"Well, we'll soon be afloat again," remarked Blake, one night, when they had started back for Gamboa. "I've had about enough jungle."
"And so have I," agreed Joe, for the last two days it had rained, and they were wet and miserable. They could get no pictures.
Their tug was waiting for them as arranged and, once more on board, they resumed their trip through the Canal.
Soon after leaving Gamboa the vessel entered a part of the waterway, on either side of which towered a high hill through which had been dug a great gash.
"Culebra Cut!" cried Blake, as he saw, in the distance Gold Hill, the highest point. "We must get some pictures of this, Joe."
"That's right, so we must. Whew! It is a big cut all right!" he went on. "No wonder they said it was harder work here than at the Gatun Dam. And it's here where those big slides have been?"
"Yes, and there may be again," said Blake.
"I hope not!" exclaimed Captain Watson. "They are not only dangerous, but they do terrible damage to the Canal and the machinery. We want no more slides."
"But some are predicted," Blake remarked.
"Yes, I know they say they come every so often. But now it would take a pretty big one to do much damage. We have nearly tamed Culebra."