Julian Mortimer

“Thar’s the dog fur ye, Mr. Mortimer,” said Bowles, looking proudly at his favorite. “He’ll ketch any thing ye tell him to, from a bar down to a chicken. Hand me that rope, ole woman. I’ll have to hold him in the leash, or he won’t leave enough of Julian to make it wuth while to take that trip down the river. Now, then, hunt ’em up, ye rascal!”

Having made one end of the rope fast to the hound’s collar, Mr. Bowles wrapped the other about his hand and arm, snatched a blazing fire-brand from the hearth, and hurried out of the door and around the house, to examine the ground there, and ascertain if Julian had really escaped from the opening in the gable-end. The hound struck the scent at once, and uttering a loud bay dashed off into the darkness, dragging the clumsy Jack after him.

“Now’s your time,” whispered Tom, when the yelping of the dog and the encouraging yells of his master began to grow fainter in the distance; “speak to him.”

“I say!” exclaimed Jake, addressing himself to Mr. Mortimer, who was pacing nervously up and down the floor; “pap’ll never ketch him, but we can, ’cause we know whar to look fur him.”

“Then why don’t you do it?” demanded the guest, angrily. “I will give you $10 apiece if you will bring him back to me.”

“Wal, that’s business. We were jest waitin’ to hear ye say something of that kind. Come on, Tom.”

The two boys rushed out of the house, and running swiftly along the path that led by the corn-cribs, were soon out of sight.

CHAPTER VIII

CHASED BY A BLOOD-HOUND

JULIAN did not remain long enough in his concealment to overhear all the conversation we have recorded, for an action he witnessed on the part of Jake Bowles, shortly after that worthy got into bed, turned his thoughts from the stranger, and his plans into another channel. He saw Jake thrust his arm under his pillow and draw out a small tin box, which he opened, and after looking over his shoulder to make sure that his father and mother were too much engaged with their visitor to pay any attention to himself, he drew out of it a roll of bills. He ran his fingers over them caressingly, held them above his head to allow the firelight to shine upon them, and exhibited in various other ways the delight he experienced in having them in his possession; after which he returned them to the box, replaced it under his pillow, and settling himself comfortably between the blankets, threw his arm over his head, and as Julian thought, prepared to go to sleep. But Jake did not intend to do anything of the kind, for he saw the top of the eavesdropper’s head over the edge of the loft.

“That’s my box,” thought our hero, his cheek growing suddenly pale, and his heart beating against his ribs with a noise that frightened him. “I’ve been robbed.”

The knowledge of this disagreeable fact came upon him with a force so stunning and bewildering, that for a few seconds he lay as motionless upon the floor of the loft as if he had been stricken down by some powerful hand. His secret was discovered after all his pains, and by the very ones from whose knowledge he had wished most to keep it hidden.

“My horse went first,” thought Julian, striving hard to choke back the tears that arose to his eyes, “and now everything else is gone; for, of course, if they found the box they must have found my furs and my rifle also. And I was always so careful never to go near my store-house until I had satisfied myself that there was no one in sight. I shan’t give up those things, and that’s all about it. Because I have never resisted their tyranny, Jack and his boys think I am a coward, but now I will show them what I am made of.”

Very slowly and cautiously Julian drew back from the edge of the loft, and retreated toward the opening in the gable-end of the cabin. So stealthy was he in his movements that even the wakeful Jake did not hear him as he crept across the floor, swung himself down from the gable-end and dropped to the ground.

The instant he landed on his feet he darted off at the top of his speed, directing his steps toward the corn-cribs.

“That much is done,” panted Julian, “but the work is yet to come. It will be no trouble to saddle my horse and secure my rifle and furs, but how am I to obtain possession of that money? It is mine, and I am determined to have it. Here, Billy! Here, Billy!”

Julian’s horse, which was standing under a dilapidated shed, raised his head on hearing his name pronounced, and seeing his master open one of the cribs, came up, expecting the ear of corn which the boy never failed to have ready for him whenever he passed through the stable-yard. Julian knew where Tom kept his saddle and bridle, and it was but the work of a few seconds to place them on the horse. When this had been done he climbed over the corn to the farther end of the crib, and began tossing aside the ears, muttering as he did so:

“This place is a regular repository for stolen goods. I have found more than one article belonging to me stowed away here, and unless I am very much mistaken – ah! I thought so. Here are my furs – all baled up and ready for transportation, thanks to Tom and Jake – my rifle and my hunting-knife. Now, if they had only left my money here I would be on my way to St. Joseph in less than five minutes. I must have it if it takes me a week to get it.”

Julian hastily pulled the canvas cover off his rifle, and slung the weapon over his shoulder by a broad strap that was attached to it, buckled his hunting-knife about his waist, placed his furs, which Tom and Jake had tied up in one bundle, close at hand, and once more began throwing the corn aside, searching everywhere for his powder-horn and bullet-pouch. While thus engaged his attention was attracted by a great uproar which suddenly arose in the house. He listened, and could hear the tramping of heavy feet and the sound of angry, excited voices, with which were presently mingled the shrill tones of Mrs. Bowles, who thrust her head out of the door and shouted for Nero.

“The blood-hound!” gasped Julian. “I didn’t think Jack Bowles was as bad as that. Oh! for just one load for my rifle! But why should Nero harm me? He has known me as long as he has known any of the family. I have often shared my meals with him, and perhaps if he overtakes me he will recognize me.”

Julian knew too much, however, of the nature of the fierce brute to indulge long in this hope.

Nero was the terror of the neighborhood, and when aroused he had been known to defy Jack Bowles himself. Our hero was perfectly well aware that the hound would trail him as he would a deer, and that if by any chance he succeeded in overtaking him, he would pull him down and throttle him without the least mercy. His heart beat a trifle faster than usual when he thought of the probable results of a fight with the terrible animal, and his hands trembled as he caught up his bundle of furs and clambered over the corn toward the door.

He had left Billy with his head in the crib, feasting on the corn within his reach, and he believed that he would remain there until he was ready to mount him; but when he came out of the door he saw him at the farther end of the yard, prancing and playing about in high glee.

The boy ran toward him, pronouncing his name in a low voice, but Billy, instead of obeying the call, kicked up his heels and galloped away to the other side of the yard. Just then Julian heard the door of the cabin thrown open, and looking back saw the hound spring into the room and fawn upon his master.

“I’m caught,” thought our hero, in intense alarm. “I dare not wait to secure my horse, and on foot I can never hope to escape from that dog. I might as well give up now as any time.”

The boy’s actions, however, did not indicate that he had the least idea of surrendering himself without a struggle for his freedom.

After one more unsuccessful attempt to capture his unruly steed, he threw his pack of furs over his shoulder, leaped the fence that inclosed the stable-yard, and striking the path that led to the woods, ran for his life. He did not waste time in looking back, and there was no need of it, for his ears kept him posted in all that was going on. He knew when Jack and his dog came out of the cabin, and the cold sweat started out from every pore in his body when Nero’s deep-toned bay, and his master’s exultant yells, rang out on the still air, telling him that the trail had been found and the pursuit commenced.

Calling to his aid all the power he had thus far held in reserve, Julian flew along the path with the speed of a frightened deer, and with a few bounds reached the cover of the woods.

Without in the least slackening his pace, he threw his bundle of furs into the bushes on one side of the path, and pitched his rifle as far as he could in the opposite direction. His second move was to pull off his coat and wrap it around his left arm, and his third to draw his hunting-knife from its sheath, and tie the thong of buckskin which was attached to the handle around his wrist. His face all this while wore an expression that would have astonished Jack Bowles could he have seen it.

Being now relieved of every encumbrance, Julian flew along with redoubled speed, through darkness so intense that he could scarcely see his hand before his face, leaping logs and ditches, and struggling through thickets of briers and cane that at almost any other time would have effectually checked his progress, all the while listening to the baying of the hound, and wondering why the animal was so long in overtaking him.

When he had accomplished nearly half a mile, and the sounds of the chase began to grow fainter, showing that his pursuers were losing ground, he uttered an exclamation of delight, and slackened his pace.

“I thought Nero’s music did not ring out as loud and clear as usual,” said he to himself; “and now I know the reason. Jack is holding fast to him, and the dog is choking himself to death trying to get away. Mr. Bowles never saw the day that he could catch me in a fair race. I may as well go slower and save my breath.”

But, even as these thoughts were passing through Julian’s mind, he heard a sound behind him that brought from him a cry of alarm, and caused him to spring forward again with all the power he could command. It was a yell of rage from Jack, accompanied by a loud, ringing bay, such as Nero usually uttered when following a trail. The eager hound had escaped from his master’s control.

The fugitive shuddered at the thought, and would not permit himself to believe it; but in a few seconds the fact became too apparent. Nero’s bays sounded nearer and nearer, and presently Julian heard him crashing through the bushes behind him.

His lightness of foot could not save him now. The fight he so much dreaded could not be avoided, and the sooner he was prepared for it the better.

To think, with Julian, was to act. He at once decided that the little open glade he was then traversing should be the battle-ground. It was almost entirely free from undergrowth, and moreover, the branches of the trees overhead were not so thick as to entirely shut out the light of the moon, which, just then, as if in sympathy with the fugitive, made a feeble effort to shine through the clouds that obscured it.

A few rapid steps brought him to the opposite side of the glade, and to the foot of a huge poplar. Here he faced about, and taking his stand with his back against the tree, so that the shock of the first collision might not knock him off his feet, he wrapped his coat closer about his arm, and fastened it there by tying the sleeves in a knot with his teeth, grasped his hunting-knife with a firmer hold, and calmly awaited the appearance of the blood-hound. Nor was the contest long delayed.

Stimulated by the freshness of the trail, Nero came on with long and rapid bounds, and at last broke from a thicket on the opposite side of the glade, and with a bay which rang in Julian’s ears like the knell of death, moved swiftly toward his victim.

The fugitive had barely time to settle his hat more firmly on his head and brace himself for the shock, when the fierce animal arose in the air and launched himself at his throat. The arm with the coat wrapped around it was quickly interposed, and Nero’s ponderous jaws closed upon it with a power that, for an instant, rendered Julian incapable of action. He was borne back against the tree by the weight of the brute, but rallied in a moment, and then began the most desperate struggle of his life.

The hound was as quick as a cat in his movements, and seemed endowed with as many lives; for, although the boy’s long, keen blade found lodgment in his body more than once, it appeared to make no impression upon him. He clung to Julian’s arm with the tenacity of a bull-dog, never once loosening or shifting his hold; and now and then, throwing all his strength into the effort, he gave his antagonist a shake that brought him to his knees.

To make matters worse, Jack Bowles was not far behind. He was soon near enough to shout directions to his hound. He heard the sounds of the struggle, and believing that his favorite was gaining the mastery, ordered him to let go his hold.

“He is past minding, Jack,” shouted Julian, whose courage and determination had never once flagged during all the doubtful contest; “and when I am done with him he will be past hearing you.”

Jack heard every word, and comprehended the situation as well as if there had been light enough for him to see everything that was going on. It was wonderful how quickly his tone changed.

“Hi! hi!” he yelled, forcing his burly form through the bushes with all the speed of which he was capable, “pull him down, Nero! Shake him to death, ye rascal! Drop that ar we’pon, Julian, or I’ll larrup ye within an inch of yer life. I wouldn’t have that dog hurt for $100.”

“You ought to have thought of that before you put him on my trail,” replied Julian. “There! Thank goodness that ends it.”

The hound ceased the battle as suddenly as he begun it. He became limp and lifeless all at once, and sank to the ground in a heap, dragging Julian with him. But even in death his jaws would not relax their hold. His long teeth had caught in the coat, and Julian could not release his arm.

Just then, Jack Bowles burst from the bushes, and came lumbering across the glade. He saw Julian kneeling beside the hound and knew instinctively what had happened. His astonishment and rage knew no bounds.

“Dog-gone!” he roared; “ye’ve done it now, boy. I wouldn’t be in yer cowhide shoes fur no money. Hold on, thar! Come back here, or – ”

The oaths and threats with which Jack awoke the echoes of the forest made Julian’s blood run cold, but they did not check his flight.

Finding himself unable to obtain possession of his coat, he slipped his arm out of it and fled, leaving the garment in the hound’s mouth.

He was out of sight in a moment.

CHAPTER IX

GOOD FOR EVIL

JULIAN, almost exhausted by his violent exertions, was in no condition to continue his fight. He simply ran to the opposite side of the poplar, in front of which the fight had taken place, and threw himself flat between the roots, where he lay trembling with fear, and hardly daring to breathe lest Jack should discover him. But that worthy was too angry to see anything except his prostrate hound. He bent over the animal for a moment, and then rushed frantically off in the direction he supposed Julian had gone, stamping through the bushes like a mad man and stopping now and then to listen for the sound of the fugitive’s footsteps. He made a wide circuit through the woods, searching everywhere for the object of his vengeance, and finally came back to his favorite again.

He seemed to be unable to bring himself to believe that he had seen Nero alive for the last time. He placed him upon his feet, called him by name, and even shook him to make him show some signs of life; and when at last he had satisfied himself that the dog was really dead, he jumped up and spurned him with his heavy boot.

“Only think!” he exclaimed aloud; “a hound that could pull down a four-pronged buck as easy as he could a chicken, that could stretch a two-year-ole bar while ye was a thinkin’ about it, an’ chaw up a full-grown wildcat every mornin’ afore breakfast, has met his match at last in that leetle pale-face Julian, who doesn’t look as if he had pluck enough to face a mouse. Nero, I am teetotally ashamed of ye. Whar is that Julian? If I don’t ketch him I shall lose the money I was goin’ to make by that trip to Orleans. But I’ll make more outen Mr. Mortimer. I’ll have that watch an’ that ring, an’ everything he’s got in his pockets afore daylight. I hain’t a goin’ to be swindled on all sides, I bet ye.”

When Jack had finished his soliloquy – every word of which Julian had overheard – he once more began his search for the fugitive. The boy remained quiet in his concealment until the sound of his footsteps had died away, and then with a long breath of relief arose to his feet and went to recover his coat. He found it where Jack had thrown it after freeing it from the teeth of the hound. It had never been a very valuable piece of property since it came into his possession, and now it was in a worse condition than ever; but Julian, knowing that he was destined for months to come to live entirely in the open air, could not think of leaving it behind. He threw the garment over his shoulder, and taking a last look at the hound, and shuddering as he recalled the incidents of the fight, bent his steps through the woods toward his store-house. He wanted to see what Tom and Jake had done to it. Perhaps they had left something there worth saving. He was very cautious in his movements, stealing along with a step that would not have awakened a cricket and pausing every few feet to listen. But he heard no suspicious sounds, and when he reached the cliff in which his store-house was located he was satisfied that he had seen the last of his enemies for that night at least.

He found the ruins of his store-house lying all along the side of the bluff, for the young robbers, not content with taking possession of Julian’s valuables, had pulled out the saplings of which the house was built and scattered them far and wide. As Julian stood looking at the ruins of the cabin, thinking how hard he had worked to build it, and wondering how Jake and Tom had ever discovered it, he heard a slight rustling in the bushes by his side, and before he could turn to see what occasioned it, he found himself lying flat on his back with a heavy weight on his breast holding him down. At the same instant he felt a strap passed around his wrist.

Had his assailant conducted his operations in silence, Julian, who believed that he had fallen into the clutches of Jack Bowles, and that it would be folly to resist, would have suffered himself to be bound without even a word of remonstrance, but his antagonist, having a confederate close by, and believing that he was likely to have more on his hands than he could well attend to, shouted lustily for help.

“Here he is, Jake,” he yelled. “Hurry up. I’ll hold him an’ ye can tie him. The $20 are our’n.”

“Tom Bowles!” cried Julian.

“Sartin; an’ ye’ll find it out as soon as we get ye fast. Don’t go to bein’ sassy now, ’cause we won’t b’ar it. Tie that ar strap around his arms, Jake.”

“Perhaps Jake isn’t man enough to do it,” replied our hero; and the sequel proved that he was not.

Julian arose to his feet as easily and quickly as though there had been no one there to prevent him, and seizing Tom by the collar, gave him a trip and a push that sent him heels over head down the cliff.

Without waiting to see what had become of him, Julian turned upon Jake, and then began another fight, which, although by no means of so serious a character as the one Julian had had a few minutes before, was quite as furious and determined. Jake was older and larger and stronger than Julian, but by no means as active. He was fighting for the $10 his father’s guest had promised him if our hero was brought back to the cabin a prisoner, and to retain possession of the $80 he carried in his pocket.

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