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.