Julian Mortimer. Castlemon Harry

to leave it himself. His captors had told him that there were some “queer doings” in that rancho. Did they refer to scenes like this? Were people who, like this emigrant, had no business there, in the habit of walking about the house every night, and of vanishing after such a bewildering fashion when discovered; and was he to be compelled to remain there a witness to such proceedings.

      The boy trembled at the thought. He was not superstitious. He knew that he had seen the face of a man peeping out from behind the hangings, and he believed, too, that his sudden and mysterious disappearance could be explained, and that there was nothing supernatural about it; but nevertheless he resolved that as long as he was allowed the free use of his feet he would not remain in a dark room in that house without company.

      When the trappers retreated into the hall he went with them, and like them, kept his back turned toward the room, and impatiently awaited Pedro’s return. Nor was he obliged to wait long.

      In a few seconds he heard a door open and close, a light flashed into the hall, and two men came hurrying toward him. One of them was Pedro, and the other was a tall, foreign-looking gentleman, in dressing-gown and slippers, who came along with a smile on his face, and his hand outstretched, as if about to greet some friend from whom he had long been separated.

      Upon reaching Julian’s side he threw his arms around him and clasped him in a most affectionate embrace – to which the boy submitted without uttering a word. He had not expected such a reception as this; and, if one might judge by the expression on the faces of the trappers, they had not expected it either. Their underjaws dropped down, they stared at one another for a moment, and then Tom gave utterance to another long-drawn whistle, and Sanders pounded the floor with the butt of his rifle.

      “Julian! Julian! is it possible that you have returned at last?” cried the gentleman, holding the boy off at arm’s length for a moment, and then straining him to his breast once more. “Don’t you know your Uncle Reginald?”

      “It’s him sure enough, ain’t it?” asked Sanders.

      “Of course it is he,” replied the owner of the rancho, still clinging to Julian as if he never meant to let him go again. “I should have recognized him if I had met him in Asia. No one but a Mortimer could ever boast of such a face as that. Where did you find him? Julian, why don’t you tell me that you are glad to see me?”

      “I say, guv’nor,” interrupted Sanders, “couldn’t he talk to you jest as well arter we are gone? Me an’ my pardner are in a monstrous hurry. How about them $5,000?”

      “I will place it in your hands this moment. Come with me.”

      Seizing Julian by the hand, Reginald Mortimer – for that was the gentleman’s name – led the way along the hall, and into a room which the prisoner saw was used as a sleeping apartment, for there was the bed from which this man, who claimed to be his uncle, had just arisen.

      Conducting the boy to a seat on the sofa, and leaving the trappers to stand or sit as suited their fancy, the gentleman produced a bunch of keys from his desk and unlocked a strong box which was standing at the head of his bed.

      When the lid was thrown back Julian opened his eyes and leaned forward to obtain a nearer view of the contents of the box.

      Such a sight he had never seen before. The box was literally filled with gold coin – some of it packed away in little drawers, and the rest tied up in canvas bags. Two of these bags the owner lifted out of the box and handed to the trappers, saying:

      “There is the money I promised to give you if you succeeded in restoring Julian to me safe and sound. I give you my hearty thanks beside, for you have rendered me a most important service. Pedro, show Sanders and his friend to the best room in the house.”

      “Nary time, if you please!” exclaimed the trapper, with a frightened look. “We’ll feel a heap better, an’ sleep a sight easier, if we camp in the mountains.”

      “But I want to talk to you about Julian. Where did you find him?”

      “We’ll tell you all about that when we bring the other feller to you.”

      “The other fellow?”

      “Yes; that is, if we can come to tarms.”

      “Whom do you mean?”

      “Silas Roper. Say another five thousand fur him, an’ we’ll have him here to-morrow bright an’ arly.”

      “Silas Roper!” exclaimed the gentleman, gleefully. “Am I not in luck? Certainly, I say it; bring him immediately.”

      “It’s a bargain. Come on, Tom.”

      “Well, go, if you must, and remember that although I am under obligations to you now, I shall be vastly more your debtor when you give that man into my hands. My plans are working splendidly.”

      When the door had closed behind the trappers Reginald Mortimer locked his strong box and once more turned toward Julian. The latter, who since his arrival at the rancho had moved like one in a dream, aroused himself by a strong effort and looked squarely into the man’s face. He gazed at him a moment, and then sprung to his feet with a cry of alarm and ran toward the door.

      CHAPTER V

      JULIAN’S HOME

      WE HAVE said that Julian Mortimer was the hero of our story, and in order that you may understand what brought him to the mountains, and how it came that several persons whom he believed he had never seen before should take so deep an interest in him, we must go back and relate some events that transpired previous to the beginning of our story.

      On the banks of the Missouri River, about fifty miles below St. Joseph, was a small clearing, in which stood a dilapidated cabin inhabited by the family of John Bowles. It was a gloomy-looking place, and that was not to be wondered at, for Jack, as he was familiarly called, was not the man to waste any of his time or money in beautifying his home. Both were much too precious for that. His time was spent in hunting and trapping, and his money – what little he earned – was devoted to the purchase of bad whisky, of which he was exceedingly fond. He was a tall, heavy, broad-shouldered man, and looked the very impersonation of laziness. His two boys, Jake and Tom, were chips of the old block, and his wife was a sharp-featured, ill-tempered woman of wonderful strength and daring, and it was said that in a fair rough-and-tumble fight – for things came to that sometimes in the cabin of Mr. Bowles – she was more than a match for her redoubtable husband.

      The neighboring settlers had but little to do with Jack. They remarked that his family went clothed in rags from one year’s end to another; that they were sometimes destitute of even the common necessities of life; and that Jack hunted early and late and spent every cent he made at the grocery at “The Corners.” But one stormy night a stranger was seen to ride rapidly away from the cabin, and from that hour things seemed to take a turn for the better with Jack Bowles. He and his family appeared in brand new suits of clothing; the boys sported silver-mounted rifles in place of the rusty single-barreled shot-guns in which they had before taken so much delight; a neighbor, who knew something of the use of carpenters’ tools, was employed to patch up the cabin, and Jack gave up hunting and spent his days and nights in lounging about the grocery, drinking whisky and showing large rolls of bills and handfuls of gold and silver. The settlers noticed, too, that the cabin had an inmate whom they had never seen before – a slender, fair-haired boy about eight years of age, who seemed to be altogether out of his element there. And they told one another also that Jack and his wife had reasons for wishing to keep him out of sight as much as possible, for whenever any one passed the clearing the boy would be summoned into the house by the shrill voice of Mrs. Bowles, and the door closed upon him.

      From this they naturally concluded that the boy and the money Jack spent so freely were in some way connected; and, when hard pressed, Jack acknowledged that such was the fact. He said that the boy’s name was Julian Mortimer; that he had been brought to the cabin by a stranger who wished to leave him there for a month or two while he went on a business tour to New Orleans; and that he had paid a few weeks’ board for him in advance. There was one thing, however, that Jack did not see fit to disclose, and that was that the stranger had cautioned him to keep strict watch over