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Updated: June 5, 2025
"Something like that," Peter said. "Where is the Gatun dam?" asked Jack. "It is going up over there," Peter replied, pointing out a low, broad ridge which appeared to link two hills together. "That is what will make the inland sea, and that is the lump of earth we came here to look after." "It is a busy place night and day," Ned said. "See the electric towers and wires? Work never stops."
Wondering whether the boys who had gone on toward Gatun were safe, he lighted the fuse of the bomb and hastened up the stairs and out into the jungle. A few yards from the broken wall of the temple he met Jimmie, red of face and laboring under great excitement.
Sweeping over its collection of houses, at an elevation of about fifteen hundred feet, they passed the big white Gatun locks, and followed the trail of the Panama Railroad across the great neck of rugged land which joined North and South America followed, too, the tortuous, wonderful channel which American enterprise had cut through.
Glen Howard asked, when Ned and Frank returned to the room where the other boys were seated. "We're going to Gatun," was the reply. "We're going on a special engine, and we're to leave the tracks in the outskirts and get down to the dam." "Why, this is not the night," Frank said, surprised. "The date on the drawings was that of to-morrow, Saturday," said Glen. "This is Friday.
"What does it mean?" he asked. "I sailed from New York the day after the boys left, but reached Culebra only to-night. When I came here I found Mr. Chester and Mr. Van Ellis waiting for news from Ned Nestor. What does it mean?" "It means!" shouted Gordon, "that your dupes are all under arrest, through the efforts of Nestor, and that the Gatun dam is no longer in danger.
Ned took them out, stirred the fire to a sudden glow, and bent over the figures and lines on the sheets. His face grew thoughtful as he looked. "What is it?" Jimmie asked. Ned held out the rolls. "This one," he said, "is a drawing of the Gatun dam, and this other is a crude sketch of the basement of the Daily Planet building in New York." "Gee!" cried the boy.
"Of course it could never happen," the Spaniard said, when the cameras had been put away, for the views to be obtained then were of too much sameness to attract Joe or Blake, "it would never happen, and I hope it never does; but if it did it would make a wonderful picture; would it not?" he asked. "What are you talking about?" asked Blake. "The Gatun Dam," was the answer.
Work on the locks and dams at Gatun, which began actively in March last, has advanced so far that it is thought that masonry work on the locks can be begun within fifteen months.
There she was, seated with her father, Colonel Bland from Gatun, and some high officer or other probably an admiral. Ramon Alfarez was draped artistically over the back of her chair, curling his mustache tenderly and smiling vacantly at the conversation. Kirk ground his teeth together and set his feet as if for the sound of the referee's whistle.
Hope police station, where there is a 'phone with which to "get in touch" again and then a Mission rocker on the screened veranda where the breezes of the near-by Atlantic will have you well cooled off before you can catch the shuttle-train back to Gatun. Or another led out across the lake by the old abandoned line that was the main line when first I saw Gatun.
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