Harry Castlemon - Julian Mortimer

“What is the reason?” asked Julian.

“‘Cause it’s stole from him, that’s the reason – money, we’pons, clothes, grub – everything. He can’t keep nothing.”

“Why doesn’t he lock his doors?”

“Haint every door in the rancho got mor’n a dozen bolts an’ chains onto it, an’ don’t he keep three or four big dogs on the outside of the house, an’ as many more inside? An’ haint he sot up night after night with his pistols in his hands watchin’ fur the thieves? It don’t do no ’arthly good whatsomever. Things is missin’ all the while, an’ nobody don’t know whar they go to. You see,” added Tom, sinking his voice almost to a whisper, “thar’s some folks besides the ole man livin’ in that ar rancho, an’ they don’t need doors an’ winders. They can go through a keyhole, or a crack an inch wide, and even a solid stone wall can’t stop ’em. I slept thar one night, an’ if I didn’t see – ”

“Hold your grip, Tom,” interrupted Sanders, hastily. “Somehow I don’t like to hear that thing spoke of. That rancho is a bad place to stop at, that’s a fact; an’ I’d as soon fight a fair stand-up battle with the biggest grizzly in the mountains as to spend an hour thar arter sundown. I wouldn’t be half so bad skeered.”

After saying this Sanders relapsed into silence again, and so did Tom; and Julian, who had heard just enough to excite his curiosity, tried in vain to induce them to continue the conversation. He wanted to learn something about Reginald Mortimer, and know what the trappers had seen in his house that frightened them so badly; but they paid no heed to his questions, and Julian was finally obliged to give it up in despair.

How far he traveled that night he did not know. He was so nearly overcome with fear and anxiety, and so completely absorbed in his speculations concerning the future, that at times he was utterly unconscious of what was going on around him. All he remembered was that for five long hours Sanders kept his horse at a full gallop, leading the way at reckless speed along yawning chasms and under beetling cliffs which hung threateningly over the road, that he became so weary that he reeled about in his saddle, and that finally, when it seemed to him that he could no longer shake off the stupor that was pressing upon him, Sanders suddenly drew rein and announced that they were at their journey’s end.

Julian looked up and found himself in an extensive valley, which stretched away to the right and left as far as his eyes could reach. In front of him was a high stone wall, over the top of which he could see the roof of what appeared to be a commodious and comfortable house. The building was evidently intended to serve as a fortification as well as a dwelling, for the walls were thick and provided with loop-holes, and the windows were protected by heavy iron-bound shutters.

All was dark and silent within the rancho; but when Sanders pounded upon the gate with the butt of his revolver, a chorus of hoarse growls arose on the other side of the wall, and a pack of dogs greeted them with furious and long-continued barking. Presently Julian heard a door open and close in the rancho, and saw the light of a lantern shining above the wall. Then came the rattling of chains and the grating of heavy bolts, and a small wicket in the gate swung open and was immediately filled by the bull’s-eye of a powerful dark lantern. The person who handled the lantern, whoever he was, could obtain a good view of the horsemen, but they could not see him, for he remained in the shade. He consumed a good deal of time in making his observations, and Sanders began to grow impatient.

“Wal, Pedro,” he growled, “when you get through lookin’ at us you’ll let us in, won’t you? We’ve got business with the ole man, an’ we’re in a hurry. I don’t want to stay about this place no longer than I can help,” he added, in an undertone.

The sound of the outlaw’s voice must have satisfied the man as to the identity of his visitors, for he closed the wicket, and after a short delay opened the gate, and Sanders led the way into the rancho.

HAD JULIAN been entering a prison, knowing that he was destined to remain there for the term of his natural life, he could not have been more terrified than he was when he found himself surrounded by the gloomy walls of the rancho, and heard the ponderous gate clang behind him. He was playing an involuntary part in a strange and mysterious drama, and the uncertainty of what might be the next scene in which he would be forced to assist, kept him in a terrible state of suspense. But he was blessed with more than an ordinary share of courage, and when the first momentary thrill of terror had passed away, he called it all to his aid, and prepared to meet whatever was in store for him with an undaunted front. He appeared to be much more at his ease than the two trappers, for they had suddenly lost their swaggering, confident air, and were gazing about them uneasily as though they were apprehensive of discovering something they did not care to see.

“He’s all grit, haint he?” whispered Sanders, who, as well as his companion, seemed surprised at the captive’s coolness and indifference. “He’s a genuine Mortimer.”

“Mebbe he’ll look different afore he has been many hours inside these yere walls,” replied Tom, in the same cautious whisper. “Wait till he gets into the house an’ sees him , as I saw him one night.”

“Well, if you’re going in you had better dismount, hadn’t you? Or do you intend to ride your horses in? Who’s this you have here?”

It was Pedro who spoke. He had lingered to fasten the gate, and now came up and elevated his lantern to take a survey of the trappers and their prisoner. When the rays from the bull’s-eye fell upon Julian’s features he staggered back as if he had been shot, his face grew deadly pale, and his whole frame trembled violently.

“It isn’t – it isn’t – ”

Pedro tried to pronounce some name, but it seemed to stick in his throat.

“No, it isn’t him ,” replied Sanders; “it’s the other.”

“Not Julian?” exclaimed the Mexican, plainly much relieved.

“Yes, Julian, an’ nobody else.”

“Why, how came he here? Where did you find him?”

“Now, Pedro, you haven’t offered us $5,000 to bring him to you safe an’ sound, have you? Them’s questions we don’t answer for nobody except the ole man. We want to see him, an’ purty quick, too.”

Sanders dismounted from his horse, and at a sign from him Tom and Julian did the same. Pedro led the way toward the door of the rancho, shaking his head and ejaculating in both Spanish and English, and turning around now and then to look sharply at Julian as if he had not yet been able to make up his mind whether he was a solid flesh and blood boy or only a spirit. He conducted the trappers and their captive into the house, and after pausing to fasten the door, led them through a long, wide hall, the walls of which were hung with old-fashioned pictures and implements of the chase, and ushered them into an elegantly furnished room; and after taking one more good look at Julian, waved his hand toward a couple of chairs and asked the trappers to be seated.

“I will go and tell the governor who you are, and whom you have brought with you,” said he.

“Hold your horses!” exclaimed Sanders, suddenly, and in great excitement. “You haint a-goin’ to take that light with you an’ leave us here in the dark? I wouldn’t stay here fur all the money the ole man’s got stowed away in that cave of his’n, if it’s $50,000.”

“Fifty thousand!” sneered Pedro. “You have queer ideas of wealth. Better say fifty million; and he don’t know where it is any more than you do. He’ll find out now, however,” added the Mexican, with a hasty glance at Julian.