Bert Wilson at Panama

by J. W. Duffield

Bert got as near him as he could, and thrust one end of the reed into
Hartley's mouth. His teeth and lips closed tightly about it.

"There you are." exclaimed Bert, exultantly. "Now you can breathe through that reed until help comes from camp, and then we'll get you out if we have to drain the swamp to do it. I'll stay right here till they come, and the reed will mark your position. Keep up hope and you'll be all right yet."

His eloquent eyes told Bert that he understood, and now there was nothing to do but sit down and wait for the expected help to arrive from camp. He knew that this would not be for some time yet, and his only hope was that the man in the swamp would not sink deeper than the length of the reed.

He sank very slowly now, but none the less surely, and gradually the mud covered his mouth—his nostrils—his eyes—and at length his head sank beneath the surface. The smooth mire closed over the place where he had been, and the slender reed was all that remained to connect him with the living, pulsing world about.

At the thought of the horrible death the engineer would now have suffered without the aid of that frail thing Bert shuddered, and thanked Heaven for the inspiration.

The seething tropic life went on without interruption, as Bert sat on the edge of the swamp with his eyes fastened on the reed. From the jungle back of him came the myriad cries of the wild things: the chatter of monkeys, the screams of the gaily colored parrots, and, once, the distant yell of a mountain lion.

The tropic sun beat down with ever-increasing intensity as it neared the zenith, and Bert felt an awful oppression stealing over him. After the first flush of triumph over cheating the bog, at least temporarily, of its victim, a rush of doubts and fears came over him. Could the engineer retain consciousness, immersed as he was in the vile, sticky mud? Would he not give up, and release his hold on the precious reed? These and a thousand other misgivings tortured Bert as he watched the reed and waited for the expected reinforcements. The minutes seemed hours, and when he looked at his watch he was astonished to find it was not yet noon.

At length his weary vigil was broken by a distant shout, which he recognized as Tom's. All his fears vanished at the prospect of immediate action, and he raised a great shout in return. In a few moments he could hear the noise occasioned by the passage of a considerable body of men, and soon the rescuing party hove in sight. This consisted of several of the camp engineers and foremen, together with eight or ten husky laborers. Everybody, including Tom and Dick, carried shovels and ropes, and some of the laborers bore long, wide planks on their shoulders.

Dick and Tom rushed forward, followed by the others, but stopped short when they looked at the treacherous swamp and saw no sign of the engineer. Their faces paled, and Dick exclaimed, "Too late, are we? We did our best, but we've got here too late."

Grief was written on every face, but this was soon dispelled when Bert exclaimed, briskly, "Too late nothing. He's under the swamp, to be sure, but he's breathing through the reed you see sticking up there," and he pointed out to them this slender barrier between life and death.