Mysteries In Our National Parks: Ghost Horses: A Mystery in Zion National Park

Several trucks with horse trailers attached were parked side by side in a half-circle on the road. As they approached, Steven peered at a man next to one of the trailers. His brow furrowed in a frown, and then he stared harder.

“Hey,” he said, “I think—no, I’m sure. I know that guy.”

Leaving the rest of them behind, Steven ran toward a tall, grizzled man wearing a shirt with vertical stripes, jeans, and boots, and topping it all off with a huge black cowboy hat. “Len?” he called, “Len Pelton? It’s you, isn’t it?”

The man’s mouth dropped in surprise as he shouted. “Steve? Steve-o, you young son of a gun! Well, my heck, where in thunder did you come from?”

They grabbed each other in a big bear hug with a lot of backslapping. By the time Olivia and the kids reached them, Steven was grinning so widely his eyes almost disappeared in wrinkles of glee. “This is my old group supervisor from the boys’ ranch,” he explained. “I started out in regular foster homes, but then the state decided it would be better for me at the ranch. At first I was scared to go, but Len—he made me feel like I belonged. I’ll tell you, that was a great time for me.”

“Yep, you was with me from the time you was what? Sixteen, seventeen?”

“Fifteen. And I stayed till high-school graduation,” Steven answered. “So what are you doing here?”

The man raised his hat to wipe his forehead with a big handkerchief. “Workin’. Too hard, sometimes,” he said, and grinned. “I’m with the Park Service now. We keep a couple of horses here in Zion for search-and-rescue operations and for jobs like this one. What happened today was—a couple of lady ranchers adopted a wild mustang from the Bureau of Land Management. They was drivin’ through the park this mornin’ and stopped at the visitor center for a hour or so, when the pin on their trailer door worked loose, and the horse busted out.”

Again the brim of the hat got tilted back; this time Len scratched the top of his balding head.

“The mustang was adopted, you said?” Steven asked, encouraging Len to go on with the story.

“Yep, you know how the BLM adopts out wild mustangs every now and then. This one’s a young mare, and she’s been leadin’ us a merry dance. I’m wore out from chasin’ her. Ain’t as young as I once was.” Len laughed and patted his round belly; it bulged over the big silver buckle on his belt. Then he said, “Hey, Steve-o, wanna try her?”