“You’re an ’arly bird, hain’t you?” said he, with an awkward attempt to appear cordial and friendly. “So am I. I have been findin’ out somethin’ about the wagon trains, an’ I am told that one went out yesterday bound for the very place you want to go. It will pass within a hundred yards of the door of your father’s rancho. I am goin’ to start after it directly. Thar won’t be another goin’ out under a month, an’ I can’t wait so long; fur I’ve no money to waste in payin’ board bills.”
“Neither have I,” said Julian.
“Then you’d best go with me, hadn’t you? We can easy ketch the train by day after to-morrow——”
Sanders paused suddenly, finishing the sentence with something that sounded very much like an oath. He gazed earnestly down the street for a moment, and then turned and walked rapidly away, drawing his handkerchief close about his face as he went. He did not slacken his pace until he had left the hotel out of sight, and was joined by his two companions, who had made an equally hasty retreat. The expression on their faces indicated that they were terribly enraged about something.
“If they wasn’t worth so much money to us I would make way with both of them in less time than it takes to say so!” exclaimed Sanders, in a very savage tone of voice. “Did you ever hear tell of such luck? I’ve done all that can be done at this end of the route, but I hain’t beat yet. We’ll go to the mountains now, an’ have every thing fixed agin’ the wagon train gets thar.”
For some reason Sanders and his friends now seemed anxious to leave the town with as little delay as possible. They made the best of their way to the Hunter’s Home, which they entered hurriedly, and when they again made their appearance on the street they were all on horseback and carried rifles on their shoulders and revolvers and bowie-knives in their belts.
No one not well acquainted with him would have recognized Sanders as the same man who had gone into the hotel but a few minutes before. His broadcloth and jewelry had disappeared, also the handkerchief which he had worn about his face, and he was dressed in a suit of buckskin, which had evidently seen the hardest kind of service. If Julian could have taken one glance at him now, he would not have felt the least inclination to renew his short acquaintance with him, nor would he have wondered that the man had been so careful to keep his features concealed from view. Perhaps he would have asked himself why he did not continually wear the handkerchief.
His was the worst looking face that had ever been seen in the streets of St. Joseph—one that any man except its owner would have been ashamed of; and even he had thought best to hide it for a while lest it should bear testimony against him and defeat his plans. But as he was now about to leave the country of civilized men and go among those of his own kind, concealment was no longer necessary. He appeared in his true character, that of villain and desperado.
When Sanders and his companions were fairly out of the stable-yard, they put spurs to their horses, and rode swiftly away. They stopped that night long enough to ascertain that Julian was with the emigrants, and to make a demonstration, the result of which shall be related presently, and then resumed their rapid gallop, which they did not slacken in one day, nor two; and even at the end of a week, mounted on fresh horses, which they had stolen or obtained in exchange for their own jaded animals, they were still riding toward the mountains as if for dear life. In this way they gained considerably on the wagon train, and by the time it appeared in sight of Bridger’s Pass, Sanders had mustered assistance, and was ready to accomplish by force of arms what he had failed to gain by strategy.