Radio! That blessed radio. The most wonderful thing in the world. Doc Denby had called it that one time, and Phil had rather felt inclined to smile at his enthusiasm. Now he was ready to agree with him.
He dropped off to sleep at last, a sleep filled with dreams, in which he seemed to hear the roar of the airplane and the thud of hoofs as the troop of Rangers rode to his rescue. But he heard screams too of tortured men driven over the precipice, he saw the ghoulish vultures tearing at their prey. And many times there rose before him the face of Espato with that livid scar on his forehead, his eyes gleaming with ferocity, his lips parted in a fiendish grin full of cruelty and menace.
It was late when he awoke from his feverish slumber and opened his eyes upon the day that was to be the most momentous in his life. What did that day hold in store for him? Would it see him restored to friends and freedom? Or would it mark the vanishing of his last hope?
Even if the Rangers came, he was still environed by hideous peril. At the first warning of attack, Espato would probably kill him instantly. Everything depended upon an absolute surprise.
Marked by alternate hopes and fears the day wore on. To Phil it had never seemed so long. He craved the coming of the night as men athirst in the desert crave water.
Dusk came at last and deepened into darkness.
Phil was waiting, every nerve strained to the highest point of tension, when the door opened to admit one of the brigands, who ordered him to follow him into the presence of Espato.
For hours the bandit chief had been drinking heavily. Ever since he had been forced to drop his eyes before the cold defiant stare in the eyes of Phil, the incident had rankled in his mind like so much poison. He had been used to seeing only fright and pleading in the eyes of his helpless prisoners. Yet here was this young Americano, bound, utterly in his power, who had outfaced him—him, the great Espato—and had made him lower his eyes. It was intolerable. Would he tamely endure such an affront and not wreak his rage on the beardless youth who had offered it? No! Por Madre de Dios, no!
The more he dwelt on it the more he worked himself into a hot fury, until he could restrain himself no longer and ordered the prisoner to be brought into his presence.
The more cautious Arigo, with his eye on the expected ransom, sought to appease his chief.