“What is wrong?” a voice asked. “There has been no explosion.”
“The fuse was wet,” was the reply.
“Then why didn’t you go back and fix it?” demanded the first speaker. “The sooner the job is done the better.”
“I heard some one stirring in the jungle,” was the reply.
“A nice man to be given such a task,” roared another voice. “You must go back.”
“You’ve landed the plotters, all right,” whispered Jimmie. “I’ll bet there’s plenty more bombs like the one you have, waiting to be tucked under the Gatun dam. Gee! I’d like to take a shot at them gazabos.”
Still standing in the moonlight, only a short distance from the listening boys, the three men argued in low tones for a moment. It was clear that the man who had placed the bomb was refusing to obey the orders given by the others.
“I’m not in love with the job, anyway,” the fellow snarled, “and you may do it yourselves if you want it done to-night.”
The others did not appear to relish the murderous job they were urging the speaker to undertake, and in a few moments the party moved around the base of the hill and then struck for the higher ground by way of a gully which cut between two elevations.
When the boys, mounting the breast of the hill and crouching at the summit, saw the men again, two were making for the cloud of light which lay over the workings while the other was following the crest of the hill toward the east.