“Then what did you do?” questioned Walter.

“Oh, I fell out of the tree.  Look at this!” shouted Stacy as soon as he was able to make himself heard above the laughter, pointing to his ripped clothes.  “That’s where the beast made a pass at me.  I’m wounded, I am; wounded in a hand-to-hand conflict with the king of the canyon.  How would that read in the Chillicothe ‘Gazette’ I’m going to dash off something after this fashion to send them:  ’Stacy Brown, our distinguished fellow citizen, globe-trotter, hunter of big game and nature lover, was seriously wounded last week in the Grand Canyon of Arizona-----’”

“In what part of your anatomy is the Grand Canyon located?” questioned Ned Rector.  “I rise for information.”

“The Grand Canyon is where the Pony Rider Boys store their food,” returned Stacy quickly.  “Where did I leave off?”

“You were lost in the Canyon,” reminded Walter.

“Oh, yes.  ’Was seriously wounded in the Grand Canyon in a desperate battle with the largest lion ever caught in the mountains.  Assisted by Thaddeus Butler, also of Chillicothe, Mr. Brown succeeded in capturing the lion alive, after his bloodstained garments had been nearly stripped from his person.’”

“The lion’s bloodstained garments?” inquired Walter mildly.

“No, mine, of course.  ’Mr. Brown, it is said, will recover from his wounds, though he will bear the scars of the conflict the rest of his life.’  Ahem!  I guess that will hold the boys on our block for a time,” finished Chunky, swelling out his chest.  “Yes, that’ll make them prisoners for life,” agreed Ned Rector.

“I think I shall have to edit that account before it goes to the paper,” declared Professor Zepplin.

“How can you edit it when you didn’t see the affair?” demanded Chunky.

“Editors are not supposed to see beyond the point of the pencil they are using,” answered Ned.  “But they know the failings of the fellows who do the writing.”

“What do you know about it?  You never were an editor,” scoffed Stacy.

“No, but I’d like to be for about an hour after your article reached the ‘Gazette’ office.”

“How about giving that cat something to eat, Mr. Nance?” asked Tad, thus changing the subject.

The guide shook his head.

“He wouldn’t eat; at least not for a while.”

“What do lions eat?” asked Walter.

“That one tried to eat me,” replied Stacy.  “I don’t like the look in his eye at all.  It says, just as plain as if it were printed, ’I’d like to have you served up a-la-mode.’”

At this juncture, Jim Nance walked over; with a burning brand in hand, to look at the cat’s fastenings.  The lion jumped at him.  Jim poked the firebrand into the animal’s face, which sent the cat back the full length of his tether.  After examining the fastenings carefully, Nance pronounced them so secure that the beast would not get away.