CHAPTER XV.

AN ADVENTURE ON THE ISTHMUS.

Lost in the forest! Oliver and Gus looked at each other with blanched faces. Here indeed was a sorry situation. What was to be done?

On every side could be seen nothing but the dense undergrowth and tall trees. They might be only a hundred feet from the railroad, or they might be a mile away.

“We were very foolish not to note the path,” said Oliver. “Have you any idea which way we ought to turn?”

“I have not, excepting that we might trace the way back to that pool,” answered Gus. “And I don’t want to do that if I can help it,” he added with a shudder. “I’d rather tramp five miles than face those snakes again.”

“So would I. But we must try some way. Here, let us see if we cannot get our bearings by the sun. Now, I think this is the right direction,” went on Oliver, after a careful survey of the light overhead.

“And I think it is this way,” affirmed Gus, pointing out a course directly at right angles with the other. “Come, let us try that opening beyond.”

Gus insisted that he was right, and somewhat against his will, Oliver followed his chum. They crossed the clearing, and then plunged into another mass of bushes and vines, the stout lad leading.

“Hold up!” he shouted suddenly. “Don’t come any farther, or you’ll get into a regular bog-hole!” And he turned and hastily scrambled back to where Oliver stood.

“It’s lucky I stopped where I did,” he went on; “if we hadn’t we would have got into a pool worse than the other one was. My! what a beastly place this is!”

More dismayed than ever, they made their way back to the clearing. Something must be done, but what?

“If we don’t get back soon, the train will leave without us,” said Oliver. “Come, let us try the direction I thought was right.” And off they started as fast as they could.

It was miserable walking, and before they had proceeded a hundred steps both had their feet wet, and unfortunate Gus had his coat torn in a dozen places.

“It’s positively the worst place I ever got into!” he groaned. “If we don’t get out soon I won’t have a patch of clothing left.”

On and on they went, until Oliver called a halt.

“No use to go farther. If this was the right road we would have crossed the track long ago. We are going wrong, and that is all there is to it.”

“But what shall we do?” demanded Gus, more dismayed than ever. “We can’t stand still here.”

Oliver leaned against a tree. Truly their position was far from enviable. Suppose they should be left, what would they do when night came on?

“I don’t know,” he replied in a low voice. “If we could only――hark! what is that?”

Both listened intently. From a distance came the unmistakable sound of a steam-whistle.

“It’s the locomotive!” cried Gus. “They are getting ready to start!”

“Hurry up,” cried Oliver. “Come, this way.”

And he sprang off through the bushes at the top of his speed. It was a rough journey, but what was that compared to the agonizing thought that they might be left behind?

Fortunately the steam-whistle continued sounding, and it proved a good guide; for in ten minutes more they reached the railroad track, and just beyond stood the train, all ready to start.

“Thank fortune!” cried Oliver, and he waved his hand to the conductor to wait for them.

In another moment they were safe on board and in their seats, and then the train with a final warning moved off.

“Where have you two been?” asked Mr. Whyland, gazing in astonishment at their torn clothing and wet feet; “I was very much afraid you might miss the train.”

“You weren’t half as much scared about it as we were,” responded Gus ruefully.

Oliver told their story. Mr. Whyland smiled, but shook his head.

“Both of you want to be more careful,” he said. “Those flowers may have been poisonous, and also the snakes. It is well enough to go out on a tour of inspection, but one must be mighty cautious.”

“I’ll not leave the car until we reach Panama,” affirmed Gus, and he was as good as his word.

The train moved along slowly, as if feeling its way. Gus said he could very well walk about as fast; but when Oliver suggested that he get out and try it, the stout youth begged to be excused.

On the way they passed a number of villages, none of them very large, and many of them merely a collection of bamboo huts, with a big pole in the center, and covered over for the most part with palm leaves. The natives appeared to be quite respectable, but not over fond of work. Here and there a group could be seen moving slowly about, and singing to themselves; or they were to be found in a corner dozing, or contentedly smoking their tobacco.

“It’s a lazy life,” said Oliver, “but I suppose the climate has something to do with it.”

“It has everything to do with it,” replied Mr. Whyland. “Still, the people here are more industrious than they used to be before the railroad was built.”

Once the train came to a standstill. It was a sort of a station, and on the platform stood a number of the natives of the place――tall, and not bad-looking fellows.

One of them held an immense quantity of small wares by a string over his shoulder, and was trying to dispose of them. He approached the window at which Oliver and Gus were sitting, and could hardly be made to take “no” for an answer.

“I don’t want any,” said Gus, for at least the tenth time.

“_Si caballeros_,” the native insisted. “Yes, gentlemen, only feety centa.”

To get rid of the fellow they at last closed the window, and then the man went off in apparent anger.

“They have an idea down here that all Americans are rich, and free to spend their money,” said Mr. Whyland. “The same idea prevails in Europe, and American tourists are generally made to pay a little more for what they purchase than other folks.”

“I wouldn’t mind having some of the things he had to sell, but I have no money to spare,” remarked Oliver.

“Just my case,” put in Gus. “And it makes me mad enough to have to say no, without having some one insist the other way.”

The remainder of the journey took but a short while. Soon the train rolled past a number of ancient and squalid-looking houses, and Mr. Whyland announced that they had reached the outskirts of Panama.

But around the odd-looking station things were not so bad. To be sure all was new and strange to the boys, and they kept their eyes wide open for all such sights.

“They often have most outrageous bull-fights here,” said Mr. Whyland as they alighted.

“I should like to see one,” rejoined Gus. “Not that I would enjoy the sport, but it would be so strange.”

“I would not care to go,” put in Oliver. “I think it is too cruel!”

“It is the height of cruelty,” responded Mr. Whyland. “I went once. It was held on a Sunday, and a friend insisted that I should accompany him. When the poor beasts were brought out, and a number of things done to enrage them, I was disgusted; and when the fight began I grew sick, not only at heart, but physically as well. What sport there is in the thing I cannot see.”

“Nor can any one else who has any heart,” said Oliver decidedly; “it is nothing short of barbarism.”

“I wonder when our steamer leaves?” observed Gus, as they walked out upon the street.

“To-morrow morning at ten o’clock. At least, that is what the conductor said,” replied Oliver.

“Suppose we go to the office and make sure,” said Mr. Whyland. “We do not wish to take any chances. They often make changes here.”

So off for the office of the steamship company they started. It was not a great distance, and it took them but a few minutes.

As they neared the spot, they met a number of their fellow-passengers returning with fallen looks.

“Something is wrong,” said Oliver. “I just heard that man in brown say it was a shame to be kept waiting so long. Something has happened.”

They were not long in finding out what that something was. In entering the harbor, the steamship had got one of her wheels caught in some wreckage and badly damaged. She must be laid up for repairs, and passengers would have to wait for the next steamer.

“And how long will that be?” asked Oliver ruefully.

“Ten days,” was the reply.