“Any messages?” asked Julian.
“None that I think of. Be down again to-morrow?”
The boy, replying in the affirmative, accompanied the hostler to the stable, and in a few minutes more heard the heavy door locked behind him, and was flying along the zigzag path that led from the rancho to the chasm.
The ride proved to be much more to his liking than the one he had taken a few hours before. The moon lighted up every object within the range of his vision, and he had a fair view of the dangers through which he had passed. The horse carried him along the chasm in safety, and when that was passed Julian threw the reins loose on the animal’s neck and gave himself up to his reflections. Of course the prisoner occupied all his thoughts. He pulled the letter from his pocket and looked at it on all sides. There was something written on it—probably the address of the person to whom it was to be delivered; but Julian, with the aid of no better light than that afforded by the moon, could not make it out. He had two prisoners to assist now, he told himself—Smirker’s captive and the old gentleman who had given him the letter. The former, as we know, was no longer in need of help; but the other was, and in Julian he had a friend worth having. He had others, too, shrewd, active, daring men, who had labored unceasingly for years to discover his whereabouts and effect his release, but without the least hope of success. Silas Roper would have given the best years of his life to have known what Julian knew.
It seemed to our hero that the ride would never come to an end. He made no attempt to guide his horse, but kept a good lookout on both sides in the hope of seeing some familiar landmark. He did not intend to be carried back to Smirker’s cabin if he could prevent it. An hour later he emerged from a deep ravine into a broad, level valley, and then he knew where he was. His horse showed a desire to carry him up a narrow path which led to a high hill beyond; but Julian insisted on having his own way, and by the help of his spurs soon induced the animal to yield to his guidance. The five miles that lay between him and his uncle’s rancho were quickly accomplished, and when Julian drew rein in front of the gate he felt as if a mountain had suddenly been removed from his shoulders.
“I never expected to see this place again,” thought he, as he pounded upon the gate with the handle of his hunting-knife. “Uncle Reginald told me this morning that he wanted me to feel that I had a right to go and come when I pleased, and I guess he will think I haven’t been slow to take advantage of his permission. It must be long after midnight, but I can’t go to sleep, for I don’t want to miss seeing that watchful friend of mine, if he comes about.”
The furious blows Julian showered upon the gate brought the dogs out in full chorus, and in a few minutes Pedro also appeared with his lantern. He must have known who it was demanding admittance, for he did not stop to look through the wicket, but opened the gate at once, and Julian rode in.
“I am sorry to be obliged to disturb you at this hour,” said the boy, as he dismounted in front of the door of the rancho, “but I couldn’t help it.”
“I was up and waiting for you,” was the reply. “Your uncle has given me orders to hold myself in readiness to attend to you at any hour of the day or night; so you see—well—I—Carrajo!”