“He may have become lost in the jungle,” Peter Fenton remarked. “Suppose we go out into the jungle and fire our guns?”
“I’m afraid it is worse than that,” Glen Howard remarked. “We ought to let Lieutenant Gordon know about it.”
“I am afraid Ned wouldn’t like that,” Frank said.
While the boys discussed ways and means a dusky youth of perhaps twenty was seen approaching the cottage on a run. His dress was half American and half native, but his face was wholly Spanish. He paused when he discovered the boys on the porch and held out his hands, as if to show that his mission was a peaceful one. Frank motioned to him to approach and opened the screened porch door for him to enter.
“Good-morning, gentlemen,” he said, in excellent English. “I am from Lieutenant Gordon.”
“Then I think you’re the fellow we are looking for,” Jack said.
“He wants you to join him up at the Culebra cut,” the youngster continued. “The two who left the cottage last night are there waiting for you.”
“Glory be!” shouted Jack. “We were just wondering what had become of them.”
“They wandered out to Gatun and came upon the lieutenant,” said the messenger.
“In the night?” asked Peter, suspiciously.