CHAPTER XXIVCaged
As the substance of the Mexican’s message made itself clear to the boys, they almost went mad with joy. They pounded one another on the back, shouting that dear old Phil was still in the land of the living.
Captain Bradley smiled in sympathy with their frenzy, but he gradually brought their attention back to the matter of the ransom.
“Ten thousand dollars this fellow wants for the return of your comrade,” he reminded them. “It’s a pretty big price, boys.”
And when they brought themselves to consider this part of the proposition the boys were just as indignant at the insolence of the demand as the Captain had been.
They turned upon the greaser, who stood impassively regarding them, as though they would have taken the greatest pleasure in pounding him black and blue—which as a matter of fact, they would have.
“You darned guerrilla,” muttered Steve, only his deference to his superior officer keeping him from committing personal violence upon the indifferent-eyed messenger, “What’s to prevent us from taking you out and lining you up before a firing squad.”
“That death’s too good for him,” growled Dick. “We ought to follow the example of his gentle master Espato and torture him for about a week.”
“Fine idea,” said the usually good-natured Tom, ferociously. “I’d want to be the one to do the job, too.”
The greaser shrugged his shoulders with maddening indifference.
“Do as you wish with me, senors,” he said, the shadow of a smile touching the corners of his cruel mouth, “But if I am not back in two days, the Americano dies—and his death will not be of the kind which his friends would wish to see him die, either.”
The boys shuddered at the thought of Phil’s peril and they fumed helplessly, striving to think of some way in which they might outwit the villainous Espato. The bandit had surely caught them in a fine trap. For Phil to have fallen into the hands of such a man—.
“And if anyone attempts to follow me, senors,” it was the Mexican speaking again, gaining confidence from the strength of his position, “the prisoner dies also—as well as the man who is foolish enough to follow.” He passed his hand with a significant gesture across his throat, and the boys had need of all their will power to keep from springing upon him.
They knew it was as the man said. Any act of violence on their part would only make things harder for Phil, perhaps would even cost his life. They were helpless to act because the safety of their chum depended upon their discretion.
It looked as though someway or other, impossible or not, they must manage to raise that insolently demanded ten thousand dollars. Phil must be saved.
But how was it to be done? Certainly they could not expect to raise that amount of money in no time.
This time it was the captain who spoke, as though anticipating their thoughts.
“It will take a little time to raise ten thousand dollars,” he said, speaking to the Mexican. “Your chief cannot expect that it will be produced in a day.”
“My chief, he is not unreasonable man,” said the rascal, again with that shadow of an evil smile. “He will wait, three, four days, maybe week—but no longer. Then, no money—prisoner will die.”
“Oh, you’ll have your money—or rather, our money—don’t worry,” cried Steve, still fighting the desire to plant his fist in the greaser’s sneering face. “Go back and tell your chief that we will have the money for him in a week’s time. Now get out of here, quick, before I give you what you deserve.”
The rascal seemed satisfied with the proposition but he impudently took his time about leaving.
“Si, senor,” he said, making them a mocking bow. “I shall return for the gold at the end of a week. It will be well not to disappoint. Adios,” and with another sweeping bow he went out, leaving the boys to swallow their rage as well as they could.
“The confounded scoundrel,” raged Dick. “I’d follow him and put a bullet in him if it weren’t for Phil.”
“Captain,” Steve broke in eagerly. “If it’s Espato who has captured Phil, what’s to prevent our mustering out some of the boys and going after him?”
“Say, why couldn’t we?” added Dick and Tom looked his eagerness.
The Captain smiled but slowly shook his head.
“It wouldn’t be any use, boys,” he said, adding, as he saw how their faces fell. “I hate to discourage you but you know as well as I do that Espato has a dozen hiding places in the mountains and to try to find the one in which Phil is imprisoned would be decidedly like hunting for a needle in a haystack. Not but what I’d like first rate to get a hack at Espato,” and his eyes flashed and his figure straightened after the manner of a good soldier.
Reason being against them, the boys were forced to give up their idea of a dashing rescue and fell to work on the rather discouraging problem of raising the ten thousand dollars of Phil’s ransom.
“Anyway, the main thing is to know that Phil’s alive,” said Dick, stoutly. “What’s ten thousand dollars beside that fact, anyway.”
“A mere bag of shells,” returned Steve, trying to sound cheerful and quite failing as he added, dolefully, “But I wish some kind little bird would whisper to us where the filthy lucre can be found.”
And meanwhile, knowing nothing of all this, Phil was suffering as acutely as if every moment had really been his last. Every time voices sounded without his dungeon the thought flashed through his mind that they had come to take him to the torture chamber.
But as the hours passed, afternoon darkening into dusk and nothing startling happened, he began at first to wonder, then to take heart of hope.
Perhaps something had happened—something to his advantage. It was not like Espato to delay his vengeance in this manner. He liked to punish his prisoners while still his temper was in the red hot stage, so that vengeance might be all the sweeter. Surely, by this time his temper had begun to cool——.
Tony Gomez had entered his prison once since morning and this for the purpose of bringing him in a frugal lunch. Evidently the Mexicans did not think much of lunch, or else Espato had repented of treating him too well and had decided to start in the starving process after all.
On this occasion Tony Gomez had not said a word, and what is more, had stubbornly refused to be drawn into conversation. As a result, Phil concluded that he had been too hasty in supposing that the Mexican had a grudge against Espato. His heart sank as this one faint hope appeared about to elude him.
Toward evening the suspense became almost unbearable. Despite the ache in his muscles, Phil paced the tiny prison with the restlessness of a caged animal. He almost wished that Espato would make up his mind to kill him at once. Anything would be better than this.
And still the never-ending hours passed slowly, monotonously. Phil wondered at the absolute stillness in the camp. Espato’s greasers were usually a noisy lot. The dead silence was getting on his already over-wrought nerves. He caught himself listening breathlessly for some sort of noise from the outside. He began almost to wish for the opening of the door, even if it should be Espato who entered.
Then he started as there was the noise of a rusty bolt being slipped aside and the heavy door of his prison opened slowly.
Phil braced himself, ready for anything, taking his stand at the back of the cell. Then, his mouth dropped open in utter surprise. For, instead of the brutal Espato whom he had expected to see, there crept through the narrow aperture made by the partly opened door, a pretty Mexican girl!