The return to camp was accomplished without incident, and the boys slipped away to their tents that they might be alone with their thoughts.
Professor Zepplin and the guide, however, sat down by the camp fire, where they talked in low tones.
Tad, upon reaching his tent, threw himself on his cot, burying his head in his arms.
"I can't stand it! I simply can't!" he exclaimed after a little. "It's too awful!"
The boy sprang up, and going outside, paced restlessly back and forth in front of the tent, with hands thrust deep into his trousers pockets, manfully struggling to keep hack the tears that persistently came into his eyes.
A sudden thought occurred to him.
With a quick, inquiring glance at the two figures by the fire, Tad slipped quietly to the left, and nearing the scene of the accident, crept cautiously along on all fours. He flattened himself on the ground, face down, his head at the very spot where his companion had, supposedly, taken the fatal plunge.
For several minutes the boy lay there, now and then his slight figure shaken by a sob that he was powerless to keep back.
"I cannot have it—I don't believe it is true. I wish it had been I instead of Walt," he muttered in the excess of his grief. "I——"
Tad cheeked himself sharply and raised his head.