But he was a fine one, thought Phil bitterly, as he began once more to pace up and down, up and down his cell, to help anyone get even with Espato!
Juanita had told him of the messenger who had been sent for his ransom and while the impudence of it had made him rage, as it had his chums, still it had given him some hope of release.
But Tony had given him to understand that Espato did not always release his prisoners, even upon receipt of a ransom, especially if Espato bore the prisoner a grudge. And surely Espato bore him a grudge and a half!
Things certainly looked bad for him, thought Phil, as he stared up at the little slit in the wall just above his head. If he could only get a message through to the fellows, if he only could. Soon it would be too late.
Juanita had told him that Espato seldom was away more than a week on a raid and several days had already passed. He might be back any time now—ready for his entertainment!
Phil stared up at that patch of blue sky and once more his bound hands clenched in impotent fury. In imagination he was in the Arrow, flying through those fleecy white clouds, fleet as the birds themselves and just as free. Free——!
Again, as he had done so often in the nightmare of the last few days, he wondered what the boys were saying and doing, dear old Dick and Steve and Tom. He knew they must have been appalled by the demand for ransom and he wondered how they were meeting the problem.
Poor fellows, they sure were up against it. But then, no more so than he! he added grimly.
That very afternoon Espato and his roystering band came back. Phil knew that the raid had been successful by the noise they made. They had made a rich haul of loot and had brought in several prisoners. Since Tony had told his story, he hated these men more furiously than ever.
Just give him a gun and let him loose among them. He would die gladly for the privilege of “getting” a couple of them first.