Bert Wilson at Panama Page 5

  CHAPTER V

  A FIENDISH TORTURE

  It was long after dark on the day of Dick's capture, when the guerillasreached 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 reinwhen they had reached the clearing. Dick was lifted from the broncho,and the bonds removed from his hands and feet. He suffered torments asthe blood rushed back into his cramped members, but at least he wascomparatively free to move about, and before long he had recovered fromthe physical effects of his long and exhausting ride.

  His mind also had regained its serenity and poise. He was cool and calmto a degree that surprised even himself. The first shock was over. Hehad already tasted of the bitterness of death. In those long hours, hehad fought the battle in his own heart and conquered. Now he was readyfor whatever might befall. From this time on, no chance either of lifeor death could disturb him. He was prepared for either. But his keeneyes and trained senses were on the alert to take advantage of any slipon the part of his captors, and he was determined to sell his lifedearly. 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 aragged tent, of which there were perhaps a dozen in the clearing. Insidewas a rude bed of boughs covered by an old saddle blanket. A woodenbench 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 thebandits were stationed as a guard at the door of the tent, while twoothers were placed at the back. It was evident that the chief was takingno chances. They left his hands unbound, while he ate the meal offrijoles and tortillas that was presently brought to him, but when he hadfinished, his hands were again tied, though not so tightly as before,while his feet were secured to a stake, driven into the ground at thefoot of the bed. Thus fastened, he could sit or lie on the bed, butcould not move about. This done, they left him for a while to hisreflections.

  Outside, the camp was given up to boisterous hilarity. The bandits hadridden hard and far that day, and they were enjoying the sense of restand relaxation that comes after a day in the saddle. Their horses werepicketed in rows on the edge of the clearing, while their masters sataround a huge fire and sought diversion after the manner of their kind.Games of cards and dice were in progress, and bottles of mescal passedfrom 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 ofEl Tigre on the scene. The noise ceased like magic and the knives werereplaced in their sheaths, while the revelers tried to slink out of thesight 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 ofDick's tent, he stepped inside.

  He had expected to find an anxious, excited, agonized prisoner. Hestopped, nonplussed. Stretched out on his bed, Dick was sleeping aspeacefully as a baby. Not a trace of fear or worry was visible on thestrong, handsome face. It was a novel experience--this sort ofdisdainful defiance--to the monster whose name was a Synonym of terrorover all that district.

  "These cursed Americanos," he muttered. "Where do they get theircourage? And those eyes--the first that ever looked into mine withoutfalling. I swore to myself this morning that I'd pluck them out of hishead. But I've thought of something better since," he mused, while adevilish grin spread over his face, "and I'll let him keep them until hesees what I'll have ready for him in the morning."

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

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

  The camp wore a festal air the next morning. There was a generalatmosphere of eager expectation. It was evident that something unusualwas afoot. The fellow that brought in Dick's breakfast looked at himwith a covert interest, as though he were to be an important actor in adrama for which the stage was being set. Had Dick known as much asMelton had learned of the hideous fame of his captor, he might havedivined 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 finishing it, the thought came to him of the especiallygood breakfast served to condemned men on the morning of their execution.He brushed the thought away from him, and just then Pedro appeared atthe door of the ten, accompanied by a half dozen of his mates.

  He untied the prisoner's feet, and Dick arose and stretched himself.

  "Come," growled Pedro, and they went out into the open space between thetents.

  The fresh air fanned his forehead gratefully and he breathed it in ingreat 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 theordinary was about to take place. The entire population of the camp wason the scene. Instead of sprawling in haphazard fashion on the ground,the bandits were in an attitude of alert attention. The dreaded leadersat in the center of the clearing, his eyes alight with an unholy flame.He rose, as Dick 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," hesaid in fairly good English--in his early years he had been a cattlerustler in Arizona--"but I fear we can offer little for his amusement.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 Dick, fiercely, "what's your game, anyway? You've got mymoney and watch and clothes. Now, what more do you want?"

  "What more?" echoed El Tigre, softly. "Why, only a very little thing. Iwant 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, hishideous features working with hate.

  That face maddened Dick. With a sudden movement, he threw off the guardon either side, took one leap forward, and his fist shot out like acatapult. It caught the sneering face square between the eyes, and thechief went down with a crash. In an instant, Dick's sinewy hands were onhis 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 theprostrate form of the guerilla, and tied him to a tree close to thebushes, on the very edge of the clearing. The Tiger's face was bleedingfrom the smashing blow, when his followers raised him to his feet, andhis rage was fearful to behold. He drew his knife and was about to rushon Dick, when the sight of two of his men, coming into the clearing witha bag between them, reminded him of his original purpose. By a mightyeffort he restrained himself, but the ferocity of his face was appalling.

  Dick, too, looked at the bag, as the men laid it on the ground. It wasmoving. Moving not sharply or briskly, as it might, had it held fowls orrabbits, but with a horrid, crawling, sinuous motion. A cold sweat brokeout all over him. Now he knew what the Tiger had meant, when he askedhim if he were by any chance a snake charmer.

  A word from the chief, and two men came forward, holding forked sticks.A third slit the bag with his knife from top to bottom. From the gapingrent, two monster rattlesnakes rolled out. But before they could coil tostrike, each was pinned to the ground by the forked stick, pressed downclose behind the head. They writhed and twisted frantically, but to nopurpose. Then another man bent down and drove his knife through the tailof each, just above the rattles. Through the wound he passed a thong ofbuckskin and looped it on the under side. Then, in each case, the otherend of the thong was fastened securely to a stake, driven into theground. When the work was done, a distance of ten yards separated thetwo stakes, and before each was a twisting reptile, wild with rage andpain. A man stood in front at a safe
distance and held out a stick,teasingly. The snake flung itself to its full length, and the distanceit could reach was carefully measured. Then, some inches beyond thisfurthest point, other stakes were drawn in rude outline of the form of aman. Near the buckskin thongs, men were stationed, with gourds full ofwater.

  And now the stage was fully set for the tragedy. The audience waswaiting. It was time for the actors to appear and the play begin.

  El Tigre looked curiously at Dick. The latter's heart was beatingtumultuously, but he met the scoundrel's gaze with calm defiance. Heeven smiled scornfully, as he stared at the battered lace, bleeding yetfrom his blow of a few minutes before. The significance of that smilelashed the bandit's soul into fury.

  "I'll break him yet," he swore to himself. "He shall beg for mercybefore he dies."

  Then he said, aloud: "I was going to let the senor go first, but I havechanged my mind. He is smiling now, and he shall have a longer time toenjoy himself."

  He turned and spoke to some of his followers, and they went to a nearbytent, from which they emerged a moment later, bringing with them aChinaman, whose yellow face was ghastly with fear. As the poor wretchlooked around at the awful preparations, and realized that he was doomed,he threw himself down before the chief and tried to embrace his knees.El Tigre spurned him with his foot.

  "Tie him down," he commanded, briefly.

  They bore the unhappy man to the stakes, threw him down and bound him sotightly to them that he could not move. He was fastened in such a waythat his face lay on one side, looking toward the snake a few feet away.The reptile coiled and sprang for the face, missing it by a few inches.Several times this was repeated. The horror of that wicked head andthose dripping fangs darting towards one's face was insupportable, andshriek followed shriek from the tortured victim. Still, the snake couldnot actually reach him, and if the thong held--But now the man with thegourd poured a little water on the thong.

  _And the thong began to stretch._

  The whole hideous deviltry of it struck Dick like a blow. Already hecould see that the snake's head went a trifle nearer with every spring.And still the water kept dripping. In a few minutes more, the fangswould meet in the victim's face.

  And it was his turn next. He, too, must face that grisly horror. Deathin its most loathsome form was beckoning. His brain reeled, but, by atremendous effort, he steeled himself to meet his fate. He would--

  "Dick!"

  What was that?

  "Dick!"

  Was that Bert's voice, or was he going insane? "Don't move, old man,"came a whisper from behind the tree. "It's Bert. I've cut the rope thatholds you until it hangs by a thread. The least movement will snap it.Let your hand hang down, and I'll slip you a revolver. Jump, when youget the word. We're going to rush the camp."

  The reaction from despair to hope was so violent, that Dick couldscarcely hold the weapon that was thrust into his hand. But as he feltthe cold steel, his grip tightened on the stock, and he was himselfagain. Now at least he had a chance to fight for his life.

  The snake was getting nearer to its victim's face. The last spring hadall but grazed it. All eyes were fixed upon it, as it coiled again. Itswaving head stood high above its folds, as it prepared to launch itself.And just then a bowie knife whizzed through the air and sliced its headfrom its body. The next instant, a rain of bullets swept the clearing,and Melton, Bert, and Tom burst from the woods, firing as they came.