Читать книгу Julian Mortimer - Castlemon Harry - Страница 6

JULIAN’S first move, after he had shut the door, was to strike a match, and his second to light a candle which he took from a shelf close at hand. As the light blazed up, he held it above his head and took a survey of the cave, or, as he called it, his “store-house.” It was a very small one – not more than six feet square – but it was large enough to contain all Julian’s earthly possessions. All that could be seen was a quantity of furs, some already cured and neatly baled up, and others hanging against the walls stretched upon boards and frames to dry; but there were other valuable articles stowed away there, and as soon as Julian had glanced about the room to see that nothing had been disturbed during his absence, he placed his candle on the floor and proceeded to bring them to light.

The walls, floor and ceiling of the room were composed of small saplings, and two of these saplings concealed treasures that were of more value to Julian than all his furs. One of them was in the floor, and when it had been lifted out of its place by the edge of a hatchet, some of the young trapper’s wealth, which would have made Jake and Tom open their eyes in amazement could they have seen it, was disclosed to view.

It consisted of a silver-mounted rifle, inclosed in a strong canvas bag to protect it from the damp and dirt, a hunting-knife, an ornamented powder-horn and a fawn-skin bullet-pouch, both the latter filled with ammunition.

Julian looked at these articles long and lovingly. He had come by them honestly – they were the first valuables he had ever owned, and he had worked so hard for them! He took the rifle from its case, drew it up to his shoulder and glanced along the clean brown barrel, as if drawing a bead on an imaginary deer’s head, held it in a dozen different positions to allow the light to shine on the silver mountings, and finally returned it, with all the accouterments, to its hiding-place, and went to look after his other treasures. He removed one of the saplings that formed the ceiling, thrust his arm into the opening and drew out a small tin box, which contained money to the amount of $80 – the proceeds of two winters’ work at trapping. Julian ran hastily over the bills to make sure that they were all there, then put back the box, returned the sapling to its place, and drawing his knife from his pocket sat down to remove the skins from the animals he had just captured.

“I’m rich!” he exclaimed, looking about him with a smile of satisfaction. “Counting in my money and what my horse, hunting rig and hunting furs are worth, I have at least $250. I have purchased everything I need, and some fine, frosty morning, when Mrs. Bowles calls for ‘you, Julian,’ to get up and build the fire, he won’t answer. He’ll be miles away, and be making quick tracks for the Rocky Mountains. I only wish I was there now. There’s where I came from when I was brought to Jack Bowles’ house. I just know it was, because I can remember of hearing people talk of going over the mountains to California, and I know, too, that there were gold diggings on my father’s farm, or rancho, I believe he called it. I’m going to try to find my father when I get there, and if I ever see him I shall know him.”

Julian’s thoughts ran on in this channel while he was busy with his knife, and in half an hour the skins had all been stretched, and the young trapper was ready to return to the miserable hovel he called home. He extinguished his candle, crawled out of the cave, and after concealing the door by piling leaves against it, hurried down the bluff and into the woods, happy in the belief that no one was the wiser for what he had done; but no sooner had he disappeared than Jake and Tom Bowles came out of the bushes in which they had been hidden, and clambered up the cliff toward Julian’s store-house.

It was rapidly growing dark, and Julian, anxious to reach the cabin before his absence was discovered, broke into a rapid run, which he never slackened until he reached the road leading from The Corners to the clearing. There he encountered a stranger, who, as he came out of the bushes, accosted him with:

“Hold on a minute, my lad. I believe I am a little out of my reckoning, and perhaps you can set me right.”

Julian stopped and looked at the man. He could not get so much as even a glimpse of his face, for the broad felt hat he wore was pulled down over his forehead, and his heavy muffler was drawn up so high that nothing but his eyes could be seen; but the boy at once put him down as a gentleman, for he was dressed in broadcloth, and wore fine boots and fur gloves. Julian looked at his neat dress, and then at his own tattered garments, and drew his coat about him and folded his arms over it to hide it from the stranger’s gaze.

“Is there a hotel about here?” continued the gentleman, approaching the place where Julian was standing.

“No, sir,” was the reply; “none nearer than The Corners, and that’s ten miles away.”

“Is there no dwelling-house near?”

“There is a shanty about a mile distant belonging to Jack Bowles, but I wouldn’t advise you to go there.”

“Then I am on the right road after all,” said the stranger, with a sigh of relief. “Jack Bowles! He’s just the man I want to see. I have some important business with him. He can accommodate me with a bed and supper, can he not?”

“He can give you some corn bread and venison, but as for a bed, that’s a thing he doesn’t keep in his house. If you happen to have half a dollar in your pocket, however, he will stow you away somewhere. Jack will do almost anything for half a dollar. Why, what’s the matter, sir?”

It was no wonder that Julian asked this question, for the gentleman, who had now advanced quite near to him, took just one glance at his face, and started back as if he had seen some frightful apparition. He pushed his hat back from his forehead, pulled his muffler down from his face, and stared at Julian as if he meant to look him through. The boy was astonished at his behavior, and he would have been still more astonished if he had been able to look far enough into the future to see all that was to grow out of this meeting.

“Boy!” exclaimed the gentleman, in a voice which his agitation rendered almost indistinct, “who are you? What’s your name?”

“Julian Mortimer,” replied our hero.

“Julian! Julian Mortimer!” repeated the man, as if he could scarcely believe his ears. “It cannot be possible. Why, boy, you’re just – ahem! I mean – what a striking resemblance.”

The stranger spoke these last words hurriedly, and then, as if recollecting himself, hastily pulled his hat down over his forehead again, and once more concealed his face with his muffler – all except his eyes, which he kept fastened upon Julian.

“No doubt you think I act very strangely,” he continued, after a moment’s pause, “and perhaps I do, but the truth of the matter is, you look so much like a young friend of mine – a relative, in fact – that for a moment I was almost sure you were he. But, of course, you can’t be, for he is dead – been dead eight years. If you are ready we will go on.”

Julian was forced to be contented with this explanation, but he was not quite satisfied with it. It was made in a bungling, hesitating manner, as if the man were thinking about one thing and talking about another. More than that, the excitement he had exhibited on the first meeting with Julian seemed to increase the longer he looked at him; and now and then he rubbed his gloved hands together as if he were meditating upon something that afforded him infinite pleasure. He continued to watch the boy out of the corner of his eye, and finally inquired:

“Is this man Bowles, of whom you spoke, your father?”

“No, sir,” replied Joe, emphatically. “I live with him, but he is no relative of mine. My father, as I remember him, was a different sort of man altogether.”

“Eh!” ejaculated the stranger, with a start. “As you remember him? Ah! he is dead, then?”

“Not that I know of, sir. He was alive and well the last time I saw him. I’ll see him again in a few weeks.”

“Where is he?”

“Out West. He owns a rancho near the mountains with a gold mine on it.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because I can’t help myself. I didn’t come here of my own free will, but was brought by one who will have good cause to remember me if I meet him again when I become a man.”

“Do you think you would know him if you should see him again?” asked the stranger, looking sharply at Julian, and putting his hat lower over his eyes.

“I am quite sure I should. He stole me away from my home and brought me here; but why he did it I can’t tell. I don’t intend to stay any longer, if it would do him any good to know it. I’ve got a good horse and rifle, and plenty of money, and I am going to leave here in a few days and go back to the mountains where I belong, and I shall not ask Jack Bowles’ consent, either.”

“Do you think he would oppose it?”

“I know he would. He would beat me half to death, or his wife would, and lock me up in the smoke-house till I promised never to think of such a thing again. I’m going to run away, and by the time he misses me I shall be a long distance out of his reach.”

The man listened attentively to all Julian had to say, and when the latter ceased speaking he placed his hands behind his back, fastened his eyes on the ground, and walked along as if he were in a brown study. He did not look up until they reached the door of the cabin where Jack Bowles, who had just finished his supper, stood smoking his cob pipe.

“Wal, who have ye got thar?” was his surly greeting.

“A gentleman who wishes to find a place to stay all night,” replied Julian.

“Why don’t he toddle on and find it, then?” growled Jack. “I ain’t a hinderin’ him, be I? He can’t stop here. I don’t keep a hotel to take in every Tom, Dick and Harry that comes along. Wal, I be dog-gone!”

Jack suddenly took his pipe from his mouth, and stepping hastily up to the stranger, bent forward and peered into his face. Then something that was intended for a smile of recognition overspread his own countenance, and extending his hand with as cordial an air as he could assume, he continued:

“I allowed I had seed ye somewhar afore, Mr. – eh?”

Jack paused before the name he had been about to pronounce escaped his lips, interrupted by a hasty gesture from the stranger, who glanced toward Julian and raised his hand warningly.

“You are mistaken, my friend,” said he, blandly. “You have never seen me before, but I hope the fact that I am a stranger to you will not prevent you from extending your hospitality to me for the night.”

Jack stared, took a few long, deliberate pulls at his pipe, looked first at the eaves of the cabin, then down at the ground, and finally turned to Julian for an explanation.

“What’s he tryin’ to get through hisself?” he asked.

“He wants something to eat and a bed to sleep in,” replied the boy.

“Oh! Why didn’t he say so, then? Wal, stranger, I reckon we can hang ye up somewhar,” added Jack, who had seen and comprehended the warning gesture; “although, as I told ye afore, we don’t make a business of takin’ in every tramp that comes along. Ye see, in a new country like this it ain’t safe. Ole woman, make up another batch of them corn-dodgers an’ fry a slice or two of that bar’s meat. Julian, what be ye a standin’ thar gapin’ at? Cl’ar yerself. Come in, stranger – come in an’ set down.”

Julian moved around the corner of the cabin and remained out of sight until he heard Mrs. Bowles laying the table for the guest, and then he also entered.

It was not a very sociable party he found in the house. Mrs. Bowles was moving about preparing the corn-dodgers and bear meat; the visitor, who had removed his overcoat and muffler, was comfortably seated on a nail-keg in a dark corner of the room, and Jack Bowles sat in front of the fire, his elbows resting on his knees and his hat pulled down over his eyes, which were slowly moving over the stranger’s person and scrutinizing his dress and ornaments.

Julian noticed that his gaze rested long on the watch chain that hung across the stranger’s vest, and on the diamond ring that glittered on his finger, and the expression he saw on Jack’s face alarmed him and made him wish most sincerely that he had never conducted the gentleman to the cabin.

No one spoke until supper was ready, and then the guest was invited to “draw up and pitch in.” Julian tried to obtain a glimpse of his features as he came out of his dark corner, but the man, as if guessing his intention, kept his head turned away from him and took his seat at the table with his back to the fire, so that his face still remained in the shadow.

While he was busy with his corn-dodgers and bear meat, Jake and Tom came in. They glanced curiously at the guest, and Tom seated himself beside the fire opposite Julian, whom he regarded with a triumphant smile, while Jake went to one of the beds that stood in the room and carefully hid something under the pillows. Julian afterward recalled the movements of these two worthies, and wondered why his suspicions had not been aroused.

When the stranger had satisfied his appetite, the three boys, at a sign from Mrs. Bowles, sat down and made a very light meal of that which was left, and no sooner had they arisen from the table than they received a second signal from Mr. Bowles, who pointed with his thumb over his shoulder toward that part of the room in which the beds were situated.

The boys all obeyed the order, but one of them, at least, had no intention of going to sleep. It was Julian, who, as he slowly mounted the ladder that led to the loft, told himself that he was in some way connected with the stranger’s visit to the cabin, and that he would learn something about the matter before morning, if there was any way for him to accomplish his object. He stretched himself upon his hard bed, and drawing one of the coats over his shoulders, waited impatiently to see what was going to happen.

For half an hour all was still; then some one began to move softly about the cabin, a step was heard on the ladder, and a light flashed upon the rafters over Julian’s head.

Presently a hand grasping a tallow dip appeared above the edge of the loft, closely followed by the grizzly head and broad shoulders of Jack Bowles, who stopped when he reached the top of the ladder and gazed at our hero long and earnestly.

Julian was wide awake, and through his half-closed eyelids could see every move Jack made, but the latter, believing him to be fast asleep, descended the ladder and joined his guest.

“My suspicions are confirmed,” soliloquized Julian. “They intend to talk upon some subject that they don’t want me to know anything about. I am going to learn something now. Perhaps I shall find out who I am and where my father is, and why I was brought here. What if this man should prove to be my father, who, for reasons of his own, does not wish to reveal himself to me?”

Julian, highly excited over this thought, rolled noiselessly off the bed upon the floor, crept to the edge of the loft, and looked over into the room below. Jack had just placed his candle on the table, and was approaching his guest with outstretched hand.

“Now, then, Mr. Mortimer,” said he, “the boy is out of the way fur the night, an’ thar’s no use in settin’ back thar away from the fire. Draw up an’ give us a shake.”

“Mr. Mortimer!” was Julian’s mental ejaculation.

His heart seemed to stop beating. He opened his eyes to their widest extent and kept them fastened upon the stranger, who pulled his nail-keg in front of the fire and seated himself upon it.