The Iron Wagon (28 page)

From the hairy reaches of Finch’s stocky neck to the crown of his large head, his skin was dark, like burnt oak. His five-foot-eleven-inch frame weighed better than two-hundred-and-sixty pounds, with massive bones that seemed too thick to ever be broken. His shoulders were exceptionally broad, his deep chest and muscular tree-trunk upper arms made men eye him with awe.

When Finch and his men entered the bank, they sensed nothing out of order as they moved up to the tellers’ counter, where four well-dressed men were doing business.

As they whipped out their guns, Dub Finch shouted, “This is a holdup!”

Suddenly, deputy U.S. marshal Paul Brockman and six soldiers in army uniforms rose from behind the tellers’ counter with their cocked guns pointed directly at the robbers at the same time that the tellers swiftly ducked down and the other bank employees and officers ducked behind their desks.

Aiming his own gun directly at Finch’s big face, Paul shouted, “Drop your guns, every one of you, and get your hands in the air—or else!”

The five stunned escaped convicts and robbers, realizing they were outnumbered, looked at each other wide eyed. They were stunned even more when the four customers turned out to be deputies dressed as civilians who whipped out their guns and cocked them.

Paralyzed by the horror of their helpless situation and with their hair bristling coldly at the napes of their necks, the four men with Finch looked at their leader. Finch swallowed hard, dropped his gun on the floor, and raised his hands over his head. He said to his men, “Do the same. We haven’t got a chance.”

As the guns clattered to the floor and the other four robbers raised their hands over their heads, the bank officers and employees looked on with smiles as Paul Brockman and his four deputies handcuffed the robbers and, along with the soldiers, guided them at gunpoint out the door.

Bank president Harry Miller followed them out the door. “Thank you so much, Marshal Brockman, deputies, and soldiers. Your heroic actions today prevented bloodshed and robbery.”
Harry turned to his two older employees still sitting on the bench. “And thank you, men, for your help. You can come on back into the bank now.”

When the bankers had gone back inside, Paul thanked the soldiers for their help. Then he and his deputies, along with the soldiers, took the Dub Finch gang to the Maricopa County jail in Phoenix and had the sheriff lock them up.

Jack Devlin was locked in a cell with Dub Finch, while Curly Bender, Buck Gentry, and Kurt Jagger were locked in an adjacent cell. As Paul stood in front of the two cell doors with his deputies and the soldiers, he looked at the outlaws and said, “You will be taken back to the Yuma Prison, where this time you will hang.”

All five gang members glared at Paul through the bars of their cell doors with hatred in their eyes, and Paul knew they would like to kill him.

When Paul returned to his office with the soldiers and deputies, one of his men asked, “Marshal Brockman, how do you plan to get those five gang members back to the prison?”

“I’m not sure at the moment, but I’ll figure out a way to do it.”

One of the solders spoke up. “Marshal Brockman, we would escort you and the gang all the way to Yuma, but right now, the army here in Arizona is just too busy handling Indian troubles all over the territory. We simply don’t have the time to make the nearly two-hundred-mile trip from Phoenix to Yuma.”

Deputy Leroy Woodard said to Paul, “If we had enough men to help you take Finch and his pals back to the Yuma
Prison, we would do it, but we need every deputy here at the office to handle other outlaws.”

Paul nodded. “I understand, Leroy. I’ll work out some way to get the Finch gang to Yuma; then I’ll let you know what it is.”

With that, Paul went to Marshal Pierce’s office, closed the door, and sat at the desk. While pondering the problem, his mind suddenly went back to the iron wagon he’d seen at Fort Logan. He snapped his fingers. “That’s it!”

Going to the outer office, Paul told the deputy at the desk that he would be back shortly. He had some important business to take care of.

As Paul hurried along the boardwalk of Phoenix’s main thoroughfare, he headed toward a wagon builder’s shop that he had noticed several times. He wanted to see if the wagon builder could put an iron cage on a wagon made of iron. His plan was to lock the five outlaws in the cage and drive the wagon to Yuma Prison himself.

As he drew up to the shop, Paul noticed on the sign that the wagon builder’s name was Max Younker. He also noticed that Younker had several husky draft horses in a corral next to the shop. When Paul stepped inside, Max was at a worktable, repairing a wagon wheel.

Max smiled at the man with the badge on his chest. “Hello, Marshal. You’re the one taking Marshal Pierce’s place, aren’t you?”

Paul smiled. “Yes. My name is Paul Brockman.”

“What can I do for you?”

Paul told the wagon builder what he needed and why.

“I commended you, Marshal, for what you’re doing, but it
would take me several days to build the iron cage. Up till now, I’ve only made wooden wagons.”

Paul rubbed his chin. “I really would like a wagon totally made of iron. This gang of killers I’ll be hauling to Yuma Prison are dangerous men.”

“I understand. Tell you what,” Max Younker said. “I know an elderly ex-soldier at the west edge of town who has one of those army wagons made completely of iron and with just such an iron cage. He’s been trying to sell it. His name is Clarence Lewis, but everybody calls him Sarge because he was a sergeant in the army for many years.”

“Sounds good! You tell me exactly how to find Sarge Lewis, and I’ll see how much he wants for the iron wagon.”

“Please let me know if you’re able to obtain the wagon.”

“Sure will,” said Paul.

Max then gave Paul the directions to Sarge Lewis’s old cabin. Paul went immediately to the location and there saw the iron wagon next to the cabin. It was exactly like the Fort Logan iron wagon, including the measurements of the wagon bed and the cage.

Paul knocked on the door, and after a few seconds, he heard the slow shuffle of feet inside. When the door opened, a silver-haired old man with thick glasses looked at him. “What can I do for you, Marshal?” he asked in a weak voice.

Paul told Sarge Lewis who he was, then explained why he needed Sarge’s iron wagon with the cage on it.

“I sure am glad that the Dub Finch gang has been caught and will be taken back to Yuma Prison to be hanged.”

Paul nodded. “How much do you want for the iron wagon?”

Sarge smiled. “Because of what you will be using the wagon for, I’ll give it to you for free.”

Paul’s eyebrows arched. “Really, sir?”

The old man nodded. “Really, son. You take it and keep it.”

Paul thanked him, then said, “I will hurry back to Max Younker’s shop to see how much he’ll charge me to use two of his draft horses to pull the iron wagon to Yuma. I’ll be back as soon as I get the horses.”

The old man smiled. “I’ll be right here, son.”

When Paul arrived at Max’s shop, he told the wagon builder that Sarge Lewis had given him the wagon for free. Max said, “Because of what you are doing, Marshal Brockman, I will give you two of my huskiest draft horses for free.”

“That’s very generous of you, Mr. Younker.”

“No doubt you will want to take the iron wagon home to Denver.”

Paul nodded. “Since Sarge Lewis gave it to me, I’d sure like to.”

“Well, you sure can’t pull it to Denver yourself. You’ll still need those horses to get the wagon home.”

Paul thanked Max for his generosity. Then he led the horses in their harness to the old cabin and hitched them to the iron wagon. Sarge Lewis looked on, smiling. Paul thanked him again for the wagon and drove back to the office. He found that the six soldiers were still there with the deputies.

Paul showed them the iron wagon with the iron cage built into its bed and the two strong horses, explaining how he got
them. “Fellas, since no soldiers or deputies are available to go with me, I’ll just have to drive the wagon to Yuma myself, with the Dub Finch gang locked up in the cage.”

“Marshal Brockman, some of us have recently been in western Arizona. I need to warn you of the danger you’re going to face on the trip to Yuma. Many Apaches who hate white people are running wild in that part of Arizona. It’s bad enough anywhere in the territory, but it’s worse in that direction. At least there are a few U.S. Army camps set up along the way to Yuma to protect white travelers crossing Arizona, but the camps are many miles apart and can only protect a few of those travelers.”

Paul nodded. “I appreciate your bringing this up, Sergeant. I have known about the army camps for a little while, and of course I know about the Apache trouble in western Arizona. As a born-again Christian, I will simply trust the Lord to watch over me as I make this trip.”

The soldiers and the deputies commended Paul for his courage.

Paul turned to the deputies. “I am going to the hospital now to inform Marshal Pierce of my plans.” He looked at Deputy Woodard. “Leroy, I’m going to recommend that Marshal Pierce put you in charge of the office while I head to Yuma.”

“Marshal Brockman, I will gladly do it if Marshal Pierce assigns the job to me.”

Paul smiled at him. “I was quite sure you would accept the responsibility.”

Later that day, Paul arrived at the hospital and entered Marshal Pierce’s room. He found the marshal sitting up in the bed, braced by pillows at his back. “Wow!” Paul exclaimed. “You’re looking much better!”

“Yes,” said Pierce. “Praise the Lord, I am indeed feeling better. My doctor told me this morning that since it has been almost a month since I was shot and I am doing so well, he’s going to let me go home in another day or two.”

Paul told him of his plans, then suggested Deputy Woodard as his choice to head up Marshal Pierce’s office while he made the Yuma trip. Marshal Pierce wholeheartedly agreed.

“Paul, when you arrive in Yuma, will you send a telegram to Deputy Woodard at my office so he’ll know you made it all right? And also let him know approximately when you will return to Phoenix.”

Paul nodded. “I sure will, sir.”

Late that afternoon, Paul sent a telegram to his father at the federal office in Denver. Paul explained about the Dub Finch gang’s escape from Yuma Prison, how he and the other ten men captured them, and that he was going to take the five-man gang back to Yuma Prison in an iron wagon with an iron cage, just like the one they saw together at Fort Logan. He asked for prayer, as he would be driving the iron wagon alone all the way to Yuma.

That evening, John Brockman gathered his family in the parlor of their ranch house, along with Ginny’s fiancé, David Barrett.
Whip, Annabeth, and Lizzie Langford and Pastor Robert and Mary Bayless also joined them.

As John solemnly read Paul’s telegram to them, a sliver of well-known fear ran down Breanna’s spine.
This is Satan’s work
, she thought.
He wants me to doubt my Lord and discourage me. Well, it isn’t going to work, devil! I depend on my Saviour to protect Paul, and all of the promises of God in Him are yea and amen. Get thee behind me, Satan!

When John finished reading Paul’s telegram aloud, they had a special prayer meeting for Paul, then and there.

When the guests were about to leave the Brockman home, David and Ginny approached Pastor Bayless, and David said, “Pastor, Ginny and I will be ready to set our wedding date soon, and we will come to your office to see if the date we choose is all right with you.”

Pastor Bayless smiled. “I will look forward to meeting with you when you are ready to set the date.”

In Phoenix the next morning, Paul Brockman entered the county jail, and while the sheriff and six deputies looked on, Paul handcuffed Finch, Devlin, Bender, Gentry, and Jagger with their hands in front of them.

Finch and the others glared at Paul as he led them outside the jail, accompanied by the sheriff and the six deputies. When the outlaws saw the iron cage built into the bed of the wagon, their stomachs turned over within them.

Paul ordered the outlaws to climb into the cage through the opening at the rear of the wagon, and they stiffened with rebellion, but the angry looks on the faces of the six armed deputies and the sheriff were enough to make them obey. The iron door of the cage was closed by Paul, who used a sturdy padlock to secure it. He slipped the key into his pocket.

Paul put water and food in the boxlike iron sections alongside the wagon bed—some for the prisoners and some for himself and the horses.

The sheriff and the deputies wished Paul the best and watched as he drove the iron wagon away from the jail.

The wagon left Phoenix behind, and Paul was moving the horses at a mild trot along the dusty road, heading due west. The five outlaws sat on the hard, uncomfortable floor of the iron cage and looked angrily at Paul’s back through the small squared openings between the iron bands that made up the cage.

Dub Finch scooted closer to the wagon seat where Paul held the reins and continued to glare at him, his heavy lips set in a thin, bitter line. The agitation on his face preceded a convulsive wrestling of his big, thick shoulders as he growled, “You ain’t never gonna get us to that prison at Yuma, Brockman! We’re gonna find a way to get loose and kill you before we even get near there!”