“What is the reason?” asked Julian.
“‘Cause it’s stole from him, that’s the reason—money, we’pons, clothes, grub—everything. He can’t keep nothing.”
“Why doesn’t he lock his doors?”
“Haint every door in the rancho got mor’n a dozen bolts an’ chains onto it, an’ don’t he keep three or four big dogs on the outside of the house, an’ as many more inside? An’ haint he sot up night after night with his pistols in his hands watchin’ fur the thieves? It don’t do no ’arthly good whatsomever. Things is missin’ all the while, an’ nobody don’t know whar they go to. You see,” added Tom, sinking his voice almost to a whisper, “thar’s some folks besides the ole man livin’ in that ar rancho, an’ they don’t need doors an’ winders. They can go through a keyhole, or a crack an inch wide, and even a solid stone wall can’t stop ’em. I slept thar one night, an’ if I didn’t see——”
“Hold your grip, Tom,” interrupted Sanders, hastily. “Somehow I don’t like to hear that thing spoke of. That rancho is a bad place to stop at, that’s a fact; an’ I’d as soon fight a fair stand-up battle with the biggest grizzly in the mountains as to spend an hour thar arter sundown. I wouldn’t be half so bad skeered.”
After saying this Sanders relapsed into silence again, and so did Tom; and Julian, who had heard just enough to excite his curiosity, tried in vain to induce them to continue the conversation. He wanted to learn something about Reginald Mortimer, and know what the trappers had seen in his house that frightened them so badly; but they paid no heed to his questions, and Julian was finally obliged to give it up in despair.
How far he traveled that night he did not know. He was so nearly overcome with fear and anxiety, and so completely absorbed in his speculations concerning the future, that at times he was utterly unconscious of what was going on around him. All he remembered was that for five long hours Sanders kept his horse at a full gallop, leading the way at reckless speed along yawning chasms and under beetling cliffs which hung threateningly over the road, that he became so weary that he reeled about in his saddle, and that finally, when it seemed to him that he could no longer shake off the stupor that was pressing upon him, Sanders suddenly drew rein and announced that they were at their journey’s end.
Julian looked up and found himself in an extensive valley, which stretched away to the right and left as far as his eyes could reach. In front of him was a high stone wall, over the top of which he could see the roof of what appeared to be a commodious and comfortable house. The building was evidently intended to serve as a fortification as well as a dwelling, for the walls were thick and provided with loop-holes, and the windows were protected by heavy iron-bound shutters.
All was dark and silent within the rancho; but when Sanders pounded upon the gate with the butt of his revolver, a chorus of hoarse growls arose on the other side of the wall, and a pack of dogs greeted them with furious and long-continued barking. Presently Julian heard a door open and close in the rancho, and saw the light of a lantern shining above the wall. Then came the rattling of chains and the grating of heavy bolts, and a small wicket in the gate swung open and was immediately filled by the bull’s-eye of a powerful dark lantern. The person who handled the lantern, whoever he was, could obtain a good view of the horsemen, but they could not see him, for he remained in the shade. He consumed a good deal of time in making his observations, and Sanders began to grow impatient.
“Wal, Pedro,” he growled, “when you get through lookin’ at us you’ll let us in, won’t you? We’ve got business with the ole man, an’ we’re in a hurry. I don’t want to stay about this place no longer than I can help,” he added, in an undertone.