“That will be much prettier—won’t it, Lopez?”
“Yes, Captain.”
“The gentleman will have time to make himself ready for heaven before he dies—won’t he, Lopez?”
“Yes Captain.”
“Take out the gag—let him have his tongue free; he’ll need that to pray with—won’t he, Lopez?”
“Yes, Captain.”
One of the Jarochos jerked the bayonet roughly from my mouth, almost dislocating my jaw. The power of speech was gone. I could not, if I had wished it, have uttered an intelligible word.
“Give him his hands, too; he’ll need them to keep off the zopilotes; won’t he, Lopez?”
“Yes, Captain.”
The thong that bound my wrists was cut, leaving my hands free. I was on my back, my feet towards the precipice. A little to my right stood Lopez, holding the rope that was about to launch me into eternity.