But he wouldn’t be given a gun, he thought, raging. He would be taken out and tied to a tree. He wondered how long Espato would be in getting around to his “entertainment.”
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.