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

The puff of dust on the distant hilltop grew more pronounced, and the chug-chug of a swiftly moving motor reached the ears of those in the ancient structure.

CHAPTER X.

A DELEGATION OF BOY SCOUTS

The three men who entered the subterranean chamber where Ned and Jimmie were hidden did not go to work at the forge, neither did they illuminate the place with such poor means as were at hand. Instead, they settled down in sullen silence by the dying fire in the forge. What little talk there was could not be understood by the lads for the reason that it was conducted in Spanish.

Ned was waiting in the hope that they would soon take their departure, but they seemed to be in no hurry to do so. Finally it was disclosed, in a few words of broken English, that they were waiting for some persons of importance to appear.

“If they don’t get a move on pretty soon,” Jimmie whispered, “we’ll have to make a break of some kind. If we don’t get out directly there won’t be any newspaper building in the Shaw family, and Uncle Sam won’t have any more Gatun dam than a robin.”

“We must wait until the last moment,” Ned replied. “The guards out there would shoot us down before we could reach the head of the stairs. We can’t rush them from below.”

It was a long and anxious wait there in the underground room, especially as so much depended on the boys getting out. They had no idea what had happened to the boys left at the cottage, or what was taking place in New York. The only thing in their favor was that the workmen did not light the torches which lay about. Such an act would have led to their discovery and precipitated a struggle at once.

“See if you can’t reach one of them bombs,” Jimmie giggled, nudging Ned in the ribs. “I want to eat it.”

“I have about reached that stage myself,” Ned replied. “I never was so empty in my life. We’ll have to do something before long.”

“Suppose I start an’ run?” suggested Jimmie.

“You’ll get a breakfast of lead if you do,” Ned replied. “Sit still.”

Again the boys sat back in their corner to wait, huddled together for the sake of companionship, and wondering what had become of their chums at the cottage.

“They ought to be here by this time,” Jimmie complained, in a whisper. “I left plenty of instructions regarding the route.”

The little fellow did not, of course, know that the boys were at that moment in the ancient house near the Culebra cut, nor that an automobile was speeding over a hill to the north of the old structure – watched by his friends with anxious interest.

“Something may have happened to them,” Ned said. “It seems to me that this case is set on automatic springs. The slightest move on our part brings out a bang from the other side. Our opponents are industrious chaps, and that’s no fabrication. They keep going every minute of the time.”

“And they’ve won every trick so far,” grumbled Jimmie.

“Yes, but the game is not out yet,” Ned replied, hopefully.

“I should think these gazabos would get tired of waitin’ an’ go away,” Jimmie said, after another long silence.

“They are taking turns sleeping,” Ned replied. “I heard one of them snoring a few minutes ago.”

Jimmie settled back again, rubbing his stomach dolefully, and the place seemed to grow darker before his eyes. When he awoke again Ned was pulling at his arm, and there was a great shouting and pounding at the door.

“Wake up and get your gun out,” Ned said. “There’s going to be something started here in a minute.”

“What is it?” demanded the boy, sleepily.

“The others have come,” Ned replied, “and there’ll be lights in here directly.”

“I’m so wasted away with hunger,” Jimmie said, “that they’ll have to shoot pretty straight to hit me.”

One of the men by the forge now began stirring the embers preparatory to lighting a torch, and the others made for the door.

It looked as if there would be open battle in a moment, but in that moment a shot came from the outside, followed by a faint cheer.

The three men who had waited in the chamber drew together, close to the sullen light of the forge, the torches unlighted in their hands. They seemed to be whispering together, and the boys saw them turn their faces toward a corner not far from the forge.

Two more shots came from outside, and then a voice cried, in English:

“Open the door, you chumps.”

“That’s Jack Bosworth,” cried Jimmie, bounding toward the entrance.

Ned followed the boy’s movement for an instant, and then faced back toward the forge, where the three workmen had stood. The last one was just disappearing through an opening in the wall, and, with a bound the boy was after him. A heavy plank door snapped shut in his face.

Then the front door was thrust open, and Frank, and Jack, and Harry, and Glen, and Peter dashed through, shouting at the top of their voices. Jack even lifted up his chin and howled “In the prison cell I sit.”

“Prison nothin’,” Jimmie exclaimed, indignantly. “We was just goin’ out to find you fellers.”

“That’s what the guard at the door said,” cried Jack. “He told us that you were expected out any minute.”

The lads danced about like mad creatures for a moment, and then settled down to meet the situation in which they found themselves.

“Where are the guards?” asked Ned.

“If they are still going at the pace they set out in,” laughed Frank, “they must be pretty near up to San Francisco by this time. I never saw such running in my life.”

“Why didn’t you capture them?” asked Jimmie.

“For the same reason you did not capture the men who were inside,” laughed Frank.

“But we did capture ’em,” insisted Jimmie. “We’ve got ’em locked up in a chamber that opens from that corner.”

“Is that true?” asked Frank.

“Yes,” replied Ned. “It is true that they went into a chamber over there, but the door is locked on the other side.”

“We’ll soon remedy that,” Jack observed, and in a short time the boys were pounding away at the plank door with a heavy sledge which had evidently been used in cutting up the gas-pipe.

When the door was down a narrow passage was revealed. This, followed by the boys, led to an opening at the bottom of the knoll on which the temple had been built. The men who had operated the bomb factory had escaped, every one of them, and Ned turned away in disgust at the luck which seemed to pursue him.

“Every man of them got away,” he grumbled.

“What you kicking about?” demanded Jack, pulling away at the pile of pipe which was evidently the makings of a supply of bombs. “You captured their artillery.”

“They can make more,” Ned replied.

“And the maps he found,” Jimmie cried. “Maps showing how to blow up a Gatun dam and a New York newspaper office. All marked out. Just like lessons on blowing things up from a correspondence school.”

Frank was all attention immediately. He had heard something like that before that day, and asked a score of questions in a breath.