THE SPECTERS OF THE CAVE.
THE FIGHT was of longer duration and was much more desperate than one
would suppose it could have been, considering the immense advantage
which Smirker possessed over his wiry antagonist in weight and muscle;
but of course it could end in but one way. White-horse Fred, bruised
and exhausted, was borne to the ground at last, with the man’s knee on
his breast and his brawny hand at his throat.
“Now let’s hear from you,” hissed Smirker. “Who was that fellow who
came here and passed himself off for you, and why did you help him out
in it? Speak, before I choke the life out of you.”
If Fred could have obeyed his reply would have been as defiant as ever;
but the powerful grasp on his throat rendered articulation impossible.
“You won’t tell me?” demanded Smirker; “then take the reward of your
treachery.”
The robber’s hand glided around his side to his belt, and when it came
in sight again it brought with it a gleaming bowie-knife, which was
raised in the air above the prisoner’s breast; but just as it was on
the point of descending it was arrested as effectually as though the
arm which wielded it had been turned into stone.
“Hold hard, thar!”
The words, uttered by a strange voice and spoken in a tone of stern
command, rang through the stable with startling distinctness. Smirker
raised his eyes and there, standing in the door to which Fred had
so often directed his gaze, was a gigantic figure clad in buckskin,
holding in his hands a long, heavy rifle, the muzzle of which was
pointed straight at the robber’s head.
“Silas Roper!” gasped Fred’s antagonist.
“‘Tain’t nobody else, as you’ll find out mighty sudden if you move an
eyelid,” was the reply. “Drop that we’pon an’ get up from thar.”
The command was no sooner uttered than it was obeyed by the trembling
Smirker, who threw down his knife and slunk away like a whipped cur
before the stalwart trapper, as he came striding into the stable, and
retreating toward the nearest stall, held both his hands above his head
in token of surrender.
“None of that ar, now,” said Silas, as he bent over the prostrate form
of the boy. “Keep out in plain sight whar I can have an eye on you. Are
you bad hurt, Fred? If you are, that feller’s signed his death-warrant.”
“No! no!” moaned the boy faintly. “Don’t touch him.”
Smirker was amazed to hear the one who had so narrowly escaped death at
his hands interceding for him. It relieved him of all fear of bodily
injury, and he straightway began to recover his composure; but he drew
a step or two nearer to Fred’s side, thinking it best to keep as far as
possible out of the reach of the giant, whom he knew had good cause to
be at enmity with him.
“I shall be all right as soon as I have had time to recover the breath
he choked out of me,” continued the latter. “Oh, Silas, I am so glad to
see you! But why didn’t you come just a few minutes sooner. I have seen
_him_. He was in this very stable.”
“Him!” repeated the trapper. “Who? Not Julian?”
“Yes, Julian. I didn’t think I should know him when I met him, but I
did. I wanted to throw my arms around him and tell him that he was my
brother, but Smirker was in the way. I am terribly disappointed in him,
Silas. He is from the States, you know, and I expected to see a boy who
hadn’t courage enough to face a sheep. But he’ll do.”
“Why, how come he here?” asked Silas in great astonishment.
“I haven’t the least idea. Make Smirker tell. He’ll do anything you ask
him.”
“How was it?” demanded the trapper, turning to the owner of the cabin.
“Tell nothing but the truth.”
Smirker was too completely cowed by the presence of the giant, with
whose powers he had more than once been made fully acquainted, to
fabricate a falsehood even if he had anything to gain by it. Not daring
to disobey, or even to hesitate, he began, and in a faltering voice
told the story of Julian’s visit to his cabin just as we have related
it. He also described what had taken place after Fred’s arrival, but
added that Silas must ask the boy to explain that, for it was something
he could not comprehend.
“I can soon make it plain to you,” said White-horse Fred, now taking up
the story. “You can’t imagine how surprised I was to find Julian here,
and if Smirker had possessed any control over himself I should not have
known what to do. But the way he looked and acted gave me a clew, and
I saw through the whole thing as clearly as if it had been explained
to me in words. Uncle Reginald, you know, happened to ride by old
Antoine’s cabin the other day while I was absent, and seeing one of my
horses, Snowdrop, there, suddenly conceived a violent passion for her
and took possession of her without saying so much as ‘by your leave.’
I wondered what he intended to do with her and now I have found out.
He gave her to my brother. Julian this morning thought he would take a
ride and look over the country, and not knowing that the horse belonged
to a band of robbers, gave her a loose rein and she brought him here.
Finding that he had got himself into trouble, he acted upon some hint
that Smirker gave him and passed himself off for me; and if _I_ had not
arrived just as I did, he would have got away without being suspected.
To help him out of the difficulty, I told Smirker that my name was
Julian Mortimer, and the blockhead believed it.”
“Thar ain’t nothing so very strange in that,” observed Silas. “No man
on airth could tell you two apart if you was dressed alike.”
“But we were not. Smirker has seen me in these clothes a hundred times,
I suppose, and I should think he ought to have recognized me. Now that
I think of it, I ran something of a risk, didn’t I? Suppose that when I
said that my name was Julian Mortimer, my brother had lost his courage
and revealed himself? Wouldn’t I have been in a scrape? I depended
entirely upon his presence of mind to carry me through, and I didn’t
lose by it. But wasn’t he astonished, though? I thought he would tumble
out of his saddle. But he behaved pretty well, considering that he is
from the States.”
“Why didn’t you want to tell me who he was?” asked Smirker, who had
listened attentively to the story.
“I would have been smart to do that, wouldn’t I?” returned White-horse
Fred. “Suppose I had told you, and you had succeeded in making an end
of me before Silas came, what would you have done? You would have
gone straight to Uncle Reginald and told him what had happened, and
he would—Well, it’s enough for you to know that he would have made
trouble for Julian. Silas, if you had only come a few minutes sooner he
would have been with us now. I am uneasy about him. He will get into
difficulty when he gets home, now you see if he doesn’t.”
“I couldn’t come no sooner,” replied the trapper; “‘cause I had
more trouble than I thought I’d have crawlin’ down that long, dark
passage-way that leads from the top of the cliff. What’s the matter
with you?”
This question was addressed to Smirker, who suddenly began to exhibit
a greater degree of terror than the circumstances seemed to warrant.
The show of courage he had maintained ever since he found that Fred was
disposed to stand between him and the vengeance of the trapper vanished
as quickly as it had appeared; and scarcely able to retain an upright
position, he was obliged to lean against the wall for support.
“You needn’t be no ways skeery,” said Silas, who seemed to feel some
compassion for the trembling wretch. “We’ve got plenty agin you, but if
you behave yourself, nobody’s goin’ to hurt you. All we ask of you is
to tell us something we want to know; an’ if you will do that, we’ll
turn you loose, an’ you can dig out of this country as soon as you
please.”
“I’ll tell you anything,” replied Smirker quickly. “But first I’d like
to have you tell me something. When I was going to pitch into you,” he
added, turning to White-horse Fred, “you told me to come on, and you
would show me what a _Mortimer_ was made of, didn’t you?”
“I did,” replied the boy. “I knew, of course, that you were too much
for me, but I wasn’t going to surrender. That’s something I don’t know
how to do.”
“And you have said two or three times that Julian is four brother,
hain’t you?” Smirker went on.
“I have, and he is.”
“Then you must be the son of old Major Mortimer?”
“I am proud to say that I am.”
“Well, now if you _are_, what business you got walking about on top of
the ground? That’s what I’d like to know. You had ought to be at the
bottom of the lake that lies behind your father’s rancho. Sanders put
you there, ’cause I seen him do it with my own eyes.”
“I know he did, and my body is there yet,” replied White-horse Fred.
“Eh?” exclaimed Smirker, drawing away from the boy toward the trapper.
“Don’t you know that a Mortimer can’t be killed?” asked Fred, who,
having recovered from the effects of his struggle with the robber, was
his jolly, reckless self once more. “And have you not yet learned that
the members of our family have the power of throwing the shield of
their protection around their servants? It’s a fact. You remember old
Juan, do you not? Dick Mortimer shot him twice with his own hands, and
you knocked him on the head with the butt of your rifle; and then you
both picked him up and threw him over a cliff, didn’t you?”
“There ain’t no use in saying we didn’t,” replied Smirker. “But I was
hired to help in that work.”
“Oh, of course. Men always have some excuse for doing wrong. Well,
that old fellow’s body may be at the bottom of that gorge now, but I
don’t believe it is. There is something that looks wonderfully like him
walking about above ground this very day. If you want to see it we can
show it to you.”
“You needn’t put yourselves to no trouble,” whined Smirker. “Ask me all
the questions you want to and turn me loose.”
“The old chap walks around of nights, too,” continued White-horse
Fred, in a tone of voice that made the cold chills creep all over his
listener, “assisting his friends in every possible way and executing
all sorts of vengeance on his enemies. How would you feel if you should
wake up about midnight and see him coming toward you just this way?”
Fred threw himself into a crouching posture, similar to that which
Smirker had assumed a few minutes before, drew his head down between
his shoulders, distorted his features, opened his eyes and mouth to
their widest extent, spread out his fingers like the claws of a wild
beast, and crept slowly toward the robber.
“Don’t!” cried Smirker.
“We’re goin’ to take you right whar he was seed last,” said Silas, who
believing that time enough had been wasted, thought it best to bring
Fred’s pleasantries to an end; “and if you don’t tell us what we want
to know we’ll show him to you as sure as you’re a hoss-thief. Put the
saddles on the critters, Fred, while I tie this feller.”
“I will tell you what you want to know now,” said Smirker, who
continued to exhibit the most abject terror.
“Yes; but you see we want to take you to a place whar we can keep you
safe till we find out whether or not you tell us the truth.”
As Silas spoke he detached a halter from one of the bridles hanging
on the wall, and with it securely bound the arms of his prisoner, who
remonstrated earnestly against the proceeding, but never once thought
of resistance.
By the time this was done Fred had saddled the two horses in the
stable, one of which was Snowdrop, and the other an animal belonging to
Smirker, replaced the belt containing the revolver and knife about his
waist, and also secured possession of the bag containing the nuggets
and gold-dust. Silas then mounted Smirker’s horse, and bending down
from his saddle and placing his arm about his prisoner, raised him to a
seat behind him as easily as if he had been a child.
In a few minutes more the trio were riding down the gully at a brisk
trot. Silas and his young companion held their weapons ready for
instant use, and kept a good lookout on all sides of them. If they
chanced to meet any of the band of which their prisoner was a member,
they might be called upon to fight for possession of him. But they
accomplished the descent of the gorge, crossed the valley, and entered
the woods on the opposite side without meeting any one, and finally
found themselves in the vicinity of the rancho. Here they became very
cautious in their movements, White-horse Fred leading the way at a
slow walk, and frequently stopping to look about and listen. Presently
he dismounted in a dense thicket, and having tied his nag to one of
the bushes, seated himself on the ground, his example being followed
by the trapper. For fully half an hour they and their prisoner sat
motionless in their place of concealment, and at the end of that time
Silas Roper’s quick ear caught the sound of a stealthy footfall.
He communicated the fact to Fred in a whisper, and the latter was
instantly on the alert. He crept away through the bushes, and presently
came back again.
“It’s Dick,” said he, in a low tone; “and after Julian again I’ll
warrant. Isn’t he persevering? He is coming down the hill. Do you think
I could get ahead of him?”
“I reckon you might if you’re right lively,” replied the guide. “But be
careful of what you do. One mistake would spile everything.”
The active Fred was out of sight almost before Silas had ceased
speaking. Threading his way rapidly but noiselessly through the woods,
he reached the bottom of a wide and deep ravine, which he crossed with
a few swift bounds. Arriving at the base of a hill on the opposite
side, he pushed aside a thick cluster of bushes, disclosing to view a
dark opening, which seemed to extend far down into the regions below.
Into this he dived like a squirrel going into his hole, and in a second
more was out of sight.
The bushes which concealed the opening had scarcely sprung back to
their places when Richard Mortimer appeared in sight, moving down the
ravine with slow and cautious steps, and pausing every few feet to
look about him. When he reached the mouth of the cave he backed into
the bushes, and concealing himself among them, stood for a long time
listening and gazing up and down the ravine. Being satisfied at last
that his movements were unobserved, he drew back into the opening, and
hurried along a narrow passage-way, which led first to the store-room
before spoken of, and thence through the hill to Reginald Mortimer’s
rancho.
“I am now going to make amends for the cowardice I exhibited last
night,” soliloquized Richard Mortimer. “I am heartily ashamed of what
I did, and I shall never again allow myself to be frightened from my
purpose by so shallow an artifice. It couldn’t have been old Juan’s
ghost I saw, for there are no such things. Neither could it have been
the old man himself, for he was put out of the way long years ago, and
as I was present when the deed was committed, and even assisted in it,
I know that the work was thoroughly done. The apparition certainly
looked exactly like him, and if it comes in my way to-night I am going
to find out what it is. My Derringers are freshly loaded, and I will
see what impression the bullets in them will make upon it.”
The passage-way was as dark as midnight, but Richard Mortimer, being
perfectly familiar with all its windings, walked rapidly through it,
and turning an abrupt bend, found himself at the place where the
passage opened into the store-room. Although he had braced his nerves,
called all his courage to his aid, and was fully prepared to encounter
something here, he could not repress the thrill of horror that ran
through him, or the exclamation of astonishment that escaped his lips
the moment he emerged from the passage-way.
A pale green light, whose source was invisible, and through which
objects could but be dimly seen as through a mist, was streaming
through the cellar. To Richard Mortimer’s excited imagination it seemed
to proceed from the bodies of two persons who were slowly approaching
him from the opposite end of the apartment—one a very aged man, and
the other a youth who looked remarkably like White-horse Fred. They
were walking side by side, gazing into each other’s faces, and appeared
to be conversing earnestly, for their hands were constantly employed in
gesticulating, and their lips moved, although no sound came forth. The
light, which gave a strange and unearthly appearance to their features,
seemed to move as they moved; and, instead of diffusing itself about
the room, was confined to a narrow space in the immediate vicinity of
the figures. Richard Mortimer gazed, and as he gazed felt his courage
oozing out at the ends of his fingers. His first impulse was to turn
and take to his heels, but the weakness was only momentary. Recovering
himself by a strong effort, he advanced boldly into the store-room,
but its mysterious occupants took no notice of him. He drew one of his
Derringers from his pocket, and leveled it at the old man’s breast.
“I have just one bullet apiece for you, my friends,” said he, his voice
trembling in spite of his efforts to control it, “and unless you stop
that pantomime and speak to me, I will bring this farce to an end in a
way that you probably have not expected.”
He paused, but no answer was returned, nor was there the least change
in the expression of the countenances of the two figures to show that
his words had been heard. They continued to approach the place where he
was standing, talking earnestly and gesticulating.
They were now quite near to him—so near that Richard Mortimer
retreated a step or two, and as he did so his finger pressed the
trigger. There was a bright flash, a stunning report, and when the
smoke, which for a few seconds obscured his vision, cleared away so
that he could see the effect of his shot, he dropped his empty weapon
and staggered back as if he were about to fall. There stood the old man
erect and unharmed, still talking with his companion, and neither of
them seemed to have heard the report of the pistol.
To draw the other and discharge it was but the work of an instant,
but it had no visible effect upon the objects of his vengeance, who
continued to advance, the light keeping pace with them, and their faces
appearing to assume a more ghostly and unearthly look the nearer they
approached.
And now Richard Mortimer discovered something that had hitherto escaped
his notice—a tiny stream of blood which was trickling down the old
man’s temple, and two holes in the breast of his buckskin jacket.
White-horse Fred was as wet as if he had just come out of the lake,
and the water dripped from his garments as he moved along. The sight
reminded Richard Mortimer of one memorable night when scenes of horror
and bloodshed had been enacted at the rancho, and drove away every
particle of his courage. With a wild shriek of terror he turned and
fled like the wind.