"That's right," Eicardo concurred. "He never saw any damage, beyond a wetting, happen to the rest of them,"
And they may be, right now, high up above the floor in some chamber," Henry went on. "Now, if we could attack the slide, we might open up the cave and drain the water off. If they're alive they can last for many days, for lack of water is what kills quickly, and they've certainly more water than they know what to do with. They can get along without food for a long time. But what gets me is how Torres got inside with them."
Wonder if he wasn't responsible for that attack of the Caroos upon us," Eicardo suggested.
But Henry scouted the idea.
"Anyway," he said, "that isn't the present proposition which proposition is: how to get inside that mountain on the chance that they are still alive. You and I couldn't go through that slide in a month. If we could get fifty men to help, night and day shifts, we might open her up in fortyeight hours. So, the primary thing is to get the men. Here's what we must do. I'll take a mule and beat it back to that Caroo community and promise them the contents of one of Francis' check-books if they will come and help. Failing that, I can get up a crowd in San Antonio. So here's where I pull out on the run. In the meantime, you can work out trails and bring up all the mules, peons, grub and camp equipment. Also, keep your ears to the cliff they might start signalling through it with tappings."
Into the village of the Caroos Henry forced his mule much to the reluctance of the mule, and equally as much to the astonishment of the Caroos, who thus saw their stronghold invaded single-handed by one of the party they had attempted to annihilate. They squatted about their doors and loafed in the sunshine, under a show of lethargy hiding the astonishment that tingled through them and almost put them on their toes. As has been ever the way, the very daring of the white man, over savage and mongrel breeds, in this instance stunned the Caroos to inaction. Only a man, they could not help but reason in their slow way, a superior man, a noble or over-riding man, equipped with potencies beyond their dreaming, could dare to ride into their strength of numbers on a fagged and mutinous mule.
They spoke a mongrel Spanish which he could understand, and, in turn, they understood his Spanish; but what he told them concerning the disaster in the sacred mountain had no effect of rousing them. With impassive faces, shrugging shoulders of utmost indifference, they listened to his proposition of a rescue and promise of high pay for their time.
"If a mountain has swallowed up the Gringos, then is it the will of God, and who are we to interfere between God and His will?" they replied. "We are poor men, but we care not to work for any man, nor do we care to make war upon God. Also, it was the Gringos' fault. This is not their country. They have no right here playing pranks on our mountains. Their troubles are between them and God. We have troubles enough of our own, and our wives are unruly."
Long after the siesta hour, on his third and most reluctant mule, Henry rode into sleepy San Antonio. In the main street, midway between the court and the jail, he pulled up at sight of the Jefe Politico and the little fat old judge, with, at their heels, a dozen gendarmes and a couple of wretched prisoners runaway peons from the henequen plantations at Santos. While the judge and the Jefe listened to Henry's tale and appeal for help, the Jefe gave one slow wink to the judge, who was his judge, his creature, body and soul of him.
"Yes, certainly we will help you," the Jefe said at the end, stretching his arms and yawning. "How soon can we get the men together and start?" Henry demanded eagerly.