Boy Scouts in the Canal Zone: or, The Plot Against Uncle Sam

“Until you get out of sight. Then it is me for the Tivoli and Lieutenant Gordon. It looks to me as if these babes in the woods had bitten off more than they can chew.”

Whether his supposition was right or wrong, the cottage was closed in five minutes, and Tommy, wearing Jack’s clothing, was racing through the path Ned had taken the night before, on his way to Lieutenant Gordon.

His journey on foot, however, was destined to be a short one, for at the turn of the path he came upon a man loitering in the open space just ahead.

“Wait a second,” the man exclaimed.

Tommy was not inclined to check his pace, but a revolver in the hands of the fellow induced him to do so.

“You are Jack Bosworth?”

Tommy hesitated. For an instant he thought of declaring his identity and so getting away to the Tivoli and Lieutenant Gordon. The man in his path settled the problem for him.

“No use to deny it,” he said. “You are to come with me.”

“Where?” asked Tommy.

“If you have any weapons give them to me,” the other said, gruffly, paying no attention to the question.

“All right,” Tommy said, handing out a revolver. “It is a heavy thing to carry, anyway. Where are you going to take me?”

“Straight ahead,” cried the captor, with a frown. “Straight ahead. I’ll tell you when to turn and when to stop.”

“You seem to have an accommodating disposition,” laughed Tommy. “Why didn’t you stop the cook, who went out a little while ago? Perhaps he would have been glad of your company.”

“We are not interested in the cook,” came the answer, and Tommy smiled as he thought that at least one point of the ruse had met with success.

“That cook will be fired for leaving the cottage,” grinned Tommy, making the deception as complete as possible.

In the meantime the motor car containing the five boys and the messenger was speeding on its way toward Gatun and the Culebra cut. When Jack came out on the road the machine was disappearing from sight, but he managed to keep track of it from the hilltops for a considerable distance.

The messenger was full of talk, his evident intention being to keep the boys interested. In spite of the attention paid them, however, Frank and Harry Stevens managed to hold a conversation on the back seat.

“This is carrying out Ned’s theory with a vengeance,” Harry remarked. “If we get dumped into the big cut we’ll charge it up to him.”

“The play opens with plenty of action in the first scene,” grinned Frank.

“The adventure would look better to me if I knew what had become of Ned and Jimmie,” Harry said, despondently.

“If we keep up the appearance of being pleased with the ride,” Frank said, “we may be able to learn something of their whereabouts. It is mystery to me how the plotters got hold of Ned, if they did get hold of him.”

“You recall the talk in New York as to whether the men who entered Mr. Shaw’s study were in quest of the plot papers or the emerald necklace?” asked Harry.

“Yes; and I’ve been studying over that problem ever since.”

“Well, I’ve been wondering, ever since we started out on this rather risky trip with the messenger, whether the people Ned encountered last night, and the people we are likely to meet to-day, are the people of the plot papers or the people of the emerald necklace. What do you think about it?”

“I fail to see why the necklace thieves should bother. They’ve got the trinket they wanted, haven’t they? It is the canal blowers we are facing now.”

“You know Ned’s theory,” whispered Harry. “Well, if the necklace thieves have brought the bauble back to the Isthmus, they think we’re hot after them, and so may strike at us before we can get our guard up. See?”

“No, I don’t see,” replied Frank. “I’d like to believe they brought the necklace over here, though. Then I might stand a chance to get it back. You’ll find that it is the men who are plotting against the big dam that we are mixing with.”

The motor car ran through Gatun without stopping, and finally drew up at a rambling old structure which seemed to have been deserted ever since the days of Balboa. The messenger explained that they were to wait there for the lieutenant, and all entered the ancient ruin, the boys looking carefully about as they stepped through the doorway.

The room which first received them was long and narrow, with walls showing both age and neglect. They were met at the door by a tall gentleman of military bearing and a dwarf whose mischievous black eyes stared fixedly into their faces.

“The lieutenant is late,” the military man explained. “If one of you is Frank Shaw, however, a portion of the business of the day may be taken up before his arrival.”

Frank admitted his identity, and was invited into a smaller room opening from the apartment in which the others waited.

CHAPTER VIII.

EXPLOSIVES FOR THE GATUN DAM

Ned and Jimmie listened for some moments to the steady click-click of metal which came, or appeared to come, from the ground directly underneath their feet, and then Ned arose and crept forward.

“Where you goin’?” whispered Jimmie.

“Down there.”

Ned pointed to the dark corner.

“You’d better come away,” warned the boy.

“We are here to investigate,” Ned replied, almost impatiently.

“Then investigate with a bomb, or with a cannon,” advised Jimmie.

“No time for that,” came the reply. “The conditions which exist now may not exist in an hour’s time. It is now or never.”

Moving forward, Ned saw a faint finger of light cutting the shadows in the corner Jimmie had pointed out. Jimmie saw it at the same instant.

“I’ll bet they’ve got a blacksmith shop down there,” he said.

There was no opening in the great stone slabs of the floor through which a man might make his way – only the crevice through which the ray of light came. Ned turned his attention to the wall to the south.

Behind a luxuriant growth of vines he saw another glimmer of light, and in a moment stood looking down a narrow stairway, at the distant end of which were numerous lines of red flame. Jimmie, looking over Ned’s shoulder, uttered a muffled exclamation.

“Looks like a door made out of red-hot bars,” he said.

“It is a board door,” Ned whispered back, “with wide cracks between the planks. There is an intense red fire in the room beyond.”

Ned placed a foot on the top step of the stairway and slowly and cautiously rested the weight of his body upon it, to make certain that no trap for the protection of the place had been set there. The stone step was solid and bore his weight firmly.

At the bottom of the stairway the boys stopped and looked about. Straight ahead was the cracked door, to the south was a solid wall, to the north, under the stone pavement they had crossed to gain the corner, was a dark room, the door to which stood open. The room was close and hot.

“How are your matches, Jimmie?” whispered Ned.