Julian Mortimer

CHAPTER XXVI

FRED’S STORY

WHITE-HORSE FRED and his long-lost but now recovered brother were boys who were not much given to sentiment; but although they did not go into ecstasies over one another, they were none the less delighted at their reunion. They kept as close together as possible, and clung to each other’s hands as they galloped along, as if afraid that something might again come between them to separate them.

“Well, old fellow,” said Fred at length, “it didn’t take you long to raise a row after you got here, did it. Uncle Reginald little dreamed, when he was working so hard to find you in order to further his own ends, how completely you would kick over his kettle of fish in less than twenty-four hours after your arrival. We’ll keep those white horses as long as we live, won’t we? They are the best friends we’ve ever had.”

“I believe that now,” replied Julian; “but I didn’t think so when they were roaming about among the mountains with me and carrying me to robber dens. But, Fred, you are not a horse-thief?”

“I never stole a horse, or anything else, if that is what you mean; but I have been a member of the band for more than a year. I’ve had charge of a good many dollars’ worth of stolen property first and last, and if I had happened to fall into the hands of the settlers while I had it in my possession, I’d have been gone up sure.”

“Why, Fred, what made you do it.”

“I had an object in view – one that justified even worse things than that. It will not retard our speed in the least if we talk as we go along, so I will tell my story first – I know you are dying to hear it – and then I will listen to yours. Where shall I begin?”

“At the beginning, of course. Tell me who I am, how I came to be an inmate of Jack Bowles’ cabin, and all about it. I have lived among mysteries for the last few weeks, and I want every one of them explained.”

“And yet there isn’t a single mystery connected with your history, or mine, either,” replied White-horse Fred. “I can make everything plain to you in ten minutes. In the first place, that old rancho back there is our home. It was built by Grandfather Cordova, our mother’s father, who came out here in early times. When I tell you that it was intended as a fort as well as a dwelling, you will know how those secret passage-ways came to be there. Such a building was necessary in those days, for it was hardly safe for white men about – ”

“Safe!” interrupted Julian. “It isn’t safe now.”

“Oh, things have changed wonderfully since that house was built, and even during my recollection. We call ourselves a quiet, orderly, well-disposed set of people; but when grandfather first came out here he saw some excitements, I tell you. He was a native of Mexico, and brought with him a small colony of his own people. The Indians were so troublesome that the government was obliged to keep a strong body of troops here, and father was one of their officers. He commanded the fort; and Silas, who was in more than one battle with him, says he was a fighter worth looking at. He had not been out here very long before he fell in love with and married our mother, Inez Cordova, threw up his commission, and went to digging gold and raising cattle. Everything went on smoothly until grandfather and mother died, and then the trouble began. In one night our family was completely broken up by a couple of adventurers, who ought certainly to have had some mercy on us if they had no affection for us, for they were our mother’s brother and cousin.

“So far your story corresponds with the one Sanders told me,” said Julian.

“Can’t you remember anything about those happy days?” continued White-horse Fred. “I can, but then I am almost two years older than you are. I can remember that Juan – the old fellow who came into your room with us to-night – and his two boys, Romez and Antoine, were great favorites of mine. Juan was father’s major domo– he had charge of everything in the house. Romez was the hostler, and Antoine was the chief herdsman. They were life-long servants of our family, and they and a few others have since proved themselves as true as steel. When I became old enough to be trusted alone with a horse, I used to ride out to Antoine’s hut, which was located in the lower end of the valley, and spend weeks at a time with him, assisting in herding the cattle and learning to throw the lasso. Father would occasionally ride out there to see that I was all right, and now and then I would come home to spend a day with you.”

“I can remember those visits,” observed Julian.

“At that time, in spite of the gloom thrown over it by the death of our mother, which occurred when you were about three years old, our house was not the desolate place it is now. The officers of the fort used to visit there regularly to talk over army matters with father, eat Juan’s excellent dinners, and enjoy the splendid shooting the mountains afforded. Father did considerable trading with the trappers and friendly Indians; the house was always full, and there was always something interesting going on there. Somehow the story got abroad that father was immensely rich. Well, he was wealthy, but he didn’t have as much money as most people supposed he did.”

“How much was he worth, anyhow?” asked Julian.

“Perhaps a couple of million, and the most of that once belonged to grandfather.”

“Why, I heard Pedro tell Sanders that he had fifty millions stowed away somewhere.”

“Ah, nonsense! Pedro has about as clear ideas of wealth as he has of the moon; and that’s something he knows nothing at all about. The story got wind from this simple circumstance: Father was one day walking up a little ravine a short distance from the house, prospecting, when he found a pretty good-sized nugget. The next day he picked up another, and a week or two afterward he found a third. He told some of the officers of it, and they spread it around. There were a few miners here then, and they at once crowded into the ravine and turned up every inch of it; but not another nugget was brought to light. That, however, did not serve to convince them that there was not a gold mine of wonderful richness hidden about there somewhere. They industriously circulated the report, and finally the story, together with the news of grandfather’s death and mother’s, reached the ears of a couple of men in San Francisco, who at once laid their plans to possess themselves of father’s wealth. They were Reginald and Richard Cordova, mother’s brother and cousin.

“They were graceless scamps, those same fellows – professional gamblers, who had been cast off by grandfather on account of their profligate habits. As our parents had never mentioned their names, no one out here knew that there were such men in existence. They came to the mountains, and, as bad luck would have it, the first man whose acquaintance they made was Ned Sanders. They pumped him carefully, and found that he was just the fellow they wanted, for he knew a good deal about our family, and would do anything for money. They unfolded their plans to him, which were to murder father and his boys, and claiming to be his brothers, seize upon his property. Sanders entered heartily into their scheme, but he proposed a slight change of programme.

“‘I’ve got better idees nor them,’ said he. ‘The ole major’s got a heap of money laid up somewhar, but it ain’t a drop in the bucket to what we’d finger if we could only find that hidden gold mine of his’n. We’ll make way with the boys, ’cause they won’t be of no use to us; but we won’t harm the major. In course he won’t want to tell us whar the gold mine is, and we can’t scare him into it, nuther, ’cause he’s one of them kind of fellers that don’t scare wuth a cent; but we can force it out o’ him in another way. We’ll make a pris’ner of him, and shut him up away from his horses, an’ his hounds, an’ his cattle, an’ keep him shut up till he is willin’ to tell us what we want to know.’

“Just see the heathenish ingenuity Sanders exhibited!” exclaimed White-horse Fred angrily. “Knowing full well that father could not be frightened into revealing his secret, he resolved to torture it out of him; and he decided, too, upon the only method that could by any possibility prove successful. Being a man of active habits, it would be but little short of death for him to be shut out from the world and deprived of occupation. Liberty and something to do were as necessary to his existence as the food he ate.

“Sanders also told the plotters that Major Mortimer and his boys were not the only ones with whom they would have to deal. There were some firm friends of the family who must be got rid of, or they would make trouble. First, there was Silas Roper. During a battle with the Indians, father had saved his life at the risk of his own, and Silas was so grateful for it that he gave up hunting and trapping and turned herdsman in order that he might always be near father. It wouldn’t be a safe piece of business to attempt to harm the major or any of his family while Silas was about. And there was old Juan and half a dozen others, who had been employed in the family in grandfather’s life-time. They could never be induced to lend their aid to so villainous a scheme, and they must be killed. In order to cope with so many men – Silas was a small army in himself – it would be necessary to have more help, and this Sanders agreed to furnish.

“The plan was thoroughly discussed, and a time set for carrying it into execution. When the night arrived, Sanders appeared with three choice spirits, named Smirker, Hale and Lutz. They began operations by effecting an entrance into the rancho through the cellar. Father was surprised in his bed, and bound hand and foot; three of the obnoxious Mexicans were murdered in their sleep; but old Juan, taking the alarm, fled from the house. He was seen, however, pursued, and overtaken on the brink of a deep gully, a short distance away. He was stabbed, shot twice, beaten on the head with the butt of a rifle, and finally thrown over the cliff; but he is to-night hale and hearty, in spite of his wounds and his ninety-five years.

“The next in order was Silas Roper. They surrounded his cabin, broke open the door, and there their operations in that quarter ceased. The trapper, who says he always keeps himself in trim for a fight, assumed the offensive at once, and whipped out his assailants with an ease that must have astonished them. Lutz, who was the first to enter the cabin, was shot dead in his tracks; Reginald received a blow over the head that laid him aside for a week or two; Sanders got another, and so did Smirker; and Silas escaped without a scratch.

“The next thing was to go back to the house after you and me. I remember as well how I felt when I awoke and found the outlaws in my room as if the incidents I am trying to describe had happened only yesterday. I remember, too, of seeing you jump out of bed, and draw a bee-line for the door. You got out, but Sanders ran after you and brought you back.”

“That must have been what he referred to when he told me that he and I once ran a foot-race,” said Julian.

“I can recall the thoughts that passed through my mind when Sanders and Smirker, accompanied by Richard, were taking us down to the lake to throw us in. I remember of falling through the air and sinking in the water, but beyond that all is blank to me. After I was thrown in, an idea suddenly occurred to Richard, and he concluded to make a change in his programme, and save you alive for some future emergency. A time might arrive when an heir to the hidden gold mine – in the existence of which he and his cousin firmly believed – would be a convenient thing to have about. There were a good many ways in which he might be used. So Richard, after seeing his cousin disposed of in some remote place where he would not be likely to be discovered, and giving Sanders some very minute instructions, took you and started off to Missouri.

“In the meantime, old Juan had recovered his consciousness. When he was thrown into the gorge he did not fall to the bottom, but lodged on a leaning tree about four feet below the brink of the cliff. When he came to himself he crawled down to the lake to bathe his wounds, but stopped just before he reached the bank, for he saw Richard and the two outlaws coming down with us. He saw them throw me into the water, and when they went away with you he jumped in and rescued me.

“In the morning those of the servants who had not been molested, and who had slept soundly in spite of all the noise and confusion, awoke to find the rancho almost deserted. The owner and his family had disappeared, and some of their own number were lying dead in their beds. They went at once in search of the commanding officer of the fort, who came up, but could make nothing of our disappearance. At the end of a week or two, as nothing was seen or heard of us, he concluded that we also had been foully dealt with, and thought it high time that some one was put there to attend to things. He asked the servants if they knew whether or not father had any relatives near, and Sanders, who happened to be present, said he had heard him speak of two brothers, Reginald and Richard Mortimer, who were living in San Francisco. The officer decided to send a letter to them, and Sanders agreed to carry it. He made a great show of starting off, but rode only about five miles through the mountains to a miserable little hut where Reginald was waiting for him.

“Two months afterward Uncle Reginald was acknowledged by the officers, the settlers, and the servants as the lawful master of the rancho, and father was languishing in the prison into which he had been thrown, with the assurance that he should never come out of it until he told where his wealth was concealed. He denied all knowledge of the gold mine, but said that he had some money stowed away in a safe place, and that he would die in confinement before he would tell where it was.”

“Why didn’t Silas and Juan go to the commander of the fort and tell him what had happened?” asked Julian.