“Ah yes,” he was saying bitterly, “An’ because my father did not agree with him Espato he began to hate him secretly, planning to let him go on until he should be betrayed into doing something for which Espato could have his revenge.”
Phil was listening, eagerly now.
“Yes?” he queried breathlessly as Gomez paused.
“My father was lieutenant to Espato then and all the band loved him. He had almost more power than Espato himself. Espato knew this and so he feared, while hating him. He dare’ not kill my father without something—what you call?—a good excuse. There was danger that the men might turn upon him, Espato, himself.
“An’ so he waited. An’ while he wait he bait my father. He torture prisoners so vilely that my father would walk off into the woods striving to deafen himself to their cries of agony. Then Espato, he laugh an’ scoff, calling my father a coward, a weak woman who can not stand an evening of fun.”
Tony paused again but this time Phil made no comment. He was afraid that he might break the spell.
“An’ so,” Tony continued, quivering with emotion as he hurried to the climax of his story, “One night they brought in a prisoner, a mos’ distinguish man an’ even while Espato dispatch a messenger for ransom, he plan to torture this one.
“In vain did my father, the great Pedro, plead with him—the prisoner had done to my father a favor, once an’ my father, the great Pedro, he never forget the one who do him a favor. So my father, he plead with Espato. He ask that he be content with a so fat ransom an’ spare the man’s life.
“But Espato would not listen. He taunt, he insult my father until, in a rage, he fling off into the woods. I see him go, my father, the great Pedro and timidly I follow him. I am only twelve year old then but I remember all that happen’ that night as though it had been burn’ into my brain.
“I follow’ my father for a long way before he notice’ me. Then he turn an’ smile’ through his black wrath at me.