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 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.”
[Illustration: 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 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.
“‘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.