“Ten thousand dollars this fellow wants for the return of your comrade,” he reminded them. “It’s a pretty big price, boys.”
And when they brought themselves to consider this part of the proposition the boys were just as indignant at the insolence of the demand as the Captain had been.
They turned upon the greaser, who stood impassively regarding them, as though they would have taken the greatest pleasure in pounding him black and blue—which as a matter of fact, they would have.
“You darned guerrilla,” muttered Steve, only his deference to his superior officer keeping him from committing personal violence upon the indifferent-eyed messenger, “What’s to prevent us from taking you out and lining you up before a firing squad.”
“That death’s too good for him,” growled Dick. “We ought to follow the example of his gentle master Espato and torture him for about a week.”
“Fine idea,” said the usually good-natured Tom, ferociously. “I’d want to be the one to do the job, too.”
The greaser shrugged his shoulders with maddening indifference.
“Do as you wish with me, senors,” he said, the shadow of a smile touching the corners of his cruel mouth, “But if I am not back in two days, the Americano dies—and his death will not be of the kind which his friends would wish to see him die, either.”
The boys shuddered at the thought of Phil’s peril and they fumed helplessly, striving to think of some way in which they might outwit the villainous Espato. The bandit had surely caught them in a fine trap. For Phil to have fallen into the hands of such a man—.
“And if anyone attempts to follow me, senors,” it was the Mexican speaking again, gaining confidence from the strength of his position, “the prisoner dies also—as well as the man who is foolish enough to follow.” He passed his hand with a significant gesture across his throat, and the boys had need of all their will power to keep from springing upon him.