THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS AT PANAMA

Stirring Adventures Along the Great Canal

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I    TO THE RESCUE

CHAPTER II    ON THE BRINK

CHAPTER III    A SURPRISE

CHAPTER IV    A DELAYED LETTER

CHAPTER V     ANOTHER SURPRISE

CHAPTER VI    SOMETHING QUEER

CHAPTER VII    IN NEW YORK

CHAPTER VIII    OFF FOR PANAMA

CHAPTER IX    THE LITTLE BOX

CHAPTER X    THE SECRET CONFERENCE

CHAPTER XI    ALONG THE CANAL

CHAPTER XII    ALMOST AN ACCIDENT

CHAPTER XIII    IN THE JUNGLE

CHAPTER XIV    IN DIRE PERIL

CHAPTER XV    IN CULEBRA CUT

CHAPTER XVI    THE COLLISION

CHAPTER XVII    THE EMERGENCY DAM

CHAPTER XVIII    THE BIG SLIDE

CHAPTER XIX    JOE'S PLIGHT

CHAPTER XX    AT GATUN DAM

CHAPTER XXI     MR. ALCANDO'S ABSENCE

CHAPTER XXII    A WARNING

CHAPTER XXIII    THE FLASHLIGHT

CHAPTER XXIV    THE TICK-TOCK

CHAPTER XXV    MR. ALCANDO DISAPPEARS

CHAPTER I

With a series of puffs and chugs a big, shiny motor cycle turned from the road into the graveled drive at the side of a white farmhouse. Two boys sat on the creaking saddles. The one at the front handle bars threw forward the clutch lever, and then turned on the power sharply to drive the last of the gases out of the twin cylinders.

The motor cycle came to a stop near a shed, and the two lads, swinging off, looked at each other for a moment.

"Some ride, that!" observed one. "You had her going then, Blake!"

"Just a little, Joe—yes. It was a nice level stretch, and I wanted to see what she could do."

"You didn't let her out to the full at that; did you?"

"I should say not!" answered the one who had ridden in front, and guided the steed of steel and gasoline. "She'll do better than ninety miles an hour on the level; but I don't want to ride on her when she's doing it."

"Nor I. Well, it was a nice little run, all right. Funny, though, that we didn't get any mail; wasn't it?"

"It sure was. I think somebody must be robbing the post-office, for we ought to have had a letter from Mr. Hadley before this," and he laughed at his own joke.

"Yes," agreed Joe, "and I ought to have had one from—"

He stopped suddenly, and a blush suffused the tan of his cheeks.

"Might as well say it as think it," broke in Blake with another laugh that showed his white, even teeth. "Hasn't Mabel written to you this week?"

"What if she hasn't?" fired back Joe.

"Oh, nothing. Only—"

"Only I suppose you are put out because you haven't had a postcard from Birdie Lee!" challenged Joe.

"Oh, well, have it your own way," and Blake, with a shrug of his broad shoulders, began to wheel the motor cycle into the shed.

"No, but it is queer; isn't it?" went on Joe. "Here we've been back from the flood district over two weeks now, and we haven't had a line from Mr. Hadley. He promised to write, too, and let us know what sort of moving pictures he might be in line for next. Our vacation will soon be over, and we don't want to be idle."

"That's right," agreed his chum. "There's no money in sitting around, when the film isn't running. Oh, well, I suppose Mr. Hadley has been so busy that he hasn't had time to make his plans.

"Besides," Blake went on, "you know there was a lot of trouble over the Mississippi flood pictures—reels of film getting lost, and all that—to say nothing of the dangers our friends ran. Birdie Lee said she'd never forget what they