“Because here’s the very mischief to pay. I told you just how it would be if you turned that boy loose to run about the country like a wild colt. I shouldn’t be surprised if your little game was brought to an end in less than twenty-four hours.”
“What do you mean?” cried Uncle Reginald in alarm. “Speak out plainly.”
“I mean that if Julian rode Snowdrop away he has brought Bob back—that’s what I mean.”
Pedro’s employer was utterly confounded by this intelligence. His under jaw dropped down, and he looked at his companion without saying a word.
“It is the truth?” continued the Mexican. “Now where did he leave Snowdrop, and where did he get Bob? Either at Smirker’s or at the other place; and if he has been there, it proves something.”
“It does, indeed,” cried Reginald Mortimer, turning white to the lips. “It proves that some of my trusted men have turned against me; for he could never have gained admittance to either place except through treachery. I must talk to him, and see if he has learned anything he ought not to know.”
Uncle Reginald threw on his clothes with all possible haste, and hurried along the hall to Julian’s room. The door opened when he turned the knob, and entering without attracting the boy’s attention, he found him in the act of reading a letter. When Uncle Reginald saw the letter all his worst suspicions were confirmed. He knew where Julian had been, and he knew, too, by whom the missive had been written, and what it contained. Approaching the boy’s chair with a cat-like tread, he leaned over his shoulder and made an attempt to take the paper out of his hand; but Julian detected the move in time to defeat it. He sprung to his feet, and for a moment the two stood holding the letter between them, and glaring at one another like wild beasts at bay. Uncle Reginald was astonished at the look of defiance and determination he saw in the eyes that were fastened upon him. It taught him something of the spirit of the youth with whom he had to deal.
“Julian,” said he, in a tone of voice which he intended should frighten the boy into obedience to his commands, “I have a good deal to say to you; but, in the first place, give me that letter.”
“I would as readily give you my life,” was the prompt reply.
“Let go, I tell you,” said Uncle Reginald, in a still sterner voice, making a vain effort to unclasp the sinewy fingers that were closed upon the letter.