“And who would that be?” asked Blake in a low tone.

“Oh, someone, or some firm, who might fancy that the Canal took business away from them.  It will greatly shorten certain traffic and trade routes, you know.”

“Hardly enough to cause anyone to commit such a crime as that, do you think?” asked the Spaniard.

“That is hard to answer,” went on the tug commander.  “I know that we are taking great precautions, though, to prevent the dam, or the locks, from being damaged.  Uncle Sam is taking no chances.  Well, have you pictures enough?”

“I think so,” answered Blake.  “When we come back we’ll stop off here and get some views from below the dam, showing the spillway.”

“Yes, that ought to be interesting,” the captain agreed.

The tug now steamed on her way out into Gatun Lake, and there a series of excellent views were obtained for the moving picture cameras.  Mr. Alcando was allowed to do his part.  He was rapidly learning what the boys could teach him.

“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.  “If ever it was blown up by dynamite it would make a wonderful scene.”

“Too wonderful,” said Joe grimly.  “It would be a terrible crime against civilization to destroy this great canal.”

“Yes, it would be a great crime,” agreed the Spaniard in a low voice.  A little later he went to his stateroom on the tug, and Blake and Joe remained on deck.

“Queer sort of a chap; isn’t he?” said Joe.

“He sure is—­rather deep,” agreed his chum.

“Are you boys going into the jungle?” asked the tug captain that afternoon.

“Yes, we want to get a few views showing life in the woods,” answered Blake.  “Why?”

“Well, the reason I asked is that I can take you to the mouth of the Chagres River and from there you won’t have so much trouble penetrating into the interior.  So if you’re going—­”

“I think we had better go; don’t you?” asked Blake of his chum.

“Surely, yes.  We might get some fine pictures.  They’ll go well with the Canal, anyhow; really a sort of part of the series we’re taking.”

“All right, then, I’ll leave you in the jungle,” the captain said.

A day or so later, stops having been made to permit the boys to film certain scenes they wanted, the tug reached Gamboa, where they stopped, to plan a trip into the interior.

Then, one morning, with their cameras loaded with film, they started off for a brief trip into the jungle.

CHAPTER XIV