AN ADVENTURE ON THE ISTHMUS.
Lost in the forest! Oliver and Gus looked at each other with blanched
faces. Here indeed was a sorry situation. What was to be done?
On every side could be seen nothing but the dense undergrowth and tall
trees. They might be only a hundred feet from the railroad, or they
might be a mile away.
“We were very foolish not to note the path,” said Oliver. “Have you any
idea which way we ought to turn?”
“I have not, excepting that we might trace the way back to that pool,”
answered Gus. “And I don’t want to do that if I can help it,” he added
with a shudder. “I’d rather tramp five miles than face those snakes
again.”
“So would I. But we must try some way. Here, let us see if we cannot
get our bearings by the sun. Now, I think this is the right direction,”
went on Oliver, after a careful survey of the light overhead.
“And I think it is this way,” affirmed Gus, pointing out a course
directly at right angles with the other. “Come, let us try that opening
beyond.”
Gus insisted that he was right, and somewhat against his will, Oliver
followed his chum. They crossed the clearing, and then plunged into
another mass of bushes and vines, the stout lad leading.
“Hold up!” he shouted suddenly. “Don’t come any farther, or you’ll get
into a regular bog-hole!” And he turned and hastily scrambled back to
where Oliver stood.
“It’s lucky I stopped where I did,” he went on; “if we hadn’t we would
have got into a pool worse than the other one was. My! what a beastly
place this is!”
More dismayed than ever, they made their way back to the clearing.
Something must be done, but what?
“If we don’t get back soon, the train will leave without us,” said
Oliver. “Come, let us try the direction I thought was right.” And off
they started as fast as they could.
It was miserable walking, and before they had proceeded a hundred steps
both had their feet wet, and unfortunate Gus had his coat torn in a
dozen places.
“It’s positively the worst place I ever got into!” he groaned. “If we
don’t get out soon I won’t have a patch of clothing left.”
On and on they went, until Oliver called a halt.
“No use to go farther. If this was the right road we would have crossed
the track long ago. We are going wrong, and that is all there is to it.”
“But what shall we do?” demanded Gus, more dismayed than ever. “We
can’t stand still here.”
Oliver leaned against a tree. Truly their position was far from
enviable. Suppose they should be left, what would they do when night
came on?
“I don’t know,” he replied in a low voice. “If we could only――hark!
what is that?”
Both listened intently. From a distance came the unmistakable sound of
a steam-whistle.
“It’s the locomotive!” cried Gus. “They are getting ready to start!”
“Hurry up,” cried Oliver. “Come, this way.”
And he sprang off through the bushes at the top of his speed. It was a
rough journey, but what was that compared to the agonizing thought that
they might be left behind?
Fortunately the steam-whistle continued sounding, and it proved a good
guide; for in ten minutes more they reached the railroad track, and
just beyond stood the train, all ready to start.
“Thank fortune!” cried Oliver, and he waved his hand to the conductor
to wait for them.
In another moment they were safe on board and in their seats, and then
the train with a final warning moved off.
“Where have you two been?” asked Mr. Whyland, gazing in astonishment
at their torn clothing and wet feet; “I was very much afraid you might
miss the train.”
“You weren’t half as much scared about it as we were,” responded Gus
ruefully.
Oliver told their story. Mr. Whyland smiled, but shook his head.
“Both of you want to be more careful,” he said. “Those flowers may have
been poisonous, and also the snakes. It is well enough to go out on a
tour of inspection, but one must be mighty cautious.”
“I’ll not leave the car until we reach Panama,” affirmed Gus, and he
was as good as his word.
The train moved along slowly, as if feeling its way. Gus said he could
very well walk about as fast; but when Oliver suggested that he get out
and try it, the stout youth begged to be excused.
On the way they passed a number of villages, none of them very large,
and many of them merely a collection of bamboo huts, with a big pole
in the center, and covered over for the most part with palm leaves.
The natives appeared to be quite respectable, but not over fond of
work. Here and there a group could be seen moving slowly about, and
singing to themselves; or they were to be found in a corner dozing, or
contentedly smoking their tobacco.
“It’s a lazy life,” said Oliver, “but I suppose the climate has
something to do with it.”
“It has everything to do with it,” replied Mr. Whyland. “Still, the
people here are more industrious than they used to be before the
railroad was built.”
Once the train came to a standstill. It was a sort of a station, and on
the platform stood a number of the natives of the place――tall, and not
bad-looking fellows.
One of them held an immense quantity of small wares by a string over
his shoulder, and was trying to dispose of them. He approached the
window at which Oliver and Gus were sitting, and could hardly be made
to take “no” for an answer.
“I don’t want any,” said Gus, for at least the tenth time.
“_Si caballeros_,” the native insisted. “Yes, gentlemen, only feety
centa.”
To get rid of the fellow they at last closed the window, and then the
man went off in apparent anger.
“They have an idea down here that all Americans are rich, and free
to spend their money,” said Mr. Whyland. “The same idea prevails in
Europe, and American tourists are generally made to pay a little more
for what they purchase than other folks.”
“I wouldn’t mind having some of the things he had to sell, but I have
no money to spare,” remarked Oliver.
“Just my case,” put in Gus. “And it makes me mad enough to have to say
no, without having some one insist the other way.”
The remainder of the journey took but a short while. Soon the train
rolled past a number of ancient and squalid-looking houses, and Mr.
Whyland announced that they had reached the outskirts of Panama.
But around the odd-looking station things were not so bad. To be sure
all was new and strange to the boys, and they kept their eyes wide open
for all such sights.
“They often have most outrageous bull-fights here,” said Mr. Whyland as
they alighted.
“I should like to see one,” rejoined Gus. “Not that I would enjoy the
sport, but it would be so strange.”
“I would not care to go,” put in Oliver. “I think it is too cruel!”
“It is the height of cruelty,” responded Mr. Whyland. “I went once. It
was held on a Sunday, and a friend insisted that I should accompany
him. When the poor beasts were brought out, and a number of things done
to enrage them, I was disgusted; and when the fight began I grew sick,
not only at heart, but physically as well. What sport there is in the
thing I cannot see.”
“Nor can any one else who has any heart,” said Oliver decidedly; “it is
nothing short of barbarism.”
“I wonder when our steamer leaves?” observed Gus, as they walked out
upon the street.
“To-morrow morning at ten o’clock. At least, that is what the conductor
said,” replied Oliver.
“Suppose we go to the office and make sure,” said Mr. Whyland. “We do
not wish to take any chances. They often make changes here.”
So off for the office of the steamship company they started. It was not
a great distance, and it took them but a few minutes.
As they neared the spot, they met a number of their fellow-passengers
returning with fallen looks.
“Something is wrong,” said Oliver. “I just heard that man in brown say
it was a shame to be kept waiting so long. Something has happened.”
They were not long in finding out what that something was. In entering
the harbor, the steamship had got one of her wheels caught in some
wreckage and badly damaged. She must be laid up for repairs, and
passengers would have to wait for the next steamer.
“And how long will that be?” asked Oliver ruefully.
“Ten days,” was the reply.