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.”