THE MOMENT Julian’s eyes rested upon the strange horseman he asked himself where he had seen him before. There was something about him that looked familiar. He was dressed in rough clothing, like the rest of the emigrants, wore high-top boots and a broad felt hat. His hair was cut close to his head, and his face, which was dark and haughty, was clean shaven; although the blue shade about his chin and upper lip showed that goatee and mustache had recently been growing there. His voice sounded strangely familiar, too, although Julian could not recollect where he had heard it before.

The man announced that he was bound for San Francisco, and that having been obliged to make his preparations for the journey in great haste, in order to join that wagon train, he had had no opportunity to lay in a supply of provisions. As their mess appeared to be small he would be glad to join it, if the men had no objections, and was willing to pay liberally for the privilege. Julian’s new friends had no objection whatever. They liked good company, and if the stranger would agree to pay his share of the provisions he might come in and welcome. And so the matter was settled, and the new-comer became a member of Julian’s mess.

Our hero had never carried a lighter heart than he did during that afternoon’s ride. He no longer felt that he was utterly forsaken in the world. He had some one to talk to now – men who had never seen or heard of him before, who did not even know his name, but who nevertheless sympathized with him and took an interest in his affairs. And it was because these new-found friends were strangers to him that Julian felt safe in their company. He was still suspicious of the guide, notwithstanding the high terms of praise in which he had been spoken of by the members of his mess, and he disliked the appearance of the new emigrant also.

The latter seemed desirous of cultivating the boy’s acquaintance. He addressed a good many of his remarks to him, and whenever he said anything that he thought to be particularly interesting or witty, he would look at Julian and wink. This was quite enough to excite the boy’s suspicions; but he comforted himself with the thought that neither the guide nor the emigrant would dare molest him in the presence of the whole wagon train, and that he would take care never to be left alone with them.

The afternoon passed quickly away, and it was sunset almost before Julian knew it. His day in the saddle had severely tested his endurance, and he was glad indeed when the train came to a halt. Being desirous of showing his new friends that he appreciated their kindness to him, he assisted them in making the camp, unharnessing the mules, providing the wood for fire, and bringing the water with which to fill the camp-kettle. The guide, whom he had not seen during the whole of the afternoon, made his appearance when supper was ready, and so did the emigrant; but the latter did not approach the fire. He stopped at a respectful distance, looked hard at Silas, whose back was turned toward him, and then walked quickly out of sight. Julian, astonished at his singular behavior, looked around at the other members of the mess to see if any beside himself had observed it; but the men were too busy with their corn-bread and bacon to pay any attention to what was going on outside their own camp.

Supper over, Silas and his companions stretched themselves on their blankets to enjoy their pipes, while Julian busied himself in gathering up the dishes and packing the remains of the supper away in the wagon. This done, he went out for a stroll down the road; he wanted to see how the camp looked by moonlight.

The day’s journey, although it had been a hard and fatiguing one, seemed to have had no effect upon the spirits of the emigrants, who were as merry and laughed and sang as loudly as when they left St. Joseph. They seemed to be supremely happy and contented, and Julian did not wonder at it. They had everything their hearts could desire to make them happy, and he had everything to make him miserable. If he had had parents and brothers and sisters there he would have laughed too, and felt as light of heart as the best of them. But there was not a soul with whom he could claim relationship in less than a thousand miles, and perhaps not in the world. Julian was falling into his melancholy mood again, and he wanted to be alone; the sounds of merriment grated harshly on his ears. He left the camp and hurried down the road. On he went, regardless of the flight of time, through the woods in which the wagons had halted, to the prairie that lay beyond, brooding over the past and speculating on the future.

How long his fit of abstraction continued he could not have told; but when he came to himself the camp-fires were out of sight, and he was standing on an extensive plain which stretched away before him as far as his eyes could reach, without even a tree or bush to break the monotony. He was alone; there was not a living thing within the range of his vision. This was Julian’s first glimpse of the prairie, and it was not without its effect upon him. He gazed in wonder. What an immense region it was that lay between him and his home – all India could be put into it twice, he had read somewhere – and until that moment what a ridiculously faint conception he had had of it! What would he not have given to have been able to tell what lay beyond it? He listened but not a sound came to his ears. An unearthly silence brooded over the vast expanse – a silence so deep that he could hear the beating of his own heart. Julian was awed, almost frightened by it; and turning quickly about he started for the camp at the top of his speed.

Perhaps Julian would have been really frightened if he had known that he was not so utterly alone as he imagined himself to be. There were no less than four persons in sight of him all the while, and part of the time, five. Three of them were Sanders and the men who had left St. Joseph in his company. Having watched the train from a safe distance all that day, they entered the camp as soon as it grew dark to satisfy themselves that the boy of whom they were in search was among the emigrants. They saw him as he strolled through the woods and followed, hoping to find an opportunity to make a prisoner of him. The fourth man, who watched every move Julian made during the time he remained within sight of him, and who carried in his hand a revolver cocked and ready for use, was the emigrant; and the fifth was Silas Roper. The latter, unlike the others, who made use of every tuft of grass to cover their bodies, walked erect down the road, keeping always within rifle-range of Julian, whose form, being clad in dark garments, was thrown out in bold relief against the gray background of the prairie. The emigrant saw him, if Julian did not, and for some reasons of his own thought it best to abandon his pursuit of the boy. He concealed himself in the grass until the trapper had passed on, and then scrambled to his feet and slunk away in the direction of the camp.

Julian had not retraced his steps very far before he began to wish most heartily that he had turned back long ago. There was some one following him – following, too, for the purpose and with the determination of overtaking him. His ears told him that such was the fact, and there was no need that he should look back to make sure of it – he dared not do it. He heard the sound of the pursuit very plainly – the stealthy, cautious patter of moccasined feet on the hard road, which grew louder and more distinct every instant. Who was his pursuer? The guide, beyond a doubt, for he was the only man in the train who wore moccasins. Fear lent Julian wings, and he made headway astonishingly; but there was some one beside the clumsy Jack Bowles in pursuit of him now, and the lightness of foot that had brought him off with flying colors in his race with that worthy could not avail him.

“It’s no use, Julian,” said a gruff voice behind him. “I’m a comin’, an’ if I don’t overhaul you thar ain’t no snakes. You’re ketched, an’ you might as well stop an’ give in.”

But our hero was not one of the kind who give in. He strained every nerve to escape, but his pursuer gained rapidly. He was close behind him now – Julian could hear his heavy breathing; but just as he was expecting to feel his strong grasp on his collar, a blinding sheet of flame shot out of the gloom directly in advance of him, and something whistled through the air close to his ear. In another minute Julian had run squarely into the arms of Silas Roper, and his pursuer had faced about and was making his way through the tall grass as if a legion of wolves were close at his heels.

“I reckon I throwed away that chunk of lead, didn’t I?” said Silas. “You needn’t be skeered now. I know you ain’t hurt, ’cause I’ve had my eyes on you all the while.”

Julian, weak with terror and utterly bewildered to find the guide in front, when he had all the while supposed him to be behind and in pursuit of him, could not reply. But if he was surprised at this, he was still more amazed at the manner in which Silas received him. He did not show the least desire to do him an injury, but on the contrary extended his arm around him protectingly, and supported him until he had somewhat recovered himself.

“You’re lively on your legs fur a little one,” continued the trapper, “but you’re well nigh give out, ain’t you? If thar had been just a trifle more light Sanders would have been past harmin’ you now.”

“Who?” gasped Julian.

“Sanders. You didn’t think to hear of him again so soon, did you?”

“I never expected to hear from him again.”

“Sho! Wal, you’ll hear and see more of him durin’ the next few weeks than you’ll like, I tell you. That was him a chasin’ you, ’cause I’ve seed him often enough to know him,” added the trapper, leading the way toward the camp, loading his rifle as he went.

“You said you were watching me,” said Julian. “Why did you do it?”

“‘Cause I’m a friend to you.”

“I begin to believe you are,” replied the boy, casting all his suspicions to the winds. “If I had been sure of it to-day when I first saw you, I shouldn’t have run away from you; but I have seen so much treachery lately that I distrust everybody.”

“I can easy b’lieve that. I know purty near what Dick an’ Ned have been up to.”

“You told me this morning that you know who I am. Of course, then, you know my father.”

“Sartin I do.”

“Is he alive?”

“He is.”

“And my mother?”

“No, she’s dead – died when you was a little feller.”

“And my brother?”

“He’s all right.”

“Can you take me to my father?”

“I reckon not.”

“What’s the reason?”

“‘Cause I don’t know whar he is – that’s the reason. I’ll allers be a friend to you, howsomever.”

During the walk to the camp Julian asked innumerable questions about his home and friends, but the information that we have just recorded was all he could extort from the trapper. He taxed his ingenuity to the utmost, and propounded his inquiries in a dozen different ways, but Silas could neither be surprised or coaxed into revealing more than he had already told. Nor did Julian ever hear anything more from him, although he saw very plainly that the trapper knew all about him, and could easily gratify his curiosity if he felt so inclined. Day after day he renewed his endeavors to worm out some small item of information, but all he could ascertain positively was that his father and brother were alive and well, and with that he was obliged to be content. Of another thing he was also pretty certain, and that was, that he should not find his home – if he found it at all – the pleasant and inviting place that Sanders had represented it to be. But in this respect he was not much disappointed, for he had built no hopes upon anything his false friend had told him.

During the journey across the plains nothing worthy of record occurred to vary the monotony of Julian’s life. He met with no more adventures, for Sanders had disappeared, and although the boy was certain that Silas could tell what had become of him, all his questioning failed to elicit the desired information. The emigrant kept himself as much as possible out of sight. The members of the mess expressed some surprise at his abrupt desertion of them, and asked one another what could have been the occasion of it; but no one knew, and in a day or two the matter was forgotten.

As the days progressed Julian’s friendship for and confidence in his silent friend steadily increased. Silas on his part cherished an unbounded affection for his young companion, and manifested it by a thousand little acts of kindness. He beguiled many a weary mile of their journey with stories of what he had seen and done, and descriptions of life in the Far West, but said not a word about Julian’s affairs unless he was asked.

At last the Rocky Mountains began to loom up before them, and on the same day Silas, who as usual was riding in advance of the train with Julian, pointed out a hostile Indian on the summit of a distant swell.

“How do you know he is hostile?” asked Julian. “Can you see the paint on his face at this distance?”

“No, but I know who’s been a smokin’ an a talkin’ with his tribe around the council fires,” replied the trapper. “You think you’ve been through a heap since you fust seed Dick Mortimer, and p’raps you have; but you’ll go through a heap more if you live a week longer. You needn’t be afeared of the Injuns, howsomever,” added Silas, seeing that the boy’s cheek blanched, and that he cast anxious glances toward the distant warrior. “They won’t harm you. If every man, woman and child in the train is massacred, you’ll be kept safe, unless you are hurt by accident.”

“What makes you think so?”

“I don’t think so, I know it; but I hain’t got time to talk about it now, ’cause I must ride back an’ keep the wagons closer together.”

This was always the way with the trapper after he had said something that Julian was particularly anxious to have explained – he had no time to say more on the subject just then, but must see to something that demanded his immediate attention.

Julian was greatly perplexed by what he had just heard. It sounded very unreasonable, but he did not doubt the truth of it, for he had learned to put implicit faith in the trapper’s word.

In two days more Bridger’s Pass was reached, and the emigrants made their camp for the last time.

We have already related how Julian was enticed away from the wagon train by the outlaws, who carried him on horseback to Reginald Mortimer’s rancho, and that during the ride he heard the sounds of a fierce battle going on between the Indians and the emigrants, and saw the train consumed by fire.

We have also told of his introduction to the man who called himself his uncle, and described the reception that gentleman extended to him. He was conducted into Mr. Mortimer’s sleeping-apartment, and saw the outlaws receive a heavy reward for delivering him into the hands of the owner of the rancho, after which Sanders and his companion took their departure, and Julian was left alone with his new relative.

Then for the first time he raised his eyes and took a fair look at the man. Surely he had seen that face and figure somewhere. They were those of Richard Mortimer. He had left him on board a flatboat more than a thousand miles away, and here he was in the mountains where he least expected to see him, ready now and able to carry out his plans against Julian’s life.

One glance at him was enough for our hero, who, with a cry of terror, turned and ran toward the door.

CHAPTER XVIII
THE EMIGRANT AGAIN

“STOP!” cried Reginald Mortimer, in great astonishment. “Come back here!”

Julian heard the command, but he did not heed it. He strove with nervous haste to open the door, but the knob refused to turn for him. He dashed himself against it with frantic violence; but the stout oak planks had been intended to resist a stronger force than he could bring to bear upon them, and they did not even tremble beneath his weight.

Reginald Mortimer appeared to be utterly confounded by the boy’s behavior. He watched his movements for a few seconds, and said:

“Julian, you could not leave the rancho if you were to effect an entrance into the hall. Shall I call Pedro, and tell him to let you out?”

It was now Julian’s turn to be astonished. He had expected violence, but was not prepared for the accents of kindness. He looked timidly at the man, and took his hand off the door-knob.

“Come here and tell me all about it,” continued Reginald Mortimer in a mild tone. “Why should a glance at me alarm you? Is there anything so very frightful about me?”

“No, sir; but you are the man who stole me away from my home and took me to live with Jack Bowles.”

The owner of the rancho opened his eyes, but said nothing.

“And you came to his house not long ago and offered him money to drown me in the Missouri River,” added Julian.

Reginald Mortimer was profoundly astonished. After hesitating a moment, as if undecided how to act, he extended his hand to Julian, and leading him to a seat on the sofa, placed himself beside him.

“My dear boy,” said he, kindly, “what delusion is this you are laboring under? You have made a great mistake. That this house is your own, and that you will some day have a better right here than I or any body else, I admit. And that you were stolen away long years ago by some bad man is equally true; but I knew nothing of it until after it was done, and neither did I know where you were, for all my efforts to find you were unavailing. I never heard of Jack Bowles before. I have not the least idea where he lives, and neither do I know who the man was who wanted to drown you in the river. It certainly was not I.”

“Then it was some one who looks exactly like you,” said Julian.

“There is but one person in the world who resembles me, that I am aware of, and that is my cousin – your Uncle Richard. It could not have been he, for he has tried as hard to find you, and is as much interested in your welfare as I am. Besides, he went to Fort Stoughton two months ago to shoot buffaloes, and has not yet returned. It could not have been Sanders either, for he does not look at all like me. More than that, he is a firm friend of our family, and has worked hard to find you – not with any intention of doing you an injury, but in order to restore you to your home and friends once more. You must be dreaming.”

While Reginald Mortimer was speaking Julian was looking him sharply in the face and thinking busily. He was not deceived by the man’s apparent sincerity. Although greatly mystified he knew that he was not dreaming. His thoughts wandered back to that memorable night on which he had first seen Richard Mortimer at Jack Bowles’ cabin. He remembered how closely he had scrutinized his features in order to impress them upon his memory, and when he compared them with the features of the man who was now seated at his side he told himself that any one not intimately acquainted with the two gentlemen would have declared them to be one and the same person. But something that just then occurred to him satisfied him that they could not be. He thought he must be growing very dull, or else he would have known long ago that the emigrant who had joined the wagon train at St. Joseph, and watched all his movements so closely during the journey across the plains, could be none other than Richard Mortimer. He wondered that he had not thought of it before, and especially that he had not recognized him when Sanders pronounced his name in the reception-room.

Another thing that suddenly became clear to him was that the trapper, Sanders, was the same man who had rescued him from the smoke-house.

Julian saw the reason for his pretended friendship now, and knew why it was that the man had been so anxious to accompany him to the mountains. He wanted to make $5,000 by delivering him into the hands of Reginald Mortimer. But there were still a good many things that he could not understand, and he wondered if they would ever be made plain to him.

“You are greatly in need of rest,” said Mr. Mortimer, laying his hand gently on the boy’s shoulder. “You are completely exhausted. Go to bed now, and I will talk these affairs over with you in the morning. I will then explain everything. If you feel timid in this gloomy old house I will tell Pedro to make you a bed here on the sofa.”

“I would rather be alone, if you please,” replied Julian. “I have been through a good deal to-night, and I want time to think it over. My mind is greatly confused.”

Reginald Mortimer lighted a candle, and after unfastening the ponderous spring-lock which held the door and prevented Julian’s escape from the room, he conducted him along the main hall for a short distance, and turned into another that ran at right angles with it, finally ushering him into his sleeping apartment.

“This is your room,” said he. “You are master here, and if you will take the trouble to look about you, you will find that I have neglected nothing that I thought would add to your comfort. Now, if you will dismiss your fears, if you have any, as I hope you will, for they are certainly groundless – you can enjoy a refreshing sleep. You need not hurry yourself in the morning, for I will wait breakfast for you. Goodnight, and pleasant dreams.”

Reginald Mortimer placed the candle upon the center-table and went out, closing the door after him. Julian stood listening to the sound of his retreating footsteps, and when it had died away, and he heard a door open and close in some distant part of the house, he stepped carefully across the floor and tried the lock. It was not fastened.

“This looks as though there might be some truth in that man’s story,” said he to himself. “The doors in this rancho – if that is what the house is called – seem to have a way of locking themselves, and I fully expected to find myself a prisoner. I’ll see that no one enters here to-night. If Dick Mortimer is still prowling around he shall never see the inside of this room. And Reginald doesn’t know that Dick is about here at all. He thinks he is off on a shooting excursion at Fort Stoughton, wherever that is. Dick evidently keeps his movements hidden from his cousin, and that proves that he is up to something he doesn’t want him to know.”

Julian turned the key in the lock as he said this, put down the catch, and seeing two strong bolts on the door, one above and the other below the lock, he pushed them into their sockets. Not satisfied with this he tilted one of the chairs against the door, and placing the back under the lock, and bracing the hind legs firmly against the floor, thus formed a barricade that could not have been easily forced from the outside, even if the lock and bolts had been undone.

This much being accomplished, Julian took his stand in the middle of the floor and looked about him. His quarters were large and airy, and contained a greater variety of elegant furniture than he had ever seen before. The floor was covered with a soft carpet that gave out no sound as he stepped across it. The walls were concealed by blue and gold hangings, and in one corner stood a comfortable bed, which, with its clean white spread and pillow-cases, presented a great contrast to the miserable couch to which Julian had been accustomed for the last eight years. Opposite the bed was a huge fire-place, and over it was a mantel-piece of black walnut, on which stood an ornamental clock. In the corner beside the fire-place was a small book-case, containing a collection of works that would have delighted any boy who was as fond of excitement and adventure as Julian. In spite of the limited advantages he had enjoyed in his old home he had learned to read and write, and having an all-devouring passion for books, he had perused every thing that came in his way. On the opposite side of the fire-place stood a finely carved wardrobe, and the first things Julian’s eyes rested upon when he opened the doors was a double-barrel shot-gun, a rifle, and a belt containing a revolver.

“This is just what I’ve been looking for,” said he joyfully, as he drew the elegant six-shooter from its holster. “If I am master of this room, as that man says I am, I have a right to do as I choose. I choose to say that I want to be alone here to-night. Dick Mortimer had better keep his distance, and so had those strange people Sanders spoke of, who can go through key-holes, and cracks an inch wide, and even solid stone walls. If they trouble me I will see if a bullet can go through them. Now, where is the ammunition?”

That was a question easier asked than answered. The accouterments belonging to the weapons were all in the wardrobe – the powder-horn and bullet-pouch depending from the muzzle of the rifle, and the shot-bag and flask hanging from the ramrod of the double-barrel; but they were empty. Nor was there any ammunition in the room. Julian overhauled the drawers in the lower part of the book-case, but they contained nothing but writing and drawing materials. Then he searched all the drawers in the bureau; but although they were filled to overflowing with all sorts of trinkets and valuables dear to the heart of youth – nothing in the shape of powder and lead could be found.

With a sigh of regret Julian returned the useless revolver to its holster, and throwing himself into a large easy-chair, which extended its arms invitingly, stretched his feet out before him, thrust his hands into his pockets and went off into a reverie.

“What a change a few short weeks have made in my circumstances,” thought he. “It seems only yesterday that I was living in a den that a respectable dog would turn up his nose at, going about clothed in rags, starving both summer and winter, and beaten and sworn at by every one of the family. Now I find myself under the roof of a man who speaks almost the first kind words to me that I ever remember of hearing, who embraces me and tells me that he is my uncle, and leading me to a room fitted up like a palace informs me that I am sole master of it. And I need not get up in the morning at the first peep of day to cut firewood and help Mrs. Bowles lay the table and cook corn-dodgers, but may sleep as long as I please, and my breakfast will be kept waiting for me. This man tells me, too, that I shall some day have a better right here than he, who now claims to be the owner of the rancho. Isn’t it enough to turn any one’s head? I will go to sleep now, and perhaps in the morning some of these things, which now seem to be involved in such impenetrable mystery, will be clearer to me.”

Julian arose to his feet, and having turned down the quilts began to divest himself of his jacket. Suddenly he paused and stood holding the garment in his hand, and looking first at the candle on the table and then at the hangings which concealed the walls.

“I’ve heard and witnessed enough to-night to make a coward of almost anybody except Silas Roper,” thought he, “but I believe I’ve got the nerve to do it. I am going to see what is on the other side of those curtains. If there is any way for that emigrant, or for those people that Sanders spoke of to get in here, I want to know it. I shouldn’t like to wake up in the night and find them prowling about my room. Gracious!”

Julian felt the cold chills creeping over him, and glanced quickly about the apartment, half-expecting to see some frightful object advancing upon him from some dark corner.

At first he was half-inclined to pass the night in the easy-chair, and never go to sleep at all; but dismissing the thought almost as soon as it entered his mind, he snatched the candle from the table and hurrying across the room raised the hangings.

Nothing was to be seen but the huge blocks of stone which formed the walls. On one side of the room there was no opening except the fire-place, opposite to which was the door. The other two sides, as Julian discovered when he raised the hangings, were provided with windows.

He placed his face close to the panes, but not even the twinkle of a star could be seen through the gloom. Somewhat surprised thereat, Julian deposited his candle on the floor, looped back the curtains and carefully raised the window. It opened into what appeared to be a deep recess in the wall. At the opposite side was a heavy iron-bound door, just the size of the window, which swung inward as Julian drew the bolt, and then he saw the stars shining down upon him, and the full moon rising above the mountain tops.

“This house was certainly intended for a fort,” thought the boy, gazing in surprise at the massive walls around him, which seemed strong enough to resist the heaviest artillery. “There isn’t a wooden partition in it as far as I’ve seen. They are all of stone, and must be six or seven feet thick. I can’t see the use of it.”

This was a point upon which Julian was enlightened before he was many hours older. He learned that the walls were not as solid as they appeared; that there were long corridors and winding passage-ways running through them, communicating with every room in the house, and all leading to a gloomy cavern in the hill behind the building, with which he was destined soon to become well acquainted.

Julian held the shutters open and took a survey of the scene before him. He saw the high stone wall which surrounded the house on all sides, the ponderous gate which had opened a short time before to admit him and the trappers, the well-beaten bridle-path leading across the valley toward the mountains, and noted even the smallest object within the range of his vision, but nothing looked familiar.

The home of his boyhood was not so gloomy and desolate a place as this in which he now found himself. There was no high wall to shut out all view of the outer world, but there were flowers blooming before the door, a pleasant grove close by, and people constantly coming and going. And there was a jolly old gentleman, from whose side he was scarcely ever separated, who used to take him on his knee and talk to him for hours; and now and then a laughing, blue-eyed boy would make his appearance after a long absence, spend a few days in romping with him and then go off again. Where was that father and brother now? If they were alive and well, as Silas had so often assured him, why were they not living there in the rancho, if that was their home? Why should they remain away and allow a stranger to take the management of their affairs?