“Such a day for flying,” he groaned, sinking down on the stone bench that had served him for a bed, his head hanging dejectedly. “Say, just to jump in the Arrow and fly through that golden air, eh? Seems as if I’d had my last look at that old boat.
“Just the kind of a day, too,” he added, staring up again at that tempting bit of sky, “for sending and receiving radio. There would hardly be any interference from static. But there I go again, talking like an idiot. What good is radio, anyway, if, when you most need it you can’t have it.
“And there’s Rocks Gurney too, the scoundrel,” he reflected, after an interval during which he had wondered which ached the more, his body or his mind. “Mixing it with ‘Muggs’ Murray’s gang, getting rich on that haul from the bank. That’s why he blossomed out so suddenly in flashy clothes and a car and all. It’s a wonder we didn’t catch on at the time. We knew he was no good, but we didn’t think he was quite that bad.
“That’s how the thieves happened to know just the right time to pull off the robbery too,” he added, waxing excited as the whole despicable plot revealed itself to him, like the pieces of a picture puzzle being fitted together. “Gurney knew just the day when the mills paid their men and when the bank had a big amount of cash on hand. Then ‘Rocks’ tipped off his information to ‘Muggs’ Murray and his gunmen and—there you are. As simple as A B C when you know the answer. Rocks Gurney is worse than Murray’s gang because he ought to know better. Wouldn’t I like to get my hands on that fellow. I’d give him a lots worse trimming than I did before.”
He clenched his hands in the desire to get hold of Rocks Gurney and the action caused him to glance down at them despairingly. Oh, yes, he would do a lot, he would, bound hand and foot, captive to Espato and, for all he knew, only a few hours more of life before him. For all he, Phil, could do, Gurney and Muggs Murray’s blackguards could escape without even a scratch to tell them how near they had come to capture.
Oh, they would escape all right and it was all his fault too, for not being more careful. He wondered, feeling horribly hungry again, if he was to be given anything to eat, or if Espato proposed doing away with him before breakfast.
But no, that would be too quick a death and Espato had promised him a slower and harder path out of this good old world. He recalled some of the scoundrel’s blood-curdling descriptions of what was to happen to him and he shuddered. They were not particularly pleasant reflections for the early morning—especially a glorious morning like this when all nature was vibrant with life.
After a while the door of his prison opened and Tony Gomez, the mysterious young Mexican with the sullen eyes, came in. He bore a tray in one hand and a basin of cool water in the other.
At sight of the latter vessel, Phil could hardly repress a shout of delight. He wanted a wash almost more than he wanted food.
Gomez, without a word, untied his hands and joyfully Phil dipped his face into the basin of cool, refreshing water. From this he emerged, shaking his head like a half-drowned puppy and Gomez thrust a towel into his hand.