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[Illustration: “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._]
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.
[Illustration]
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
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
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.”
“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.