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hills of Culebra, sweep grandly past
the rolling slopes of Paraiso, and so on to the broad Pacific through the canal which they-ad dug! "So help me God . . ." he cried, ". . .I'll play this canal deal square!" That evening while at his supper one of Jim's Jamaican policemen handed him a despatch. Jim opened it and read: white man initials w d gambler thick-set muscular heavy black mus tache swarthy scar over left eye dressed in khaki wanted for the kill ing of hanford jones and thomas sel by clerks i c c and wounding of others dangerous character armed last seen boarding train for colon signed judson Jim's mobile face set like a death mask, then a smile curved his beau tiful mouth. His amber eyes glowed. "It's Bill Diamond," he said to him self. "I thought he'd show up sooner or later. Bill Diamond. . . wanted for murder in 'Frisco, Seattle, and th,e Yukon! .... my man. . . . my man." Daylight found him on the upper Chagres. He had taken a long cayu gua and four native negroes, his own men whom he could trust , His plans were definite; he would go to Alhajuela, the abandoned hy draulic station, and there he would live in one of the old French cabins, apparently as a hydraulic engineer, while he sent out his men to scout the different tributaries. As soon as they had located his man he would go to the spot in person and make the arrest. He had no fear that Diamond would try to leave the river until driven out by the rains; by that time the physical appearance of the man would be altered by sunburn, a beard, and the loss of flesh. He leaned back in the cayugua and watched the river panorama. On his way up he had passed an engineer's camp at Gamboa. They were boring into the deep aluvipns ing to change the map of the world, these youngsters in their flannel shirts and khaki trousers, covered from head to foot with the sticky mud from the Chagres river-bed. They were big, these things, the capricious river, the inscrutable jun gle; Culebra also was big. . . .the whole great work was big! River, forest, the Cordilleras. . . . yet "all were to bow before the bigger things; human knowledge, duty, but most of all, the Pride of Craft. Day passed day -at Alhajuela. Jim lived in the abandoned cabin of the former French fluviographer. Juan remained as his servant; the negroes he furnished with two smaller cayuguas and sent on up the river to scout some of the smaller tribu taries. Most of his time he spent upon the stream, spearing fish and shoot ing crocodiles, or in the jungle, hunt ing deer and turkeys and watching the forest life. One morning Jim awoke with a numbing headache; the sunlight seemed to shine through his eye balls into his brain, and his tongue was like the tag end of his belt. "Fever . . . ." he said to himself, "or smallpox." "I'll stick it out. . . I'll stick it out whatever it is," he muttered to him self and gulped down thirty grains of quinine. For two days he lay in a semi-delirium, eating nothing, sleeping a fitful fever sleep, "and dreaming fantastic fever dreams. The third night he was awakened by the crash of rain upon the corrugated iron roof of his cabin; at the same time 'he was vaguely, conscious of a roaring in his ears, which he ascribed to quinine and malaria. Toward morning it roused him again, and for a while he lay and listened to it idly, and as he listened it was borne upon him that the noise lacked the even monotone, of fever sounds. He crawled from his bed and lurched to the door, threw: it of-She" riter-iedi tfpfce -frere 'fcftpar-1 djr&if aifiigdzeQ tfowri tfifwadL4n'a3 -!,V . A' X Jik-.