“If we only had something to eat now, we’d be all right,” said Walter mournfully.

“You want something to eat?” questioned Chunky.

“I should say I do.”

“Oh, well, that’s easily fixed.”

Stacy stepped over to a rock, made a motion as if ringing a telephone bell, then listened.

“Hello! hello!  Is that the hotel, El Tovar Hotel?  Very well; this is Brown.  Brown!  Yes.  Well, we want you to send out dinner for six.  Six!  Can’t you understand plain English?  Yes, six.  Oh, well, I think we’ll have some porter house steak smothered in onions.  Smothered!  We’ll have some corn cakes and honey, some—­some—–­um—–­some baked potatoes, about four quarts of strawberries.  And by the way, got any apple pie?  Yes?  Well, you might send down a half dozen pies and-----”

Chunky got no further.  With a howl, Ned Rector, Tad Butler and Walter Perkins made a concerted rush for him.

Ned fell upon the unfortunate fat boy first.  Stacy went down in a heap with Ned jamming his head into the dirt that had been washed up by the river at flood time.  A moment more and Ned was at the bottom of the heap with Stacy, the other two boys having piled on top.

“Here, here!” shouted the Professor.

“Let ’em scrap,” grinned Dad.  “They’ll forget they’re hungry.”

They did.  After the heap had been unpiled, the boys got up, their clothes considerably the worse for the conflict, their faces red, but smiling and their spirits considerably higher.

“You’ll get worse than that if you tantalize us in that way again,” warned Tad.  “We can stand for your harmless jokes, but this is cruel-----”

“—–­ty to animals,” finished Chunky.

“What you’ll get will make you sure of that.”

“Come over here and get warm, Brown,” called the guide.

“Oh, he’s warmed sufficiently,” laughed Tad.  “We have attended to that.  He won’t get chills to-night, I promise you.”

Breathing hard, their eyes glowing, the boys squatted down around the camp fire.  No sooner had they done so than a thrilling roar sounded off somewhere in a canyon to their right, the roar echoing from rock to rock, from canyon to canyon, dying away in the far distance.

“For goodness’ sake, what is that?” gasped Stacy.

“Mountain lion,” answered the guide shortly.

“Can—–­can he get here?” stammered Walter.

“He can if he wants to.”

“I—–­I hope he changes his mind if he does want to,” breathed Stacy.

“I wish we had our rifles,” muttered Ned.

“What for?” demanded Dad.

“To shoot lions, of course.”

“Humph!”

“Couldn’t we have a lion hunt while we are out here?” asked Tad enthusiastically.

“You could if the lion didn’t hunt you.”

“Wouldn’t that be great, fellows?” cried Tad.  “The Pony Rider Boys as lion hunters.”