again. He was not hurt, but he was a
sight to behold. The only thing to do was to laugh, and go on.

"Yes, boys; I smell salt water," insisted Mr. Grigsby. "And," he
added, "I'll be mighty glad to see it."

The paving was now so bad that the horses and bullocks preferred
walking at one side, following little paths that made long cuts and
short cuts through the brush. These paths were so narrow that the
riders had to clutch tight and bend low, or be swept from their
saddles. But there was no use in trying to guide those little horses,
who seemed to know what they wanted. Soon Charley and the others were
wringing wet, from the rain-soaked trees and bushes. This was part of
the game, but Charley was beginning to feel tired and cross. Still, he
wouldn't have missed the trip for anything. He'd have a lot to tell
Billy Walker, when they met in the gold fields.

It was late afternoon when the Indian guide (whose name was Pablo)
stopped short, at a mud puddle, washed his feet, and put on his
pantaloons!

"Hurrah!" cheered Mr. Adams. "That means Panama. Pablo's dressing.
And now I do smell the ocean, and no mistake."

"I've been smelling it for hours," reminded Mr. Grigsby.

Yes, the smell of ocean was in the air! Charley recognized it. It
smelled the same as the Atlantic, but of course it must be from the
Pacific. And within a few minutes the road had broadened; huts began
to appear, alongside. Through an opening, ahead, were disclosed
buildings of stone--a crumbling old church, almost covered with vines,
was passed--and beyond appeared a wide stretch of beautiful blue: the
Pacific Ocean!

Amidst ranches and huts and buildings of white wood and weather-beaten
stone; on a broad level road crowded with people light and dark, and
horses and mules and goats, and fringed with palms and bananas and
plantains, oranges, cactuses, citrons, magnolias and acacias, crossing
an old moat or wide ditch, through an arched gateway in a thick stone
wall the belated little party entered famous Panama. Over the broad
Pacific the sun hung low, and in the harbor, about a mile and a half
from the end of a street which gave the view, lay a large black steamer
with smoke welling from her stacks.

"That must be the _California_," exclaimed Mr. Adams, quickly. "She
has steam up."

"I reckon," said Mr. Grigsby, peering keenly, "we're just in time."

What a bustling city was this Panama! And what a number of Americans
were he