The
Marines of course were "busted." The rest of us scraped up a few
odd "Spigoty" dimes. The Spanish bar-tender--who is never the
"tough" his American counterpart strives to show himself--but
merely a cheery good-fellow--drifted into our conversation, and
when we found I had slept in his native village he would have it
that we accept a round of Valdepenas. Which must have been potent,
for it moved "Scotty" to unbutton an inner pocket and set up an
entire bottle of amontillado. So midnight was no great space off
when we turned out again into the howling night and, having helped
Renson to reach a sleeping-place, scattered to the bachelor
quarters that had been found for us and lay down for the few hours
that remained before the 5:51 should carry us back to Empire.
At last I had crossed all the Isthmus and heard the wash of the
Caribbean at my feet. It was the Sunday following our Gatun days,
and nearly a month since my landing on the Zone. The morning train
from Empire left me at the lake-side city for a run over locks and
dam which the working days had not allowed, and there being no
other train for hours I set off along the railroad to walk the
seven miles to Colon. On either side lay hot, rampant jungle, low
and almost swampy. It was noon when I reached the broad railroad
yards and Zone storehouses of Mt.
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