Just before he closed his eyes Phil had taken a full breath and now with his lungs full of air he knew that the agony was less than two minutes away. Strong swimmer as he was, he knew that was the limit of his endurance, and then afterward would come the sickening sensation of water agonizingly breathed into his lungs. Congestion would follow and if there was any trouble with his heart it would stop. If not, the cruel Colonel Salas who, with a delighted smile, was pouring the water, would stop and free the lad’s mouth of water, permitting him to regain his breath, working over him as if he were a half-drowned man, and after he had been brought to by artificial respiration, the cruel torture would be begun again and carried out until he agreed to do his enemy’s bidding. Those two minutes were the longest in the lad’s life. His entire past flashed before his eyes and he shed tears of disappointment at the thought that this might be his death. He wondered how much time had passed. Then he began to count the seconds, but soon stopped in horror; it was too much like self-destruction. He held his breath now tightly, allowing just a little air at a time to escape through his throat. He opened his eyes once or twice, but he could see nothing but a fiery sun overhead. He had the sensation that his entire body was swelling. Every vein seemed to have hardened. The sweat poured from his forehead, stinging his eyes. He could hold his breath no longer. His blood throbbed painfully in his temples. An awful nausea overcame him, and he gasped for air. Then a sharp sound as of the discharge of a cannon sounded in his ears and he fought and struggled with the strength of a score of men for the precious air. CHAPTER XX THE STRUGGLE FOR THE STRONGHOLD