At length we came to the summit of the range, and turned downwards through a forest of oak and fir trees, heading for a valley that lay at the base of a solitary mountain peak, along which ran a stream. Down this stream we rode a mile or more, since I was searching for a certain pointed rock that was mentioned in the scroll as standing by itself on the slope of a mountain where no trees grew, beneath which should be the glen where in the days of Guatemoc was a great ceiba tree that, so said the writing, overshadowed the mouth of the mine.
Riding uphill through a dense grove of oaks, we came presently to the glen that lay just below the slope whereon stood the tall rock.
"This must be the place," I said, "but I see no ceiba tree."
"Doubtless it has fallen and rotted since those days," answered the Señor Strickland. "Let us tether the horses and search."
This we did, and the hunt was long, for here grasses and ferns grew thick, but at length I discovered a spot where the trunk of a very ancient tree had decayed in the ground, so that nothing remained except the outline of its circle and some of the larger roots.
Round about these roots we sought desperately for an hour or more, but without avail, till at length my companion grew weary of the sport, and went to pull up a small glossy–leaved palm that he had discovered, purposing to take it home and set it in his garden, for he was a great lover of plants and flowers.
While he was thus engaged, and I toiled amongst the grasses looking for the mouth of the mine, which, as I began to think, was lost forever, suddenly he called out, "Come here, Ignatio. Beneath the roots of this palm is refuse rock that has been broken with hammers. I believe that this must have been the platform in front of the mine. One can see that the ground was flat here."
I came to him, and together we renewed our search, till at length, by good luck, we discovered a hole immediately beneath a rock, large enough for a man to creep into.
"Was this made by a coyote, or is it the mouth of the mine?" the señor asked.
"That we can only find out by entering it," I answered. "Doubtless when they shut down the mine, the antiguos would have left some such place as this to ventilate the workings. Bring the pickaxe, señor, and we will soon see."
For ten minutes or more we laboured, working in soft ground with pick and spade till we bared the side of a tunnel, which I examined.
"There is no need to trouble further," I said, "this rock has been cut with copper chisels, for here is the green of the copper. Without doubt we have found the mouth of the mine. Now give me the hammer and candles, and bring the leather bag for samples, and we will enter."
Chapter IV
The Legend of the Heart
When I had gone a few paces down the hole, it widened suddenly, so that we were able to stand upright and light our candles. Now there was no doubt that we were in the tunnel of an old mine, a rudely–dug shaft that turned this way and that as it followed the windings of the ore body.
Along this tunnel we went for thirty or forty paces, creeping over the fallen boulders, and twisting ourselves between the brown stalactites that in the course of ages had formed upon the roof and floor, till presently we reached an obstacle that barred our further progress; a huge mass of rock which at some time or other had fallen from the roof of the tunnel and blocked it. I looked at it, and said:
"Now, señor, I think that we shall have to go back. You remember the writing tells us that this mine, although so rich, was unsafe because of the rottenness of the rock. Doubtless they propped it in the old days, but the timbers have decayed long ago."
"Yes," he answered, "we can do nothing here without help, and, Ignatio, I don't like the look of the roof, it is full of cracks."
As these last words left his lips a piece of stone, the size of a child's head, fell from above almost at his feet.
"Speak softly," I whispered, "the ring of your voice is bringing down the roof."
Then I stooped to pick up the fallen stone, thinking that it might show ore, and, as I did so, my hand touched something sharp, which I lifted and held to the candle. It was the jawbone of a man, yellow with age, and corroded by damp. I showed it to the señor, and, kneeling down, we examined the bed of the tunnel together, and not uselessly, for there we found the remainder of the skull and some fragments of an arm–bone, but the rest of the skeleton lay under the great boulder in front of us.
"He was coming out of the mine when the rock fell upon him, poor fellow," whispered the señor. "Look here," and he pointed to a little heap of something that gleamed in the candle–light.
It was free gold, six or seven ounces of it, almost pure, and for the most part in small nuggets, that once were contained in a bag which had long since rotted away.
Doubtless, after the mine was closed, some Aztec, who knew its secret, had made a practice of working there for his own benefit, till one day, as he was coming out, the rock fell upon him and crushed him, leaving his spirit to haunt the place for ever.
"There is no doubt about this mine being rich," whispered the señor; "but all the same I think that we had better get out of it. I hear odd noises and rumblings which frighten me. Come, Ignatio," and he turned to lead the way towards the opening.
Two paces farther I saw him strike his ankle against a piece of rock that stood up some six or eight inches from the floor–bed of the tunnel, and the pain of the blow was so sharp that, forgetting where he was, he called out loudly. The next instant there was a curious sound above me as of something being torn, and, lo! I lay upon my face on the rock, and upon me rested a huge mass of stone.
I say that it rested upon me, but this is not altogether true, for, had it been so, that stone would have killed me at once, as a beetle is killed beneath the foot of a man, instead of taking more than two–and–twenty years to do it. The greater part of its weight was borne by the piece of rock against which the señor had struck his leg, a point of the fallen boulder only pressing into my back and grinding me against the ground. Now we were in darkness, for the señor had been knocked down also, and his candle extinguished, and, in the midst of my tortures, it came into my mind that he must be dead.
Presently, however, I heard his voice, saying, "Ignatio; do you live, Ignatio?"
Now I thought for a moment. Even in my pain I remembered that more of the roof would surely give ere long, and that if my friend stayed here he must die with me. Nothing could save me, I was doomed to a slow death beneath the stone; and yet if I told him this I knew that he would not go. Therefore I answered as strongly as I could:
"Fly, señor, I am safe, and do but stay to light a candle. I will follow you."
"You are lying to me," he answered; "your voice comes from the level of the floor." And as he spoke I heard the scratching sound of a match.
So soon as he had found his candle and lit it, he knelt down and looked at me. Then he examined the roof above, and, following his glance with difficulty, I saw that next to the hole whence the boulder had fallen, hung a huge block of stone, that, surrounded by great cracks from which water dropped, trembled like a leaf whenever he moved or spoke.
"For the love of God, fly," I whispered. "In a few hours it will be over with me, and you cannot help me. I am a dead man, do not stop here to share my fate."
For a moment he seemed to hesitate, then his courage came back to him, and he answered hoarsely: