The Iron Wagon (25 page)

John’s eyes kept flicking toward Paul as he was giving this information about Lisa. John explained that the Martins had spent some time talking to him after they were baptized in the morning service.

Breanna was quick to pick up on the way John kept looking at Paul as he was telling about the Martins’ daughter and that there was something going on in his mind regarding Lisa.
Guess I’ll just have to wait until John is ready to share it with me
, she thought.

John went on to tell them about the joy he had of leading Edgar Martin’s friends, Ralph and Laura Webb, to the Lord and about saving the life of Apache Chief Windino. John told them about giving Chief Windino the Bible and that Windino had promised to read it, especially the passages about salvation, heaven, and hell that were already underlined.

Tears misted John’s eyes. “I’d appreciate it if everyone would pray that the Lord would use the Scriptures to convict Chief Windino of his lost, hell-bound condition and bring him to salvation.”

They all assured him that they would do so.

“Papa, I wish I could meet Chief Windino,” Paul said. “He sounds like quite a guy.”

“Well, son, maybe someday you and I can go to Arizona and see Chief Windino. He told me I was welcome to come and see him again.”

Paul smiled. “Okay. Maybe someday, huh?”

John grinned. “Yes. Maybe someday.”

Whip looked at his boss and stood. “Chief, you look pretty tired. Annabeth, Lizzie, and I will go home now so you can hit the bed and get some rest.”

The Brockmans walked the Langfords out to their buggy, thanked them for coming, and watched them drive away into the night.

When the family went back into the ranch house, Paul and the girls heard their mother ask their father if he was hungry. When John replied that he was indeed hungry, Paul offered to pray with his sisters as his parents usually did at bedtime so Papa could have something to eat. John and Breanna thanked their son for the offer, then hugged all three and sent them upstairs.

As John and Breanna moved down the hall toward the kitchen, Breanna rubbed John’s back. “Honey, I have some leftover roast beef from dinner. I could make you a sandwich and heat up some potato soup. And for dessert there’s cherry pie.”

John smiled down at her. “Sounds good to me!”

When they entered the kitchen, John took Breanna into his arms. “I missed you so much while I was gone, sweetie. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, John!”

They kissed each other soundly; then Breanna went to work to fix her husband’s late-night meal.

John enjoyed his supper, right down to the luscious piece of cherry pie and hot coffee. He wiped away the last crumb from his lips with his napkin. “You certainly know how to please a tired, hungry man. Thank you, darlin’.”

“My pleasure.” Breanna gave him a tender look.

John drank most of the coffee, then set it down. “Honey, I need to share something with you.”

“Of course. What is it?”

“Well, this may sound strange, but when I was on the train returning home, the Lord seemed to put something in my mind.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“It was concerning Lisa Martin. The thought came to me that Lisa is just the right age for Paul.”

Breanna smiled. “I noticed the way you kept looking at Paul as you were telling all of us about Lisa, and I picked up that there was something going on in your mind regarding her. I told myself right then and there that I’d just have to wait until you were ready to share it with me. So you’re ready now, aren’t you?”

“Yes, my sweet, I am. Lisa could be the very young lady that Paul has been asking the Lord to send into his life to become his wife. She’s such a sweet and pretty little thing. I have no doubt that she would be a wonderful wife for our boy.”

Breanna’s brow furrowed. “Honey, I don’t see how this could work out since they live so far apart. Lisa lives in Phoenix, and Paul lives in Denver. How will they ever meet?”

John chuckled. “You know, sweetie, the exact same thought came to me as I pondered the situation. I told myself that with our wonderful God in control, there’s always a way.”

“I can’t argue with that. And since it seems that the Lord put this in your thoughts, I will certainly be in one accord with you in this matter. We know for a fact that with our wonderful God, all things are possible.”

John yawned and stretched out his arms. “I’m really tired. Let’s get a good night’s sleep, but we’ll pray about it together first, okay?”

“We sure will!” Breanna rose to her feet.

John stood too, and after Breanna had placed the dishes and coffee cup on the cupboard, they left the kitchen arm in arm and headed up the stairs.

A
s the days and weeks passed, Deputy Paul Brockman was proving to be even more of a tremendous federal marshal. He was continuously capturing outlaws and outdrawing well-known gunfighters who wanted to gain prestige by challenging and killing the young son of the famous Stranger, whom they felt they could outdraw and kill because of their greater experience.

The gunfighters all knew that by the code of the West, the law couldn’t touch a man who challenged another man to a quick-draw shootout, since it was considered a fair fight as long as the one being challenged was wearing a gun belt with a revolver in the holster.

On Wednesday evening, May 8, when the Brockman family sat down at the kitchen table to eat supper, John asked Paul to lead them in prayer to thank the Lord for the food. Once Paul finished praying and the family began devouring the meal, John ran his gaze over their faces. “I told you that I’d let you know when I heard from Marshal Danford Pierce in Phoenix about the Dub Finch gang.”

“Did the gang finally start robbing and killing in that part of Arizona, Papa?” asked Paul.

John shook his head. “No. In Marshal Pierce’s telegram that I received this morning, he said there has been no sign of the gang since they were last seen in eastern Arizona in mid-April. He figures they must have just been passing through, heading westward.”

“Well, from what I know about the Finch gang,” said Paul, “they’ll be robbing and killing somewhere in the West soon.”

“No question about that,” John agreed.

Early on Monday afternoon, May 20, Paul Brockman stepped out of the federal building, where he had been in conversation with his father and Whip in his father’s office.

As Paul turned right to head up the boardwalk, he caught sight of a man about his age sitting in the saddle of a white horse across the street.

The man was staring straight at him.

Paul moved on up the boardwalk, keeping the rider on the white horse in mind, and when he was about to cross the street at the corner, he looked back. Both horse and rider were gone. Paul shrugged and moved on.

The next day, when Paul came out of the federal building in the late morning and started down the boardwalk, he saw the man on the white horse again, directly across the street as he was the day before.

The man met Paul’s gaze, then looked away. Paul headed on down the boardwalk. When he was three blocks from the federal building, he suddenly noticed the man on the white horse riding past him on the dusty street. He did not turn his head to look at Paul, but Paul could see him flick a glance his way.

Seconds later, the man pulled the horse to a stop some fifty feet ahead of Paul. He slipped from the saddle and quickly tied the reins to a hitching post. Paul kept up his normal pace. The
rider, who had a gun belt low on his waist, stepped up onto the boardwalk, and fixed his eyes on Paul as he was drawing closer.

Paul whispered, “Lord, if this is what I think it is, please help me.”

The mean-looking man stepped directly in front of Paul, who came to a halt. “Deputy Paul Brockman, I’m challengin’ you to a quick-draw gunfight!”

People nearby on the boardwalk stopped, and others who were coming toward the two men hurried to gather around.

Standing some twenty feet from his challenger, Paul frowned. “What’s your name?”

“Jack Chedrick!”

Paul knew the name, and he could tell that many of the people in the gathering crowd knew it also from the way they were looking at each other. Chedrick was a gunslinger well known all over the West. He had taken out many a man who was known to be exceptionally fast on the draw.

“I’ve heard of you,” Paul said levelly, “but I don’t want to kill you. Get back on your horse and ride.”

“I ain’t doin’ no such thing, Brockman! Your old man, when he was known as the Stranger, hunted down my father, Harold Chedrick, in Wyomin’. He captured him and took him to the Laramie County sheriff’s office in Cheyenne. My father was then hanged by the law.”

Paul said with an edge to his voice, “Harold Chedrick would not have been hanged if he didn’t deserve it. Only murderers get hanged.”

The crowd was getting larger as Jack Chedrick’s face flushed
with anger. Through clenched teeth, he said, “If the Stranger hadn’t hunted my father down and taken him to the sheriff in Cheyenne, he would have lived. Now I’m gonna kill the Stranger’s son to pay him back for it. I’m not gonna murder you. I’m gonna give you a fair chance. Let’s step into the street, and you go for your gun.”

Paul knew that for the crowd’s safety, he had to step into the street. As he did, the well-known gunslinger did the same. Standing in the dust, they were still some twenty feet apart, facing each other.

The crowd whispered that Jack Chedrick was
faster
than lightning on the draw. They could see that Chedrick was absolutely confident he could outdraw the Stranger’s lawman son.

Paul saw it too and said again, “Get back on your horse and ride.”

The challenger shook his head, showing that he felt insulted by the young deputy’s command. “I told you to go for your gun!”

“Listen to me, Chedrick. If we draw against each other, I dare not just wound you, because your gun could go off and hit someone in the crowd! I’ll have to kill you! Now get back on your horse and ride!”

While the spellbound crowd looked on, Chedrick’s hand suddenly went down for the gun in his holster.

Paul’s hand went down much faster, and in a split second, the street thundered with the roar of his weapon.

Chedrick let out a deep, gusty moan as the .45-caliber slug tore into his chest, ripping through his heart. His face paled as the gun slipped from his hand and he fell backward.

Paul’s father and Deputy Langford came running up, then skidded to a halt, accompanied by a young man named Harley Thayne.

Holstering his gun, Paul looked at his father. “How did you and Uncle Whip know this shootout was about to take place?”

Before John could answer, one of three men kneeling beside Jack Chedrick called out, “Paul! He’s dead! I’m sure he was dead before he hit the ground!”

Paul nodded solemnly at the man.

John laid his hand on Harley’s shoulder. “To answer your question, son, Harley was in the crowd and saw that there was going to be a shootout between you and Jack Chedrick, and he ran to the federal building to tell me about it.”

John took a deep breath, looked down at the lifeless form of the famous gunfighter, then looked back at Paul. “Thank God, you’re all right, son.”

“Amen, Chief,” said Whip. “Paul, we saw what was happening as we were running down the street. You sure outdrew him. I think you’re faster than ever!”

In early September that same year, John Brockman was in his office at the federal building with Whip Langford, discussing the two fierce outlaws that Whip and Timber had pursued and caught the day before. The outlaws were now in the county jail, waiting to go on trial for their crimes.

“Well, Whip, with their criminal records, which include murder, I have no doubt they’ll be sentenced to hang.”

“I would say so, Chief.” Whip was about to say something else when a knock sounded on the office door.

The chief recognized the knock of a new deputy who was manning the desk in the front office. “Yes, Avery. Please come in.”

The door swung open, and young Avery Campbell stepped in with a yellow envelope in his hand. “A telegram was just delivered from the Western Union office, Chief. It’s from Marshal Danford Pierce in Phoenix, Arizona, whom I understand you know well.”

Taking the envelope from the deputy’s hand, John said, “I’ve been expecting to hear from him concerning the Dub Finch gang. I wonder if they’ve shown up in Arizona again.”

Whip’s eyes widened. “Maybe Pierce and his men have caught that lowdown gang.”

John opened the envelope and took out the telegram. He quickly ran his gaze over the telegraph’s lengthy message as the other two men looked on.

When he finished reading it, John looked up at Whip. “Yep. The vile Finch gang is back in Arizona. All eight of them. Marshal Pierce says they’re in south-central Arizona and that for the last three days, they’ve been robbing and killing in towns south of Phoenix, all the way down near Tucson. Marshal Pierce says he’s going to lead a group of his deputies on the trail of the gang.”

“Good for him. I hope they catch up to them.”

“Me too!” Avery responded. “I’ve heard a lot about how mean, heartless, and bloodthirsty they are.”