"Brigands know the woods too well for that, Tommy," he said.
"Every part of it looks alike to me," admitted Dick; "I'm fiercely mixed."
"Always seem to be," grinned Hackett.
Bob Somers, fortunately, had taken sufficient note of their route to enable him to say, with some confidence: "I think the right direction is about due west."
"What?" sniffed Nat. "The camp is off that way."
He waved his hand in a southerly direction.
Almost every one had a different idea, but the Ramblers agreed that Bob was apt to be right.
"Well, you'll see," said the Nimrod chief, with a grin. "We'll just have to pass the night away from camp."
An hour's walk did not solve the problem. The woods still extended on all sides, grim and sombre, relieved only by the slanting rays of the sun.
Now and then, they passed places which all agreed they had not seen before.