Shadow on the Trail Read online

  First Skyhorse Edition 2017 by arrangement with Golden West Literary Agency

  Copyright © 1946 by Lina Elise Grey

  Copyright © renewed 1958 by Romer Zane Grey, Elizabeth Zane Grosso, and Loren Zane Grey

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file.

  Cover design by Tom Lau

  Print ISBN: 978-1-63450-067-8

  Ebook ISBN: 978-1-63450-082-1

  Printed in the United States of America

  FOREWORD

  IN MY reading of historical books on our American frontiers, and in my many trips to wild places in the West, and my early contacts with great westerners like Buffalo Jones, Buffalo Bill, Joe Sitter and Vaughn, Texas Rangers, Wyatt Earp and Dick Moore, gunmen, and my old guides A1 Doyle and John Wetherill, one of the remarkable things in western life was the way desperate characters and hunted outlaws disappeared without leaving a trace, never to be heard of again.

  Henderson, one of the Billy the Kid gang, was a case in point. Henderson was a bad man, a desperado, a killer, marked by sheriffs from Abilene to Santa Fe. But he left Billy the Kid just before that deadly young man helped to instigate the Lincoln County War in New Mexico, and was eventually with his gang and many others wiped out. Henderson was never heard of again. What became of him?

  Another case in point, and one which particularly inspired this novel, was that of a young lieutenant of Sam Bass, the notorious Texas bandit and bank-robber. Very little was ever known of this young outlaw, Jackson by name, during Sam Bass’s life, and nothing at all after Bass’s death.

  When Sam Bass and his gang attempted to rob the bank at Mercer, Texas, they were surprised and attacked by Texas Rangers and citizens, and in a terrific fight all the robbers were killed except young Jackson.

  He rode out of town supporting the mortally shot Bass in his saddle. The pursuing rangers came upon the dying Bass sitting up under a tree along the roadside. He died there. But nothing could be seen of Jackson except his tracks, and though the rangers rode this outlaw down for years, acting upon a hundred clues, he was never found.

  What became of Jackson, as well as of so many desperate outlaws of those early days? Of those who were never heard of again!

  For a novelist of western historical life that query was one of intriguing interest. Some of them, surely, turned their backs upon the uncertainty and inevitability of the evil life. Some of them, surely, were not as black as the wild frontier painted them. It is conceivable that some of them reformed, and lived useful hidden perhaps remorseful lives in out of the way corners of the vast West.

  It is within the province of the creative writer to take upon himself the task of imagining and portraying what might have happened to one of these vanishing outlaws. And that is what I have tried to do in Shadow on the Trail.

  ZANE GREY

  Altadena

  December 1, 1936

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE whistle of the Texas Pacific express train nerved Wade Holden to dare one more argument against the unplanned holdup and robbery his chief had undertaken. Standing there in the dark night under the trees with the misty rain blowing in his face and the horses restlessly creaking leather, Wade thought swiftly, realizing the peril in speaking ill of men Simm Bell chose as comrades for a job of banditry.

  “Listen, Simm,” whispered Wade close to the ear of the lean dark outlaw beside him. “It’s too sudden, this holdup. We’ve got the big bank job all ready.”

  “I’ve a hunch,” replied Bell, with the force of one who never brooked opposition. “We’re ridin’ through this country. Bad weather. Passed the towns at night. No one has seen us. Wade, I’ll get you a bunch of money like pickin’ it off bushes.”

  “But these two strangers. We don’t know them.”

  “Blue says he knows them. That’s enough for me.”

  “Chief, I don’t trust Randall Blue,” returned Wade, with effort.

  “Son, what’re you sayin’?” asked Bell, in gruff amaze. His big eyes glowed in the gloom.

  “I know what I’m saying. I don’t trust Blue. Ever since I saw him talking to that ranger, Pell. He’s—”

  “What? You saw him?”

  “I did. They had a serious talk. I believe Blue has agreed to double-cross you.”

  “Hellsfire! Would you face him with that?”

  “I’d be only too glad.”

  “And you’ll kill him. I see. . . . Son, you’re a bad hombre when you go against a man. But I’ll not have you splittin’ my band.”

  “Simm, you read that last notice of reward offered for you, alive or dead. Ten thousand dollars!”

  “Cap Mahaffey has raised the ante. I’m somebody worth gettin’ now. But those damned rangers will never get me alive.”

  “They’ll get you dead, though. That Texas bunch has been after you for two years. They’d had you but for your many friends. Let’s not risk this holdup with Blue. And ride on our way to meet the gang. Blue will not know of our bank job at Mercer.”

  “I told him, Wade.”

  “God, you’ve ruined us!”

  The train rumbled into the dimly lighted station and rattled to a halt with the engine down at the end of the platform.

  “Come on, Wade, I’ll get you some easy money,” rasped Bell, dragging his young companion with a powerful hand. They ran across the road. In the yellow flare of light Wade saw Blue accost the conductor with a sharp. “Hands up! ” The other two men, who called themselves Smith and Hazlitt, would by this time be climbing aboard the engine to take care of the engineer and brakeman. In a moment more Wade heard harsh voices in the engine cab.

  “Here’s the express car,” whispered Bell. “That express messenger is openin’ the door. Well, of all the luck! Leave it to me, Wade, but look sharp.”

  They stole along the car to the door that slid to a halt. Behind a leveled gun Bell stuck his head and shoulders into the car. “Hands up!” called the robber, low and menacingly. “If you squeak, I’ll bore you!”

  The messenger slowly straightened with hands up, his face turning white. Bell leaped up into the car. Holden followed with drawn gun.

  “Cover him while I look round,” said the chief.

  The express car was well lighted. Wade saw a few boxes ready for
delivery. A large iron safe stood back against the far wall. Bell gave it a heave.

  “Too heavy!—Force him to open it.”

  “I can’t. That’s the Wells Fargo safe. They don’t give me the combination.”

  “Open up or we’ll kill you!”

  “Kill and be damned. I can’t—I tell you.”

  “Looks like he’s telling the truth,” interposed Wade.

  “What’s in these?” demanded Bell, kicking some oblong packages lying beside the safe.

  “I don’t know,” replied the express messenger.

  The robber glanced around for some kind of implement and espied an ax. Seizing it he struck the top package a hard blow. There was a musical jingle of coins.

  “Money,” Bell cried out and struck open the end of the package. Gold twenty-dollar coins rolled out.

  “Double eagles! Look at ’em, pard. Pick them loose ones up.” With a bound at the messenger, Bell felled him with a blow of the gun. “How about my hunch, boy? Easiest job we ever had! . . . Slide those packages to the door.”

  Bell leaped down upon the platform to peer with eager hawk eyes back toward the station. “Blue’s comin’. Hurry. . . Blue, run forward and get your pards.”

  Wade filled his coat pockets with the loose coins, leaving some on the floor. Then he closed the end of the package Bell had broken and carried it to the door. The next one he slid across. By the time he had moved the five bundles, Blue had returned with his two partners.

  “Each grab one and run for your hoss,” ordered Bell, fierce with gleeful excitement.

  Wade leaped down and grasped the last package. It was heavy and he needed his gun hand to help. Thus burdened he ran after the dark form ahead of him. In another moment he was out of the flare of light and in the gloom. Shrill cries pealed from the station. Wade reached his companions more by sound than sight. Two were already mounted.

  “Hand it—up,” panted the chief. “Did I—have—a hunch?—Ha! Not a shot! . . . Where’s the boy? . . . Here you air. . . . Lift ’er up. . . . How about that for—some easy money? No ranger can—connect Simm Bell—with this job.”

  Wade removed his cloth mask and mounted to take the extra package that his chief held on his saddle.

  “There! We’re all set. . . . Ride close to me. . . . Look sharp— for that road across the track—to the south. . . . And here comes the rain—to wash out our tracks.”

  Wade Holden rode behind Smith and Hazlitt. It seemed significant to him that the robber chief placed himself in front beside Blue. They all rode so close together that they could have touched each other. Rain began to fall heavily. Wade had a waterproof coat tied on his saddle and in removing this he had to shift the package that Bell had handed him. Somehow it did not seem so heavy and hard as the others. He squeezed it. Through the thick wrapping paper and cardboard he felt the contents was currency. He was about to apprise Bell of this discovery, when it occurred to him that such intelligence could wait to be divulged later.

  The trotting horses soon left the station behind in the black night. Shouts and calls died away. The discharge of a shotgun back there elicited much glee from the chief. He was the only one of the five who broke the silence and he jested, bragged, crowed as was his wont after a successful raid. But that did not deceive Holden. He knew his chief.

  The rain became a steady downpour. Wade rested his package endwise on his saddle and buckled it under his coat to keep it dry.

  “Hold on,” called out Bell, presently. “We’re passin’ that turnoff. . . . Blue, I thought you knew the road.”

  “I do. But it’s so damn dark,” explained the other.

  “Well, I’ve been along here myself if you want to know,” replied Bell, gruffly, and rode to the left across the track.

  Wade sank comfortably in his saddle for another of Simm Bell’s long night rides. The sandy road gave forth little sound from hoofs, except an occasional splash of water. The road ahead appeared to be a pale obscure lane dividing two walls of gloom. After a while Bell grew tired of his volubility. Then the quintet rode on somber and silent, each occupied with his own thoughts.

  Holden’s were not what might have been expected of a young desperado who had been in a train holdup netting thousands of dollars without a fight. He had an unaccountable, unshakable feeling of impending calamity for his chief. And he loved this freehanded robber. He had stood by Bell of late against his better judgment. The robber had gravitated from little inconsequential stealings to bloody crimes. His name had become notorious from the Kansas border to the Rio Grande. He had incurred the wrath of the Texas Rangers, and that, together with the price on his head, spelled doom for Simm Bell. He was cunning, brave, a hard fighter, but he was not particularly keen-minded.

  Nevertheless, Holden did not see how he could sever his connection with his chief. He did not care very much what happened to himself, but he would have liked to steer his friend away from obvious disaster. He and his family owed Bell a good deal. Wade’s father had been a Missouri guerrilla during the Civil War. After the war he came home a crippled and ruined man. Bell had been one of his lieutenants and for some years he had practically taken care of the Holdens. But Simm too had been ruined by the free life of a guerrilla. He did not take kindly to farming. In the succeeding years he drifted to more vicious ways and took Wade with him.

  That explained Wade Holden’s presence there on this lonely Texas road, a robber, red-handed, already at twenty-two notorious for his quick and deadly gunplay, and marked by the Texas Rangers along with Simm Bell. Wade had grown bitter and hard. He suffered few moments of remorse. Hope had almost died in his breast. He could look back and see how inevitably he had been forced out of honest ways. He had never had a chance. And all there seemed left for him now was to die fighting by and for his chief. Through the long hours of night that sense of loyalty grew to a passion.

  They rode on through the long dark hours at a steady trot. They passed isolated ranch houses at intervals and one village where all but watchdogs were wrapped in slumber.

  It rained hardest during the dark hour before dawn. Then with the gray break of day the rain let up and there was a prospect of clearing weather. Sunrise found Bell leading his men off the road into a wood where, some distance in, they halted in a grassy glade.

  “We’ll rest the hosses and dry off,” said Bell, cheerily, as he dismounted. “That farmer back aways is a friend of mine. We can get grub.”

  “Wal, Bell, if it’s all the same to you, we’ll be ridin’ on,” said Smith, a freckled, evil-eyed man.

  Bell straightened up but he did not bat an eyelash. He had been prepared.

  “Smith, it’s not all the same to me. And who do you mean by we?” he returned, coolly.

  “Me an’ Hazlitt hyar. We’re ridin’ on with our share.”

  “Who’n hell said anythin’ about your share?” queried Bell, sharply, and deliberately he lifted the heavy package of coin off Smith’s saddle, and then, even more forcefully, repeated the action with Hazlitt. When he turned to Blue, however, that worthy was in the act of dismounting with his treasure. Bell relieved him of it and laid it beside the others on a log. Holden got off his horse and placed his package on the log, too, but apart from the others.

  “I kept mine dry,” he observed, and covered it with his coat. This precaution was only a blind. Wade did not want to be hampered if trouble ensued. Manifestly Bell had struck a false note. Smith and Hazlitt looked ugly but uncertain, as they got down on cramped legs. Wade had a covert look at Randall Blue. He was under thirty, a tall man, fair and not bad looking. Wade distrusted his shifty gaze, his ready tongue and smile. Bell watched the three men while he uncinched and threw his saddle. His big black eyes held a sardonic gleam.

  “Wal, Bell,” began Smith, presently, “nobody said anythin’ aboot a divvy, but shore thet was understood.”

  “I always pay men who work with me,” replied the leader.

  “Pay! . . . Wal, what do you aim to pay us?”
/>   “Reckon one of them packages more than squares your work in that little job. ’

  “Wal, we don’t reckon thet way,” said Smith. “What’s more we ain’t bein’ paid. We want an equal divvy. There’re five of us, an’ five bundles of gold. One for each of us.”

  “Blue, what’s your angle on that?” inquired Bell of his confederate, and both look and tone were curious.

  “Strikes me fair,” rejoined Blue, nervously.

  “Wade, what you think?”

  “Chief, you had the idea and planned the job,” said Holden, quickly. “If this was your regular gang you’d divide as always— share and share alike. But I wouldn’t do that here.”

  “My sentiments exactly,” declared the chief, with satisfaction. “Smith, you and Hazlitt take one pack of this gold and go on your way.”

  “Nope. I won’t agree to thet. You’ll give Blue one pack. An’ he didn’t take as big a part in the job as Jim an’ me.”

  “Blue used to trail with me.”

  “Wal, I hev my doubts about his trailin’ with you now. . . . Ask him who he was sendin’ telegrams to yestiddy, when we hit the railroad at Belton.”

  “Telegrams!” ejaculated Bell, and slowly turned to Blue with a singular vibration through his wiry frame. “Rand, did you send telegrams yesterday?”

  “Yes. I wired my folks not to expect me home soon,” replied Blue, suavely enough.

  “But you told me you told them before you came to meet me.”

  “I know. But my telegram made it definite,” added Blue, his lips just shading gray.

  “Ahuh,” grunted Bell, subtly changing.

  “Chief, he’s a—liar!” interposed Holden, sharply. The moment had convinced him of the correctness of his suspicion. Blue was a traitor.

  “Mebbe he is, at that. But let’s settle with these hombres first,” said the robber, caustically. “Smith, do you and Hazlitt accept what I offered?”

  “I should smile we don’t,” snapped Smith viciously, his weasel eyes glinting. They betrayed nerve, purpose, and an estimate of Bell which put Holden on instant cold guard. For some reason Smith did not take Bell’s young comrade seriously.