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. The latter sunk helplessly into the nearest
chair, while Sanders and his companion, after looking all about the
room to make sure that there was no fourth person present, moved up
closer together and stood regarding one another with an expression of
great amazement on their faces.
“Fifty million!” whispered Sanders, who was the first to speak. “Do you
believe it?”
“That’s a monstrous heap of money,” replied Tom—“more’n the hul State
of Californy is worth. But I’ve allers heern tell that old Reginald had
more yaller boys stowed away in this rancho than a wagon train could
haul away. If it’s a fact, we’ve made a mistake by——”
He finished the sentence by jerking his thumb over his shoulder toward
Julian.
“Sartin, we have,” replied Sanders. “We hadn’t oughter give him up for
no $5,000. Pedro told us that the ole man don’t know whar the money is
any more’n we do, but that he would find out all about it now; and when
he said that he looked at Julian. Did you notice?”
Tom replied in the affirmative.
“That means that the money is hid somewhars; but it can’t be that the
boy knows whar it is, ’cause he was so young when he was took away from
here. Thar’s a heap o’ things about this house an’ family that I would
like to have made clear to me. But I know one thing, an’ that is, we
can make up on the other feller what we lose on Julian; an’ besides, we
can watch our chance an’ steal the boy out agin when—what’s that? Did
you hear anything, youngster?”
Sanders’ voice trembled as he asked this question, and facing suddenly
about he gazed first toward the farther end of the room, and then
toward Julian, who had started to his feet, and stood looking the very
picture of bewilderment.
“I did,” replied the boy, in a scarcely audible whisper; “and I saw
something moving those curtains, too.”
The walls of the room into which Julian and his captors had been
conducted, instead of being plastered or papered, were concealed by
crimson hangings which extended from the ceiling to the floor. These
were the curtains of which he had spoken.
As he sat listening in a dreamy sort of way to the whispered
conversation of the trappers, he heard a grating noise on the other
side of the hangings resembling that which would be occasioned by a key
turning in a rusty lock.
A bright, dazzling light blazed up for an instant and was extinguished,
and then the hangings were pushed aside and a pair of eyes appeared at
the opening and looked into the room.
Julian saw a portion of the face to which they belonged and sprang
to his feet in great astonishment, for he thought he recognized the
features of the emigrant whose conversation with Sanders he had
overheard. But the face was withdrawn almost as soon as it appeared,
and Julian was not allowed a second look.
“What did you see?” cried Sanders, his face ghastly pale, and the hand
which rested on the lock of his rifle trembling visibly.
“I saw some one looking in here,” replied Julian, “and it was the same
man who offered you a thousand dollars to put me out of the way.”
“Dick Mortimer!” Sanders almost shrieked.
The expression of terror on his face gave way instantly to a look of
profound astonishment. He dropped the butt of his rifle heavily to the
floor, and Tom uttered a long-drawn whistle.
The two men stared vacantly at one another for a moment, and then with
a common impulse sprang across the room and tore aside the hangings.
There was no one there. Nothing was revealed except the solid stone
wall which formed that side of the room. Where could the emigrant have
gone? He certainly had not come into the room, and neither could he
have retreated through the wall. Julian stood transfixed.
“I know I saw him there,” said he, as soon as he could speak. “It beats
me where he could have gone so suddenly.”
“That’s nothing,” replied Sanders. “You’ll be beat wuss than this if
you stay in this rancho all night, I can tell you that.”
But the trapper’s actions indicated that it was something, after
all, for as soon as he had satisfied himself that the emigrant had
disappeared, he dropped the hangings as if they had been coals of fire,
and snatching the lantern from the table retreated toward the door with
all possible haste, with Tom close at his heels. Nor was Julian far
behind the trappers when they reached the hall.
He did not wonder now that they were impatient to transact their
business and leave the house. He would have been glad to leave it
himself. His captors had told him that there were some “queer doings”
in that rancho. Did they refer to scenes like this? Were people who,
like this emigrant, had no business there, in the habit of walking
about the house every night, and of vanishing after such a bewildering
fashion when discovered; and was he to be compelled to remain there a
witness to such proceedings.
The boy trembled at the thought. He was not superstitious. He knew that
he had seen the face of a man peeping out from behind the hangings, and
he believed, too, that his sudden and mysterious disappearance could
be explained, and that there was nothing supernatural about it; but
nevertheless he resolved that as long as he was allowed the free use
of his feet he would not remain in a dark room in that house without
company.
When the trappers retreated into the hall he went with them, and like
them, kept his back turned toward the room, and impatiently awaited
Pedro’s return. Nor was he obliged to wait long.
In a few seconds he heard a door open and close, a light flashed into
the hall, and two men came hurrying toward him. One of them was Pedro,
and the other was a tall, foreign-looking gentleman, in dressing-gown
and slippers, who came along with a smile on his face, and his hand
outstretched, as if about to greet some friend from whom he had long
been separated.
Upon reaching Julian’s side he threw his arms around him and clasped
him in a most affectionate embrace—to which the boy submitted without
uttering a word. He had not expected such a reception as this; and, if
one might judge by the expression on the faces of the trappers, they
had not expected it either. Their underjaws dropped down, they stared
at one another for a moment, and then Tom gave utterance to another
long-drawn whistle, and Sanders pounded the floor with the butt of his
rifle.
“Julian! Julian! is it possible that you have returned at last?” cried
the gentleman, holding the boy off at arm’s length for a moment, and
then straining him to his breast once more. “Don’t you know your Uncle
Reginald?”
“It’s him sure enough, ain’t it?” asked Sanders.
“Of course it is he,” replied the owner of the rancho, still clinging
to Julian as if he never meant to let him go again. “I should have
recognized him if I had met him in Asia. No one but a Mortimer could
ever boast of such a face as that. Where did you find him? Julian, why
don’t you tell me that you are glad to see me?”
“I say, guv’nor,” interrupted Sanders, “couldn’t he talk to you jest as
well arter we are gone? Me an’ my pardner are in a monstrous hurry. How
about them $5,000?”
“I will place it in your hands this moment. Come with me.”
Seizing Julian by the hand, Reginald Mortimer—for that was the
gentleman’s name—led the way along the hall, and into a room which the
prisoner saw was used as a sleeping apartment, for there was the bed
from which this man, who claimed to be his uncle, had just arisen.
Conducting the boy to a seat on the sofa, and leaving the trappers to
stand or sit as suited their fancy, the gentleman produced a bunch of
keys from his desk and unlocked a strong box which was standing at the
head of his bed.
When the lid was thrown back Julian opened his eyes and leaned forward
to obtain a nearer view of the contents of the box.
Such a sight he had never seen before. The box was literally filled
with gold coin—some of it packed away in little drawers, and the rest
tied up in canvas bags. Two of these bags the owner lifted out of the
box and handed to the trappers, saying:
“There is the money I promised to give you if you succeeded in
restoring Julian to me safe and sound. I give you my hearty thanks
beside, for you have rendered me a most important service. Pedro, show
Sanders and his friend to the best room in the house.”
“Nary time, if _you_ please!” exclaimed the trapper, with a frightened
look. “We’ll feel a heap better, an’ sleep a sight easier, if we camp
in the mountains.”
“But I want to talk to you about Julian. Where did you find him?”
“We’ll tell you all about that when we bring the other feller to you.”
“The other fellow?”
“Yes; that is, if we can come to tarms.”
“Whom do you mean?”
“Silas Roper. Say another five thousand fur him, an’ we’ll have him
here to-morrow bright an’ arly.”
“Silas Roper!” exclaimed the gentleman, gleefully. “Am I not in luck?
Certainly, I say it; bring him immediately.”
“It’s a bargain. Come on, Tom.”
“Well, go, if you must, and remember that although I am under
obligations to you now, I shall be vastly more your debtor when you
give that man into my hands. My plans are working splendidly.”
When the door had closed behind the trappers Reginald Mortimer locked
his strong box and once more turned toward Julian. The latter, who
since his arrival at the rancho had moved like one in a dream, aroused
himself by a strong effort and looked squarely into the man’s face. He
gazed at him a moment, and then sprung to his feet with a cry of alarm
and ran toward the door.