ys groaned.

"He ate his breakfast. Most remarkable," scoffed Rector, imitating the
professor's voice and manner, whereat the professor himself grinned
broadly.

Tad, giving up expecting the others to do anything, was rapidly
gathering their equipment together. The tent came down. He divided
it into sections, placing the sections in piles preparatory to forming
them into bundles to be packed on the ponies.

"Have you the map, Professor?" he called.

"In my saddle bag."

"I want to study it a minute before we start. We don't know anything
about the trails here and we have no guide to direct us. We've got to
make our way the best we can."

"We can't get lost," chimed in Chunky.

"Why can't we get lost?" snapped Ned turning on the fat boy.

"Because we don't know where we are anyway."

"Horse sense," laughed Tad.

"Fat-boy drivel," jeered Ned.

"Come, come, young men. You are not making much headway."

Stacy dragged his pack by the rope, over to his pony, instead of
carrying the bundle as he should have done, Professor Zepplin observing
the boy with disapproving gaze.

"Is that the way you have been taught to pack your pony, sir?"

"No. I've never been taught. What I know I've had to pick up. Nobody
ever tries to teach me anything."

Scolding, joking, having all manner of sport with one another, the Pony
Rider Boys finally completed their tasks. The ponies were loaded, the
pack pony was piled high so that its head and legs were about the only
parts of its anatomy visible, and the boys climbed into their saddles,
Tad first having given the trail map a brief scrutiny.

They started off up the canyon. For a little way the trail appeared
to be no trail at all. The ponies threshed through the bushes, the
sharp limbs smiting the riders in the faces, making disagreeable
traveling. But the young men were used to this sort of thing. They
did not appear to mind it at all.

Reaching a higher altitude they found the trail to be fairly good.
From there they got a good view of the yellow plains below, that
stretch away many miles to the northward. To the southwest, peaks
that they judged must be all of four or five thousand feet high,
towered blue and hazy in the yellow light. Birds were singing, the
air was soft and balmy and a gentle breeze stirred the foliage about
them lazily.

"This is what I call fine," cried Tad.

"Good place for a nap," agreed Chunky.

"Are you in need of sleep?" asked