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WITH A GRINDING CRASH THE EARTH ON WHICH JOESTOOD WENT OUT FROM UNDER HIM.]
THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS AT PANAMA
OR
Stirring Adventures Along the Great Canal
By
VICTOR APPLETON
1915
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I TO THE RESCUE II ON THE BRINK III A SURPRISE IV A DELAYED LETTER V ANOTHER SURPRISE VI SOMETHING QUEER VII IN NEW YORK VIII OFF FOR PANAMA IX THE LITTLE BOX X THE SECRET CONFERENCE XI ALONG THE CANAL XII ALMOST AN ACCIDENT XIII IN THE JUNGLE XIV IN DIRE PERIL XV IN CULEBRA CUT XVI THE COLLISION XVII THE EMERGENCY DAM XVIII THE BIG SLIDE XIX JOE'S PLIGHT XX AT GATUN DAM XXI MR. ALCANDO'S ABSENCE XXII A WARNING XXIII THE FLASHLIGHT XXIV THE TICK-TICK XXV MR. ALCANDO DISAPPEARS
THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS AT PANAMA
CHAPTER I
TO THE RESCUE
With a series of puffs and chugs a big, shiny motorcycle turned from the road into the graveled drive at the side ofa white farmhouse. Two boys sat on the creaking saddles. The oneat the front handle bars threw forward the clutch lever, and thenturned on the power sharply to drive the last of the gases out ofthe twin cylinders.
The motor cycle came to a stop near a shed, and the two lads,swinging off, looked at each other for a moment.
"Some ride, that!" observed one. "You had her going then, Blake!"
"Just a little, Joe--yes. It was a nice level stretch, and Iwanted to see what she could do."
"You didn't let her out to the full at that; did you?"
"I should say not!" answered the one who had ridden in front, andguided the steed of steel and gasoline. "She'll do better thanninety miles an hour on the level; but I don't want to ride on herwhen she's doing it."
"Nor I. Well, it was a nice little run, all right. Funny, though,that we didn't get any mail; wasn't it?"
"It sure was. I think somebody must be robbing the post-office,for we ought to have had a letter from Mr. Hadley before this,"and he laughed at his own joke.
"Yes," agreed Joe, "and I ought to have had one from--"
He stopped suddenly, and a blush suffused the tan of his cheeks.
"Might as well say it as think it," broke in Blake with anotherlaugh that showed his white, even teeth. "Hasn't Mabel written toyou this week?"
"What if she hasn't?" fired back Joe.
"Oh, nothing. Only--"
"Only I suppose you are put out because you haven't had a postcardfrom Birdie Lee!" challenged Joe.
"Oh, well, have it your own way," and Blake, with a shrug of hisbroad shoulders, began to wheel the motor cycle into the shed.
"No, but it is queer; isn't it?" went on Joe. "Here we've beenback from the flood district over two weeks now, and we haven'thad a line from Mr. Hadley. He promised to write, too, and let usknow what sort of moving pictures he might be in line for next.Our vacation will soon be over, and we don't want to be idle."
"That's right," agreed his chum. "There's no money in sittingaround, when the film isn't running. Oh, well, I suppose Mr.Hadley has been so busy that he hasn't had time to make his plans.
"Besides," Blake went on, "you know there was a lot of troubleover the Mississippi flood pictures--reels of film getting lost,and all that--to say nothing of the dangers our friends ran.Birdie Lee said she'd never forget what they suffered."
"I don't blame her. Well, maybe they haven't got straightened outenough yet to feel like writing. But it sure is nice here, and Idon't mind if we stay another week or so," and he looked up thepleasant valley, on one side of which was perched the farmhousewhere the two moving picture boys had been spending theirvacation.
"It sure is nice," agreed Blake. "And it's lots more fun since wegot this motor cycle," for they had lately invested in thepowerful vehicle on which they had made many trips about thesurrounding country.
As Blake went to put the machine in the shed, which theirfarmer-landlord had allowed them to use, Joe turned to glance backalong the road they had come.
The farmhouse was set up on a little hill, above the road, and aglimpse of the highway could be had for a long distance. It wasthe sight of something coming along this thoroughfare thatattracted Joe's attention.
"What are you looking at?" asked Blake, returning after having putaway the motor cycle.
"That horse and buggy. Looks to me as though that horse wasfeeling his oats, and that the fellow driving him didn't know anymore about handling the reins than the law allows."
"That's right, Joe. If he doesn't look out he'll have an upset, ora runaway."
The vehicle in question was a light buggy; drawn by a particularlylarge and spirited horse. Seated in the carriage, as the boyscould see from their point of vantage, were two men. Who they werecould not be distinguished at that distance, but the carriage wasrapidly coming nearer.
"There he goes!" suddenly cried Joe.
As his chum spoke Blake saw that one of the reins had parted,probably because the driver pulled on it too hard in trying tobring the restive steed down to a walk.
Once the spirited horse felt that he was no longer under control,save by one line, which was worse than none, he sprang forward,and at once began to gallop, pulling after him the light carriage,which swayed from side to side, threatening every moment tocollapse, overturn, or at least be torn loose from the horse.
"There he goes!" yelled Joe again.
"I should say so!" agreed Blake. "There are going to be somedoings soon!"
This was evident, for the horse was running away, a fact not onlyapparent in itself, but heralded by the looks on the faces of thetwo occupants of the carriage, and by their frightened cries,which the wind easily carried to the watching Joe Duncan and BlakeStewart.
On the road below them, and past the boys, swept the swayingcarriage in a cloud of dust. As it was momentarily lost to sightbehind a grassy knoll, Blake cried:
"The broken bridge, Joe! The broken bridge! They're headed rightfor it!"
"That's right!" exclaimed his chum. "How can we stop them?"
Once having recognized the danger, the next thought that came tothe minds of Blake and Joe, trained for emergencies, was how toavert it. They looked at each other for a second, not to gain adelay, but to decide on the best possible plan of saving theimperiled men.
"The broken bridge," murmured Blake again. "That horse will neverbe able to make the turn into the temporary road, going at thespeed he is!"
"No, and he's probably so frightened that he'll not try it,"agreed Joe. "He'll crash right through the barrier fence, and--"
He did not finish his sentence, but Blake knew what his chummeant.
About half a mile beyond the farmhouse the road ran over a bridgethat spanned a deep and rocky ravine. About a week before therehad been an accident. Weakened by the passing of a heavy tractionthreshing engine, it had been broken, and was ruled unsafe by thecounty authorities.
Accordingly the bridge had been condemned and partially torn down,a new structure being planned to replace it. But this new bridgewas not yet in place, though a frail, temporary span, open only tofoot passengers and very light vehicles, had been thrown acrossthe ravine.
The danger, though, was not so much in the temporary bridge, as inthe fact that the temporary road, connecting with it, left themain and permanent highway at a sharp curve. Persons knowing ofthe broken bridge made allowances for this curve, and approachedalong the main road carefully, t
o make the turn safely into thetemporary highway.
But a maddened horse could not be expected to do this. He woulddash along the main road, and would not make the turn. Or, if hedid, going at the speed of this one, he would most certainlyoverturn the carriage.
The main highway was fenced off a short distance on either side ofthe broken bridge, but this barrier was of so frail a nature thatit could not be expected to stop a runaway.
"He'll crash right through it, run out on the end of the brokenbridge and----"
Once more Joe did not finish.
"We've got to do something!" cried Blake.
"Yes, but what?" asked Joe.
"We've got to save them!" cried Blake again, as he thought of thetwo men in the carriage. He had had a glimpse of their faces asthe vehicle, drawn by the frenzied horse, swept past him on theroad below. One of the men he knew to be employed in the onlylivery stable of Central Falls, on the outskirts of which he andJoe were spending their holiday. The other man was a stranger.Blake had only seen that he was a young man, rather good-looking,and of a foreign cast of countenance. Blake had momentarily puthim down for an Italian.
"The motor cycle!" suddenly cried Joe.
"What?" asked Blake, only half comprehending.
"We might overtake them on the motor cycle!" repeated his chum.
A look of understanding came into Blake's eyes.
"That's right!" he cried. "Why didn't I think of that before,instead of standing here mooning? I wonder if we've got time?"
"We'll make time!" cried Joe grimly. "Get her out, and we'll ridefor all we're worth. It'll be a race, Blake!"
"Yes. A race to save a life! Lucky she's got plenty of gas and oilin her."
"Yes, and she hasn't had a chance to cool down. Run her out."
Blake fairly leaped toward the shed where he had wheeled the motorcycle. In another instant he and Joe were trundling it down thegravel walk to the road.
As they reached the highway they could hear, growing fainter andfainter, the "thump-thud," of the hoofs of the runaway horse.
Joe held the machine upright while Blake vaulted to the forwardsaddle and began to work the pedals to start the motor. Thecylinders were still hot from the recent run, and at the firstrevolution the staccato explosions began.
"Jump up!" yelled Blake in his chum's ear--shouting above therattle and bang of the exhaust, for the muffler was open.
Joe sprang to leather, but before he was in his seat Blake wasletting in the friction clutch, and a moment later, at evergathering speed, the shining motor cycle was speeding down theroad to the rescue. Would Joe and Blake be in time?
The Moving Picture Boys at Panama; Or, Stirring Adventures Along the Great Canal Page 1
