Bert Wilson at Panama Part 4

He drew out his bowie knife and felt its edge, while the prisoner looked on with a growing terror in his eyes.

Melton reached down and grabbing the fellow by the collar jerked him to his feet.

"Now, listen," he said, in the mongrel blending of English and Mexican that is understood on both sides of the border. "You're going to be a dead man in one minute if you don't tell me the truth. Sabe?"

Melton's eyes were like two lambent flames, and as the fellow looked into them, he wilted like a rag. He nodded his head eagerly as a sign that he would tell all he knew.

"I guessed as much," said Melton, grimly, as he turned to the boys.

"These dogs would betray their own brother to save their miserable carca.s.s. Untie that gag, and I'll turn him inside out until I get from him all he knows."

He placed the point of his bowie at the brigand's throat, and held it there while the boys removed the gag.

"One yip from you, and this knife goes in up to the hilt," said Melton.

"Now tell me how far away your camp is from here."

"About a mile," replied the man, sullenly.

"What is the name of your captain?"

"El Tigre," was the answer, and the fellow s.h.i.+vered as he mentioned that redoubtable flame.

"How many men has he with him?" was the next question.

The bandit did not know exactly. There had been fifty or more, but a dozen or so had been sent on an expedition late last night. Maybe there were thirty or forty there now. He could not tell for sure.

The knife p.r.i.c.ked sharply, and the fellow went down on his knees in an agony of terror, and swore by all his saints that he was telling all he knew. Why should he lie to the senor? The senor might kill him, but what he was saying was the truth.

"Get up," said Melton, disgustedly, for the cowardice of the cringing creature sickened him. "Now tell me what captives were in the camp and what your chief intends to do with them."

There were two captives there just now. One of them was a Chinaman, who had been taken in a raid on a hacienda, down in the valley. The other was an Americano, who had been surprised yesterday, when he came upon the band, just as they were getting ready to go away into the mountains.

Three days ago there had been seven prisoners, but now--. The rascal made an expressive gesture that told only too clearly what had become of the miserable seven, and Melton had need of all his self-control not to end his prisoner's worthless life then and there, while Bert and Tom grew pale as they thought of d.i.c.k.

By an effort they restrained themselves, and the questioning went on.

The bandit did not know what his chief intended to do. He rather thought that very morning the Chinaman would be put out of the way. But the young Americano, so cool, so brave--he did not know. El Tigre had seemed to be puzzled about him. The chief had been drinking hard and was very ugly. Yes, that was all he knew, and if the senor were to kill him, he swore on the head of his father that he had told nothing but the truth.

At a sign from Melton, the boys replaced the gag. They had drained him dry of information, and now they knew the work that was cut out for them.

They dragged him into the thick underbrush and tied him to a tree. Then with a parting p.r.i.c.k from the bowie, and a threat of instant death, if he sought to release himself before their return, they braced themselves for the task before them.

"It's up to us, my lads," said Melton, as he carefully examined his weapons to see that they were in prime condition, while Bert and Tom followed his example. "The next half hour will probably tell the story.

We're in for a lovely sc.r.a.p, and we'll have that friend of yours with us when we come back, or we'll never come back at all."

A keen sense of elation thrilled Bert and Tom, as they fell in behind the old frontiersman, and followed him in Indian file up the path. The sickening suspense was over. The storm was about to break. Waiting was to be replaced by action. A few minutes more and they were to be battling for d.i.c.k's life and their own. The primeval man had broken through the veneer of civilization, and their nerves were tingling with longing for the fight.

For ten minutes they went on at a rapid pace. Then the sounds of the camp fell upon their ears, and they crept on with caution. They could hear oaths, interspersed with drunken laughter, and the stamping of horses. Abandoning the path, they vanished into, the thick undergrowth, and now on hands and knees drew near the clearing. Reaching its edge, they peered through the bushes, and saw a sight that froze the blood in their veins.

CHAPTER V

A FIENDISH TORTURE

It was long after dark on the day of d.i.c.k's capture, when the guerillas reached their camp. Familiar as they were with every inch of the way, they had gone on as rapidly after sunset as before, and only drew rein when they had reached the clearing. d.i.c.k was lifted from the broncho, and the bonds removed from his hands and feet. He suffered torments as the blood rushed back into his cramped members, but at least he was comparatively free to move about, and before long he had recovered from the physical effects of his long and exhausting ride.

His mind also had regained its serenity and poise. He was cool and calm to a degree that surprised even himself. The first shock was over. He had already tasted of the bitterness of death. In those long hours, he had fought the battle in his own heart and conquered. Now he was ready for whatever might befall. From this time on, no chance either of life or death could disturb him. He was prepared for either. But his keen eyes and trained senses were on the alert to take advantage of any slip on the part of his captors, and he was determined to sell his life dearly. If they took it, they should at least pay for it.

Pedro, who seemed to be the captain's righthand man, led the way to a ragged tent, of which there were perhaps a dozen in the clearing. Inside was a rude bed of boughs covered by an old saddle blanket. A wooden bench was the only other item of furniture, while a smoky pine torch, thrust into the cleft of a stump, gave a dismal light. Three of the bandits were stationed as a guard at the door of the tent, while two others were placed at the back. It was evident that the chief was taking no chances. They left his hands unbound, while he ate the meal of frijoles and tortillas that was presently brought to him, but when he had finished, his hands were again tied, though not so tightly as before, while his feet were secured to a stake, driven into the ground at the foot of the bed. Thus fastened, he could sit or lie on the bed, but could not move about. This done, they left him for a while to his reflections.

Outside, the camp was given up to boisterous hilarity. The bandits had ridden hard and far that day, and they were enjoying the sense of rest and relaxation that comes after a day in the saddle. Their horses were picketed in rows on the edge of the clearing, while their masters sat around a huge fire and sought diversion after the manner of their kind.

Games of cards and dice were in progress, and bottles of mescal pa.s.sed from hand to hand. The growing drunkenness led rapidly to quarrels, and, in one of the groups, a stabbing affray was only averted by the coming of El Tigre on the scene. The noise ceased like magic and the knives were replaced in their sheaths, while the revelers tried to slink out of the sight of their dreaded master. He glared at the brawlers for a moment, but his mind was on something else just then, and, lifting the flap of d.i.c.k's tent, he stepped inside.

He had expected to find an anxious, excited, agonized prisoner. He stopped, nonplussed. Stretched out on his bed, d.i.c.k was sleeping as peacefully as a baby. Not a trace of fear or worry was visible on the strong, handsome face. It was a novel experience--this sort of disdainful defiance--to the monster whose name was a Synonym of terror over all that district.

"These cursed Americanos," he muttered. "Where do they get their courage? And those eyes--the first that ever looked into mine without falling. I swore to myself this morning that I'd pluck them out of his head. But I've thought of something better since," he mused, while a devilish grin spread over his face, "and I'll let him keep them until he sees what I'll have ready for him in the morning."

He was about to rouse the sleeper with a vicious kick, but thought better of it.

"No," he growled, "let him sleep. He'll be in better condition in the morning, and it will make his dying harder and longer." And with a last venomous look, he left the tent and its sleeping occupant, and went to his own quarters.

The camp wore a festal air the next morning. There was a general atmosphere of eager expectation. It was evident that something unusual was afoot. The fellow that brought in d.i.c.k's breakfast looked at him with a covert interest, as though he were to be an important actor in a drama for which the stage was being set. Had d.i.c.k known as much as Melton had learned of the hideous fame of his captor, he might have divined sooner the nature of these preparations. He had slept soundly, and the freshness and brightness of the morning had given him new hopes.

The food served him was very good and abundant, and he did not know why, just as he was finis.h.i.+ng it, the thought came to him of the especially good breakfast served to condemned men on the morning of their execution.

He brushed the thought away from him, and just then Pedro appeared at the door of the ten, accompanied by a half dozen of his mates.

He untied the prisoner's feet, and d.i.c.k arose and stretched himself.

"Come," growled Pedro, and they went out into the open s.p.a.ce between the tents.

The fresh air fanned his forehead gratefully and he breathed it in in great draughts. On a morning like this, it was good just to be alive.

He cast a glance around, and saw at once that something out of the ordinary was about to take place. The entire population of the camp was on the scene. Instead of sprawling in haphazard fas.h.i.+on on the ground, the bandits were in an att.i.tude of alert attention. The dreaded leader sat in the center of the clearing, his eyes alight with an unholy flame.

He rose, as d.i.c.k approached, with a guard holding his arm on either side, and made him a sweeping bow of mock politeness.

"It is good of the senor to honor us with his presence, this morning," he said in fairly good English--in his early years he had been a cattle rustler in Arizona--"but I fear we can offer little for his amus.e.m.e.nt.

In fact, we shall have to depend on the senor himself to entertain us.

Is the senor, by any chance, a snake charmer?"

"Look here," said d.i.c.k, fiercely, "what's your game, anyway? You've got my money and watch and clothes. Now, what more do you want?"

"What more?" echoed El Tigre, softly. "Why, only a very little thing. I want your life."

The last words were fairly hissed. All the mock courtesy dropped away, and he stood revealed in his true character as a gloating fiend, his hideous features working with hate.

That face maddened d.i.c.k. With a sudden movement, he threw off the guard on either side, took one leap forward, and his fist shot out like a catapult. It caught the sneering face square between the eyes, and the chief went down with a crash. In an instant, d.i.c.k's sinewy hands were on his throat and choking out his life.

But now the bandit crew, roused from their stupefaction, rushed forward, and overpowered him by sheer force of numbers. They dragged him from the prostrate form of the guerilla, and tied him to a tree close to the bushes, on the very edge of the clearing. The Tiger's face was bleeding from the smas.h.i.+ng blow, when his followers raised him to his feet, and his rage was fearful to behold. He drew his knife and was about to rush on d.i.c.k, when the sight of two of his men, coming into the clearing with a bag between them, reminded him of his original purpose. By a mighty effort he restrained himself, but the ferocity of his face was appalling.

d.i.c.k, too, looked at the bag, as the men laid it on the ground. It was moving. Moving not sharply or briskly, as it might, had it held fowls or rabbits, but with a horrid, crawling, sinuous motion. A cold sweat broke out all over him. Now he knew what the Tiger had meant, when he asked him if he were by any chance a snake charmer.