Julian Mortimer

“If Pedro had had half the sense I have given him credit for, he would have known that an iron nag couldn’t stand sixty miles in a full gallop over such roads as these. I hope Bob will recover a little of his wind before we reach Hale’s, for I want to use him then. When we caught sight of Pedro,” he added, “I was about to remark that I had finished what I had to say, and would listen to you. Now, tell me all about yourself. I know you have seen some exciting times.”

Julian’s story was quite as interesting to Fred as the latter’s story had been to Julian. It took him fully half an hour to complete it, and by that time they were in the vicinity of Hale’s rancho. When they reached the chasm which had been such a terror to Julian, they dismounted, and after a short consultation had been held, and Fred had exchanged his red shirt and coarse trowsers for his brother’s natty Mexican suit, he placed himself at the head of the party, and conducted them on foot to Major Mortimer’s prison. As noiselessly as spirits they approached the building and drew up around the door. Not a whisper was uttered, for their plans had been thoroughly discussed, and each one knew just what he was expected to do.

Having seen his companions stationed to his satisfaction, Fred crept back along the path again, and disappeared in the darkness. He was gone nearly half an hour, and then the sound of horse’s hoofs on the hard path told his impatient friends that he was returning. Louder and louder grew the clatter of the hoofs, and presently Julian knew that it had been heard by the robbers, for there was a movement in the cabin, and a small window beside the door, close under the eaves, was slowly and cautiously opened. In a few seconds the horse and his rider appeared dodging about among the thick bushes that grew on each side of the path, and drew up before the door. Fred’s whistle met with a prompt response.

“Ay! ay!” exclaimed the man at the window. “What’s the matter now? Anything wrong?”

“I should say there was,” replied Fred in a voice that trembled with excitement. “The soldiers have sprung a trap and caught every soul of us in it except the captain and me. There isn’t a gentleman of the road left down our way – not one.”

The robber expressed his surprise at this piece of news by a volley of oaths and exclamations that made Julian wonder.

He opened the slide of a dark lantern, and allowing its rays to shine out of the window upon the young horseman, said:

“How can that be possible? Things were all right this morning – the captain said so.”

“Well, if you could see him now he would tell you that things are all wrong,” replied Fred.

“Where is he?”

“He is hiding at Smirker’s. He sent me down here with a note,” replied White-horse Fred, showing the letter that Julian had received from his father. “It’s an order, and an important one, too, I guess, for he told me to give it into the hands of no one but Joe Hale.”

“Now I’ll be blessed if there isn’t something mighty queer about all this,” said the robber after a little reflection. “You had better come in and give an account of yourself.”

“I am perfectly willing to do that. Open the door, and be quick about it too, for I am in a hurry to get through here. I tell you I am not going to stay in this country after what I have seen. I am off for ’Frisco this very night.”

The robber was in no hurry to open the door. He thrust his lantern out of the window and took a good look at White-horse Fred and the animal on which he was mounted; but he could see nothing wrong about them.

The horse, which was covered with foam, stood with his head down and his sides heaving plainly, very nearly exhausted. A single glance at him and at his rider’s pale face was enough to satisfy the robber that there was more truth in the boy’s story than he had at first believed.

“I guess you have seen some strange things, Fred,” said he. “You’re as white as a sheet.”

The boy had nothing to say in reply, but told himself that any one would have shown some nervousness in his circumstances. His father’s life depended upon the movements of that man who was leaning out of the window talking to him. If he opened the door all might be well; but if he carried on all the conversation through the window, and kept the door closed, their expedition would end in failure, and Major Mortimer would be a doomed man. It was no wonder that Fred’s face was pale.

The appearance of the horse and his rider went a long way toward allaying the robber’s suspicions; but ever on the lookout for treachery, he thought it best to examine the ground in front of the rancho before opening the door. He thrust his head and shoulders out of the window and held his lantern down beside the wall. There was some one there, but the robber was not allowed time to see who it was.

Silas Roper was crouching close beside the door, directly under the window, and he knew by the sudden gleam of surprise and intelligence which shot across the man’s face that he had been discovered. Fred knew it too, and gave up all hope; but not so Silas. He was fully equal to the emergency. Crouching lower, for an instant, like a tiger gathering himself for a spring, he bounded into the air with the quickness of thought, and seizing the robber, pulled him bodily from the window to the ground, stifling his cry for help by a strong grasp on his throat.

“Never mind us,” whispered the trapper, as his companions sprung forward to assist in securing the prisoner. “I’ll take care of this fellow, an’ do you open that door while you’ve got the chance.”

Julian saw the necessity of prompt action, and so did Romez. White-horse Fred had told his companions that there was but one man on guard at a time at Hale’s rancho, and now that he had been secured, the next thing was to make good their entry into the building before the other robbers were aroused.

Romez took his stand under the window, and Julian, mounting upon his shoulders, dropped down on the inside of the stable. The locks and bolts with which the door was secured were quickly but noiselessly undone, and Silas and his two companions rushed in and followed Julian, who, with his revolver in one hand and the lantern in the other, led the way to the living-room.

Hale and his companion were found fast asleep on the benches, and were pounced upon and secured by Silas and Romez before they had time to think of their weapons, which were lying close at hand.

White-horse Fred, having seized an ax as he passed through the stable, kept close behind his brother, who led him straight to his father’s prison.

“This is the door!” cried Julian, scarcely able to speak, so great was his excitement and delight – “down with it! Come here, Mexican!” he added, leveling his revolver at the cook, who, having been aroused by the noise, at that moment came out of the kitchen; “you’re a prisoner.”

If the man was too sleepy to comprehend the fact just then, he became fully sensible of it a few seconds later, for Silas and Romez came bounding through the hall and seized and tied him in the twinkling of an eye.

Fred, meanwhile, was showering furious blows upon the door, and when he had loosened the hinges, Silas placed his broad back against it and with one push sent it flying into the middle of the room. Fred and Julian rushed into the apartment side by side, expecting to find their father waiting with open arms to receive them, but stopped suddenly and recoiled with horror before the sight that met their gaze.

The major was sitting limp and motionless in his chair, his chin resting on his breast, and his hands – which had been relieved of the irons, probably to allow him to retire to rest – hanging by his side. His face was paler now than when Julian saw it a few hours before, and at the sight of it he cried out in dismay that they had come too late.

“No, we hain’t nuther!” exclaimed Silas, raising the insensible form of his beloved commander tenderly in his arms. “Thar ain’t nothing the matter with him – all he wants is air.”

Silas carried the major into the living-room and laid him upon a pile of blankets which Fred and Julian had spread upon the floor. There he left him to the care of the boys while he and Romez proceeded to complete the work that had been so well begun. Their first care was to ransack the building and satisfy themselves that no one else was confined there, and their second to dispose of their prisoners so that they could be found again when wanted. They could not take the robbers with them when they returned to the valley, for they had other work to do, and must ride rapidly. It would not be safe to leave them in the rancho, for they might be discovered and released by some of their friends. They must be gagged to insure their silence, and hidden away in the woods where no one would ever think of looking for them.

When they returned to the living-room after performing their work, they found the major standing erect and holding his boys clasped in his arms. Rough men that they were, they were touched by the sight. They remained respectfully apart, watching the happy group and listening to their conversation, now and then glancing at one another, and drawing their hands hastily across their eyes; but when they went up to greet the major they were the every-day Silas and Romez, as calm and indifferent, apparently, as they had been a few moments before while dealing with the horse-thieves.

Romez took off his sombrero, and said, “How do!” in his imperfect English, while Silas gave the major a military salute, and informed him that he was powerful glad to feel his grip once more. The emotion was all exhibited by the rescued man, who clung to the faithful fellows who had labored so long and perseveringly for his release as if he never wanted to let them go again.

The major’s unexpected restoration to his family and to liberty had a wonderful effect upon him. His buoyancy of spirits, his strength and energy, returned at once; and during the ride homeward, he led the way at such a rate of speed that continued conversation was quite out of the question. He rode the bay horse which Julian had brought from Smirker’s cabin, and which the boy regarded as his own special charge. He knew where the animal came from, and he hoped at no distant day to be able to restore him to his rightful owner.

After crossing the valley the party made a wide circuit through the mountains on the opposite side, arriving just at daylight in front of a small cabin. The door was forced without ceremony, and one of the two men who were surprised in their beds was secured before he was fairly awake. The new prisoner was Richard Cordova, and his companion, who armed himself and joined the major’s party, was Ithuriel, his servant. In a little less than five hours Silas and his three companions had ridden more than fifty miles over rough mountain roads, captured eight desperate fellows, and that, too, without having once been called upon to use any weapon more formidable than the ax, with which White-horse Fred had cut down the door of his father’s prison. When Julian thought of it, he told himself that the trapper was indeed a man of action.

The major and his party rode at once to the fort, and his appearance there among the officers, with several of whom he had once been intimately acquainted, produced a great commotion. The commander listened in amazement to his story, and acting upon the information which Silas was able to give him, at once dispatched his cavalry to the mountains in pursuit of the robbers who were yet at large. The history of the wrongs of the major and his family spread like wild-fire, and everybody who heard it was astonished and enraged. The trappers about the fort, and the sutlers and miners flew to arms to assist in hunting down the outlaws, and during the week following Julian and his brother found ample opportunity to gratify their love of excitement. The avengers did their work quickly and well, and the summary manner in which the captured desperadoes were disposed of served as a warning to other lawless spirits in that section for all time to come.

At the end of a fortnight the fighting was all over, the excitement had somewhat abated, the settlers and miners had resumed their various avocations, and the major and his boys were once more in peaceable possession of their home, which soon began to wear its old familiar look again. The high stone wall which surrounded the rancho was leveled to the ground, and flowers planted where it stood. The officers of the fort visited there regularly as of old, and the rooms which had so long been silent and deserted echoed to the sound of laughter and music.

Everybody looked upon Fred and his brother as heroes. The almost inexhaustible fund of stories the former had collected during his connection with the robber band, as well as the adventures he met with while in the performance of his perilous duties, were listened to with interest by all the visitors at the rancho, and none were more delighted with them than the officers who tried so hard to capture him. He and his brother for a few weeks led a life of quiet ease, for the keen and rational enjoyment of which they had been fully prepared by their recent perils and excitements. The time never hung heavily on their hands. They had much to talk about, and when weary of fighting their battles over again, there were their horses, hounds, guns and fishing-rods always at their command. We might relate many interesting incidents that happened in that valley before the boys bade good-by to their father and their mountain home to become students in an Eastern academy, but “A Brave Boy’s Struggles for Home and Fortune” are ended, and our story must end with them.

The few who had remained faithful to their employer during his exile were not forgotten. The major and his boys showed them every kindness and attention in their power, and among all those who had claims upon their gratitude and esteem none commanded a larger share than Silas Roper, the guide.

AN IDEA AND A FORTUNE.

By Owen Hacket.

WITH their backs toward Placer Notch two young men of about twenty-one, burdened with prospectors’ kits, came silently down the trail. The well-worn way ran beside the murky stream that for the twenty-five years had run through the sluices of the Placer Notch Mining Company’s claim, which, singularly, included in their four acres the only paying claims that had ever been staked in McGowan’s Pass.

As the young prospectors neared Sol Brunt’s supply depot at the foot of the pass, the latter broke the silence and said moodily:

“I wish I had known three months ago as much as I know now.”

“Three months ago, Tom, we both knew what we had to expect; that was all talked over.”

“Well, it’s one thing to see hardship and failure at a distance, but it’s another thing to go through them. I didn’t know then, as I do now, what real hardship was. I thought I did. Handy man on a farm seemed about as near slavery as we could find in a free country.”

“Our experience is not unusual, Tom. We may succeed yet – we may not. I am going to stick it out another month and so are you – ”

“I’m not so sure of that,” interrupted Tom.

“Yes you will, if I know you, Tom, and I guess I do. You like to have your little growl now and then, and I’m glad you do; it makes me argue on the bright side, and to see the pleasant features and the hopeful prospects.”

“It’s a pity hopes don’t sell in the market, Phil; you’d be pretty well off if they did.”

“Come, now! none of your sarcasm, old man. I tell you we are going to stick this for a month yet. We have no money, it is true; but we can work our way, and we are free and are seeing the world. That beats eighteen hours a day on farm work.”

The trail here ran close to the edge of the stream and about a foot above it. Phil Gormley the hopeful, happened to step on a loose stone; it gave way and down went his right leg into the water.

“I like that!” he exclaimed in vexation, as he pulled his foot out with much difficulty. He regarded his shoe with surprise on seeing it covered to the top with soft mud. He sat down on a log and squeezed the water out of his trousers leg, gazing all the while at the muddy shoe in a reverie that attracted Tom Danvers’ attention.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“I was trying to account for such deep mud in the bed of a mountain stream. I am certain this mud is the year’s deposit of the dirt that is separated from the gold in the sluices above at Placer Notch.”

“Well, what of it?”

“It simply flashes across me that this silt must be very rich in the waste gold that is washed out with the dirt from the sluices.”

“Are you thinking of staking out a mud claim?”

“Not quite as bad as that. A man might scoop mud out and wash it till doomsday without getting enough to keep his pipe alight from year to year. But just fancy how many millions must have passed down this stream! You heard what the miner said up in the Notch – twenty per cent of the gold product was washed away from the sluices. If they have panned out fifty million dollars there, that would make ten million swept away into the big river below, with more constantly going the same way.”

“That’s all very well in theory, but what does it amount to any way? We can’t get hold of any of these millions.”

“No, of course not. But this I do believe: if any one could afford to turn this stream into a reservoir and wait ten years he would have enough gold silt to tackle in a wholesale sort of way that would pay. It would be only a question of devising a cheap system of washing the silt from the gold more thoroughly than they do at the mines. I’d take the contract to invent the process, too. But come! We won’t waste any more time over it. No one is going to wait ten years to get his good money back.”

They took up their journey again, and had not walked five minutes when a turn in the trail and the stream brought them in sight of the tidy establishment of Sol Brunt. Sol was one of those who came into the hills with the rush when gold was discovered, but had seen fit to find his fortune in trade while others tramped the hills for paying claims. Those who thus went into business invariably had a sure fortune before them. Sol’s place had grown up from a shanty store to a tidy house that in time had received additions, making it a very considerable establishment. The trail had been much used in the past, but besides what he made out of the casual traffic over it, he supplied all the Placer Notch wants by contract, and turned a pretty penny out of it, too.

No man had ever come into sight of Sol Brunt’s while the sun was up and failed to find the Star Spangled Banner flying at the staff head.

Sol’s tidy wife came out to meet the boys, closely followed by the trader himself.

Phil was spokesman.

“Mr. Brunt this is my partner, Tom Danvers; my name is Phil Gormley. We’ve been in the hills three months and haven’t found a grain, but we don’t give up just yet. We have no money between us, but we have been hoping you could give us enough work this week to pay for board and lodging and some stores to give us a lift to the next range.”

“Well, boys, I’m right glad to see you,” said Sol, and Mrs. Brunt looked at them with pitying eyes. “As to the lodging and the things, I’ll just take verbal acknowledgement of the debt when you leave. Young fellows who talk as you do usually get along and pay their debts too. As to the work, I want a little help on my hay this week, and I don’t mind reducing your little bill in that way.”

“Just the thing for us,” exclaimed Tom Danvers. “You’ll find we’re experts in that line.”

“So much the better then, my boy,” responded their genial host.

The shadows were falling in the valley as the sun sank behind the mountain tops, and Mrs. Brunt went inside. Her reappearance was heralded by savory odors from the kitchen, and after a refreshing splash in cool water from a mountain rill the boys sat down with their hosts to a bountiful supper. Then chairs were brought to the doorway, where in the gloom they watched the rising and falling light of Sol’s pipe while he spun countless yarns of mining life which were, in truth, largely interspersed with mining death, mostly tragic in character.

Before bidding the boys good night, Sol delicately offered to give them some advice, which the boys eagerly accepted.

“I like pluck,” said Sol, “and I don’t want to discourage it; but I do hate to see it turned into an empty sluice. You’ve prospected all over the pass here and found nothing. Thousands have done the same before you. What is true of Placer Notch is pretty generally true of all the hills. In the early days the country swarmed with men, and almost every acre was gone over many times. What wasn’t found is not worth looking for. I don’t say the richest pay dirt ever discovered may not yet be turned up, but to waste your best years on a gamble is not the thing for boys with grit in them. Go into some business; it will pay you better if you have to start on three dollars a week; with a head and a backbone you may get to be of some account in a line where every minute sees something to be accomplished.”

As the boys were preparing for bed, Tom remarked:

“It looks like prospectors without a prospect.”

“What Mr. Brunt said as to our chances is probably true, judging from our experience so far; but I wish to prove it to my own satisfaction before I accept it,” replied Phil. “Whatever my judgment may tell me, I can’t help feeling that there is rich pay earth somewhere in the hills.”

“Well, I think you’d better stop right here and tackle the mud yonder.”

“Perhaps I will when the month is up,” replied Phil good-naturedly. “Good night!”

“Good morning, Mrs. Brunt! We’ve had a splendid sleep and are ready to pitch in with the pitchfork,” exclaimed Phil the next morning when the boys came downstairs bright and early.

“I’m glad to hear it,” responded Mrs. Brunt heartily. “You’ve been sleeping on the best mattress within fifty miles, and that accounts for it. Perhaps you’d like to look around a little before breakfast. You’ll find Mr. Brunt milking the cow down by the pond. Just follow the trail and you’ll find him.”

The boys gladly acted on the suggestion, and sauntered over a rustic bridge that spanned the stream. The trail led them into a thick grove of firs filled with the murmurs of the babbling waters, which here flowed over a sharp descent. A sudden turn in the path brought them to the edge of the grove where a splendid prospect burst upon their view.

One feature of it made Phil Gormley stop and clutch Tom by the arm!

The mountain pass widened suddenly at this point in the form of a semicircle on each side, while a quarter of a mile away the flanking mountains swept so close together again that there was only a very narrow outlet between two opposing spurs. A great basin was thus formed of over a quarter of a mile across – how deep, they could not tell, because a great sheet of still water filled the hollow. Beyond, from spur to spur, ran a chain of spile heads, which showed that man, not nature, had made this lake. Over the dam the water lazily trickled, forming the continuation of the stream they had followed from Placer Notch. It was not necessary for Tom to ask the cause of Phil’s agitation. Their conversation of the day before had flashed across him as the artificial lake burst into view. Just below them was Sol, seated on a rock and milking his single cow, in a strip of meadow that fringed the sheet of water.

Phil’s face was flushed and his eyes were very bright, but he made a visible effort to calm himself as he approached.

The boys and their host passed cordial morning greetings, and then Phil said carelessly:

“Such a fine sheet of water is something of a surprise in such a spot. Did you build the dam, Mr. Brunt?”

“Not I,” replied the storekeeper. “There’s a story to that. They say a mining inspector named John Martin, who took in Placer Notch on his circuit twenty-five years ago, saw this hollow when he first passed by and got the idea into his head that if he could trap the muddy water that ran off from the sluices and thus collect the tailings, in the course of time the mass of mud in the bottom would pan out rich from the gold that was constantly going to waste. He located this place in the land office, and had the dam built. Before he could take title he disappeared while on his rounds, and was never again heard of. I finally got the title myself, for it struck me that perhaps some day if the country around here grew up and there was any use for it, I could use the pond for water power: or I could drain it off and plant on the bottom, which ought to be the richest kind of soil. There’s thirty feet of mud on that bottom, I calculate.”