IF THERE is anything better calculated than another to put one at peace with himself and all the world, it is a brisk gallop on a good horse of a fine summer’s morning. It is a specific for melancholy. When Julian was safe outside the gloomy walls of the rancho, and felt himself being borne through the air with the speed of a bird on the wing, his spirits rose wonderfully, and in the exuberance of his glee he swung his sombrero about his head, and gave utterance to a yell almost as loud and unearthly as any he had heard uttered by the savages the night before. The spirited mare responded to the yell with a fresh burst of speed, and her rider, giving her a free rein, was carried at a rapid rate through the valley in which his uncle’s rancho was located, through the willows that skirted the base of the mountain, and finally found himself in a rocky defile which wound about among the cliffs. Here the mare voluntarily slackened her pace to a walk, and Julian wiped his flushed face with his handkerchief and looked about him. He could see nothing but rocks. They hemmed him in on all sides, and towered above his head until their tops seemed to pierce the clouds.

“I don’t know why I ever allowed myself to be brought in here,” thought the boy, “or why the horse should leave a level path to follow so miserable a road as this. Perhaps Uncle Reginald purchased her of some miner or settler up here in the mountains, and she thinks she is on her way home. At any rate she seems to know where she is going, and so long as she doesn’t lose me I don’t care where she carries me. I hope I shall find some one to talk to. Since uncle will not tell me anything about myself, I must learn what I want to know from other sources. Halloo!”

This exclamation was called forth by an unexpected sight that greeted his eyes. As he came suddenly around an abrupt bend in the path, he found before him a long, low, narrow cabin, built snugly under a beetling cliff which hung threateningly over the gorge. Two well-beaten paths appeared at this point; one leading to the doors of the building, and the other running on down the gorge. The mare, which seemed perfectly familiar with the locality, quickened her pace at once, and before Julian could gather up the reins to check her, she had turned into the first mentioned path, and galloping up to one of the doors stopped as if waiting for her rider to dismount. After looking all about him, without discovering any one, Julian began to take a survey of the premises.

There were two doors in the house, both opening out on the path. A short examination of the ground in front of the one at which his horse had stopped, showed him that it led into a stable; while the other, no doubt, opened into the living-room, for there was a rough bench beside it for the accommodation of loungers. While Julian was wondering by whom and for what purpose the house had been erected in that remote and lonely spot, his attention was attracted by the movements of his horse, which, after pricking up her ears and looking intently at the door in front of her, as if expecting the arrival of some one, began pawing the ground impatiently.

“She thinks there ought to be somebody here,” thought Julian. “And there certainly is something in the stable,” he added, after listening a moment, “for I can hear the stamping of horses. Halloo! the house!”

Julian waited for a reply, and listened for some movement in the cabin which would tell him that his call had been heard; but the only response he received was the echo of his own voice thrown back from the cliffs. This satisfied him that the owner of the premises was absent; and picking up his reins, he was on the point of turning back toward the valley, when, by the merest accident, he discovered something that he might have seen before if he had made good use of his eyes. It was a small window close under the eaves of the house, which was filled by the muzzle of a revolver and a pair of gleaming eyes looking straight at him.

Too astonished to speak, the boy sat in his saddle wondering what was going to happen now, and presently saw the six-shooter disappear and the eyes approach closer to the opening. A moment afterward a shaggy head, crowned by a broad-brimmed hat, was thrust slowly out, and a masculine face, that was by no means handsome or prepossessing, was exposed to his view.

“It’s you after all, hain’t it?” growled a deep voice, in no very amiable tones.

“Yes,” replied Julian, “it is I. But I heartily wish it was somebody else,” he added, mentally.

“Why in tarnation didn’t you whistle? I didn’t know you in them new clothes, and I might have put a ball into you just as easy as not. I’ll be out in a jiffy.”

As the man said this he drew in his head and closed the window. Julian was glad indeed when his villainous face disappeared, and trembled when he reflected that perhaps that revolver had been leveled at his head, and those evil eyes fastened upon him ever since he arrived within sight of the cabin, and he had never suspected it. He saw at once that he had placed himself in a dangerous position. One of two things was certain. The owner of the rancho was either hiding from pursuit, or else he was engaged in some unlawful business. If he were an honest man he would not act so strangely.

“But how does it happen that he recognizes me?” Julian asked himself. “Does he know who I am, or does he take me for somebody else? If he knows that I am Julian Mortimer, he may be a man of the Sanders stamp who has been hired to put me out of Dick’s way. If he thinks that I am an acquaintance of his, or an accomplice, he will certainly discover his mistake as soon as he has a fair view of my face, and then what will he do to me? I think I had better not wait for him.”

As quick as thought Julian wheeled his mare and touched her with his spurs; but the animal, knowing probably that good care and plenty of corn awaited her entry into the stable which she regarded as her home, responded very reluctantly. Before she had made many bounds the door of the stable was jerked open, and a voice called out in surprised and indignant tones:

“Halt! halt! I say, on the instant, or you’re a dead man!”

Julian knew that the speaker was in earnest, for his command was followed by the click of the lock of his revolver; but he would have kept on in spite of his fear of the bullets had not his horse, which doubtless recognized the voice, came to a sudden stand-still. Julian looked back and saw that the man’s pistol was pointed straight at his breast.

“If you ain’t a little ahead of all the fools I ever saw in all my born days my name ain’t Bob Smirker, and never was,” exclaimed the owner of the rancho fiercely. “That’s the second time I have come within an inch of shooting you. Come back here now, and let’s have no more fooling.”

Julian, not daring to attempt to continue his retreat on his unwilling steed, was compelled to obey. Calling all his courage to his aid, he turned about and rode back to the cabin. Smirker looked sharply at him as he came up, but Julian met his gaze without flinching, and even succeeded in calling a smile to his face. Believing that he had nothing to gain by deception, he began to explain who he was and how he came to be there; but the man interrupted him, and Julian was afterward glad that he had done so.

“I hope I am not intruding, sir,” he began. “I was out for a breath of fresh air – ”

“Oh, hush your nonsense!” cried the owner of the rancho angrily. “You’re always ’out for a breath of fresh air’ when you are doing something you’ve no business to do. That was what you said to me on the day you found my secret passage-way which leads down from the top of the cliff. I didn’t want anybody but myself to know about that passage-way, and when I found that you had discovered it I was mad enough to shoot you. You’re eternally up to some foolishness, and it’s the greatest wonder in the world you haven’t been killed a thousand times. Everybody says so. Now, Fred, if you should come here every hour in the day for the next ten years, don’t ever ride up without giving the signal, and don’t try to run away when I open the door. This ain’t boy’s play we’re at, as you would soon find out if them soldiers or some of the settlers should get hold of you. You hadn’t ought to done it, ’cause I didn’t know you in that Mexican rig. Come in. I’ve got something for you.”

While the man was speaking he was looking squarely into Julian’s face, and the latter was waiting in an agony of suspense to see what he would do when he discovered that he had mistaken the identity of his visitor. But Smirker did not seem to think he had made a mistake. Having delivered his lecture and thus worked off a little of his indignation, he returned his revolver to his belt and led the way into the stable, closely followed by Julian’s horse, which moved after him without waiting for the word from her rider. Julian drew a long breath of relief, and told himself that the danger for the present was past. The difficulty now was to personate the boy whom Smirker believed him to be.

While his companion lingered to fasten the door, Julian dismounted and ran his eye about the stable, which was lighted by a lantern suspended from one of the beams. It was much larger than it appeared on the outside, showing that it extended under the cliff. It was provided with stalls for a dozen horses, three of which had occupants. The mare being left to herself, walked into one of the stalls and immediately began munching some corn which had doubtless been placed there for her.

“Now, then,” said Smirker, when he had fastened the door, “where is it? Hand it out here.”

“Where is what?” asked the boy.

“Why, you know. Didn’t you bring it?”

“No,” replied Julian, who of course had not the slightest idea what the man meant.

“Didn’t they say anything about it?” asked Smirker, who appeared to be very much disappointed as well as angry.

“Not a word.”

“Well, now, this way of doing business don’t suit me, and you may tell ’em that I said so. I run just as much risk here as them that steals the swag – every bit; ’cause how do I know but them soldiers will be down on me when I ain’t looking for them? Looks like they wanted to swindle me out of my share. But, after all, they ain’t ahead of me much, ’cause I – you won’t blow on me, Fred?”

“Of course not,” replied Julian.

“I’ve got a little plunder here that I’m going to keep till they come down with the yellow boys they owe me.”

“What sort of plunder?”

“Why, nuggets and gold-dust – twenty-five hundred dollars’ worth. You see, I was down in the mines the other day, and heard of a man who had struck a lead and was going home that very day. But he didn’t go.”

“Why not?” asked the boy, when Smirker paused.

“‘Cause I knocked him on the head – that’s why. I’ve got the gold hid away safe. Do you want to go back now, or will you stay awhile? I am lonesome here all by myself.”

“I had better go now,” replied Julian, who was eager to escape from the man’s presence at the earliest possible moment. “I am in something of a hurry.”

Smirker struck up a lively whistle, and taking a bridle down from a pin beside the door, went into one of the stalls and brought out a horse which looked enough like Snowdrop to have been her brother. He was the same color, the same size, and just as stylish and spirited. Julian knew that he was expected to ride this horse away and leave his own steed in the care of the man; and, although he did not quite like the arrangement, he consoled himself with the thought that if he never saw Snowdrop again he would lose nothing by the exchange.

“You ride good horses, Fred,” said Smirker, as he put Julian’s saddle on the horse he had just brought out, “but you had better take my advice and get others of a different color. White horses don’t do for such business as this, ’cause they show too plain of nights; and any one who happens to pass you on the road will remember of having seen you. There are plenty of better horses in the world, and the one I am going to send with you is one of them.”

Smirker having by this time saddled and bridled the white nag, went into a second stall and brought out a large bay horse which he walked up and down the stable for Julian’s inspection. The moment the boy’s eyes rested on him he became reconciled to the loss of his mare, and even eager to part with her, if by so doing he could gain possession of this magnificent animal. If his speed and endurance were equal to his beauty, he was certainly a horse worth having.

“He’s lightning on wheels,” declared Smirker, as he slipped a bridle over the bay’s head, “and perhaps he will give you as much as you want to do to lead him. He came from Fort Stoughton, and was stolen from the major, who had just brought him from the States. There you are,” he added, waving his hand toward the horses, intimating by the gesture that Julian was at liberty to take charge of them as soon as he pleased. “I wish you a pleasant journey. You have been very lucky so far, and I hope your good fortune will continue.”

The boy was prompt to take advantage of the permission thus given him to leave the cabin. He quickly mounted the white horse, inquiring as he did so:

“Any word to send to anybody?”

“Yes, there is,” replied Smirker, “and I came near forgetting it. You can tell the fellows below that the captain’s cub has got back at last.”

“What cub?”

“Why, Julian; the one he’s been looking for so long. We’ll finger some of that money and find out where that hidden gold mine is now.”

“Does this – this cub know where it is?”

“No, but Silas Roper does. Sanders was here this morning and told me the whole secret.”

“The captain hasn’t got hold of Silas, has he?”

“Not yet, but he will have him before long. It is a little the queerest thing I ever heard of, this plan of the captain’s is,” continued Smirker, placing one hand on the horn of Julian’s saddle, and settling into an easy position against the side of the horse as if he had a long story to tell, “and it shows what a head he’s got on his shoulders, and what education will do for a man. You see – but in the first place you know that he is no more of a Mortimer than I am?”

Julian, not daring to trust himself to speak, nodded his head, pulled out his handkerchief ostensibly for the purpose of wiping his forehead, but really to conceal the sudden pallor which he knew overspread his face, and the man went on:

“The captain’s playing a deep game, and he’s going to succeed in it, too. He’s making a decoy duck of Julian – using him to keep Silas Roper about here until he can catch him; and when he once gets hold of him and finds out where the money and the nuggets are, he’ll make short work with both of them.”

What else Smirker was about to say Julian never knew, for an unexpected interruption occurred at that moment. A shrill whistle, sounding from some point close at hand, echoed through the gorge. It produced a strange effect upon Julian’s companion, for he turned as pale as death, and the hand which he placed upon the butt of his revolver trembled visibly. He stood motionless until the whistle was repeated, and then hurried across the floor and mounting a short ladder that leaned against the wall of the stable, opened the window before spoken of.

No sooner had he looked out than he sprung to the ground again, and with a volley of oaths that made Julian’s blood run cold, strode up to him and seized him by the collar.

“Look here, my cub,” he hissed, between his clenched teeth, “I suspected you all along. There ain’t two White-horse Freds in this country, and I know it. Who are you? Speak quick!”

As he said this he pulled his revolver from his belt and leveled it at Julian’s head.

CHAPTER XXI
WHITE-HORSE FRED

JULIAN, who had been congratulating himself upon the ease with which he was about to extricate himself from his perilous situation, was dismayed at this turn of events. He comprehended the matter perfectly. White-horse Fred, so called probably from the color of the animals he rode, was a member of a band of horse thieves and robbers, and it was his business to assist in moving the plunder from one point to another. The man Smirker belonged to the same organization, and it was his duty to receive and care for the booty until such time as the authorized agents of the band called for it. He had probably been on the lookout for his confederate when Julian arrived.

“But why didn’t he know that I wasn’t White-horse Fred as soon as he looked into my face?” thought the boy, so nearly overcome with terror that he did not hear the words that had been addressed to him. “And how does it happen that I was riding Fred’s horse? How did my uncle come by him? I can’t understand it?”

“Speak quick!” repeated Smirker, savagely, “and don’t try to draw no weapons. Who are you?”

He pulled back the hammer of his pistol with the thumb of his right hand as he spoke, and shifting his left from Julian’s collar to the butt of the revolver which the boy was on the point of pulling from his belt.

“Who should I be?” returned Julian boldly. “If I’ve no business here how came I by that horse I brought you? That’s what I’d like to know.”

“And if that fellow out there ain’t White-horse Fred how did he give Fred’s whistle so exact, and how did he come by Fred’s clothes? That’s what I’d like to know.”

It was plain, both from Smirker’s tone and manner, that he began to believe that he had been a little too hasty. He let go Julian’s pistol, lowered the hammer of his own weapon, and stood gazing at our hero with an expression of great bewilderment on his face.

“Wouldn’t it be a good plan to ask him?” suggested Julian.

Smirker thought it would. He jerked open the door of the stable, and Julian, who was on the point of dashing his spurs into his horse and riding over the robber and making good his escape, found his way blocked up by a dashing young fellow, who rode gayly into the stable, but stopped short on discovering Julian, and checked the words of greeting that arose to his lips. For fully a minute no one spoke. The two boys sat on their horses staring at one another, and Smirker, after closing and locking the door, took his stand between them, looking first at the new-comer and then at Julian, apparently unable to come to any decision concerning them.

The strange equestrian was a youth about Julian’s age and size, only a little more robust, and had the two been dressed alike it would have been a matter of some difficulty for any one to tell them apart. Julian looked as if he had just come out of a lady’s bandbox, while the new-comer seemed to have bestowed but little care upon his toilet that morning. His dress consisted of a red flannel shirt, open at the throat and worn without a coat, coarse trowsers, which were thrust into a pair of high-top boots, and a broad-brimmed hat. A belt encircled his waist, supporting a knife on one side and a revolver on the other. He rode a small Indian pony, which, judging by its appearance, had been driven long and rapidly.

“Now, then,” said Smirker, who was the first to recover the use of his tongue, “one of you two fellows has got himself in the worst kind of a scrape – one that he will never get out of alive. Which is White-horse Fred?”

Julian had shown a tolerably bold front as long as a hope of escape remained, but now that he found the door of the stable locked upon him, and himself completely at the mercy of the two robbers, his courage gave way utterly, and he could not have made an intelligent reply to Smirker’s question even if he had had anything to say.

The new-comer was the genuine White-horse Fred – there could be no doubt about that, for he had given the signal when he approached the cabin, and more than that, Smirker had recognized him by the clothes he wore.

Giving himself up for lost, Julian waited almost impatiently for the strange horseman to speak, believing that the opening of his lips would be the signal for his own death. What, then, was his amazement when he heard the boy exclaim:

“White-horse Fred! If there is any one here that goes by that name, it must be you or that young gentleman over there.”

“Then you ain’t him!” said Smirker, growing more and more perplexed.

“No. Do I look like him!”

“You sartinly do, and act like him. What were you whistling out there for?”

“Oh, just to hear the echo.”

“And what made you come in here?”

“Because you opened the door.”

“You talk like White-horse Fred, too. But if you hain’t him you’re where you’ve got no business to be, and you’ll never get away, nuther.”

Smirker raised his revolver and pointed it at the boy’s breast. Julian, faint with terror, turned away his head and held his breath in suspense; but the stranger never flinched so much as a hair’s breadth.

“Don’t do anything rash,” said he calmly. “I have told you who I am not, and now you had better ask me who I am.”

“I don’t care who you are. You’re a dead man.”

“And you will be another in less than an hour,” replied the boy, without the least sign of alarm. “My Uncle Reginald Mortimer’s servant is close behind me. He will know that I came in here, and if I don’t go out again he will also know what has become of me.”

Smirker lowered his revolver, and falling back a step or two, stared blankly at the speaker, and then at our hero. The astonishment his face exhibited was fully reflected in Julian’s. The latter’s terror had all given way to surprise. He forgot Smirker and his revolver, the danger of his situation, and every thing else except the last few words the stranger had uttered: “My Uncle Reginald Mortimer.” Who was this fellow who was going about claiming Julian’s relative as his own?

“You have concluded not to shoot me, haven’t you?” asked the boy, whose coolness and courage were wonderful to behold.

“Who are you?” demanded Smirker.

“My name is Julian Mortimer. I am a stranger here, having but just arrived from the States. I came out this morning to take a ride, and it seems I have got into a place where I am not wanted. I beg pardon for my intrusion, and will thank you to open that door and let me out.”

“Julian Mortimer!” exclaimed Smirker.

“Julian Mortimer!” echoed the owner of that name, in a scarcely audible voice.

If our hero had been surprised before, he was doubly so now. He could scarcely believe that he had heard aright. If this stranger was Julian Mortimer, who in the world was he, Julian asked himself. Were there two boys of that name in existence, and was Uncle Reginald the guardian of both, and holding in his hands a valuable property to be surrendered to them when they reached their majority?

He rubbed his eyes to make sure he was not dreaming, and looked hard at the stranger, who seemed not a little astonished at the sensation he had created.

As for Smirker, he was as nearly beside himself as a sane man could well be; and, what was very singular, he seemed all of a sudden to have discovered some reason for wishing to keep as far away from Julian as possible, for he backed into one of the stables and stood eying him like a caged hyena.

“Well, what of it?” said the stranger. “Perhaps you don’t believe what I told you. If it is necessary that I should furnish proof, I can do so. Open the door and let me out.”

“You spoke that name just in time,” said Smirker fiercely, “for in a minute more you would have been done for. If you are really the captain’s cub, you are worth too much to us to be put out of the way yet awhile. But not much I won’t let you out-doors. Your story may be true, and it may not. I am going to keep you here till I can send to headquarters and find out.”

“All right,” replied the boy, swinging himself from his saddle and gazing about the stable as if everything he saw in it was full of interest to him. “I am easily suited. I’d as soon stay here an hour or two as not. I never was in a house like this before. What makes you call ’em all ranchos?”

“Look a here,” added Smirker, turning to our hero. “If this fellow is Julian Mortimer, who are you?”

“Are you not yet satisfied that I am White-horse Fred?” asked Julian in reply. “Perhaps you want me to prove it.”

Julian’s terror had all passed away now, and he was in his right mind again. There was still a chance of escape. Although he had not the remotest idea who the new-comer was, he had heard and seen enough to satisfy him that he was a stranger in that wilderness as well as himself, and that he was not White-horse Fred, consequently he ran no risk in continuing to personate the character he had been compelled to assume. Indeed, it was the only thing he could do. He was impatient to be off, too, for the real White-horse Fred might arrive at any moment, and then something would certainly happen.

“There’s a mystery at the bottom of this, and I’ll bet a horse on it,” said Smirker, shaking his fists in the air, and striding up and down the stable. “I know you are White-horse Fred,” he added, addressing himself to our hero, “but – but – what’s the rest of your name? Fred what?”

“Fred nothing. That’s all the name I’ve got. I never had any other.”

“Well, you have got another, and if it is the one I think it is, I don’t see how in the world you come to be riding about here. You had ought to be at the bottom of the lake. I’ll see the fellows below this very night, and have a new runner put on this route, or I’ll give up the station. I ain’t a going to have no such fellow as you coming about me. You can’t get out of here any too sudden.”

This speech was all Greek to Julian, except the last sentence. That he understood perfectly, and was quite ready to act upon the suggestion it contained. The moment Smirker opened the door of the stable he dashed the spurs into his horse, which sprung forward like an arrow from a bow, and tore down the path with the speed of the wind, the bay following. In a few seconds he was out of sight.

Scarcely waiting for Julian to get fairly out of the stable, Smirker slammed the door and locked it, and turning fiercely upon his new prisoner disarmed him by jerking off the belt which contained his knife and revolver. Having thus put it out of the boy’s power to do any mischief, Smirker suddenly seemed to become unconscious of his presence. He had much to think about, and for the next quarter of an hour he gave himself up entirely to his reflections, never once casting a single glance toward his companion. He paced up and down the stable with long strides, shaking his head and muttering, and trying in vain to find some explanation for the strange, and to him bewildering, incidents that had just occurred. They were more than bewildering – they were absolutely terrifying, as the expression on his face and his whole bearing and manner abundantly proved. He walked with a very unsteady step, his burly frame trembled like an oak in a storm, and now and then he raised his hand to dash away the perspiration which stood on his forehead like drops of rain.

The prisoner was as cool and collected as ever. Being left to himself, he strolled carelessly about the stable, examining every object in it, and occasionally directing his gaze toward the open door leading from the stable into the living-room of the cabin. Finally he leaned against one of the stalls, and when Smirker’s back was turned hastily pulled something from his pocket and tossed it into the manger – something that gave out a ringing, metallic sound as it fell. The noise, slight as it was, caught the man’s ear and aroused him from his reverie. He turned and confronted his prisoner at once.

“What you doing there?” he demanded.

“Nothing at all,” was the reply. “I am waiting as patiently as I can for you to explain why you have robbed me of my weapons, and are keeping me here. I assure you that my Uncle Reginald will have something to say to you about this before you are many hours older.”

“What you doing there?” repeated Smirker fiercely; “I heard something chink.”

“Perhaps it was my persuaders,” said the boy, lifting his boot and exhibiting a huge Mexican spur, ornamented with little silver bells, which tinkled musically as he moved his feet about.

“P’raps it was, and p’raps most likely it wasn’t. Haven’t I lived long enough to tell the difference between the rattling of spurs and the jingling of money? I have, I bet you. I’ll soon find out what you’ve been up to.”

Smirker walked into the stall in front of which the boy was standing, and then for the first time the prisoner began to show signs of anxiety. He closely watched the man’s movements, and cast frequent and impatient glances toward the door of the living-room, as if he were expecting and earnestly desiring the arrival of some one.

Smirker was in the stall but a few moments, and when he came out he carried in his hand a small canvas bag, at the sight of which the prisoner turned white with terror. Taking his stand under the lantern, Smirker untied the string with which the bag was fastened; but no sooner did his eyes fall upon its contents than he dropped it as if it had been a coal of fire, and his face grew livid with rage and alarm.

“Betrayed!” he roared, stamping his feet furiously upon the ground, and flourishing his fists in the air. “And, fool that I was, I might have known it! I suspected it from the beginning.”

“What’s the matter?” asked the boy, and his voice was as firm and steady as ever.

“What’s the matter?” shrieked Smirker, driven almost insane by his intense passion. “Do you stand there and ask me what’s the matter? It’s the last question you will ever ask me, for you are as good as a dead man already. Didn’t I say that there was something at the bottom of all this? You are White-horse Fred – that bag proves it. It contains nuggets, and gold-dust, and money – my share of the swag which I have received and sent to the fellows below. I expected to get it from that other boy, and asked him for it; but of course he couldn’t give it to me, being an imposter. And I allowed him to go off scot free, and even told him some secrets that nobody outside the band ought to know. How long will it take him to ride to the fort and tell what he has seen and heard, and lead a squad of soldiers back here? And you helped him out in it – you, a sworn member of the band! Now, you shall tell me what you mean by acting as you have done. Speak in a hurry, or I’ll choke it out of you!”