THE JOURNEY COMMENCED.
WHEN Julian opened his eyes again the sun was rising. He started up
with an exclamation which was repeated as soon as he was fairly awake.
His first thought was of his companion. He was gone. A glance about the
camp showed him that something else was also missing—his rifle, which
he had placed under the eaves of the cabin close at hand and ready
for use in case of emergency. A strange feeling came over Julian, and
it was some minutes before he could muster up courage enough to place
his hand upon the breast of his jacket in which he carried his box of
money. But he did it at last, and was immensely relieved to find that
his box was safe. He removed the lid, and saw that its contents had not
been disturbed.
While he was trying to find some explanation for his companion’s
absence, and wondering why, if he had deserted him and stolen his
gun, he had not taken the money also, Sanders appeared in sight over
the brow of the bluff with Julian’s rifle on his shoulder and several
squirrels in his hand, which he had shot for their breakfast. The boy
said nothing about the fright his absence had occasioned him, but
assisted him in cooking and eating the squirrels, telling himself the
while that whatever else Sanders might be he was not a thief. It was
plain now that if he had any designs upon Julian, the time to carry
them into execution had not yet arrived.
When the two had satisfied their appetites Billy was saddled, the fire
extinguished, and the journey toward St. Joseph commenced. Julian
rode the horse and Sanders walked by his side, striding along at an
astonishing rate and keeping Billy in a trot all the way. He proved
to be a very entertaining companion, and told stories of adventure in
the mountains and on the plains till Julian became interested in spite
of himself. Sanders, quick to notice the fact, again spoke of the home
among the gold mines to which he was ready to conduct Julian if the
latter would only trust to his guidance; but seeing very plainly that
the boy did not believe a word he said, he dropped the subject and did
not refer to it again.
At noon they stopped at a farm-house, where both travelers and horse
were regaled with an excellent dinner, and about 10 o’clock that night
found themselves in a hotel in St. Joseph. Julian asked to be shown at
once to his room, and after he had locked himself in and barricaded the
door with the washstand and chairs, he drew a long breath of relief,
and for the first time since meeting Richard Mortimer believed himself
free from danger. The feeling of comfort and security he experienced
was certainly refreshing, but it would have been short-lived had he
known what his companion in the adjoining room was thinking about.
That worthy was up and doing at a very early hour, and his first move,
after he had come out of his room and looked up and down the hall to
make sure that there was no one in sight, was to place his ear and
then his eye to the keyhole of Julian’s door. He heard and saw enough
to satisfy him that the boy had not yet arisen, and this point being
settled he went down stairs and out of the house. He hurried along the
streets, and after turning numerous corners found himself in front of
a small and very dingy public house, which, as the sign before the
door indicated, was called the “Hunter’s Home.” It was patronized
exclusively by frontiersmen, and some of the guests were already astir
and lounging about the doors. Sanders glanced at the groups as he
walked by them, and turning the nearest corner passed on out of sight.
No sooner had he disappeared than two men arose from the bench on which
they had been sitting, and strolling down the street and turning the
same corner, presently came up with Sanders, who was perched upon a
dry-goods box in front of a store.
“I allowed it was you, Ned, but I didn’t know,” said one of them,
advancing and extending his hand, which Sanders shook cordially.
“You’re dressed up like a gentleman. What luck?”
“I’ve got him.”
“You have?” cried both the men in concert.
“It’s a fact. He’s in a hotel not more’n a half a mile from
here—Julian Mortimer himself, an’ nobody else. I’ve had the wust kind
of a time a gettin’ him. Dick Mortimer was thar ahead of me.”
“Sho!”
“Yes. An’ we’re goin to have a wusser time, I am afraid, gettin’ him
out of the town to the prairy. He’s sharper’n two steel traps, that boy
is, an’ somehow he don’t like the looks of me. He knows a heap about
himself, an’ is too smart to swallow a single one of the lies I told
him. He’s goin’ to cut loose from me, I can see it in his eye; an’
whatever we do must be done to once. He wants to jine a wagon train, if
he can find one.”
“Wal, he can,” replied one of the men, “‘cause thar’s one goin’ out
to-day. Silas Roper’s goin’ along.”
“Silas Roper!” replied Sanders savagely. “He’s allers in the way. He
musn’t see the boy, ’cause if he does our goose is cooked—done brown.
Come with me to the hotel, an’ as we go along I will think up some way
to manage this business.”
Sanders jumped off the dry-goods box and walked rapidly away, closely
followed by his two companions. When they arrived within sight of the
hotel he stopped, for they saw Julian standing on the steps. Sanders’
friends recognized him at once, and declared that they would have known
him if they had met him on the other side of the world. They held a
short, whispered conversation, after which the two men retreated into a
doorway out of sight, and Sanders kept on and accosted Julian.
“You’re an ’arly bird, hain’t you?” said he, with an awkward attempt
to appear cordial and friendly. “So am I. I have been findin’ out
somethin’ about the wagon trains, an’ I am told that one went out
yesterday bound for the very place you want to go. It will pass within
a hundred yards of the door of your father’s rancho. I am goin’ to
start after it directly. Thar won’t be another goin’ out under a month,
an’ I can’t wait so long; fur I’ve no money to waste in payin’ board
bills.”
“Neither have I,” said Julian.
“Then you’d best go with me, hadn’t you? We can easy ketch the train by
day after to-morrow——”
Sanders paused suddenly, finishing the sentence with something that
sounded very much like an oath. He gazed earnestly down the street
for a moment, and then turned and walked rapidly away, drawing his
handkerchief close about his face as he went. He did not slacken his
pace until he had left the hotel out of sight, and was joined by his
two companions, who had made an equally hasty retreat. The expression
on their faces indicated that they were terribly enraged about
something.
“If they wasn’t worth so much money to us I would make way with both
of them in less time than it takes to say so!” exclaimed Sanders, in a
very savage tone of voice. “Did you ever hear tell of such luck? I’ve
done all that can be done at this end of the route, but I hain’t beat
yet. We’ll go to the mountains now, an’ have every thing fixed agin’
the wagon train gets thar.”
For some reason Sanders and his friends now seemed anxious to leave
the town with as little delay as possible. They made the best of their
way to the Hunter’s Home, which they entered hurriedly, and when they
again made their appearance on the street they were all on horseback
and carried rifles on their shoulders and revolvers and bowie-knives in
their belts.
No one not well acquainted with him would have recognized Sanders as
the same man who had gone into the hotel but a few minutes before. His
broadcloth and jewelry had disappeared, also the handkerchief which
he had worn about his face, and he was dressed in a suit of buckskin,
which had evidently seen the hardest kind of service. If Julian could
have taken one glance at him now, he would not have felt the least
inclination to renew his short acquaintance with him, nor would he
have wondered that the man had been so careful to keep his features
concealed from view. Perhaps he would have asked himself why he did not
continually wear the handkerchief.
His was the worst looking face that had ever been seen in the streets
of St. Joseph—one that any man except its owner would have been
ashamed of; and even _he_ had thought best to hide it for a while lest
it should bear testimony against him and defeat his plans. But as he
was now about to leave the country of civilized men and go among those
of his own kind, concealment was no longer necessary. He appeared in
his true character, that of villain and desperado.
When Sanders and his companions were fairly out of the stable-yard,
they put spurs to their horses, and rode swiftly away. They stopped
that night long enough to ascertain that Julian was with the emigrants,
and to make a demonstration, the result of which shall be related
presently, and then resumed their rapid gallop, which they did not
slacken in one day, nor two; and even at the end of a week, mounted on
fresh horses, which they had stolen or obtained in exchange for their
own jaded animals, they were still riding toward the mountains as if
for dear life. In this way they gained considerably on the wagon train,
and by the time it appeared in sight of Bridger’s Pass, Sanders had
mustered assistance, and was ready to accomplish by force of arms what
he had failed to gain by strategy.