FRED’S STORY.
WHITE-HORSE FRED and his long-lost but now recovered brother were boys
who were not much given to sentiment; but although they did not go into
ecstasies over one another, they were none the less delighted at their
reunion. They kept as close together as possible, and clung to each
other’s hands as they galloped along, as if afraid that something might
again come between them to separate them.
“Well, old fellow,” said Fred at length, “it didn’t take you long to
raise a row after you got here, did it. Uncle Reginald little dreamed,
when he was working so hard to find you in order to further his own
ends, how completely you would kick over his kettle of fish in less
than twenty-four hours after your arrival. We’ll keep those white
horses as long as we live, won’t we? They are the best friends we’ve
ever had.”
“I believe that now,” replied Julian; “but I didn’t think so when they
were roaming about among the mountains with me and carrying me to
robber dens. But, Fred, you are not a horse-thief?”
“I never stole a horse, or anything else, if that is what you mean; but
I have been a member of the band for more than a year. I’ve had charge
of a good many dollars’ worth of stolen property first and last, and if
I had happened to fall into the hands of the settlers while I had it in
my possession, I’d have been gone up sure.”
“Why, Fred, what made you do it.”
“I had an object in view—one that justified even worse things than
that. It will not retard our speed in the least if we talk as we go
along, so I will tell my story first—I know you are dying to hear
it—and then I will listen to yours. Where shall I begin?”
“At the beginning, of course. Tell me who I am, how I came to be an
inmate of Jack Bowles’ cabin, and all about it. I have lived among
mysteries for the last few weeks, and I want every one of them
explained.”
“And yet there isn’t a single mystery connected with your history, or
mine, either,” replied White-horse Fred. “I can make everything plain
to you in ten minutes. In the first place, that old rancho back there
is our home. It was built by Grandfather Cordova, our mother’s father,
who came out here in early times. When I tell you that it was intended
as a fort as well as a dwelling, you will know how those secret
passage-ways came to be there. Such a building was necessary in those
days, for it was hardly safe for white men about——”
“Safe!” interrupted Julian. “It isn’t safe now.”
“Oh, things have changed wonderfully since that house was built, and
even during my recollection. We call ourselves a quiet, orderly,
well-disposed set of people; but when grandfather first came out here
he saw some excitements, I tell you. He was a native of Mexico, and
brought with him a small colony of his own people. The Indians were so
troublesome that the government was obliged to keep a strong body of
troops here, and father was one of their officers. He commanded the
fort; and Silas, who was in more than one battle with him, says he was
a fighter worth looking at. He had not been out here very long before
he fell in love with and married our mother, Inez Cordova, threw up his
commission, and went to digging gold and raising cattle. Everything
went on smoothly until grandfather and mother died, and then the
trouble began. In one night our family was completely broken up by a
couple of adventurers, who ought certainly to have had some mercy on us
if they had no affection for us, for they were our mother’s brother and
cousin.
“So far your story corresponds with the one Sanders told me,” said
Julian.
“Can’t you remember anything about those happy days?” continued
White-horse Fred. “I can, but then I am almost two years older than
you are. I can remember that Juan—the old fellow who came into your
room with us to-night—and his two boys, Romez and Antoine, were great
favorites of mine. Juan was father’s _major domo_—he had charge of
everything in the house. Romez was the hostler, and Antoine was the
chief herdsman. They were life-long servants of our family, and they
and a few others have since proved themselves as true as steel. When I
became old enough to be trusted alone with a horse, I used to ride out
to Antoine’s hut, which was located in the lower end of the valley, and
spend weeks at a time with him, assisting in herding the cattle and
learning to throw the lasso. Father would occasionally ride out there
to see that I was all right, and now and then I would come home to
spend a day with you.”
“I can remember those visits,” observed Julian.
“At that time, in spite of the gloom thrown over it by the death of
our mother, which occurred when you were about three years old, our
house was not the desolate place it is now. The officers of the fort
used to visit there regularly to talk over army matters with father,
eat Juan’s excellent dinners, and enjoy the splendid shooting the
mountains afforded. Father did considerable trading with the trappers
and friendly Indians; the house was always full, and there was always
something interesting going on there. Somehow the story got abroad that
father was immensely rich. Well, he was wealthy, but he didn’t have as
much money as most people supposed he did.”
“How much was he worth, anyhow?” asked Julian.
“Perhaps a couple of million, and the most of that once belonged to
grandfather.”
“Why, I heard Pedro tell Sanders that he had fifty millions stowed away
somewhere.”
“Ah, nonsense! Pedro has about as clear ideas of wealth as he has of
the moon; and that’s something he knows nothing at all about. The story
got wind from this simple circumstance: Father was one day walking up
a little ravine a short distance from the house, prospecting, when he
found a pretty good-sized nugget. The next day he picked up another,
and a week or two afterward he found a third. He told some of the
officers of it, and they spread it around. There were a few miners
here then, and they at once crowded into the ravine and turned up
every inch of it; but not another nugget was brought to light. That,
however, did not serve to convince them that there was not a gold mine
of wonderful richness hidden about there somewhere. They industriously
circulated the report, and finally the story, together with the news of
grandfather’s death and mother’s, reached the ears of a couple of men
in San Francisco, who at once laid their plans to possess themselves
of father’s wealth. They were Reginald and Richard Cordova, mother’s
brother and cousin.
“They were graceless scamps, those same fellows—professional gamblers,
who had been cast off by grandfather on account of their profligate
habits. As our parents had never mentioned their names, no one out here
knew that there were such men in existence. They came to the mountains,
and, as bad luck would have it, the first man whose acquaintance they
made was Ned Sanders. They pumped him carefully, and found that he
was just the fellow they wanted, for he knew a good deal about our
family, and would do anything for money. They unfolded their plans to
him, which were to murder father and his boys, and claiming to be his
brothers, seize upon his property. Sanders entered heartily into their
scheme, but he proposed a slight change of programme.
“‘I’ve got better idees nor them,’ said he. ‘The ole major’s got a heap
of money laid up somewhar, but it ain’t a drop in the bucket to what
we’d finger if we could only find that hidden gold mine of his’n. We’ll
make way with the boys, ’cause they won’t be of no use to us; but we
won’t harm the major. In course he won’t want to tell us whar the gold
mine is, and we can’t scare him into it, nuther, ’cause he’s one of
them kind of fellers that don’t scare wuth a cent; but we can force it
out o’ him in another way. We’ll make a pris’ner of him, and shut him
up away from his horses, an’ his hounds, an’ his cattle, an’ keep him
shut up till he is willin’ to tell us what we want to know.’
“Just see the heathenish ingenuity Sanders exhibited!” exclaimed
White-horse Fred angrily. “Knowing full well that father could not be
frightened into revealing his secret, he resolved to torture it out
of him; and he decided, too, upon the only method that could by any
possibility prove successful. Being a man of active habits, it would
be but little short of death for him to be shut out from the world and
deprived of occupation. Liberty and something to do were as necessary
to his existence as the food he ate.
“Sanders also told the plotters that Major Mortimer and his boys were
not the only ones with whom they would have to deal. There were some
firm friends of the family who must be got rid of, or they would
make trouble. First, there was Silas Roper. During a battle with the
Indians, father had saved his life at the risk of his own, and Silas
was so grateful for it that he gave up hunting and trapping and turned
herdsman in order that he might always be near father. It wouldn’t be
a safe piece of business to attempt to harm the major or any of his
family while Silas was about. And there was old Juan and half a dozen
others, who had been employed in the family in grandfather’s life-time.
They could never be induced to lend their aid to so villainous a
scheme, and they must be killed. In order to cope with so many
men—Silas was a small army in himself—it would be necessary to have
more help, and this Sanders agreed to furnish.
“The plan was thoroughly discussed, and a time set for carrying it
into execution. When the night arrived, Sanders appeared with three
choice spirits, named Smirker, Hale and Lutz. They began operations by
effecting an entrance into the rancho through the cellar. Father was
surprised in his bed, and bound hand and foot; three of the obnoxious
Mexicans were murdered in their sleep; but old Juan, taking the alarm,
fled from the house. He was seen, however, pursued, and overtaken on
the brink of a deep gully, a short distance away. He was stabbed, shot
twice, beaten on the head with the butt of a rifle, and finally thrown
over the cliff; but he is to-night hale and hearty, in spite of his
wounds and his ninety-five years.
“The next in order was Silas Roper. They surrounded his cabin, broke
open the door, and there their operations in that quarter ceased. The
trapper, who says he always keeps himself in trim for a fight, assumed
the offensive at once, and whipped out his assailants with an ease that
must have astonished them. Lutz, who was the first to enter the cabin,
was shot dead in his tracks; Reginald received a blow over the head
that laid him aside for a week or two; Sanders got another, and so did
Smirker; and Silas escaped without a scratch.
“The next thing was to go back to the house after you and me. I
remember as well how I felt when I awoke and found the outlaws in my
room as if the incidents I am trying to describe had happened only
yesterday. I remember, too, of seeing you jump out of bed, and draw
a bee-line for the door. You got out, but Sanders ran after you and
brought you back.”
“That must have been what he referred to when he told me that he and I
once ran a foot-race,” said Julian.
“I can recall the thoughts that passed through my mind when Sanders and
Smirker, accompanied by Richard, were taking us down to the lake to
throw us in. I remember of falling through the air and sinking in the
water, but beyond that all is blank to me. After I was thrown in, an
idea suddenly occurred to Richard, and he concluded to make a change
in his programme, and save you alive for some future emergency. A time
might arrive when an heir to the hidden gold mine—in the existence of
which he and his cousin firmly believed—would be a convenient thing to
have about. There were a good many ways in which he might be used. So
Richard, after seeing his cousin disposed of in some remote place where
he would not be likely to be discovered, and giving Sanders some very
minute instructions, took you and started off to Missouri.
“In the meantime, old Juan had recovered his consciousness. When he was
thrown into the gorge he did not fall to the bottom, but lodged on a
leaning tree about four feet below the brink of the cliff. When he came
to himself he crawled down to the lake to bathe his wounds, but stopped
just before he reached the bank, for he saw Richard and the two outlaws
coming down with us. He saw them throw me into the water, and when they
went away with you he jumped in and rescued me.
“In the morning those of the servants who had not been molested,
and who had slept soundly in spite of all the noise and confusion,
awoke to find the rancho almost deserted. The owner and his family
had disappeared, and some of their own number were lying dead in
their beds. They went at once in search of the commanding officer of
the fort, who came up, but could make nothing of our disappearance.
At the end of a week or two, as nothing was seen or heard of us, he
concluded that we also had been foully dealt with, and thought it high
time that some one was put there to attend to things. He asked the
servants if they knew whether or not father had any relatives near,
and Sanders, who happened to be present, said he had heard him speak
of two brothers, Reginald and Richard Mortimer, who were living in San
Francisco. The officer decided to send a letter to them, and Sanders
agreed to carry it. He made a great show of starting off, but rode only
about five miles through the mountains to a miserable little hut where
Reginald was waiting for him.
“Two months afterward Uncle Reginald was acknowledged by the officers,
the settlers, and the servants as the lawful master of the rancho, and
father was languishing in the prison into which he had been thrown,
with the assurance that he should never come out of it until he told
where his wealth was concealed. He denied all knowledge of the gold
mine, but said that he had some money stowed away in a safe place, and
that he would die in confinement before he would tell where it was.”
“Why didn’t Silas and Juan go to the commander of the fort and tell
him what had happened?” asked Julian.
“I was just coming to that. They met the next morning in our
treasure-house, which you visited to-night, to talk the matter over.
They had both seen enough to satisfy them that father had been carried
away as a prisoner, and they had no difficulty in guessing at the
object his captors had in view. If they told the commander of the fort
he would send his cavalry scouting about among the mountains, and
that would alarm the robbers, and perhaps lead them to murder father.
The first thing to be done was to find out where he was confined,
and it would be time enough to call in the help of the troops when
that had been ascertained. But with all their efforts—and they did
everything men could do—they failed to gain the slightest clew to his
whereabouts. He had disappeared as completely as though he had never
existed at all. They spent years in the search, but until you told them
what you had seen to-night they knew no more about the matter than they
did when father was first captured.
“About four years ago I thought I was getting old enough and shrewd
enough to take a part in the search myself; but Silas and Juan
would not permit it. They said that as long as I kept out of sight
everybody would believe me dead, but that if I showed my face I would
be recognized at once, and Reginald would send some one after me who
would make sure work of me. But at last I could endure the inactivity
no longer; and once, when Silas was away in the mountains, I came out
of the cave in which I had spent the best part of four years of my
life, and began to look about to find something to do. Most of father’s
servants were gone, and their places were supplied with new ones;
but there were some of the old ones left, and among them were Romez,
Antoine and Ithuriel. The latter had been promoted by Richard Mortimer,
as he called himself, to the position of body-servant; Romez held his
old position as hostler, and Antoine was still a herdsman. I lived with
the latter for two years, assisting him in his duties, and waiting
impatiently for something to turn up. I was careful to keep out of
sight of Reginald and Richard, but mingled freely with the rest of the
people about the rancho, and even with the soldiers and settlers, and
no one knew me. I paid regular nightly visits to old Juan, who lived
in the cave where father’s money was hidden, and once while on my way
there something happened that suggested to me a plan of action.
“There are two passage-ways that lead to the cellar—one from the house
and the other from the outside of the hill. I always went in through
the latter, and I went very slowly and cautiously too, for fear of
finding some one in there whom I did not care to see. One night I did
find some persons there—Reginald and Richard, who were examining the
walls of the cellar by the aid of a lantern. Old Juan said they used to
spend a good deal of time there looking for the concealed treasure.
“I was so surprised to see them that I did not think of retreat, and
after I had time to collect my thoughts I did not feel any inclination
to turn back. Although I had often seen the men at a distance, this
was the first time since that memorable night that I had ever been so
near to them, and I wanted to take a good look at them. Silas and Juan
had often told me in the most emphatic language never to attempt to
harm one of them, even if I got the opportunity—and knowing that they
had father’s welfare at heart, and that they were wiser than myself, I
had promised to obey. But I could not resist the temptation to draw my
rifle to my shoulder and cover both their heads with the sight—they
were standing closely together and squarely in line, so that one
bullet would have passed through them both—telling myself the while
how easily I could shoot them, and how richly they deserved it. While
I stood in this position Reginald turned toward me. Finding that I
was discovered, I did not lower my rifle, but kept it at my shoulder,
determined that if he offered to molest me I would resist him to the
best of my ability. But I soon found that I had nothing to fear. He
stood for a moment gazing at me with eyes that seemed almost ready to
start from their sockets, and said in a husky voice:
“Merciful heavens! Dick, look there!”
Dick looked, and one look was enough. He pronounced my name with
a shriek, and dropping his lantern, fled from the cellar, closely
followed by his cousin. At first I was greatly astonished at their
behavior, but after thinking the matter over, I began to understand
it. Reginald and Richard are very ignorant men, in spite of their fine
flow of language, and of course they are superstitious. They believe
in signs and omens, and apparitions, and knowing that they had put me
at the bottom of the lake, they could not comprehend how I came to be
standing there alive and unharmed. This, as I have said, suggested to
me a plan of action. I knew all about those secret passage-ways, and I
made use of them to keep those two guilty men in a constant state of
alarm. I gave up herding cattle and spent all my time loitering about
the house, listening to the conversations between Reginald and his
followers, and showing myself whenever I saw an opportunity to frighten
somebody. I tied a piece of thick green cloth over the bull’s-eye of a
dark lantern, and carrying this in my hand I used to wander about the
passage-ways of nights, uttering the most unearthly shrieks and howls.
I paid regular visits to Reginald’s sleeping-room and Dick’s, and took
possession of everything I could carry away, such as money, weapons,
clothing and furniture. Old Juan undertook to watch the cellar. He
showed himself every time Reginald, Richard, or Pedro went in there,
and finally frightened Richard so badly that he left the house and went
to live in a little cabin he built in the mountains.
“One night I went into a room to see what I could pick up, and whom
should I find there but Ned Sanders and an outlaw friend of his fast
asleep in bed. I took possession of their weapons, carried them into
the passage-way out of their reach, and then placing my lantern in one
corner, and taking my stand in the middle of the room where the light
would fall squarely on my face, began to groan awfully. I was not long
in arousing them, and when their eyes were fairly open they were not
long in leaving the room either. I never found an opportunity to appear
to Sanders after that, for he shunned the rancho as if it had been a
grizzly bear’s den.”
“I spent a good many months in this way, and at last finding that I
could learn nothing about father, I went to herding cattle again. In
the meantime Uncle Reginald and Sanders had organized a band of robbers
and horse-thieves; and this, as I afterward learned, was the occasion
of a fierce quarrel between the cousins, who came to blows over it.
Richard didn’t want anything to do with such an organization, believing
that it would endanger the success of their plans, but Reginald carried
his point. Richard never forgave his cousin for that, and being
determined to be revenged upon him he has been working for the last two
years to obtain possession of all father’s money, intending as soon as
he gets it to decamp and leave Reginald in the lurch.”