Radio Boys in the Flying Service; or, Held For Ransom by Mexican Bandits

by J. W. Duffield

But dark as was his prison, Phil’s thoughts were darker and gloomier still. To him, at that moment there seemed no possible way out of his horrible predicament.

If he had only his radio outfit. His face brightened at the mere thought, then clouded again. What was the use of thinking of the impossible, he asked himself bitterly. He had no radio outfit and there was about as much chance of getting one as there was that Espato might relent and let him go free.

But in spite of all he could do, he could not get rid of the idea. Radio—and the solution of his desperate problem! By this time of course, the Radio Boys had missed him, in all probability were at this moment searching frantically for him. If he had a radio set, even the smallest and most primitive of sets, he might get a message through to them—a message which would bring the Rangers galloping to his rescue.

At the thought a thrill shot through his veins, a light came in his eyes—the light of battle. Then he pulled himself together, calling himself all sorts of names for being such an idiot.

“I might just as well say,” he mused, relaxing wearily on the unyielding stone of the bench, “that if I could find a million dollars, I’d be a millionaire. If I could find a radio set, I’d be a free man. There’s about as much chance one way as the other.”

In a few moments the man called Gomez returned, bearing with him a steaming tray of eatables. Now, when Espato had devilishly promised to give him plenty to eat so that he would be in shape to suffer longer the torture that was in store for him, Phil had made a resolution then and there, to eat nothing, no matter how much he might be tempted.

But now, when Gomez laid the tray upon a stone table which, in the darkness, Phil had not seen, the temptation was more than he could bear. He was famished, he was young and, in spite of the trap into which he had fallen, life was still mighty sweet to him.

Gomez lighted a candle which he had brought in with him and set it upon the table. By the flickering light Phil could see that besides bread and butter, there was a steaming dish of some Mexican concoction, that under other circumstances might have seemed villainous but just now appealed to him as most savory and appetizing.

Gomez removed the bonds from his numbed hands and as soon as he had regained the use of them at all, Phil set to with a will. When he was finished there was not enough left on that tray to feed a hungry kitten.

And through it all the young Mexican called Tony Gomez stood immovable beside the captive, watching him. And was it possible that in his sullen black eyes there was just a trace of sympathy?