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.