“‘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.
During the journey across the plains nothing worthy of record occurred to vary the monotony of Julian’s life. He met with no more adventures, for Sanders had disappeared, and although the boy was certain that Silas could tell what had become of him, all his questioning failed to elicit the desired information. The emigrant kept himself as much as possible out of sight. The members of the mess expressed some surprise at his abrupt desertion of them, and asked one another what could have been the occasion of it; but no one knew, and in a day or two the matter was forgotten.
As the days progressed Julian’s friendship for and confidence in his silent friend steadily increased. Silas on his part cherished an unbounded affection for his young companion, and manifested it by a thousand little acts of kindness. He beguiled many a weary mile of their journey with stories of what he had seen and done, and descriptions of life in the Far West, but said not a word about Julian’s affairs unless he was asked.
At last the Rocky Mountains began to loom up before them, and on the same day Silas, who as usual was riding in advance of the train with Julian, pointed out a hostile Indian on the summit of a distant swell.
“How do you know he is hostile?” asked Julian. “Can you see the paint on his face at this distance?”
“No, but I know who’s been a smokin’ an a talkin’ with his tribe around the council fires,” replied the trapper. “You think you’ve been through a heap since you fust seed Dick Mortimer, and p’raps you have; but you’ll go through a heap more if you live a week longer. You needn’t be afeared of the Injuns, howsomever,” added Silas, seeing that the boy’s cheek blanched, and that he cast anxious glances toward the distant warrior. “They won’t harm you. If every man, woman and child in the train is massacred, you’ll be kept safe, unless you are hurt by accident.”
“What makes you think so?”
“I don’t think so, I know it; but I hain’t got time to talk about it now, ’cause I must ride back an’ keep the wagons closer together.”