The trade was made and they rose to return to the river.
And then three faces turned to a common center in dismay.
Cliff looked at Tom and Nicky and they, in turn, regarded each the other.
“Which way?” asked Nicky.
“You’ve got your compass, haven’t you?” asked Tom.
Nicky pulled out the little round case.
“Good gravy!” he exclaimed. “The needle is stuck. See—it doesn’t turn!”
“Well, that’s no good, then,” Cliff said, hiding his own misgivings. “We mustn’t get frightened and lose all our good sense. Let’s sit down and think how to go about finding our way out.”
“The sun won’t help—we can’t see where it is,” Nicky declared.
“But it’s getting dimmer,” Tom stated. “We won’t have too much time before night—let’s see if we can’t find where I dropped the rifle. Each one go in a different direction, and nick the trees with your knives so you can get back.”