The Iron Wagon (16 page)

John’s eyes lit up. “So Pastor Brent Duran led you to the Lord.”

A wide grin spread over Wayne’s face. “Yes sir. I am going to be baptized by Pastor Brent Duran in the midweek service tonight!”

“Well, my whole family and also a great number of the people in Denver’s First Baptist Church have been praying for your salvation.”

“Oh, bless their hearts. And thank you so very, very much, Chief Brockman.”

John laid a steady hand on Wayne’s arm. “I’m so glad the Lord drove the truth of His existence into your heart and mind and, in answer to our prayers, used His Word to draw you unto Himself.”

“God’s Word is really powerful. I know that now. Thank you, Chief Brockman, for caring enough about a lost, hell-bound atheist to tell him the truth from the pulpit and face to face.”

“It was my pleasure. What a joy it is to watch God work through His powerful Word.”

Wayne nodded. “I hope the day will come when I can help people see the truth about heaven, hell, and salvation through the Lord Jesus Christ and see them saved.”

“You follow the teaching and preaching of the great preacher who will become your pastor when you get baptized tonight, and you’ll see this fulfilled in your Christian life, Wayne. It’s called soul-winning. The Lord wants every Christian to be a soul-winner.”

“That’s what I want to be!” Wayne slipped his pocket watch from the pocket of his trousers, then glanced at the time. “Chief Brockman, I need to head back to Central City.”

John rose to his feet. “All right. I’ll walk out with you.”

As the two men made their way into the outer office, Deputy Dickson, who was seated at the desk, looked up. “Did you two have a good talk, Chief?”

“We sure did. I’m walking Mr. Shelby out to his buggy now.”

“Oh.” Darrell looked at Wayne. “Nice to have met you, Mr. Shelby.”

“Same here.” Wayne gave the deputy a warm smile.

John and Wayne headed for the front door of the federal building. At that instant, both men heard a gunshot. They saw that two gunslingers had apparently just drawn against each other in the middle of the street. People were gathered along the boardwalk looking on. Some of the women were showing a great deal of fear, including mothers attempting to get their children to a safe place.

One of the gunslingers buckled over, a slug obviously in his midsection, but his gun fired. A short distance up the street were a pair of horses hitched to a wagon with no one in the driver’s seat. One of the horses had been nicked on the neck by the stray bullet.

Both horses let out wild whinnies and in terror bolted down the street in John and Wayne’s direction, the wagon bouncing and swerving dangerously behind them.

“Boy, those horses are coming fast!” gasped Wayne.

John nodded, his eyes wide. “They sure are!” He caught sight of an elderly man using a cane as he walked slowly across the street. Spencer Lannan was stone deaf.

The wild-eyed, terrified horses galloping down the street were headed directly toward the old man. John and Wayne began to shout at Spencer, but he couldn’t hear them and sensed no danger.

John dashed into the street and surprised Spencer by grabbing him from behind and moving him out of the horses’ path. Spencer looked back at the man who had grabbed him and shouted, “Chief Brockman! What are you doing?”

The horses raced by with the wagon bouncing and swerving behind them, and Spencer gasped. Gripping the chief’s upper arms, the silver-haired man said, “Oh, Chief Brockman, thank you! Thank you! If those horses and that wagon had hit me, I would be dead right now.”

Moving his lips carefully, so Spencer could read them, John said, “I am just so glad I could get to you before they collided with you.”

The old man smiled. “I’m going to pray that the Lord will give you a great big reward for saving my life when we get to heaven!”

By this time, Wayne Shelby was beside John. His eyes sparkled. “Chief Brockman, you not only know how to get souls
saved, but you are also good at saving lives! You kept this elderly gentlemen from being killed.”

John smiled. “Wayne, this dear man’s name is Spencer Lannan. He is a fine Christian and is a member of First Baptist Church.”

Spencer was smiling at Wayne; then John leaned especially close to the elderly man, once again moving his lips carefully, and said, “Wayne won’t mind if I tell you, Spencer, that he used to be an atheist, but he’s now a Christian. He’s getting baptized this evening at the church Brent Duran pastors in Central City.”

“Wonderful!” Spencer extended his hand to Wayne, and as they grasped each other, Spencer said, “Welcome to the family of God! You and I are now brothers in Christ!”

Tears filled Wayne’s eyes. “Thank you, and God bless you!”

A local man named Omar Cammit stepped up. “Chief Brockman, the gunslinger who was just shot by the other gunslinger in their shootout is dead. But he didn’t die from the bullet in his body. When the other gunslinger saw that the crowd’s attention was drawn to where you saved Mr. Lannan, a few of us saw him pull a knife and stab the wounded gunslinger in the heart.”

John’s jaw clenched. “Omar, is the killer still around?”

“No sir. After he stabbed his opponent, he jumped on his white stallion and galloped away to the north. I’ve seen his photograph in the newspapers several times. He’s that well-known gunslinger from Wyoming, Chet Hayden.”

The chief nodded solemnly. “I know about him and what he looks like. You say he’s riding a white stallion?”

“Yes sir.”

“Totally white?”

Omar nodded firmly. “Yes sir. Body, legs, mane, and tail.”

John’s face was a bit flushed as he spoke to Omar and the people standing around listening. “As you all know, the law here in the West will not arrest a gunslinger who kills another gunslinger in a fair fast draw. However, since the man who just outdrew the other gunslinger wounded him without killing him but then stabbed him to death, he is guilty of murder. I’ve got to go after him.”

Wayne said, “Chief Brockman, I really have to head for Central City.”

“Of course,” John said. “You go right ahead.”

“See you later,” Wayne said warmly, then pivoted and headed for his buggy.

John waved and called out, “Happy baptism, Wayne!”

Omar Cammit said, “Chief, I know you’re in a hurry to go after Hayden, but I thought I should tell you that a couple of other men said they knew who the murdered gunslinger was. I’ve heard of him but never saw a picture of him. They said his name is Nave Kitchin, and he’s from Nebraska.”

“Oh,” said John. “I know a lot about him. He was pretty fast with his gun until he turned sixty. He should have quit then, but he still felt he could handle any gunslinger who challenged him.”

Omar shrugged. “Guess there has to come a day when a fella just slows down on the draw.”

John nodded. “Right. Omar, would you do me a favor?”

“Sure.”

“So I can get on the trail of Chet Hayden, will you go to my office and tell Deputy Darrell Dickson at the front desk what I’m doing?”

“Of course.”

“And if I’m not back here at the office to head home at my normal time, would you ask him to send one of the deputies to my ranch to tell Breanna what I’m doing? It could take me a while to catch up to Hayden.”

“Sure will, Chief,” Omar replied with a smile. “Are you gonna take at least one deputy with you?”

“No time. I’ve got to run back to get Blackie and head north. Hayden is from Laramie, Wyoming, and I figure since he rode north out of Denver, he’s heading back there.”

The chief U.S. marshal ran to the corral at the rear of the federal building, swung into Blackie’s saddle, and put his big black stallion to a gallop.

Chet Hayden had been riding fast for almost an hour, looking back over his shoulder to see if anyone was following him, when he neared a small village known as Platteville, Colorado. Chet knew this town had a general store and a small café with a water pump for travelers to use to give their horses a drink.

He drew rein to slow his white stallion, looked over his shoulder again, noting that there was no one following him, and hauled up at the water pump. After dismounting, he pumped the trough better than half full with water. He took reins in
hand and led the stallion up to the trough. The sweaty horse took several gulps of cool water, then bobbed its head.

Hayden smiled. “Okay, boy, I’m rather hungry, so I’m goin’ into the café to get somethin’ to eat.”

He led the horse to the hitching rail in front of the store and went inside.

A half hour later, Chief Brockman, who had kept Blackie at a hard gallop, caught sight of a white horse tied to the hitching rail in front of the Platteville General Store. As he drew up, he saw that the white stallion was sweating and figured this could well be Chet Hayden’s horse.

Two other horses, both brown in color, were tied to the rail, and a farm wagon was parked nearby.

Slipping up to the edge of one of the store’s front windows, John peered inside and saw a man and woman at a small table, eating. And at the table next to them, Chet Hayden was also eating. Other customers moved about the store.

John took a deep breath. He would have to wait till Hayden came out before arresting him. It could be too dangerous for the store clerks and the other customers to confront him inside.

Just then, Hayden rose from the table, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

John backed away from the window and hurried behind one of the wagons parked right next to where Hayden’s horse was tied. He ducked down beside the wagon so the gunslinger couldn’t see him and fixed his eyes on the general store’s front door.

Seconds later, Hayden came out and headed for his stallion.
As he untied the reins from the hitching rail, the chief U.S. marshal stood, Colt .45 in hand, and as he cocked the hammer, he said, “Hold it right there, Hayden! You’re under arrest! Get your hands in the air!”

In total surprise, Hayden twisted around and saw the black barrel of the cocked Colt .45 aimed straight at his face and the badge on the lawman’s chest. He recognized chief U.S. marshal John Brockman. Hayden had seen his picture in newspapers many times. Hayden’s flesh went cold as he raised his hands over his head.

Brockman rounded the wagon at the rear, keeping his gun pointed at the gunslinger’s face. “I’m arresting you for the murder of Nave Kitchin.”

Hayden swallowed hard. “Whattya talkin’ about? He and I squared off in a fast draw. You can’t arrest me for that!”

“No, but I
can
arrest you for murder. Kitchin was still alive when you stabbed him in the heart. You thought nobody would see you, since the crowd was watching me save the elderly gentleman about to be run down by those galloping horses. However, a few people saw what you did, and they will testify of it in court, I guarantee you.”

Chet Hayden’s heart was pounding. It pounded even harder when Brockman moved up real close with the gun’s muzzle still aimed at his face.

“Reach down real slowlike, Hayden, and pull that hunting knife on your waist out of its scabbard.”

Hayden obeyed the command, and it was clear that the blade was covered with blood.

“Drop it!” said Brockman. The knife hit the ground. “Now lift your gun out of its holster with the tips of your fingers and drop it also!”

When this was done, the chief told Hayden to turn around. Once Hayden had done so, John holstered his own gun and cuffed the gunslinger’s hands behind him. He then picked up Hayden’s knife and gun and placed them in his own saddlebag.

John hoisted him into the saddle of the white stallion, then mounted Blackie, took the reins of the white horse in hand, and led Hayden toward Denver.

There was a cold, heavy sinking in Chet Hayden’s stomach.

He was locked up in the county jail that evening and stood trial before Judge Dexter on Monday, August 26. Eight Denver citizens testified under oath at the trial, telling judge and jury that they had seen Hayden stab the wounded gunslinger, Nave Kitchin, in the heart while he was still breathing.

The attorney Hayden had hired was unable to do a thing to get him off. The jury came forth with a guilty verdict, and Judge Dexter sentenced him to be hanged at sunrise on Thursday, August 29, under the authority of the county sheriff.

On Wednesday, August 28, Chief Brockman visited Hayden in the jail and tried to give him Scripture on the subject of heaven, hell, and salvation in the Lord Jesus Christ, but flaming in anger, Hayden told Brockman he did not want to hear it. Heavy at heart, John left the jail.

At sunrise the next day, Chet Hayden was hanged.

A
s the days and weeks passed, Annabeth Langford continued with her nursing career, still feeling the weight in her heart that she would never be able to conceive nor bear a child. She had often prayed privately that the Lord would give her the strength she needed to face the fact that she could never be a mother.

On Thursday afternoon, September 12, Annabeth finished helping one of Mile High Hospital’s surgeons with an appendectomy on a twelve-year-old girl, then headed for the washroom to cleanse the girl’s blood from her hands.