"Yes," said Mark, "that's the trouble. There are so many corners, and
we have taken so many wrong turns, that we're all confused. I think the
best thing to do will be to stay here a while and pull ourselves
together."

"That's right," spoke old Andy. "Many a time in the woods I've got all
confused-like, and then I'd sit down and think, and I'd get on the
right path in a few minutes after."

"The trouble here is," said Jack, "that there are no woods. If there
were we might know how to get out of them. But think of it! Lost on
the moon, in the midst of a whole lot of queer mountain peaks, and big
holes that would hold half a dozen cities of the United States at the
same time, and never know it! This is a fearful place to be lost in!"

"I'm not going to admit that we're lost," declared Mark stoutly.

"Hu! You're like the Indian," spoke Jack. "The Indian who got lost in
the woods. He insisted that it wasn't he who was lost, that it was his
wigwam that couldn't be found. He knew where he himself was all the
while. That's our case, I suppose. We're here, but the projectile is
lost."

"Ha! ha!" laughed Andy Sudds. "That's a pretty good joke!"

"But not being able to find the projectile is no joke," went on Mark,
who always took matters more seriously than did his chum. "What are we
going to do?" he added. "We can't stay here like this."