Castlemon Harry
Julian Mortimer

“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.

“Can it be possible that those things never happened, and that Dick Mortimer, with his lantern and revolver, the long, dark passage-way, and the feeble old man who frightened him so terribly, were objects that I saw only in my dreams?” exclaimed Julian.

As this thought passed through his mind he sprung from the couch, and running to the opposite side of the room pulled up the hangings, fully expecting to find there the opening through which his captor had conducted him into the passage-way. But the wall was as solid as ever – not one of the huge blocks of stone was out of place.

“If I dreamed that I did not dream that I left these curtains all down and the windows closed, did I?” Julian asked himself in deep perplexity. “Somebody has certainly been in here while I was asleep, and he didn’t come in through the door either. I’ve spent my last night in this house. I didn’t hear any of those frightful sounds Sanders heard the night he slept here, but I’ve seen enough. If I ever get outside these walls I’ll not come back. What’s this?”

After hastily throwing on his clothes Julian stepped to the table to help himself to a glass of water from the pitcher that some thoughtful hand had placed there, when his eyes fell upon a paper, folded in the form of a letter, and addressed to himself. With eager haste he opened it, and after some trouble, for the spelling was defective and the writing almost illegible, he deciphered the following:

“Have no fear. Watchful friends are near you, and no harm shall come to you. Reginald Mortimer is your uncle. Treat him as such.”

Julian read these mysterious words over and over again, and finally carried the paper to the window and examined it on all sides, in the hope of finding something more – something to tell him who these watchful friends were, and where the missive came from. Being disappointed in these hopes he put the letter carefully away in his pocket and resumed his toilet. He was a long time about it, for he frequently stopped and stood at the window gazing out at the mountains on the other side of the valley, or walked up and down the room with his eyes fastened on the carpet. His mind was busy all the while, and by the time he was ready to leave the room he had thought over his situation and determined upon a plan of action. Just then the little clock on the mantel struck the hour of 10.

“I am getting fashionable,” said Julian, who, remembering how carefully Richard Mortimer was always dressed, and believing that Uncle Reginald, as he had determined to call him, might be equally particular, stopped to take another look at himself in the mirror before quitting the room.

It was a very handsome face and figure that the polished surface of the glass reflected. A finely embroidered shirt with wide collar and neck-tie, a closely fitting jacket of dark-blue cloth, black velvet trousers, brown cloth leggings with green fringe, light shoes, and a long crimson sash worn about the waist, completed an attire that set off his slender, well-knit frame to the very best advantage. One could scarcely recognize in him the half-starved ragamuffin whose daily duty it had been to keep Mrs. Bowles supplied with back-logs and fore-sticks.

Having satisfied himself that he was presentable, Julian undid the numerous fastenings of the door, smiling the while to think how inefficient they had proved to keep out the intruders of whom he stood so much in fear, and was about to pass out into the hall when the sound of voices reached his ears. He paused and listened, his attention being attracted by the mention of the name of one in whom he was now more than ever interested.

“Wal, I don’t reckon we could help it, could we?” growled a voice which the boy knew belonged to the trapper Sanders. “Me an’ my pardner ain’t the men to let $5,000 slip through our fingers without doin’ our level best to hang onto it, be sure?”

“A couple of blockheads, I say!” replied the voice of Reginald Mortimer, in angry, excited tones. “Two desperadoes like you and Tom to allow a single man like Silas Roper to get the better of you. Go and hide yourself. How did it happen?”

“Why we was a bringin’ him down here this mornin’ on hossback, me and Tom was,” replied Sanders, “an’ the first thing we knowed he slipped his hands out o’ his bonds, which we thought we had made hard an’ fast, an’ afore we could say ‘Gen’ral Jackson’ with our mouths open, he jerked Tom’s gun out o’ his hands, knocked him from his saddle as clean as a whistle, an’ sent the ball into me.”

“Hurrah for Silas?” thought Julian, gleefully. “He has escaped. Now, if there is any way in which he can assist me he will not fail to do it.”

“He was out o’ sight an’ hearin’ afore we could raise a finger to stop him,” continued Sanders. “I guess my broken arm an’ Tom’s bloody head is proof enough of what I say, hain’t it? We couldn’t help it.”

“Perhaps you did the best you could,” replied Reginald Mortimer in a milder tone. “That Silas Roper is a match for any two men in the mountains. Come into this room and let Pedro dress your wounds.”

“Nary time,” said Sanders emphatically. “I’ve had jest the wust luck in the world ever since I had anything to do with you an’ your house, an’ now I’m goin’ to cut you. I came here to tell you that, an’ I ain’t never comin’ nigh you again. Let us out o’ here.”

“You will come whenever I choose to send for you,” said Mr. Mortimer fiercely.

“Oh, if it comes to that cap’n, in course we will,” replied Sanders, dropping his angry, confident tone very suddenly. “We’re bound to obey orders, but don’t ask nary one of us to come here agin. We’d a heap sooner you’d send us out to steal hosses and rob miners.”

“Silence!” said Mr. Mortimer in a hoarse whisper. “Do you not know that the very walls in this house have ears? You must capture Silas Roper; and I will give you the money I promised you whenever you deliver him into my hands. He is about here, and he will remain in the vicinity as long as I hold fast to this stool-pigeon.”

Uncle Reginald and the trappers passed through the door into the yard, and Julian strolled along the hall, and not knowing where else to go, entered the reception-room. While he was walking about with his hands in his pocket, he was thinking over some portions of the conversation to which he had just listened.

“Captain?” he repeated. “What is Uncle Reginald captain of? Steal horses and rob miners! Silas told me that the mountains were full of men engaged in that kind of business, and I wonder if this new relative of mine is in any way connected with them! He must be; and he must be their leader, too, for Sanders acknowledged that he was bound to obey his orders. Good gracious! What sort of a place have I got into, anyhow?”

While Julian, appalled by this new discovery he had made, was pacing restlessly up and down the floor, Uncle Reginald hurried in. The scowl on his forehead indicated that he was in a bad humor about something, but it cleared away instantly when he discovered Julian, and advancing with outstretched hand he greeted him in the most cordial manner.

“I hope you rested well after the fatigues and excitements of yesterday,” said he with a friendly smile. “You look as if you had. Breakfast is waiting, and while we are discussing it we will have a social chat.”

The boy, making some satisfactory reply, returned his uncle’s smile and the hearty pressure of his hand, and accompanied him toward the breakfast-room, which was located at the farther end of the hall. He glanced over the well-filled table as he took the chair pointed out to him, and told himself that if this breakfast was a fair sample of Uncle Reginald’s style of living he would never go hungry while he remained under his roof. Corn bread, salt meat and buttermilk did not constitute the substantial part of the repast as they invariably did in the cabin of Jack Bowles. There were juicy venison steaks, hot muffins, wheat bread, eggs, boiled and fried, toast and potatoes in abundance, and also coffee and chocolate, which Pedro, who waited upon the table, drew from a silver urn which stood on the sideboard. More than that, the cloth was spotless, the dishes clean and white and the table was altogether so nicely arranged, and looked so inviting, that Julian grew hungry the moment his eyes rested upon it.

When Pedro had supplied the wants of his master and his guests, he retired, and the two were left alone.

“Well, Julian,” said Uncle Reginald in a cheery voice, “do you feel inclined for a gallop on a swift horse this morning? I have some business that will occupy my attention until dinner, and if you in the meantime wish to amuse yourself in that way, there is a very fine filly in the stable which I purchased expressly for you, and which I hope will supply the place of the horse you lost last night.”

“You must have been expecting me,” said the boy.

“Certainly. I have been looking for you every day for the last two months; and as this introduces the subject which I know you are impatient to talk about, I will now make the explanation I promised you. In the first place, do you know that last night you slept in your old home for the first time in eight years? You were born in this house, and every thing in and about it – money, horses, cattle and gold diggings – will come into your undisputed possession the moment you are twenty-one years old. It is a fact. You are by no means the pauper you have always supposed yourself to be.”

Julian dropped his knife and fork, and settling back in his chair looked the astonishment he could not express in words. He gazed earnestly at his uncle, and then ran his eyes around the room as if he were trying to make an estimate of the value of his possessions from the few articles he saw about him.

“It is the truth, every word of it,” repeated Reginald Mortimer. “It is all yours, and it is a property worth having, I assure you. Your father, who was my brother, is dead, and so is your brother Frederick. I am your guardian, and stand ready to surrender your patrimony to you whenever you are competent to take charge of it. I assumed control of your father’s affairs immediately after his death. At that time you were eight years old and your brother nine. Fred died, and shortly afterward you were stolen away by some one, who, as I this morning learned from Sanders, who told me all about it, took you off to Missouri and left you there with one Jack Bowles. For eight years I made every effort to find you, and I have at last succeeded. I do not intend that you shall be separated from me any more.”

“Well,” said Julian, when his uncle paused.

“Well, that’s all.”

“All!” echoed the boy. “Am I to learn no more of my history than this brief outline? Do you not know who it was who stole me away?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea.”

“Or what he stole me away for?”

“Why, of course your property had something to do with it, but just what I can’t tell.”

Julian, who had settled into an easy position in his arm-chair with the expectation of hearing something exciting about himself, straightened up, and with an expression of great disappointment on his face, resumed his toast and coffee. He wanted to hear more, and he was satisfied from his uncle’s manner that he could tell him more if he felt so inclined; but it was plain that he did not, for his next words related to another subject.

“I hope you are now convinced that the fears to which you last night gave way were entirely groundless,” said Mr. Mortimer. “I shall endeavor by every means in my power to make your life here a pleasant one. I have been very lonely and I want you to cheer me. I want you to feel that you are one of the family, that you have a right to be here, and that you are at liberty to go and come whenever it suits your fancy. You shall have the best horse in the stable, a pack of hounds, a servant to wait on you, and live like a gentleman. There is a fort about two miles distant. Some of the officers have their families with them, and among them are several boys about your own age. Whenever you want company, bring them up here. They will find enough to interest them.”

“Perhaps they would also find some things they would not care to see,” said Julian, thinking of his recent adventure with the emigrant.

“What do you mean?”

“Why, some of those strange people who go about of nights making such unearthly noises.”

“That sounds just like Sanders,” exclaimed Uncle Reginald impatiently. “Julian, I hope you are a boy of too much good sense to pay the least attention to any thing that low, ignorant fellow may say to you. There isn’t a word of truth in it.”

“Nor about the secret passage-ways that run all through the house?”

“Not a particle. It is all moonshine.”

“Or about the old man who lives in the cellar?”

“All the veriest nonsense in the world.”

“Or about your missing things?”

“Why, as to that, I have missed some things, that’s a fact, but I know where they went. Pedro took them. He is a great rascal.”

“Why do you not discharge him if he is a thief?”

“Because servants are not so easily procured in this wilderness. More than that, he is a valuable fellow in spite of his faults – understands all my ways, and knows just how I want every thing done. You will stay with me?”

“Certainly, sir. I have not seen so much of the comforts of a home that I can afford to throw them away as soon as they are offered to me. Beside, I want to see the bottom of this mystery.”

“What mystery? Well, perhaps it does seem a little strange that I, a man whom you never remember to have seen before, should claim you as a nephew, and tell you that I hold in my hands a valuable property which is all your own, but it is nevertheless true.”

“And there are other things that seem strange to me,” continued Julian. “One of them is that you can live here unmolested, as you evidently do, while peaceable emigrants are butchered at your very doors.”

“That is also easily explained. In the first place, that wagon train was quite a lengthy step from my door when it was attacked – about forty miles. In the next, there is a fort and a regiment of soldiers almost within call of me. I have twenty-five herdsmen in the valley, and at the very first sign of a war-party they would come flocking into the house, which could withstand the assault of all the Indians on the plains. Now, if you have finished your breakfast, and are ready for your ride, I will show you your horse.”

If Julian had given utterance to the thoughts that were passing through his mind, he would have told his uncle that he was not quite ready for his ride. There were other questions that he would like to have had answered. He wanted to know what sort of an organisation it was of which his uncle was captain; why he was so much interested in Silas Roper that he was willing to give $5,000 for his apprehension; if he knew that his cousin, Richard Mortimer, instead of being at Fort Stoughton hunting buffaloes, was prowling about somewhere in the immediate neighborhood, and that he had twice visited the rancho the night before. He wanted to know which of the two men who claimed to be his guardian was so in reality; how Uncle Reginald had found out that he was hidden in the wilds of Missouri; why, since he was so very anxious to find him, he had sent the trapper after him instead of going himself; and why Sanders had deserted him so suddenly when Silas Roper made his appearance in the streets of St. Joseph. He wanted to know who Silas Roper was; how he had learned so much about himself; and what Uncle Reginald meant when he said that the guide would not leave the vicinity of the rancho as long as the “stool-pigeon” was there. These and other questions had Julian intended to propound to his uncle; but the abruptness with which all the topics upon which he most wished to converse were dismissed, satisfied him that it would be a useless waste of time, and that his relative did not intend to enlighten him any further than he saw fit. Julian would have been glad of an opportunity to talk to one of those “watchful friends” spoken of in the note. He had a great deal to say to him.

“Romez, bring out Snowdrop.”

It was his uncle who spoke, and the sound of his voice aroused Julian from his reverie. They had now reached the stables – which were built under the same roof with the house and surrounded by the same wall – and were standing in front of the door.

The Mexican hostler to whom the order was addressed disappeared in the stable, and in a few minutes came out again, leading a beautiful snow-white mare, saddled and bridled.

Julian looked at her with delight, and declared that he had never seen a finer animal. She was very showy, and pranced about as if impatient to exhibit her mettle.

“I did not care to ride at first, but I do now,” said Julian. “I will be ready as soon as I get my rifle and revolver. But I must have some ammunition.”

“Pedro will supply you,” replied Uncle Reginald. “Go to him for everything you want.”

It was but the work of a few minutes to run to his room, throw his rifle and accouterments over his shoulder, buckle his revolver about his waist and return to Pedro for the powder and lead. He was out again almost as soon as he went in, and vaulting into the saddle he bade his uncle good-by and rode at a full gallop out of the gate.