They knew it was as the man said. Any act of violence on their part would only make things harder for Phil, perhaps would even cost his life. They were helpless to act because the safety of their chum depended upon their discretion.
It looked as though someway or other, impossible or not, they must manage to raise that insolently demanded ten thousand dollars. Phil must be saved.
But how was it to be done? Certainly they could not expect to raise that amount of money in no time.
This time it was the captain who spoke, as though anticipating their thoughts.
“It will take a little time to raise ten thousand dollars,” he said, speaking to the Mexican. “Your chief cannot expect that it will be produced in a day.”
“My chief, he is not unreasonable man,” said the rascal, again with that shadow of an evil smile. “He will wait, three, four days, maybe week—but no longer. Then, no money—prisoner will die.”
“Oh, you’ll have your money—or rather, our money—don’t worry,” cried Steve, still fighting the desire to plant his fist in the greaser’s sneering face. “Go back and tell your chief that we will have the money for him in a week’s time. Now get out of here, quick, before I give you what you deserve.”
The rascal seemed satisfied with the proposition but he impudently took his time about leaving.
“Si, senor,” he said, making them a mocking bow. “I shall return for the gold at the end of a week. It will be well not to disappoint. Adios,” and with another sweeping bow he went out, leaving the boys to swallow their rage as well as they could.
“The confounded scoundrel,” raged Dick. “I’d follow him and put a bullet in him if it weren’t for Phil.”