John Goldfrap - The Boy Scouts at the Panama Canal

“Scatter in every direction,” they heard Alverado order, “we must find out if anyone has been here listening, or if our ears deceived us.”

There was no doubt but that the search was to be a thorough one. Even the chauffeur of the car, which, the boys noticed in a quick, fleeting glance, bore no number, joined in the search. They rushed about like a pack of bloodhounds in every direction.

“This is getting pretty warm,” whispered Rob; “it’s plain those chaps are thoroughly alarmed and don’t mean to leave a stone unturned to find us.”

“Oh, that unlucky board!” groaned Merritt remorsefully. “I’m a fine specimen of a Scout to make such a mistake as that, – at such a critical time, too.”

“It was unfortunate; but accidents will happen,” rejoined Rob quickly. “But it’s no use crying over spilt milk.”

“What are we going to do?”

“I’m trying to think.”

“Perhaps there is a chance that they will overlook us.”

“No danger of that, I’m afraid. From what little I saw of Mister Alverado he appears to be a very painstaking gentleman.”

“They’re searching the house now.”

“Yes, that will take them some time; but you can depend on it that when they’ve finished they’ll search the outbuildings.”

“Yes; and they’ve left that chauffeur on guard outside, too. Not a chance of our getting out of here.”

“Unless there’s another door.”

“Cracky! Maybe there is. Let’s look. But we’ve got to hurry up. Hark!”

“They’re coming out of the house and pointing over here,” cried Rob the next instant.

Both boys desperately sought to find some way out of the old smoke-house other than by the door by which they had entered. But no exit offered. Suddenly Rob had an inspiration. The smoke-house was roofed like an inverted V. The roof was covered with shingles. Apparently they were rotten, for in places the light came through. One side of the roof faced toward the abandoned farmhouse; the other faced back upon some fields. Rob thrust his fist with some violence against the shingles on the side of the smoke-house roof that faced the fields. To his joy the shingles gave way almost like rotten cardboard.

“Hurrah! We’ve found a way out,” he cried exultingly, although he was careful not to raise his voice much above a whisper. He rapidly enlarged the opening till it was big enough to crawl through. Luckily the search party had paused to examine a corn crib that lay between the smoke-house and the farmhouse, so that the boys had a few seconds’ grace.

“Now then, through you go!” breathed Rob as soon as he had pitched out the bills.

Merritt scrambled through with Rob close on his heels. The apex of the roof, of course, screened them from view of the party now approaching the old smoke-house. It was a drop of not more than three feet to the ground, for the walls were low, and Rob had, of necessity, punctured the roof near the eaves.

Ahead of them lay a meadow with a patch of woods beyond. Rank brush and tall weeds intervened. But they had to make a dash of some hundred feet across an open space. Somehow, just how they never knew, they got across it and plunged into the brush, making for the woods beyond.

At the same instant Alverado and the others entered the smoke-house.

“Of course they guessed how we made our escape, Rob.”

Merritt spoke as the two lads lay crouched in the thick brush far removed from harm’s way.

“Naturally. The fresh breaks in the roof would show them that. But, beyond that, they are none the wiser as to our identity, of which I am heartily glad.”

“I can understand that. You don’t like the look of things.”

“Merritt,” Rob spoke very soberly, laying his hand on the other’s arm, “it looks to me as if we’ve stumbled on a monumental plot against Uncle Sam’s canal. I don’t know much of politics, but I do know enough to realize that there is a certain South American republic that thinks that the Canal Zone was stolen from her by trickery and deceit. I’m sorry to say, too, that I’ve heard that there are interests right here in the States that agree with her – people who think that the opening of the canal will result in enormous losses to freight, and who would like to see the canal completion delayed at all costs.”

“I see. You think that the two dark men were representatives of that republic you mentioned.”

“I know one of them was,” snapped Rob; “he is its representative at Washington.”

“Wow! Say, Rob, this is a big thing we’ve stumbled upon. We must bring it to the attention of the proper authorities.”

“That’s our duty as Scouts.”

“Of course. But what steps do you propose to take?”

“I don’t just know yet. We must see Mr. Mainwaring, of course, first. It will be for him to decide. But – horrors, Merritt! – we’ve forgotten all about Tubby. He’s asleep in the rig. Look, Jared and his friends are piling into the auto. If they go down that road they are sure to discover him. They may do him some injury.”

But the next instant both the anxious lads drew a sigh of relief. Instead of taking the by-road, the auto struck off across lots along a barely perceptible and weed-grown track. In a few moments it was out of sight and the coast was clear. Then, and not till then, the two Boy Scouts set out to rejoin Tubby. They found that rotund youth blissfully sleeping, while the old nag cropped grass at the roadside. They awakened their stout comrade and soon took the lees of sleep out of his eyes by relating all that had passed within the last hour. Tubby heartily agreed that the first thing to be done was to put Mr. Mainwaring on his guard.

Naturally there was no more thought of bill posting, and filled with a sense of the duty that lay before them the three Boy Scouts drove rapidly back to Hampton. But there a disappointment awaited them. Mr. Mainwaring had been called away on business. He had gone west and would not be back for a week or more. So for the present the scene in the barn had to be forgotten, while more immediate matters were attended to. During the ensuing week nothing was seen of Jared, but the Saturday afternoon of the game found him “warming up” on the ball field with the orange and black of the Hampton team on his back.

Rob and Merritt fairly boiled over with indignation as they watched him. But they decided not to say anything to him that might put him on his guard.

“We’ll give him all the rope he wants,” declared Rob. Later he was bitterly to regret the adoption of this policy.

The grounds began to fill up early. The game aroused widespread interest in that section of Long Island. As the local paper put it, “red-hot ball” was looked for. Enthusiastic young ladies were there by the score, waving flags from the bunches on sale about the field by hawkers. The grand-stand filled early. Rob’s team-mates noticed his eyes frequently straying in that direction.

“Looking for Lucy Mainwaring,” whispered Tubby to Merritt with a grin on his round and blooming countenance.

Finally the game was called and soon both teams were on the field. Hiram, captain of the Eagles, won the toss and chose to go to bat first. The game was started. Nelson promptly struck out. He could not help making a wry face as he threw down the willow.

A broad grin was on Jared’s face. He went through all sorts of antics, as Andy Bowles came to bat with a look of grim determination on his face.

Jared was good; that was a fact which admitted no blinking, as the Eagles had to acknowledge. Andy was given first base on balls, tried to steal second, was thrown out and retired disgruntled to the bench. The Hampton rooters began to give their war cry. The Eagle supporters replied to it bravely. It was early in the game to be making any predictions. Rob was third batter. He struck out. Jared’s delight was ill-concealed.