Julian, not daring to trust himself to speak, nodded his head, pulled out his handkerchief ostensibly for the purpose of wiping his forehead, but really to conceal the sudden pallor which he knew overspread his face, and the man went on:
“The captain’s playing a deep game, and he’s going to succeed in it, too. He’s making a decoy duck of Julian—using him to keep Silas Roper about here until he can catch him; and when he once gets hold of him and finds out where the money and the nuggets are, he’ll make short work with both of them.”
What else Smirker was about to say Julian never knew, for an unexpected interruption occurred at that moment. A shrill whistle, sounding from some point close at hand, echoed through the gorge. It produced a strange effect upon Julian’s companion, for he turned as pale as death, and the hand which he placed upon the butt of his revolver trembled visibly. He stood motionless until the whistle was repeated, and then hurried across the floor and mounting a short ladder that leaned against the wall of the stable, opened the window before spoken of.
No sooner had he looked out than he sprung to the ground again, and with a volley of oaths that made Julian’s blood run cold, strode up to him and seized him by the collar.
“Look here, my cub,” he hissed, between his clenched teeth, “I suspected you all along. There ain’t two White-horse Freds in this country, and I know it. Who are you? Speak quick!”
As he said this he pulled his revolver from his belt and leveled it at Julian’s head.
JULIAN, who had been congratulating himself upon the ease with which he was about to extricate himself from his perilous situation, was dismayed at this turn of events. He comprehended the matter perfectly. White-horse Fred, so called probably from the color of the animals he rode, was a member of a band of horse thieves and robbers, and it was his business to assist in moving the plunder from one point to another. The man Smirker belonged to the same organization, and it was his duty to receive and care for the booty until such time as the authorized agents of the band called for it. He had probably been on the lookout for his confederate when Julian arrived.
“But why didn’t he know that I wasn’t White-horse Fred as soon as he looked into my face?” thought the boy, so nearly overcome with terror that he did not hear the words that had been addressed to him. “And how does it happen that I was riding Fred’s horse? How did my uncle come by him? I can’t understand it?”