CHAPTER XX
A DYNAMITE VOLCANO
After a while, despite the thrilling novelty of the scene and the significant interest it held for the four American lads, the dust, the heat, the noise and the confusion and bustle became wearisome, and they began looking about, boy like, for something new.
A white man in a duck uniform and pith helmet hastened by in company with a colored man who looked different from any negro the boys had yet seen. The man had straight black hair, long and glossy. He wore a small sort of skull cap and white clothes with odd velvet shoes not unlike those affected by Chinese.
“Hullo, Raynor!” shouted Mr. Mainwaring to the white man, as the pair hustled by along the rampart-like heights of the big dam, “where are you bound for?”
The dark man and his companion came to a halt, the former standing in a respectful attitude and saluting Mr. Mainwaring.
“We’re going to shoot a test hole,” was the reply.
“Do you mind taking these lads along? As you see, they are Boy Scouts, and anxious to see all that they can.”
“I’ll be delighted to. I’ve a kid brother at home whose letters are full of the doings of his patrol. Come along, young men. I’ll show you something that will make your eyes open.”
“I’ll meet you here in time for dinner,” said Mr. Mainwaring.
“We’ll be here,” rejoined Tubby, whose eyes had brightened at the mention of a meal. Although he had devoured the milk and creamy meat of two huge cocoanuts, the stout youth was still ready for another chance at edibles.
Mr. Raynor hastened on, beckoning to the boys to follow him.
“What is a test hole?” asked Rob, as the boys trudged along the top of the dam beside him.
“It is a hole blown in the ground so that we can tell what sort of foundation we are working on,” was the reply.
“Blown in the ground?” asked Tubby with round inquiring eyes.
“Yes. Dynamited, perhaps I should have said. Ram Chunda there,” he motioned back at the dark man who was trotting along behind, “is the boss dynamiter. He’s going to shoot the hole.”
“Oh, he’s a Hindoo?” exclaimed Rob as he heard the name of the dark satellite. “We thought he was a negro.”
“Oh, no. We couldn’t trust negroes with dynamite. Almost all the dynamite men on the canal are Hindoos. They are not fit for the heavy work; but we find them reliable and trust-worthy around explosives.”
“What’s that?” asked Merritt presently, indicating a small hut painted a bright red.
“That’s a dynamite hut. See, there are several workmen waiting to have explosives served out to them.”
“Can anybody get the stuff who wants it?” asked Merritt.
“No, indeed. That would never do. They have to bring an order signed by the boss on their particular section.”
Ram Chunda, however, appeared to have his supply of explosives elsewhere for they did not stop at the dynamite hut but passed on.
“How much dynamite is stored there?” asked Rob, as they hurried along.
“Oh, enough to blow the whole dam up, I guess,” was the careless reply, to which the boys did not attach much significance at the time, although they were to recollect those words with peculiar vividness later.
Before long they reached a place where ladders were stretched from the ground to the top of the dam.
“We’ll go down these,” announced Mr. Raynor, halting. “Ram, you go first. You boys can follow. All got steady heads, I hope?”
“I think so,” murmured Fred, with a vivid recollection in his mind of the scene on the ruined tower of St. Augustin, “two of us have, anyhow.”
The engineer did not, of course, understand the allusion nor, to the joy of Rob and Merritt, did he ask any explanation. Neither boy liked to recall those awful moments when they hung suspended in mid-air between life and death.
The ladders were long and steep, but the descent was made without incident. At the base of the dam, however, was a steep sort of embankment of loose sand and gravel. Tubby, who was behind Ram Chunda, looked down and saw this, which appeared to offer a secure “jumping off” place.
With a whoop he jumped from the last ladder while still several feet above the top of the bank. His feet struck it with a scrunch. But the loose, shaly stuff was treacherous. With an alarmed yell the fat boy, the cocoanuts round his belt rattling like castanets, rolled down the bank, revolving like a barrel.
The others looked on in some alarm. Suddenly Tubby struck the bottom of the bank and simultaneously there came a series of sounds like a volley of musketry.
Pop! pop! pop! pop!
“Gracious, it’s Tubby,” cried Rob, tracing the source of the sounds.
“Is he blowing up?” demanded Fred Mainwaring in genuine alarm.
“Sounds like it!” exclaimed Merritt apprehensively.
The engineer and the Hindoo looked on in amazement. The fat boy continued to pop loudly. Suddenly, still popping spasmodically, he struggled to his feet. What a sight he presented!
He was covered from head to foot with a milky fluid which was flowing down him and on which the gravel had stuck and plastered him with yellow mud.
“Tubby, are you hurt?” yelled Merritt.
“Bob,” shrilled Rob, for once, in his alarm, giving Tubby his real first name, “what’s the trouble? Are you injured?”
“No, but those cocoanuts have blown up!” shouted Tubby angrily. “One after another they busted! I thought I was in a battle for a minute.”
“Well, you look as if you’d been through a hard siege,” declared Rob, who, now that his apprehension was over, joined the others in a hearty laugh and a scramble down the gravel bank.
“What made ’em bust?” demanded Tubby, ruefully, surveying his drenched uniform and brushing himself off as best he could.
As soon as he could speak for laughing the engineer explained. Cocoanuts in their natural state are shielded by great masses of leaves which keep their milky contents cool. Tubby, in his greed, had girded himself about with the succulent nuts and then spent a long morning in the hot sun. This, combined with his activities, had caused the milk to heat up and ferment.
If the fat boy had not taken his tumble down the bank it is not likely that the nuts would have exploded. But the fall was what proved too much for the already fermented milk. Like so much gunpowder it had expanded and blown the “eyes,” or thin parts, out of each cocoanut, spraying the unfortunate Tubby with milk, and making the sharp series of reports that had so alarmed them.
Even Ram Chunda’s immobile face bore the trace of a smile at Tubby’s disaster. In fact, the boy got no sympathy from anyone.
“I’ll pack no more cocoanuts with me,” he was heard to mutter, “they are as dangerous as Anarchists’ bombs and a whole lot messier. Gee, my uniform’s a sight!”
But as the unanimous verdict seemed to be “Serves you right,” Tubby had few remarks on his disaster to offer for the public benefit.
CHAPTER XXI
“RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!”
Ram Chunda approached a small hut painted red like the other dynamite shed, and came out with his arms laden with what were apparently cylindrical tin cans. He selected a number of these, handling them with no more apparent care than if they had been tins of tomatoes, instead of charges of dynamite.
“T-t-t-tell him to be a little c-c-c-careful, won’t you?” begged Tubby. “That stuff would blow up worse than cocoanuts if he dropped it.”
“Yes, we’d never know what struck us,” said the engineer carelessly, “but don’t worry about Ram, he knows what he’s doing.”
He spoke with the indifference of one who has handled high explosives for years, but the boys’ emotions were very different. They eyed Ram Chunda askance as he stumbled occasionally on a rock or hillock of earth.
In this manner they walked quite a distance back from the dam to a point where no tracks or workmen were visible.
“Right here is where, before long, we are going to build a wing dam to strengthen the main one,” explained the engineer.
“Then what’s the use of blowing it up?” asked Tubby stolidly. The fat boy was, to tell the truth, in a state of alarm over what was to come.
“Why, we want to see just what lies underneath before we start to dig a foundation, otherwise it would be so much wasted labor,” was the response.
There were already several test holes drilled in the ground, but the object of dynamiting was to loosen up the soil beneath to ascertain if there was any substratum of water.
“Ever see them shoot an oil well?” asked the engineer, as he peered about looking for a suitable hole to start on.
The boys shook their heads. They had heard of the operation but had never had an opportunity to witness such a proceeding.
“Now is your chance then,” said Mr. Raynor. “Ram,” calling to the Hindoo, “we try ’um this fellow number one shot.”
The Hindoo nodded and, carrying his armful of explosives, hurried to his boss’s side.
“Gee! This is only Number One,” muttered Tubby in an alarmed undertone.
“Don’t be a scare-cat, Tubby,” laughed Merritt, although his own heart was beating a bit fast.
“Scare-cat nothing. I – I guess I’ll go home to dinner. Once is quite enough to be blown up in one morning,” quoth the fat youth, “besides, I promised my mother I wouldn’t get into danger.”
“I guess over-eating is the only danger you’ll be in,” chortled Fred.
Tubby looked pained but said nothing. With round eyes he began to watch the proceedings of the Hindoo “dynamite man.”
The latter cautiously lowered into the hole selected several of his tin cylinders. The rest of the operation, as Mr. Raynor had explained, would be similar to that of shooting an oil well. That is to say, a heavy cylindrical iron weight would be dropped on the explosive mass at the bottom of the hole, causing it to detonate.
With as much care now as if he were handling eggs, Ram lowered the final cylinder of dynamite into the hole. Then he attached a long string to the weight and gave a shout.
“Get back to a safe distance, boys,” cried Mr. Raynor, running toward them.
They needed no second warning, but beat a rapid retreat toward the great concrete rampart of the dam.
“I’d climb over to the other side if I had the time,” Tubby declared, feeling perhaps that he would be safe enough behind that man-made cliff.
At last all was in readiness. Some laborers near at hand, glad of any excuse to drop work, laid down their shovels to see what would happen when the “Go-devil,” as they called it, was set off.
Mr. Raynor gave a look behind him at Ram who was crouching low at quite a distance from the hole.
“All right!” he shouted.
Ram gave the string a jerk and dropped it. Then he too started sprinting toward the boys.
“He’s dropped it!” exclaimed Mr. Raynor. “Watch it now!”
It seemed to the boys as if Ram, swiftly as he ran, would never get to a place of safety. Their hearts fairly stood in their mouths as they watched him running like a greyhound.
Suddenly came a subdued roar. The earth shook. The solid ground trembled as if it had been a jelly. A second later, from the mouth of the hole there shot a mighty column of earth, stones and smoke. It was accompanied by a screaming, whistling sound and then came the detonation of a mighty roar. Up and up shot the column as if it meant to pierce the blue sky. The workmen shouted and ran for places of safety.
Suddenly Mr. Raynor, who had been watching with hawk-like eyes, gave a sharp, commanding cry:
“Run, boys! Run for your lives! After me!”
For an instant they hesitated. Why should they run? There appeared to be no danger. At the distance that they were from the spouting column it did not appear possible that they would be in jeopardy from it even when it collapsed and came crashing to earth.
“What’s the matter?” cried Rob.
“Don’t stop to ask questions. Run! Run! Run, I tell you!” roared the engineer.
CHAPTER XXII
THE BOYS MEET AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE
The boys needed no further urging. Taking to their heels they ran like so many scared jackrabbits after the engineer. Tubby, his fat, stumpy legs working like piston rods, was in the lead.
“I knew something was going to bust,” he yelled, as he sprinted along, “and it has!”
Suddenly Mr. Raynor, who was heading apparently for a piled-up mass of rocks, stopped and glanced back.
“Too late! Duck!” he shouted the next instant.
Down flopped the boys, but as they threw themselves face downward they felt as if they were being lifted from the ground by a giant hand and then slammed down again. It seemed almost as if a heavy weight had been hurled down on them.
Then came a terrific, blasting roar and blinding flash as if a huge gun had been set off quite close to them.
The fearful concussion and their lack of knowledge of what was happening scared and shocked them half out of their wits. Gravel and small rocks fell about them. If it had not been for their broad-brimmed Scout hats, which protected the back of their heads, they would have been cut and bruised by the hail of débris.
“You can get up now,” came Mr. Raynor’s voice presently, “but I don’t mind saying that that was about as narrow a squeak as I’ve ever experienced.”
“It sure was a test hole,” muttered Tubby; “it tested me all right and I don’t want any more of it.”
“What on earth happened?” demanded Rob, brushing dirt and dust from his uniform.
“That’s what I’d like to know,” said Fred.
“I thought the world was coming to an end,” declared Merritt.
“Or a giant cocoanut was blowing up,” murmured Tubby.
At that moment Ram came running up. He looked embarrassed and dabbed at a small cut on his forehead with a handkerchief.
“Him hurte you?” he asked rather anxiously, looking askance at Mr. Raynor.
“More good luck than thanks to you that we were not all killed,” declared the engineer angrily. “What made you do it, you rascal?”
“Me very sorry. Ram forget,” said the man contritely.
But his repentance had no effect on the thoroughly angry engineer. He told the man that he was too grossly careless to work on the dynamite gang and ordered him to report at his office that night and be assigned to some other work.
Tubby nodded sagely as he heard this. He was confirmed, it seemed, in his opinion that the man had been careless and he felt like telling the engineer so. But Rob asked a question.
“You haven’t told us yet just what it was that happened?” he said.
“Yes, what was it?” put in Fred.
“Oh, nothing to speak of but an explosion of fifteen pounds of dynamite about as close to us as I’d care to have such a thing happen,” said the engineer grimly.
“Gee whiz! As bad as that!” exclaimed Merritt looking aghast. “Why we might all have been – ”
“Hoisted sky-high. Oh, you don’t need to tell me that. That careless fellow Ram left one of his cans of dynamite lying on the ground not far from the test hole. I didn’t notice it and he didn’t either, I guess, till he shot the well. Then just as that column of stones and stuff was sky-hooting up, I happened to see that can lying there. It gave me a turn, I tell you. I figured out what would happen if a rock ever hit and we standing where we were.”
“What would have happened?” asked Tubby innocently, his eyes like two saucers.
“Happened! Why we’d all have had through tickets to Kingdom Come, that’s what would have happened.”
“But you haven’t told it all,” exclaimed Rob, who had just comprehended something. “Boys, that weight that fell on us was Mr. Raynor’s body. He just shoved us in front of him and shielded us with his own body. He saved our lives.”
“That’s what I call being a real hero,” cried Fred.
“Three cheers and a tiger for Mr. Raynor!” yelled Merritt.
“Pshaw! You drop that now!” protested the engineer. “I just fell on you because I couldn’t help it, I reckon.”
“We know better than that, don’t we, fellows?” cried Rob.
“You bet we do,” was the response given with deep conviction and unanimity.
“Well, say no more about it,” begged the engineer. “I promised to take good care of you and I was almost responsible for getting you injured, so I guess we’re quits.”
As Mr. Raynor had to visit other parts of the workings, and also to take samples of the earth blown up by Ram’s unlucky blast, the boys bade him good-bye soon after.
“Well, so long,” he said. “I hope you’ll drop in and see me some time if you are going to be about here long. I may have something else interesting to show you.”
The boys said they would. Then up came Ram Chunda, grinning like a monkey.
“Me velly solly,” he said, “white sahib no be mad. You come see me some time, eh?”
“Yes, we’ll come and see you when you’re in your little casket or else get our lives insured first, you – you anarchist you!” sputtered Tubby.
The engineer had advised them not to climb the ladders but to walk along the foot of the dam till they reached a place where a flight of steps had been moulded in the concrete. Accordingly, after leaving him they trudged along at the foot of the gigantic stone cliff, looking up every now and then to marvel at its height and massiveness.
They found plenty to look at and were in no hurry. That is, none of them was in a hurry but Tubby, who was keen to find out if it was not time to go back to Mr. Mainwaring’s bungalow for dinner.
It was hot work walking, and they paused frequently. At length they came to a place where a small tree at the foot of the dam afforded a patch of shade.
“Let’s sit down and rest a while,” said Fred. “I’m tuckered out.”
“Wish this was a cocoanut tree,” said Tubby as they reclined in the grateful bit of shade. “I’d climb it and get all you fellows something to eat.”
“Or blow us up,” laughed Fred mischievously.
“Say, fellows,” said Rob presently, “look up above us on the top of the dam. There’s a big concrete mixing machine up there.”
“Hope they don’t drop anything down on us,” said Fred apprehensively.
“Not much danger of that, I just saw a man peeking down at us. They would warn us if we were in danger.”
“I don’t know, those niggers are none too careful. Remember that fellow Ram; he came pretty near ramming us,” punned Fred.
“Look out!” yelled Merritt suddenly.
But he was too late. A bucket full of liquid cement came spattering down on them, going all over their uniforms and making them sad sights indeed. Luckily the stuff was almost as thin as water or they might have been injured.
Rob looked up and gave an indignant shout. A mocking face peered over the edge of the parapet and grinned jeeringly at him. As he saw this countenance Rob gave a violent start and fairly staggered backward.
It was the face of Jared Applegate into which he had looked. It was his hand that had thrown the bucket of liquid cement over them, ruining their uniforms.
“Fellows!” shouted Rob in high excitement.
But Jared’s face had vanished as swiftly as it had appeared.
CHAPTER XXIII
ALONG THE CHAGRES
“Well, did you ever!! Jared of all people!”
“What on earth is he doing here?”
“That’s plain enough,” was Rob’s reply to the last exclamation, which had proceeded from Tubby following Rob’s hasty recital of what he had seen on the top of the dam.
“That’s plain enough,” he repeated. “Jared is a pretty slick sort of article, or, at any rate, the men with whom he is in league are cunning and clever. What better place could Jared be, watched as he is, than holding down a job as a canal worker, bossing some small undertaking? Who would ever dream of looking for him in such a position?”
“That’s so,” agreed Fred, “and then, too, he gets a chance to survey the ground thoroughly and lay plans for whatever sort of deviltry that gang is up to. Maybe Alverado and Estrada are working on menial jobs, too, with the same end in view.”
“Quite likely,” replied Rob, “and also that mysterious chap we’ve seen with Jared on several occasions. Anyhow, our duty now is plain enough. We must make all haste back to Mr. Mainwaring and report to him what we have discovered.”
“Let’s get some of this mess cleaned off us first,” said the practical Merritt. “We look more like drowned rats than Scouts, in our present plight.”
The boys set to work trying to remove the traces of the ducking that had been given them by the malignant Jared, who had undoubtedly recognized them. Had they known that he was actually on the lookout for them, they would have been much astonished. Yet such was the case, as will appear before long.
Luckily the mixture of cement that had been doused over them was a very watery one, the rinsings of a cement bucket, in fact, so that in a short time the hot sun had dried out most of the traces of their adventure.
But Mr. Mainwaring greeted them with exclamations of astonishment.
“What in the world have you lads been up to now,” he exclaimed half laughingly as they rejoined him, “taking a swim with your uniforms on?”
“Well, we did have an involuntary bath,” admitted Rob, and he went on to tell just what had happened.
“Jove!” exclaimed Mr. Mainwaring when he had finished, “this is getting interesting, and perhaps explains many annoying things that have been happening about here recently. Derrick booms have collapsed without apparent cause and an investigation has shown that acid has been poured on the supporting ropes by some malignantly disposed persons. Blasts have been set off prematurely, narrowly avoiding injury, and the work has been delayed by many such tricks. It wouldn’t surprise me a bit if your friend Jared and the Latin Americans who are interested in delaying the canal construction are at the bottom of this. I’ll dispatch men at once to get hold of this chap Jared and we’ll make him confess all about it.”
As he spoke there was a sudden crash behind him as a workman, who had been standing close to him and who must have overheard every word, dropped a heavy bucket. They all faced round and saw a man shuffling off rapidly. Something familiar about him struck Rob, but for the life of him he could not place the man. It was not until later that he recalled where they had seen him before. He was the man who had driven them to the ruins of old Panama on that memorable morning, and who must have heard some of their talk. But what was he doing on the canal work? Was he allied with the forces that were trying to defeat the completion of the canal? Had he told the plotters of what he had overheard and warned them that vigilant retribution was on their trail?
All these were questions that for the time had to wait. Rob decided not to say anything just then. After all he might have been mistaken. In the meantime the searchers sent out after Jared reported that they could not find him. Undoubtedly after venting his malice on the boys he had made off. Rob was not mistaken in his identification of the cabman. The fellow was allied with the plotters by close ties both of nationality and sentiment. He had been set to driving a hack in Panama so that he might carry on his spy work without being suspected. It was by chance that the boys had happened to take his cab. But what he had overheard that day had caused him to hasten to the dam and inform his confederates, who, as Rob had guessed, were constantly about there disguised as workmen.
In that vast enterprise, employing thousands of laborers, it was a simple enough matter for any able bodied men to obtain employment, and no questions were asked so long as the laborer proved able to earn his pay. At dinner time Mr. Mainwaring was unusually silent. There was no question in his mind now but that there were plotters mingled in among the workmen. That night orders for extra vigilance in patroling the dam were issued, and that night, also, Mr. Mainwaring announced that he intended to start the next day on his search for the troublesome tributary of the Chagres River which it was his intention to devise a means to control.
As may be imagined, this was great news to the boys, and they passed an all but sleepless night in their room in Mr. Mainwaring’s bungalow, which stood in a row of “gold-men’s” houses, among which it was the largest and best finished.
The boys’ equipment had been brought up from Panama with them and was, as usual, all in readiness for instant transportation. These Boy Scouts lived up to their “Be Prepared” motto all the time, and to the finest detail. When their camping equipment had been packed up on the submarine island everything had been stowed away with military precision so that they knew, without going through a lot of troublesome overhauling, that everything, down to their small pocket water filters, was in its right place.
A wagon transported their goods and chattels to the landing place on the Chagres the next morning, right after an early breakfast. Mr. Raynor was to accompany his chief in the capacity of assistant, and the surveying instruments and other paraphernalia almost filled one of the odd native canoes they were to use. Another canoe held the camping outfits. But they were not to paddle their way laboriously up the swiftly flowing river.
To the delight of the boys a light draught launch, fitted with powerful engines and a spidery stern paddle wheel, was to do the towing while they took it easy. This suited Tubby down to the ground, and Rob’s cup of satisfaction was full to the brim when he learned that he and Merritt were to alternate as engineers. As we know, both boys were familiar with the management of gasolene engines, and they gazed with approval at the fourteen horse-power, twin-cylinder engine of the Pathfinder, as the launch was called.
Before they left, the chief of the Gatun Guards, as the police that watched the big dam were called, reported to Mr. Mainwaring that nothing suspicious had occurred during the night and also that no trace could be found of the men wanted. This was disappointing, but the boys were so keyed up with the expectation of the wonders that awaited them in the tropical forests through which the Chagres wound its way on its higher reaches, that they gave but scant thought to Jared and the plotters.
At last all was in readiness; Mr. Mainwaring, who had the steering wheel, gave the signal to start the engines.
Rob gave the big fly-wheel a twist against the compression, while Merritt turned on the gasolene and set the spark. The engine gave a chug and a snort and the big stern paddle wheel, which gave the boat such an odd look but was necessary for shoal water navigation, began to beat the water.
The boys gave a shout and their patrol cries. From the bow of the Pathfinder, as a compliment to them, fluttered the pennants of the Eagles and the Black Wolves, the same which it had been designed to plant at old Panama. At the stern waved Old Glory. Astern towed the two dugouts, loaded deep down with “duffle.”
Thus started a trip that was to prove one of the most adventurous that lads ever embarked upon “by flood or field.”