Kitabı oku: «Julian Mortimer», sayfa 13
Smirker, howling out these words with a fierceness and energy which showed that he was terribly in earnest, advanced toward his prisoner in a low, crouching attitude, something like that a wild beast would assume when about to spring upon its prey.
The boy’s face was very pale, but he bravely stood his ground. Knowing that escape was impossible, he was prepared to fight desperately for his life.
“Will you tell me?” asked the robber, creeping forward with a slow, cat-like motion.
“I have nothing to tell,” replied the boy, “except this: I have friends close at hand, and they ought to be here now.”
“Then I will have this business over before they arrive.”
“Come on, and I will show you what a Mortimer is made of.”
Before the words of defiance had fairly left the boy’s lips, Smirker bounded forward, and the two closed in a death struggle.
CHAPTER XXII
THE SPECTERS OF THE CAVE
THE FIGHT was of longer duration and was much more desperate than one would suppose it could have been, considering the immense advantage which Smirker possessed over his wiry antagonist in weight and muscle; but of course it could end in but one way. White-horse Fred, bruised and exhausted, was borne to the ground at last, with the man’s knee on his breast and his brawny hand at his throat.
“Now let’s hear from you,” hissed Smirker. “Who was that fellow who came here and passed himself off for you, and why did you help him out in it? Speak, before I choke the life out of you.”
If Fred could have obeyed his reply would have been as defiant as ever; but the powerful grasp on his throat rendered articulation impossible.
“You won’t tell me?” demanded Smirker; “then take the reward of your treachery.”
The robber’s hand glided around his side to his belt, and when it came in sight again it brought with it a gleaming bowie-knife, which was raised in the air above the prisoner’s breast; but just as it was on the point of descending it was arrested as effectually as though the arm which wielded it had been turned into stone.
“Hold hard, thar!”
The words, uttered by a strange voice and spoken in a tone of stern command, rang through the stable with startling distinctness. Smirker raised his eyes and there, standing in the door to which Fred had so often directed his gaze, was a gigantic figure clad in buckskin, holding in his hands a long, heavy rifle, the muzzle of which was pointed straight at the robber’s head.
“Silas Roper!” gasped Fred’s antagonist.
“‘Tain’t nobody else, as you’ll find out mighty sudden if you move an eyelid,” was the reply. “Drop that we’pon an’ get up from thar.”
The command was no sooner uttered than it was obeyed by the trembling Smirker, who threw down his knife and slunk away like a whipped cur before the stalwart trapper, as he came striding into the stable, and retreating toward the nearest stall, held both his hands above his head in token of surrender.
“None of that ar, now,” said Silas, as he bent over the prostrate form of the boy. “Keep out in plain sight whar I can have an eye on you. Are you bad hurt, Fred? If you are, that feller’s signed his death-warrant.”
“No! no!” moaned the boy faintly. “Don’t touch him.”
Smirker was amazed to hear the one who had so narrowly escaped death at his hands interceding for him. It relieved him of all fear of bodily injury, and he straightway began to recover his composure; but he drew a step or two nearer to Fred’s side, thinking it best to keep as far as possible out of the reach of the giant, whom he knew had good cause to be at enmity with him.
“I shall be all right as soon as I have had time to recover the breath he choked out of me,” continued the latter. “Oh, Silas, I am so glad to see you! But why didn’t you come just a few minutes sooner. I have seen him. He was in this very stable.”
“Him!” repeated the trapper. “Who? Not Julian?”
“Yes, Julian. I didn’t think I should know him when I met him, but I did. I wanted to throw my arms around him and tell him that he was my brother, but Smirker was in the way. I am terribly disappointed in him, Silas. He is from the States, you know, and I expected to see a boy who hadn’t courage enough to face a sheep. But he’ll do.”
“Why, how come he here?” asked Silas in great astonishment.
“I haven’t the least idea. Make Smirker tell. He’ll do anything you ask him.”
“How was it?” demanded the trapper, turning to the owner of the cabin. “Tell nothing but the truth.”
Smirker was too completely cowed by the presence of the giant, with whose powers he had more than once been made fully acquainted, to fabricate a falsehood even if he had anything to gain by it. Not daring to disobey, or even to hesitate, he began, and in a faltering voice told the story of Julian’s visit to his cabin just as we have related it. He also described what had taken place after Fred’s arrival, but added that Silas must ask the boy to explain that, for it was something he could not comprehend.
“I can soon make it plain to you,” said White-horse Fred, now taking up the story. “You can’t imagine how surprised I was to find Julian here, and if Smirker had possessed any control over himself I should not have known what to do. But the way he looked and acted gave me a clew, and I saw through the whole thing as clearly as if it had been explained to me in words. Uncle Reginald, you know, happened to ride by old Antoine’s cabin the other day while I was absent, and seeing one of my horses, Snowdrop, there, suddenly conceived a violent passion for her and took possession of her without saying so much as ‘by your leave.’ I wondered what he intended to do with her and now I have found out. He gave her to my brother. Julian this morning thought he would take a ride and look over the country, and not knowing that the horse belonged to a band of robbers, gave her a loose rein and she brought him here. Finding that he had got himself into trouble, he acted upon some hint that Smirker gave him and passed himself off for me; and if I had not arrived just as I did, he would have got away without being suspected. To help him out of the difficulty, I told Smirker that my name was Julian Mortimer, and the blockhead believed it.”
“Thar ain’t nothing so very strange in that,” observed Silas. “No man on airth could tell you two apart if you was dressed alike.”
“But we were not. Smirker has seen me in these clothes a hundred times, I suppose, and I should think he ought to have recognized me. Now that I think of it, I ran something of a risk, didn’t I? Suppose that when I said that my name was Julian Mortimer, my brother had lost his courage and revealed himself? Wouldn’t I have been in a scrape? I depended entirely upon his presence of mind to carry me through, and I didn’t lose by it. But wasn’t he astonished, though? I thought he would tumble out of his saddle. But he behaved pretty well, considering that he is from the States.”
“Why didn’t you want to tell me who he was?” asked Smirker, who had listened attentively to the story.
“I would have been smart to do that, wouldn’t I?” returned White-horse Fred. “Suppose I had told you, and you had succeeded in making an end of me before Silas came, what would you have done? You would have gone straight to Uncle Reginald and told him what had happened, and he would – Well, it’s enough for you to know that he would have made trouble for Julian. Silas, if you had only come a few minutes sooner he would have been with us now. I am uneasy about him. He will get into difficulty when he gets home, now you see if he doesn’t.”
“I couldn’t come no sooner,” replied the trapper; “‘cause I had more trouble than I thought I’d have crawlin’ down that long, dark passage-way that leads from the top of the cliff. What’s the matter with you?”
This question was addressed to Smirker, who suddenly began to exhibit a greater degree of terror than the circumstances seemed to warrant. The show of courage he had maintained ever since he found that Fred was disposed to stand between him and the vengeance of the trapper vanished as quickly as it had appeared; and scarcely able to retain an upright position, he was obliged to lean against the wall for support.
“You needn’t be no ways skeery,” said Silas, who seemed to feel some compassion for the trembling wretch. “We’ve got plenty agin you, but if you behave yourself, nobody’s goin’ to hurt you. All we ask of you is to tell us something we want to know; an’ if you will do that, we’ll turn you loose, an’ you can dig out of this country as soon as you please.”
“I’ll tell you anything,” replied Smirker quickly. “But first I’d like to have you tell me something. When I was going to pitch into you,” he added, turning to White-horse Fred, “you told me to come on, and you would show me what a Mortimer was made of, didn’t you?”
“I did,” replied the boy. “I knew, of course, that you were too much for me, but I wasn’t going to surrender. That’s something I don’t know how to do.”
“And you have said two or three times that Julian is four brother, hain’t you?” Smirker went on.
“I have, and he is.”
“Then you must be the son of old Major Mortimer?”
“I am proud to say that I am.”
“Well, now if you are, what business you got walking about on top of the ground? That’s what I’d like to know. You had ought to be at the bottom of the lake that lies behind your father’s rancho. Sanders put you there, ’cause I seen him do it with my own eyes.”
“I know he did, and my body is there yet,” replied White-horse Fred.
“Eh?” exclaimed Smirker, drawing away from the boy toward the trapper.
“Don’t you know that a Mortimer can’t be killed?” asked Fred, who, having recovered from the effects of his struggle with the robber, was his jolly, reckless self once more. “And have you not yet learned that the members of our family have the power of throwing the shield of their protection around their servants? It’s a fact. You remember old Juan, do you not? Dick Mortimer shot him twice with his own hands, and you knocked him on the head with the butt of your rifle; and then you both picked him up and threw him over a cliff, didn’t you?”
“There ain’t no use in saying we didn’t,” replied Smirker. “But I was hired to help in that work.”
“Oh, of course. Men always have some excuse for doing wrong. Well, that old fellow’s body may be at the bottom of that gorge now, but I don’t believe it is. There is something that looks wonderfully like him walking about above ground this very day. If you want to see it we can show it to you.”
“You needn’t put yourselves to no trouble,” whined Smirker. “Ask me all the questions you want to and turn me loose.”
“The old chap walks around of nights, too,” continued White-horse Fred, in a tone of voice that made the cold chills creep all over his listener, “assisting his friends in every possible way and executing all sorts of vengeance on his enemies. How would you feel if you should wake up about midnight and see him coming toward you just this way?”
Fred threw himself into a crouching posture, similar to that which Smirker had assumed a few minutes before, drew his head down between his shoulders, distorted his features, opened his eyes and mouth to their widest extent, spread out his fingers like the claws of a wild beast, and crept slowly toward the robber.
“Don’t!” cried Smirker.
“We’re goin’ to take you right whar he was seed last,” said Silas, who believing that time enough had been wasted, thought it best to bring Fred’s pleasantries to an end; “and if you don’t tell us what we want to know we’ll show him to you as sure as you’re a hoss-thief. Put the saddles on the critters, Fred, while I tie this feller.”
“I will tell you what you want to know now,” said Smirker, who continued to exhibit the most abject terror.
“Yes; but you see we want to take you to a place whar we can keep you safe till we find out whether or not you tell us the truth.”
As Silas spoke he detached a halter from one of the bridles hanging on the wall, and with it securely bound the arms of his prisoner, who remonstrated earnestly against the proceeding, but never once thought of resistance.
By the time this was done Fred had saddled the two horses in the stable, one of which was Snowdrop, and the other an animal belonging to Smirker, replaced the belt containing the revolver and knife about his waist, and also secured possession of the bag containing the nuggets and gold-dust. Silas then mounted Smirker’s horse, and bending down from his saddle and placing his arm about his prisoner, raised him to a seat behind him as easily as if he had been a child.
In a few minutes more the trio were riding down the gully at a brisk trot. Silas and his young companion held their weapons ready for instant use, and kept a good lookout on all sides of them. If they chanced to meet any of the band of which their prisoner was a member, they might be called upon to fight for possession of him. But they accomplished the descent of the gorge, crossed the valley, and entered the woods on the opposite side without meeting any one, and finally found themselves in the vicinity of the rancho. Here they became very cautious in their movements, White-horse Fred leading the way at a slow walk, and frequently stopping to look about and listen. Presently he dismounted in a dense thicket, and having tied his nag to one of the bushes, seated himself on the ground, his example being followed by the trapper. For fully half an hour they and their prisoner sat motionless in their place of concealment, and at the end of that time Silas Roper’s quick ear caught the sound of a stealthy footfall. He communicated the fact to Fred in a whisper, and the latter was instantly on the alert. He crept away through the bushes, and presently came back again.
“It’s Dick,” said he, in a low tone; “and after Julian again I’ll warrant. Isn’t he persevering? He is coming down the hill. Do you think I could get ahead of him?”
“I reckon you might if you’re right lively,” replied the guide. “But be careful of what you do. One mistake would spile everything.”
The active Fred was out of sight almost before Silas had ceased speaking. Threading his way rapidly but noiselessly through the woods, he reached the bottom of a wide and deep ravine, which he crossed with a few swift bounds. Arriving at the base of a hill on the opposite side, he pushed aside a thick cluster of bushes, disclosing to view a dark opening, which seemed to extend far down into the regions below. Into this he dived like a squirrel going into his hole, and in a second more was out of sight.
The bushes which concealed the opening had scarcely sprung back to their places when Richard Mortimer appeared in sight, moving down the ravine with slow and cautious steps, and pausing every few feet to look about him. When he reached the mouth of the cave he backed into the bushes, and concealing himself among them, stood for a long time listening and gazing up and down the ravine. Being satisfied at last that his movements were unobserved, he drew back into the opening, and hurried along a narrow passage-way, which led first to the store-room before spoken of, and thence through the hill to Reginald Mortimer’s rancho.
“I am now going to make amends for the cowardice I exhibited last night,” soliloquized Richard Mortimer. “I am heartily ashamed of what I did, and I shall never again allow myself to be frightened from my purpose by so shallow an artifice. It couldn’t have been old Juan’s ghost I saw, for there are no such things. Neither could it have been the old man himself, for he was put out of the way long years ago, and as I was present when the deed was committed, and even assisted in it, I know that the work was thoroughly done. The apparition certainly looked exactly like him, and if it comes in my way to-night I am going to find out what it is. My Derringers are freshly loaded, and I will see what impression the bullets in them will make upon it.”
The passage-way was as dark as midnight, but Richard Mortimer, being perfectly familiar with all its windings, walked rapidly through it, and turning an abrupt bend, found himself at the place where the passage opened into the store-room. Although he had braced his nerves, called all his courage to his aid, and was fully prepared to encounter something here, he could not repress the thrill of horror that ran through him, or the exclamation of astonishment that escaped his lips the moment he emerged from the passage-way.
A pale green light, whose source was invisible, and through which objects could but be dimly seen as through a mist, was streaming through the cellar. To Richard Mortimer’s excited imagination it seemed to proceed from the bodies of two persons who were slowly approaching him from the opposite end of the apartment – one a very aged man, and the other a youth who looked remarkably like White-horse Fred. They were walking side by side, gazing into each other’s faces, and appeared to be conversing earnestly, for their hands were constantly employed in gesticulating, and their lips moved, although no sound came forth. The light, which gave a strange and unearthly appearance to their features, seemed to move as they moved; and, instead of diffusing itself about the room, was confined to a narrow space in the immediate vicinity of the figures. Richard Mortimer gazed, and as he gazed felt his courage oozing out at the ends of his fingers. His first impulse was to turn and take to his heels, but the weakness was only momentary. Recovering himself by a strong effort, he advanced boldly into the store-room, but its mysterious occupants took no notice of him. He drew one of his Derringers from his pocket, and leveled it at the old man’s breast.
“I have just one bullet apiece for you, my friends,” said he, his voice trembling in spite of his efforts to control it, “and unless you stop that pantomime and speak to me, I will bring this farce to an end in a way that you probably have not expected.”
He paused, but no answer was returned, nor was there the least change in the expression of the countenances of the two figures to show that his words had been heard. They continued to approach the place where he was standing, talking earnestly and gesticulating.
They were now quite near to him – so near that Richard Mortimer retreated a step or two, and as he did so his finger pressed the trigger. There was a bright flash, a stunning report, and when the smoke, which for a few seconds obscured his vision, cleared away so that he could see the effect of his shot, he dropped his empty weapon and staggered back as if he were about to fall. There stood the old man erect and unharmed, still talking with his companion, and neither of them seemed to have heard the report of the pistol.
To draw the other and discharge it was but the work of an instant, but it had no visible effect upon the objects of his vengeance, who continued to advance, the light keeping pace with them, and their faces appearing to assume a more ghostly and unearthly look the nearer they approached.
And now Richard Mortimer discovered something that had hitherto escaped his notice – a tiny stream of blood which was trickling down the old man’s temple, and two holes in the breast of his buckskin jacket. White-horse Fred was as wet as if he had just come out of the lake, and the water dripped from his garments as he moved along. The sight reminded Richard Mortimer of one memorable night when scenes of horror and bloodshed had been enacted at the rancho, and drove away every particle of his courage. With a wild shriek of terror he turned and fled like the wind.
CHAPTER XXIII
JULIAN MAKES A DISCOVERY
OUR HERO rode away from the cabin which had been the scene of his recent thrilling adventure in an ecstasy of bewilderment and alarm. He could not find a satisfactory explanation for a single one of the strange incidents that had happened there – they were all shrouded in a mystery which he could not penetrate. Of one thing, however, he was certain, and that was that that gallant young fellow, whoever he was, who had so narrowly escaped death at Smirker’s hands, should not remain long a prisoner. He would have him out of that cabin if there was any way by which his release could be effected, and find out what he meant by claiming to be Julian Mortimer. Perhaps that “watchful friend,” who had addressed that note to him and visited his room the night before while he was asleep, could tell him what ought to be done under the circumstances, if he could only obtain an interview with him. This he would use his best endeavors to accomplish by returning at once to his uncle’s rancho, and remaining awake all night. If his mysterious friend should come into his room before morning he would be sure to see him.
Julian’s new horse was quite as swift as Snowdrop, and showed the same willingness to go ahead. He flew down the rocky path at break-neck speed, the bay quietly following. For two hours he continued that mad gallop, and at the end of that time suddenly slackened his pace to a walk. This aroused Julian, who straightened up and looked about him, expecting to see his uncle’s rancho close before him; but not a building of any description was in sight. His horse was toiling up a steep mountain path, which led through a wilderness of trees and rocks that Julian did not remember to have seen before. He knew that he had not passed that way in the morning. He had been so completely absorbed in his reflections that he had not thought of directing his steed, but trusted to the animal to carry him back to his uncle’s rancho. But now he remembered, with a thrill of terror, that he was not riding Snowdrop, but a horse belonging to a robber – one, too, which was in the habit of making frequent and perhaps daily journeys between certain points. The animal seemed to know where he was going, but Julian did not. He had not seen the valley since he left Smirker’s cabin, and that proved that the horse, without attracting his attention, had turned into another path, and was carrying him deeper into the mountains. But to what place? To another robber station beyond a doubt. Julian shuddered at the thought.
To add to his alarm, night was rapidly coming on, the sky was overcast with clouds of inky blackness, the lightning was playing about the mountain tops, and the hoarse mutterings of a storm could be heard in the distance. What was to be done under such circumstances? He could never retrace his steps and find his way back to the valley in the dark. He knew by the experience he had already had with Snowdrop that the animals White-horse Fred rode, having become accustomed to a particular line of duty, objected to having their usual manner of proceeding interrupted; and if the nag on which he was now mounted should show the same disinclination to turn back that Snowdrop had exhibited to leave Smirker’s cabin, what could he do? He would be obliged to depend entirely on himself, and he would become hopelessly bewildered before he had gone a hundred yards. To camp beside the path and wait for daylight would be equally hazardous, for the crash of fallen timbers in the distance told him that the swiftly approaching storm was sweeping every movable thing before it. He must go on – he had no alternative.
“There’s some consolation in knowing that I can’t get into a much worse scrape than that which I have just got out of,” thought Julian. “If I don’t succeed in passing myself off as White-horse Fred, I will reveal myself and trust to luck. In that event the robbers will only make a prisoner of me, for I am worth too much to them to be harmed. Smirker said so, although I haven’t the least idea what he meant by it.”
Having settled this point, Julian put spurs to his horse, which, having by this time gained the summit of the hill, set off at the top of his speed. The gloom of night settled rapidly over the mountains, growing more and more intense every instant, and finally even the nearest objects were shut out from his view, save when the occasional flashes of lightning burst from the thick blackness overhead. To increase his uneasiness, he became aware that the path over which he was being carried with all the speed his horse could command ran along the brink of a deep precipice. Trusting entirely to the white nag, and leaving the bay to take care of himself, Julian clung with a death-grip to the horn of his saddle, closing his eyes when the lightning illuminated the scene, that he might not see the dangers before him, and then when darkness once more settled over the mountains holding his breath in suspense, momentarily expecting to find himself whirling headlong to destruction. But the sure-footed animal, having carried the real White-horse Fred along that same chasm on many a night like this, was too familiar with the way to run into any dangers.
Nearer and nearer came the storm, a roar like that of a thousand express trains filling the canyon behind him, the lightning flashing incessantly, the thunder booming and echoing among the cliffs like rapid discharges of heavy artillery, the crash of falling timber sounding louder and plainer every instant, and faster and faster flew the white horse with his terrified rider. He sped along like a bird on the wing, never once abating his speed even in the roughest and most difficult places, and finally, to Julian’s immense relief, carried him into a thickly wooded ravine, and after making several abrupt turns and plunging through a dense thicket of bushes, came to a sudden halt. On the instant the boy placed his hand to his mouth and gave a perfect imitation of White-horse Fred’s whistle.
“Ay! ay!” came the response through the darkness, the voice sounding close at hand.
“Whew!” panted Julian, drawing his handkerchief across his dripping forehead. “Wasn’t it lucky that I had my wits about me? I heard a window close, and a bolt rattle as it was pushed into its socket; and that proves that some one heard my approach and was on the lookout. If I hadn’t given the signal just as I did I might have been shot. Wouldn’t I give something to know what I have got to go through with now?”
Julian could not see even the faintest outline of a house before him, but nevertheless there was one there. The sound of voices and the tramping of heavy feet on a stone floor came faintly to his ears, followed by the grating of bolts and locks; and presently a door swung open close at his side – so close that if he had thrust out his hand he could have touched it – a flood of light streamed out into the darkness, and a man with a lantern appeared on the threshold. Julian’s horse at once moved forward, carrying his rider into a stable similar to the one adjoining Smirker’s cabin, and the bay followed closely at his heels. Scarcely had they reached the shelter of the friendly roof when the storm burst forth in all its fury.
Julian rolled off his horse rather than dismounted, and the hostler, after closing and fastening the door, held up his lantern and peered sharply into his face.
“Why, boy!” he exclaimed in great amazement.
“It is all up with me now,” thought Julian. “I am discovered at last.”
“Well, sir!” continued the man, after a pause. “I have seen something to-night I never expected to see in my life – White-horse Fred frightened.”
“I guess you would be frightened if you were in my place,” returned Julian, greatly relieved.
“The soldiers haven’t been after you, have they?”
The boy replied in the negative.
“Oh, it’s the storm, then. It’s awful, that’s a fact. I never heard such thunder or such a roaring of wind. You got here just in time, didn’t you? Listen to that rain. The water in the gullies will be breast high to a horse in five minutes. Where did this fellow come from?” asked the hostler, leading the bay into one of the stalls.
“From Fort Stoughton. He was stolen from the major.”
“Is this all you’ve got? Haven’t you brought any dust or nuggets?”
“No. That was all Smirker had to give me.”
“The fellows up there are getting lazy. They never send anything but horses lately. What do you know that is interesting or exciting?”
“Nothing. Smirker told me to tell you that the captain’s cub had got back.”
“Glory!” exclaimed the man, looking over his shoulder at Julian, and bringing his horny palms together with a noise like the report of a pistol.
“I don’t know what he meant by it,” added Julian, hoping that the man would finish the story Smirker had been relating to him when White-horse Fred arrived.
“Of course you don’t, but I do; and it is the best piece of news I ever heard.”
“Why is it?”
“That is a secret known only to a few of us whom the captain is willing to trust. But, of course, as you are a faithful member of the band, you will one day share in the benefits of it. I’d like to tell you, but I’m sworn to tell nobody. Your supper is waiting.”
That was something Julian was glad to hear. Uncle Reginald had kept him in such a state of excitement that morning that he had eaten very little breakfast, and he was as hungry as a wolf. Fortunately there was but one door leading out of the stable beside the one at which he had come in, and he knew which way to go to find the living room of the cabin.
Being satisfied now that he could pass himself off anywhere for White-horse Fred, he boldly pushed open the door and found himself in the presence of two rough-looking men, who were stretched out on benches, with their saddles under their heads for pillows.
At one end of the room was a table, made of unplaned boards, upon which was a goodly supply of corn-bread and bacon, a tin plate with a fork beside it, and a quart cup, which a villainous-looking Mexican, who entered from another door just as Julian came in from the stable, was filling with very black-looking coffee. The men on the benches greeted him with rude cordiality, the Mexican bowed to him, and Julian, assuming an air of carelessness and indifference that he was very far from feeling, threw his sombrero into one corner of the room and seated himself at the table.
