For the first twenty-four hours of their stay in "Camp Butler," as they had named their base in honor of Tad himself, they did little more than make short excursions out into the adjoining canyons. The Professor embraced the opportunity to indulge in some scientific researches into the geology of the Canyon, on which in the evening he was wont to dwell at length in language that none of the boys understood. But they listened patiently, for they were very fond of this grizzled old traveler who had now been their companion for so long.
The third night the dogs appeared restless. They lay at the end of their leashes growling and whipping their tails angrily.
"What is the matter with the dogs?" demanded Tad Butler.
"I think they must have fleas," decided Chunky wisely.
"No, it isn't fleas," said Dad, who had been observing them for the past few minutes. "It's my opinion that there's game hereabouts."
"Deer?" questioned Ned.
"No. More likely it's something that is after the deer."
"Lions?" asked Tad.
"I reckon."
"Have you seen any signs of them?"