"Where are you?" cried Dan eagerly.
"That's what I've been trying to find out myself," answered the red-headed boy.
"Are you injured?"
"Injured? Not I. I'm going to strike a match. That's about the only thing about me that hasn't been struck sixteen times to the inch since I started in to shoot the chutes."
Lighting the match, he uttered an exclamation of delight. On one side of the place was a heap of rubbish. They touched a match to it, and a bright blaze rewarded their efforts.
"How did you happen to fall over, Sam?" Dan questioned.
"Just as you did, I guess. I was pushed."
"You know I told you some one was dogging our footsteps earlier in the afternoon."
For a moment Davis sat lost in thought.
"Let us push on, Sam," he finally said. "We may find our way out, and our mates can find us in one place as well as in another, if they find us at all."