The Lost Wagon Train

by Zane Grey

  “Howdy, Steve,” drawled Mizzouri, as he reined in. “Mebbe we’re a little late in the day, but hyar we air.”

  “Thanks, Mizzouri, I appreciate it, late or no. But what sent you?”

  “Wal, it was thet son-of-a-gun of a Blue fellar. Boss, so help us Gawd if we ever knowed Nigger Johnson was rustlin’ yore stock till Blue proved it to us. Thet was after he shot the nigger. Leighton an’ Kennedy engineered thet last raid, an’ Nigger Johnson pulled it.”

  “So Johnson double-crossed me!” rang out Latch, stung as of old at being betrayed.

  “Shore. It’s downright humiliatin’, boss, for us to find thet out. Only lately did I get leary. But soon as we knowed it an’ figgered what was to foller, we come pronto.”

  “Mizzouri, if you lined up with me in the fight that’s coming, wouldn’t that lend weight to claims Leighton might make?”

  “Hell yes. But daid men tell no tales, boss,” returned the little outlaw, grimly.

  “No, they don’t. All the same, I’ll not risk jeopardizing the lives and reputations of you men. It cheers me to see you here. But go back home. Don’t fear for me.”

  “Wal, have it yore way, Steve, old man. I was sort of itchin’ for a fight. Too much peaceful livin’. Reckon, though, you won’t need us a hell of a lot. Where’d you pick up this Slim Blue fellar? Boss, if he ain’t the…

  Latch, with a wave of farewell, plunged away out of hearing. He did not care to have his old men see how deeply stirred he was. How that late loyalty warmed his veins! He rushed to the house and hurriedly penned a note to Estelle, and enclosed the last money he possessed. The clatter of Simmons’ fast-moving horse greeted his ears.

  “Ride, Simmons,” he said to the waiting cowman.

  “I seen riders top the hill, boss. Must be Miss Estie an’ the vaquero. I’m off,” replied Simmons, and with a clash of spurs he was gone like the wind.

  CHAPTER

  17

  SLIM Blue leaped his horse over two fences and an irrigation ditch, running at full speed, Brazos might have taken his spirit from his master. The lazy days at Latchfield had palled on the greatest of cow horses. Gaining the open, Brazos stretched out and soon reached Spider Web Creek. Blue halted him on a high wooded bank and for the first time gazed back at the conflagration he had started.

  “Wal, I reckoned thet loose hay would come in handy,” he drawled, in cool satisfaction. Lurid flames were rising under the pillar of black smoke. The trail driver wiped his sweaty face. Then without taking his eyes from the fire he rolled a cigarette. He was a slow smoker. When that cigarette had been almost consumed Leighton’s saloon and the building adjacent were down. In another half-hour only light yellow clouds of smoke marked where they had stood.

  Blue had kept a vigilant lookout for riders. Evidently in the excitement no one but the rider in Martinez’s smithy had seen him race away from town. A few horsemen had ridden into town on the road. Blue calculated it was about time some should be riding out. And what he meant to make sure of was who they were.

  “Thet hombre I winged was Kennedy, I’m almost shore,” soliloquized Blue, as he reloaded the two empty chambers of the gun he had used. “Wal, considerin’ the way he ducked to get under cover, I was shootin’ some to hit him atall…. It’s a safe bet Kennedy knew who was shootin’, so the cat’s oot of the bag now. Thet stall aboot me bein’ drunk didn’t work with Niggah Johnson. My Gawd! I’m shore glad thet waitin’ deceitful game is over!”

  Blue had at last come to the end of his long vigil. He had played his part. This day would mark him as Latch’s ally and an enemy to the Leighton gang, and all who had any relation to them whatever. It had scarcely been necessary for Blue to pretend to be on a drunken rampage. He had indeed been wild with the frenzy of his success and his release from the maddening watch.

  The treasure Leighton had guarded with such unremitting care was a wallet containing letters, marriage certificate, papers, pictures, and jewelry that had been the property of Estelle’s mother. Blue had not had time for anything save a hurried scanning of the contents, but that had been enough to establish the relation of Cynthia Bowden to Stephen Latch, and the child Estelle.

  The trail driver had not yet solved Leighton’s plot as far as the contents of the priceless wallet were concerned. But they were to be used in the man’s plot to ruin Latch, take possession of the ranch, and betray him to his daughter. Leighton would not stop at revealing the hideous fact of Latch’s bloody past to Estelle.

  “Wal, I’ve forced Leighton’s hand,” went on Blue, grimly. “He had the cairds stacked on Latch. An’ I spoiled his deal. Niggah Johnson daid, thet greaser Jaurez daid, the wallet gone, the saloon burned, an’ Kennedy nursin’ a bullet hole! Now what?”

  Action had to be prompt. That very day Leighton must do his worst. He must beard the old lion in his den. It did not seem likely that Leighton would admit any more of his outfit into the intimacy of the strange deal. Bruce Kennedy, Smilin’Jacobs, and Manley—these men, all seasoned, hard-shooting outlaws, quick of wit as well as of trigger, were Leighton’s accomplices. And of these Bruce Kennedy was a traitor, waiting for a chance to shoot Leighton in the back and take over the deal himself. In all probability Leighton would use these three men in his conflict with Latch and Keetch. The rest of the outfit Leighton would surely put on the trail of Slim Blue.

  “Latch, poor devil, has shore got his back to the wall,” mused Slim as he watched every avenue leading out of the town. “Game, I’d say! An’ all to save the kid’s happiness! Wal, he cain’t know what I’ll be doin’. I reckon he’ll never heah aboot me till it’s over. But I reckon I’m to be figgered on heah. I shore am. An’ it’s Leighton’s turn to deal cairds, with me holdin’ these aces up my sleeve. An’ one of them aces bein’ thet Kiowa Hawk Eye! Aw, I guess I’m not so slow.”

  That ended his soliloquies. An hour had passed, and before the end of another much would have happened. Hawk Eye was watching Leighton. The Indian had been slow to respond to Blue’s advances. But gifts and kindness had made approach to Hawk Eye’s friendship. Then a blunder of Leighton’s turned the Kiowa against him.

  The first rider to catch Blue’s quick eye was one leaving the ranch on the road toward the hill. He was mounted on a fast horse, a sorrel Simmons always rode. Latch had sent his foreman out on some errand. What? How that cowman was raising the dust! Estelle had told Blue she was going to ride out with the caravan, to have a few more hours with her girl friends before they parted. This decision had not struck Slim as wise, but his objection was feeble, owing to the exquisite feel of two soft bare arms around his neck, and sweet lips on his. No doubt Latch had let Estelle go, with attendants, of course, and now had begun to be concerned about her. If he had sensed the crisis coming, he might well have dispatched the rider to advise Estelle to go on with the caravan.

  Six horsemen in a bunch turned down the road toward Latch’s ranch. Soon they left the road for the lane which led by the lakes. Blue lost sight of them in the green. They were ranchers, evidently, and the one mounted on the big white horse was undoubtedly Seth Cole. Their calling upon Latch at this eleventh hour held a significance not lost upon Slim Blue. In less than a quarter of an hour they reappeared! And about the same time Blue became aware of another horseman, riding an Indian mustang across the meadow toward the creek. Its rider was the Kiowa.

  Slim stepped out into an open space where Hawk Eye espied him. The Kiowa had important information to which he gave brief utterance. Leighton had killed Keetch and had dispatched Jacobs and Manley to in tercept Estelle on her way back to the ranch. Blue made two queries and Hawk Eye replied that Leighton’s two men had left just after the caravan, and that the wound Slim had given Kennedy was in the left shoulder and had not seriously incapacitated him.

  “You are one good Injun, Hawk Eye,” declared Blue. “Go back. Watch Leighton.”

  The trail driver slid off to tighten his saddle cinch. Then mounting again, he swept an appraising eye along the willow-bord
ered creek to the brushy bluff. He had fairly good cover all the way around to where the road wound up the hill.

  “Wal, Brazos, you been itchin’ to run. Get oot of heah!” called Slim to his horse. Keeping well to the left of the creek, where the going was level, the trail driver made fast time to the mouth of the narrow canyon. Its dark portal seemed to call him. Crossing there, he took to the rougher brushy ground and half circled the ranch before he started to zigzag up the slope. Brazos was fresh and strong, but Blue saved him on that climb. Well might the great horse have need of stamina before the day ended. Once on top of the cedared escarpment Blue kept off the road and out of sight back in the trees. He calculated that Leighton’s men would not go far along the road, but ambush it at a likely place and waylay Estelle upon her return. They would not be paying particular attention to their rear. Besides, neither Jacobs nor Manley was a cowman. Blue had not traveled more than a couple of miles up the gentle slope when he sighted a saddled, riderless horse tied under a cedar.

  Slim dismounted to halter Brazos in a thick clump of trees. Then keeping behind brush and rocks, he advanced with extreme caution toward the road. That sorrel horse belonged to Simmons. If Blue did not miss his guess, Simmons had been shot from its back. But Blue could not locate the foreman’s body anywhere in the vicinity. Presently, however, the trail driver’s exceeding vigilance and genius for such work located two other horses hidden in the green and gray of cedars. A rocky eminence, half concealed by trees and brush, stood on the right of the road. Bandits would have chosen that place as an ideal one for a hold-up. Jacobs and Manley would never go far from their horses. They would be concealed in the brush under that flat rock.

  Blue went back to his horse, and divesting himself of scarf, vest, and boots, he hurried far down on that side of the road, and crossing at a turn he made a wide detour to come up behind the rocky eminence. As soon as he located it and made sure the horses could not sight him from that side, he sat down to regain his breath and choose his further progress. As luck would have it, he could crawl under cover all the way to the ledge.

  Blue did not tarry long. On hands and knees, stopping every few moments, he soon crossed the last hundred yards or more to his objective. That side of the little hill afforded a view of the road. Even as his sweeping gaze met the horizon two riders topped the line to show black against the sky. Blue experienced the thrill sight of his sweetheart always gave him, only this time it seemed to add something vital and tremendous to his passion. Estelle and her vaquero were two miles distant. Long before they came within sight or sound of that rock he would have had the unpleasant little business settled.

  Wherefore he listened. He smelled cigarette smoke before he caught low voices. He decided it would be easier and safer to go up the ledge instead of around. Pulling a gun he crawled like a snake up to the flat narrow top. The rock was scarcely six feet wide. Tips of cedars reached almost to a level with it. Blue rested a moment.

  “Smiley, I tell you I heard something,” Manley said, low-voiced and quick. “Come back hyar.”

  Footsteps rustled below Blue, almost under where he lay.

  “Ground squirrel,” replied Smiley, contemptuously. “Gawd! you’re a skeery cuss!”

  “Ahuh. Mebbe thet’s why I’ve lived this long.”

  “Aw, forget it. Hyar comes our party. Take a peep round the rock.”

  Jacobs whistled low.

  “Smiley, I’ve an idee. Leighton gives us a lot of dirty jobs. Let’s make him pay handsome for this one.”

  “Hell man! He always pays handsome.”

  “Not handsome enough. My idee is this. Listen. Instead of takin’ the girl to Spider Web, let’s hide her somewhere else. Then you brace Leighton an’ ask for ten thousand. He’ll pay.”

  “What?… He’d kill me!”

  “Nope. Not while we got the girl. Can’t you figger why he wants her taken to the lonely canyon?”

  “Manley, you’re low-down. I wouldn’t double-cross Leighton.”

  “Why not? He’ll leave you holdin’ a sack in the end.”

  “I’ve a hunch none of us will hold anythin’ very long—with thet—— ——cowfboy runnin’ amuck.”

  “Bah! You make me sick!”

  “Manley, you’re a tenderfoot, compared to me an’ Bruce. An’ he…”

  Slim wormed his way out on the rock, over to the edge, and peeped down. The men were close enough together to suit Blue. Jacobs sat on a slab of rock with his left side toward Blue, an unfavorable position for gun-play. Manley was standing almost in line with his companion, a few steps beyond, and he was peering out between the corner of ledge and the brush.

  Shoving his gun over the rim Blue called sardonically: “Howdy, men.”

  Smiling, Jacobs stiffened as if steel rods had been shot through him. Manley froze in his tracks. Then Jacobs warily moved his head slightly and looked up to see Blue above, with only head, arm, and shoulder exposed. His dark face with its set ferocious smile turned a ghastly hue. He had hazel eyes which emitted oscillating gleams.

  “Howdy, Blue,” he replied, cool and slow. “I was jest tellin’ my pard hyar to expect you.”

  “God-Almighty!” panted Manley, piercingly.

  “Shore. Thet’d be you—prayin’ when it’s too late,” said Jacobs, scornfully.

  “—— ——you, Jacobs—you got us into this…. I wanted to keep to—the open road.”

  “Ahuh. Wal, pard, jerk round an’ meet hot lead.”

  Blue interposed: “Don’t bat an eyelash down there…. Smiley, will you talk?”

  “Nix,” retorted Jacobs, violently.

  “How aboot you, Manley?”

  “Yes—I’ll talk,” returned Manley, swallowing hard.

  “What’s Leighton’s idee sendin’ you with the Latch girl to Spider Web?”

  “He says he’ll use her to lure Latch into a trap. Promisin’ to free her if Latch makes over his ranch holdin’s. But I know Leighton means——”

  Jacobs interrupted with a terrible curse and suddenly spun round like a top, throwing his gun. As Blue fired, the outlaw appeared flattened by a battering-ram. Blue’s swift second shot took the whirling Manley high up and knocked him into the brush, which upheld him as he swung his gun into action. Blue ducked back and rolled over twice on the ledge. Then he lay flat a moment, listening to the bang of Manley’s gun and the spang of lead off hard rock. The outlaw’s last three shots, at random, showed extreme terror of derangement from a serious wound. Blue never took unnecessary chances. He waited. Threshing of brush, gasping breaths, a quivering jingle of spurs—then silence! After another moment Blue peeped over the rim. Manley had slumped down in the brush with his boots higher than his head.

  Rising guardedly to his feet, Blue peeped over again, to make sure his work was done, then he turned to locate the riders up the road. They were still a mile or more distant. Whereupon Blue, with a decisiveness that presupposed previous thought, made his way to the ambushers’ horses. He removed saddles and bridles to turn the horses loose. Both saddles bore a small pack and a blanket. Possessing himself of one of these, Blue hurried off through the cedars in the direction of Simmons’ horse. He did not locate it at once. Presently, however, he caught sight of the red color of the sorrel, and hurrying up to him he slipped the bridle and gave the horse a cut on the flank that sent him tearing down the road. Blue searched for Simmons’ body, but in vain. Then not wishing to use up any more valuable time, he ran back to where he had tied Brazos.

  “By gosh! I shore am a tenderfoot,” soliloquized Slim, as he rubbed the members that had not taken kindly to rock and cactus. He pulled on his boots and donning vest and scarf, he mounted Brazos to ride out Into the open. He wanted to intercept Estelle at some point beyond the ledge of rock. Latch’s vaquero had sharp eyes and Blue did not want him to discover any sign of what had happened.

  Estelle was in sight, but farther along than Blue had expected. He cantered on, thrilled when he saw that he was recognized. She reined in
her horse, as if startled, and waited. The vaquero slowed to attention.

  It was then only that Blue experienced a sudden sharp relief. He had the situation in hand. Slowing up some paces from where Estelle sat her horse, he leisurely proceeded to light a cigarette.

  “Corny!” cried Estelle.

  She was white of face and the dark purple eyes were distended with expectation.

  “Mawnin’, sweetheart,” he drawled, and doffed his sombrero.

  “It’s afternoon…. Oh my! did you ride out to meet me? …Are you all right? …And Daddy?”

  “Wal, ootside of a turrible yearnin’ to see my promised wife I reckon I’m tolerable,” he drawled.

  “Slim!—This boy understands English,” she protested, with a vivid blush. “Oh, you are fooling me—about something.”

  “Estie, your dad was fine an’ chipper when I seen him a couple of hours back. Nothin’ atall to worry aboot, darlin’.”

  “You swear that?”

  “Shore I do.”

  “But you—you look so different from last night.”

  “Wal, thet was in the moonlight an’ I was sort of glorified by a certain young lady’s confession. This is broad day, Estie, an’ I’m pretty serious.”

  “If I could only trust you!” she murmured, divided between intuitive doubt and irresistible gladness.

  “Wal, honey, it’s too late how for you to back oot of your promise.”

  “Mr. Cornwall!” she replied, tilting her chin, as again a red tide suffused her cheeks. Slim appraised her with the sure possession-taking eyes of an accepted lover. It certainly was a little soon after his dark passion and deadly action to affect his nonchalant self, but he had to do his best, and sentiment seemed his cue.

  “Estie! Don’t spring my real name around heah,” he protested.

  “Then—you rode out because you wanted to see me?” she retorted.

  “Why shore I did.”

  “You couldn’t wait till tonight?”