"Perhaps the guide may be wrong."
One look over the bold cliff, however, was sufficient to convince Tad
of the correctness of the Indian's judgment. He found himself gazing
down into one of those deep canyons that had been cut through the
mountains by water courses during hundreds of years.
The wall on each side, while nearly straight up and down, was jagged
and broken, but so precipitous as to make any idea of descending it
impossible. There was not a bush nor shrub in sight until near the
bottom, where Tad discovered a thick growth of bushes on the edge of
the swiftly flowing water course.
A disturbed spot among these showed where the pack mule had fallen.
That he had not gone on into the stream and been swept away was due to
the matted growth down there. The others had joined Tad by the time
he had made up his mind that their guide had described the situation
correctly.
"What do you make of it, Master Tad?" asked the Professor.
"Nothing very encouraging."
"Whew! That's a drop!" exclaimed Ned, peering cautiously over.
"Where is our kitchen outfit?"
"There, where you see the bushes trampled down. What there is left of
it, anyway. But perhaps the canvas wrapped around the stuff has
protected it from serious damage."
"Little difference it makes to us whether or not," answered the
Professor. "The supplies are lost and that's all there is about it.
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