The Lost Wagon Train

by Zane Grey

“Wal, to be honest, sweetheart, part reason was ’cause I didn’t want you runnin’ right into trouble at home.”

  “Corny!”

  “Don’t fly off the handle now. Dog-gone-it, you’re a Western lass! You gotta face things sometime.”

  “I can face anything, if you’ll only tell me. I knew something was wrong—the instant I laid eyes on you…. Oh, Slim!”

  “Hold your hawse, Estie;” he returned, a little sharply. “Now listen. It’s nothin’ much…. Leighton has picked oot the day after your party to throw your dad off his ranch an’ take possession.”

  “Leighton? … Oh, outrageous, Corny!”

  “Wal, it shore is. But Leighton has got hold of a lot of your dad’s papers an’ like as not he’ll try to force him off. I reckon thet may lead to some stiff arguin’.”

  “Arguing? Slim Blue, it means guns…and yours!”

  “Wal, darlin’, I haven’t a lot of time to argue with you. My idea was for you to ride back, catch up to the caravan, go on to Fort Union with your friends, an’ have a good time till this darned mess is settled.”

  “I won’t do it,” she flashed.

  “No? Wal, supposin’ we was married—then would you obey me?”

  “Yes, I would. But, Mr. Trail-driver, we are not married yet… and there’s many a slip ’twixt cup and lip.”

  “Dog-gone! Wonder what you mean by thet?”

  “Don’t be hurt, Slim. But you make me furious.”

  “How come? I haven’t done or said a thing oot of the way.”

  “Oh, it’s your infernal, cool, baffling way. Slim, you’re a liar!”

  “Aw, Estie——”

  “I won’t go back to the caravan. It’d be wonderful to have more days with Marce and Elizabeth. But my play days are over, Corny. And the sooner you and Dad realize that the better for all of us.”

  “Yeah?—Wal, I’m glad you’re woke up. If you marry me, Lady——”

  “Not if….When?”

  “All right. When you marry me, in the dim an’ distant future, you’ll have to work.”

  “I’m not afraid of work…. It is very evident, Mr. Cornwall, that you do not expect to marry an heiress.”

  “No. We’re gonna be poor an’ you’ll have to milk the cows.”

  “Lovely! Which means, my cowboy, that you expect Dad to lose all.”

  “I can’t believe that. Anyway, if Latch has lost all, I reckon he’ll get it back. Leighton has done some crooked work, Estie.”

  “Can you prove it?” queried Estelle, eagerly.

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh, Corny, all my trust and hope is in you!” she murmured, her eyes glistening in tears.

  “Wal, Estie, thet cain’t be calculated to shake my nerve or lose my haid…. You won’t trust me an’ go back to the caravan?”

  “It’s not a question of trust. You want to spare me fright or pain. I won’t go.”

  “All right. Then will you do this? Let me take you down the valley to Bradley’s. He’s a good friend of mine. He’s a squaw-man, shore. But I’ve seen worse white women than his red wife and daughter. They’ll make you comfortable.”

  “Slim, you want to hide me until it’s—over?” she queried, aghast.

  “Wal, yes, if you want to call it thet,” he agreed, with a smile.

  “Why?” she asked, gravely.

  “Aw, I’d just feel freer, you know—more myself—better able to help your dad if I knew you were safe hid.”

  “You are afraid of Leighton.”

  “No, Estie.”

  “You are. You are afraid he will kidnap me to get even with Dad.”

  “Say, whoever put thet idee in your haid?”

  “Keetch. What’s more, Keetch told me never to ride out alone.”

  “Thet old son-of-a-gun! Wal, I reckon there’s more men in love with you than me. An’ oot heah, darlin’, possession is nine-tenths of the law, an’ the other tenth is a gun.”

  “Leighton makes my flesh creep. But I’m more afraid of that gambler dude, Manley.”

  “Yeah. Wal, you needn’t be, Estie…. An’ now how aboot my takin’ you to Bradley’s?”

  “I will go, my lord and master. But are you quite sure you appreciate what a tremendous sacrifice this is for me?”

  “I reckon—you wonderful lass!” exclaimed Slim, with warm gratitude. “My Gawd! but I love you turrible!”

  “Indeed? You might have told me that sooner.”

  “Don’t tease, Estie. Come, let’s rustle along.”

  “You will not keep me hidden more than a few days?”

  “Gosh, no! I cain’t live any more without you.”

  “But you will come often—to see me—to tell me?”

  “Shore. Often as I can.”

  “I must have clothes and my things. May I send Lopez for them?”

  “Yes. Come now, Estie. Let’s ride.”

  Estelle sent Lopez ahead, and riding beside Blue she extended a gauntleted hand and babbled of romance. Blue heard, but had no more to say. He watched the rider ahead as he passed the rock ledge and the cedars beyond. Lopez looked up at circling buzzards far overhead, but he did not see anything to excite suspicion.

  Blue and Estelle rode hand in hand to the hill top. To his relief, no smoke marked the recent fire in the town. The ranch appeared to drowse under the afternoon sun. How significant that Latch’s gray-green valley was not dotted with cattle! They rode down to the level, where Blue asked Estelle to send the vaquero in with news that she was safe and would soon be home. Estelle complied after giving Lopez instructions about what to bring her, and presently she and the trail driver were riding down the north side of the valley, under the rugged bluff. Owing to scarcity of water on that side there were but few settlers in all the thirty miles down to the open prairie. Bradley had located in the mouth of a canyon where narrow green fields attested to the labor of his hands. It happened that the squaw-man was in town. But Blue left Estelle with the Indian women and was about to bid her farewell when he happened to remember Leighton’s wallet.

  “Say, Estie, considerin’ all this talk of yours aboot trust—can I trust you?”

  “Why, Corny!”

  “Wal, I mean will you promise to keep this by you an’ not forget it till I come back.”

  “I promise, Slim. What’s in it? Money?”

  “Somethin’ more precious than gold, dear. But you’re not to open it!… Go to bed, honey. You look daid for sleep.”

  “Oh!… Good-by, Slim…. Be careful. Come back soon.”

  Blue waved to her as he raced across the valley. He had to decide whether or not to hunt up Bradley and prevent him from frightening Estelle with details of what had taken place since her party had ended at dawn that day. Blue wondered what further had happened in town and at Latch’s ranch during the several hours since he had parted with Hawk Eye. Estelle’s long-planned party had precipitated events. There were a few that Leighton had not dreamed of in his scheme of things. He had made sure of his trusted allies carrying Estelle off to Spider Web Canyon. Blue had long heard of that almost inaccessible rendezvous of outlaws. Leighton, no doubt, had more than one reason to lure Latch into the fastness of that wild canyon. At length the trail driver decided it would be wise to see Hawk Eye before making another move.

  CHAPTER

  18

  BRAZOS ran the several miles to the lower Latch lake in short order. Here ended the open ranch and the green of trees, gardens, orchard, vineyards began like a wall. Blue deliberated a moment. The hour was getting along well into the afternoon. He would risk taking a look around the barns and corrals, possibly even the ranch-house, before going on to the creek in search of Hawk Eye.

  Tying Brazos in the willows, Blue kept to the inside of the hedge and proceeded warily. The distance was far. But the cover grew thicker along that fence, which served as a wind, snow, and dust break. Arriving at the corrals, Blue kept behind the high fences until he reached the barn. He entered the back barnyard. It did not present
the usual colorful scene. The back door of the barn had not been slid aside on its rollers. Blue found a crack to peep through. He was quite prepared to see Leighton’s outfit in control of the ranch, and to force the issue if he could surprise them.

  Cold and sure of himself, Blue drew the deep long breath that had become habit in such tense moments, and placed his eye to the aperture. At the far end of the barn where the runway slanted from the wide doorway into the court he espied a group of men. Beyond them two prairie schooners stood with their unhitched horses feeding on hay. Strangers had arrived, perhaps members of a caravan. Blue’s survey took in two dusty, road-clad men, unshaven and dark, heavily booted. A tall, lank man, whose lean face appeared familiar, stood talking to Benson, and another whose garb proclaimed him a traveler but not a participant in the labors of travel. Several vaqueros were also present.

  Blue drew back, to hurry out of the barnyard and halt around the corner of the big structure. In such an hour nothing could surprise the trail driver. But he did not know what to make of this. Pioneers, settlers, travelers, as well as more doubtful characters, were far from rare at Latchfield. Three of these new-comers packed guns. Blue’s one deduction was not unfavorable to the Latch predicament.

  He strode along the wall of the barn and around the far corner. A vaquero ejaculated, “Santa Maria!” All the men turned, but Benson’s jump indicated nervous strain. Blue had halted, his right hand on his hip.

  “By gad! it’s Blue!” exclaimed Benson. His tone, his look, betrayed two things—an acquaintance with at least one of the trail driver’s feats of the morning, and that sight of him, however startling, was welcome.

  “Howdy, Benson,” spoke up Blue, relaxing.

  “Hello Blue!—Where’s Latch?” blurted out Benson.

  “I was aboot to ask you thet,” returned Blue, sharply.

  “Don’t you know?”

  “Shore don’t. But I bet I can make a good guess.”

  “Where?”

  “What I was lookin’ for has come off. Leighton’s ootfit has got him corralled.”

  “Blue, I don’t think so,” replied Benson, quickly. “In fact I am certain not.”

  “Wal, I’m darned glad to heah thet. But you gotta talk fast an’ strong to convince me.”

  “Blue, I rode with the boss an’ Pedro as far as the mouth of Spider Web Creek, less than an hour ago,” announced Benson, impressively.

  “Hell you say!” ejaculated Blue.

  “Yes. Latch was in a great hurry, believe me. He did not want anyone to see where he was headed. Luckily he got away unobserved, I’m sure…and I’ve been riding all over to find you. My instructions were to fetch half a dozen men back to the ranch to hold Leighton off. Bradley is coming with two of his riders. I met Mizzouri, and he swore he’d come, whether Latch liked it or not. These freighters from Independence will set in with us. Simmons ought to be back soon. Then with you——”

  “Simmons won’t be back, Benson. He’s daid.”

  “Dead? My God, Blue!—How—who?” ejaculated Benson, horrified.

  “Some more of Leighton’s deal.”

  “Blue, the boss sent Simmons to catch the caravan and tell Miss Estelle to go on with it to Fort Union. If Simmons is dead he never got that far. We must ride out to meet her.”

  “Come heah, Benson,” replied Blue, tersely. And taking Benson aside, he told him: “Estelle is safe. I left her at Bradley’s to keep hid till whatever comes is over. Bradley wasn’t home. I don’t want him to tell her what has happened. Savvy?”

  “Bradley ought to be here now.”

  “Wal, if I don’t stay you tell him. I gotta see Hawk Eye pronto. But what the hell did Latch ride off for?”

  “Blue, the boss sure was het up,” declared Benson. “No wonder! Listen to this. Some time before noon these freighters from Independence drove in to town with this stranger. His name is Bowden. He’s a lawyer from Boston. His business with Latch was to find out some clue as to what happened to one Cynthia Bowden, supposedly lost years ago with Bowden’s lost wagon train. It seems a lot of money had been left to Cynthia Bowden. And the object of this lawyer’s trip West is to find her, if possible, and whether or not she left a child. Latch saved Cynthia Bowden’s life and married her. Estelle is her child…. All that money will come to Estie! My word, but it’s great news! At this time when Latch is ruined. Talk about providence!”

  Slim Blue gaped in mute astonishment.

  “Well, Latch has to show some kind of proof,” went on Benson. “Bowden has been months on the quest. He found out that Cynthia left Independence with her uncle in a prairie-schooner especially built for Bowden. It was a magnificent boat on wheels. Built by Tullt and Company. Old man Tullt is still living. He remembered that prairie-schooner. Remembered Bowden and his niece riding away on it. The front end had big letters in red, Tullt & Co. No. 1 A!’… Latch said he thought he might find that wagon-head as proof. The Indians drove all the caravan’s wagons over a canyon wall. Latch thinks he can find it—his only proof that he saved Cynthia Bowden from the Indians and married her! The lawyer says he will accept that as proof. No wonder Latch packed light and rode off like mad! He was simply beside himself. Strange how things happen. Estie’s fortune, and name, in fact, depend upon an old wagon headboard painted in red letters. Lord! What a forlorn hope! But I know Latch told the truth. Bowden believes him, too. Still, he must have one tangible proof that Latch——”

  “Wal,” interrupted Blue, his voice like a bell, “tell your lawyer man thet there air written an’ printed proofs of Estelle Latch’s parentage. Jewelry, picture, marriage certificate, too!… Fact, by Gawd! But I can’t explain heah an’ now. I gotta rustle up Leighton an’ stop him before he scents this deal oot. He’s got a nose like a hound.”

  “Blue!—It’d be terrible if Leighton trailed Latch up Spider Web!” exclaimed Benson, aghast.

  “Turrible!…Wal, it shore would. I’d say thet’d be the last straw for the old man. He’s had a load, Benson.”

  “Here comes Bradley now. And Mizzouri. Gawd!—But what’ll we do without you, Blue?”

  “Rustle up to the ranch-house an’ hold Leighton’s ootfit off—if it comes. No fear of them destroying property. Leighton wants the ranch.”

  “Blue, you shouldn’t brace that gang—alone,” returned Benson, huskily.

  “Wal, I won’t walk up on them careless-like…. Watch sharp now, Benson. Trust a lot to them freighters. An’ shoot before askin’ questions.”

  Blue wheeled to hurry back the way he had come, more wary than ever, stern and tense, his emotions in check, yet now and then flooding him with awe and rapture. He could not plan what to do until he had established the whereabouts of Leighton. At last he got back to his horse. When mounted once more, he raced away across the fields, leaping the ditches and pounding up the dust. When he crossed the road he had a look down its length into town. Bunches of horses and men lined the sidewalks. He flashed on, headed for the creek.

  Again Hawk Eye failed to be at their rendezvous. Blue rode up on a ridge from which he soon espied the Kiowa riding across from the Indian encampment. Blue rode down in the open to meet him.

  “Uggh!” grunted the impassive redman. “Latch go Spider Web. Leighton see—track um.”

  Blue swore.

  “Hawk Eye, how many men with Leighton?”

  The Indian held up two fingers.

  “Who?”

  “Keeneedy one. Dog-face man two.”

  “Kennedy shore. But thet slinky Breese!” muttered Blue, thinking fast. Leighton, for years so keen, subtle, implacable, was putting his own head in a noose. “Hawk Eye, how long take go Spider Web?”

  “Leighton take long—me go short.”

  “Latch went up Spider Web to find the caravan wagons run over canyon wall years ago. Can you find those wagons?”

  “No go water trail. Me climb—go round—find way down.”

  “Pack some meat an’ bread, Hawk Eye. Meet me heah after dark. We go.” />
  “Uggh!”

  They parted. Blue went sweeping away across the creek and over the flat. The sun was setting red over the black domes in the west. One moment he felt exultant and the next oppressed. Estelle would come into her own, whatever happened to her father. The disgrace and ruin that had imperiled her happiness would be hidden forever up that mysterious Spider Web Canyon where she had been born. Leighton’s one chance consisted in sticking to his outfit and staying in the open. But his abnormal hate and plan for revenge, his weakness to hold prisoner the daughter of his enemy, had hatched his doom. Leighton’s bones would bleach in the lonely fastness of that outlaw retreat. But the oppression which weighted Blue’s heart came from realization that Latch had made the same fatal blunder as Leighton. Bruce Kennedy and his canine-faced ally had their dark and secret plot. If Latch escaped Leighton he would scarcely escape these two traitors. What amazed and depressed Blue was the extraordinary way the deal had stretched on and on to this singular and fatal climax. He had an intense desire to learn the truth about these old outlaws.

  He rode straight for Bradley’s ranch, and as he drew near he caught sight of Estelle, who, no doubt watching for him, had seen him from afar. He answered her wave. Thick and heavy his heart beat in his ears. The sweetness of the moment confounded him. Her hair gleamed red-gold in the last rays of the setting sun. Whatever he had been, however hard and grim and desperate he was, and poor and unlettered, he was her choice among men, her sweetheart, her husband-to-be. And such a thrill came over him that it ended in pain. Long before he reined Brazos before the cabin he saw that Estelle had changed her riding-garb to a comfortable gray dress. This meant, of course, that one of the vaqueros had come from the ranch. Blue searched the sweet face for signs of trouble, but saw nothing save delight. She came skipping off the porch and was upon him almost before he dismounted.

  “Oh, you dear boy—to come so soon,” she cried, gayly. “If there were no one to see I—I’d kiss you.”

  “Evenin’, Mrs. Cornwall,” drawled Blue as he took her hand.

  “Not quite yet—Corny,” she replied, shyly.

  “Do you reckon you will be ever?”