Then, seeing that the work of remedying the accident was under way, almost as soon as the accident had occurred, Blake and Joe, followed by Mr. Alcando, hurried on through the rain, up to their ankles in red mud, for the rain was heavy.  It was this same rain that had so loosened the earth that the slide was caused.

“Here’s a good place!” cried Blake, as he came to a little eminence that gave a good view of the slipping, sliding earth and stones.

“I’ll go on a little farther,” said Joe.  “We’ll get views from two different places.”

“What can I do?” asked the Spaniard, anxious not only to help his friends, but to learn as much as he could of how moving pictures are taken under adverse circumstances.

“You stay with Blake,” suggested Joe.  “I’ve got the little camera and I can handle that, and my extra films, alone and with ease.  Stay with Blake.”

It was well the Spaniard did.

With a rush and roar, a grinding, crashing sound a large mass of earth, greater in extent than any that had preceded, slipped from the side of the hill.

“Oh, what a picture this will make!” cried Blake, enthusiastically.

He had his camera in place, and was grinding away at the crank, Mr. Alcando standing ready to assist when necessary.

“Take her a while,” suggested Blake, who was “winded” from his run, and carrying the heavy apparatus.

The big portion of the slide seemed to have subsided, at least momentarily.  Blake gave a look toward where Joe had gone.  At that moment, with a roar like a blast of dynamite a whole section of the hill seemed to slip away and then, with a grinding crash the slanting earth on which Joe stood, and where he had planted the tripod of his camera, went out from under him.

Joe and his camera disappeared from sight.

CHAPTER XX

AT GATUN DAM

“Look!” cried Mr. Alcando.  He would have said more—­have uttered some of the expressions of fear and terror that raced through his mind, but he could not speak the words.  He could only look and point.

But Blake, as well as the Spaniard, had seen what had happened, and with Blake to see was to act.

“Quick!” he cried.  “We’ve got to get him out before he smothers!  Pack up this stuff!”

As he spoke he folded the tripod legs of his camera, and laid it on top of a big rock, that seemed firmly enough imbedded in the soil not to slip from its place.  Then, placing beside it the spare boxes of film, and throwing over them a rubber covering he had brought, Blake began to run across the side of the hill toward the place where Joe had last been seen.

“Come on!” cried Blake to Mr. Alcando, but the Spaniard needed no urging.  He had laid with Blake’s the boxes of film he carried, and the two were now speeding to the rescue.

“Go get help!” cried Joe to an Indian worker from the tug, who had followed to help carry things if needed.  “Go quick!  Bring men—­shovels!  We may have to dig him out,” he added to Mr. Alcando.