“Ah! What can you hear?” cried his cousin. Mark was silent for quite a minute. “Nothing,” he whispered, at last. “It’s so awfully silent.”
And the lads stood listening each to his own hard breathing, both yielding to the sensation of strange dread that was creeping over them, in fact, fast losing their nerve. At last Mark spoke out with angry decision. “Don’t let’s be fools,” he said, “and give way to this nasty sensation. But it’s of no use to hide it from ourselves: Dean, old chap, we are lost!”
“Yes,” said Dean faintly. “Shout!” Mark started, clapped his hand to his cheek, and gave out the Australians’ far piercing cry—“Cooey!” listened, and then quite excitedly told his cousin to try.
Dean obeyed him and uttered his shrill version of the cry. Then both stood and listened—listened with throbbing hearts for some response, no matter how distant, but listened in vain, and the silence now seemed more than awful.
“Oh, it’s nonsense to take it like this,” cried Mark, with another burst of energy. “Here, Dean.”
“Well, what?”
“Let’s look it all in the face. We know that we can’t be far from where we came in. We know too that we left father and Dr Robertson just outside, and that Mak came in before us.”
“Yes, yes!”
“Well, then, what is there to mind? All we have got to do is to stand still and let them find us; and if they try and can’t make out where we are, they will bring all the men to help. Here, let’s lean up against one of the trees a bit and listen and think.”
“Can’t!” said Dean passionately. “I feel that if I stood still I should go mad. Let’s keep on trying.”