CHAPTER XXVII

A Gleam of Hope

The bandits had spent the greater part of the night in wild revelry, and it was late the next morning before there was any noticeable stir of life about the camp.

Toward noon however there was an activity which indicated that there was something important on foot. Phil could hear the tread of many feet coming and going, and it was evident that most of the band had remained in camp for some purpose instead of going out on some foray. There was laughter and jesting and a general air of festivity prevalent, and Phil wondered what was in prospect.

It was not long before he found out. His door was flung open by a surly Mexican, who told him that he was to come with him into the presence of Espato.

“Is this the end, I wonder,” Phil said to himself as he followed the man out into the open air. He had steeled himself to the thought of death, which he knew might come to him at any moment. Was this the moment?

What he saw after his dazzled eyes had become accustomed to the brilliant sunlight was not calculated to reassure him.

Espato was seated on a rough box in the center of the clearing. About him in a semicircle, some standing, others squatting on the ground, were his followers, all with an air of expectancy on their faces.

A group of four prisoners who had been brought in on the recent raid had been brought out and ranged before the bandit chief. Their hands were tied behind their backs but the bonds had been removed from their feet.

Two hundred feet from where Espato was sitting, the plateau terminated abruptly at the edge of a precipice. This ran down a sheer seven hundred feet with jagged rocks at its foot.

An evil sneering smile was on the face of the bandit leader as Phil was brought before him.

“So here is the Americano,” he said and made a mocking bow. “It ees good of him to be present at our leetle merry-making. Perhaps he will even take part in it.”

The significance of the last phrase was not lost on Phil, but his blue eyes had the coldness of ice and the hardness of steel as he gazed unflinchingly at the man who had him so completely in his power.

The bandit glared back at him, but in the duel of eyes his own were the first to fall. He turned to one of his henchmen.

“Put him with the rest,” he commanded.

Phil was pulled roughly away and stationed at one end of the line of prisoners.

Espato whispered to Arigo. The latter gave an order, and a squad of men selected one of the prisoners and ordered him to march toward the precipice.

The wretched man hung back, but was urged on by the pricking of knives and bayonets to the edge of the precipice. Phil shut his eyes. There was a piercing scream and a chorus of jeers and laughter from the crowd. When Phil opened his eyes the prisoner had disappeared, and the guards were marching back for another victim. And way off in the sky was a black spot that rapidly grew larger and was joined by others. They were vultures already gathering for the feast.

Again and again the terrible drama was enacted, until Phil was the only prisoner left standing. With each one massacred he himself felt the bitterness of death.

The vultures were no longer visible. They had swooped down to the rocks at the foot of the cliff. Phil knew only too well what they were doing.

He thought that he knew why Espato had reserved him for the last. It was to spin out his agony, to multiply his sufferings many times. He found himself almost longing to have the thing over.

What was his surprise therefore to see Espato rise and signify by a wave of his hand that the horrid treat that he had given his bloodthirsty followers was over. The crowd dispersed, reluctantly, Phil thought, as though they were not yet sated, and this impression was confirmed by the many malignant looks cast at him as the throng gradually drifted away, leaving the solitary prisoner alone with Espato and his lieutenant.

The bandit chief sauntered down to where Phil was standing.

“Eet was a long time waiting for your time to come, eh Americano?” he said with a mocking grin. “But no. That would have been too e—eezy. When ze time come for you to die, eet must be hard and slow and long. Yes,” he repeated, “hard and slow and long. Take him away, Arigo.”

Phil followed the lieutenant, hardly able to believe that he had a reprieve. But what a reprieve and with what unimaginable horror at the end!

Still he was alive, while had he met the fate of the others, he would already have been food for the vultures. The hope that springs eternal still buoyed him up.

Almost exhausted by the terrific strain he had undergone, he was dragging himself over to the stone bench in his cell when he stumbled and would have fallen had he not reached out his hand against the wall and steadied himself. In the dim light he saw that he had knocked against a box that, with a number of other articles of loot, had been piled in his room during his absence.

He reached the bench and threw himself down on it. The tension under which he had been made him feel bruised and sore all over.

For a long time he lay there, resting and brooding over his plight. The entry of the man who brought his midday meal aroused him. He ate heartily and his spirits revived in some measure.

The box over which he had stumbled met his eye. He glanced at it indifferently, and then something familiar in it aroused his curiosity. Then suddenly with a great leap of his heart he realized what it was.

A radio set! Gathered in with the other loot by the ignorant bandits who had not the slightest idea of its use, but, struck by its aggregation of wires and tubes, thought it might have some value and had brought it along with the rest.

With fingers that trembled with excitement, Phil went over the set and established that it was complete, batteries and all. The aerial had been cut away to permit of the set being removed as had the wire that constituted the ground connection, but with these exceptions it seemed to be in perfect shape, although the box bore evidence of rough and careless handling.

Hardly convinced that he was not dreaming, Phil buried his head in his hands and tried to think. He must have an aerial and a ground connection. But how could he get them?

Feverishly he went through the other bundles and packages that littered the room. All sorts of plunder gathered up hastily and indiscriminately were in them, and among them to his joy he found a coil of copper wire. A little later his fingers closed upon a metal disk about three inches in diameter. Here then were the materials for his aerial and ground connection.

But his first elation was followed by a sinking of the heart. Of what avail were these, he thought bitterly, to a prisoner. If but for an hour, one little hour, he might have his freedom!

Then suddenly a thought struck him and brought new hope. There was Tony, the one man in the whole band who had not been brutal to him, the man who he felt sure hated Espato. Would he help him? Could he help him?

It was his only hope. If that failed him he was doomed.

He knew that Tony would soon come bringing his supper, as was his custom every night. In the meantime, he attached the wire to the metal plate which he intended to use as his ground, and also fastened one end of the coil of wire to the connection for the aerial. Then he waited, with his heart beating so fast that it seemed as though it would leap from his body.

At last the door opened and Tony came in with his supper. But Phil had no desire to eat just then. The moment the door was closed, he laid his plan before the Mexican in the broken combination of Spanish and English that was common on the border and enabled him to make himself easily understood.

Would Tony do one little thing for him? It was a very little thing. This metal disk that Phil held in his hand. He would throw it out through the slit in the wall. Would Tony dig a little hole in the damp ground and bury it? A work only of one, two, or three minutes. Surely a little thing. And this long wire. Phil would put one end through the slit in the wall and when it was dark, if Tony would climb the big tree growing close to the wall and fasten the wire to the trunk of the tree high up. That would be a little harder, but still it would be only a little thing to do for a poor prisoner. Would he do this? Phil would reward him. God would reward him. Would he do it?

As he poured out his very soul in this entreaty, Phil studied Tony’s face. There was sympathy there—yes, but also fear. The shadow of the dreaded Espato hovered over him. He shook his head.

“I dare not,” he said. “Espato—he keel.”

Again Phil renewed his pleading but apparently to no effect. Then he played his last card.

“Ask Juanita what you shall do,” he urged. “Ask Juanita.”

Tony nodded in assent.

“Maybe I come back,” he said, and gathering up the dishes with the untasted food left the room.

An hour passed and then another, while Phil paced the narrow room like a caged tiger. It was entirely dark when the door opened softly and Tony glided into the room.

“Juanita say yes,” he whispered. “Tell me now what I do.”

Phil gave him the most careful directions and Tony slipped out of the room. Perhaps half an hour had elapsed when he again opened the door.

“Eet is done,” he whispered, and vanished like a shadow.

Two hours more Phil waited, until he was sure that the camp was sunk in slumber. Convinced of this, he turned on his batteries and saw the light spring into the filament.

Then Phil touched the key!