Forgotten Trails (Paradise Valley Book 5)

by Vivi Holt

  “I’m sure you will. Anyway, I know that when I get my memory back I’ll have to … well, move on and forget about him.”

  “Maybe, and maybe not. We still don’t know enough about ye to say for sure.”

  “Perhaps you’re right. And I doubt Hank feels the same way about me. He’s just so good and kind, he wants to help because it’s his nature– and I suppose his job. I hope I can let him know just how much I appreciate everything he’s done for me. And all of you as well – I’ll never be able to repay Genny, Tom, Sarah, you … you’ve taken me in even though I’m a stranger. And I …” Her voice broke and she sobbed into her hand.

  Hannah patted her back gently. “It’s going to get easier. I promise ye that. And don’t worry about thanking us – we’re all happy to do what we can to help. Ye’ll remember who ye are and Hank will find your family – all this will be behind ye and ye’ll have the baby and move on with your life. I have a feeling that you’re going to be just fine.”

  Angela sobbed again, then wiped her nose with her nightgown sleeve. Perhaps Hannah was right – at least she could hope. What else did she have now but hope?

  Ost dismounted and landed hard on his feet in the long grass. The prairie stretched out in front of him – wide-open plains, the bowing heads of the grasses undulating beneath a soft breeze.

  “That’s the place,” Rev. Arden whispered, pointing toward a broken-down shack perched on the edge of the grasslands, the woods at its back. “That’s where Berger and his gang have been holed up the past few months.”

  “Ya think they’re still there?” asked Sheriff Stanton, chewing on a wad of tobacco that gave his face an uneven look.

  “I don’t know, but there are a few nags in the yard there, so it seems like someone might be home.”

  Ost nodded. “Yeah, I see them. Someone could be there, all right. Though I don’t see any movement.”

  The rest of the posse rode up – Ost, the sheriff and the reverend had been scouting ahead. The sheriff indicated to the men to wait, and they pulled their mounts to a halt as he went to talk to them about their next steps. Meanwhile, Ost studied the cabin – it was a ramshackle building of rough-hewn wood. No smoke came from the lopsided chimney jutting from the shingle roof, but being the middle of summer, he didn’t expect anyone inside would need a fire burning.

  He scanned the horizon –no sign of movement in the grasslands. A lone hawk circled high overhead, gliding on a warm updraft. He squinted into the morning sun, then focused again on the shanty. How many men would be inside? He counted the horses – four.

  Sheriff Stanton returned to his side and spat tobacco juice into the grass at his feet. “I’m thinkin’ we just walk right on up and knock. We don’t have any proof of a crime – we’re just askin’ questions for now. I don’t see any stolen cattle, or anythin’ else that’d point to them. We’ll just hafta see if we can get some answers, and buy time to check out the place. I’ve told the rest of the men to hang back and take a quiet look ‘round. Ya, me and Dan are gonna go be neighborly.”

  Ost scratched his beard gently, his eyes still trained on the shack. “Maybe we should take the reverend as well. They might know him, and at least we’ll be gun for gun if it comes to that.”

  Stanton nodded and signaled for Dan and Rev. Arden to join them. He glared at Trevor Hannity and motioned for the cowpoke to stay put. He glowered, but complied. The four men mounted up and rode toward the cabin. Ost glanced over his shoulder and saw the rest of the posse disappear back into the woods.

  The cabin smelled of stale liquor and sweat, and Ost’s brow furrowed as he knocked on the chipped door. It swung in on squeaking leather hinges. There was no response. He tugged his revolver from its holster and stepped inside the darkened room. There was a small table against one wall covered in half-eaten food scraps. Cold ashes lined the small fireplace and unfurled bedrolls lay strew around the floor. “No one here,” he called over his shoulder. “Looks like they haven’t been gone long, though, and are planning on coming back.”

  Stanton, Dan and Rev. Arden entered behind him as he holstered his gun. Stanton set his hands on his hips to survey the room. “Looks that way.”

  “Probably on another raid,” Dan hissed.

  Hooves thundered toward the cabin, and Ost followed Stanton outside. Joe Brown, the baker from Bozeman, pulled his roan mare up in front of them. “We found where they kept the beeves!”

  By the time they’d looked over the field about a mile from the shanty, Ost’s stomach was growling. Breakfast had been a couple pieces of beef jerky – he was ready for something heartier.

  “The ground’s tore up with hoof prints,” said Dan, pulling Goldy up alongside him. “There were plenty of ‘em here at one point or another. Maybe they moved ‘em…”

  Ost nodded. “Or they’ve been sold already.”

  “Makes sense they wouldn’t keep ‘em ‘round for long.”

  Stanton waved them over. “Let’s head back and take a look ‘round the cabin again. Maybe we’ll find somethin’ to tell us where they’ve gone or when they’ll be back.” He led them off, while several of the posse continued to poke around the field, searching for some clue to the longhorns’ current whereabouts.

  Ost knew the men were disappointed they hadn’t found the longhorns, and that Berger and his gang were in the wind. Ranches all over the county had lost hundreds of head to the thieves, and wouldn’t be getting them all back. It didn’t seem as though they’d be taking Berger – or whoever – back to a jail cell either, at least not today.

  Back at the cabin, the door was still hanging open, the interior still dark and empty. The sheriff walked inside. “Ya take a look ‘round out there, and I’ll take one in here,” he called over his shoulder.

  Ost scanned his surroundings. The shanty sat on the edge of a thick copse of woods. Before it, the prairie grasses rose tall and soft, seeming to go on forever. But he knew the prairie hid peaks and troughs, valleys and creek beds – good hiding places for outlaws. He turned to the barn that sat about fifty yards from the house. The wood had rotted, broken boards hung from its walls, and the roof had holes in it. He doubted anything of value would be stored in there.

  “What do you want us to do?” asked Rev. Arden, taking his hat from his head to scratch his balding pate.

  “How good are you at tracking?”

  Rev. Arden smiled. “Good as just about anyone.”

  “Well, see if you can pick up any tracks. The posse’s just about beaten them all into the ground, no doubt, but if you go a bit further afield and circle around, you might find something. We need to figure out where Berger and his gang have gotten to.”

  Rev. Arden nodded and set off.

  Ost headed for the barn, tugged on the door, but it wouldn’t budge. It was broken, and the hinges hung loose in place. He frowned and pulled harder, shifting it a couple of inches but not enough to squeeze inside.

  There were windows on each end of the structure, still whole. The one closest to him was obscured by dust and grime, so he took out his handkerchief, scrubbed a pane and peered inside. There looked to be something large in there, like a wagon or a buggy.

  “Whatcha doin’?” asked Dan, walking over to join him.

  “Trying to see inside. Maybe there’s a clue about where Berger’s gotten to, or evidence of a crime - something. Could you give me a hand with the door? I can’t budge it myself.”

  Dan grinned at him. “What are we waitin’ for?” They went to the door and both pulled hard on it. It squealed as it came away from its resting place, and the two men had to duck away as it fell to the hard ground. The smell of hay, dust and musty canvas assailed them, right before a creature darted between them. They jumped back with a shout, and Ost smacked into Dan’s chest, knocking his boss on his rear. “Hey!”

  “Sorry. What was that?” Ost looked around, trying to find the thing that’d startled him.

  Dan stood slowly, brushed the dirt and grass from his pants, and spot
ted a scrawny cat crouched against the ground nearby, its wide eyes studying them. “Ya mean that?”

  “Wow, that poor thing hasn’t eaten for a while.” Ost set his hands on his hips. “Here, kitty, kitty.”

  The cat darted away into the thicket behind the barn.

  “So all it takes to frighten the mighty Deputy Hank Oster is a half-starved cat, huh?” Dan chuckled. “Let’s make sure not to tell Berger and his crew that, or we’ll all be in trouble.”

  Ost felt his cheeks warm. “It just took me by surprise is all.”

  Dan raised both hands as if in surrender. “No need to explain to me – your secret’s safe. Though I’ll be sure not to set out any saucers of milk when you’re around.” He laughed again, more heartily.

  Ost’s heart sank. He’d never live this one down. “Let’s just look inside the barn,” he growled.

  The floor of the building was strewn with broken shingles, rusted tools and things Ost couldn’t recognize. A loft overhead contained moldy bales of hay, and a musty odor drifted down to greet him. He sneezed again, covering his mouth. But he’d been right about the wagon – a prairie schooner, its canvas cover gone, stood in the middle of the floor, taking up most of the space.

  Dan whistled. “So this is where all the old stuff no one wants goes to die.”

  Ost chuckled. “Seems so. Wonder where this wagon came from? Doesn’t look very old to me, just a bit dusty.”

  “Hmm …” Dan stepped closer to peer over the lip of the wagon bed, and Ost followed. The wagon had a tall frame, and most of the hoops that would hold the cover were still in place. Inside the bed were all manner of things – empty food cans, a stove, pots and pans, a trunk, even a rocking chair. “Looks like someone was travelin’ in this schooner real recent. But how did it end up here?”

  Ost checked the wheels. “Still looks like it’s in good working condition to me. This axle has been oiled recently … several months ago at most.” He climbed up the side of the wagon using a step in front of one of the wheels, and opened the trunk, pulling out its contents, one item at a time. “Clothes, all nice enough. They don’t even smell bad, like they would if they’d been here for years.”

  “Women’s clothes,” Dan added with a frown.

  “And men’s as well.” But Ost knew what Dan was getting at, and his heart pounded as he packed them carefully back into the trunk. The gown on top looked like what a young woman would wear, and some of the others were older in style. Dread formed a lump in his stomach. “Do you really think …?”

  Dan sighed. “Yeah, I do. This coulda been the Wilcoxes’ wagon. Most schooners look about the same to me, and I never went inside theirs to see their belongings. But it looks a lot like I remember theirs looking.” He thought fiercely for a moment, then said, “Wait. Open up that trunk again – lemme see those dresses.”

  Ost did so, holding up one, then another.

  At the fourth one, Dan groaned. “Dear Lord.”

  “What is it?” Ost asked in alarm.

  “I can’t be sure, it was a while back … but that looks like one Wilma Wilcox wore. I hope I’m wrong, but …” He rubbed his eyes.

  Ost put the dresses back, then sighed deeply. Deep down he knew, but he hated knowing. Suddenly he felt tired.

  “We found something!” someone called outside.

  “So did we,” Ost muttered as he left the barn, Dan close behind him. Rev. Arden was at the tree line, waving his arm above his head. They ran over to meet him, and Sheriff Stanton caught up a few seconds later. “What is it?” Ost asked.

  “Look!”

  Ost followed where Rev. Arden pointed, and saw a makeshift yard filled with about twenty longhorns, most of them scrawny or injured. There was a trough filled with water, a few remnants of hay trampled into the muddy ground beside it. Frowning, he walked over to the yard and stepped inside. One cow tossed her head at him, then backed away. The Paradise Ranch brand, a mountain peak in a circle, was emblazoned on her shoulder. He shook his head, then shouted over his shoulder. “It’s one of ours … I mean yours, Dan!”

  The others came over to look at the stock, and found several more with the Paradise Ranch brand, plus a few from some of the other successful ranches nearby. “These must’ve been the ones the thieves couldn’t sell – the sick, injured and so on,” said Dan. “Least it looks that way.”

  Ost nodded. “Sure does.” He climbed back through the fence and leaned on it, frowning. “Well, Sheriff, we’ve got our proof. It’s the Berger gang who’ve been stealing our cattle. This is their land, these are our beeves.”

  Sheriff Stanton nodded sharply. “We’ve got ‘em now.”

  “Yes, sir, we do.” Ost studied the sorry herd of longhorns, and knew they had more than that. He’d have to tell Stanton what he and Dan had found in the barn, evidence that might tie the Berger bunch to Angela Wilcox and her parents – which could mean charges of rape or even murder. They likely had what they needed to hang Yannick Berger higher than Haman. Now all they had to do was find him.

  8

  The grass swayed on either side of the wagon track, and Angela smiled as she watched a dozen prairie dogs rush into holes in a small hillock. Pa whistled beside her on the bench seat, while Ma took her turn riding the horse they’d bought in Caspar in Wyoming Territory. The three of them took turns driving the wagon, riding on the bench seat or on horseback. At least it broke up the monotony of each day.

  Pa said they were making good progress, since none of them had to walk. Four horses were plenty to pull a wagon with two people in it, he’d said, and with one more for riding, they’d barely notice the load. He even let the horses take turns out of the traces. And they always set up camp in the early afternoon, so the animals got plenty of rest for the next day.

  Ma pulled the bay horse up beside the wagon and smiled at Angela. “There was a bonny lass …” she began, her voice softly floating over the open prairie. Angela knew the song well – they’d sung it plenty of times over the years. She always took the harmony, and Pa said they rivaled the angels. She didn’t know about that, but it always warmed her heart to hear it.

  They’d bid Dan and Claudine farewell in Caspar and she was sorry for that. Having them and little Gracie as companions had given her someone else to talk to, which she didn’t get much of these days. Ever since they headed west, she’d mostly had the company of her folks to rely on. But Dan and Claudine were headed north into Montana Territory while they went west to Utah. They wouldn’t likely see each other again, though she would make friends when they reached their destination … wouldn’t she?

  The cold winter days had begun to lengthen, and she could sense spring on the horizon. She was grateful for it – she loved to be outdoors and take long walks. That was one thing she’d enjoyed since they left home – the wilderness was so big and untamed and full of beauty.

  Still, she missed the gentle mountain ranges and green woods of North Carolina. She’d been livid when her parents said they’d leave behind their home, friends, church and everything they knew. Now that they’d been gone for a couple of years, she’d grown accustomed to the pioneering life, but she didn’t quite love it yet.

  “What are you thinking on, poppet?” asked Pa, with a smile. In his hands the reins hung loose, and he sat with his elbows on his thighs, a long piece of grass protruding from between his lips.

  “Just wondering how everyone back home is doing,” she murmured.

  His head cocked to one side. “I’m sure they’re doing just fine. I’m sorry you can’t be there with them, but would you really want to give up all this …” His hand swept over the wide plains. “… just to be back in Charlotte?”

  She chuckled. “As a matter of fact …”

  He laughed. “Well, I can’t blame you. I guess a young woman wants to be around friends. But I promise we’ll find us a homestead close to a town where you can make new ones. What do you think of that?”

  She nodded. “Thank you, Pa.” How many young women would
there be in Utah? Not many, she was certain. They’d spent almost two years in Wyoming Territory, and all the women she met were already married or not the kind of women Ma would let her associate with. She blushed, remembering the number of times she’d walked or ridden by a saloon or bawdy house and averted her eyes, lest Ma give her a look. Everyone knew when your Ma gave you that look, you’d best change whatever it was you were doing quick. Ma had the look down pat.

  “How much longer do you think we’ll drive today?” she asked, watching a butterfly flutter on the breeze and disappear in the new spring grass.

  “We’ll stop in a couple hours and set up camp – we’ve made good progress today. It helps that the landscape is flatter than we’ve had recently, and the wagon tracks are well established along this part of the trail.”

  She nodded and let her gaze wander. Ahead was nothing much to see but the undulating plains and the narrow tracks meandering through them. They’d passed a mountain range earlier in the week, and if she leaned out the side of the wagon and looked back, she could still see them, snow-capped and majestic.

  She spotted Ma behind the wagon, riding sedately on the bay, and frowned. Someone was behind Ma – a group of travelers headed their way on horseback, and moving fast. Men, it looked like, with their elbows flapping like chicken wings and their feet digging into their horses’ sides with each stride. Her heart leaped into her throat. “Ma!” she cried, her voice breaking. “Ma, someone’s coming! Pa, there’s a whole posse of men bearing down on Ma.”

  Pa leaned to his side and reached for the shotgun he kept by his feet on the floor of the wagon. “Get inside the wagon, Angela.”

  She hurried to comply, sitting on the big trunk that held all the clothes they weren’t wearing. Pa didn’t like it when they came across strangers on the road, and each time he made sure she and Ma were tucked away safe and he had his gun ready. If it was a group of schooners like theirs, or other families on their way west, they’d welcome the travelers and maybe even share a campfire for a night or two. But these men didn’t look like that type.