While he was brooding over the problem, Chunky, emulating the movements of the guide, was down on hands and knees, examining the ground.

“Find any footprints?” called Ned in a jeering voice.

Stacy did not reply.  His brow was wrinkled; his face wore a wise expression.

“Look out that you don’t get bitten,” warned Walter mischievously.

“By what?” demanded Stacy, glancing up.

“Footprints,” answered Ned.

“Could any person have gotten in here and let the cat go without our having heard him, Mr. Nance?” asked Tad Butler.

“I reckon he couldn’t.”

“Did you hear anything in the night, Nance?” questioned the Professor.

“Come to think of it, I did get up once.  I heard the cat growling, or thought I did, but after I had looked out and seen nothing, nor heard anything, I went back to bed again and didn’t know anything more till sun-up.  I guess I’m pretty slow.  I’m getting old for a certainty.”

“No; there is something peculiar, something very strange about this affair, Professor,” spoke up Tad.

“Due wholly to natural causes,” declared the Professor.

“No, I reckon you’re wrong there, Professor,” said Nance.  “I’d have understood natural causes.  It’s the unnatural causes that gets a fellow.”

“I’ve spotted it, I’ve spotted it!  I know who freed the lion!” howled Stacy.

All hands rushed to him.

“Who, what, how, where, when?” demanded five voices at once.

“Yes, sir, I’ve found it.   That lion-----”

“Don’t joke,” rebuked the Professor.

“I’m not joking.  I know what I’m talking about.  That cat was let go by a one-legged Indian.  Now maybe you won’t say I’m not a natural born sleuth,” exclaimed the fat boy proudly.

CHAPTER XIX

THE FAT BOY DOES A GHOST DANCE

“A one-legged Indian?” chorused the lads.

“He’s crazy,” grumbled Dad.  “He has cat on the brain.”

“That’s better than having nothing but hair on the brain,” retorted Stacy witheringly.

“How do you know a one-legged Indian has been here?” questioned Tad, seeing that Chunky was in earnest.

“Look here,” said the boy, pointing to a moccasin print in the soft turf at that point.  “There’s the right foot.  Where’s the left?  Why there wasn’t any left, of course.  He had only one foot.”

“Then he must have carried a crutch,” laughed Ned.  “Look for the crutch mark and then you’ll have the mystery solved.”

Jim Nance chuckled.  Stacy regarded the guide with disapproving eyes.

“Tell me so I can laugh too,” begged Chunky soberly.

“Why, you poor little tenderfoot, don’t you know how that one track got there?”

Chunky shook his head.

“Well, that cowardly half breed that you call Chow was crossing the rocks here when the cat made a pass at him.  Chow made a long leap.  One foot struck there, the other about ten feet the other side.  He hadn’t time to put the second foot down else the cat would have got him.  A one-legged Indian!  Oh, help!”