his eyes.

"So you lost yourself finding me," he said at the end. "And there
isn't a doubt you've saved my life, old boy."

But even this assertion did not cheer Eustace.

"I'm afraid I haven't, though," he said miserably, "because you see
we are lost."

"Not a bit of it," Bob said. "If I had any legs I could walk you
out of the wood in two hours. I know the way perfectly."

"Do you?" Eustace exclaimed. "Then what did you come here for?"

"Merely to see if it was true there were any natives in the
neighbourhood," was the answer. "I never got as far as the camp,
but my shouts brought a whole lot of them gibbering round me. It
seemed to amuse them to see me there; but they threatened to kill
me if I went on shouting, so I had to shut up and hope for the
best. They have come each day in little batches and watched me
awhile, then slipped away. At last I began to feel so bad that I
rather wished they would come and finish me off, to put me out of
my misery; so I began calling again. But I suppose my voice was too
weak to matter; they knew I couldn't be heard. Anyhow, the beggars
didn't touch me. I dare say they'll come again to-day."

Eustace looked scared.

"Oh, I say," he exclaimed, "I hope they won't. They'll take us
prisoners, and goodness knows what they'll do to us. We must get
away from here before they come."

"You must," said Bob, "but I can't. You'll have to take my compass,
and keep going due west with it all the time. You'll know where you
are the minute you get out into the open."

Eustace stared at him blankly.

"But I couldn't go and leave you," he exclaimed.

"Why not?" asked Bob with a smile.

"How could I," Eustace said warmly, "and you in danger? I just
won't go. Nothing shall make me."

There was a curious light in Bob's eyes as they rested on the slip
of a lad kneeling beside him.

"Good old man," he said, "you can't do me any good by staying. For
both our sakes you must go, and as fast as you can."

"But suppose while I am away--" began Eustace desperately.

"We've got to chance that," said Bob bravely. "You couldn't save my
life if you stayed; you could only die too, and what would be the
good of that?"

"I would rather," said Eustace chokily.

"Well, I wouldn't," Bob said firmly. "We mustn't think about
ourselves in it at all. You've got to go home and set the dear
home-folks' minds at rest about us. They'll know no peace till they
hear, one way or another. Then, of course, t