But Jimmie did not at once go toward the wounded beast. The great cat lifted its head, gave a cry that echoed and re-echoed through the forest, and sprang for the tree. The boy’s revolver spoke again, and the long hours of practice with the weapon in the shooting galleries of New York told. The beast dropped to the ground with a bullet in the brain, sent in exactly between the eyes.

The female lifted her head at the cry and tried to regain her feet, but was not strong enough to do so. With a turn of her pretty head in the direction of her mate, she fell back dead.

“It’s almost a shame,” Peter said.

“You wouldn’t be so sorry for the cats if they had got a claw into you,” Jimmie observed. “Just one claw in the flesh and it would have been all off.”

Peter turned away from the dead animals.

“Come on,” he said, “it seems like a slaughter house here.”

“Wait,” Jimmie cried. “I want to swing the cats up so they won’t be devoured by their friends of the jungle. I want the skins for rugs. Guess they will look pretty poor in our patrol room. What?”

“I’ll come back with you in the daylight,” Peter said, “if you’ll come away now.”

Leaving the glade where they had encountered such dangers, the boys moved toward the canal line, keeping the moon, now well toward the horizon, at their back.

“If we had done this before,” Jimmie said, as they forced their way through clusters of clinging vines, “we would be at home in bed now.”

“But we wouldn’t have had the jaguar rugs coming to us,” answered Peter. “Glad I didn’t think of it before.”

Presently they came to the top of a little hill in the jungle and looked out over the country ahead. There were no canal lights in the distance. Afar off they could see a faint streak of dawn.

“I don’t believe we’re going right, after all,” Jimmie said.

“We must keep a little more to the left,” Peter replied. “The line of the canal runs almost southeast here, and we are going east. We’ll strike it quicker if we turn to the north.”

“This ain’t much like the Great White Way at daylight,” commented Jimmie, as a great creeper settled about his neck, having been pulled from a tree by his companion.

“I don’t see what we’re doing in here in the night, anyway,” Peter observed. “We didn’t come down here to get big game, but to prevent enemies of the government getting gay and blowing up the Gatun dam. Whew! They might have blowed it up while we’ve been shooting snakes and cats. Guess there’s one of the explosions now.”

A rumbling came toward them from the east. It was such a rumbling as one hears when great masses of fireworks are set off at once. Such a rumbling as one hears in war, when the rifles are speaking along a line of infantry and cannons are roaring out above their patter. The ground shook, and birds, frightened, fled from tree boughs with strange cries.

“Something has gone up,” Jimmie said. “I wish we could see over the tops of that next line of trees.”

“Sounds like the crack of doom,” Peter observed. “I wish we could get out of the tall timber and see what’s going on.”

“There’s a white light,” Jimmie cried, excitedly. “That must be the workings.”

“That’s a cloud, just touched with dawn,” Peter replied. “There’s no sight of the canal yet. If we could only get out to the cut we’d soon be home.”

“Home?” repeated Jimmie, in disgust, “we’re more’n fifty miles from camp, the way the roads run. If we can get a train at Culebra, we may be able to get home by dark. You must remember that we rode a long way with the lieutenant. Culebra is almost to the Pacific. The locks are there, or near there.”

“We can get a train, I guess,” Peter said, sleepily. “I wonder if any of the boys are sitting up for us?”

“You bet they’re out hunting for the two of us,” Jimmie said. “It takes one half of our party to keep the other half from getting killed,” he added.

There were still no signs of the canal line. The jungle was as dense as ever, and seemed more desolate and uncanny than ever under the growing light of day. As the sun arose and looked down into the green pools vapors arose, vapors unpleasant to the nostrils and bewildering to the sight.

Presently the boys came to a little knoll from which they could look a long way into the jungle stretching around them. Below were slimy thickets, tangles of creepers and vines which seemed to be sentient, but no signs of the work of man. It was now eight o’clock in the morning, and the boys were worn out and hungry.

“If they’re out lookin’ for us,” Jimmie said, “I’ll give ’em somethin’ to follow. Watch me.”

“But they won’t be anywhere around here,” Peter said, as Jimmie began gathering dry twigs and branches from the ground.

“They’ll begin where Lieutenant Gordon left us,” insisted the boy. “Now you see if I don’t wake some Boy Scout up. Here, you carry this bunch of wood over to that other knoll.”

“All right,” Peter said. “Perhaps another jaguar will see the signal and give us a call.”

In a short time the boys had gathered two great piles of dry leaves and branches lying some fifty feet apart. Then a quantity of green boughs were gathered and placed on top of the dry fuel. When matches were touched to the piles a dense smoke ascended far above the tops of the trees. There were two straight columns of it lifting into the sky above the jungle.

“There!” cried Jimmie wiping the sweat from his face, for the morning was hot and the work had been arduous, “if there is a Boy Scout within ten thousand miles he’ll know what those two columns of smoke mean.”

“Of course,” said Peter. “If he’s ever been out camping.”

In the Indian signs adopted by the Boy Scouts of America one column of smoke means:

“The camp is here.”

Two mean:

“Help! I am lost.”

Three mean:

“We have good news.”

Four mean:

“Come to council.”

When the dry wood burned away the boys piled on more, keeping green leaves on top all the time, to make the smudge. After the fires had burned for half an hour a signal came from the thicket – a long, shrill whistle to attract attention, and then a few bars of “The Star Spangled Banner.”

“That’s a Boy Scout, all right,” Jimmie exclaimed, “but it ain’t none of our bunch. They wouldn’t wait to whistle. They’d jump right in an’ tell us where to head in at. You bet they would.”

In a moment a human hand, a slender, boyish hand, appeared above a great squatty plant at the foot of the knoll. The thumb and first finger were extended opened out, the three remaining fingers closed over the palm of the hand.

“Whoop!” yelled Jimmie. “The sign of the Silver Wolf.”

“Come on up,” cried Peter. “The appetite is fine.”

Then a boyish figure arose from the shelter of the plant and moved up the hill to where the boys stood. He was apparently about fifteen years of age, was dressed as a lad of his age might appear on Broadway, and presented a fresh, cheerful face, now wrinkled into smiles, to the boys waiting with extended hands.

“I saw you signal,” he said.

“Where are you from?” asked Jimmie, shaking the extended hand warmly. “We’re from the Black Bear and Wolf Patrols, New York, and we don’t know any more about getting along in the woods than a Houston street mucker.”

“I’m from the Black Bear Patrol of Chicago,” the other replied, “and my name is Anthony Chester, Tony for short. What you doing in the Devil’s Hole?”

“Is this the Devil’s Hole?” asked Jimmie.

“That is what they call it.”

“The Devil seems to be having a good time of it,” Peter said. “He’s had us on the hip all night.”

“We were in camp, father and I, about half way to the cut,” Tony said, “and heard your shots a spell ago. What did you kill?”

Briefly the boys told the story of the night, and then Peter asked:

“Why didn’t you answer the shots?”

“We were stalking jaguars,” was the reply, “and did not want to lose our game. The woods are full of them, for some reason, this spring.”

“Did you get them?”

“No; I guess the ones you got were the ones we were after.”

“Then I’m glad we got them, for we’ll divide the skins with you.”

“Then, a little while ago, I saw your smoke signal and read it to Dad, and he told me to come out and bring you to camp for breakfast.”

“What?”

“Breakfast?”

“Is it far?”

“Is it cooked?”

The boys fairly danced about their new acquaintance as they asked questions and rubbed their stomachs significantly.

“All cooked and all ready, plenty of it,” was the reply.

“Where is the camp?” asked Peter, then.

“Oh, just a short distance from the Culebra cut,” was the reply. “Dad came out here some weeks ago with me and one servant, and we’re living in a tent all fixed up with screens and things. The jaguars aroused us early this morning, so we got up to shoot them.”

“Is your father workin’ for the Canal people?” asked Jimmie.

“Oh, no,” was the reply. “He takes a great interest in the Culebra cut, and spends a good deal of time out there, but he is not working for the government. He’s just loafing, and I’m having the time of my life.”

“Does he go out there nights?” asked Jimmie.

“No; Sanee, the servant, is away nights, and Dad stays with me.”

“Never mind all that now,” Peter put in. “Let us go and see what they’ve got to eat. I could devour one of the cats we killed.”

Young Chester led the way toward the camp he had spoken of, the boys following, nearly exhausted from the exertions of the night. It had been arranged that they should return for the skins of the two jaguars they had slain.

As they straggled along through the jungle, Jimmie’s thoughts were busy over a problem which had come to his mind during the talk with the lad who had rescued them. Why was Mr. Chester, of Chicago, encamped in the jungle, at the edge, almost, of the Culebra cut, apparently without other motive than curiosity?

Why did he spend most of his time during daylight watching the work on the cut, and why was his servant invariably away from the camp at night? Were the men watching the work there for some sinister purpose of their own? Or was it merely a general interest in the big job that brought them there?

The man who had accosted them the previous evening had been watching the job, too. Were these men spies, or were they in the service of the government and watching for spies? It seemed odd to the boy that every adventure into which he stumbled had to do with the main object of the trip to the Canal Zone. Or, at least all the others had, and this meeting in the jungle might follow in the train of the others.

He was wondering, too, about the explosion they had heard early in the morning. At the time of his leaving the cottage with Lieutenant Gordon nothing had been decided on concerning the store of explosives which had been discovered in the underground chamber at the ruined temple. He did not believe that Ned would leave the deadly material there, to be used at will by the conspirators, so he was wondering now if the stuff had not been set off by his friends.

After a hard walk of a mile or more the three came out to a little clearing in the jungle and saw a tent with screened openings. Standing in front of the tent, his face turned toward the approaching boys, was a man Jimmie had last seen in the Shaw residence in New York City.

CHAPTER XVI.
A MIGHTY JAR IN THE JUNGLE

It was half-past two in the morning when Ned Nestor and his companions left the cottage in the jungle. A few fleecy clouds were now drifting over the sky, but, on the whole, the night was fairly clear. It was some distance to Gatun, where Ned hoped to secure a railroad motor for the Culebra trip, so the boys moved along at a swift pace.

However, the party was not destined to reach Gatun as speedily as was anticipated. When the boys came to the spot from which Ned and Jimmie had struck off into the jungle, or into the edge of it, rather, in pursuit of the man who had placed the bomb, Jack called Ned’s attention to two skulking figures moving up the swell of the hill which the two boys had climbed the night before.

“There are some of your friends – the bomb-makers,” Jack said.

“Yes,” Ned replied, “they have been in advance of us for some distance.”

“Watching the cottage, I presume,” Jack suggested.

“More likely watching to see if we remained at home or went abroad planning mischief for them,” Ned replied.

“Then they’re next to us,” Jimmie broke in. “I’d like to follow ’em up to the old temple an’ blow ’em up.”

“I have an idea that something of the sort may happen before morning,” Ned said. “I had the idea that the fellows would remain away from the bomb-room for a few days, believing that we were watching it, but it seems that they are back again. We mustn’t permit them to take the stuff away.”

“Goin’ to blow it up to-night?” demanded Jimmie, eagerly. “Gee, but that will make a blow-up for your whiskers. Say! I’d like to sell tickets of admission for this performance. That would be poor, wouldn’t it?”

“It may not be necessary to blow it up,” Ned observed. “If Lieutenant Gordon sent a couple of secret service men back there, as arranged, the fellows have not got into their bomb-chamber. If the secret service men did not arrive, it is likely that the plotters are moving the explosives away. We’ll go and see, anyway.”

“I’ll run on ahead and see what’s doin’,” Jimmie exclaimed, darting away.

Ned caught him by the collar and drew him back, whereat the boy appeared to be very angry.

“You little dunce,” Ned said, “you’ll get a bullet into your anatomy if you don’t be more careful. Now, you boys go on down the road toward Gatun,” he added, turning to the others, “and make all the noise you want to. I’ll go up to the old temple and see what is going on there. One of you would better go with me – not close up with me, but within seeing distance.”

“That’s me,” cried Jimmie. “I’ll stay near enough to see what becomes of you, and go back and tell the boys if they’re needed.”

This arrangement was finally decided on, and Ned and Jimmie dropped into the jungle while the others proceeded on the way to Gatun, making plenty of noise as they walked. As they disappeared the two men who had been seen just before made their appearance at a point half way up the hill.

They stood crouching in the moonlight for a moment, pointing and chattering words which reached the ears of the watchers only faintly, and then turned toward the old temple. They walked with less caution now, and it was plain to the watchers that they believed that all the boys had gone on to Gatun.

When Ned and Jimmie came within sight of the old temple half a dozen shadowy forms were seen moving about on the uneven pavements which had at one time formed the floor of a court. When the two Ned was following approached they advanced to meet them.

A conversation lasting perhaps five minutes followed the meeting, and then, leaving one man on guard, the others passed through the doorway under the vines and disappeared from view. The man who had remained outside was evidently the leader of the party, for the others had listened when he talked and had obeyed his orders, as indicated to Ned by gestures.

This man stood at the doorway behind the vines for a moment after the others had gone below and then seated himself on a crumbling wall not far away.

“Why don’t you geezle him?” whispered Jimmie, who was not staying back very far, much to Ned’s amusement.

“I was thinking of that,” Ned replied. “I shall have to circle around so as to get in on him from behind.”

“You wait a second,” whispered the boy, “and I’ll make him turn around so as to face the other way.”

Before Ned could offer any objections or restrain the boy’s hand, Jimmie launched a stone into the thicket on the other side. The watcher sprang to his feet instantly, moved away a few paces, and turned back.

“He’s goin’ to call the others,” Jimmie whispered.

The fellow approached the doorway as Jimmie spoke, which was exactly what Ned did not want. If the man would remain outside, alone, it might be possible to capture him with little risk. If he called his companions, there would be no hope of taking him prisoner.

Ned motioned to Jimmie and the lad threw another stone into the thicket, and again the watcher moved in that direction. This time he advanced to the edge of the thicket and bent over to peer under the overhanging branches of a tree.

Before he could regain an upright position, or give a cry of warning because of the quick steps he heard behind him, Ned was grappling with him, his fingers closing about the muscular throat. It was a desperate, although a silent, struggle for a minute, and Ned might have been disappointed in the result if Jimmie had not bounced in on the two and terminated the battle by sitting down on the head of the man Ned had already thrown to the ground. As an additional precaution against any noise calculated to alarm the others, Jimmie held his gun close to the captive’s nose.

“Nothin’ stirrin’ here,” he panted. “You lie still.”

“What does this mean?”

The words were English and the voice was certainly that of a man from one of the Eastern states of the North American republic.

Ned drew a noose around the prisoner’s wrists and tied his rather delicate hands together firmly behind his back. Then he searched him for weapons. A revolver was found in a hip pocket, also a package of papers in a breast pocket. The fellow cursed and swore like a pirate when the papers were taken.

“This is highway robbery,” he finally calmed down enough to say. “I am an official of the Zone, and you shall suffer for this.”

“Gee,” said Jimmie, with a chuckle, “you must have a contract to lift the canal an’ the Gatun dam into the blue sky.”

The prisoner snarled at the lad a moment and turned to Ned.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked.

“What are your men doing down there?” Ned asked, ignoring the question.

“They are removing explosives, explosives to be used in the work at Gatun.”

“Why is it stored here?”

“For safety.”

“Were your men storing this bomb,” taking the clumsy exhibit from his pocket, “under my cottage for safety?” Ned demanded.

“I don’t know anything about that,” was the reply. “Return my papers.”

Instead of returning them, Ned took the packet from his pocket and made a quick examination so far as the light would permit, of the half dozen letters it held.

The captive writhed about and cursed fluently until Jimmie touched his forehead with the muzzle of his gun and warned him against “starting anything he couldn’t finish,” as the boy expressed it.

“Now,” Ned said to Jimmie, restoring the letters to his pocket, “you march this pirate off toward the cottage while I scare the others out of the bomb-room and blow it up.”

“Blow it up before they get out,” urged the boy.

“I am no executioner,” Ned replied. “They doubtless deserve to be put to death, but I’m not the one to do it.”

“Wait,” said the captive, as Jimmie motioned him away. “If you will give me a chance to tell my side of the story those letters reveal, I may be able to establish my innocence. I can make it worth your while to listen to me,” he added, significantly.

“Cripes, I smell money,” laughed Jimmie.

“Go on with the boy,” Ned replied. “If you want to talk with me you may do so later.”

“What are you going to do with me?”

“Turn you over to the Zone government.”

The captive would have argued until his friends came out and sized up the situation, and Ned knew it, so he motioned Jimmie to march the fellow away and set about the work he had in hand. He took out the bomb he had brought with him and estimated the length of time the fuse would burn. It was, as has been said, a very long fuse, and the boy was satisfied that he could escape from the danger zone after firing it.

Then, seeing that Jimmie was out of view with his prisoner, he brought out his gun and fired two shots into the air. The result showed that he had planned with judgment, for the men working below came bounding out of the doorway behind the vines and vanished in the jungle, going in a direction opposite to that taken by Jimmie.

The rapidity with which the workers in the bomb-room disappeared astonished Ned until he reflected that he might unconsciously have given a signal agreed upon between the men and the guard. At any rate, he finally concluded, the men were not there to fight in defense of the place if spied upon, but to seek cover at once, as is the habit of those caught in the commission of crime.

He had expected to drive them away by firing from the jungle, but had not anticipated a victory as easily won as this. When the workers had disappeared Ned made his way to the underground room. There he found torches burning, and a fire in the forge. The place was littered with gas-pipe cut into small lengths, and the covers had been removed from the tins of explosives.

It was clear that the bomb-makers had been at work there, and the boy wondered at their nerve. He could account for their returning to their employment there so soon after the place had been visited by hostile interests only on the ground that they believed the secret service men and the boys were being held at bay by others of the conspirators.

Wondering whether the boys who had gone on toward Gatun were safe, he lighted the fuse of the bomb and hastened up the stairs and out into the jungle. A few yards from the broken wall of the temple he met Jimmie, red of face and laboring under great excitement. He turned the boy back with a significant gesture toward the temple, and the two worked their way through the thickets for some moments without finding time or breath for explanations.

When at last they stopped for breath they found themselves about at the point where they had parted from their chums. As they came into the cleared space a flash lighted up the sky, flames went flickering, seemingly, from horizon to horizon, and lifted to the zenith. Then came the awful thunder of the explosion. The ground shook so that Jimmie went tumbling on his face. After the first mighty explosion others came in quick succession.

“That’s the little ones,” Jimmie cried, rolling over in the knee-deep grass to clutch at Ned’s knee. “Talk about your fourth of July.”

As he spoke a slab of stone weighing at least twenty pounds came through the air with a vicious whizz and struck a tree close to where the boy lay.

“If we don’t get out of here we’ll get our blocks knocked off,” Jimmie said.

“The shower is over,” Ned replied. “What were you running back for? If you had not met me, if I had gone out another way, you might have been right there when the explosion took place.”

“Then I’d ’a’ been sailin’ around the moon by now,” the boy grinned.

“Where is the captive?” demanded Ned.

“He went up in the air,” replied Jimmie. “I had me eagle eyes on him one second, and the next second he was gone. He didn’t shout, or shoot, or run, or do a consarned thing. He just leaked out. Where do you think he went?”

“I think,” Ned replied, “that you were looking back to see the explosion and he dodged into a thicket.”

“Well,” admitted Jimmie, “I did look back.”

Ned, rather disgusted at the carelessness of the boy, walked on in silence until the two came to the smooth slopes which led up to Gatun. There they found the boys, waiting for them, eager for the story of the explosion, and wondering at their long delay.