"I'm not afraid," cried Stacy.

"No, Chunky isn't afraid," jeered Ned. "He doesn't want to go home
when the marbles roll down from the mountain! Oh, no, he isn't afraid!
He's just looking for dangerous sport."

Their repartee was interrupted by another roar, louder than the first.
But though they listened for a long time there was no repetition of the
disturbing roar of the king of the canyons.

Soon after that the lads went to bed. Tonight they slept soundly, for
they had had little sleep the previous night, as the reader knows.
When they awakened on the following morning the conditions had not
changed. They were still prisoners in the Grand Canyon not far from
the foot of Bright Angel Trail. All hands awoke to the consciousness
that unless something were done, and at once, they would find themselves
face to face with starvation. It was not a cheerful prospect.

There was no breakfast that morning, though Chunky, who had picked
up a cast-away piece of orange peel, was munching it with great
satisfaction, rolling his eyes from one to the other of his companions.

"Don't. You might excite your appetite again," warned Ned.

Tad, who had been out for another exploring tour along the river, had
returned, walking briskly.

"Well, did you find a trail?" demanded Chunky.