Julian had shown a tolerably bold front as long as a hope of escape remained, but now that he found the door of the stable locked upon him, and himself completely at the mercy of the two robbers, his courage gave way utterly, and he could not have made an intelligent reply to Smirker’s question even if he had had anything to say.
The new-comer was the genuine White-horse Fred—there could be no doubt about that, for he had given the signal when he approached the cabin, and more than that, Smirker had recognized him by the clothes he wore.
Giving himself up for lost, Julian waited almost impatiently for the strange horseman to speak, believing that the opening of his lips would be the signal for his own death. What, then, was his amazement when he heard the boy exclaim:
“White-horse Fred! If there is any one here that goes by that name, it must be you or that young gentleman over there.”
“Then you ain’t him!” said Smirker, growing more and more perplexed.
“No. Do I look like him!”
“You sartinly do, and act like him. What were you whistling out there for?”
“Oh, just to hear the echo.”
“And what made you come in here?”
“Because you opened the door.”