The Iron Wagon (24 page)

John guided the buggy off to the side of the road and pulled rein. He reached under the seat and lifted his Bible so Windino could see it. “Do you know what this is?”

Windino nodded. “It says Holy Bible on the cover. You are a Christian, aren’t you?”

“I sure am. I want to read to you from this book about Jesus Christ.”

Windino nodded but remained silent.

John then told the Apache chief the story of Calvary, pausing often to read Scriptures to him on the subject. Using more Scriptures, John gave Windino the full gospel story, then showed him passages on salvation and the new birth, explaining to him his need to be saved and warning if he did not receive the Lord Jesus Christ as his Saviour, he would go to a never-ending, burning hell when he died.

Windino looked John in the eye. “I mean no disrespect to you or your beliefs, Chief Brockman, but as an Apache chief and the leader of one of the Apache reservations, I must stay with my Apache religion.”

John could tell by the look in Windino’s dark eyes that he meant what he said. John closed the Bible with a silent prayer that the Lord would use the Scriptures he had given Windino to eventually bring the chief to Himself.

John placed the Bible back beneath the seat. “We will move on then.” He put the horse into motion, and they headed on toward Windino’s reservation.

Windino was still slumped over on the seat when the buggy rolled onto the grounds of his well-populated reservation, and Windino showed the chief U.S. marshal where to stop. Many Apache warriors, rifles in hand, surrounded the buggy. A crowd of women, children, and older men gathered around, curious.

Windino raised a hand and spoke to the warriors in the Apache language. Then they lowered their weapons and took a few steps back.

John looked at Windino. “What did you say to them?”

“I told them to keep the peace, that this white man with me saved my life today. I will now tell them what you did to save my life.”

John sat in silence, watching the faces of the Apaches surrounding the buggy as their chief spoke to them in their language. The only words John understood were when Windino told the people the name of the white man who saved his life: chief United States marshal John Brockman. When Windino
finished, most of the men, all of the women, and all of the children gave a rousing cheer while smiling at John and waving their hands in the air.

John noticed that a number of Apache warriors, who stood back from the rest of the crowd, were scowling at him with hatred in their dark eyes. Keeping his gaze on them, John said from the side of his mouth in a low voice, “Chief Windino, why are those men over there looking at me angrily?”

Windino replied, “There are still warriors on every Apache reservation in Arizona Territory who hate white people and often attack and kill them.” Windino took a deep breath. “I am sorry for this, Chief Brockman, but there is nothing I and the other Apaches who do not hate white people can do to change them.”

Two warriors who were standing close to the buggy stepped up and lifted their hands toward their chief, ready to help him down.

Windino was about to let them help him from the buggy when John reached down and lifted his Bible from under the seat. “Chief Windino, I would like to give you this Bible. Will you accept it?”

The Apache chief smiled and nodded. “I certainly will.”

“Good. Will you do me a favor and read it when you get to feeling better?”

“Yes, I will.”

“You no doubt noticed when you were sometimes looking at the pages as I was reading to you that many passages are underlined.”

“Yes. I did notice that.”

“Of course, I would like it very much if you would read the whole Bible, but the passages underlined in both the Old Testament and the New Testament are about heaven and hell. And in the New Testament, those underlined parts show the gospel of Jesus Christ and God’s plan of salvation. Please pay attention especially to those underlined passages in the New Testament. Will you do that?”

Windino smiled. “I will, Chief Brockman, I promise. Thank you for giving the Bible to me. Because you saved my life, I feel I owe it to you to do as you ask me.”

John grinned warmly. “Good! I appreciate that. And Chief Windino …”

“Yes?”

“I would like to come back someday and see you again. Will you allow me to do that?”

Windino’s face was beaming. “You will always be welcome to come and see me!”

“Thank you,” John said, his smile broadening. “Well, I must get back to Phoenix so I can catch the next train to Denver.”

Windino shook John’s right hand white-man style, thanked him once again for saving his life, and allowed the two warriors to help him down while another warrior untied Chief Windino’s horse from the rear of the buggy.

Federal marshal Danford Pierce was at his desk in his office when one of his deputies knocked on the door. “Sir, Chief Brockman is here to see you.”

“Please send him in,” Danford said.

Shortly, John entered the office and greeted Marshal Pierce.

Danford smiled. “John, welcome! It’s good to see you. Please come in and have a seat.”

As they sat together, John gave him the details about saving the life of Apache Chief Windino. John went on to tell Pierce about taking Windino home to his reservation in the Martin buggy and how most of the Apaches were friendly to him but that some of the warriors scowled hatefully at him. He then shared Chief Windino’s comment on the scowls.

Marshal Pierce nodded. “Chief Windino has it right. There are still Apache warriors on all the reservations in Arizona who hate white people and will kill them when they find a way to do it without endangering themselves before the guns of the U.S. Army.”

“Not only that,” John Brockman said, “but by the reports I’m getting from you and the other federal marshals in Arizona Territory, more and more outlaws are showing up all over this territory.”

“That’s right, Chief. You know about that eight-man Dub Finch gang down in Texas, don’t you?”

John nodded. “They’re named after their bloodthirsty leader, they’ve robbed and killed people in Texas for years, and they’ve never been caught. What about them?”

“Well, the Dub Finch gang is now reported to be in Arizona.”

The chief shook his head. “Oh no! Those seven men that Dub Finch has following him are vicious, heartless killers, just like their leader! I sure hope that gang will be caught and arrested
soon, before they rob and kill more people. Do you know where in Arizona they’ve been seen?”

“Not exactly. All I know is that people in eastern Arizona have reported seeing them. What towns or particular areas the Finch gang has been seen in or around, I do not know.”

The chief U.S. marshal rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Danford, I want you to let me know by telegraph if the Dub Finch bunch brings trouble to Arizona and where they are located.”

“I sure will, boss. You can count on that.”

“I know I can,” John rose to his feet. “Well, my friend, I’ve got to get to the railroad station so I can board the next train to Denver.”

The two men shook hands; then John left the federal marshal’s office and headed down the street toward the railroad station. When he arrived, he bought a ticket for the next train headed for Denver, then went to the Western Union office. He sent a telegram to Paul at the chief marshal’s office in Denver to let him know that his train was scheduled to arrive at seven thirty that evening. John had left Blackie at a Denver stable when he caught the train for Phoenix. He told Paul in the telegram that he would head straight for home on Blackie when he arrived in Denver.

Soon John was back at the railroad station and had boarded the coach to which he had been assigned. He made his way to an unoccupied seat near the rear of the coach, eased onto it, and scooted next to the window. Soon the conductor came through, announcing that the train would be leaving on time. A few minutes later, the train chugged out of Phoenix, heading eastward.

Letting out a sigh, John looked out the window, taking in the beauty of the desert country of Arizona.
This has been quite an exciting, exhausting day
. He adjusted his position on the seat and leaned his head on the back to rest. As he closed his eyes, he let his thoughts go to Ralph and Laura Webb.
Two people were snatched from Satan’s grasp today. What a tremendous blessing, Lord
.

Then John’s thoughts went to the day before and the souls that were saved when he preached at the First Baptist Church of Phoenix. His thoughts centered on the Martin family, and a smile curved his lips.
What a precious family, Lord. Edgar, Celia, and Lisa. And what a joy to see Edgar burdened so quickly after he got saved for his friends Ralph and Laura Webb and their need of Jesus as their Saviour
.

John’s mind then went back to the Martins and their lovely daughter, Lisa.
Hmm, what a sweet girl. She’s such a pretty little thing and just the right age for my boy
. John shrugged his wide shoulders.
But Lisa lives in Phoenix and Paul lives in Denver, and the two have never even met each other. Well, stranger things have happened, and with our wonderful God in control, there’s always a way
.

He decided that rather than tell the whole family, he would tell only Breanna more about Lisa so they could take it to their heavenly Father.
It may not be Your will at all, Lord, but You did let the thought of Lisa being the one for Paul enter my head
.

As the train moved along the tracks heading due east, John continued to meditate on the possibilities ahead in Paul’s life.

When the train was about two hours out of Phoenix, a loud
male voice from a few rows ahead said, “You shut your mouth! It’s none of your business if I’ve been drinkin’ whiskey ever since we left Phoenix!”

Looking forward in the coach, John saw a husky man who appeared to be in his late thirties with a whiskey bottle in his hand, standing some six rows directly ahead of him. The big, angry man was looking at a much smaller and older man across the aisle, who was still seated but was looking up at him.

The husky man didn’t notice the conductor entering the coach from its front door as he bellowed at the older man, “One more word outta you about my drinkin’, and I’ll knock your teeth down your throat!”

“Hey!” The conductor hurried toward the troublemaker. “You sit down and be quiet, mister! I want no more trouble out of you!”

Being under the influence of the whiskey, the husky man made a fist with his free hand and struck the conductor solidly on the jaw, knocking him to the floor of the aisle. Women shrieked and men gasped.

A smaller man about the big man’s age left his seat a couple of rows farther up and moved toward him with his fists clenched. “You fool! You’ll get thrown off this train for hitting the conductor!”

“Oh, yeah?” countered the big man and punched him hard, also knocking him down.

“You big bully!” cried out an elderly woman from a seat near the big man.

“Shut up, woman!”

By this time, Chief Brockman had stepped up to the drunk man.
“You
shut up, mister! Sit down and stay there!”

Anger flushed the man’s face as he caught sight of the badge John wore, and his enormous chest and shoulders seemed to swell even bigger. Rage was mastering him as he said, “You big enough to make me, lawman?” He swung his fist at John’s jaw.

John adeptly avoided the punch and smashed a left to the big man’s jaw that made his knees wobble. John quickly followed that punch with a powerful right to his left jaw, knocking him down and out.

As the crowd in the coach saw the drunk man lying still, they knew he was unconscious. They cheered the man with the badge on his chest who had put the big bully on the floor, out cold.

By this time, the conductor was on his feet, rubbing his jaw. “Thanks, Chief, for what you just did. I’m going to the engineer right now and have him stop the train.” He glanced down at the big unconscious man on the floor, then looked back up at the tall marshal. “Will you help me put him off the train?”

“Sure will,” replied John.

It was just after eight thirty that evening when John Brockman arrived at his ranch, and as he neared the house, he saw that the parlor windows were lit up and the front porch lantern was burning. He could make out the Langford horse and buggy to the side.
Bless Whip and Annabeth. They’re here to welcome me home. And I’ll get a hug from Lizzie too!

The tall figure of his son moved down the steps of the porch and raised a hand. “Howdy, Papa!”

Pulling rein, John said, “Howdy yourself, son!”

Paul stepped up close as his father dismounted. “I’ll take Blackie to the barn. That way, you can go on in and visit with everyone waiting for you.”

John smiled. “Okay, son. I appreciate that.”

Father and son hugged each other, then Paul turned toward the house, cupped a hand beside his mouth, and called out loudly, “Mama! Papa’s here!” Paul took Blackie’s reins and headed toward the barn. “See you in a few minutes.”

John walked toward the porch steps. At the same time, the door burst open, and the light shone on Breanna as she came onto the porch with all the others following.

John was welcomed home with a hug and a kiss from Breanna, followed by hugs and cheek kisses from Ginny and Meggie and a hug and a cheek kiss from little six-year-old Lizzie Langford as she told her “uncle John” she loved him. He then was hugged and welcomed home by Whip and Annabeth.

The group headed for the parlor, and everyone chose their seats and sat down. Breanna was next to her husband on one of the two-seat overstuffed sofas. Just as everyone was getting settled, Paul came in and eased onto an overstuffed chair facing his parents.

Breanna turned to her husband. “Okay, sweetheart, we’re all waiting to hear how the services went at Phoenix’s First Baptist Church.”

John beamed at her, then at the rest of the group. “Well, I’ve got some wonderful things to tell you.”

Everyone listened closely as John told about the souls that were saved under his preaching on Sunday, especially Edgar and Celia Martin and their lovely nineteen-year-old daughter, Lisa. “Lisa sure is lovely with blond hair and blue eyes, just like my sweetheart, Breanna.”