There might be a chance of escape, but that chance would be slight, to say the least. Espato’s mountain strongholds were famous because they were well nigh impregnable. Once within one of those dungeons—again Phil stopped thinking.
There was Dick and Steve and good old Tom, and for a moment, the thought of them brought hope. But the next moment his heart sank again. He knew how slight the chance of rescue was. Why the fellows had no clue to work on. To them it would seem that he had disappeared just as completely as though the earth had opened and swallowed him up.
Then, the relief of traveling on even ground again, the glare of an immense camp fire in his eyes and the mingled shouts and commands and greetings uttered in the guttural Mexican tongue.
The little Mexican who had ridden close to Phil, now leaned over with a leer on his evil face.
“We have arrive, Americano,” he announced. “Awake so that you may meet the great Espato with all the humility which ees due so great a man. Arouse yourself, Americano.” And with the words he kicked the captive scornfully.
Phil’s helpless fingers gripped themselves together, causing the bonds to bite deeper into the raw flesh. Phil never felt the sudden increase in pain. He was too hot with rage.
“The dog,” he fumed helplessly. “If I ever get out of this, I’ll show him.”
Amid a confused impression of innumerable horses and men, a babble of coarse jests and laughter and the sullen flickering of the fire, Phil was dragged from his horse and was half led, half pushed, half carried, along by a couple of ruffians who spat upon him and called him vile names. Then he was flung unceremoniously into a dark apartment, a final kick administered by way of good measure and he was left alone. A padlock clicked ominously and Phil could hear the voices of his captors dying away as they went to join their comrades.
For a moment he lay as they had left him, face lown on the dank stone floor, too utterly exhausted to move a muscle.
His body was bruised with the kicks and cuffs of his captors, the pain in his wrists and ankles was almost unendurable, his head throbbed dully. And yet there was a great relief in lying upon a surface that did not rock and jolt, upon which one might lie quiet, conscious of each aching muscle—.