his exit. But at least a man who
dies for the I. C. C. has the affairs he left behind him attended to in
a thorough manner. In ten minutes to a half-hour one of the Z. P. is on
the ground taking note of every detail of the accident. A special train
or engine rushes the body to the morgue in Ancon hospital grounds. A
coroner's jury is soon meeting under the chairmanship of a policeman,
long reports of everything concerning the victim or the accident are
soon flowing Administration-ward. The police accident report is
detailed and in triplicate. There is sure to be in the "personal files"
at Culebra a history of the deceased and the names of his nearest
relative or friend both on the Isthmus and in the States; for every
employee must make out his biography at the time of his engagement.
There are men whose regular duty it is to list and take care of his
possessions down to the last lead pencil, and to forward them to the
legal heirs. A year's pay goes to his family--were as much required of
every employer and his the burden of proving the accident the fault of
the employee, how the safety appliances in factories would multiply.
There is a man attached to Ancon hospital whose unenviable duty it is
to write a letter of condolence to the relatives in the States.

And so the "Kangaroos" or the "Red Men" or whatever his lodge was filed
behind the I. C. C. casket to the church in Ancon, and "Andy" was laid
away under another of the simple white iron crosses that thickly
populate many a Zone hillside, and he was charged up to the big debit
column of the costs of the canal. On the cross is his new number; for
officially a "Zoner" is always a number; that of the brass-check he
wears as a watch-charm alive, that at the head of his grave when his
canal-digging is over.

Late one unoccupied afternoon I picked up the path behind the
Administration Building and, skirting a Zone residence, began to climb
that famous oblong mound that dominates the Pacific end of the
landscape from every direction,--Ancon Hill. For a way a fairly steep
and stony path lead through thick undergrowth. Then this ceased, and a
far steeper trail zigzagged up the face of the bare mountain, covered
only with thin dead grass. The setting sun cast its shadow obliquely
across the summit when I reached it,--a long ridge, with groves of
trees, running off abruptly toward the sea. On the opposite side Uncle
Sam was cutting away a whole side of the hill. But the five o