The Pony Rider Boys in the Grand Canyon | Page 8

athletic figure of the old man.
Tad grinned at Chunky.
"That's our guide, Bub."
"He looks fierce enough to be a man eater."
"I'm afraid of him," whispered Stacy. "He's mysterious looking, too;
like the Canyon."
Professor Zepplin strode up to the old man.
"Mr. Nance, I believe."
"Y-a-a-s," drawled the old man.
The Professor introduced himself, then one by one called the boys up
and presented them, the old man gazing keenly with twinkling,
searching eyes into the face of each one presented to him. Chunky said
"ouch" when Nance squeezed his hand, then backed off.
"This is Mr. Nance, the gentleman who is to be our guide," announced
Professor Zepplin.
"We're all glad to see you, Mr. Nance," chorused the Pony Riders.
"Ain't all tenderfeet, eh?" quizzed the guide.

"No, not exactly. They have been out for some time. They are pretty
well used to roughing it," declared the Professor.
"Good idea. They'll think they haven't before they get through with the
old Grand."
"How about our ponies?" asked Tad. "Have you engaged them?"
"You pick 'em out. I'll take yon to corral after you've had your dinner."
All hands walked across the street to a hotel, where they sat down to
the first satisfying meal they had eaten since leaving home.
"This beats the spirit meals we've been having on board the train,"
announced Stacy, his eyes roving longingly over the heaped up dishes.
"Don't lick your chops," cautioned Ned. "There are some polite folks
here, as you can see.
"What's that you said about spirit meals?" quizzed the guide after they
had gotten started with their dinner.
"The kind a fellow I knew used to make for his men on the farm,"
answered Stacy promptly.
"Tell us about it. I never heard you mention it," urged Tad.
"He fed his men mostly on spirit soup. Ever hear of spirit soup?"
"I never did. Any of you boys ever hear of spirit soup?"
The Pony Riders shook their heads. They were not particularly
interested in Chunky's narration. Ned frowned and went on with his
dinner.
"Well, this fellow used to make it. He had barrels of the stuff, and-----"
"How is the chuck made?" demanded Jim Nance.

"I'll tell you. To make spirit soup you catch a snipe. Then you starve
him to death. Understand?"
Nance nodded.
"After you've starved him to death you hang him up on the sunny side
of the house till he becomes a shadow. A shadow, you understand?
Well, after he's become a shadow you let the shadow drop into a barrel
of rainwater. The result is spirit soup. Serve a teaspoonful a day as
directed," added Stacy, coming to a sudden stop as Ned trod on his toes
with a savage heel.
Jim Nance's whiskers stood out, the ends trembling as if from the
agitation of their owner, causing Chunky to shrink within himself.
"Very unseemly, young man," rebuked the Professor.
"It seems so," muttered Walter under his breath; then all hands laughed
heartily.
The meal being finished, Nance ordered a three-seated buckboard
brought around. Into this the whole outfit piled until the bottom of the
vehicle bent almost to the ground.
"Will it hold?" questioned the Professor apprehensively.
"I reckon it will if it doesn't break. We'll let the fat boy walk if we've
got too big a load," Nance added, with a twinkle.
"No, I'll ride, sir," spoke up Stacy promptly. "I'm very delicate and I'm
not allowed to walk, because-----"
"How far is it out to the corral, Mr. Nance?" questioned Tad.
"'Bout a mile as the hawk flies. We'll be there in a jiffy."
It appeared that all arrangements had been made by Mr. Perkins for the
stock, through a bank in Flagstaff, where he had deposited funds to
cover the purchase of stock and stores for the trip through the Canyon.

This the Professor understood. There remained little for the boys to do
except for each to pick out the pony be fancied.
They looked over the mustangs in the corral, asking the owner about
this and that one.
"I'll take that one," said Chunky, indicating a mild-eyed pinto that stood
apparently half asleep.
The owner of the herd of mustangs smiled.
"Kind and sound, isn't he?" questioned the fat boy.
"Oh, he's sound all right."
"Do you know how to handle a pinto, boy?" questioned Nance.
"Do I? Of course I do. Haven't I been riding the toughest critters on the
ranges of the Rockies for years and years? Don't I know how to rope
anything that ambles on four legs? Well, I guess! Gimme that rope. I'll
show you how to fetch a sleepy pinto out of his dreams."
The black that Chunky coveted seemed, at that moment, to have
opened his eyes ever so little, then