The Lost Wagon

by Jim Kjelgaard

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Besieged

  Joe stood still, studying the smoke and trying to analyze its meaning.Fear tugged at his heart, and his lips had gone dry. He could see onlythe smoke, and it was not a forest fire because it was not traveling.Winterson would hardly be burning brush at this season, either. Theobvious answer was that Winterson's house itself was burning, but why?Was it an accidental fire? Or had the Indians, whom Major Dismukerespected and Winterson scorned, finally attacked? Joe walked back intothe clearing and turned to look nervously at the forest. If the Indianswere on the warpath, they would come from the woods.

  He felt and checked a rising fright. Whatever the situation was, it mustbe met coolly. Panic would help nothing. Joe entered the house and Emma,cooking breakfast for the rest of the family, looked questioningly athim.

  "There's things afoot," Joe said quietly. "I think Winterson's house isburning and Indians might have set it. We'd better get ready forwhatever it is."

  Horror was reflected in Emma's face. "That poor woman!"

  Ellis still slept outside and he had not yet come in. Joe went to hisbed and shook his shoulder.

  "Ellis."

  Ellis, who had a happy faculty for coming awake all at once, opened hiseyes and sat up.

  "What do you want, Joe?"

  "Things might be stirring. I believe the Wintersons' house is burningand we'd better be ready for visitors. Come on in."

  "Right away."

  Ellis sat up beneath his blankets and started pulling on his clothes.Joe formulated a plan of action. The house was a strong fortress, andall the grass for a hundred yards on every side had been mowed. Tad wasa crack shot and Ellis was good, and anyone with the wrong ideas whocame in range would have reason to regret it. Joe went back into thehouse. His eyes shining with excitement, Tad accosted him.

  "Are they comin', Pa? Are they really comin'?'

  "I don't know. But get your rifle ready."

  "It's all ready!"

  Barbara asked anxiously, "Is Ellis coming?"

  "He'll be right in. Come on, everybody. Get everything that will holdwater and fill it."

  They filled the buckets, Emma's pots and pans, and even some of thedishes and stored them in Joe's and Emma's bedroom. Joe went to thegarden, and filled a basket with lettuce, radishes, onions, and peas. Heput the filled basket in the pantry along with the food already storedthere and Ellis came in with his arms full of firewood. He dropped itinto the wood box. Now, in the event of a siege, they had water, foodand fuel.

  Barbara and Emma were nervous, but not so nervous that they were unableto discharge their tasks efficiently. Ellis and Tad, except for Tad'sexcitement, seemed to grasp the situation and the younger children, notunderstanding, were merely curious. Joe fought his own risingnervousness.

  "Bring Mike in the house," he instructed Tad, "and watch him carefully.If he growls, barks, or even bristles, watch for whatever might be." ToEllis he said, "Watch the dog. Keep the kids down and make the rounds ofevery window. Pay very close attention to the rear; they'll likely comefrom the woods if they come at all. If they do, both of you shoot--andshoot straight. I'll be back as soon as I can get here."

  There was a rising note of alarm in Emma's voice, "Where are yougoing?"

  He said quietly, "To find out if the Wintersons are in trouble and helpthem if they are. Don't anybody stir outside the house until we knowjust what it is."

  Ellis said quickly, "You stay here, Joe. I'll go."

  Barbara paled, but said, "Let him go, Daddy."

  Joe hesitated, but only for a moment. His children deserved a chance,and Barbara was going to be married within the week. Barbara and Elliswere young and the world was theirs. Ellis, Joe felt, would help takecare of Emma and the children if he didn't get back. Besides he wasolder. He'd picked up a few tricks that Ellis didn't know. Joe said,

  "It's no time for fussing. I'm going."

  Emma said worriedly, "You be careful, Joe."

  "I will, and don't you fret about me. Likely I'll bring the Wintersonsback."

  "I will, and I want to tell you again not to worry. King can outrun anyIndian pony. Now remember, stay in the house, keep your eyes open, andfight if you must. I won't be gone long."

  Rifle in his hands, hatchet at his belt, Joe left the house and closedthe massive door behind him. He listened for the wooden bar to fall inplace, and after he heard it drop he started toward the stable. They'dbuilt it down the slope, far enough from the house so that stable odorswould not be offensive but near enough to defend. Anyone who tried toget into the stable would be within rifle range. Joe swerved to lockEmma's chickens in their coop and he scooped the piglet up under onearm. The pig had only a rail fence enclosure; there had been no time tobuild a house for him.

  The mules looked questioningly around and Ellis's horse nickered awelcome. The placid cow chewed calmly on hay, and Joe put the pigletdown. It scooted into the cow's stall and hid beneath the manger. Joebridled Ellis's horse but did not saddle it. He was used to ridingbareback and he preferred to ride that way. Joe led the horse from thestable and bolted the door.

  For a moment he stood still and a faint smile curled the corners of hismouth as the incongruity of the situation occurred to him. He, JoeTower, was riding forth to help repel Indians. For some reason heremembered Bibbers Townley and his fancied fight with the eight Apachesin Arizona, and he wondered what Bibbers would be doing if he were hereright now. Probably, Joe guessed, he would be riding as fast as possibletoward Camp Axton.

  Joe would have been happy if Jim Snedeker was here for Jim would haveknown exactly what to do. That, Joe had to admit, was more than he knew.He had come to Oregon to farm, not to fight Indians. But if they wereattacking he'd have to fight them, and Joe was an experienced hunter whoknew how to skulk through brush. If necessary, he would abandon thehorse and take to the woods, and he wasn't sure that Ellis would do thatif he had ridden to help the Wintersons. Joe pondered the best method ofreaching their place.

  He'd never been to their house, but now he wished mightily that he hadvisited it because there might be a short cut. He was riding a horse,and horses do not have to stay on trails. But all Joe knew was whatWinterson had told him; he'd built where his wagon broke down the sixthtime. It stood to reason, therefore, that he had built beside the OregonTrail and the surest way to find his house was by riding down that. Joeurged Ellis's horse into a gallop.

  The trees on both sides were deceptively peaceful, as though nothingviolent could possibly occur here. But not too far away a man and womanwho had traveled three thousand miles in order to find new hopes and newdreams were seeing them go up in smoke. The horse slowed a bit and Joeurged him again.

  He rounded a bend and saw the approaching team. They were Winterson'sbig white and the smaller horse, and they were being driven at fullgallop by Martha Winterson, who, somehow, still managed to hold herprecious hen. Winterson crouched on the wagon seat, rifle in hand andlooking backward. Trailing the wagon by a few yards ran an unhamperedblack horse. Without breaking astride, Joe swung his own mount aroundthe onrushing team and fell in behind.

  "Keep them moving!" he shouted. "We're all ready for you!"

  He said no more because this was not the time to talk, but now he knew.Major Dismuke had known what he was talking about when he spoke ofhostiles. The plume of smoke, the racing team, the fury on Winterson'sface, and the blood on his arm, were ample proof that the Wintersons hadbeen attacked. Joe glanced backward down the Trail, as though heexpected to see warriors pounding in pursuit, but he saw nothing.

  Expertly, Martha Winterson turned her racing team from the Trail andinto the meadows. She brought them to a plunging halt. The black horse,rolling frightened eyes, edged very close to Joe as though it sought hisprotection. Ellis, Barbara and Emma came from the house, and Emma tookcharge of Martha Winterson.

  "Are you all right?"

  "Of course I'm all right!" Martha's eyes were blazing too. "I'm notgoing to faint on you or anything like that! O
h, I'm so glad I couldbring my hen along!"

  "Well, you just come right in the house! We have everything we needthere and the men will be along!"

  Winterson, Joe and Ellis unhitched the team and led them to the stable.The black horse followed and crowded in as soon as the door was open.They put the mules in one stall and two horses in each of the others.Ellis filled the mangers with hay and Joe turned to Winterson.

  "What happened?"

  "They came at dawn!" Winterson said savagely. "The hen started cacklingand woke me up! I saw this one looking in the window and threw the firstthing I could lay my hands on at him! Happened to be the chamber pot!Time I got my hands on my rifle, he was gone! I took Martha with me, andtime we got harnessed there were more of the skunks in the woods! Theynicked me in the arm and we were gone!"

  "Did they have horses?"

  "Probably they had some somewhere! I suppose they left them back in thewoods when they came to get us! Yes, there must have been horses! TheseIndians are too blasted lazy to walk anywhere! I got off one shot, butthink I missed!"

  "How many are there?"

  "I saw anyhow six, but there are more than that! Blasted mongrelsprobably wouldn't fight at all unless they were anyhow fifteen to one!Wish I'd had another rifle! I--There's three of us now! Let's go backand tear into them!"

  Joe said gently, "Leave the women and kids here unprotected?"

  "You're right! Guess you're right! It's just that I'm so lashing mad I'ddo about anything! I'm never going to like an Indian again if I live tobe five hundred years old!"

  "They burned your buildings. I saw the smoke."

  "That's probably why they weren't hot on our trail; they were too busylooting! I suppose they got my cow and pigs too, but I saved the horsesand Martha got her hen out. That's some hen! I wouldn't swap her for afarm!"

  "Better come up and get a dressing on that arm."

  "Just a scratch," Winterson assured him. "It doesn't amount to anything.What are we going to do now? Send somebody to Camp Axton to bring thesoldiers?"

  "Too dangerous," Joe decided. "One man alone could be ambushed and wehave four rifles now. We'd better figure on making a stand right here."

  "Who's the fourth rifle?"

  "Tad, and he'll be a good one. That kid can shoot the whiskers off a catat a hundred yards. Did you bring plenty of bullets?"

  "Just what's in my pouch. We didn't have time to grab as much as we'dhave liked."

  "Well, we have lead and molds. We can rig a mold to fit your rifle.Let's go in before the womenfolk decide we've all been scalped."

  Still more angry than frightened, Martha Winterson had taken Carlyle onher lap and was relating the story of the raid. Barbara and Emmalistened closely, while the three younger children stood silently near.Too young to appreciate exactly what had happened, they knew it wassomething out of the ordinary and they digested it as such. A look ofeager excitement on his face, Tad was sitting in front of the fireplacemelting lead in a ladle and molding bullets for his rifle.

  "That's enough," Joe ordered. "Leave some lead for the rest of us."

  "But what if there's a whole mob of them?"

  "Everybody still has to shoot."

  Martha rose and, despite her swollen body, there was a supple graceabout her as she moved across the floor to her husband.

  "Now I'll fix that arm, Henry," her voice was faintly apologetic. "Therewasn't time to do it before."

  She unbuttoned his shirt, removed it, and bared the bloody arm. Thebullet had torn through one side, missing the big muscle and the artery,and leaving only a flesh wound. Martha washed the dried blood away andput a cold compress over the still-bleeding wound.

  "Would you have some whisky?" she appealed to Joe. "This should reallybe sterilized."

  "Don't have a drop," Joe admitted. "I didn't bring any."

  "I did," Emma announced. She reached into her trunk, brought out a brownbottle, and glanced aside at Joe. "I brought it for emergencies only."

  "Thank you, Emma." Martha Winterson pursed her lips, dampened one sideof her cloth with whisky, and said, "Now this may sting a little."

  While her husband gritted his teeth and made a face, she applied theantiseptic. "The bullet wasn't that bad!"

  "Now don't be a baby," Martha chided. "You won't feel it in a littlewhile."

  "Probably won't be able to feel anything," he grumbled.

  Martha applied a clean bandage and Henry put his shirt back on. Hewandered restlessly to look out of a front window. Anger flared in hisface. Henry Winterson cherished his house. Nobody was going to destroyit and go unpunished.

  "Wish they'd come," he said nervously. "Wish they would. The day I leftVermont my brother Enos said, 'Henry, what are you going to do ifIndians attack?' Those were his very words. That's exactly what he saidto me. 'If the Indians attack,' I said, 'I'm going to shoot them dead intheir tracks.' And by gosh, I didn't. But I aim to."

  Joe said worriedly, "You might get a chance soon enough."

  This was not real, he thought curiously. It was a charade that all ofthem were acting out, and as soon as they were finished acting theWintersons would hitch their horses and go home. Jim Snedeker might havewaited in a house such as this one while Indians prepared to attack it,but such things did not happen to Joe Tower. Then he reminded himselfforcibly that they were happening to Joe Tower. A cold shiver ranthrough him.

  "Hey, Pa!" Tad breathed. "Look at Mike!"

  The dog was standing very still, ears alert and nose questing. He moveda step, as though to verify some elusive message that was reaching himfaintly. His hackles rose and a low growl rumbled in his throat. He waslooking toward the rear of the house, and when a door was opened for himhe padded into a back bedroom. At the same time they heard the crack ofa rifle and a sodden "splat" as a bullet thumped into an outer log.

  Joe's fear and nervousness departed and he knew only a terrible,white-hot anger. This was his house. He had built it with his own handsand now it was threatened. At all costs he must avert that peril. Noenemy could enter. Rifle ready, Joe peered through one of the rearwindows.

  He could see nothing except the mowed swath, the tall grass beyond, andthe green trees on top of the hill. It was as though a real bullet hadbeen fired by a ghost. Then the tall grass rippled slightly. Wintersonleveled his rifle through another window, shot, and the grass stoppedrippling.

  "What'd you shoot at?" Joe queried.

  "I didn't see any Indian," Winterson assured him, "but you don't see thecritters. Still, that grass wasn't moving itself."

  "Think you got him?"

  "Nah," Winterson said sadly. "I don't think so. We'll--"

  "Joe!"

  There was cold fear in Emma's voice, and when Joe moved to the front ofthe house he saw the women looking out. Across the creek and up on theopposite slope, sixteen Indians stood in the meadow. There was somethinginsultingly contemptuous about them as they either leaned on their longrifles or held them in their hands. They were dressed in buckskin savefor one who wore a black suit that probably had been plundered from somesettler. Of the rest, some wore fringed shirts and some were naked fromthe waist up. They stood so openly because they were out of rifle rangeand knew it.

  Henry Winterson breathed, "There they are!"

  He rested his rifle across a window sill, took an interminable time tosight, and squeezed the trigger. One of the sixteen jerked awkwardly, asthough he had stepped on something that slipped beneath his foot, andsat awkwardly down. The rest ran back into the shelter of the woods, andafter a moment the wounded man rose to follow. There was a savagesatisfaction in Winterson's voice.

  "Winged me one anyhow! Wish I'd killed him!"

  "How high did you hold on him?" Joe asked.

  "About a foot over his head. Still probably caught him too low down.Wish I'd given it another foot!"

  There came five quick shots from behind the cabin. Ellis took two slowforward steps, turned to smile at the others, and managed only a fatuousgrin. Blood bubbled down the side of
his head, giving his hair aseal-sleek look and reddening his cheek. Joe caught him as he slumpedbackward while Winterson plucked the rifle from his hand. Barbara gaspedand knelt beside her lover.

  Her face was pale and terrible fear and shock glittered in her eyes.But there was hot anger in them too as she took Ellis's head tenderly onher lap while his blood reddened her skirt. Emma came with a coldcompress and Barbara took it from her hand. Her voice was dull andtrembling, but at the same time she showed her inner strength.

  "Let me do it, Mother."

  She applied the compress to Ellis's head while she bent tenderly overhim. Barbara, who had always hidden when anything she liked was hurt,rose to the occasion when one she loved was injured. Joe said awkwardly,

  "Let's move him to a bed."

  And Barbara said fiercely, "Leave him alone!"

  She sopped up the bubbling blood and Emma brought her a clean compress.Joe, Winterson and Tad went to the rear, but again all they saw was themowed area, the tall grass and the forest. Up in the forest one of theattackers shouted, probably advice to someone on the opposite hill. Joefurrowed his brow.

  They were doing things wrong, with everybody rushing to wherever anIndian appeared. That left three walls unguarded all the time, and theymust inject some system into their defense. Besides, there was anotherand very deadly peril that could be lessened. No bullet could tearthrough the logs, but one might penetrate the chinking or the windows.

  Joe called, "Emma, get the kids on the floor, will you? You womenfolkhad better get there, too. Lie behind the sill log and you can't gethit."

  Emma said, "I'll get them down."

  "We'd better do things a little differently, too. Tad, you watch thenorth side. Henry, do you want the front or the rear?"

  "The front for me!" Winterson bit his words off and spat them out. "Theymight have another pow-wow and I know I can reach 'em the next time. Howabout the south wall?"

  "One of us'll have to slide over there now and again to watch."

  Barbara said steadily, "Mother, will you bring me a pillow?"

  Emma brought it and, very gently, Barbara transferred Ellis's bandagedhead from her lap to the pillow. She stood and for a long moment lookeddown at him while Ellis moaned fretfully and moved. Then she took hisrifle and went to the south wall.

  "Bobby!" Joe protested.

  "Ellis showed me how to shoot, Daddy, and I will."

  Joe looked vexedly at her but said nothing. The children lay prone onthe living-room floor, curled tightly against the bottom log. But Emmaand Martha Winterson sat quietly at the table. These women had mendefending the cabin. If one of the men needed help suddenly, they didnot want first to have to get up from the floor. Joe took his post at arear window.

  He had disposed his force in what he considered the wisest fashion. Whenthe Indians came, as he was sure they would come, it would probably beout of the forest at the rear and down the slope. It was right that Joeshould be there to draw at least their first fire. This was his house;he was the one to defend it. Joe worried about Barbara and Tad, but theleast likelihood of attack was from either side. Winterson was wellplaced in front. He had already proved his ability to gauge distance andto hit what he aimed at.

  Out in the mowed area, a grasshopper took lazy wing and settled fifteenfeet from where it had started. A robin that probably had been sittingon the house swooped on the insect and bore it away. Gophers scurriedback and forth, and a crow alighted in the field. The fields hadn'tchanged and the day was like any day. It was hard to believe that, justbeyond the mowed area, lay men who would kill everyone in the house ifthey were able to do so. Joe's eyes roved the tall grass farther up theslope. He concentrated on one place.

  He thought he saw the grass sway there. It moved ever so slightly, thenwas still. Joe relaxed taut muscles. He had never shot at another manwith the intent to kill and until now he had considered himselfincapable of doing so. But the terrible anger still had him in its gripand he could kill these men. The grass moved again, and Joe knew withouta doubt that there was something in it that should not be. He steppedback, sighted and shot. A crawling Indian threw himself upward so thathis whole torso was revealed and fell back. The grass stopped moving.

  "Did you get him?" Tad called excitedly. "Did you get him, Pa?"

  "I don't think so."

  He tried to keep his voice calm, but it was taut and strained. He feltsurging joy because he had killed one of the enemies who had come todestroy them. He remained too much the civilized man to speak of that tohis son.

  "I thought I heard a shot!"

  The bloody bandage contrasting oddly with his dark hair, Ellis wassitting up. For a moment he did not move, but stared at something thatonly he saw. Plowing a furrow beside his head, the bullet had shockedhim into unconsciousness. Leaving her post, Barbara knelt and put herarms around him.

  "Ellis! Lie down!"

  "I--Bobby! Where did you come from?"

  "Please lie down!"

  "I--Oh! I know now!"

  Her arm remained about him as he rose to shaky feet, swayed andrecovered his balance. He reached up with one hand to push the bandage alittle farther up his head and looked wonderingly at the blood on hisfingers. He said, as though that were an astonishing thing,

  "They nicked me!"

  Emma and Martha Winterson hovered anxiously about, and Joe said, "Betterstay down, Ellis."

  "I--I'm all right now. Bobby, my rifle!"

  She choked back a sob. "Ellis, no!"

  "I'm all right now. I'll watch the south wall."

  She said determinedly, "We'll both watch the south wall," and she stoodvery close beside him in the event that he needed her suddenly.

  Time dragged on. Rifle cradled in his arm, Winterson came back to standbeside Joe. He peered at the tall grass.

  "See anything?"

  "Nothing's moved for a couple of hours. Do you think they've gone?"

  "No, I don't," Winterson declared. "They don't like hot lead and theyaren't going to expose themselves to it. They're out in the brushcooking up some new kind of deviltry. When they get it cooked, they'llserve it to us."

  "They might try something, but I doubt it. There's some heathenishnonsense about their having to die in the daylight so they can see theirway to the spirit land. But--and I'll bet on it--we haven't seen thelast of them. Think one of us should try slipping out to Camp Axtontonight?"

  "It's a pretty long chance, what with so many of them being out there.We can hang on for one more day. The day after tomorrow's the fifteenth,and the chaplain and some soldiers are coming from Axton anyway. Nosense in being foolish if we don't have to."

  "That makes sense," Winterson conceded. "Well, I'll go rest my eyes onsome of your scenery again. Might get a shot."

  All through the long afternoon nothing appeared, and the women preparedand served dinner in the last lingering hour of twilight. They ate,while the embers of the dying fire cast a ghostly glow into the room.Again Joe wondered if this were actually real. None of it fitted hispreconceived notions of an Indian fight, with bullets flying thick andfast and deeds of derring-do. So far not a dozen shots had been fired.

  Then he glanced soberly at Ellis's bandaged head. It was real enough.

  They took the mattresses from the beds and laid them on the floor.Sleepy, and somewhat bored, the children curled up where bullets couldnot reach them. Joe walked back to his post at the window, and he saw athin sickle of a moon hanging as though from invisible wires in the sky.It shed a faint light, and Joe stiffened when he saw an Indian crawlingup to the cabin. But closer scrutiny proved that it was only a shadow.

  "Haven't seen a thing!" Tad wailed. "Do you suppose they'll cometonight, Pa?"

  "I don't know. Hadn't you better knock off for a while and get somesleep?"

  Winterson called softly, "Joe."

  Joe went to the front of the house, and down at the stable he saw aflickering, tiny light. It grew, and within seconds it was a leapingfire. Joe felt his body grow taut, and fury mount
ed to new heights. Buthe could do nothing except stand helplessly by and watch.

  "The stock won't be there," Winterson assured him. "The devils'll runthat off with them."

  "I--" Joe gritted.

  "I know what you're thinking. You don't have to say it."

  They watched the fire grow and heard its crackling, and the entire spacebetween the house and stable was lighted by it. Sparks floated skywardand winked out. Fire broke through the shake roof, and transformed itinto seething, liquid flame. Then the roof fell in and there was a vastshower of sparks.

  "They're real playful," Winterson commented. "Real nice people."

  "Where's the wagon?" Joe asked.

  "What did you say?"

  "They've taken the wagon!"

  Winterson grunted, "They'll take anything they can lay their hands on."

  Joe walked back to the rear window and stared into the darkness. He hadnot slept but he was not sleepy. Flaring rage still consumed him, and hepeered intently at every shadow.

  The slow hours of the night dragged endlessly. Dawn came softly and Tadcalled,

  "Pa."

  "Yes?"

  "There's the wagon."

  Joe peered past his son's shoulder. Far up the valley, hopelessly outof rifle shot, the wagon's canvas top was sharply white in thelightening morning. Mounted Indians were pulling it with ropes, and Joefelt sick to his stomach. This was the wagon that had brought them allthe way from Missouri, over prairie, hills, rivers and mountains. Thiswas the wagon that had been their home. Now it was stuffed full of hayfrom the haystack, and the raiders must have worked all night to getwhere it was. Now all they had to do was drag it up the slope, find aposition directly behind the house, set the hay on fire and send thewagon rolling down. Without exposing a man they could burn the house,and its defenders would be at their mercy.

  Winterson and Ellis came to stand beside Joe, and they looked at thisthing that could not be but was. The wagon turned and stalled sidewiseand Joe's heart gave a great leap. But the Indians righted it again,kicking savage heels into their mounts' ribs as they forced them topull. Slowly the wagon moved up the hill. Joe swallowed a hard lump inhis throat. He looked at Emma and the children, and at Martha Winterson,and strode grimly to the rear of the house.

  The wagon did not appear, and for a moment he cherished the wild hopethat it had broken a wheel or become snagged in the trees, and that theIndians would be unable to move it. The sun rose, warming the meadow,and still Joe stared up the hill. After an eternity he saw what he hadprayed he would not see. The upper third of the wagon's canvas top wassilhouetted against the trees, and smoke was pouring from it. Joe turnedto find Winterson and Ellis at his elbow.

  He said vaguely, "It might miss the house."

  But he knew that it would not. The besiegers had their one greatopportunity and they would not waste it.

  Joe's hand tightened around the breech of his rifle, and for a second hethought he must have shot. But the shot came from the top of the hill,near the wagon, and it was followed by a volley that was in turnfollowed by the barking of revolvers.

  They waited, wondering, and after fifteen minutes, while the burningwagon continued to smoke, they saw the horsemen come down the hill. Theywere nine men, riding at a walk, and they herded Joe's mules and Ellis'sand Winterson's horses ahead of them.

  Joe breathed, "God Almighty!"

  It was a prayer, not a curse, and he flung the door open to go out andmeet these horsemen who had appeared so providentially.

  "Told you I'd come!" Sergeant Dunbar called. "Told you I'd come as soonas my hitch was up! I brought a wagon train through with me and theytold us at Camp Axton that you were here. We smelled smoke and figuredthe rest."

  His arm around Martha, Henry Winterson stood just behind Joe and boththeir faces wreathed in smiles. Emma came, and the younger children ranwith open arms toward this man who had been their playmate at FortLaramie. Joe looked through the cabin's door to see Barbara and Ellis ina lovers' embrace. He grinned; they thought they could not be seen.

  "Get down!" Joe sang out. "Get down and come on in! Where are yourwagons?"

  "Left 'em back along the Trail when the Sarge here smelled Indians," alanky Kentuckian on a brown horse said. "Say, this looks like good land.Is it all taken?"

  "Not near. There's room for all of you if you want to come and we haveeverything here. Everything but our wagon. That's lost, but we'll getanother." He glanced again through the open door and shouted joyously,

  "All of you just better stay right here, at least through tomorrow.There's going to be a wedding!"

  About the Author

  Born in New York City, Jim Kjelgaard spent most of his boyhood in thePennsylvania mountains where his father, a doctor, had a back-countrypractice. For a time after he finished his schooling, young Jim clung tovigorous open-air pursuits, becoming by turns a trapper, a teamster, asurveyor, a guide. In his late twenties, however, he set out to makewriting his career. Since then hundreds of his short stories andarticles have appeared in national magazines, and he has written anumber of books for young people as well.

  With his wife and teen-age daughter, Mr. Kjelgaard makes his home inPhoenix, Arizona. But in his quest for stories he has travelled widelyand often throughout North America. The vivid reality of _The LostWagon_, his first adult novel, grows out of his intimate, first-handknowledge of the American West.

  Books by Jim Kjelgaard

  THE LOST WAGON CRACKER BARREL TROUBLE SHOOTER THE SPELL OF THE WHITE STURGEON BIG RED REBEL SIEGE FOREST PATROL BUCKSKIN BRIGADE CHIP, THE DAM BUILDER FIRE HUNTER IRISH RED KALAK OF THE ICE A NOSE FOR TROUBLE SNOW DOG TRAILING TROUBLE WILD TREK THE EXPLORATIONS OF PERE MARQUETTE OUTLAW RED THE STORY OF THE MORMONS

  Why would a farmer exchange his plowed fields for a wilderness? Whywould a husband and father take his family from civilization into anuntamed land? In the middle of the last century, thousands of Americanspushed westward into the unknown--and Joe Tower, who had never beenfifty miles from his birthplace, was one of them. _The Lost Wagon_ tellsthe gripping, warmly human story of why he ventured along the OregonTrail and of how he and his family met its hazards....

  Ever since Joe and Emma had been married, they'd worked toward a placeof their own. But the down payment they'd finally made on their smallMissouri farm simply meant that Joe was trapped in debt. Although he wasjust thirty-four, he began to despair of giving his children a betterlife than his own. Barbara, his eldest, was beautiful; but her beautywould be dimmed by drudgery. Lively Tad would be tamed too soon by hardwork. And the four younger ones--

  Joe saw the opening of the Far West, where land was free, as thefamily's only chance. But Emma, desperately fearful of the unknown, heldhim back until sudden disaster robbed them of choice. Late in theseason, months behind the emigrant caravans, they started for Oregon,one wagon alone on the vast prairie.

  Guiding his mules along the trail, Joe unflinchingly faced the knownperils of blizzards, badmen, stampeding buffalo. But as they pushed everwestward, he found much graver threats to his family circle in Barbara'slove for a hot-tempered stranger, in Tad's rash claim to man's estate,and--most of all--in his own doubt of Emma's continued trust in him....

  Packed with action and unmistakably genuine in its characters andevents, this story of a desperate journey to a promised land is tops forauthentic color and real excitement. With its portrayal of the conflictswithin a good marriage, the joys and uncertainties of young love, thecloseness of a family cut off from the world, _The Lost Wagon_ is awell-rounded, many faceted novel. And its honest picture of thefulfillment of one man's dream carries the magic of the promise that hasnever failed our nation.

 

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