Julian Mortimer

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?

“If I have a home and friends I must look further to find them, that is plain enough to be seen,” soliloquized Julian, closing the shutter and creeping back into the room. “But before I go I should like to know what object this man has in view in bringing me here and claiming me for his nephew. When I meet him in the morning I will call him Uncle Reginald, and act as though I believed – What are you doing here?”

When Julian stepped down from the window-seat into the room he had just left, he found that it had an occupant who had no business there. It was not a spirit, either, for spirits do not need lanterns to guide their footsteps, and revolvers to defend themselves, and this intruder had both. One was held in his left hand by his side, and with the muzzle of the other he was covering Julian’s head. It was the emigrant, clean shaven and close cropped, as he was when the boy first saw him with the wagon train.

“What do you want here, Dick Mortimer?” cried Julian, recoiling before the muzzle of the revolver. “Clear out!”

“So you know me, do you?” inquired the man, with some surprise. “That villain, Sanders, has been posting you. He has deserted me and gone over to my cousin; but, fortunately, I shall have no further occasion for his services. Put on your jacket and come with me; and mind you, no noise!”

“By what authority do you order me out of my own house?” demanded Julian, scarcely knowing what he said. “I am master here, if you please.”

“Ah! Reginald has been posting you, too, has he?” exclaimed the emigrant angrily. “You have learned more than I ever intended you should know; but it can’t be helped now. This is my authority,” he added, raising his revolver to a level with the boy’s head and placing his finger on the trigger; “and you will do well to respect it. What else did Reginald say to you? Did he tell you who you are, or give you any information concerning your father?”

“No; but I know that he is alive and well.”

“Then Silas has been posting you. Do you know where he is?”

“That’s my business. Have you a man with you waiting to earn that $1,000, or do you intend to do the work yourself?”

“You know that too, do you? No; you need stand in no fear of bodily harm as long as you obey my commands. I have come to the conclusion that I can use you to as good purpose as Reginald can. No more words now. Put on that coat and come with me.”

Julian mechanically obeyed. His bodily powers were so nearly exhausted, and he was thrown into such a state of bewilderment and alarm by his new adventure, that he suddenly seemed to become insensible to every emotion. He could walk and talk, but he received no more impression from the objects around him than if he had been in a dream. He no longer shrunk away from the revolver which was kept pointed straight at his head, nor was he surprised when the emigrant raised the hangings at the foot of the bed and disclosed to view an opening in the wall – that solid stone wall which Julian had so carefully examined but a few minutes before. He clambered through without waiting for the order, and followed his captor along a narrow passage-way and down a flight of steps into a commodious underground apartment, which, judging by its general appearance, was used as a cellar and store-house. Here the emigrant spoke again, and the sound of his voice aroused Julian to a sense of his situation.

“Yes, yes,” said he, “I have changed my plans concerning you. Silas Roper is the man I want now, and in order to get hold of him I must hold fast to you. I have a comfortable little shooting-box up in the mountains, and there you can stay and enjoy – Great heavens!”

The emigrant ceased speaking and started back as if he had been shot. Julian looked up into his face and saw that it was white with terror, and noticed, too, that he was trembling violently in every limb. His eyes were staring fixedly toward the farther end of the cellar, and following the direction of his gaze Julian discovered something that made his heart beat a little faster than usual.

It was not a frightful object his gaze rested upon – nothing but the figure of a feeble and decrepit old man, who was walking across the opposite end of the cellar. He moved along with tottering step and form half-bent, his thin silvery hair streaming down over his shoulders, and one withered hand grasping a staff upon which he leaned heavily. He seemed ignorant of the presence of the emigrant and his prisoner, and walked on without looking either to the right or left. Suddenly, however, he turned and approached the foot of the stairs. Julian could not see his eyes, which were fastened upon the ground, but he obtained a fair view of his face. He could discover nothing in it calculated to frighten any one, for its expression was mild and benevolent, but the emigrant seemed unable to endure the sight of it. He retreated as the old man advanced, growing more and more terrified every moment, and finally with a shriek of dismay dashed the lantern upon the floor, extinguishing the light and leaving the cellar shrouded in darkness. Julian turned and made a feeble attempt to ascend the stairs, but exhausted nature gave away at last. He felt himself falling – falling – and then all was blank to him.

CHAPTER XIX

UNCLE REGINALD EXPLAINS

WHEN Julian’s consciousness returned it was broad daylight. The instant his eyes were open the thrilling events of the night came back to him, and he started up in alarm, expecting to find himself still in the power of the dreaded emigrant. But, although he saw enough to astonish him beyond measure, there was nothing to terrify him. His persevering and relentless enemy was nowhere to be seen. He was snugly tucked up in bed in the same room to which he had been conducted by Reginald Mortimer, his clothes were lying in order on a chair close at hand, the curtains were thrown back, the windows and shutters all open, and heaven’s bright sunlight was streaming in. And what was very surprising, there was the door locked and bolted and secured by the chair, just as he had left it.