SANDERS TELLS HIS STORY.
JULIAN’S visitor was the man Sanders. He recognized him by the
handkerchief that was tied over his head. If he had come there to
release him would it not be sufficient proof that he was really the
friend he professed to be?
“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 plainly.
“Wal, come out o’ that. You needn’t stay thar no longer.”
“I can’t go up there—I am tied.”
“Are you? Then I’ll soon be down to turn you loose.”
After burning another match to make sure the way was clear below him,
Sanders crawled through the opening in the roof, and hanging by his
hands, dropped to the ground. A knife which he drew from his pocket
made quick work with the prisoner’s bonds, and in a few seconds he was
free.
“How came you here?” Julian asked of his deliverer, after he had taken
a few turns around the smoke-house to relieve his cramped limbs. “I
left you ten miles down the river fast asleep on board the flatboat.”
“Not much I wasn’t asleep,” replied Sanders, with a laugh. “I seed
every thing that happened. But we hain’t got no time to talk. Be thar
any men in the house?”
“No. Jake and Tom are alone with their mother.”
“Them boys? If I had known that, you wouldn’t have been brought in
here. Climb up on my shoulders now, and crawl out.”
Not having entirely recovered from the effects of his long ride in
his wet clothes, Julian was not very strong or active, but after some
difficulty he succeeded in mounting upon Sanders’ broad shoulders,
and drawing himself up to the opening in the roof, he crawled through
and dropped to the ground. The man climbed up the logs and followed
him, and when he once more stood by Julian’s side he gave utterance,
with the first words he spoke, to the very thoughts that were passing
through the boy’s mind.
“I reckon that if I do a few more things of this kind you will be
willin’ to b’lieve that I am any thing but an enemy to you, won’t you?”
he asked.
“You have rendered me a most important service,” answered the boy,
guardedly, “and I am very grateful to you for it. I only wish I was as
well satisfied of your friendship, and the truth of some things you
told me this morning, as I am of the interest you somehow take in me. I
can not understand why you, who are an utter stranger to me, should put
yourself to so much trouble to assist me.”
“I hain’t no stranger to you,” replied Sanders earnestly. “I tell you
I knowed you and your brother afore either of you could walk. You were
stole away from your home by Dick Mortimer. Your friends have just
found out whar you are, an’ sent me arter you. You’re goin’ to start
for the plains now, hain’t you?”
“I am, and in less than five minutes.”
“Wal, I’m goin’ the same way. You needn’t travel in my company unless
you’re a mind to, but I’d be powerful glad to have you. I can show you
the way to St. Joe anyhow, an’ as we go along I will tell you about the
folks you hain’t seed fur so many years.”
Julian leaned against the smoke-house and thought over this
proposition. It was a very fair one, and he could not see that he would
place himself in any danger by accepting it. He was _almost_ ready to
put entire faith in his new acquaintance, and to believe everything
he had told him. He wanted to believe it, and if Sanders had made
his appearance a few hours before—prior to his meeting with Mr.
Mortimer—Julian would have placed unlimited confidence in him. But his
experience with Jack Bowles’ guest had made him timid and suspicious.
Sanders did not ask him to give himself up to his guidance and control,
but seemed satisfied to wait until he was willing to do so of his free
will; and Julian told himself that that was a good sign.
He at last decided that he would accept the offer of the man’s guidance
as far as St. Joseph, and that when he reached that point he would
decide upon his future movements. In the meantime he would watch his
companion closely, and leave him at the very first sign of treachery.
This determination he communicated to Sanders, who seemed to be
immensely delighted by it.
“I am monstrous glad to hear you say it,” said he. “And I’ll tell you
what’s a fact: If you go with me as fur as St. Joe, you will go all the
rest of the way with me.”
Julian did not quite like the tone in which these words were spoken,
for it made him feel that there was more in them than he could
understand; and had there been light enough for him to see the
expression the man’s face wore at that moment the opinion would have
been confirmed.
“Whar you goin’ now?” asked Sanders, as Julian moved toward the cabin.
“Jake and Tom have some of my property in their possession,” was the
reply; “a suit of clothes, a rifle and a pair of blankets. I must have
them before I start.”
“‘Taint wuth while,” said Sanders. “You’ve got money; buy more.”
“I may need the little I have for other purposes when I get out on the
plains.”
“Sho! You’ll find more out thar than you ever dreamed of. You can walk
up a ravine a little way from your father’s rancho an’ pick up nuggets
of gold as big as you can tote.”
“But I don’t know how long it will be, or what I shall be obliged to
pass through, before I get there,” replied Julian. “Another thing,
Jack Bowles and his boys shall not have the satisfaction of using
anything that belongs to me.”
“Wal, go ahead, then, if you’re so sot onto it, an’ I’ll be close by to
lend a hand if you get into trouble.”
While this conversation was being carried on Julian and his companion
were walking toward the cabin, and now they were close beside it. The
boy at once pushed open the door and entered, while Sanders took his
stand upon the steps where he could see all that went on.
There was a roaring fire on the hearth, and by the aid of the light it
threw out Julian could distinguish every object in the cabin.
Almost the first things his eyes rested upon were the clothes of which
he had been robbed, spread out on a couple of nail-kegs to dry. His
rifle stood beside the bed in which Jake and Tom lay fast asleep, and
his powder-horn and bullet-pouch hung from a nail over their heads.
Walking across the floor with his ordinary step, and without taking the
least pains to avoid arousing the occupants of the cabin, Julian took
the horn and pouch down from the nail, and while slinging them over his
shoulder discovered the other articles of which he was in search—his
blankets, which were snugly tucked around the shoulders of the sleeping
brothers.
“You are very good to yourselves, are you not?” said Julian aloud. “You
leave me to freeze in the smoke-house, and make use of my property to
keep yourselves warm. You’ll sleep colder for the rest of the night.”
As he said this he jerked the blankets off the bed. The movement awoke
Tom Bowles who started up in alarm, and was greatly amazed to see his
prisoner standing unbound beside his bed.
“Ye Julian!” he exclaimed, as soon as he found his tongue.
“That’s just what’s the matter!” replied our hero.
“How come ye outen that ar smoke-house?”
“I crawled out.”
“Ye’ll crawl back agin mighty sudden, I tell ye,” replied Tom, seizing
his brother by the shoulder. “Wake up here, Jake.”
“Hold on!” said Julian, lifting his recovered rifle over Tom’s head.
“No noise, now.”
If Tom was alarmed by this movement on the part of Julian, he was still
more terrified when he saw a head and a pair of broad shoulders thrust
in at the door, and a clenched hand, which looked as though it might
have knocked down an ox, shaken threateningly at him. He understood the
gesture and took his hand off his brother’s shoulder.
“Good-by, Tom,” said Julian, shouldering his rifle and gathering his
clothes and blankets under his arm. “I am sorry that I am in so great
a hurry, for I have several little accounts against you and Jake that
I should like to settle up before I go. Give my very kindest regards
to your father when he returns, and be sure and follow the excellent
advice your mother gave you a while ago in my hearing.”
So saying Julian left the cabin, and Sanders slammed the door after
him. Followed by his ally, the boy walked toward the corn-cribs, and
while he was pulling off Tom’s tattered garments and putting on his
own, which were now dry and comfortable, he saw the door of the cabin
opened and the heads of Mrs. Bowles and her two sons thrust cautiously
out. But they did not speak to him or venture beyond the threshold.
They peered into the darkness a moment and then closed and fastened the
door; and that was the last Julian ever saw of them.
Billy, proving more tractable than on a former occasion, was captured
and saddled without difficulty. In two hours more Julian’s camp on the
bluff was again occupied. The brush shanty which Jack Bowles had pulled
down had been restored to an upright position; a fire was burning
brightly before it; Billy was standing hitched to a tree close by; and
Julian, with his saddle under his head for a pillow, and the tin box
containing his money safely stowed away in his pocket, lay stretched
out on one of the blankets, while Sanders reclined upon the other
smoking his pipe. The man had been relating how he had hidden behind
the corn-crib and overheard Jack Bowles’ plans concerning Julian, and
thus been able to take measures to defeat them. He had been a witness
to everything that happened on board the flatboat. He had seen Julian
go overboard, and knowing that Jake and Tom were close by waiting to
pick him up, he had clambered down into the yawl, as soon as he saw an
opportunity to do so without attracting the attention of any one of the
flatboat’s crew, and pushed off to Julian’s assistance. His story was
followed by a long pause, which was broken by our hero, who said:
“I am ready to hear what you have to tell me about my parents. You say
they are both alive?”
“Both of ’em,” replied Sanders.
“How does my father look?”
“Jest as nateral as life—enough like you to be your brother, if it
wasn’t for his gray har an’ mustache. He’s a tall, broad-shouldered
man, has an eye like an eagle’s, an’ is the best hossman an’ rifle-shot
in the West. He’s awful rich, too; I don’t b’lieve he knows how much
he’s wuth. You see, your mother—an’ she’s a lady, you bet—is a
Spanish woman. Her father, long years ago,” Sanders went on hurriedly,
as if he did not intend to allow his listener any time to ask
questions, “took it into his ole head that he wanted to be away from
everybody, an’ so he located out thar in the mountains. He allers was
rich, but when he got out thar he found himself richer’n ever. Thar was
gold all around him. He couldn’t walk without steppin’ onto it, an’ he
picked it up by cart-loads. Your father, who was out thar sojerin’,
resigned his commission in the army an’ married his darter; an’ in
course when the ole man died he came into possession of all his gold
dust. But thar were some people about who didn’t want him to keep it.
The only kin folks your mother had after her father died were a brother
an’ cousin, an’ you see if everybody else had been out of the way, all
the money would have fell to her brother. They ain’t the honestest
fellers in the world, her kin folks ain’t, I must say. They’re the wust
sort of gamblers, bein’ monstrous fond of three-card monte, an’ they
are even suspicioned of doin’ things a heap sight wuss than that; an’
since your father an’ his family wouldn’t die an’ leave them to take
charge of the money, they laid a plan to hurry up matters an’ divide
the plunder between them. But all the harm they done was to steal you
away from home, an’ that didn’t do ’em no good ’cause I’ve found you
agin.”
“You say that Dick Mortimer is the man who kidnapped me?” asked Julian,
when Sanders paused.
“Sartin, I do.”
“And that he is a relative of my mother’s?”
“Them’s my very words.”
“Well, now, is he her brother or her cousin?”
“He’s her brother.”
“Her _own_ brother?”
“In course.”
“How can that be? My mother’s name wasn’t Mortimer before she was
married, was it?”
“Eh?” exclaimed Sanders, somewhat disconcerted by this question. “Oh,
no; in course not. Her name was Cordova, an’ Dick’s her cousin.”
“Then how does it come that his name is Mortimer?”
“Eh? I’m blessed if I know. I guess it jest happened so. An’ your
brother’s alive an’ all right, too. Now he’s a _boy_, he is. You’re
mighty right. His name’s Fred. Won’t he make things lively for you
though when you get out thar? You hain’t goin’ to sleep, be you?”
“Yes, I am,” replied Julian, rearranging his blanket and resting his
head on his hard pillow, “I have scarcely closed my eyes during the
past forty-eight hours, and I begin to feel the need of rest. We have a
long journey to make to-morrow, you know. Goodnight.”
Sanders looked sharply at the boy, and settled back on his blanket,
muttering as he did so:
“Did I tell him anything out of the way, I wonder? I am afraid I got
that brother an’ cousin business mixed up a trifle too much. I said
jest what Reginald told me to say as nigh as I could. If I can only
manage to keep him with me till we reach St. Joe, I am all right. It
will make a rich man of me.”
“It is no use to waste time in listening to this fellow and building
hopes on what he says,” thought Julian, throwing his arm over his head,
and watching his companion through his half-closed eyes. “He repeated
his story as if he had learned it by heart, and some portions of it
didn’t hold together. I wish he would take off that handkerchief and
give me a fair view of his face. Who is he, and why did he come here?
My father never sent him, for, if he is alive and well, and knows where
I am, he would have come himself if he wanted to have me near him. He
is no friend of Dick Mortimer, for he is working against him. Is he up
to some trick of his own, or is he employed by somebody? I’ll not go
to sleep, for I am afraid of him. I can’t well avoid traveling in his
company as far as St. Joseph, but when I get there I will have no more
to do with him.”
For a short while Julian was wakeful enough. His recent excitement and
adventures, and his speculations concerning the future, kept his brain
busy and banished sleep. But at last his thoughts became confused, his
eyelids grew heavy, and in a few minutes more he was in the land of
dreams.