"Eagle-eye," called the Professor.
The Indian was leaning over the cliff looking down into the deep
canyon, trying to find the pack mule. He straightened up and strode
over to the Professor upon being called.
"You sure the mule is dead?"
"Mule no pack more."
"Can you get down there to gather up our belongings?"
Eagle-eye shook his head.
"No get um."
"Why not?" interjected Walter.
"Pony fall in--Injun fall in," grunted the Shawnee.
"But can we not go forward or else back a mile or so and find an
entrance to the gorge?" demanded the Professor.
"Yes, that's the idea. Of course we can," urged Ned. "We are not
half as bad off as we thought. Of course the mule is done for, but we
can divide up the pack amongst us boys and carry it all right until we
get where we can either hire or buy another mule. Don't think a
little thing like that will stop us."
"How about it, Eagle-eye?" asked Tad.
"No get um. Water him deep. Him cold, b-r-r-r! Pony drown, Indian
drown. Mebby fat boy drown, too."
"That seems to settle it," announced the Professor. "We shall have to
hold a council of war, as Eagle-eye does not seem to have any
suggestions to make. What have you to say about it, Master Tad?"
"I think it would be a good idea to take a look over the cliff before
offering any suggestions," answered the lad, dismounting and tethering
his pony.
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