CHAPTER XVII.

ACROSS THE PLAINS.

THE MOMENT Julian’s eyes rested upon the strange horseman he asked himself where he had seen him before. There was something about him that looked familiar. He was dressed in rough clothing, like the rest of the emigrants, wore high-top boots and a broad felt hat. His hair was cut close to his head, and his face, which was dark and haughty, was clean shaven; although the blue shade about his chin and upper lip showed that goatee and mustache had recently been growing there. His voice sounded strangely familiar, too, although Julian could not recollect where he had heard it before.

The man announced that he was bound for San Francisco, and that having been obliged to make his preparations for the journey in great haste, in order to join that wagon train, he had had no opportunity to lay in a supply of provisions. As their mess appeared to be small he would be glad to join it, if the men had no objections, and was willing to pay liberally for the privilege. Julian’s new friends had no objection whatever. They liked good company, and if the stranger would agree to pay his share of the provisions he might come in and welcome. And so the matter was settled, and the new-comer became a member of Julian’s mess.

Our hero had never carried a lighter heart than he did during that afternoon’s ride. He no longer felt that he was utterly forsaken in the world. He had some one to talk to now—men who had never seen or heard of him before, who did not even know his name, but who nevertheless sympathized with him and took an interest in his affairs. And it was because these new-found friends were strangers to him that Julian felt safe in their company. He was still suspicious of the guide, notwithstanding the high terms of praise in which he had been spoken of by the members of his mess, and he disliked the appearance of the new emigrant also.

The latter seemed desirous of cultivating the boy’s acquaintance. He addressed a good many of his remarks to him, and whenever he said anything that he thought to be particularly interesting or witty, he would look at Julian and wink. This was quite enough to excite the boy’s suspicions; but he comforted himself with the thought that neither the guide nor the emigrant would dare molest him in the presence of the whole wagon train, and that he would take care never to be left alone with them.

The afternoon passed quickly away, and it was sunset almost before Julian knew it. His day in the saddle had severely tested his endurance, and he was glad indeed when the train came to a halt. Being desirous of showing his new friends that he appreciated their kindness to him, he assisted them in making the camp, unharnessing the mules, providing the wood for fire, and bringing the water with which to fill the camp-kettle. The guide, whom he had not seen during the whole of the afternoon, made his appearance when supper was ready, and so did the emigrant; but the latter did not approach the fire. He stopped at a respectful distance, looked hard at Silas, whose back was turned toward him, and then walked quickly out of sight. Julian, astonished at his singular behavior, looked around at the other members of the mess to see if any beside himself had observed it; but the men were too busy with their corn-bread and bacon to pay any attention to what was going on outside their own camp.

Supper over, Silas and his companions stretched themselves on their blankets to enjoy their pipes, while Julian busied himself in gathering up the dishes and packing the remains of the supper away in the wagon. This done, he went out for a stroll down the road; he wanted to see how the camp looked by moonlight.

The day’s journey, although it had been a hard and fatiguing one, seemed to have had no effect upon the spirits of the emigrants, who were as merry and laughed and sang as loudly as when they left St. Joseph. They seemed to be supremely happy and contented, and Julian did not wonder at it. They had everything their hearts could desire to make them happy, and he had everything to make him miserable. If he had had parents and brothers and sisters there he would have laughed too, and felt as light of heart as the best of them. But there was not a soul with whom he could claim relationship in less than a thousand miles, and perhaps not in the world. Julian was falling into his melancholy mood again, and he wanted to be alone; the sounds of merriment grated harshly on his ears. He left the camp and hurried down the road. On he went, regardless of the flight of time, through the woods in which the wagons had halted, to the prairie that lay beyond, brooding over the past and speculating on the future.

How long his fit of abstraction continued he could not have told; but when he came to himself the camp-fires were out of sight, and he was standing on an extensive plain which stretched away before him as far as his eyes could reach, without even a tree or bush to break the monotony. He was alone; there was not a living thing within the range of his vision. This was Julian’s first glimpse of the prairie, and it was not without its effect upon him. He gazed in wonder. What an immense region it was that lay between him and his home—all India could be put into it twice, he had read somewhere—and until that moment what a ridiculously faint conception he had had of it! What would he not have given to have been able to tell what lay beyond it? He listened but not a sound came to his ears. An unearthly silence brooded over the vast expanse—a silence so deep that he could hear the beating of his own heart. Julian was awed, almost frightened by it; and turning quickly about he started for the camp at the top of his speed.

Perhaps Julian would have been really frightened if he had known that he was not so utterly alone as he imagined himself to be. There were no less than four persons in sight of him all the while, and part of the time, five. Three of them were Sanders and the men who had left St. Joseph in his company. Having watched the train from a safe distance all that day, they entered the camp as soon as it grew dark to satisfy themselves that the boy of whom they were in search was among the emigrants. They saw him as he strolled through the woods and followed, hoping to find an opportunity to make a prisoner of him. The fourth man, who watched every move Julian made during the time he remained within sight of him, and who carried in his hand a revolver cocked and ready for use, was the emigrant; and the fifth was Silas Roper. The latter, unlike the others, who made use of every tuft of grass to cover their bodies, walked erect down the road, keeping always within rifle-range of Julian, whose form, being clad in dark garments, was thrown out in bold relief against the gray background of the prairie. The emigrant saw him, if Julian did not, and for some reasons of his own thought it best to abandon his pursuit of the boy. He concealed himself in the grass until the trapper had passed on, and then scrambled to his feet and slunk away in the direction of the camp.

Julian had not retraced his steps very far before he began to wish most heartily that he had turned back long ago. There was some one following him—following, too, for the purpose and with the determination of overtaking him. His ears told him that such was the fact, and there was no need that he should look back to make sure of it—he dared not do it. He heard the sound of the pursuit very plainly—the stealthy, cautious patter of moccasined feet on the hard road, which grew louder and more distinct every instant. Who was his pursuer? The guide, beyond a doubt, for he was the only man in the train who wore moccasins. Fear lent Julian wings, and he made headway astonishingly; but there was some one beside the clumsy Jack Bowles in pursuit of him now, and the lightness of foot that had brought him off with flying colors in his race with that worthy could not avail him.

“It’s no use, Julian,” said a gruff voice behind him. “I’m a comin’, an’ if I don’t overhaul you thar ain’t no snakes. You’re ketched, an’ you might as well stop an’ give in.”

But our hero was not one of the kind who give in. He strained every nerve to escape, but his pursuer gained rapidly. He was close behind him now—Julian could hear his heavy breathing; but just as he was expecting to feel his strong grasp on his collar, a blinding sheet of flame shot out of the gloom directly in advance of him, and something whistled through the air close to his ear. In another minute Julian had run squarely into the arms of Silas Roper, and his pursuer had faced about and was making his way through the tall grass as if a legion of wolves were close at his heels.

“I reckon I throwed away that chunk of lead, didn’t I?” said Silas. “You needn’t be skeered now. I know you ain’t hurt, ’cause I’ve had my eyes on you all the while.”

Julian, weak with terror and utterly bewildered to find the guide in front, when he had all the while supposed him to be behind and in pursuit of him, could not reply. But if he was surprised at this, he was still more amazed at the manner in which Silas received him. He did not show the least desire to do him an injury, but on the contrary extended his arm around him protectingly, and supported him until he had somewhat recovered himself.

“You’re lively on your legs fur a little one,” continued the trapper, “but you’re well nigh give out, ain’t you? If thar had been just a trifle more light Sanders would have been past harmin’ you now.”

“Who?” gasped Julian.

“Sanders. You didn’t think to hear of him again so soon, did you?”

“I never expected to hear from him again.”

“Sho! Wal, you’ll hear and see more of him durin’ the next few weeks than you’ll like, _I_ tell you. That was him a chasin’ you, ’cause I’ve seed him often enough to know him,” added the trapper, leading the way toward the camp, loading his rifle as he went.

“You said you were watching me,” said Julian. “Why did you do it?”

“‘Cause I’m a friend to you.”

“I begin to believe you are,” replied the boy, casting all his suspicions to the winds. “If I had been sure of it to-day when I first saw you, I shouldn’t have run away from you; but I have seen so much treachery lately that I distrust everybody.”

“I can easy b’lieve that. I know purty near what Dick an’ Ned have been up to.”

“You told me this morning that you know who I am. Of course, then, you know my father.”

“Sartin I do.”

“Is he alive?”

“He is.”

“And my mother?”

“No, she’s dead—died when you was a little feller.”

“And my brother?”

“He’s all right.”

“Can you take me to my father?”

“I reckon not.”

“What’s the reason?”

“‘Cause I don’t know whar he is—that’s the reason. I’ll allers be a friend to you, howsomever.”

During the walk to the camp Julian asked innumerable questions about his home and friends, but the information that we have just recorded was all he could extort from the trapper. He taxed his ingenuity to the utmost, and propounded his inquiries in a dozen different ways, but Silas could neither be surprised or coaxed into revealing more than he had already told. Nor did Julian ever hear anything more from him, although he saw very plainly that the trapper knew all about him, and could easily gratify his curiosity if he felt so inclined. Day after day he renewed his endeavors to worm out some small item of information, but all he could ascertain positively was that his father and brother were alive and well, and with that he was obliged to be content. Of another thing he was also pretty certain, and that was, that he should not find his home—if he found it at all—the pleasant and inviting place that Sanders had represented it to be. But in this respect he was not much disappointed, for he had built no hopes upon anything his false friend had told him.

During the journey across the plains nothing worthy of record occurred to vary the monotony of Julian’s life. He met with no more adventures, for Sanders had disappeared, and although the boy was certain that Silas could tell what had become of him, all his questioning failed to elicit the desired information. The emigrant kept himself as much as possible out of sight. The members of the mess expressed some surprise at his abrupt desertion of them, and asked one another what could have been the occasion of it; but no one knew, and in a day or two the matter was forgotten.

As the days progressed Julian’s friendship for and confidence in his silent friend steadily increased. Silas on his part cherished an unbounded affection for his young companion, and manifested it by a thousand little acts of kindness. He beguiled many a weary mile of their journey with stories of what he had seen and done, and descriptions of life in the Far West, but said not a word about Julian’s affairs unless he was asked.

At last the Rocky Mountains began to loom up before them, and on the same day Silas, who as usual was riding in advance of the train with Julian, pointed out a hostile Indian on the summit of a distant swell.

“How do you know he is hostile?” asked Julian. “Can you see the paint on his face at this distance?”

“No, but I know who’s been a smokin’ an a talkin’ with his tribe around the council fires,” replied the trapper. “You think you’ve been through a heap since you fust seed Dick Mortimer, and p’raps you have; but you’ll go through a heap more if you live a week longer. You needn’t be afeared of the Injuns, howsomever,” added Silas, seeing that the boy’s cheek blanched, and that he cast anxious glances toward the distant warrior. “They won’t harm you. If every man, woman and child in the train is massacred, you’ll be kept safe, unless you are hurt by accident.”

“What makes you think so?”

“I don’t think so, I know it; but I hain’t got time to talk about it now, ’cause I must ride back an’ keep the wagons closer together.”

This was always the way with the trapper after he had said something that Julian was particularly anxious to have explained—he had no time to say more on the subject just then, but must see to something that demanded his immediate attention.

Julian was greatly perplexed by what he had just heard. It sounded very unreasonable, but he did not doubt the truth of it, for he had learned to put implicit faith in the trapper’s word.

In two days more Bridger’s Pass was reached, and the emigrants made their camp for the last time.

We have already related how Julian was enticed away from the wagon train by the outlaws, who carried him on horseback to Reginald Mortimer’s rancho, and that during the ride he heard the sounds of a fierce battle going on between the Indians and the emigrants, and saw the train consumed by fire.

We have also told of his introduction to the man who called himself his uncle, and described the reception that gentleman extended to him. He was conducted into Mr. Mortimer’s sleeping-apartment, and saw the outlaws receive a heavy reward for delivering him into the hands of the owner of the rancho, after which Sanders and his companion took their departure, and Julian was left alone with his new relative.

Then for the first time he raised his eyes and took a fair look at the man. Surely he had seen that face and figure somewhere. They were those of Richard Mortimer. He had left him on board a flatboat more than a thousand miles away, and here he was in the mountains where he least expected to see him, ready now and able to carry out his plans against Julian’s life.

One glance at him was enough for our hero, who, with a cry of terror, turned and ran toward the door.