That was so! Here was the very spot where the cayuca had been tethered to a pole. Charley remembered the pole, forked at the upper end. Only the forked tip was visible, for the river had risen amazingly from the rain, and was running over its bank. But the pole was sticking out—and no canoe was attached to it. Of canoe, and of Maria and Francisco, not a sign appeared.  
Two thirds of the other canoes had gone; the others were rapidly leaving, as their occupants piled into them. The canoe of the long-nosed man and his companions already had started, for its place was vacant. Charley looked to see.
 
"It can't be that they've !" exclaimed his father.
 
Mr. Grigsby shook his head, and smiled.
 
"Scarcely," he said. "See here. I've been waiting to show you."
 
He in knee deep, pulled up the pole and returned with it. A fragment of grass rope still hung to it. The rope had been cut!
 
"I think," said Mr. Grigsby, slowly, "that we've our three friends to thank for this. Looks to me as though somebody had cut the rope and set the canoe adrift, with our men in it."
 
"Then they're liable to be miles down the river!"
 
"Just so, baggage and all."
 
"We can't wait," asserted Mr. Adams. "If we wait we run a good chance of missing the steamer. I wouldn't have those three get there first for a thousand dollars. How about another canoe? Have you tried?"
 
"Not yet. I didn't know whether you wanted to leave your baggage."
 
"Certainly I'll leave it. It can follow us. We can't stay here long and run the risk of . If you'll look for a canoe I'll see if we can't hire passage with some of these other parties. Here, gentlemen!" he called, to a canoe about to push out, and not heavily loaded. "Got any room to spare?"
 
"Nary an inch, mister," responded one of the men. And away they went.
 
Again and again Mr. Adams tried, and he always got the same answer. Truly, this was a very selfish crowd, every man thinking only of himself and the goal ahead. They all acted as if the gold would be gone, did they not reach California at the very earliest possible minute. The fact is, Charley felt that way himself.
 
Back came Mr. Grigsby, hot and wet and disgusted.
 
"There's not a canoe to be had," he announced. "I can't get a boat for love or money. Either they're all in use, or the people claim they want to use them later. I expect we'll have to wait."
 
"Do you think our men will be back?"
 
"Yes, sir, as soon as they can. They seem honest. We can't walk, anyway."
 
"No, I should say not," responded Mr. Adams, surveying the jungle close. "We couldn't go a mile. The river's the only trail. Very well, we'll wait a while. I've waited before, and so have you."
 
"Many a time," and Mr. Grigsby composedly seated himself on the bank, his rifle between his knees.
 
"I'll see about some breakfast, then," volunteered Mr. Adams. And away he strode.
 
Charley had listened with dismay to the conversation. The last of the gold seekers' dug-outs had left in a hurry, and was disappearing up-stream. And here were he and his partners, at the very beginning of their journey across to the Pacific! That had been a mean trick by the long-nosed man. Charley grew hot with anger.
 
"I should think Maria and Francisco would have waked up," he complained.
 
"They're awake by this time, and surprised, too," answered Mr. Grigsby. "As like as not they were covered with their gutta-percha blankets, from the rain, and the boat drifted away without their feeling a thing."
 
The sun had risen. A few of the villagers beside Mr. Grigsby and Charley and chatted in Spanish. They didn't appear concerned over the matter. They seemed to think that it was a joke. Presently Mr. Adams came striding back.
 
"Nothing new, is there?" he . "All right. Breakfast is ready, anyway. I don't think these people will object to having us as steady boarders, at two bits apiece."
 
The breakfast, in the darkened hut where they had slept, was very good: baked plantains (that looked when whole like a banana, but when served cooked looked and tasted like squash), boiled rice, butterless bread, and black coffee again. Charley enjoyed that breakfast—how could he help it when he was hungry and the food was something new? But his father rose twice to look at the river. Evidently time was of more importance than eating.
 
However, the river brought nothing; and when they all had finished breakfast and went out together to inspect the river again, it proved still vacant of the dug-out, and of Maria and Francisco.
 
"I !" Mr. Adams. "This is too bad."
 
Mr. Grigsby seated himself on the bank.
 
"I don't wish any snake harm that doesn't deserve it," he said. "But if a big boa would swallow that long-nosed man and his two cronies I don't reckon I'd feel especially sorry, except it would be powerful hard on the snake!"
 
The village pursued its daily routine. Some of the women washed clothing in the shallows, although the water seemed dirtier than the garments. Men and women, both, cut plantains and bananas and breadfruit, and scratched gardens with sticks. Children played about, and a few canoes pushed out, to go fishing. But nobody worked any too fast. The sun beat down hotly, the air was moist and heavy, monkeys and parrots screamed in the trees, and ever the Chagres flowed past, brown and from the rain. Considerable driftwood floated down, and this was the only passing object.
 
After about two hours had dragged by, Mr. Grigsby suddenly uttered, in his calm manner, with a nod of his head: "There they come." He had keen eyes, had the and trapper who had served with Carson and Colonel Frémont, for Charley, peering down stream, saw only a small appearing around the bend. His father wasn't quite convinced, and earnestly he said: "I hope so, but it may be some other canoe, after all."
 
"Not a bit," assured Mr. Grigsby. "That's our craft, with our men in it paddling for dear life. I can see 'em plain; can't you?"
 
Along the opposite bank crept the canoe—yes, it held two paddlers—now it was quartering across, making for the village; its crew certainly looked like Maria and Francisco.
 
! Maria and Francisco they were; and indignant they proved to be, as their three passengers proceeded to the water's edge to meet them. They were panting and wet, for they had come in a great hurry. The villagers flocked down, to listen and inspect.
 
"Quick!" called Francisco, in Spanish, as he held the canoe to the bank, "Get in, Americans." He held up the rope attached to the . "Those rascals cut us adrift, but never mind. We'll hurry."
 
"We were almost down to Chagres again when we woke up," called Maria, to friends . "We have been paddling ever since."
 
"Get aboard," bade Mr. Adams. "All right," he added, to the boatmen, as Mr. Grigsby followed him and Charley tumbled into the bows. Francisco gave a vigorous shove, out shot the canoe into the current; and instantly Maria and Francisco were digging again with their paddles.
 
"We've lost about six hours," remarked Charley's father. "And it's too late for even Grigsby's boa constrictor to help us out."
 
Maria seemed to have understood, for he , encouragingly: "Go ahead! Ever'body go ahead!" And on a sentence in Spanish.
 
"Maria says they'll paddle all night," translated Charley's father, for Charley. "That will help, but I expect a lot of other fellows will do the same."
 
"Well, we can do the best we're able," Mr. Grigsby. "I reckon we'll get thar. The river's falling. That'll help."
 
By the looks of the water-line on the banks, this was so. Maria and Francisco made good progress, as they cunningly took advantage of every . Speedily the village of Gatun disappeared in the heavy behind, and once more the dug-out was afloat in the tropical .
 
The river was extremely crooked, and in spots was swift; and Maria and Francisco worked like Trojans to gain a few miles. (Of course there was no Gatun Lake here yet. The Chagres had not been dammed for any Panama Canal, but flowed in a course between high green hills bordered with .)
 
About noon another little hut village appeared in a clearing on the right bank. This was Dos Hermanos (Two Brothers), where people who left Gatun early in the morning usually stopped for breakfast, and their boatmen stopped for gossip. But Maria only shook his head at sight of it, and he and Francisco paused in their paddling not an instant. So Dos Hermanos faded from view, behind.
 
How they worked, those two boatmen—the muchos caballeros (much gentlemen) as they claimed to be! And certainly white boatmen never could have served more faithfully. Maria no longer sang his funny "Yankee Doodle Doo." He and Francisco saved their breath, while the rolled from them in streams. All day they paddled, pausing only twice for a bano, or bath. Other villages were passed, and one or two ; and in due time the sun set and dusk flowed down from the green hills.
 
With one accord Maria and Francisco swung the canoe in to the nearest bank, and tethered it to a leaning tree. Maria spoke in Spani............