“It isn’t—it isn’t——”
Pedro tried to pronounce some name, but it seemed to stick in his throat.
“No, it isn’t him,” replied Sanders; “it’s the other.”
“Not Julian?” exclaimed the Mexican, plainly much relieved.
“Yes, Julian, an’ nobody else.”
“Why, how came he here? Where did you find him?”
“Now, Pedro, you haven’t offered us $5,000 to bring him to you safe an’ sound, have you? Them’s questions we don’t answer for nobody except the ole man. We want to see him, an’ purty quick, too.”
Sanders dismounted from his horse, and at a sign from him Tom and Julian did the same. Pedro led the way toward the door of the rancho, shaking his head and ejaculating in both Spanish and English, and turning around now and then to look sharply at Julian as if he had not yet been able to make up his mind whether he was a solid flesh and blood boy or only a spirit. He conducted the trappers and their captive into the house, and after pausing to fasten the door, led them through a long, wide hall, the walls of which were hung with old-fashioned pictures and implements of the chase, and ushered them into an elegantly furnished room; and after taking one more good look at Julian, waved his hand toward a couple of chairs and asked the trappers to be seated.
“I will go and tell the governor who you are, and whom you have brought with you,” said he.
“Hold your horses!” exclaimed Sanders, suddenly, and in great excitement. “You haint a-goin’ to take that light with you an’ leave us here in the dark? I wouldn’t stay here fur all the money the ole man’s got stowed away in that cave of his’n, if it’s $50,000.”