“Then what shall we do?”

“Well, I reckon we’ll wait till somebody misses us and comes down after us.”

“Oh, well, they will do that this morning.  Of course they will miss us,” declared the Professor, as if the matter were entirely settled.

The expression on Dad’s face plainly showed that he was not quite so confident as was the Professor.  There was one factor that Professor Zepplin had not taken into consideration.  Food!  There was barely enough left for a meal for one person.  Dad surmised this, so he asked Tad just how much food they had left.

“Our supply,” said Tad, “consists of three biscuit, one orange and two lemons.”

The boys groaned.

“I’ll take the biscuit.  You can have the rest,” was Chunky’s liberal offer.  “How about it?”

“You will get a lemon handed to you at twelve o’clock noon to-day,” jeered Ned Rector.

“Then I’ll pass it along to the one who needs it the most,” retorted Stacy quickly.

“The question is,” said the Professor, “is there nothing that we can do to attract the attention of others?”

“I have been thinking of that,” answered Nance.  “I wish now that we had brought our rifles.”

“Why?”

“To shoot and attract attention of whoever may be on the rim.”

“We might shoot our revolvers,” suggested Tad.

“We will do that.  It is doubtful if the reports can be heard above, and even then I am doubtful about any of the tenderfeet understanding what the shots mean.  About our only hope is that some one who knows will come down the trail.  They won’t go further than the Gardens, but finding our mustangs there a mountaineer would understand.”

“Shall I take a shot?” asked Walter.

“Yes.”

Walter fired five shots into the river.  After an interval Chunky let go five more.  This continued until each had fired a round of five shots.  After each round they listened for an answering shot from above, but none came.  Thus matters continued until noon, when the remaining food was distributed among the party.

“This is worse than nothing,” cried Chunky.  “This excites my appetite.  If you see me frothing at the mouth don’t think I’ve got a dog bite.  That’s my appetite fighting with my stomach.  I’ll bet my gun that the appetite wins too.”

The day wore away slowly.  Tad made frequent trips down the river as far as he could get before being stopped by a great wall of rock that rose abruptly for nearly a thousand feet above him.  He gazed up this glittering expanse of rock until his neck ached, then he went back to camp.  An idea was working in Tad’s mind, but it was as yet undeveloped.

At intervals the shots were tried again, though no reply followed.  Night came on.  Before dark Dad had gathered some driftwood that he found in crevices of the rocks.  The wood was almost bone dry and a crackling, cheerful fire was soon burning.