“Why don’t you live down here, then?” asked Ned.

“Perhaps I don’t live so far from here, after all,” rejoined the guide.

“Do they have ghosts in this canyon?” asked Chunky apprehensively.

“Full of them!”

“Br-r-r!” shivered the fat boy.

“A wonderful place for scientific research,” mused the Professor.

“Why don’t you stay in Bright Angel for a while and study ghosts?” suggested Stacy.

“I decline to be drawn into so trivial a discussion,” answered Professor Zepplin severely.

“You wouldn’t think it was trivial were you to see one of those things.”

“Perhaps the Professor, too, has overloaded his stomach some time before going to bed,” spoke up Tad Butler.

“You are mistaken, young man.  I never make a glutton of myself,” was the grim retort.

“Now will you be good, Tad Butler?” chuckled Walter Perkins.

“Yes, I have nothing more to say,” answered Tad, with a hearty laugh.

“We are getting down on the level now,” the guide informed them.

Halting suddenly, Nance pointed to an overhanging ledge about half a mile down the valley.  The boys gazed, shading their eyes, wondering what Nance saw.

“I see,” said Tad.

“Then you see more than do the rest of us,” answered Ned.  “What is it?”

“It looks to me like a man.”

“You have good eyes,” nodded Nance.

“Is it a—–­a man?” questioned Chunky.

“Yes, it is an Indian lookout.  He sees us and is trying to decide whether or not our mission is a friendly one.”

“Indians!  Wow!” howled Chunky.

“We are in their home now, so behave yourself,” warned Nance.

The Havasu River, which the riders followed, extended right on through the village, below which were many scattering homes of the red men, but the majority of them lived in the village itself.  Almost the entire length of the creek, both in the village and below, the river is bordered with cottonwood, mesquite and other green trees, that furnish shade for the quaint village nestling in the heart of the great Canyon.

The boys followed the water course until finally they were approached by half a dozen men—–­indians—–­who had come out to meet them.

Nance made a sign.  The Indians halted, gazed, then started forward.  In the advance was the Kohot or native chief.

“Hello, Tom,” greeted the guide.

“How!” said the chief.

“Tom is a funny name for an Indian,” observed Chunky.

“His name is Chick-a-pan-a-gi, meaning ’the bat’,” answered Jim smilingly.

“He looks the part,” muttered the fat boy.

“Tom, I’ve brought some friends of mine down to see you and your folks.  Have you anything to eat?”

“Plenty eat.”

“Good.”

“Plenty meala, meula.  Kuku.  No ski,” answered the chief, meaning that they were stocked with flour, sugar, but no bacon.