JULIAN MEETS A STRANGER.
JULIAN’S first move, after he had shut the door, was to strike a match,
and his second to light a candle which he took from a shelf close at
hand. As the light blazed up, he held it above his head and took a
survey of the cave, or, as he called it, his “store-house.” It was a
very small one—not more than six feet square—but it was large enough
to contain all Julian’s earthly possessions. All that could be seen
was a quantity of furs, some already cured and neatly baled up, and
others hanging against the walls stretched upon boards and frames to
dry; but there were other valuable articles stowed away there, and as
soon as Julian had glanced about the room to see that nothing had been
disturbed during his absence, he placed his candle on the floor and
proceeded to bring them to light.
The walls, floor and ceiling of the room were composed of small
saplings, and two of these saplings concealed treasures that were of
more value to Julian than all his furs. One of them was in the floor,
and when it had been lifted out of its place by the edge of a hatchet,
some of the young trapper’s wealth, which would have made Jake and Tom
open their eyes in amazement could they have seen it, was disclosed to
view.
It consisted of a silver-mounted rifle, inclosed in a strong canvas bag
to protect it from the damp and dirt, a hunting-knife, an ornamented
powder-horn and a fawn-skin bullet-pouch, both the latter filled with
ammunition.
Julian looked at these articles long and lovingly. He had come by them
honestly—they were the first valuables he had ever owned, and he had
worked so hard for them! He took the rifle from its case, drew it up to
his shoulder and glanced along the clean brown barrel, as if drawing
a bead on an imaginary deer’s head, held it in a dozen different
positions to allow the light to shine on the silver mountings, and
finally returned it, with all the accouterments, to its hiding-place,
and went to look after his other treasures. He removed one of the
saplings that formed the ceiling, thrust his arm into the opening
and drew out a small tin box, which contained money to the amount of
$80—the proceeds of two winters’ work at trapping. Julian ran hastily
over the bills to make sure that they were all there, then put back
the box, returned the sapling to its place, and drawing his knife from
his pocket sat down to remove the skins from the animals he had just
captured.
“I’m rich!” he exclaimed, looking about him with a smile of
satisfaction. “Counting in my money and what my horse, hunting rig
and hunting furs are worth, I have at least $250. I have purchased
everything I need, and some fine, frosty morning, when Mrs. Bowles
calls for ‘you, Julian,’ to get up and build the fire, he won’t
answer. He’ll be miles away, and be making quick tracks for the Rocky
Mountains. I only wish I was there now. There’s where I came from
when I was brought to Jack Bowles’ house. I just know it was, because
I can remember of hearing people talk of going over the mountains
to California, and I know, too, that there were gold diggings on my
father’s farm, or rancho, I believe he called it. I’m going to try to
find my father when I get there, and if I ever see him I shall know
him.”
Julian’s thoughts ran on in this channel while he was busy with his
knife, and in half an hour the skins had all been stretched, and the
young trapper was ready to return to the miserable hovel he called
home. He extinguished his candle, crawled out of the cave, and after
concealing the door by piling leaves against it, hurried down the bluff
and into the woods, happy in the belief that no one was the wiser
for what he had done; but no sooner had he disappeared than Jake and
Tom Bowles came out of the bushes in which they had been hidden, and
clambered up the cliff toward Julian’s store-house.
It was rapidly growing dark, and Julian, anxious to reach the cabin
before his absence was discovered, broke into a rapid run, which he
never slackened until he reached the road leading from The Corners to
the clearing. There he encountered a stranger, who, as he came out of
the bushes, accosted him with:
“Hold on a minute, my lad. I believe I am a little out of my reckoning,
and perhaps you can set me right.”
Julian stopped and looked at the man. He could not get so much as even
a glimpse of his face, for the broad felt hat he wore was pulled down
over his forehead, and his heavy muffler was drawn up so high that
nothing but his eyes could be seen; but the boy at once put him down
as a gentleman, for he was dressed in broadcloth, and wore fine boots
and fur gloves. Julian looked at his neat dress, and then at his own
tattered garments, and drew his coat about him and folded his arms over
it to hide it from the stranger’s gaze.
“Is there a hotel about here?” continued the gentleman, approaching the
place where Julian was standing.
“No, sir,” was the reply; “none nearer than The Corners, and that’s ten
miles away.”
“Is there no dwelling-house near?”
“There is a shanty about a mile distant belonging to Jack Bowles, but I
wouldn’t advise you to go there.”
“Then I am on the right road after all,” said the stranger, with a
sigh of relief. “Jack Bowles! He’s just the man I want to see. I have
some important business with him. He can accommodate me with a bed and
supper, can he not?”
“He can give you some corn bread and venison, but as for a _bed_,
that’s a thing he doesn’t keep in his house. If you happen to have half
a dollar in your pocket, however, he will stow you away somewhere. Jack
will do almost anything for half a dollar. Why, what’s the matter,
sir?”
It was no wonder that Julian asked this question, for the gentleman,
who had now advanced quite near to him, took just one glance at his
face, and started back as if he had seen some frightful apparition. He
pushed his hat back from his forehead, pulled his muffler down from
his face, and stared at Julian as if he meant to look him through. The
boy was astonished at his behavior, and he would have been still more
astonished if he had been able to look far enough into the future to
see all that was to grow out of this meeting.
“Boy!” exclaimed the gentleman, in a voice which his agitation rendered
almost indistinct, “who are you? What’s your name?”
“Julian Mortimer,” replied our hero.
“Julian! Julian Mortimer!” repeated the man, as if he could scarcely
believe his ears. “It cannot be possible. Why, boy, you’re just—ahem!
I mean—what a striking resemblance.”
The stranger spoke these last words hurriedly, and then, as if
recollecting himself, hastily pulled his hat down over his forehead
again, and once more concealed his face with his muffler—all except
his eyes, which he kept fastened upon Julian.
“No doubt you think I act very strangely,” he continued, after a
moment’s pause, “and perhaps I do, but the truth of the matter is, you
look so much like a young friend of mine—a relative, in fact—that for
a moment I was almost sure you were he. But, of course, you can’t be,
for he is dead—been dead eight years. If you are ready we will go on.”
Julian was forced to be contented with this explanation, but he was not
quite satisfied with it. It was made in a bungling, hesitating manner,
as if the man were thinking about one thing and talking about another.
More than that, the excitement he had exhibited on the first meeting
with Julian seemed to increase the longer he looked at him; and now and
then he rubbed his gloved hands together as if he were meditating upon
something that afforded him infinite pleasure. He continued to watch
the boy out of the corner of his eye, and finally inquired:
“Is this man Bowles, of whom you spoke, your father?”
“No, sir,” replied Joe, emphatically. “I live with him, but he is no
relative of mine. My father, as I remember him, was a different sort of
man altogether.”
“Eh!” ejaculated the stranger, with a start. “As you remember him? Ah!
he is dead, then?”
“Not that I know of, sir. He was alive and well the last time I saw
him. I’ll see him again in a few weeks.”
“Where is he?”
“Out West. He owns a rancho near the mountains with a gold mine on it.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because I can’t help myself. I didn’t come here of my own free will,
but was brought by one who will have good cause to remember me if I
meet him again when I become a man.”
“Do you think you would know him if you should see him again?” asked
the stranger, looking sharply at Julian, and putting his hat lower over
his eyes.
“I am quite sure I should. He stole me away from my home and brought
me here; but why he did it I can’t tell. I don’t intend to stay any
longer, if it would do him any good to know it. I’ve got a good horse
and rifle, and plenty of money, and I am going to leave here in a few
days and go back to the mountains where I belong, and I shall not ask
Jack Bowles’ consent, either.”
“Do you think he would oppose it?”
“I know he would. He would beat me half to death, or his wife would,
and lock me up in the smoke-house till I promised never to think of
such a thing again. I’m going to run away, and by the time he misses me
I shall be a long distance out of his reach.”
The man listened attentively to all Julian had to say, and when the
latter ceased speaking he placed his hands behind his back, fastened
his eyes on the ground, and walked along as if he were in a brown
study. He did not look up until they reached the door of the cabin
where Jack Bowles, who had just finished his supper, stood smoking his
cob pipe.
“Wal, who have ye got thar?” was his surly greeting.
“A gentleman who wishes to find a place to stay all night,” replied
Julian.
“Why don’t he toddle on and find it, then?” growled Jack. “I ain’t a
hinderin’ him, be I? He can’t stop here. I don’t keep a hotel to take
in every Tom, Dick and Harry that comes along. Wal, I be dog-gone!”
Jack suddenly took his pipe from his mouth, and stepping hastily up to
the stranger, bent forward and peered into his face. Then something
that was intended for a smile of recognition overspread his own
countenance, and extending his hand with as cordial an air as he could
assume, he continued:
“I allowed I had seed ye somewhar afore, Mr.—eh?”
Jack paused before the name he had been about to pronounce escaped his
lips, interrupted by a hasty gesture from the stranger, who glanced
toward Julian and raised his hand warningly.
“You are mistaken, my friend,” said he, blandly. “You have never seen
me before, but I hope the fact that I am a stranger to you will not
prevent you from extending your hospitality to me for the night.”
Jack stared, took a few long, deliberate pulls at his pipe, looked
first at the eaves of the cabin, then down at the ground, and finally
turned to Julian for an explanation.
“What’s he tryin’ to get through hisself?” he asked.
“He wants something to eat and a bed to sleep in,” replied the boy.
“Oh! Why didn’t he say so, then? Wal, stranger, I reckon we can hang
ye up somewhar,” added Jack, who had seen and comprehended the warning
gesture; “although, as I told ye afore, we don’t make a business of
takin’ in every tramp that comes along. Ye see, in a new country
like this it ain’t safe. Ole woman, make up another batch of them
corn-dodgers an’ fry a slice or two of that bar’s meat. Julian, what be
ye a standin’ thar gapin’ at? Cl’ar yerself. Come in, stranger—come
in an’ set down.”
Julian moved around the corner of the cabin and remained out of sight
until he heard Mrs. Bowles laying the table for the guest, and then he
also entered.
It was not a very sociable party he found in the house. Mrs. Bowles was
moving about preparing the corn-dodgers and bear meat; the visitor,
who had removed his overcoat and muffler, was comfortably seated on a
nail-keg in a dark corner of the room, and Jack Bowles sat in front
of the fire, his elbows resting on his knees and his hat pulled down
over his eyes, which were slowly moving over the stranger’s person and
scrutinizing his dress and ornaments.
Julian noticed that his gaze rested long on the watch chain that hung
across the stranger’s vest, and on the diamond ring that glittered on
his finger, and the expression he saw on Jack’s face alarmed him and
made him wish most sincerely that he had never conducted the gentleman
to the cabin.
No one spoke until supper was ready, and then the guest was invited
to “draw up and pitch in.” Julian tried to obtain a glimpse of his
features as he came out of his dark corner, but the man, as if guessing
his intention, kept his head turned away from him and took his seat at
the table with his back to the fire, so that his face still remained in
the shadow.
While he was busy with his corn-dodgers and bear meat, Jake and Tom
came in. They glanced curiously at the guest, and Tom seated himself
beside the fire opposite Julian, whom he regarded with a triumphant
smile, while Jake went to one of the beds that stood in the room and
carefully hid something under the pillows. Julian afterward recalled
the movements of these two worthies, and wondered why his suspicions
had not been aroused.
When the stranger had satisfied his appetite, the three boys, at a sign
from Mrs. Bowles, sat down and made a very light meal of that which was
left, and no sooner had they arisen from the table than they received
a second signal from Mr. Bowles, who pointed with his thumb over his
shoulder toward that part of the room in which the beds were situated.
The boys all obeyed the order, but one of them, at least, had no
intention of going to sleep. It was Julian, who, as he slowly mounted
the ladder that led to the loft, told himself that he was in some way
connected with the stranger’s visit to the cabin, and that he would
learn something about the matter before morning, if there was any
way for him to accomplish his object. He stretched himself upon his
hard bed, and drawing one of the coats over his shoulders, waited
impatiently to see what was going to happen.
For half an hour all was still; then some one began to move softly
about the cabin, a step was heard on the ladder, and a light flashed
upon the rafters over Julian’s head.
Presently a hand grasping a tallow dip appeared above the edge of the
loft, closely followed by the grizzly head and broad shoulders of Jack
Bowles, who stopped when he reached the top of the ladder and gazed at
our hero long and earnestly.
Julian was wide awake, and through his half-closed eyelids could see
every move Jack made, but the latter, believing him to be fast asleep,
descended the ladder and joined his guest.
“My suspicions are confirmed,” soliloquized Julian. “They intend to
talk upon some subject that they don’t want me to know anything about.
I am going to learn something now. Perhaps I shall find out who I am
and where my father is, and why I was brought here. What if this man
should prove to be my father, who, for reasons of his own, does not
wish to reveal himself to me?”
Julian, highly excited over this thought, rolled noiselessly off the
bed upon the floor, crept to the edge of the loft, and looked over into
the room below. Jack had just placed his candle on the table, and was
approaching his guest with outstretched hand.
“Now, then, Mr. Mortimer,” said he, “the boy is out of the way fur the
night, an’ thar’s no use in settin’ back thar away from the fire. Draw
up an’ give us a shake.”
“_Mr. Mortimer!_” was Julian’s mental ejaculation.
His heart seemed to stop beating. He opened his eyes to their widest
extent and kept them fastened upon the stranger, who pulled his
nail-keg in front of the fire and seated himself upon it.