Julian Mortimer

Mr. Mortimer was profoundly astonished at these words. He looked sharply at the prisoner for a moment and exclaimed: “Has Sanders been here?”

“Sanders?” repeated Julian.

“Yes; a short, thick-set man, dressed in black, and wearing an abundance of jewelry.”

“I have no acquaintance with any such person.”

“But you do not say that you have not seen him. You have talked with him – I am certain of it – or you would not know that my name is Richard. Sanders knows why I am here, and I know why he is here and who sent him. We are both playing the same game, and we shall see who will win. He shall never take passage on that flatboat.”

As soon as Julian had been securely bound, Jack set himself to work to overhaul his pockets, searching – not for concealed weapons, but for the money belonging to the prisoner. A very short investigation, however, served to satisfy him that the coveted treasure was not hidden about Julian’s person, and with an expression of almost ungovernable fury on his face he left him and began to search the camp. He picked up the prisoner’s blankets, shook them thoroughly, threw aside the leaves which the boy had scraped together to serve as a mattress, and looked into every hollow stump and under every log on the bluff; but nothing in the shape of a box or pocket-book could he find.

“Whar is it?” he roared, unable to contain himself longer.

“Where’s what?” asked Julian.

“The money, ye rascal – the $145.”

“I haven’t got as much as that.”

“Wal, you’ve got some. Whar is it, I axes ye?”

“It is concealed where you will never think of looking for it, and there it shall stay.”

“I’ll bet a hoss that it don’t stay thar,” shouted Jack, stamping the ground and shaking his fists in his rage. “Mark my words. Afore I’m done with ye, ye’ll come to this bluff an’ give me that money with yer own hands.”

“And mark my words,” replied Julian calmly. “I shall do nothing of the kind. I’ll die first. It is mine – you’ve no right to it, and you shan’t have it.”

“Never mind the money now, Bowles,” exclaimed Mr. Mortimer, who was becoming impatient at the delay. “You will have plenty of time to hunt for it after your return from New Orleans. We must begin our journey at once.”

Jack, reluctant to abandon the search, took another turn about the camp, and after venting some of his spite by pulling down Julian’s brush cabin and kicking over the squirrels that were broiling before the fire, picked up the blankets and the rifle, and seizing the boy roughly by the arm hurried him down the bluff. After placing him behind Mr. Mortimer on his horse he disappeared in the woods and presently returned, mounted on his own nag, and led the way toward the clearing. He did not follow the road, as Julian hoped he would, but to avoid meeting any of the settlers, held straight through the woods. He was moody and sullen during the whole of the ride, and the deep scowl on his forehead showed that he was thinking intently.

“The minute Julian drops overboard from the flatboat, that minute I shall have $200 put into my hands,” soliloquized Mr. Bowles. “That’s a monstrous heap of money fur a poor man like me, but I’d like to have them $145, too. Now how am I goin’ to get it? That’s what I’d like to know. I’ll never find it unless Julian tells me whar it is, an’ if he’s at the bottom of the river he can’t tell me. Hain’t thar no way fur me to push him overboard without drownin’ him?”

Upon this question Jack pondered long and deeply, and by the time he and his companions reached the clearing he must have found an answer to it, and a satifactory one, too, for he brightened up and became lively and talkative.

The first person Julian saw when he reached the clearing was the stranger in broadcloth, who was pacing up and down the bank. He did not look up when the boy and his captors rode past him, but pulled the handkerchief a little closer about his face, and sinking his chin lower into the collar of his coat, kept his eyes fastened upon the ground.

“If you are all ready to start, Jack,” said Mr. Mortimer, as they drew rein in front of the door of the cabin, where Mrs. Bowles and her sons were waiting to receive them, “we will go on board the flatboat at once.”

“Wal, I hain’t quite ready,” returned Jack. “I shall be away from home a long time if we go to New Orleans, an’ Jake and Tom’ll have to look out fur things while I am gone. I want to tell ’em what to do.”

“Your wife can do that as well as you can,” replied Mr. Mortimer impatiently.

“An’ more’n that,” continued Jack, holding open his coat to let his guest see that it was in a very dilapidated condition, “I’ve got to have some clothes, if I’m goin’ to a country whar white folks live. I don’t want to make ye ashamed of me.”

“You have nothing to fear on that score. Your clothes will do well enough.”

“But I say they won’t. I was born and raised a gentleman, I was, and I guess I know what sort of riggin’ a gentleman had oughter wear when he goes a visitin’.”

“I don’t want to wait another minute. Don’t you know that we are in danger as long as we remain here? Suppose some of the settlers should find out what is going on?”

“Oh, now, how be they goin’ to find it out? We hain’t a goin’ to tell on ourselves, be we?”

“But the captain wants to start immediately,” persisted Mr. Mortimer.

“I can’t help that. I shan’t be ready for an hour or two – p’raps more; ’cause I’ve got to go to The Corners arter some good clothes.”

“Then you may stay there, if you choose. I can get along without your assistance.”

“No ye can’t, an’ ye shan’t, nuther,” retorted Jack.

“I shall go without you,” continued Mr. Mortimer, decidedly. “Then what will become of the $200 I promised you?”

Jack approached his guest and placed his lips close to his ear.

“If ye go without me I’ll have the officers of the law on yer track in less’n an hour,” said he, fiercely. “Then what will become of ye? I can say, ye know, that ye offered me money to shove the boy overboard, an’ p’raps ye’ll have to tell some things ye’d rather the world wouldn’t know. Ye’ve got money, an’ ye can keep the boat here as long as ye please.” Then aloud he added: “Ye an’ Julian can step into the house, an’ sit down an’ talk to the ole woman, an’ me an’ the boys will go to the stable an’ feed the hosses. I’ll be back as soon as I get my business done.”

Mr. Mortimer, finding that he was at the mercy of his confederate, was obliged to await his pleasure. He conducted his prisoner into the cabin, while Jack led the horses toward the stable, followed by Jake and Tom.

The boys assisted their father in removing the saddles and feeding the animals, and when this had been done, Jack conducted them into one of the cribs, and after closing and fastening the door, seated himself upon the corn and proceeded to make his sons acquainted with certain plans he had determined upon.

He did not know that some one besides Jake and Tom was listening to every word he said, but such was the fact. It was Sanders, who having overheard enough of Jack’s conversation with Mr. Mortimer to excite his curiosity, and seeing Bowles and his sons enter the crib and shut themselves in, made a circuit through the woods, and came up within hearing of their voices in time to learn as much of their scheme as he cared to know.

“I reckon Mr. Mortimer will get tired of waitin’ fur me,” said Jack, “‘cause he hain’t no ways likely to see me agin afore dark. I’ve got work fur ye to do, youngsters, an’ if ye do it as I tell ye to, there’s money to be made by it. Listen, now, with all the ears you’ve got. In the fust place, in order that ye may understand the hul matter, I must tell ye that this Mr. Mortimer is the same feller who brought Julian here years ago. He’s some kin to him – his pap, mebbe, fur all I know – but he don’t want to own him, ’cause the boy somehow stands atween him an’ a fortin’. He wants to put him whar he’ll never see him agin, an’ so me an’ him have give out that he is crazy, an’ that we’re goin’ to take him to Orleans an’ put him in a ’sylum. In course, he hain’t no more outen his head than I be, but that’s no business of mine. Mr. Mortimer’s goin’ to start down the river with him to-night, an’ I’m goin’ along to take care of him.”

Jack did not see fit to tell his boys that Mr. Mortimer had offered him money to push Julian overboard, and that he had promised to do it. That was a dangerous secret, and one that he did not care to trust to anybody’s keeping.

“I shall get $200 fur makin’ the trip,” continued Jack. “Now, I want to earn them thar two hundred, but I don’t want Julian to be tuk to New Orleans an’ shut up thar, ’cause if he is, we’ll lose jest $145 by it – the hundred he stole from ye last night, Jake, an’ the forty-five he made this mornin’ outen his mink skins. He’s hid the money, an’ I want to get a chance to make him tell whar it is; an’ this is the way I’m goin’ to work it. As soon as it comes dark, ye, Jake an’ Tom, must get into the dug-out an’ drop down the river in it, as easy as ye can, tie it to the starn of the flatboat, an’ then lay down on the bottom an’ keep still thar. Be sure an’ make it fast with a short rope, so as to keep outen the way of the sweeps. When ye’ve done that I will go up to the house, an’ me an’ Mr. Mortimer an’ Julian will go on board the flatboat, an’ she’ll put out into the river, draggin’ the dug-out arter her. When Mr. Mortimer an’ most of the crew have gone to bed, I’ll untie Julian an’ take him up fur a turn about the deck. I’ll give him all the chance he wants to get away, an’ he will be sartin to use it. He said that we shouldn’t never take him down the river; an’ bein’ perfectly at home in the water, he won’t mind jumpin’ overboard and swimmin’ ashore. As soon as I see him in the water I’ll whistle, an’ ye must cut loose from the flatboat an’ pick him up. Be as easy as ye can about it, an’ when ye onct get hold of him hang on, no matter what happens; tie him hard an’ fast, an’ bring him hum an’ put him in the smoke-house till I come. I’ll be along some time to-morrer, ’cause when Mr. Mortimer finds out that Julian is overboard he’ll think he’s drownded, an’ he’ll pay me off an’ discharge me. Arter I get hold of Julian, it won’t take me long to make him tell whar he’s hid them hundred an’ forty-five dollars. When I get that an’ the two hundred I’ll be rich.”

“But, pap, how much be me an’ Tom goin’ to git fur doin’ the job?” asked Jake.

“Ye’ll git enough to satisfy ye,” was the reply. “Jake shall have Julian’s rifle fur his share. It’s a good one, an’ didn’t cost a cent less’n $25. Tom shall have his blankets, which he can sell at The Corners if he don’t want to keep ’em, an’ the clothes Julian’s got on. Tom thinks a heap of good clothes, an’ that shows that he’s goin’ to be a gentleman when he’s growed up. An’ more’n that, if I find Julian here when I come hum, I’ll give each of ye $10; but if he hain’t here, ye shan’t have nothin’ but the dog-gondest wallopin’ ye ever heern tell on, an’ ye’ll get that as sartin as ye’re a foot high. It’ll be wusser’n all the rest I ever give ye biled down into one. Now, be ye sure that ye know jest what ye’ve got to do?”

Jake and Tom were not quite certain that they did, and so their father repeated his instructions, and kept on repeating them until the boys thoroughly understood them.

Every part of the work they were expected to perform, as well as the treatment Julian was to receive prior to Jack’s return, was discussed, and the latter being satisfied at last that there was no danger of failure, announced that it was his intention to pass the rest of the afternoon in sleep. He instructed Jake to return to the house and announce that his father had just set out for The Corners on horseback, and then concealed himself among the corn at the farther end of the crib, while his boys, after making sure that there was no one in sight, opened the door and went out. No sooner had they entered the cabin than Sanders left his position behind the crib, made another circuit through the woods back to the bank of the river, and once more began walking up and down, now and then shaking his head and chuckling to himself as if he were thinking about something that afforded him great satisfaction.

CHAPTER XII

ON BOARD THE FLATBOAT

“PAP! I say, pap! be ye goin’ to sleep here till creation comes? It’s pitch dark, an’ me an’ Tom have got the dug-out tied fast to the flatboat, like ye told us, an’ the cap’n’s jest been in the house a tellin’ of Mr. Mortimer that he ain’t a-goin’ to wait no longer. Get up, consarn it all.”

It was Jake Bowles who spoke, and while he was thus addressing his slumbering parent he was shaking him most vigorously. Jack opened his eyes at last, and after yawning and stretching his arms, and listening to what his hopeful son had to say about the dug-out and the captain’s impatience, he began to understand the matter.

“All right,” he replied, drowsily. “Now, Jake, I want to be sartin’ that ye know what ye’ve got to do. Let me hear ye go over what I said to ye this mornin’.”

Jake began and rehearsed his instructions, and went through with them to his father’s entire satisfaction. When he had concluded Jack inquired:

“What did I say I’d give ye if ye brought Julian back here a prisoner?”

“Oh, I hain’t forgot that, I bet ye,” replied Jake, quickly. “Ye said ye’d give me his rifle an’ $10. Don’t ye forget it, pap, when ye comes back.”

“I won’t. I’m a man what allers sticks to his word. Now let me see if ye remember something else. What did I say I’d give ye an’ Tom if ye let him get away from ye?”

“A larrupin’.”

“A little one or a big one?”

“A big one – wusser than all the rest.”

“I’m powerful glad to see that ye hain’t forgot it. I’ll allers keep my promises, I told ye. Mind what ye are about, now.”

Having thus cautioned his young ally, Jack staggered to his feet and walked slowly toward the house, where he found Mr. Mortimer pacing the floor in great excitement. The captain of the flatboat had just left him, with the information that if Jack did not return in half an hour he would be obliged to start without him, for he could wait no longer.

“You have come at last, have you?” was Mr. Mortimer’s greeting.

“Hain’t you got a pair of good eyes? In course, I have.”

“I should say it was a high time. And you haven’t got your clothes, either.”

“Wal, that ain’t no fault of mine, is it? I forgot to ax ye fur some money to git ’em with, an’ the storekeeper wouldn’t trust me. I’m all ready now, if you are.”

“Then take charge of Julian and bring him on board the boat at once. Remember that I want him kept out of my sight as much as possible.”

“I give ye the word of a gentleman that he shan’t never trouble ye no more,” replied Jack significantly.

Mr. Mortimer hurried out of the cabin, slamming the door after him. As he sprung upon the deck of the flatboat he was met by the captain, who was impatiently awaiting his appearance.

“We are ready at last,” said the passenger, “and the sooner you get under way the better it will suit me.”

“Stand by the lines,” shouted the captain.

“Where’s that man?” continued Mr. Mortimer.

His companion pointed toward the bow of the boat. Mr. Mortimer looked and saw Sanders pacing back and forth as wide awake as ever.

“He must be made of iron,” said the skipper, “for he has kept up that walk ever since we landed here this morning, and shows no sign of giving out.”

“There is nothing strange in that. He is working for money, and wants to be where he can see everything that is going on. Have you told him that he can not go down the river with us?”

“Not yet.”

“Then do it at once. Use every argument you can think of to induce him to go ashore, and if you can not make him listen to reason call your crew and put him off.”

Mr. Mortimer descended the stairs leading into a little dismal apartment in the stern of the boat that was dignified by the name of “the cabin,” and the captain approached his passenger, and extending a roll of bills, said:

“I’m sorry to be obliged to say that I can’t take you to Orleans.”

“Sho!” exclaimed Sanders.

“It’s a fact. My cabin has been given up to a crazy boy and his keepers, and I can’t accommodate you. Here’s the passage money you paid me.”

“I don’t want it. A bargain’s a bargain.”

“I tell you that I can’t take you.”

“O, I hain’t no ways particl’ar as to commodation. I can hang up anywhar.”

“But I don’t want you on board my boat, and you shan’t stay either. Here’s your money. Take it and go ashore.”

“Now jest listen to me a minute, cap’n, and I’ll tell you something,” replied Sanders, approaching the skipper and speaking in a low, confidential tone. The latter, believing that his passenger was about to communicate some secret to him, leaned forward and caught the words: “I shan’t stir a peg.”

“Then I shall use force,” cried the captain in a rage. “I shall put you off.”

At the mention of the word “force” all the combativeness in the stranger’s composition arose and showed itself. His eyes flashed angrily, and doubling up one huge fist he brought it down into the palm of his hand with a report like that of a pistol.

“Look a here, cap’n,” said he, with a great deal of emphasis, “my name is – Jones.”

He had been on the point of pronouncing his own name – one that had more than once struck terror to a braver heart than the captain of the flatboat possessed – but recollected himself in time, and gave the first one that came to his mind.

“Yes, that’s my name,” he exclaimed, after a moment’s pause – “Jones —Tom Jones. I’m the peaceablest feller you ever seed when I ain’t crossed, but when I am I’m a leetle wusser than a hul passel of wild-cats. I can see through a grindstun as fur as the next man. I know why you don’t want me here, but I’m a-goin’ to stay, I can tell you, an’ if you want to see bullets fly faster than you ever seed ’em fly afore, jest tell your crew to put me off.”

As Sanders said this he placed his hands in the pockets of his coat, and when he brought them into view again, he held in each one a navy revolver. After flourishing them before the eyes of the captain he put them away again, and locking his thumbs in the arm-holes of his vest, resumed his walk up and down the deck. While this conversation was going on the crew had been busy casting off the lines with which the flatboat was made fast to the bank, and now one of them sung out: “All gone, sir.”

The captain turned, and seeing that Mr. Bowles and Julian had just come on board, and knowing that it would be useless to make any more attempts to rid himself of his objectionable passenger, gave orders to get under way.

“Haul in that gang-plank,” said he. “Get out the setting-poles and shove off for’ard. Man the larboard sweeps, and pull her bow out.”

While the crew were busy working the boat out into the river, Mr. Bowles took occasion to stroll aft and look over into the water. It was very dark, but still there was light enough for him to distinguish the outlines of the dug-out dragging at the stern of the flatboat. So far his plans were working smoothly. His only fear was that the canoe might be discovered by the pilot; but, after all, there was little danger of it, for that officer, beside being obliged to give his whole attention to directing the course of the boat, occupied a position so far from the stern that he could not look over into the water, even if he had been disposed to do so. Jack took off his hat and flourished it about his head, and instantly another hat was thrust over the side of the dug-out, and being moved to and fro was pulled back out of sight. Jake and Tom were on the alert, and Mr. Bowles, being satisfied of the fact, returned to his prisoner and conducted him into the cabin.

Julian took the seat pointed out to him, and looked around with curiosity. The cabin was a very dingy apartment, and was dimly lighted by a smoky lantern, which hung suspended from a beam overhead. It contained a rusty cooking stove, a rough table, around which were arranged four long benches to serve in lieu of chairs, and two sides were occupied by bunks in which the crew slept.

One of them, a little apart from the others, was provided with curtains, which, being looped back, revealed a very comfortable-looking bed, that was doubtless intended for Mr. Mortimer. The latter gentleman had nothing to say to Mr. Bowles when he came in, but continued his walk in silence.

Jack took a turn about the cabin, and then seating himself in a chair near his prisoner, folded his arms, rested his chin on his breast, and closed his eyes as if preparing to go to sleep.

Being heavily loaded and short-handed besides, considerable time was consumed in working the flatboat out into the river; but at the end of half an hour a gentle, gliding motion, accompanied by the “lapping” sound of the waves against her sides, told Julian that she was fairly under way.

Presently the captain came below, followed by some of his crew. The men looked curiously at the passengers, especially at Julian, who sat in his chair with his hands tied behind his back, and without any ceremony divested themselves of some of their outer clothing and tumbled into bed.

The captain, after pointing out to his passengers the beds he had arranged for them, followed their example, and presently Mr. Mortimer also sought his couch.

Julian, almost worn down by fatigue and excitement, waited impatiently for Jack to give the signal for retiring, but the latter had no intention of doing anything of the kind. He waited until the sounds which issued from the bunks told him that their occupants were all asleep, and then he beckoned Julian to follow him to the deck. A terrible fear seized upon the boy as he arose to obey. Was Jack about to throw him overboard?

He tottered up the stairs, and when he reached the deck, was astonished beyond measure and immensely relieved by an unexpected proceeding on the part of his keeper, who, instead of conducting him to the side and pitching him into the water, began untying his hands.

“What in the world does he mean, I wonder?” thought Julian. “Does he expect me to remain on board this boat if he gives me the least chance to leave it? If he takes his eyes off me for one instant I’ll astonish him.”

“What are you untying that crazy fellow for?” exclaimed the pilot, who stood with his hand resting on one of the sweeps which served as the rudders of the flatboat. “The cap’n says he’s dangerous.”

“An’ so he is,” replied Jack – “in the day-time; but at night he’s as gentle as a kitten. I’m goin’ to let him take a leetle exercise afore he goes to bed. He’ll sleep the better fur it. Ye needn’t be afeared, ’cause I can manage him. Mind what ye’re about now,” he added in a low tone, addressing himself to Julian. “I’ve got my eyes onto ye.”

Jack walked aft to talk to the pilot, and Julian, delighted to find himself once more at liberty, strolled leisurely about the boat.

The crew on watch were huddled together in the waist, and at a little distance from them, Sanders lay stretched out on the deck, apparently fast asleep. Julian walked past the prostrate forms, and taking his stand on the bow, gazed toward the shore. Half the width of the Missouri River lay between him and his freedom.

“I can easily do it,” said he to himself, “and I am going to try it. Good-by, Jack. When I set my feet on solid ground once more I will put a safe distance between you and me before I stop.”

Julian seated himself on the side of the boat and looked down into the dark, muddy water, now and then turning his eyes toward Jack and the pilot. The former kept his back toward him and his gaze turned up the river, as if he saw something there that interested him, and finally the pilot, in response to some inquiry from Jack, faced about and looked in the same direction. This was Julian’s opportunity, and he was prompt to seize upon it. Placing his hands upon the side of the boat he swung himself off and dropped into the river.

His sudden immersion in the cold water almost took his breath away, and for a moment he felt as if every drop of blood in his body had been turned into ice; but quickly recovering himself he struck out lustily for the shore.

There were two persons on board who had witnessed the whole proceeding. One was Sanders, who was wide awake, in spite of the terrific snores he uttered, and the other was Jack Bowles.