Clay turned to MacWilliams.
"How many of Mendoza's soldiers have we in the mines, Mac?" he asked.
"About fifteen hundred," MacWilliams answered. "But you ought to hear the way they talk of him."
"They do, eh?" said Clay, with a smile of satisfaction. "That's good. 'Six hundred slaves who hate their masters.' What do they say about me?"
"Oh, they think you're all right. They know you got them their pay and all that. They'd do a lot for you."
"Would they fight for me?" asked Clay.
MacWilliams looked up and laughed uneasily. "I don't know," he said. "Why, old man? What do you mean to do?"
"Oh, I don't know," Clay answered. "I was just wondering whether I should like to be President of Olancho."