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.

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.