“I?  Oh, I’m all bunged up.  How’s the weather?”

“Nature is smiling,” answered Tad.

“All right.  As long as she doesn’t grin, I won’t kick.  If she grins I’m blest if I’ll stand for it.”

“Whose turn is it to get breakfast?” questioned Ned.

“What little there is to get I will attend to,” said Tad.  “We are long on experience but short on food.”

Still, breakfast was a cheerful meal, even though all were still wet, their muscles stiffened from sleeping in puddles, from which they were obliged to dip the water for their coffee.  They enjoyed the meal just as much as if it had been a banquet, however.

Dad’s face did not reflect the general joy that was apparent on the faces of the others.  Tad observed this, but made no comment.  Finally Stacy Brown discovered something of the sort, too.

“Dad, you’ve got a grouch on this lovely morning,” said Stacy.

“No, I never have a grouch.”

“Your whiskers are rising.  I thought you had.”

“I’d rather have my whiskers standing out some of the time than to have my tongue hanging out all of the time,” replied the guide witheringly.

“I guess that will be about all for you, Chunky,” jeered Ned.

“Do we start as soon as we have finished here?” asked the Professor of Nance.

“We do not,” was the brief reply.

“May I ask why not?”

“Because we can’t start.”

“Can’t?” wondered Professor Zepplin.

Tad saw that something was wrong.  What that something was he had not the remotest idea.

“No, we won’t go up Bright Angel Trail to-day.”

“Why not?  Why won’t we?” piped Stacy.

“Because there isn’t any Bright Angel Trail to go up,” returned the guide grimly.  “The bad place in the trail was all torn out by the ripping boulders last night.  Nothing short of a bird could make its way over that stretch of trail now.”

“Then what are we going to do?” cried the Professor.

“Do?   We’re going to stay here.   Escape is for the present wholly cut
off-----”

“Can’t we climb up a trail lower down?” asked Ned.

“Ain’t no trail this side of the wall by the river, and the river is just as bad as the wall.  I reckon we’ll stay here for a time at least.”

The Pony Rider Boys looked at each other solemnly.  Theirs was, indeed, a serious predicament, much more so than they realized.

CHAPTER XI

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.”