Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net THE LOST WAGON by JIM KJELGAARD _Jacket by Al Orbaan_ _Endpapers by Gerald McCann_ _Lithographed in U.S.A._ [Transcriber Note: Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Dodd, Mead & Company, New York Copyright, 1955 by Jim Kjelgaard All rights reserved No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 55-7136 Printed in the United States of America For Alma and Rob Zaun _The characters, incidents and situations in this book are imaginary and have no relation to any person or actual happening_ Contents I Pondering II The Discussion III The Destroyers IV Mountain Man V The Start VI The Party VII Independence VIII The River IX Storm X Snedeker's XI Winter XII Barbara and Ellis XIII Spring XIV The Mule XV The Meadows XVI The Farm XVII Besieged The Lost Wagon CHAPTER ONE Pondering When he had guided his plow halfway down the furrow, a bar-winged fly alighted just above Joe Tower's right ear. He felt it crawling, its presence irritating through the sweat that beaded his forehead and dampened his temples, and he knew that he should swat it away. When it was ready to do so the fly would bite him, and bar-winged flies drew blood when they bit. He did not raise his hand because once again the devils which, at sporadic intervals, tormented him, were having a field day. The fly was a counter-irritant. He wanted it to bite. It was a time to be hurt because, after the fly bit him, there would be that much more satisfaction in smashing it. At the same time he kept a wary eye on the mules. Though he was sometimes confused by the facts and affairs of his personal world, at the moment he had no doubt whatever about one thing. He hated all mules in general and these two in particular. They were big, sleek roan brutes with an air of innocence that was somehow imparted by their wagging ears and doleful expressions, but was entirely belied by the devil in their eyes. Twice within the past fifteen minutes they had balked, stepped over their traces, snarled their harnesses and kicked at him when he sought to untangle them. He had escaped injury because he knew mules. All his life he had handled animals, and most of the time he knew what they were going to do before they did it. He felt the fly crawling around, and gloated silently as he awaited its bite. He mustn't harm the mules because a man simply never hurt his animals. But he could swat the fly, and so doing he could relieve all his pent-up anger at the mules and, this afternoon, at the world in general.