Dillinger - Jack Higgins [38]
A bullet-proof vest, even if he'd had one on, is no protection against a mine cave-in. Dillinger lurched forward, groping his way through clouds of dust. He tripped and fell on his hands and knees. He lay there for a moment, coughing and choking, and then scrambled up a sloping ramp of rubble to where light gleamed between stones.
He pulled at them with his fingers and Fallon and Rojas appeared on either side of him, the Mexican obviously gripped by fear. A few minutes later the gap was wide enough and they crawled out into the sunlight followed by four Indians.
A crowd was already running toward them from the ore shed and Father Tomas came over the hill behind them in his buckboard. He reined in a few yards away and jumped to the ground.
'How bad is it?'
Fallon's face was a mask of dust. 'I think the whole damned mountain's fallen in.'
Dillinger took the bottle of tequila from his pocket, swallowed some and passed it to Fallon. Rojas was sitting on a boulder, his head in his hands, dazed. Dillinger handed him the bottle of tequila and said roughly, 'Get some of that down you and pull yourself together.'
Rojas took a long swallow, coughing as the fiery liquid burned into his stomach. He got to his feet and wiped his mouth.
'How many men are still inside?' Dillinger demanded.
'I'm not sure. Twenty or so.'
Fallon scrambled on top of the boulder and addressed the crowd in Spanish. 'Those men in there haven't got long. If we're going to do anything it's got to be now. Get pick-axes, shovels, baskets - anything you can lay your hands on.'
Dillinger and Fallon led the way up the slope and started to pull boulders away from the entrance. Everyone joined in, even the old priest, forming a human chain to pass the earth and stones backwards as they progressed farther into the tunnel.
The gap through which they had made their escape was widened until it would admit a dozen men with equipment. Lanterns were passed through and Dillinger stripped off his shirt and examined the wall of rock that filled the rear of the tunnel.
It was hot. The air was heavy with the settling dust. Fallon moved beside him. 'We've got to keep on digging. At least we've got the tools.'
Rojas crawled through the darkness to join them. He reached up and touched the ceiling. Immediately several flakes of stone peeled away.
'It wouldn't take much to bring down the rest.'
'We'll be all right if we're damn careful,' Fallon told him, trying to sound confident.
They laboured feverishly in the weird, dust-filled light, stripped to their waists, sweat glistening on their naked backs. Rojas proved to be a pillar of strength, his great hands lifting, unaided, rocks which Dillinger and Fallon would have found difficulty in moving together. Behind them a line of Indians formed up, passing back the baskets of stone and earth.
They worked in shifts, supporting the roof with fresh timbering as they advanced, but progress was slow. The lack of air and the great heat made it impossible for anyone to last for longer than half an hour at a time at the face. By the middle of the afternoon they were no more than forty feet into the tunnel.
Just after three, Rojas, in front, let loose a groan.
'What is it?' Dillinger demanded.
Rojas turned, the whites of his eyes shining in the lamplight. Dillinger crawled forward into the narrow cutting they had cleared into the heart of the rockfall. An immense slab of stone weighing at least five or six tons was stretched across their path.
Fallon crouched at his side and whistled softly. 'We haven't a hope in hell of moving that by hand.'
'What about dynamite?' Dillinger said.
Rojas sucked in his breath sharply. 'You must be crazy. Half a stick would be enough to bring down the rest