chunky, "that I'd like to be in the box office of that show—-holding on to the ticket money."
Without appearing to have heard Stacy Brown's flippant reply, ProfessorZepplin began again.
"Now that you are about to explore this fairy land it is well that you be informed in advance as to what it is. The river which you see down there is the Colorado. As perhaps some of you, who have studied your geography seriously, may know, the river is formed in southern Utah by the confluence of the Green and Grand, intersecting the north-western corner of Arizona it becomes the eastern boundary of Nevada and California, flowing southward until it reaches the Gulf of California."
"Yes, sir," said the boys politely, filling in a brief pause.
"That river drains a territory of some three hundred thousand square miles, and from its source is two thousand miles long. This gorge is slightly more than two hundred miles long. Am I correct in my figures, Mr. Nance?" demanded the Professor, turning to Dad, a "contradict-me-at-your-peril" expression on his face.
"I reckon you are, sir."
"The river has a winding way——-"
"That's the way with rivers," muttered Chunky to himself.
"Millions of years have been consumed in the building of this great Canyon. In that time ten thousand feet of non-conformable strata have been deposited, elevated, tilted, and washed away; the depression of the Canyon Surface serving for the depositing of Devonian, Lower Carboniferous, Upper Carboniferous, Permian, Triassic, Jurassic, Cretaceous; the formation of the vast eocene lake and its total disappearance; the opening of the earth's crust and the venting from its angry stomach the foul lavas—-the mind reels and whirls and grows dizzy——-"
"So do I," almost shouted Chunky, toppling over in a heap. "Quit it!You make me sea sick——-"
"I am amazed," bristled the Professor. "I am positively amazed that a young gentleman—-"
"It was the whirling, reeling suggestion that made his head swim, I think, Professor," explained Tad, by way of helping out the fat boy.
The lecture was not continued from that point just then. The Professor postponed the rest of his recital until a more opportune time.
"Will you go down to-day, or will you wait?" asked the guide.
"I think we shall find quite enough here on the edge of the rim to occupy our minds for the rest of the day, Nance," returned the Professor.
The boys agreed to this. They did not feel as if they ever would want to leave the view that fascinated and held them so enthralled. That day they journeyed over to the hotel for dinner. The guests at the quaint hotel were much interested in the Pony Rider Boys, and late in the afternoon quite a crowd came over to visit Camp Grand, as the lads had named their camp after the pack train had arrived and the tents were pitched.
There were four tents all pitched in a row facing the Canyon, the tents in a straight line. In front the American flag was planted, the camp fire burning about midway of the line and in front, so that at night it would light up the entire company street.
They cooked their own supper, Tad attending to this. But the boys were too full of the wonderful things they had seen that day to feel their usual keen-edged appetite.
The dishes put away, the Professor having become deeply absorbed in an argument with some gentlemen from the hotel regarding the "processes of deposition and subsidence of the uplift," Tad slipped away, leaving his chums listening to the conversation. Dad was also listening in open-mouthed wonder that any human being could use such long words as were being passed back and forth without choking to death. He was, however, so absorbed in the conversation that he did not at the moment note Butler's departure. Tad passed out of sight in the direction of the Canyon.
After a few moments had passed, Dad stirred the fire, then he too strolled off toward the rim. Tad, fearless, regardless of the peril to himself, was lying flat on his stomach gazing down over the rim, listening to the mysterious voices of the Canyon.
"I don't want you to be here, boy," said the guide gently.
Though he had approached silently, without revealing his presence, Tad never moved nor started, the tone was so gentle, and then again the boy's mind was full of other things.
"Why don't you want me here, Mr. Nance?" Dad squatted down on the very edge of the rim, both feet banging over, one arm thrown lightly over Tad's shoulders.
"You might fall."
"What about yourself? You might fall, too. You are in more danger than am I."
"Dad is not afraid. The Canyon is his home—-"
"You mean you live here?"
"The greater part of the year."
"Where?"
"Some day I will show you. It is far, far down in my beloved Canyon, where the foot of the white man seldom strays. Have you heard the strange voices of Dad's friend?"
"Yes, Dad, I have heard. I hear them now."
Both fell silent. The far away roar of the turbulent waters of the Colorado was borne to their listening ears. There were other sounds, too, mysterious sounds that came like distant moans, rising and falling, with here and there one that sounded like a sob.
"The spirit of the Canyon is sad to-night," murmured Dad.
"Why, Dad, that was the wind sighing through the Canyon."
"Yes, I know, but back of it all there is life, there is the very spirit of life. I don't know how to explain it, but I feel it deep down inside of me. I think you do, too."
"Yes, Dad, I do."
"I know you do. It's a living thing to me, kid, as it will be to you after you know their voices better and they come to know you. All those people," with a sweeping gesture toward the hotel where music and song were heard, "miss it all. What they see is a great spectacle. To see the Grand Canyon is to feel it in your heart. Seeing it in any other way is not seeing it at all."
"And do you live down there alone?"
"Yes. Why not?"
"I should think you would long for human companionship."
"What, with my beloved Canyon to keep me company? No, I am never lonely," added Jim Nance simply. "I shall live and die there—-I hope, and I'll be buried down there somewhere There are riches down there too. Gold—-much gold——-"
"Why don't you go after it——-"
Dad shook his head.
"It would be like robbing a friend. No, you may take the gold if you can find it, but Dad, never. See, the moon is up. Look!"
It was a new scene that Tad gazed upon. Vishnu Temple, the most wonderful piece of architecture in the Canyon, had turned to molten silver. This with Newberry Terrace, Solomon's Throne, Shinto Temple and other lesser ones stood out like some wonderful Oriental city.
All at once the quiet of the beautiful scene was disturbed by a bowl that was plainly the voice of Stacy Brown. Stacy, his big eyes missing little that had been going on about him, had after a time stolen away after Tad and the guide. His curiosity had been aroused by their departure and still more by the time they had been gone. Chunky determined to go out and investigate for himself.
He had picked his way cautiously toward the Canyon when he halted suddenly, his eyes growing large at what he saw.
"Yeow! Look!" cried the fat boy.
Both Jim Nance and Tad sprang up. Those in the camp heard the shout and ran toward the rim, fearing that some harm had befallen Stacy.
"What has happened now?" cried Tad, running forward.
"Look, look!"
Tad and the guide turned at the same instant gazing off across theCanyon. At first Tad saw nothing more than he had already seen.
"I—-I don't——-"
"It's up there in the skies. Don't you see?" almost shouted Stacy, pointing.
"What is it? What is it?" shouted the others from the camp, coming up on a run.
Then Tad saw. High up in the skies, as plainly outlined as if it were not more than a mile away, was reflected a city. Evidently it was an Eastern city, for there were towers, domes and minarets, the most wonderful sight he had ever gazed upon.
"A—-a mirage!"
"Yes," said Dad. "We see them here some times, but not often. My friends down there are showing you many things this night. Yes they never do that unless they are pleased. The spirit of the Canyon is well pleased. I was sure it would be."
By this time the others had arrived. All were uttering exclamations of amazement, only Tad and Dad being silent and thoughtful. For several minutes the reflection hung suspended in the sky, then a filmy mist was drawn before it like a curtain.
"Show's over," announced Chunky. "That billion orchestra will now play the overture backwards."
"Most remarkable thing I've ever seen," announced the Professor, whereupon he entered into a long scientific discussion on mirages with the gentlemen from the hotel.
Tad and the guide followed them slowly back to camp. The conversation soon became general. Dad was drawn into it, but he spoke no more about the things he and Butler had talked of out on the rim of the Canyon, literally hanging between heaven and earth.
"Well, what about to-morrow, Mr. Nance?" questioned the Professor, after the visitors had left them.
"I reckoned we'd go down Bright Angel Trail," answered the guide.
"Do we take the pack train with us?"
Nance shook his head.
"Too hard a trail. Besides we can't get anywhere with the mules on that trail. We've got to come back up here."
"Aren't we going into the Canyon to stay?" asked Walter.
"Yes. We'll either go down Bass Trail or Grand View. We can get the pack mules down those trails, but on the Bright Angel we'll have to leave the pintos before we get to the bottom and climb down."
"Any Indians down there?" asked Ned.
"Sure, there are Indians."
"What's that, Indians?" demanded Stacy, alive with quick interest.
"Yes. There's a Havasupai camp down in Cataract Canyon, then there are always some Navajos gunning about to make trouble for themselves and everybody else. The Apaches used to come down here, too, but we don't see them very often except when the Havasus give a peace dance or there's something out of the ordinary going on."
"And do—-do we see them?"
"See the Indians? Of course you'll see them."
"Are they bad?" asked the fat boy innocently.
"All Indians are bad. However, the Havasus won't bother you if you treat them right. Don't play any of your funny, sudden tricks on them or they might resent it. They're a peaceable lot when they're let alone."
"One of the gentlemen who were here this evening told me the Navajos, quite a party of them, had made a camp down near Bright Angel Gulch, if you know where that is," spoke up Professor Zepplin.
Dad pricked up his ears at this.
"Then they aren't here for any good. The agent will be after them if they don't watch out. I'll have a look at those bucks and see what rascality they're up to now," said Nance.
"Any chance of a row?" questioned Ned.
"No, no row. Leastwise not for us. Your Uncle Sam will look after those gentlemen if they get gay. But they won't. It will be some crooked little trick under cover—-taking the deer or something of the sort."
"Will we get any chance to shoot deer?" asked Walter.
"You will not unless you are willing to be arrested. It's a closed season from now till winter. I saw a herd of antelope off near Red Butte this afternoon."
"You must have eyes like a hawk," declared Stacy, with emphasis.
"Eyes were made to see with," answered Nance shortly.
"And ears to hear, and feet to foot with, and——-"
"Young men, it is time you were in bed. I presume Mr. Nance will be wanting to make an early start in the morning," said the Professor.
"If we are to get back the same day we'll have to start about daybreak. It's a hard trail to pack. You'll be ready to stretch your legs when we get back to-morrow night."
The boys were not ready to use those same legs when they were turned out at daybreak. There was some grumbling, but not much as they got up and made ready their hurried breakfast. In the meantime Nance had gotten together such provisions as he thought they would need. These he had packed in the saddle bags so as to distribute the weight. Shortly after breakfast they made a start, Dad going first, Tad following close behind.
The first two miles of the Bright Angel Trail was a sort of Jacob's ladder, zigzagging at an unrelenting pitch. Most of the way the boys had to dig their knees into the sides of their mounts to prevent slipping over the animals' necks.
"This is mountain climbing backwards," jeered Stacy.
"I don't know, but I guess I like it the other way," decided Walter, looking down a dizzy slope.
"I hope my pony doesn't stumble," answered Ned.
"You won't know much about it if he does," called Tad over his shoulder.
"Never mind. We'll borrow an Indian basket to bring you home," laughed Stacy in a comforting voice.
The trail was the roughest and the most perilous they had ever essayed. The ponies were obliged to pick their way over rocks, around sharp, narrow corners, where the slightest misstep would send horse and rider crashing to the rocks hundreds of feet below. But to the credit of the Pony Rider Boys it may be said that not one of them lost his head for an instant.
"How did this trail ever get such a name?" asked Tad of the guide.
"Yes, I don't see any signs of angels hereabouts," agreed Chunky.
"You never will unless you mend your ways," flung back Nance.
"Oh, I don't know. There are others."
"On the government maps this is called Cameron Trail, but it is best known by its original name, Bright Angel, named after Bright Angel creek which flows down the Canyon."
"Where is Bright Angel Canyon?" asked Tad.
"That's where the wild red men are hanging out," said Stacy.
"That's some distance from here. We shan't see it until some days later," replied the guide. "This, in days long ago, was a Havasupai Indian trail. You see those things that look like ditches?"
"Yes."
"Those were their irrigating canals. They knew how to irrigate a long time before we understood its advantages. Their canals conveyed large volumes of water from springs to the Indian Gardens beyond here. Yonder is what is known as the Battleship Iowa," said the guide, pointing to the left to a majestic pile of red sandstone that capped the red wall of the Canyon.
"Don't shoot," cried Stacy, ducking.
"You'll be shooting down into the Colorado," warned Nance. "You'd better watch out."
The rock indicated did very much resemble a battleship. The boys marveled at it. Then a little further on they came upon a sandstone plateau from which they could look down into the Indian Garden, another plateau rich with foliage, green grass and a riot of flowers. It was like looking into a bit of the tropics.
"Here is the worst piece of trail we have yet found," called Nance. "Go carefully," he directed when they reached the "blue lime." For the next few minutes, until they had passed over this most dangerous portion, little was said. The riders were too busy watching out for their own safety, the Professor, examining the different strata of rocks that so appeal to the geologist. He was entranced with what he beheld about him. Professor Zepplin had no time in which to enjoy being nervous.
From there on to the Garden they rode more at ease in the "Boulder Bed," where lay large blocks of rock of many shapes and sizes that had rolled from some upper strata. Small shrubs and plants grew on every hand, many-hued lizards and inquisitive swifts darted across the trail, acting as if they resented the intrusion.
Chunky regarded the lizards with disapproving eyes. But his thoughts were interrupted by the voice of the guide pointing out the Temple of Isis that looks down six thousand feet into the dark depths of the inner abyss, surrounded by innumerable smaller buttes. The wonderful colorings of the rocks did not suffer by closer inspection; in fact, the colors appeared to be even brighter than when viewed from the rim a few thousand feet above them.
Indian Garden was a delight. They wanted to tarry there, but were allowed to do so only long enough to permit horses and riders to refresh themselves with the cold water that trickled down through the canals from the springs far above.
Reaching the end of Angel Plateau they gazed down a sheer descent of twelve hundred feet into the black depths of the inner gorge, where flowed the Colorado with a sullen roar that now was borne plainly to their ears.
"It sounds as I have heard the rapids at Niagara do," declared Chunky somewhat ambiguously.
"All off!" called the guide.
"What's off?" demanded Chunky.
"Dismount."
"Is this as far as we go?" questioned Tad.
"It is as far as we go on the pintos. We have to climb down the rest of the way, and it's a climb for your life."
The boys gazed down the wall to the river gorge. The prospect did not look very inviting.
"I guess maybe I'd better stay here and mind the 'tangs'," suggestedStacy, a remark that brought smiles to the faces of the other boys.
"No, you'd be falling off if we left you here," declared Dad. "You'll go along with us."
Before starting on the final thousand feet of the descent the trappings were removed from the horses, after which the animals were staked down so that they might not in a moment of forgetfulness fall over the wall and be dashed to pieces on the rocks below.
Dad got out his climbing ropes, the boys watching the preparations with keen interest.
"Are you going down, Professor?" asked Tad smilingly.
"Certainly I am going down. I for one have no intention of remaining to watch the stock," with a grim glance in Chunky's direction. Chunky saw fit to ignore the fling at him. He was gazing off across the chasm at the Temple of Isis, which at that moment absorbed his full attention.
"Now I guess we are ready," announced the guide finally. "I will go first. In places it will be necessary to cling to the rope. Don't let go. Then, in case you stumble, you won't get the nasty fall that you otherwise would be likely to get."
Away up, just below the Indian Garden, they picked up the slender trail that led on down to the roaring river. They had never had quite such a climb, either up or down.
Every time they looked down they saw a possible fall upon rough, blade-like granite edges.
"We'd be sausage meat if we landed on those," declared Chunky.
"You are likely to go through the machine if you don't pay closer attention to your business," answered Dad.
Carefully, cautiously, laboriously they lowered themselves one by one over the steep and slippery rocks, down, down for hundreds of feet until they stood on the ragged edge of nowhere, a direct drop of several hundred feet more before them.
The guide knew a trail further on, so they crept along the smooth wall of the Canyon with scarcely room to plant their feet. A misstep meant death.
"Three hundred feet and we shall be there," came the encouraging voice of the guide. "Half an hour more."
"I could make it half a minute if I wanted to," said Stacy. "But I don't want to. I feel it my duty to stay and look after my friends."
"Yes, your friends need you," answered Ned sarcastically. "If they hadn't I never should have pulled you out of the hole in the crater."
"I was just wondering how Chunky could resist the temptation of falling in here. He'll never have a better opportunity for making a clean job of said Walter.
"He has explained why," replied Tad. "We need him. Of course we do.We need him every hour——-"
"And a half," added Ned.
The roar of the river became louder as they descended. Now they were obliged to raise their voices to make themselves heard. The Professor was toiling and sweating, but making no complaint of the hardships. He was plucky, as game as any of those hardy boys for whom he was the companion, and they knew it.
"Hold on here!" cried Stacy, halting.
All turned to see what was wrong.
"I want to know—-I want to know before I take another step."
"Well, what do you want to know?" demanded Tad.
"If it's all this trouble to climb down, I want to know how in the name of Bright Angel Trail we're ever going to be able to climb up again!"
"Fall up, of course," flung back the guide. "You said this was mountain climbing backwards. It'll be that way going back," chuckled the guide.
"And I so delicate!" muttered the lad, gazing up the hundreds of feet of almost sheer precipice. But ere the Pony Rider Boys scaled those rocks again they would pass through some experiences that were far from pleasurable ones.
Instead of a half hour, as had been prophesied, a full hour elapsed before they reached the bottom of the trail that was practically no trail at all. Tad was sure that the guide couldn't find his way back over the same ground, or rather rock, to save his life, for the boy could find nothing that looked as if the foot of man had ever trodden upon it before. He doubted if any one had been over that particular trail from the Garden on.
As a matter of fact, Dad had led them into new fields. But at last they stood upon the surer foundation of the bottom of the chasm.
"Anyone needs to be a mountain goat to take that journey," said Tad, with a laugh.
"No, a bird would be better," piped Stacy.
"I'd rather be a bug, then I wouldn't have to climb," spoke up Walter.
"Hurrah! Walt's said something," shouted Ned.
By this time Nance and the Professor had walked along, climbing over boulders, great blocks of stone that had tumbled from the walls above, making their way to the edge of the river.
The others followed, talking together at the tops of their voices, laughing and joking. They felt relieved that the terrible climb had come to an end. As they approached the river, their voices died away. It was a sublime but terrifying spectacle that the Pony Rider Boys gazed upon.
"This is more wonderful than Niagara," finally announced the Professor."The rapids of the Niagara River would be lost in this turbid stream."
Great knife-like rocks projected from the flood. When the water struck these sharp edges it was cleanly cut, spurting up into the air like geysers, sending a rainbow spray for many yards on either side.
What puzzled the lads more than all else were the great leaping waves that rose without apparent cause from spaces of comparatively calm water. These upturning waves, the guide explained, were the terror of explorers who sought to get through the Canyon in boats.
"Has any one ever accomplished it?" asked Tad.
"Yes; that intrepid explorer, Major J.W. Powell, made the trip in the year 1869, one of the most thrilling voyages that man ever took. Several of his men were lost; two who managed to escape below here were killed by the Indians."
"I think I should like to try it," said Tad thoughtfully.
"You won't, if I have anything to say about the matter," replied Dad shortly.
"No one would imagine, to gaze down on this stream from the rim, that it was such a lively stretch of water," remarked the boy. "It doesn't seem possible."
"Yes, if they had some of this water up on the plateau it would be worth almost its weight in gold," declared Nance. "Water is what Arizona needs and what it has precious little of. Speaking of the danger of the river," continued Nance, "it isn't wholly the water, but the traveling boulders."
"Traveling boulders!" exclaimed the boys.
"Yes. Boulders weighing perhaps a score or more of tons are rolled over and over down the river by the tremendous power of the water, almost with the force and speed of projectiles. Now and again they will run against snags. The water dashing along behind them is suddenly checked under the surface. The result is a great up-wave, such as you have already observed. They are just as likely to go downward or sideways as upward. You never know."
"Then that is the explanation of the cause of those up-waves?" asked the Professor.
"That's the way we figure it out. But we may be wrong. Take an old man's advice and don't monkey with the river."
"I thought you said Dad's beloved Canyon would not hurt him," said Tad teasingly.
"Dad's Canyon won't. The river isn't Dad's The river is a demon. The river would scream with delight were it to get Dad in its cruel clutches," answered the old man thoughtfully, his bristling whiskers drooping to his chest. "Are you boys hungry?"
The boys were. So Dad sought out a comfortable place where they might sit down, a shelf some twenty feet above the edge of the river, whence they could see the turbulent stream for a short distance both ways. It was a wonder to them where all the water came from. The Professor called attention to his former statement that the river drained some three hundred thousand miles of territory. This explanation made the matter clearer to them.
Coffee was made, the ever-ready bacon quickly fried and there in the very heart of the Grand Canyon they ate their midday meal. Never before had they sat down to a meal amid such tremendous forces.
The meal having been finished and Dad having stretched himself out on a rock after his dinner, the boys strolled off along the river, exploring the various crevices.
"Isn't there gold down here?" asked Tad, returning to the shelf.
Dad sat up, stroking his whiskers thoughtfully.
"I reckon you would find tons of it in the pockets of the river if she were to run dry," was the amazing reply.
"But," protested Tad, "is there no way to get it?"
"Not that man knows of. The Almighty, who made the whole business here, is the only one who is engineer enough to get that gold. No, sir, don't have any dreams about getting that gold. It isn't for man, at least not yet. Maybe He to whom it belongs is saving it for some other age, for folks who need it more than we do."
"Nobody ever will need it more than we do," interposed Stacy. "Why, just think, I could buy a whole stable full of horses with what I could get out of one of those pockets."
"Maybe I'll show you where you can pan a little of the yellow out, before you finish your trip."
Later in the day the guide decided that it was time to start for the surface again. But the boys begged to be allowed to remain in the Canyon over night. It was an experience that they felt sure would be worth while. For a wonder, Professor Zepplin sided with them in this request.
"Well, I'll go up and water the stock, then if you want to stay here, why, all right," decided Dad.
"I will go with you," said Tad.
"Professor, I'll leave the rest of the boys in your charge. Don't let them monkey with the river. I don't want to lose anybody this trip. Fall in there, and you'll bring up in the Pacific Ocean—-what's left of you will. Nothing ever'll stop you till you've hit the Sandwich Islands or some other heathen country."
The boys promised and so did the Professor, and both men knew the lads would keep their word, for by this time they held that stream in wholesome respect.
Chunky, after the guide and Tad had left, perched himself on the point of a rock where he lifted up his voice in "Where the Silvery Colorado Wends Its Way," Ned Rector occupying his time by shying rocks at the singer, but Chunky finished his song and had gotten half way through it a second time before one of Ned's missiles reached him. That put an end to the song and brought on a rough and tumble fight in which Ned and Stacy were the sole participants. Chunky, of course, got the worst of it. The two combatants locked arms and strolled away down the river bank after Chunky had been sufficiently punished for trying to sing.
Night in the canyon was an experience. The roaring of the river which no longer could be seen was almost terrifying. Then, too, a strange weird moaning sounded all about them. Dad, who had returned, explained that it was supposed to be the wind. He confided to Tad that it was the spirit of the Canyon uttering its warning.
"Warning of what?"
"I don't know. Maybe a storm. But you can believe something's going to come off, kid," answered Nance with emphasis.
Something did come off. Tad and Nance had fetched the blankets of the party back with them, together with two large bundles of wood for the camp fire, which materials they had let down from point to point at the end of their ropes. Tad had learned always to carry his lasso at his belt. It was the most useful part of his equipment. He had gotten the other boys into the habit of doing the same. Rifles had been left in the camp above, as they were a burden in climbing down the rocks. But all hands carried their heavy revolvers.
A very comfortable camping place was located Under an overhanging shelf of rock, the camp fire just outside lighting up the chamber in a most cheerful manner. There after supper the party sat listening to Dad's stories of the Canyon during some of his thirty years' experience with it.
The wind was plainly rising. It drew the flames of the fire first in one direction, then in another. Nance regarded the signs questioningly. After a little he got up and strolled out to the edge of the roaring river. Tad and Chunky followed him.
"We are going to have a storm," said Dad.
"A heavy one?" asked Tad.
"A regular hummer!"
"Rain?"
"Everything. The whole thing. I'm sorry now that we didn't go back up the trail, but maybe we'd never got up before we were caught. However, we're pretty safe down here, unless——-"
"Unless what?" piped Chunky.
"Unless we get wet," answered Nance, though Tad knew that was not what was in the guide's mind.
Just as they were turning back to the camp there came an explosion that seemed as if the walls of the Canyon had been rent in twain. Chunky uttered a yell and leaped straight up into the air. Tad took firm hold of the fat boy's arm.
"Don't be a fool. That was thunder and lightning. The lightning struck somewhere in the Canyon. Isn't that it, Dad?"
Nance nodded.
"It's always doing that. It's been plugging away at Dad's Canyon for millions of years, but the Canyon is doing business at the same old stand. I hope those pintos are all right up there," added the guide anxiously.
"Mebby they're struck," suggested Stacy.
"Mebby they are," replied Nance. "Come, we'll be getting back unless you want to get wet."
A dash of rain followed almost instantly upon the words. The three started at a trot for the camp. They found the Professor and his two companions anxiously awaiting their return.
"That was a severe bolt," said the Professor.
"Always sounds louder down here, you know," replied Dad. "Echoes."
"Yes, I understand."
"Is—-is it going to rain?" questioned Walter.
"No, it's going to pour," returned Chunky. "You'll need your rubber boots before long."
"Move that camp fire in further," directed Nance. "It'll be drowned out in a minute."
This was attended with some difficulty, but in a few minutes they had the fire burning brightly under the ledge. Then the rain began. It seemed to be a cloudburst instead of a rain. Lightning was almost incessant, the reports like the bombardment of a thousand batteries of artillery, even the rocks trembling and quaking. Chunky's face grew pale.