“I mean that we’ve gone by the boat.” They stopped and looked about them in the twilight. Chub thrust his cap back and rubbed his forehead reflectively.
“I guess you’re right,” he said. “All I remember is that we came through a strip of woods, and it’s woods all along on this side. We’d better strike through them here and see if we can see the boat.”
Much subdued they followed him between the trees and bushes. After a minute or two of slow progress they came to a narrow field.
“I never saw this before,” growled Roy.
“There wasn’t any field here an hour ago,” agreed Dick.
“I’d just like to know,” muttered Chub, “how it got here. Someone’s been taking liberties with the landscape.”
“It strikes me,” remarked Roy, “that we’re just lost.”
“Well come on. The river’s down here somewhere. Once we get to that all we’ve got to do is to follow it till we find the Jolly—find the Slow Poke,” said Dick, encouragingly.
“And which way shall we walk, upstream or down?” Chub inquired. Dick looked a trifle crestfallen for an instant. Then,
“We can decide that when we get there,” he said. “Anyhow, don’t let’s spend the night here. I’m as hungry as a bear.”