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Title: Julian Mortimer A Brave Boy's Struggle for Home and Fortune Author: Harry Castlemon Release Date: April 12, 2016 [eBook #51738] Language: English Character set encoding: UTF-8 ***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JULIAN MORTIMER*** E-text prepared by Giovanni Fini, Melissa McDaniel, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org) Note: Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive. See https://archive.org/details/julianmortimerbr00cast “Julian!” exclaimed the man, in a low but excited tone of voice. “I am here!” replied the prisoner, so overjoyed that he could scarcely speak. —Page 118. Julian Mortimer. [2] [3] Julian Mortimer; A Brave Boy’s Struggle for Home and Fortune BY HARRY CASTLEMON, Author of The “Gunboat Series,” “The Boy Trapper,” “Sportsman’s Club Series,” etc., etc. ILLUSTRATED. A. L. BURT COMPANY, PUBLISHERS NEW YORK Copyright, 1873, by Street & Smith. Copyright, 1887, by A. L. Burt. Copyright, 1901, by Charles S. Fosdick. JULIAN MORTIMER. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE JULIAN MORTIMER [4] I. THE WAGON TRAIN 5 II. JULIAN HEARS SOMETHING 11 III. A RIDE IN THE DARK 18 IV. JULIAN FINDS A RELATIVE 30 V. JULIAN’S HOME 38 VI. JULIAN MEETS A STRANGER 46 VII. THE FLIGHT 55 VIII. CHASED BY A BLOOD-HOUND 63 IX. GOOD FOR EVIL 71 X. JULIAN HAS A VISITOR 80 XI. JACK’S PLANS 89 XII. ON BOARD THE FLATBOAT 97 XIII. IN THE SMOKE-HOUSE 108 XIV. SANDERS TELLS HIS STORY 118 XV. THE JOURNEY COMMENCED 126 XVI. SILAS ROPER, THE GUIDE 131 XVII. ACROSS THE PLAINS 139 XVIII. THE EMIGRANT AGAIN 147 XIX. UNCLE REGINALD EXPLAINS 158 XX. JULIAN GETS INTO BUSINESS 168 XXI. WHITE-HORSE FRED 177 XXII. THE SPECTERS OF THE CAVE 186 XXIII. JULIAN MAKES A DISCOVERY 196 XXIV. PEDRO MAKES ANOTHER 205 XXV. HOW IT RESULTED 211 XXVI. FRED’S STORY 221 XXVII. FRED’S STORY, CONCLUDED 232 XXVIII. THE ATTACK ON THE RANCHO 241 AN IDEA AND A FORTUNE By Owen Hacket. 249 THE GRANTHAM DIAMONDS By Russell Stockton. 265 [5] JULIAN MORTIMER; OR, A Brave Boy’s Struggle for Home and Fortune. CHAPTER I. THE WAGON TRAIN. THE SUN was just sinking out of sight behind the western mountains, and the shadows of twilight were beginning to creep through the valley, when two horsemen, who had been picking their way along the rocky and almost impassible road that ran through Bridger’s Pass, drew rein on the summit of an elevation and looked about them. One of them was a trapper—he never would have been taken for anything else—a man about forty years of age, and a giant in strength and stature. The very small portion of his face that could be seen over his thick, bushy whiskers was as brown as an Indian’s; and from under the tattered fur cap that was slouched over his forehead, peeped forth a pair of eyes as sharp as those of an eagle. He was dressed in a complete suit of buckskin, rode a large cream-colored mustang, and carried a heavy rifle across the horn of his saddle. Around his waist he wore a leather belt, supporting a knife and tomahawk, and under his left arm, suspended by thongs of buckskin, which crossed his breast, hung a bullet- pouch and powder-horn. This man was Silas Roper—one of the best guides that ever led a wagon train across the prairie. His companion was a youth about sixteen years of age, Julian Mortimer by name, and the hero of our story. He presented a great contrast to the burly trapper. He was slender and graceful, with a fair, almost girlish face, and a mild blue eye, which gazed in wonder at the wild scene spread out before it. It was plain that he had not been long on the prairie, and a stranger would have declared that he was out of his element; but those who were best acquainted with him would have told a different story. He took to the mountains and woods as naturally as though he had been born there, and Silas Roper predicted that he would make his mark as a frontiersman before many years more had passed over his head. There was plenty of strength in his slight figure, and one might have looked the world over without finding a more determined and courageous spirit. He was an excellent shot with the rifle, and managed the fiery little charger on which he was mounted with an ease and grace that showed him to be an accomplished horseman. The boy’s dress was an odd mixture of the simple style of the prairies and the newest and most elaborate fashions of the Mexicans. He wore a sombrero, a jacket of dark-blue cloth, profusely ornamented with gold lace, buckskin trowsers, brown cloth leggings with green fringe, and light shoes, the heels of which were armed with huge Mexican spurs. His weapons consisted of a rifle, slung over his shoulder by a broad strap, a hunting knife and a brace of revolvers, which he carried in his belt, and a lasso, which was coiled upon the horn of his saddle. From his left shoulder hung a small deerskin haversack, to which was attached an ornamented powder-horn. The haversack contained bullets for his rifle, cartridges for his revolvers, and flint, steel and tinder for lighting a fire. Behind his saddle, neatly rolled up and held in its place by two straps, was a poncho which did duty both as overcoat and bed. He was mounted on a coal-black horse, which was very fleet, and so ill-tempered that no one besides his master cared to approach him. The trapper and his young companion belonged to an emigrant train which, a few weeks previous to the beginning of our story, had left St. Joseph for Sacramento, and they had ridden in advance of the wagons to select a camping ground for the night. This was a matter of no ordinary importance at that particular time, for during the last two days a band of Indians had been hovering upon the flanks of the train, and the guide knew that they were awaiting a favorable opportunity to swoop down upon it. Hitherto Silas had had an eye only to the comfort of the emigrants, and in picking out his camping grounds had selected places that were convenient to wood and water, and which afforded ample pasturage for the stock belonging to the train; but now he was called upon to provide for the safety of the people under his charge. The road, at the point where the horsemen had halted, wound around the base of a rocky cliff, which arose for a hundred feet without a single break or crevice, and was barely wide enough to admit the passage of a single wagon. On the side opposite the cliff was a deep gorge, which seemed to extend down into the very bowels of the earth. It was here that the guide had decided to camp for the night. He carefully examined the ground, and a smile of satisfaction lighted up his face. “This is the place we’ve been looking fur,” said he, dismounting from his horse and tying the animal to a neighboring tree. “Now I will go out an’ look around a little bit, an’ you can stay here till the wagons come up. You won’t be afeared if I leave you alone, will you?” “Afraid?” repeated Julian. “Of course not. There’s nothing to be afraid of.” [6] [7] “You may think differently afore you see the sun rise again,” replied the guide. “Now, when the train comes up tell the fellers to take half the wagons an’ block up the road, here at the end of the cliff, an’ to put the others at the lower end. Then we’ll be protected on all sides. The Injuns can’t come down the cliff to get at us, ’cause it’s too steep; an’ they can’t cross the gully nuther. They’ll have to come along the road; an’ when they try that we’ll get behind the wagons an’ fight ’em the best we know how. It’s risky business, too,” added Silas, pulling off his cap and digging his fingers into his head, “‘cause if they are too many fur us we won’t have no chance on airth to run. We’ll have to stay right here an’ die, the hul kit an’ bilin’ of us.” Julian, who had never seen an Indian in war-paint or heard the whistle of a hostile bullet, was amazed at the trapper’s coolness and indifference. The bare thought of a fight with the savages was enough to cause him the most intense alarm, and yet here was Silas, who had more than once been a prisoner in the hands of the Indians, and who knew much better than Julian could imagine it, what the fate of the emigrants would be if their enemies proved too strong for them, apparently as much at his ease as though there had not been a hostile warrior within a thousand miles. The boy wondered at his courage and wished his friend could impart some of it to him, little dreaming how soon he would have need of it. “Do you really think there is danger of an attack?” asked Julian, as soon as he could speak. The trapper, who was in the act of untying a haunch of venison that was fastened behind his saddle, turned and looked curiously at his companion. “Youngster,” said he, “if you should diskiver a cloud as black as midnight comin’ up over these mountains, an’ should see the lightnin’ a playin’ around the edges, an’ hear the thunder a grumblin’, what would you say?” “That we were going to have a storm,” replied Julian. “In course you would. An’ when I know that thar are Injins all around us, an’ that they are takin’ mighty good care to keep themselves out of sight, I tell myself that they’ll bar watchin’. When I see their trail, an’ find out that thar are nigh onto three hundred braves in the party, an’ that they haint got no women or plunder with ’em, I know that they are on the war-path. An’ when they foller us fur two hul days, an’ their spies watch us every night while we are makin’ our camp—like that varlet over thar is watchin’ us now—I know that they are arter us an’ nobody else. The signs are jest as plain to me as the signs of a thunder storm are to you.” “Is there some one watching us now?” asked Julian, in great excitement. “Sartin thar is. I’ve seed that copper-colored face of his’n peepin’ over that rock ever since we’ve been here. If he was within good pluggin’ distance all the news he would carry back to his friends wouldn’t do ’em much good, I reckon.” As the trapper spoke he pointed toward the opposite side of the gorge. Julian looked in the direction indicated, closely scrutinizing every rock and tree within the range of his vision, but nothing in the shape of an Indian’s head could he see. His eyes were not as sharp as those of the guide. “Never mind,” said Silas, “you’ll see plenty of ’em afore mornin’, an’ they’ll be closer to you than you’ll care to have ’em. But you needn’t be any ways oneasy. They won’t hurt you. It’s white men that you’ve got to look out fur.” “White men?” echoed Julian. “Sartin. Thar’s two persons in the world—an’ I can lay my hand on one of ’em in less’n five minutes—who would be willin’ to give something nice if they could get hold of you. I know a heap more about you than you think I do.” “You have hinted something like this before, Silas, and I don’t know what you mean. I wish you would explain yourself.” “I hain’t got no time now,” replied the guide, shouldering his rifle and walking briskly up the road. “Keep your eyes open, an’ don’t go out of the camp till I get back. Don’t forget what I told you about them wagons nuther.” The trapper quickly disappeared around a bend in the road, and Julian once more directed his gaze across the gully and tried in vain to discover the hiding-place of the spy. He began to feel timid now that he was alone. The thought that there were hostile Indians all around him, and that one of their number was concealed almost within rifle-shot of him, watching every move he made, was by no means an agreeable one. His first impulse was to put spurs to his horse and make the best of his way back to the train; and he probably would have done so had he not at that moment become aware that the train was coming to him. He heard the rumbling of the wheels and the voices of teamsters below him, and the familiar sounds brought his courage back to him again. He remained at his post until the foremost wagons came in sight, and then proceeded to carry out the instructions Silas had given him. [8] [9] [10] [11] CHAPTER II. JULIAN HEARS SOMETHING. IN HALF an hour the preparations for the night were all completed, and Julian surveyed the camp with a smile of satisfaction. There were twenty wagons in the train, and of these two barricades had been made, one at the upper and the other at the lower end of the cliffs, as the guide had directed. The vehicles had been drawn close together, and were fastened to one another by chains so that they could not be easily moved from their places. The space between the wheels was blocked up with plows, harrows, stoves, bedsteads and chairs, thus rendering it a matter of some difficulty for any one to effect an entrance into the camp. While this work was being performed the shadows of twilight had deepened into the gloom of night, and now all objects outside the circle of light made by the camp-fires were concealed by Egyptian darkness. Inside the barricades a scene was presented that was a cheering one to men wearied with their day’s journey. A dozen fires blazed along the base of the cliff, and beside them stalwart pioneers reposed on their blankets, smoking their pipes and watching with hungry eyes the preparations for supper that were going on around them. Venison steaks were broiling on the coals, potatoes roasting in the ashes, and coffee-pots simmered and sputtered, filling the camp with the odor of their aromatic contents. Cattle and horses cropped the herbage that grew along the edge of the gully, and noisy children, all unconscious of the danger that threatened them, rolled about on the grass, or relieved their cramped limbs by running races along the road. But, although the camp wore an air of domesticity and security, preparations for battle were everywhere visible. The saddles and bridles had not been removed from the horses as usual, the emigrants wore their revolvers about their waists, and kept their rifles within easy reach. There were pale faces in that camp, and men who had all their lives been familiar with danger started and trembled at the rustle of every leaf. Julian Mortimer, from a neighboring wagon, on which he had perched himself to await the return of the guide, watched the scene presented to his gaze, as he had done every night since leaving St. Joseph, and bemoaned his hard lot in life. “Among all these people,” he soliloquized, “there are none that I can call relatives and friends, and not one even to speak a kind word to me. How I envy those fellows,” he added, glancing at a couple of boys about his own age who were seated at the nearest camp-fire conversing with their parents. “They have a father to watch over them, a mother to care for them, and brothers and sisters to love, but they do not seem to appreciate their blessings, for they are continually quarreling with one another, and no longer ago than this morning one of those boys flew into a terrible rage because his mother asked him to chop some wood to cook breakfast with. If he could be alone in the world for a few days, as I have been almost ever since I can remember, he would know how to value that mother when he got back to her. If the Indians attack us to-night some of the emigrants will certainly be killed, and the friends they have left behind them in the States will mourn over their fate; but if I fall, there will be no one to drop a tear for me or say he is sorry I am gone. There is nothing on earth that cares whether I live or die, unless it is my horse. If the Indians kill me perhaps he will miss me.” Julian’s soliloquy was suddenly interrupted by a light footstep behind the wagon in which he was sitting. He turned quickly and discovered a man stealing along the barricade and examining it closely, as if he were looking for a place to get through it. Julian’s first thought was to accost him, but there was something so stealthy in the man’s actions that his curiosity was aroused, and checking the words that arose on his lips he remained quiet in his concealment, and waited to see what was going to happen. He had often seen the man during the journey across the plains, and knew that he was one of the emigrants, but why he should seek to leave the camp at that time and in so unusual a manner, was something the boy could not understand. The man walked the whole length of the barricade, turning to look at the emigrants now and then to make sure that none of them were observing his movements, and finally disappeared under one of the wagons. Julian heard him working his way through the obstructions that had been placed between the wheels, and presently saw him appear again on the outside of the barricade. Almost at the same instant the boy discovered another figure moving rapidly but noiselessly down the road toward the camp. At first he thought it was the guide, but when the man came within the circle of light thrown out by the camp- fires he saw that he was a stranger. He was evidently a mountain man, for he was dressed in buckskin and carried a long rifle in the hollow of his arm, and the never-failing knife and tomahawk in his belt; but he was the worst specimen of this class of men that Julian had ever seen. His clothing was soiled and ragged, his hair, which had evidently never been acquainted with a comb, fell down upon his shoulders, and his face looked as though it had received the very roughest usage, for it was terribly battered and scarred. One glance at him was enough to frighten Julian, who, knowing instinctively that the man was there for no good purpose, drew further back into the shadow of the wagon-cover. The emigrant who had left the camp in so suspicious a manner, discovered the stranger the moment he reached the outside of the barricade, but he did not appear to be surprised to see him. On the contrary, he acted as if he had been expecting him, for he placed one foot on the nearest wagon-tongue, rested his elbow on his knee, and when the trapper had approached within speaking distance, said in a suppressed whisper: “How are you, Sanders?” The latter paid no more attention to the greeting than if he had not been addressed at all. He advanced close to the wagon in which Julian was concealed—so close that his brawny shoulders were almost within reach of the boy’s hand —and peered through the barricade, taking in at one swift glance all that was going on inside the camp. He next looked [12] [13] [14] up and down the road, fixing his eyes suspiciously on every tree and rock near him that was large enough to conceal a foe, and having satisfied himself that there was no one near him, he dropped the butt of his rifle to the ground, and growled out: “Wal!” “Well,” replied the emigrant, “I have been to Missouri, and I have returned, as you see.” “I reckon you’re satisfied now, hain’t you?” he asked. “I am. I am satisfied of four things: That the boy is alive and hearty; that he remembers more of his early history than we thought he would; that he has come out here to make trouble for us; and that he is at this very moment with this wagon train.” As the emigrant said this he folded his arms and looked at his companion to observe the effect these words would have upon him. He, no doubt, expected that the trapper would be surprised, and the latter’s actions indicated that he certainly was. He stepped back as suddenly as if a blow had been aimed at him, and after regarding the emigrant sharply for a moment, struck the butt of his rifle with his clenched hand, and ejaculated: “Sho!” “It’s a fact,” replied his companion. “Wal, now, I wouldn’t be afeared to bet my ears agin a chaw of tobacker that you’re fooled the worst kind,” said the trapper, who was very much excited over what he had heard, and seemed quite unable to bring himself to believe it. “The boy was young when he was tuk away from here—not more’n eight years old—an’ do you ’spose he could remember anything that happened or find his way across these yere prairies to his hum agin? Don’t look reason’ble.” “It’s the truth, whether it looks reasonable or not. I have seen Julian Mortimer, and talked with him, and consequently may be supposed to know more about him and his plans than you who have not seen him for years. What was that?” Julian, astonished to hear his own name pronounced by one whom he believed to be a stranger to him, uttered an ejaculation under his breath, and forgetting in his excitement how close the men were to him, bent forward and began to listen more intently. The very slight rustling he occasioned among the folds of the canvas cover of the wagon was sufficient to attract the attention of the emigrant and his companion, who brought their conversation to a sudden close, and looking about them suspiciously, waited for a repetition of the sound. But Julian, frightened at what he had done, and trembling in every limb when he saw the trapper turn his head and gaze earnestly toward the wagon in which he was concealed, remained perfectly motionless and held his breath in suspense. The men listened a moment, but hearing nothing to alarm them, Sanders folded his arms over the muzzle of his rifle, intimating by a gesture that he was ready to hear what else the emigrant had to say, and the latter once more placed his foot on the wagon-tongue, and continued: “It is time we had an understanding on one point, Sanders. Are you working for my cousin, Reginald, or for me?” “I’m workin’ fur you, in course,” replied the trapper. “I’ve done my level best fur you. I had my way with one of the brats, an’ put him whar he’ll never trouble nobody.” “Has he never troubled any one since that night? Has he never troubled you?” asked the emigrant, in a significant tone. “Could you be hired to spend an hour in Reginald’s rancho after dark?” “No, I couldn’t,” replied the trapper, in a subdued voice, glancing nervously around, and drawing a little closer to his companion. “But that thar boy is at the bottom of the lake, an’ I’d swar to it, ’cause I put him thar myself. What it is that walks about that rancho every night, an’ makes such noises, an’ cuts up so, I don’t know. You had oughter let me done as I pleased with the other; but you got chicken-hearted all of a sudden, an’ didn’t want him rubbed out, an’ so I stole him away from his hum for you, an’ you toted him off to the States. If he comes back here an’ makes outlaws of you an’ your cousin, it’s no business of mine. But I am on your side, an’ you know it.” “I don’t know anything of the kind. It is true that you did all this for me, and that I paid you well for it; but I know that you have since promised Reginald that you would find the boy and bring him back here. Will you attack this train to-night?” “Sartin. That’s what we’ve been a follerin’ it fur. If you want to save your bacon, you’d best be gettin’ out.” “I intend to do so; but I don’t want the boy to get out; do you understand? You know where to find me in the morning, and if you will bring me his jacket and leggins to prove that he is out of the way, I will give you a thousand dollars. There are a good many boys with the train, but you will have no trouble in picking out Julian, if you remember how he looked eight years ago. You will know him by his handsome face and straight, slender figure.” “I’ll find him,” said the trapper; “it’s a bargain, an’ thar’s my hand onto it. Now I’ll jest walk around an’ take a squint at things, an’ you had best pack up what plunder you want to save an’ cl’ar out; ’cause in less’n an hour me an’ the Injuns will be down on this yere wagon train like a turkey on a tater-bug.” The emigrant evidently thought it best to act on this suggestion, for without wasting any time or words in leave- taking he made his way carefully through the barricade into the camp. The trapper watched him until he disappeared from view, and then said, as if talking to himself, but in a tone of voice loud enough for Julian to hear: “A thousand dollars fur doin’ a job that you are afeared to do yourself! I don’t mind shootin’ the boy, but I’d be the [15] [16] [17] biggest kind of a dunce to do it fur that money when another man offers me $5,000 for him alive an’ well. If that youngster, Julian, is in this camp, I’ll win that five thousand to-night, or my name ain’t Ned Sanders.” The trapper shouldered his rifle, and with a step that would not have awakened a cricket, stole along the barricade, carefully examining it at every point, and mentally calculating the chances for making a successful attack upon it. When he had passed out of sight in the darkness, Julian drew a long breath, and settled back in his place of concealment to think over what he had heard. [18] CHAPTER III. A RIDE IN THE DARK. TO DESCRIBE the feelings with which Julian Mortimer listened to the conversation we have just recorded were impossible. He knew now that he had been greatly mistaken in some opinions he had hitherto entertained. He had told himself but a few minutes before that there was no one on earth who cared whether he lived or died; but scarcely had the thought passed through his mind before he became aware that there were at least two persons in the world who were deeply interested in that very matter—so much so that one was willing to pay a ruffian a thousand dollars to kill him, while the other had offered five times that amount to have him delivered into his hands alive and well. It was no wonder that the boy was overwhelmed with fear and bewilderment. “Whew!” he panted, pulling off his sombrero and wiping the big drops of perspiration from his forehead, “this goes ahead of any thing I ever heard of. I wonder if Silas had any reference to this when he said that there were two men in the world who would be willing to give something nice to get hold of me! I’m done for. If I am not killed by the Indians, that villain, Sanders, will make a prisoner of me and take me off to Reginald. Who is Reginald, and what have I done that he should be so anxious to see me? I never knew before that I was worth $5,000 to anybody. Who is that emigrant, and how does it come that I am in his way? He says that he has talked with me and knows all about my plans, but I am positive that I never spoke to him in my life. I never saw him until I found him with this wagon train at St. Joseph. I have had some thrilling adventures during the past few weeks, and I can see very plainly that they are not yet ended.” Julian, trembling with anxiety and alarm, clambered out of the wagon, and leaning on the muzzle of his rifle, looked down into the gorge, thought over his situation, and tried to determine upon some plan of action. His first impulse was to acquaint the emigrants with the fact that one of their number had been holding converse with an enemy, and have the traitor secured at once. His next was to provide for his own safety by collecting the few articles of value he possessed and making his way back to the prairie; but he was deterred from attempting to carry out this plan by the fear that while he was fleeing from one danger he might run into another. The savages had probably surrounded the camp by this time, and he could not hope to pass through their lines without being discovered. The best course he could pursue was to wait until the guide returned. He would know just what ought to be done. Julian was so completely absorbed in his reverie that he forgot to keep an eye on what was going on around him, and consequently he did not see the two dark figures which came stealing along the road as noiselessly as spirits. But the figures were there, and when they discovered Julian they drew back into the bushes that lined the base of the cliff, and held a whispered consultation. Presently one of them stepped out into the road again and ran toward the camp. He did not attempt to escape observation, but hurried along as though he had a perfect right to be there. He seemed to be ignorant of the boy’s presence until he heard his voice and saw the muzzle of his rifle looking straight into his face. “Halt!” cried Julian, standing with his finger on the trigger, ready to enforce his command if it were not instantly obeyed. “Who are you?” “A friend,” replied the man. “Don’t shoot!” “Come up here, friend, and let us have a look at you.” As the stranger approached Julian saw that he appeared to be very much excited about something, and that he breathed heavily as if he had been running long and rapidly. “If you are a friend what are you doing on the outside of the camp?” asked the boy. “Why, we’ve been trappin’ here in the mountains, me an’ my pardner have, an’ to-day the Injuns driv us out,” replied the stranger. “We jest had to git up an’ dig out to save our har, an’ left all our plunder in the hands of the redskins—spelter, hosses, traps, an’ every thing except our rifles. While we were a makin’ tracks fur the prairie we come plump agin somebody; an’ who do you ’spose it was? It was Silas Roper. We used to be chums, me an’ him did, an’ have hunted and trapped together many a day up in the Blackfoot country. We found him watchin’ the camp of Ned Sanders an’ his band of rascals, an’ Silas said that if he had just one more man he could kill or captur’ the last one of ’em. He told me whar his wagon train was, an’ axed me would I come down an’ get one of the fellers to lend a hand. He said that Julian Mortimer was plucky an’ a good shot, an’ he’d like to have him. Mebbe you know him an’ can tell me whar’ to find him.” “I can. I am Julian Mortimer,” replied the boy, proudly. “You!” The trapper seemed to be first surprised, and then disappointed. He surveyed Julian from head to foot, and then continued: “Sho! I expected to see a man. What could a little cub like you do with Sanders and his gang?” “I am man enough to put a ball into one of them if I get a fair chance,” replied Julian. “I know something about Sanders, and have reasons for wishing him put where he will never see me again.” “Wall, you’re spunky if you are little, an’ spunk is the thing that counts arter all. Mebbe you’ll do as well as any body. Will you go?” “Of course I will, if Silas sent for me.” “‘Nough said. Go easy now, an’ do jest as you see me do.” The trapper shouldered his rifle and started down the road at a rapid run, with Julian close at his heels. When they passed the first bend in the road a man came out of the bushes, where he had been concealed, and [19] [20] [21] followed after them with noiseless footsteps. Julian did not see him, and neither did he see the dark forms that were hidden behind the trees and rocks on each side of the path; he saw no one except his guide until he came suddenly around the base of a cliff and found himself in front of a camp-fire, beside which lay half-a-dozen rough-looking men stretched out on their blankets. Julian stopped when this unexpected sight greeted his eyes, but his guide kept on, and seating himself on the ground before the fire, jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the boy, and coolly announced: “Here he is, fellers. Leastwise, he says that’s his name.” Julian stood like one petrified. He looked at his guide, at the trappers that were lying around, and then his gaze wandered toward an object which he had not before noticed. It was Silas Roper, who stood on the opposite side of the fire, with his back to a tree, to which he was securely bound. One glance at him was enough for Julian, who now saw that he had been duped. He understood the trick that had been played upon him as well as though it had been explained in words, and wondered at his own stupidity. If it had been true, as the strange trapper had told him, that Silas was keeping guard over the camp of the outlaws, and needed just one more man to enable him to effect their capture, would he have sent for an inexperienced person like himself when there were at least a score of old Indian-fighters among the emigrants? Julian told himself that he ought to have known better. These thoughts passed through his mind in an instant of time, and in his excitement and alarm, forgetting everything except that he was in the presence of enemies, he faced about and took to his heels; but he had not made many steps when the man who had followed him from the camp, and who was none other than Sanders himself, suddenly appeared in his path. “Not quite so fast!” said he, in savage tones. “You’re wuth a heap to us, if you only knowed it, an’ we couldn’t think of partin’ with you so soon.” As the trapper spoke, he twisted the boy’s rifle out of his grasp, tore the belt which contained his revolvers and hunting-knife from his waist, and then seized him by the collar and dragged him toward the fire—Julian, who knew that it would be the height of folly to irritate the ruffian, offering no resistance. “I call this a good night’s work,” continued Sanders, who seemed to be highly elated. “We’ve been waitin’ fur both them fellers fur more’n a year, an’ we’ve got ’em at last. This is Julian. I knowed him the minute I sot my eyes onto him, and could have picked him out among a million. He hain’t changed a bit in his face, but he’s grown a heap taller an’ stouter, an’ p’raps is a leetle livelier on his legs than he was when me an’ him run that foot-race eight year ago. Remember that—don’t you, youngster?” “No, I don’t,” replied Julian. “I never ran a race with you in my life. I never saw you until to-night.” “Didn’t! Wol, I’ve seed you a good many times durin’ the last two months, an’ have talked with you, too; but I was dressed up like a gentleman then, an’ mebbe that’s the reason you don’t recognize me now. Dick thinks he knows more about you than anybody else, but I reckon he don’t.” “Who is Dick?” asked the boy. “He’s the feller who was talkin’ to me to-night while you were settin’ in that wagon listenin’ to us. I didn’t know you were about thar until Dick had gone back into the camp, an’ then I seed you come down from the wagon. I wanted to get you away from thar, ’cause I was afeared that if you were in the camp durin’ the fight some of the Injuns might send a ball or arrer into you, an’ that would have been bad fur me an’ my mates, ’cause it would have tuk jest $5,000 out of our pockets. I didn’t see no chance to slip up an’ make a pris’ner of you without alarmin’ the emigrants, so I come back here an’ got one of my men, an’ me an’ him made up that story we told you. It worked first-rate, didn’t it.” Julian Suddenly Found Himself a Prisoner in the Trappers’ Camp.—See page 21. “But you have not yet told me who Dick is,” said Julian, without answering the outlaw’s question. “How did he become acquainted with me; and what reason has he for wishing me put out of his way? I heard him say that he would give you a thousand dollars if you would kill me.” “Them’s his very words. But you needn’t be no ways skeary, ’cause I wouldn’t hurt a hair of your head—not while I can make more money by takin’ good care of you. As fur the reasons Dick’s got fur havin’ somethin’ agin you, that’s [22] [23] [24] his business an’ not mine. Mebbe you’ll know all about it one of these days. But I reckon we might as well be movin’ now. What have you done with the critters, Tom?” The man who had guided Julian to the camp of the outlaws arose from his seat, disappeared in the bushes, and presently returned leading three horses. At a sign from his captors Julian mounted one of the animals, Sanders sprang upon the back of another, and seizing Julian’s horse by the bridle rode off into the darkness, followed by Tom, who brought up the rear. The boy wondered what the outlaws were going to do with him, and hoped that Sanders, who had shown himself to be quite communicative, might see fit to enlighten him; but the trapper seemed to have relapsed into a meditative mood, for he rode along with his eyes fastened on the horn of his saddle, and for half an hour never opened his lips except to swear at Julian’s horse, which showed a disposition to lag behind, and to answer a challenge from the foremost of a long line of Indians who passed them on the road. When Julian saw these warriors he thought of the emigrants, and knew that the fight the guide had predicted was not far distant. It was begun that very hour, and the signal for the attack was a single, long-drawn war-whoop, which echoed and re-echoed among the cliffs until it seemed to Julian as if the mountains were literally filled with yelling savages. No sooner had it died away than a chorus of frightful whoops arose from the direction of the camp, accompanied by the rapid discharge of fire-arms and the defiant shouts of the emigrants, which came to Julian’s ears with terrible distinctness. Although he knew that he was at a safe distance from the scene of the conflict, and in the power of men who would protect him from the savages, he could not have been more terrified if he had been standing side by side with the pioneers battling for his life. “What do you think of it, anyhow?” asked Sanders, noticing the boy’s agitation. “Never heered sounds like them afore, I reckon.” “No,” replied Julian, in a trembling voice, “and I never want to hear them again. It is some of your work. Silas says the Indians would not be half as bad as they are, if it were not for white renegades like you and your friends, who are continually spreading dissatisfaction among them, and urging them on to the war-path.” “Wouldn’t!” exclaims Sanders. “I don’t reckon we’re any wuss than other folks I’ve heern tell on. Thar are men in the world—an’ some of ’em don’t live so very far from here, nuther—who walk with their noses in the air, an’ think themselves better’n everybody else, an’ yet they are bad enough to offer men like me an’ my mates money to put some of their own kin out of the way. We’re jest about as good as the rest if we are outlaws.” For the next two miles the route pursued by the trappers and their prisoner lay through a deep ravine, where the darkness was so intense that Julian could scarcely see his hand before him, and at every step of the way the reports of fire-arms and the whoops and yells of the combatants rang in his ears. There was a fierce battle going on at the camp, and the boy wondered who would gain the victory. The question was answered in a few minutes, for when the three horsemen emerged from the valley, and reached the summit of a high hill, over which the road ran, Julian looked back and saw a bright flame, which increased in volume every moment, shining over the tops of the trees. Then he knew that the emigrants had failed in their attempts to beat off their assailants. The savages had succeeded in setting fire to the wagons which formed the barricade, and when that protection was swept away, the battle would be changed to a massacre. The Indians would pour into the camp in overwhelming numbers, and surrounded as the emigrants were on every side, not one of them could hope to escape. “Thar’s another wagon train gone up,” said Sanders, with savage exultation. “It’s a pity that every one of them can’t be sarved the same way. Why don’t folks stay in the States whar they belong, instead of coming out here whar they know they ain’t wanted? How would you like to be in that camp, youngster?” “I don’t know that I should be in a much worse situation than I am now,” replied Julian. “If I were with the emigrants I should probably be killed, and I am not sure that I shall fare any better at the hands of the man into whose power you intend to deliver me.” “That’s a fact,” said Sanders, reflectively. “If I was in your place, an’ was tuk pris’ner, I believe I’d as soon be among the Injuns as in the hands of Reginald Mortimer.” “Reginald Mortimer!” repeated Julian, in great amazement. “He’s the very feller whose name I spoke,” replied Sanders, turning around in his saddle and facing his prisoner. Julian looked earnestly at the trapper for a few seconds and drew a long breath of relief. “I begin to understand the matter,” said he. “I knew you were mistaken as to my identity.” “Which?” exclaimed Sanders. “I mean that you have got hold of the wrong boy. Because my name happens to be Mortimer, you think I am the one this man Reginald wants; but when he sees me and knows my history, he will release me.” When Sanders heard this he threw back his head and burst into a loud laugh, in which he was joined by Tom. Julian could not see that he had said anything calculated to excite their mirth, but the outlaws could, and they were highly amused—so much so that it was fully five minutes before they recovered themselves sufficiently to speak. “Wal, you are a green one,” said Sanders, at length. “The minute Reginald puts his eyes on you he will say that you are the very chap he’s been a-lookin’ fur so long, an’ instead of releasin’ you he’ll lock you up whar you’ll never see daylight again. Maybe he’ll do something wuss—I don’t know.” “I wouldn’t put myself in your place and run the risk,” chimed in Tom. “But I’d a heap sooner be rubbed out to onct than be shut up in that rancho of his’n. Sich queer doin’s as they do have thar! The ole man can’t keep a thing in his house.” “What is the reason?” asked Julian. [25] [26] [27] “‘Cause it’s stole from him, that’s the reason—money, we’pons, clothes, grub—everything. He can’t keep nothing.” “Why doesn’t he lock his doors?” “Haint every door in the rancho got mor’n a dozen bolts an’ chains onto it, an’ don’t he keep three or four big dogs on the outside of the house, an’ as many more inside? An’ haint he sot up night after night with his pistols in his hands watchin’ fur the thieves? It don’t do no ’arthly good whatsomever. Things is missin’ all the while, an’ nobody don’t know whar they go to. You see,” added Tom, sinking his voice almost to a whisper, “thar’s some folks besides the ole man livin’ in that ar rancho, an’ they don’t need doors an’ winders. They can go through a keyhole, or a crack an inch wide, and even a solid stone wall can’t stop ’em. I slept thar one night, an’ if I didn’t see——” “Hold your grip, Tom,” interrupted Sanders, hastily. “Somehow I don’t like to hear that thing spoke of. That rancho is a bad place to stop at, that’s a fact; an’ I’d as soon fight a fair stand-up battle with the biggest grizzly in the mountains as to spend an hour thar arter sundown. I wouldn’t be half so bad skeered.” After saying this Sanders relapsed into silence again, and so did Tom; and Julian, who had heard just enough to excite his curiosity, tried in vain to induce them to continue the conversation. He wanted to learn something about Reginald Mortimer, and know what the trappers had seen in his house that frightened them so badly; but they paid no heed to his questions, and Julian was finally obliged to give it up in despair. How far he traveled that night he did not know. He was so nearly overcome with fear and anxiety, and so completely absorbed in his speculations concerning the future, that at times he was utterly unconscious of what was going on around him. All he remembered was that for five long hours Sanders kept his horse at a full gallop, leading the way at reckless speed along yawning chasms and under beetling cliffs which hung threateningly over the road, that he became so weary that he reeled about in his saddle, and that finally, when it seemed to him that he could no longer shake off the stupor that was pressing upon him, Sanders suddenly drew rein and announced that they were at their journey’s end. Julian looked up and found himself in an extensive valley, which stretched away to the right and left as far as his eyes could reach. In front of him was a high stone wall, over the top of which he could see the roof of what appeared to be a commodious and comfortable house. The building was evidently intended to serve as a fortification as well as a dwelling, for the walls were thick and provided with loop-holes, and the windows were protected by heavy iron-bound shutters. All was dark and silent within the rancho; but when Sanders pounded upon the gate with the butt of his revolver, a chorus of hoarse growls arose on the other side of the wall, and a pack of dogs greeted them with furious and long- continued barking. Presently Julian heard a door open and close in the rancho, and saw the light of a lantern shining above the wall. Then came the rattling of chains and the grating of heavy bolts, and a small wicket in the gate swung open and was immediately filled by the bull’s-eye of a powerful dark lantern. The person who handled the lantern, whoever he was, could obtain a good view of the horsemen, but they could not see him, for he remained in the shade. He consumed a good deal of time in making his observations, and Sanders began to grow impatient. “Wal, Pedro,” he growled, “when you get through lookin’ at us you’ll let us in, won’t you? We’ve got business with the ole man, an’ we’re in a hurry. I don’t want to stay about this place no longer than I can help,” he added, in an undertone. The sound of the outlaw’s voice must have satisfied the man as to the identity of his visitors, for he closed the wicket, and after a short delay opened the gate, and Sanders led the way into the rancho. [28] [29] [30] CHAPTER IV. JULIAN FINDS A RELATIVE. HAD JULIAN been entering a prison, knowing that he was destined to remain there for the term of his natural life, he could not have been more terrified than he was when he found himself surrounded by the gloomy walls of the rancho, and heard the ponderous gate clang behind him. He was playing an involuntary part in a strange and mysterious drama, and the uncertainty of what might be the next scene in which he would be forced to assist, kept him in a terrible state of suspense. But he was blessed with more than an ordinary share of courage, and when the first momentary thrill of terror had passed away, he called it all to his aid, and prepared to meet whatever was in store for him with an undaunted front. He appeared to be much more at his ease than the two trappers, for they had suddenly lost their swaggering, confident air, and were gazing about them uneasily as though they were apprehensive of discovering something they did not care to see. “He’s all grit, haint he?” whispered Sanders, who, as well as his companion, seemed surprised at the captive’s coolness and indifference. “He’s a genuine Mortimer.” “Mebbe he’ll look different afore he has been many hours inside these yere walls,” replied Tom, in the same cautious whisper. “Wait till he gets into the house an’ sees him, as I saw him one night.” “Well, if you’re going in you had better dismount, hadn’t you? Or do you intend to ride your horses in? Who’s this you have here?” It was Pedro who spoke. He had lingered to fasten the gate, and now came up and elevated his lantern to take a survey of the trappers and their prisoner. When the rays from the bull’s-eye fell upon Julian’s features he staggered back as if he had been shot, his face grew deadly pale, and his whole frame trembled violently. “It isn’t—it isn’t——” Pedro tried to pronounce some name, but it seemed to stick in his throat. “No, it isn’t him,” replied Sanders; “it’s the other.” “Not Julian?” exclaimed the Mexican, plainly much relieved. “Yes, Julian, an’ nobody else.” “Why, how came he here? Where did you find him?” “Now, Pedro, you haven’t offered us $5,000 to bring him to you safe an’ sound, have you? Them’s questions we don’t answer for nobody except the ole man. We want to see him, an’ purty quick, too.” Sanders dismounted from his horse, and at a sign from him Tom and Julian did the same. Pedro led the way toward the door of the rancho, shaking his head and ejaculating in both Spanish and English, and turning around now and then to look sharply at Julian as if he had not yet been able to make up his mind whether he was a solid flesh and blood boy or only a spirit. He conducted the trappers and their captive into the house, and after pausing to fasten the door, led them through a long, wide hall, the walls of which were hung with old-fashioned pictures and implements of the chase, and ushered them into an elegantly furnished room; and after taking one more good look at Julian, waved his hand toward a couple of chairs and asked the trappers to be seated. “I will go and tell the governor who you are, and whom you have brought with you,” said he. “Hold your horses!” exclaimed Sanders, suddenly, and in great excitement. “You haint a-goin’ to take that light with you an’ leave us here in the dark? I wouldn’t stay here fur all the money the ole man’s got stowed away in that cave of his’n, if it’s $50,000.” “Fifty thousand!” sneered Pedro. “You have queer ideas of wealth. Better say fifty million; and he don’t know where it is any more than you do. He’ll find out now, however,” added the Mexican, with a hasty glance at Julian. “Wal, put that lantern on the table if you’re goin’ out,” repeated Sanders. Pedro muttered something about having any thing but an exalted opinion of a man, who, after braving innumerable dangers, was afraid to remain in a dark room for a moment or two, but he complied with the request. He placed the lantern on the table and went out, leaving the trappers and Julian to themselves....