“Julian Mortimer!” exclaimed Smirker.
“Julian Mortimer!” echoed the owner of that name, in a scarcely audible voice.
If our hero had been surprised before, he was doubly so now. He could scarcely believe that he had heard aright. If this stranger was Julian Mortimer, who in the world was he, Julian asked himself. Were there two boys of that name in existence, and was Uncle Reginald the guardian of both, and holding in his hands a valuable property to be surrendered to them when they reached their majority?
He rubbed his eyes to make sure he was not dreaming, and looked hard at the stranger, who seemed not a little astonished at the sensation he had created.
As for Smirker, he was as nearly beside himself as a sane man could well be; and, what was very singular, he seemed all of a sudden to have discovered some reason for wishing to keep as far away from Julian as possible, for he backed into one of the stables and stood eying him like a caged hyena.
“Well, what of it?” said the stranger. “Perhaps you don’t believe what I told you. If it is necessary that I should furnish proof, I can do so. Open the door and let me out.”
“You spoke that name just in time,” said Smirker fiercely, “for in a minute more you would have been done for. If you are really the captain’s cub, you are worth too much to us to be put out of the way yet awhile. But not much I won’t let you out-doors. Your story may be true, and it may not. I am going to keep you here till I can send to headquarters and find out.”
“All right,” replied the boy, swinging himself from his saddle and gazing about the stable as if everything he saw in it was full of interest to him. “I am easily suited. I’d as soon stay here an hour or two as not. I never was in a house like this before. What makes you call ’em all ranchos?”
“Look a here,” added Smirker, turning to our hero. “If this fellow is Julian Mortimer, who are you?”
“Are you not yet satisfied that I am White-horse Fred?” asked Julian in reply. “Perhaps you want me to prove it.”