Upon reaching Julian’s side he threw his arms around him and clasped him in a most affectionate embrace—to which the boy submitted without uttering a word. He had not expected such a reception as this; and, if one might judge by the expression on the faces of the trappers, they had not expected it either. Their underjaws dropped down, they stared at one another for a moment, and then Tom gave utterance to another long-drawn whistle, and Sanders pounded the floor with the butt of his rifle.
“Julian! Julian! is it possible that you have returned at last?” cried the gentleman, holding the boy off at arm’s length for a moment, and then straining him to his breast once more. “Don’t you know your Uncle Reginald?”
“It’s him sure enough, ain’t it?” asked Sanders.
“Of course it is he,” replied the owner of the rancho, still clinging to Julian as if he never meant to let him go again. “I should have recognized him if I had met him in Asia. No one but a Mortimer could ever boast of such a face as that. Where did you find him? Julian, why don’t you tell me that you are glad to see me?”
“I say, guv’nor,” interrupted Sanders, “couldn’t he talk to you jest as well arter we are gone? Me an’ my pardner are in a monstrous hurry. How about them $5,000?”
“I will place it in your hands this moment. Come with me.”
Seizing Julian by the hand, Reginald Mortimer—for that was the gentleman’s name—led the way along the hall, and into a room which the prisoner saw was used as a sleeping apartment, for there was the bed from which this man, who claimed to be his uncle, had just arisen.
Conducting the boy to a seat on the sofa, and leaving the trappers to stand or sit as suited their fancy, the gentleman produced a bunch of keys from his desk and unlocked a strong box which was standing at the head of his bed.
When the lid was thrown back Julian opened his eyes and leaned forward to obtain a nearer view of the contents of the box.