“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.