The camp wore a festal air the next morning. There was a general atmosphere of eager expectation. It was evident that something unusual was afoot. The fellow that brought in Dick's breakfast looked at him with a covert interest, as though he were to be an important actor in a drama for which the stage was being set. Had Dick known as much as Melton had learned of the hideous fame of his captor, he might have divined sooner the nature of these preparations. He had slept soundly, and the freshness and brightness of the morning had given him new hopes. The food served him was very good and abundant, and he did not know why, just as he was finishing it, the thought came to him of the especially good breakfast served to condemned men on the morning of their execution. He brushed the thought away from him, and just then Pedro appeared at the door of the ten, accompanied by a half dozen of his mates.
He untied the prisoner's feet, and Dick arose and stretched himself.
"Come," growled Pedro, and they went out into the open space between the tents.
The fresh air fanned his forehead gratefully and he breathed it in in great draughts. On a morning like this, it was good just to be alive.
He cast a glance around, and saw at once that something out of the ordinary was about to take place. The entire population of the camp was on the scene. Instead of sprawling in haphazard fashion on the ground, the bandits were in an attitude of alert attention. The dreaded leader sat in the center of the clearing, his eyes alight with an unholy flame. He rose, as Dick approached, with a guard holding his arm on either side, and made him a sweeping bow of mock politeness.
"It is good of the senor to honor us with his presence, this morning," he said in fairly good English—in his early years he had been a cattle rustler in Arizona—"but I fear we can offer little for his amusement. In fact, we shall have to depend on the senor himself to entertain us. Is the senor, by any chance, a snake charmer?"
"Look here," said Dick, fiercely, "what's your game, anyway? You've got my money and watch and clothes. Now, what more do you want?"
"What more?" echoed El Tigre, softly. "Why, only a very little thing. I want your life."
The last words were fairly hissed. All the mock courtesy dropped away, and he stood revealed in his true character as a gloating fiend, his hideous features working with hate.
That face maddened Dick. With a sudden movement, he threw off the guard on either side, took one leap forward, and his fist shot out like a catapult. It caught the sneering face square between the eyes, and the chief went down with a crash. In an instant, Dick's sinewy hands were on his throat and choking out his life.