“You refuse then?” he cried, stamping his foot and raising his hand in a threatening gesture.
“Of course I refuse,” replied Benton. “Now, you skunk, get this straight. Go back to your murderous gang and do your worst. We will give you all the fighting that you want. And I tell you right now that we’re going to whip you to a frazzle.”
Ramirez, seeing that his lies had no effect, lost all control of himself. A stream of imprecations broke from his lips.
“So it shall be then,” he shouted. “War to the death. You were right when you said that I would have cut your throats. But I will do more than that. I will torture you until you shall pray for death. I will—”
“There now, cut it short, Ramirez,” Benton commanded curtly. “I’ll give you just one minute to get back to shelter. If you’re not there in that time, there’ll be one less villain in the world.”
For a moment it seemed as though Ramirez in his rage would defy the command, but discretion conquered and he went hurriedly back to the refuge of the trees, still heaping maledictions on the heads of his enemies.
“Gee, but the old boy is eloquent,” muttered Tom to Phil.
“Seems real peeved, doesn’t he?” laughed Phil in return. “What he thinks of Benton isn’t fit for publication.”
“He must have thought we were easy marks to be taken in by that mass of lies,” remarked Dick. “Do you see how he threw off the mask when he saw it was of no use, and admitted that he had intended to cut our throats, just as Benton said?”
“The black-hearted rascal is bad medicine,” remarked Benton. “But now we’ve got to prepare for the fight of our lives. It’s either kill or be killed. And don’t forget if it comes to a pinch that it’s better to die than be captured. You heard what he said, and you know what it will mean to fall into the hands of Ramirez.”