Julian Mortimer
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Arriving at the steps where Julian stood, he seated himself upon them, and drawing a pipe from a little pouch which hung at his belt, prepared to fill up for a smoke.
Julian watched all his movements with interest, and felt a strange kind of awe in the man’s presence. He was certainly a trapper, and he must be a daring one, too, unless his looks belied him, for he would have been picked out among a thousand as a man who was not to be daunted by any physical dangers. He must know all about life on the frontier, of course, and perhaps he could give some information concerning the wagon train of which Sanders had spoken.
“Sir!” said Julian, as soon as this thought passed through his mind.
“Wal!” returned the trapper, raising a pair of honest-looking brown eyes, which seemed to invite the boy’s confidence.
“Can you tell me whether or not a wagon train left this place yesterday for the mountains?” asked Julian.
“I can.”
“I understood there was,” continued Julian, after waiting for the man to say something else.
“Then you understood what wasn’t so.”
“Was there none left?”
“No.”
“What object could Sanders have had in view in telling me that falsehood?” thought the boy. “When does the next one start?”
“To-day.”
“How soon?”
“To onct.”
“Where from?”
“From a place ’bout a mile from here, right up this street.”
“Could I go with it?”
“I reckon. Want to go to Californy?”
“No, sir; I am bound for the mountains.”
“For the Peak?”
“No, sir; for the mountains.”
“Wal, wharabouts in the mountains?”
“Whereabouts?” replied Julian.
He gazed at the trapper a moment, and seating himself on the opposite end of the steps, looked down at the ground in a brown study. The question propounded to him excited a serious train of reflections in his mind. He had always spoken and thought of “the mountains” without having any very definite idea concerning them. He had imagined that when he was once safe across the plains his troubles would all be over, and that it would be a matter of no difficulty to find the home and friends of which he was in search if they were still in existence; but the trapper’s last words had opened his eyes and showed him the real magnitude of his undertaking. “Whereabouts in the mountains?”
This was a question that Julian could not answer. He remembered now to have read somewhere that the Rocky Mountains covered an area of 980,000 square miles. How could he hope to find his father in such a wilderness as that? He might be in Mexico, or he might be in Oregon – Julian didn’t know. After all he had endured and accomplished, the obstacles that lay in his path were but just beginning to make themselves manifest. This reflection for the moment utterly unnerved him, and tears began to fall from his eyes. The trapper removed his pipe from his mouth long enough to say:
“Cryin’?”
“I know it is unmanly,” replied Julian, “but I can’t help it. I have been through some difficulties lately, but I can see that there are worse ones before me. But I’ll never give up – never!”
“Stick to that allers,” said the trapper, now beginning to show some interest in what the boy had to say. “Never-give-up has carried many a feller through the wust kind of scrapes. Got any friends out West?”
“Yes, sir – or, rather, I had a few years ago; but I don’t know where to find them. Did you ever hear of Major Mortimer?”
“I b’lieve I’ve heerd his name spoke.”
“Do you know where he lives?”
“I can’t jest say I do exactly. Thar’s only two or three men who can tell whar he is now, but I know whar he used to live.”
“He is my father.”
“I know it.”
“You do?” cried Julian. He looked at the man in utter bewilderment, and arose hastily to his feet. “Good-day, sir,” said he. “I am obliged to you for the information you gave me about that wagon train.”
The trapper made no reply. He took his pipe out of his mouth and looked after the boy as he jumped off the steps and hurried down the street, and when he disappeared he arose, thrust his hands in his pockets and sauntered after him. What would Julian have thought if he had known that he was running away from the only friend he had east of the mountains?
“I will have nothing to do with any one who has ever seen or heard of me,” soliloquized the boy, as he hurried along, looking into the different stores he passed. “How does it come, I wonder, that so many men whom I never saw before know me? I am going to depend upon myself until I am satisfied that I am out of danger. If Sanders makes his appearance again I will send him about his business. I will go out with that wagon train, and perhaps before I reach the mountains I shall find some man who doesn’t know me, and who can give me the information I want. This is the place I am looking for.”
He stopped in front of a store, where a boy about his own age was at work taking down the shutters. It appeared to be a sort of variety store, for clothing and furnishing goods were displayed in one of the windows, and weapons and saddlery in the other.
Julian entered, and when he came out again, a quarter of an hour afterward, he had made as great a change in his appearance as Sanders did during the short time he remained in the Hunter’s Home. He was dressed in a full Mexican suit, which the polite and attentive clerk had made him believe was just the thing to wear during a journey across the plains, and in the saddle-bags, which he carried over his shoulder, was another and a finer suit of the same description, as well as a small supply of powder and lead, a brace of revolvers, and several other articles of which he thought he might stand in need. On his arm he carried a poncho – a rubber blanket with a hole in the center – which was to be used in lieu of an umbrella in rainy weather.
When he came out and bent his steps toward the hotel, a tall fellow in buckskin, who was leaning against an awning on the opposite side of the street, straightened up and followed after him. When he sat down to his breakfast the same man walked through the hall, and looked in at the dining-room; and when, after paying his bill at the hotel, he came out with all his weapons and luggage, and sprung upon his horse, the man in buckskin disappeared down a neighboring street, and presently came back again, mounted on a large cream-colored mustang, and rode in pursuit of Julian.
Our hero found that the information the strange trapper had given him concerning the wagon train was correct. The emigrants had been encamped on a common a short distance from the hotel, and when Julian came up with them they were all on the move. The road in advance of him was dotted with white wagon-covers as far as his eyes could reach. It was a novel and interesting sight to him, and he soon forgot his troubles in watching what was going on around him. The day that he had thought of and lived for so long had arrived at last, and he was fairly on his way to the mountains. The road the emigrants intended to follow might not lead him to his home, but what of that? It was enough for him to know that it crossed the mountains somewhere.
Billy, being in high mettle, insisted on going ahead, and his rider allowing him a free rein, was carried at a swinging gallop along the entire length of the train until he arrived at the foremost wagons. The emigrants all seemed to be in excellent spirits, and Julian heard them laughing and talking with one another as he dashed by. On the way he passed several boys, who were racing their horses along the road, now and then stopping to call back to their parents and friends in the wagons. Their merriment had an effect upon Julian. It made him contrast their situation with his own. In all that wagon train there was no one to greet him, no one who knew how he longed for a word of sympathy and encouragement from somebody, and no one who cared for him or his affairs.
“But I am free!” said the boy, who was not long in finding some crumbs of comfort with which to solace himself. “I can go where I please, and there is no Jack Bowles to dog my footsteps and beat me with his rawhide. I can eat, sleep and walk about in perfect security, knowing that there is no one to molest me. I am leaving behind me Richard Mortimer, Sanders and all the rest of my secret enemies, and the dangers and difficulties I have yet to encounter will be such as I know how to meet. If I do not find my home and friends before my money is gone, I have a good horse and rifle, and I know how to shoot and trap. I shall be able to take care of myself.”
There were several men riding in company in advance of the train, and not wishing to intrude upon them, Julian fell in behind, and during the whole of that forenoon never spoke a word to any one. When noon came the wagons began to draw off into the woods one by one, and in a quarter of an hour the entire train had come to a halt, and preparations for dinner were actively going on. Julian, hungry and lonely, would have been glad of an invitation to join one of the happy parties that were scattered about among the trees, but no one noticed him. He dismounted a little apart from the rest of the emigrants, and after tying his horse to a tree, spread his poncho upon the ground, and was about to begin an attack upon the small supply of crackers and cheese stowed away in his saddle-bags, when some one spoke to him.
“Wal, my lad, its grub time,” said a familiar voice.
Julian looked up, and there, leaning upon a rifle that an ordinary man could scarcely have raised to his shoulder, stood the tall trapper whom he had met in the streets of St. Joseph. At the sight of him his old fears were revived with redoubled force.
“Here’s one enemy I haven’t left behind me,” thought Julian. “I must still be on the lookout for treachery. I know it is dinner-time,” he added, aloud; “and I am just about to take advantage of it.”
“In what way? I don’t see that you have got anything to eat.”
“I have, nevertheless,” replied the boy, laying his hand on his saddle-bags.
“Do you keep it in thar?” asked the trapper, with a laugh. “How long do you think it’ll last you?”
“A day or two; and when it is gone my rifle must supply my larder. There must be an abundance of game on the plains.”
“Humph! That shows how much you know ’bout prairie life. Sometimes thar’s game an’ sometimes thar hain’t. An’ sometimes when we know thar’s plenty of buffaler an’ antelope only a little ways off, we can’t go out to shoot ’em fur fear of the Injuns. What’ll you do under them sarcumstances?”
Julian didn’t know. He would be obliged to go to bed hungry, he supposed.
“Yes, an’ you’ll go to bed hungry many a night afore you see the mountains, if this is the way you’re goin’ to do business,” continued the trapper. “We can do better’n this fur you. Come into our mess; we’d be glad to have you.”
Julian thanked the man for his kind offer, but took time to consider before replying. The interest his new acquaintance seemed to take in his welfare made him suspicious, and he wanted to keep as far away from him as possible. But, after all, if the trapper had any designs upon him, what difference would it make whether Julian remained at one end of the wagon train or the other? It would certainly be better to make sure of plenty to eat during the journey than to depend upon his rifle; and, if he saw anything in the trapper’s actions to confirm his suspicions, he could easily avoid being left alone with him.
He arose and picked up his saddle-bags, and the trapper, who had waited patiently for an answer to his invitation, shouldered his rifle and led the way through the woods, presently stopping at one of the wagons, beside which a party of three men were seated on the ground eating their dinner.
These looked curiously at Julian as he came up, and seemed to be waiting for the trapper to tell why he had brought him there; but as he did not appear to think that any explanation was necessary, they made way for the boy, and waving their hands toward the plates containing the corn-bread and bacon, went on with their conversation.
The trapper soon satisfied his appetite, and mounting his horse, which was grazing close by, rode off, leaving Julian alone with the three men. He listened to their conversation, and soon learned that they were from an Eastern State, that they had never been West before, and that their destination was the gold mines of California.
This silenced some of Julian’s fears, and finally, venturing to inquire who the trapper was, he was told that his name was Silas Roper, and that he was the chief man of the wagon train – the guide. The men were enthusiastic in their praises of him, and if they told the truth, as Julian hoped they did, Silas was one in whom he could well afford to confide.
Our hero then explained how he came to be brought into the mess, following up the story with as much of his history as he was willing the men should know, and their hearty words of sympathy and welcome placed him at his ease at once, and almost made him believe that at last he had found real friends.
While the dinner was in progress a horseman came leisurely down the road, gazing earnestly at every group of emigrants he passed, as if he were searching for some one. When he reached the place where Julian and the three men were seated, he drew rein with an exclamation of surprise and satisfaction, and sat motionless in his saddle, staring at them as if debating some point in his mind. Having at last decided upon something he rode up to the party and accosted them.
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.