OUR HERO rode away from the cabin which had been the scene of his recent thrilling adventure in an ecstasy of bewilderment and alarm. He could not find a satisfactory explanation for a single one of the strange incidents that had happened there—they were all shrouded in a mystery which he could not penetrate. Of one thing, however, he was certain, and that was that that gallant young fellow, whoever he was, who had so narrowly escaped death at Smirker’s hands, should not remain long a prisoner. He would have him out of that cabin if there was any way by which his release could be effected, and find out what he meant by claiming to be Julian Mortimer. Perhaps that “watchful friend,” who had addressed that note to him and visited his room the night before while he was asleep, could tell him what ought to be done under the circumstances, if he could only obtain an interview with him. This he would use his best endeavors to accomplish by returning at once to his uncle’s rancho, and remaining awake all night. If his mysterious friend should come into his room before morning he would be sure to see him.
Julian’s new horse was quite as swift as Snowdrop, and showed the same willingness to go ahead. He flew down the rocky path at break-neck speed, the bay quietly following. For two hours he continued that mad gallop, and at the end of that time suddenly slackened his pace to a walk. This aroused Julian, who straightened up and looked about him, expecting to see his uncle’s rancho close before him; but not a building of any description was in sight. His horse was toiling up a steep mountain path, which led through a wilderness of trees and rocks that Julian did not remember to have seen before. He knew that he had not passed that way in the morning. He had been so completely absorbed in his reflections that he had not thought of directing his steed, but trusted to the animal to carry him back to his uncle’s rancho. But now he remembered, with a thrill of terror, that he was not riding Snowdrop, but a horse belonging to a robber—one, too, which was in the habit of making frequent and perhaps daily journeys between certain points. The animal seemed to know where he was going, but Julian did not. He had not seen the valley since he left Smirker’s cabin, and that proved that the horse, without attracting his attention, had turned into another path, and was carrying him deeper into the mountains. But to what place? To another robber station beyond a doubt. Julian shuddered at the thought.
To add to his alarm, night was rapidly coming on, the sky was overcast with clouds of inky blackness, the lightning was playing about the mountain tops, and the hoarse mutterings of a storm could be heard in the distance. What was to be done under such circumstances? He could never retrace his steps and find his way back to the valley in the dark. He knew by the experience he had already had with Snowdrop that the animals White-horse Fred rode, having become accustomed to a particular line of duty, objected to having their usual manner of proceeding interrupted; and if the nag on which he was now mounted should show the same disinclination to turn back that Snowdrop had exhibited to leave Smirker’s cabin, what could he do? He would be obliged to depend entirely on himself, and he would become hopelessly bewildered before he had gone a hundred yards. To camp beside the path and wait for daylight would be equally hazardous, for the crash of fallen timbers in the distance told him that the swiftly approaching storm was sweeping every movable thing before it. He must go on—he had no alternative.
“There’s some consolation in knowing that I can’t get into a much worse scrape than that which I have just got out of,” thought Julian. “If I don’t succeed in passing myself off as White-horse Fred, I will reveal myself and trust to luck. In that event the robbers will only make a prisoner of me, for I am worth too much to them to be harmed. Smirker said so, although I haven’t the least idea what he meant by it.”
Having settled this point, Julian put spurs to his horse, which, having by this time gained the summit of the hill, set off at the top of his speed. The gloom of night settled rapidly over the mountains, growing more and more intense every instant, and finally even the nearest objects were shut out from his view, save when the occasional flashes of lightning burst from the thick blackness overhead. To increase his uneasiness, he became aware that the path over which he was being carried with all the speed his horse could command ran along the brink of a deep precipice. Trusting entirely to the white nag, and leaving the bay to take care of himself, Julian clung with a death-grip to the horn of his saddle, closing his eyes when the lightning illuminated the scene, that he might not see the dangers before him, and then when darkness once more settled over the mountains holding his breath in suspense, momentarily expecting to find himself whirling headlong to destruction. But the sure-footed animal, having carried the real White-horse Fred along that same chasm on many a night like this, was too familiar with the way to run into any dangers.
Nearer and nearer came the storm, a roar like that of a thousand express trains filling the canyon behind him, the lightning flashing incessantly, the thunder booming and echoing among the cliffs like rapid discharges of heavy artillery, the crash of falling timber sounding louder and plainer every instant, and faster and faster flew the white horse with his terrified rider. He sped along like a bird on the wing, never once abating his speed even in the roughest and most difficult places, and finally, to Julian’s immense relief, carried him into a thickly wooded ravine, and after making several abrupt turns and plunging through a dense thicket of bushes, came to a sudden halt. On the instant the boy placed his hand to his mouth and gave a perfect imitation of White-horse Fred’s whistle.
“Ay! ay!” came the response through the darkness, the voice sounding close at hand.
“Whew!” panted Julian, drawing his handkerchief across his dripping forehead. “Wasn’t it lucky that I had my wits about me? I heard a window close, and a bolt rattle as it was pushed into its socket; and that proves that some one heard my approach and was on the lookout. If I hadn’t given the signal just as I did I might have been shot. Wouldn’t I give something to know what I have got to go through with now?”
Julian could not see even the faintest outline of a house before him, but nevertheless there was one there. The sound of voices and the tramping of heavy feet on a stone floor came faintly to his ears, followed by the grating of bolts and locks; and presently a door swung open close at his side—so close that if he had thrust out his hand he could have touched it—a flood of light streamed out into the darkness, and a man with a lantern appeared on the threshold. Julian’s horse at once moved forward, carrying his rider into a stable similar to the one adjoining Smirker’s cabin, and the bay followed closely at his heels. Scarcely had they reached the shelter of the friendly roof when the storm burst forth in all its fury.