es, and tools. The
only thing I can see is for us to hustle back to camp and get help."

"The sooner the better, I guess," agreed Dick, soberly, and accordingly
they explained their intentions to the man in the bog.

"How far have you got to go?" inquired the latter, and when they told him
he groaned.

"You'll never get back in time," he said, "but I guess it's the only
thing left to do. Only, one of you please stay here with me. If I've
got to die, I'd rather not die alone."

"Oh, quit that talk about dying," exclaimed Bert, although in his heart
he had little hope. But the three comrades were resolved to employ every
means, however desperate, for the stranger's release.

They held a brief consultation.

"You and Tom had better go, Dirk," said Bert. "I'll stay here and do all
I can to keep this poor fellow alive, but it's a long trip and I'm afraid
there's not much chance for him."

So Tom and Dick set off at a brisk trot, and Bert began to talk with the
unfortunate man with the idea of getting his mind as much as possible off
his predicament. It developed that he was an engineer connected with the
Canal, who had gone for a day's hunting in the jungle. He had lost his
way, and had been forced to make camp over night. Early the next morning
he had set out, and when he had reached the swamp had attempted to cross
it by way of a path that a native guide had pointed out to him as being a
short cut, on a previous trip. He had taken two or three steps off the
path before he realized it, and then, when he had attempted to return,
had found himself held fast in the treacherous mire. All his efforts to
escape had only resulted in his sinking deeper and deeper, and finally he
had ceased struggling. Then he began to shout at intervals, in the faint
hope of someone being within earshot, and, as we have seen, brought the
three boys to his aid.

While the man had been talking, Bert's mind had been busy with a hundred
plans for helping him, which, however, he was forced to abandon one after
the other. It wrung his heart to see the poor wretch slowly sinking in
the filthy mud, and to feel his own absolute inability to help him. By
this time, the stranger was in the mire up to his chin, the underbrush
which the boys had cut for him having gradually been pulled under.

Almost imperceptibly, but none the less surely, he sank, and Bert tore
his hair and paced wildly up and down the bank, wrung by pity for the
doomed