"What if he shouldn't come back?" asked Walter, with sudden apprehension.

"Oh, he will. Don't worry about that. You can't lose the Professor."

The boys laughed, then settled down to make the best of their situation, whiling away the time with jest and stories.

After a time, Tad left the party and strolled from the camp in an effort to determine which way the late occupants of the camp had gone.

He was beginning to feel worried, but as yet had confided nothing of this to his companions.

Examining the ground closely he found four distinct trails leading from the abandoned camp. These trails were fresh, showing that ponies had only recently been ridden over them. They all looked alike, however, and he was unable to determine which of them had been made by Professor Zepplin's pony.

"Evidently the party, whoever they were, split up after leaving here,"

thought the lad aloud. "I'd like to follow out the trails, but I don't dare do so. The Professor would be liable to return while I was away. Then again I might lose the trail and my own way at the same time. I've caused this outfit enough trouble as it is."

With this, Tad slowly turned back toward the camp.

He found a growing sense of uneasiness among his companions there.

"What did you discover?" asked Ned rather more solemnly than was his usual wont.

Tad told him.

"Then, there's no use trying to follow?"

"No."

"What time is it?"

"Half-past three," announced Tad after consulting his watch.

"Huh!" grunted Ned. "I guess the Professor has gone and done it himself this time."

"We'll wait," answered Tad easily.

After piling fresh fuel on the fire Tad went over and sat on the bluff overlooking the eastern slope of the range of mountains which they were traversing. Chunky lay stretched out sound asleep, untroubled by the series of disasters that had overtaken them.

Tad after running over in his mind many plans, none of which seemed practicable, also lay down for a nap, and in a few moments the tired boys were all sound asleep, including the pack mules.

When they awakened the sun had been down all of half an hour. Tad was the first to awake. He started up guiltily, and looking around found that he was not the only one who had napped.

"Hallo, the camp!" he shouted.

The other boys sat up suddenly, rubbing their eyes.

"Time to go to bed. Get up!" laughed Tad.

"Nice way to put it," growled Ned. "Tell a fellow to get up because it's time to go to bed."

"Wat'cher wake me up for?" demanded Chunky. "I was sleeping."

"So were all of us. First time I ever heard you object to being called to eat."

"Eat? Eat? Who said eat?" cried the fat boy, struggling to his feet with difficulty, his head whirling from the effort of pulling himself awake so suddenly.

"I did. It's night."

"You don't say," wondered Ned, looking around in surprise. "I--I thought I was back home in Chillicothe."

"Dreams, dreams," muttered Stacy. "No Professor yet, eh?"

"No. I believe he is lost. He surely would have been back long before this."

"Maybe he's gone the same place the Indian went," ventured Walter.

"Where's that?" queried Stacy, at once interested.

"That's a conundrum. You dream over it to-night," jeered Ned.

"We had better unpack and make camp," advised Tad. "Chunky, Walt and I will do that if you will get the supper."

"All right. Somebody get me some water."

"I will," said Walter quickly. "Anybody know where I can find it?"

"There must be some near by. Those other fellows would not have made camp here and remained all night unless there was water near--"

"Unless they know no more about these confounded mountains than we do, you mean?" laughed Ned.

After some searching about, Walter found a spring. It was full of water that had a whitish tinge to it. The lad tasted it gingerly, then smiled knowingly. Filling his pail he returned to camp with it.

By this time Tad and Stacy had unloaded the mules. The three boys got to work at once putting up the tents. In the absence of Professor Zepplin, they concluded to erect only two, and by the time this had been accomplished, Ned was ready for them.

"Come and get it!" he bellowed.

There was no table cloth, no table, just the bare ground, and the boys sat down to eat in the fresh, bracing air.

"No one who has not been camping for a long time can appreciate smoke," announced Ned oracularly. "If I had to go without my supper I believe if I could breathe smoke for a few minutes, I could almost imagine I had a full stomach."

"Well, I couldn't. I've heard of smoke-eaters, whatever or whoever they are, but I want something a little more lasting," announced Walter Perkins. "No smoked smoke diet for me."

"Nor for me," agreed Tad.

"What's a smoke eater?" asked Stacy.

"I should say that a Pony Rider Boy named Ned Rector was one, according to his own admission," laughed Walter.

"Pa.s.s the water, please."

Walter filled Stacy's cup. The fat boy drank it down without taking a breath. No sooner had he swallowed the liquid than he hurled the cup from him and leaped to his feet coughing and making wry faces.