"It is better to have no foreigners," replied the captain. "Not that Mr. Alcando might not be all right, for he seems a nice chap. But he is a Spaniard, or, rather a South American, and some of the South Americans haven't any too much love for us; especially since the Canal was built."
"Why?" asked Blake.
"Oh, for various reasons. Some of them have lost trade because it shortens routes. But there, I must go and see if all the men are in place." Captain Wiltsey left him, and once more the moving picture boy resumed his vigil. All about him was silence and darkness. As well as he could he looked to see that his camera was pointing in the right direction, and that it set firmly on the tripod, the legs of which were driven into the ground.
"I'll just step over and see how Joe is," thought Blake. He judged it lacked half an hour yet of midnight.
He found Joe busy mending a broken wire that ran from the battery to the flashlight powder chamber.
"Just discovered it," Joe whispered. "Lucky I did, too, or it would have failed me just when I needed it."
"Is it fixed?" asked Blake, as his chum straightened up in the darkness.
"Yes, it'll do for a while, though it's only twisted together. Say, but isn't it dark?"
"It sure is," agreed Blake.
Together they stood there near the great dam. There came to their ears the splashing of water over the spillway, for the lake was high, and much was running to waste.