Castlemon Harry
Julian Mortimer

The nervousness and timidity he felt on first entering the room very soon began to wear away. The men, after making some coarse jests concerning his new clothes, entered into a lively conversation with him, and asked a multitude of questions about persons and places which Julian had never seen or heard of. From some remarks they let fall he found out why they were so inquisitive. They were obliged to remain in that cabin month in and month out, scarcely over stirring beyond the threshold; they never saw any new faces except those of the captain and the two agents who brought the stolen property there and took it away again; and they knew nothing of what was going on in the outside world except what their visitors told them. Julian gratified their curiosity by relating a very few things that had happened that day in Smirker’s cabin, and a good many things that had not happened. He repeated every word that had been told him about the “captain’s cub,” in the hope that the men would tell him the rest of the story, but in this he was disappointed. They expressed unbounded delight at the intelligence, but said, somewhat fiercely, that Smirker ought to have held his tongue.

But little was said after this. The men having listened to all Julian had to tell them, rearranged their blankets and prepared to go to sleep; and the boy, being left to himself, gave his whole attention to the corn-bread and bacon. When he finished his supper and arose from the table, the robbers were both snoring lustily.

“What’s the next thing on the programme, I wonder?” soliloquized Julian, who, not knowing what else to do, walked about the room looking at the weapons which hung upon the wall. “I am afraid to make a move in any direction for fear I shall act so unlike White-horse Fred that somebody will suspect me. I’ll stroll around a little and see what sort of a place I have got into.”

The Mexican who had served up the supper came in at this moment to clear away the dishes, and when he went out again, Julian walked to the door through which he disappeared, and stood there looking about him, and wondering if it would be safe to venture beyond it. It led into a long, narrow hall, at the opposite end of which was a second door that communicated with the kitchen. This door was open, and the sounds that issued from the room told him that the Mexican was engaged in washing the supper dishes.

After a moment’s pause Julian kept slowly on, intending to take a peep into the kitchen; but when he had gone about half-way through the hall, he saw another door at his left hand, which he had not before noticed. It was open, and led into a room which presented a great contrast to the one Julian had just left.

It was nicely furnished, carpeted, provided with a comfortable bed, and there were ornaments on the mantel over the fire-place, and pictures hanging upon the walls. In the middle of the floor was a table with the remains of a supper upon it, and beside it sat a tall, military-looking gentleman dressed in a faded suit of black. He sat with his head resting upon his hand, and his eyes fastened upon the floor; and there was something in his face, which was turned partly toward him, that attracted the boy’s attention and excited his sympathy at once. He knew instinctively that the man was in trouble. A second glance showed him that he was a prisoner – that he was in double irons.

Who was he, and what had he done to incur the displeasure of the robbers that they should keep him so closely confined? If Julian had been able to answer this question, and had known the full value of the discovery he had just made, he would have been astonished and excited beyond measure.

CHAPTER XXIV
PEDRO MAKES ANOTHER

THE PRISONER raised his head with a weary, languid air when Julian stopped before his door, but no sooner did his eyes rest full upon the boy than his whole appearance changed as if by magic. The look of utter dejection faded from his face, and was succeeded by an expression in which excitement and hope were strangely blended. Placing his finger upon his lips with a warning gesture, he arose to his feet, and then Julian saw that he was even more securely confined than he had supposed, being chained to the floor.

The prisoner, who was considerably past the prime of life, was a man of very commanding appearance, and in his youthful days must have been a model of strength and agility; but now his frame was emaciated to the last degree, his cheeks were pale and sunken, and his eyes, which were fastened eagerly upon the boy, had a wild, defiant look in them.

As he arose slowly and tremblingly to his feet, he beckoned to Julian impatiently, almost fiercely, to enter the room, at the same time drawing a letter from his pocket and tossing it toward him. It fell upon the carpet just inside the door, and Julian, filled with wonder, stepped forward and picked it up. An instant afterward he would have given everything he ever hoped to possess if he could have recalled the action.

The rattling of dishes in the kitchen suddenly ceased, and the Mexican cook came into the hall, humming a tune and snapping his fingers as if he felt at peace with himself and all the world, and Julian knew, as well as if it had been told him, that he was coming into that room.

The anxiety and alarm he exhibited were fully shared by the prisoner, whose face was the color of ashes. He could not have been more fully alive to the dangers of the boy’s situation if he had been in the same peril himself. After looking all around the room, searching for some avenue of escape or place of concealment, he pointed with a quick movement behind the door, and sinking back into his chair rested his head upon his hand. Julian understood the gesture and was quick to obey it. He dodged behind the door like a flash of light, and a moment later the Mexican came into the room.

“Have you finished your supper?” he demanded roughly.

“No,” replied the prisoner. “Come in again in a few minutes.”

“Now, I want you to hurry up; do you understand that? I am not going to wait all night for those dishes.”

The Mexican went out again and stood looking up and down the hall. Once he started toward the living-room, and the movement gave Julian new cause for alarm. What if he should go in there and discover his absence? What would the robbers do to him if they should find him concealed in the room with their prisoner? The fears these questions conjured up were speedily set at rest, however, for the man turned about and went into the kitchen again; and when the rattling of the dishes told Julian that he had resumed his work, he thrust the letter into his pocket, slipped from behind the door, and with noiseless steps retraced his way to the living-room. He arrived there just in time to escape danger from a new source, for the door of the stable opened and the hostler entered. He found the boy seated beside the table, with his arms folded and his head resting upon them. He had assumed this position in order to conceal his face, which he knew was as pale as that of the dead.

“Wake up here, Fred!” cried the man, striking Julian on the shoulder with his open hand. “You’ve no business to go to sleep. You know it’s against orders for anybody except us four fellows to stay in this rancho all night. The storm is over, and you can start back now.”

“Start back!” thought Julian, raising his head and rubbing his eyes as if he were very sleepy. “Must I ride along that dreadful chasm again to-night? Where will that horse take me? Back to Smirker’s, probably.”

“You will have a pleasanter time going than you did coming,” continued the hostler. “The moon is shining brightly.”

“Any messages?” asked Julian.

“None that I think of. Be down again to-morrow?”

The boy, replying in the affirmative, accompanied the hostler to the stable, and in a few minutes more heard the heavy door locked behind him, and was flying along the zigzag path that led from the rancho to the chasm.

The ride proved to be much more to his liking than the one he had taken a few hours before. The moon lighted up every object within the range of his vision, and he had a fair view of the dangers through which he had passed. The horse carried him along the chasm in safety, and when that was passed Julian threw the reins loose on the animal’s neck and gave himself up to his reflections. Of course the prisoner occupied all his thoughts. He pulled the letter from his pocket and looked at it on all sides. There was something written on it – probably the address of the person to whom it was to be delivered; but Julian, with the aid of no better light than that afforded by the moon, could not make it out. He had two prisoners to assist now, he told himself – Smirker’s captive and the old gentleman who had given him the letter. The former, as we know, was no longer in need of help; but the other was, and in Julian he had a friend worth having. He had others, too, shrewd, active, daring men, who had labored unceasingly for years to discover his whereabouts and effect his release, but without the least hope of success. Silas Roper would have given the best years of his life to have known what Julian knew.

It seemed to our hero that the ride would never come to an end. He made no attempt to guide his horse, but kept a good lookout on both sides in the hope of seeing some familiar landmark. He did not intend to be carried back to Smirker’s cabin if he could prevent it. An hour later he emerged from a deep ravine into a broad, level valley, and then he knew where he was. His horse showed a desire to carry him up a narrow path which led to a high hill beyond; but Julian insisted on having his own way, and by the help of his spurs soon induced the animal to yield to his guidance. The five miles that lay between him and his uncle’s rancho were quickly accomplished, and when Julian drew rein in front of the gate he felt as if a mountain had suddenly been removed from his shoulders.

“I never expected to see this place again,” thought he, as he pounded upon the gate with the handle of his hunting-knife. “Uncle Reginald told me this morning that he wanted me to feel that I had a right to go and come when I pleased, and I guess he will think I haven’t been slow to take advantage of his permission. It must be long after midnight, but I can’t go to sleep, for I don’t want to miss seeing that watchful friend of mine, if he comes about.”

The furious blows Julian showered upon the gate brought the dogs out in full chorus, and in a few minutes Pedro also appeared with his lantern. He must have known who it was demanding admittance, for he did not stop to look through the wicket, but opened the gate at once, and Julian rode in.

“I am sorry to be obliged to disturb you at this hour,” said the boy, as he dismounted in front of the door of the rancho, “but I couldn’t help it.”

“I was up and waiting for you,” was the reply. “Your uncle has given me orders to hold myself in readiness to attend to you at any hour of the day or night; so you see – well – I —Carrajo!”

The Mexican, who had taken Julian’s bridle from his hand, ceased speaking very suddenly, raised his lantern, and after surveying the horse all over, opened his eyes to their widest extent, and broke out into a volley of Spanish oaths and ejaculations indicative of the greatest astonishment. He had made an alarming discovery.

“Well, what is it?” asked Julian. “Do you see anything strange?”

“No,” answered the man hastily. “Take this lantern to light you to your room, and I will put your horse in the stable.”

“Is anything new going to happen, I wonder?” thought Julian, as he took the proffered lantern and made his way along the hall to the sleeping apartment. “Pedro has found something to surprise him, and I can’t imagine what it can be. I guess Uncle Reginald would be surprised, too, if he knew where I have been and what I have seen since he last saw me.”

Never before had a room looked so cozy and comfortable, or a bed so inviting, as Julian’s did that night. He was almost exhausted by his long ride and the excitement through which he had passed, but he had a matter of importance before him, and he could not think of retiring. His first move was to light the candle that stood on the table and extinguish the lantern, and his second to draw his easy-chair beside the table and take the mysterious letter from his pocket. It was soiled and crumpled, and Julian thought it must have been written a long time, and that the gentleman had carried it constantly about his person, waiting for an opportunity to give it to some one. The words written on the outside were:

“To any good Christian into whose hands this letter may come.”

“That means me,” thought the boy. “That poor gentleman is in great trouble, I know, and I am Christian enough to help him out of it if I can.”

He opened the letter, little dreaming what a surprise was in store for him, and looked at the signature to see who the writer was. He looked, and the blood went rushing back upon his heart, leaving his face ghastly pale. He rubbed his eyes, held the letter closer to the candle, and slowly read aloud the words:

“Yours, in dire distress, Samuel Mortimer,

“Late Major of the Army of the United States.”

“It is from my father!” gasped Julian, sinking helplessly back into his chair.

“Is it? Then give it to me,” said a stern voice close at his elbow.

A hand suddenly appeared from behind his chair, and clutching the letter, attempted to snatch it from his grasp, but the boy’s fingers closed upon it with a most determined grip. Thinking of the emigrant, he started up with a cry of alarm to find himself confronted by Uncle Reginald, whose face was as black as a thunder-cloud.

CHAPTER XXV
HOW IT RESULTED

WHEN PEDRO took charge of Julian’s horse he did not lead him directly to the stable, but to the back part of the house, where he left him until he could run into the kitchen and procure another lantern. When he came out again he made a thorough examination of the animal, and having at last satisfied himself that he made no mistake, he ran into the house and pounded loudly upon the door of Uncle Reginald’s bed-room. The summons quickly brought that gentleman to his feet, and when the numerous bolts and locks had been undone, Pedro pushed open the door and entered without ceremony. The excitement and alarm depicted upon his features must have been contagious, for no sooner did Mr. Mortimer glance at his face than his own assumed a very anxious look.

“Did Julian ride Snowdrop away this morning, or did I dream it?” asked Pedro, before he was fairly inside the door.

“You did not dream it,” was the reply. “He did. Why do you ask the question?”

“Because here’s the very mischief to pay. I told you just how it would be if you turned that boy loose to run about the country like a wild colt. I shouldn’t be surprised if your little game was brought to an end in less than twenty-four hours.”

“What do you mean?” cried Uncle Reginald in alarm. “Speak out plainly.”

“I mean that if Julian rode Snowdrop away he has brought Bob back – that’s what I mean.”

Pedro’s employer was utterly confounded by this intelligence. His under jaw dropped down, and he looked at his companion without saying a word.

“It is the truth?” continued the Mexican. “Now where did he leave Snowdrop, and where did he get Bob? Either at Smirker’s or at the other place; and if he has been there, it proves something.”

“It does, indeed,” cried Reginald Mortimer, turning white to the lips. “It proves that some of my trusted men have turned against me; for he could never have gained admittance to either place except through treachery. I must talk to him, and see if he has learned anything he ought not to know.”

Uncle Reginald threw on his clothes with all possible haste, and hurried along the hall to Julian’s room. The door opened when he turned the knob, and entering without attracting the boy’s attention, he found him in the act of reading a letter. When Uncle Reginald saw the letter all his worst suspicions were confirmed. He knew where Julian had been, and he knew, too, by whom the missive had been written, and what it contained. Approaching the boy’s chair with a cat-like tread, he leaned over his shoulder and made an attempt to take the paper out of his hand; but Julian detected the move in time to defeat it. He sprung to his feet, and for a moment the two stood holding the letter between them, and glaring at one another like wild beasts at bay. Uncle Reginald was astonished at the look of defiance and determination he saw in the eyes that were fastened upon him. It taught him something of the spirit of the youth with whom he had to deal.

“Julian,” said he, in a tone of voice which he intended should frighten the boy into obedience to his commands, “I have a good deal to say to you; but, in the first place, give me that letter.”

“I would as readily give you my life,” was the prompt reply.

“Let go, I tell you,” said Uncle Reginald, in a still sterner voice, making a vain effort to unclasp the sinewy fingers that were closed upon the letter.

“Let go yourself. It is from my father. I have more right to it than you have, and I will not let go.

“I am your guardian, Julian, and have the right to control you, as you will quickly learn to your cost, if you do not obey me.”

“I don’t care if you are the King of the Sandwich Islands, you shan’t have this letter. I don’t believe you are my guardian. You have done nothing but tell me one falsehood after another ever since I have been here. You said my father was dead, and he isn’t. He is alive, and I have seen him – seen him, too, in prison and chained to the floor. You say you are my uncle, and you are not. You have no more right to the name you bear than your Mexican servant has – not a bit.”

“Who told you all this?” asked Uncle Reginald, making a strong effort to keep back the tempest of passion which was almost ready to break forth.

“Your man Smirker. I am going to have him arrested as soon as I can go to the fort. He killed a miner and stole his money; he told me so.”

“He told you so!” repeated Reginald Mortimer.

“Yes. He mistook me for a rascally accomplice of his – White-horse Fred.”

“Did Smirker introduce you into Hale’s rancho – I mean the place where you saw this prisoner?”

“No. The horse he gave me in exchange for mine introduced me there.”

“Well, go on. What else do you know?”

“I know you had better let go this letter instantly; for if you don’t – ”

Julian finished the sentence by placing his hand upon the butt of his revolver; but before he could draw it from his belt Reginald Mortimer released his hold upon the letter, and bounding forward, seized the boy by the throat, and attempted to throw him to the floor.

Julian was neither surprised nor frightened. He retained his presence of mind. His first thought was not of defense but of the letter; and having secured that by thrusting it into his bosom he was ready for the struggle. How the contest would have ended if he had been left to himself it is hard to tell; but help was close at hand. The hangings at the foot of the bed were thrust cautiously aside, and a pair of eyes appeared and looked into the room. They watched the combatants a moment and then disappeared, and shortly afterward the hangings were again raised and three figures sprung from behind them. The foremost was Silas Roper; close at his heels followed the strange horseman whom Julian had met at Smirker’s cabin; and the rear was brought up by the feeble old man, who, by simply walking across the cellar the night before, had saved our hero from being carried away captive by Richard Mortimer.

At this moment the door through which Uncle Reginald had entered was cautiously opened, and another head was thrust into the room. It was the head of Pedro, the Mexican, who, after just one glance at what was going on inside the apartment, drew back out of sight.

“The jig is danced at last,” said he to himself, as he ran along the hall, “and those of us who are found in these parts in the morning will be called upon to settle with the fiddler. It is nothing more than I expected, but I know how to block this little game.”

Pedro went straight to the stable, led out the horse Julian had brought there a short time before, and springing upon his back, rode off toward the mountains.

Silas and his friends had come into that room on business, and their actions indicated that they were disposed to waste no time in carrying it out. The trapper walked straight up to Reginald Mortimer, and seizing him by the collar and tearing his hand from the boy’s throat, threw him at full length on the floor. Julian staggered to his feet as soon as he was relieved of the weight of his antagonist, to find a pair of strong arms clasped about his neck, and to hear himself addressed in terms of endearment, to which he listened like one in a dream. Then he felt himself forced into a chair, and knew that Silas came up and shook hands with him, and that he was followed by the feeble old man, who said something that was doubtless intended for a welcome; but Julian’s mind was in such a whirl of excitement that he could not understand a word he uttered.

“What’s the matter with you, anyhow?” asked White-horse Fred, bringing his hand down upon Julian’s shoulder with a force that fairly made the boy’s teeth rattle. “Can’t you say you are glad to see me, or are you above owning a brother who belongs to a band of robbers?”

“Let me collect my thoughts a little, and then I will talk to you,” replied Julian. “I can’t quite understand all this.”

“And there’s another as much in the dark as you are,” said Fred, pointing to Reginald Mortimer. “You perhaps imagine you are dreaming, and I know he wishes he was, don’t you, captain? There are two of us here whom you never expected to see in the flesh again; are there not? Take your time, Julian, and think the matter over, and while you are about it I will look around and pack up a few articles that may be of use to you, for we are going to find new quarters for you now.”

Julian settled back in a chair and gazed long and earnestly at all the persons in the room – at the old Mexican who stood at his side leaning upon his staff; at Silas, sitting upon the bed and smiling complacently at him as if he enjoyed his bewilderment; at Reginald Mortimer, lying bound and helpless on the floor, and who, like Julian, was almost overwhelmed with astonishment; and then at his brother, who was skipping about the room, overhauling the bureau, wardrobe and book-case, now and then depositing some articles which he took from them upon a blanket he had spread on the floor.

“My brother!” said Julian aloud. “How strangely it sounds.”

“Doesn’t it!” replied Fred, pausing in his work and looking over his shoulder at Julian. “But it is the truth. I don’t know what you think about it, but I am delighted to claim the relationship. A brother is something worth having out here in this wilderness, I tell you.”

“What is your name?” asked Julian.

“Fred – White-horse Fred, if it suits you better – sworn agent for a band of outlaws and rascals of which our worthy uncle here is the acknowledged leader. Any objections to my company?”

“Then you are not dead?”

“Do I look like it?”

“And you are not Julian Mortimer?”

“By no means. How could I be when you are that lucky individual?”

“Then why did you tell Smirker so?”

“To help you out of a scrape,” replied Fred, picking up the bundle he had made and throwing it over his shoulder. “But I say, Julian,” he added, a shade of anxiety overspreading his merry countenance, “of course you are not aware of the fact, but you have jeopardized the life of one who is very dear to both of us by getting into this fuss with Uncle Reginald.”

“How?” asked Julian.

“Why, our father has been a prisoner in the hands of the band of which I am a member for eight years, and if anything happens to the captain – Uncle Reginald – his jailors have orders to shoot him as soon as word comes to their ears.”

“The news is on the way to them now,” said the robber chief, with savage emphasis, “and he will be shot before daylight. Pedro is already on his road to the mountains.”

“Who sent him?” demanded White-horse Fred.

“I expect he sent himself,” cried Julian, starting from his chair in great excitement. “I saw him put his head in at the door just as you came in. We must be off at once.”

“But where will we go, and what shall we do?” asked Fred. “We don’t know where father is; if we did, we should have released him before this time.”

“Well, I know where he is, and I have seen him. More than that, I’ve got a letter from him.”

“Hold hard thar!” exclaimed Silas, as Julian drew the letter from his pocket, and moved nearer the candle. “Don’t read a word of it here, for thar’s no knowin’ how many pairs of ears thar may be listenin’ to it. Come with us, an’ we will talk this matter over.”

Julian had never seen three persons more excited than the trapper and his companions were over the announcement he had just made. It did not take the form of words, but showed itself in their countenances, and in their hurried, nervous actions. They prepared to leave the room at once. Silas raised the captive robber to his shoulder as if he had been a sack of flour, while the old Mexican skipped before him like a boy of sixteen, and held up the hangings which concealed the entrance to the secret passage-way. White-horse Fred, who had looked into the muzzle of Smirker’s revolver without flinching or even changing color, was pale enough now, and the hand with which he extended Julian’s sombrero to him now trembled like a leaf. They left the room without saying a word, and followed Silas, who led the way along the passage to the cellar, where they found a man with a lantern waiting for them. It was Romez, the hostler. He was greatly astonished to see the trapper carrying Reginald Mortimer on his shoulder, but without asking any questions he turned and mounted a ladder which rested against the wall of the cellar.

While Julian was going up he had leisure to make an examination of the store-house. It was a natural cave in the mountain, and seemed to have no roof – at least there was none that could be seen. The wall against which the ladder was placed arose for the height of thirty feet, as smooth and perpendicular as if it had been fashioned by the hand of man, and terminated in a broad, level platform. When the parties stepped upon this platform they paused until Romez had drawn up the ladder, and then mounted to a second ledge of rock higher up the cavern. This ladder was also drawn up, and the journey resumed along a narrow, slippery path, that finally ended in a dark opening, which proved to be the mouth of a smaller cave.

The interior of this cavern presented a scene which filled Julian with astonishment. Almost the first object his eyes rested upon was Smirker’s burly form stretched out on a little pallet in one corner. He was securely bound, and did not look much now like the reckless desperado he had appeared when Julian first met him in his cabin. But the presence of this man did not occasion him so much astonishment as the sight of the gold that was scattered about the room. He saw it there in all shapes – in dust, nuggets, quartz and coin. It was stowed away in chests, tied up in little bags, and packed upon shelves and piled in corners as if it had been merchandise of some description. Julian had never dreamed that all the gold mines of California could produce as much of the precious metal as he saw collected in that one small room. The cave was also used as a receptacle for various odds and ends – rifles, revolvers, muskets, hunting-knives, saddles and bridles. As Julian glanced about him he told himself that he knew now what had become of some of the articles Uncle Reginald had missed from his rancho.

“During your travels to-day did you hear Smirker or anybody else say anything about some hidden treasure which he hoped to handle some day?” asked White-horse Fred.

Julian replied that he did.

“Well, here it is. This is the cause of all our trouble. If it hadn’t been for these yellow boys we might have been a united, happy family to-day.”

“I don’t reckon it’ll be very long afore we’re all together agin like we used to be,” said Silas, as he deposited his prisoner upon the pallet beside the other. “If the major is where we can get at him we’ll have him out this very night. How did you find him, Julian?”

“Smirker gave me a horse in exchange for mine that took me straight to his prison,” replied the boy. And then he went on to relate, in a few rapid words, how his curiosity had led him to walk about the rancho, and that while on his way to the kitchen he had found the prisoner. He described, too, how narrowly he had escaped discovery by the Mexican when he came in to remove the supper dishes, and told what had passed between Uncle Reginald and himself prior to the arrival of Silas and his friends.

“You are a lucky fellow, Julian,” said White-horse Fred, when he had finished his story. “I have been making regular daily journeys to that rancho for more than a year, and never saw or heard anything to lead me to suspect that affairs were not all right there. I used to wonder why there were four men at that station and only one, or at the most two, at the others, and have thought it strange that they should always be so particular to hurry me away. No matter how bad the weather was they wouldn’t let me stay all night. But what is to be done, Silas? Pedro has gone to the mountains to warn Hale and his crowd, and if he gets there before we do, the discovery Julian has made will be of no value to us.”

“‘Tain’t wuth while to do anything in a hurry,” replied the trapper. “Let’s hear what’s in that letter.”

Julian drew the letter from his pocket, and taking his stand near the lantern, began reading it aloud.

We do not reproduce it because its contents have no bearing upon our story. It was just such a letter as any one of us would have tried to write had we been placed in Major Mortimer’s situation. It described some events that happened long years before, and which we shall presently hear from the lips of White-horse Fred, and pleaded for assistance in language that would have wrung tears of pity from any but a savage.