Harry Castlemon - Julian Mortimer

The emigrant who had left the camp in so suspicious a manner, discovered the stranger the moment he reached the outside of the barricade, but he did not appear to be surprised to see him. On the contrary, he acted as if he had been expecting him, for he placed one foot on the nearest wagon-tongue, rested his elbow on his knee, and when the trapper had approached within speaking distance, said in a suppressed whisper:

“How are you, Sanders?”

The latter paid no more attention to the greeting than if he had not been addressed at all. He advanced close to the wagon in which Julian was concealed – so close that his brawny shoulders were almost within reach of the boy’s hand – and peered through the barricade, taking in at one swift glance all that was going on inside the camp. He next looked up and down the road, fixing his eyes suspiciously on every tree and rock near him that was large enough to conceal a foe, and having satisfied himself that there was no one near him, he dropped the butt of his rifle to the ground, and growled out:

“Wal!”

“Well,” replied the emigrant, “I have been to Missouri, and I have returned, as you see.”

“I reckon you’re satisfied now, hain’t you?” he asked.

“I am. I am satisfied of four things: That the boy is alive and hearty; that he remembers more of his early history than we thought he would; that he has come out here to make trouble for us; and that he is at this very moment with this wagon train.”

As the emigrant said this he folded his arms and looked at his companion to observe the effect these words would have upon him. He, no doubt, expected that the trapper would be surprised, and the latter’s actions indicated that he certainly was. He stepped back as suddenly as if a blow had been aimed at him, and after regarding the emigrant sharply for a moment, struck the butt of his rifle with his clenched hand, and ejaculated:

“Sho!”

“It’s a fact,” replied his companion.

“Wal, now, I wouldn’t be afeared to bet my ears agin a chaw of tobacker that you’re fooled the worst kind,” said the trapper, who was very much excited over what he had heard, and seemed quite unable to bring himself to believe it. “The boy was young when he was tuk away from here – not more’n eight years old – an’ do you ’spose he could remember anything that happened or find his way across these yere prairies to his hum agin? Don’t look reason’ble.”

“It’s the truth, whether it looks reasonable or not. I have seen Julian Mortimer, and talked with him, and consequently may be supposed to know more about him and his plans than you who have not seen him for years. What was that?”

Julian, astonished to hear his own name pronounced by one whom he believed to be a stranger to him, uttered an ejaculation under his breath, and forgetting in his excitement how close the men were to him, bent forward and began to listen more intently.

The very slight rustling he occasioned among the folds of the canvas cover of the wagon was sufficient to attract the attention of the emigrant and his companion, who brought their conversation to a sudden close, and looking about them suspiciously, waited for a repetition of the sound.

But Julian, frightened at what he had done, and trembling in every limb when he saw the trapper turn his head and gaze earnestly toward the wagon in which he was concealed, remained perfectly motionless and held his breath in suspense.

The men listened a moment, but hearing nothing to alarm them, Sanders folded his arms over the muzzle of his rifle, intimating by a gesture that he was ready to hear what else the emigrant had to say, and the latter once more placed his foot on the wagon-tongue, and continued:

“It is time we had an understanding on one point, Sanders. Are you working for my cousin, Reginald, or for me?”

“I’m workin’ fur you, in course,” replied the trapper. “I’ve done my level best fur you. I had my way with one of the brats, an’ put him whar he’ll never trouble nobody.”

“Has he never troubled any one since that night? Has he never troubled you ?” asked the emigrant, in a significant tone. “Could you be hired to spend an hour in Reginald’s rancho after dark?”

“No, I couldn’t,” replied the trapper, in a subdued voice, glancing nervously around, and drawing a little closer to his companion. “But that thar boy is at the bottom of the lake, an’ I’d swar to it, ’cause I put him thar myself. What it is that walks about that rancho every night, an’ makes such noises, an’ cuts up so, I don’t know. You had oughter let me done as I pleased with the other; but you got chicken-hearted all of a sudden, an’ didn’t want him rubbed out, an’ so I stole him away from his hum for you, an’ you toted him off to the States. If he comes back here an’ makes outlaws of you an’ your cousin, it’s no business of mine. But I am on your side, an’ you know it.”

“I don’t know anything of the kind. It is true that you did all this for me, and that I paid you well for it; but I know that you have since promised Reginald that you would find the boy and bring him back here. Will you attack this train to-night?”

“Sartin. That’s what we’ve been a follerin’ it fur. If you want to save your bacon, you’d best be gettin’ out.”

“I intend to do so; but I don’t want the boy to get out; do you understand? You know where to find me in the morning, and if you will bring me his jacket and leggins to prove that he is out of the way, I will give you a thousand dollars. There are a good many boys with the train, but you will have no trouble in picking out Julian, if you remember how he looked eight years ago. You will know him by his handsome face and straight, slender figure.”

“I’ll find him,” said the trapper; “it’s a bargain, an’ thar’s my hand onto it. Now I’ll jest walk around an’ take a squint at things, an’ you had best pack up what plunder you want to save an’ cl’ar out; ’cause in less’n an hour me an’ the Injuns will be down on this yere wagon train like a turkey on a tater-bug.”

The emigrant evidently thought it best to act on this suggestion, for without wasting any time or words in leave-taking he made his way carefully through the barricade into the camp.

The trapper watched him until he disappeared from view, and then said, as if talking to himself, but in a tone of voice loud enough for Julian to hear:

“A thousand dollars fur doin’ a job that you are afeared to do yourself! I don’t mind shootin’ the boy, but I’d be the biggest kind of a dunce to do it fur that money when another man offers me $5,000 for him alive an’ well. If that youngster, Julian, is in this camp, I’ll win that five thousand to-night, or my name ain’t Ned Sanders.”

The trapper shouldered his rifle, and with a step that would not have awakened a cricket, stole along the barricade, carefully examining it at every point, and mentally calculating the chances for making a successful attack upon it. When he had passed out of sight in the darkness, Julian drew a long breath, and settled back in his place of concealment to think over what he had heard.

TO DESCRIBE the feelings with which Julian Mortimer listened to the conversation we have just recorded were impossible. He knew now that he had been greatly mistaken in some opinions he had hitherto entertained. He had told himself but a few minutes before that there was no one on earth who cared whether he lived or died; but scarcely had the thought passed through his mind before he became aware that there were at least two persons in the world who were deeply interested in that very matter – so much so that one was willing to pay a ruffian a thousand dollars to kill him, while the other had offered five times that amount to have him delivered into his hands alive and well. It was no wonder that the boy was overwhelmed with fear and bewilderment.