This exclamation was called forth by an unexpected sight that greeted his eyes. As he came suddenly around an abrupt bend in the path, he found before him a long, low, narrow cabin, built snugly under a beetling cliff which hung threateningly over the gorge. Two well-beaten paths appeared at this point; one leading to the doors of the building, and the other running on down the gorge. The mare, which seemed perfectly familiar with the locality, quickened her pace at once, and before Julian could gather up the reins to check her, she had turned into the first mentioned path, and galloping up to one of the doors stopped as if waiting for her rider to dismount. After looking all about him, without discovering any one, Julian began to take a survey of the premises.
There were two doors in the house, both opening out on the path. A short examination of the ground in front of the one at which his horse had stopped, showed him that it led into a stable; while the other, no doubt, opened into the living-room, for there was a rough bench beside it for the accommodation of loungers. While Julian was wondering by whom and for what purpose the house had been erected in that remote and lonely spot, his attention was attracted by the movements of his horse, which, after pricking up her ears and looking intently at the door in front of her, as if expecting the arrival of some one, began pawing the ground impatiently.
“She thinks there ought to be somebody here,” thought Julian. “And there certainly is something in the stable,” he added, after listening a moment, “for I can hear the stamping of horses. Halloo! the house!”
Julian waited for a reply, and listened for some movement in the cabin which would tell him that his call had been heard; but the only response he received was the echo of his own voice thrown back from the cliffs. This satisfied him that the owner of the premises was absent; and picking up his reins, he was on the point of turning back toward the valley, when, by the merest accident, he discovered something that he might have seen before if he had made good use of his eyes. It was a small window close under the eaves of the house, which was filled by the muzzle of a revolver and a pair of gleaming eyes looking straight at him.
Too astonished to speak, the boy sat in his saddle wondering what was going to happen now, and presently saw the six-shooter disappear and the eyes approach closer to the opening. A moment afterward a shaggy head, crowned by a broad-brimmed hat, was thrust slowly out, and a masculine face, that was by no means handsome or prepossessing, was exposed to his view.
“It’s you after all, hain’t it?” growled a deep voice, in no very amiable tones.
“Yes,” replied Julian, “it is I. But I heartily wish it was somebody else,” he added, mentally.
“Why in tarnation didn’t you whistle? I didn’t know you in them new clothes, and I might have put a ball into you just as easy as not. I’ll be out in a jiffy.”
As the man said this he drew in his head and closed the window. Julian was glad indeed when his villainous face disappeared, and trembled when he reflected that perhaps that revolver had been leveled at his head, and those evil eyes fastened upon him ever since he arrived within sight of the cabin, and he had never suspected it. He saw at once that he had placed himself in a dangerous position. One of two things was certain. The owner of the rancho was either hiding from pursuit, or else he was engaged in some unlawful business. If he were an honest man he would not act so strangely.
“But how does it happen that he recognizes me?” Julian asked himself. “Does he know who I am, or does he take me for somebody else? If he knows that I am Julian Mortimer, he may be a man of the Sanders stamp who has been hired to put me out of Dick’s way. If he thinks that I am an acquaintance of his, or an accomplice, he will certainly discover his mistake as soon as he has a fair view of my face, and then what will he do to me? I think I had better not wait for him.”