The Iron Wagon (29 page)

Paul would not give Finch the satisfaction on responding to him. He simply kept his eyes on the road with every intention of delivering the gang to the prison.

After a couple of minutes, Finch shouted, “Hey, dumb head! Did you hear what I said?”

“Yeah, I heard you.” Paul didn’t turn around. “You’d better just keep your mouth shut and save your breath.”

Finch looked around at his men, who were obviously feeling hopeless about escaping the hangman’s rope. Biting his lower lip, Finch took in the rolling desert, its rocks and cacti.

Paul figured that by driving at least ten hours a day, they would arrive in Yuma, which was some one-hundred-and-eighty-two miles from Phoenix, within two days.

The iron wagon rolled along the desert road, and soon the five outlaws in the cage were lying on its hard floor, snoozing. As Paul held the reins, he happened to look down at a large, flat rock alongside the road, and he saw a huge lizard sunning itself on the rock.

Paul’s thoughts went to his prayers offered to the Lord in the past months concerning the future wife God had chosen for him. He wondered when “Miss Right” would come into his life.
Lord, I sure would appreciate it if You would send her to me soon. She’s out there somewhere, I know that. And thank You that one day, by Your leadership, she will come into my life
.

Early on Sunday morning, October 6, the wagon train that Edgar, Celia, and Lisa Martin were traveling with was moving westward on the road that led to Yuma and on to San Diego. The Martins’ covered wagon happened to be the last in the row of six covered wagons.

It was early enough that morning that a rosy freshness of the sunrise still slanted along the bronze slopes of the desert, and
here and there blossoms of ocotillo shone red. Long shadows of the tall cacti made their appearance on the sandy ground.

As the Martin wagon followed the others, lovely Lisa was in her bed asleep in the rear of the wagon.

Celia, who was sitting on the driver’s seat next to her husband, turned to him. “I sure wish we could be in church this morning. I miss it.”

“Me too, honey,” Edgar said, gripping the reins. “But at least we’ve been told of some good churches in San Diego. I can hardly wait to get there and find the one that the Lord will lead us to join.”

“Me too!” Celia smiled broadly.

Suddenly, there was a wild, whooping sound off to the left, along with the rumble of pounding hoofs. Edgar’s head whipped that direction and gasped. “Celia, it’s Indians! Apaches! They’re coming at us on galloping horses—and they’re lifting their rifles!”

Celia looked past her husband, who was quickly picking up his rifle, and saw the attacking Indians. With her heart pounding, she looked into the covered part of the wagon and saw that Lisa was still asleep.

The Apaches began firing their rifles as they drew closer, and as Edgar told Celia to duck down low, he fired in return, as did the other men in the wagon train.

Bullets were striking the canvas of the Martin wagon, and Celia was weeping as she twisted from her low position on her seat and looked back at her daughter.

Lisa’s eyes were wide with terror as she gasped, “Oh, Mama! We’re going to be killed!”

T
he men in the covered wagons had their horses galloping hard as the Apaches drew nearer, firing their rifles.

One wagon hit a large rock on the side of the road and turned over. A man and a woman were thrown onto the ground beside the road. The tongue of the wagon had broken, and their two horses went galloping away with the wooden wagon tongue bouncing on the ground behind them.

The Apaches drew rein and quickly shot the man and the woman, killing them instantly. Then the warriors put their horses to a full gallop and went after the other wagons.

While the five wagons were racing away as fast as possible, the Apaches drew close to the last wagon in line. Suddenly both Edgar and Celia were hit by bullets, and as they buckled on the seat from the hot lead in their bodies, the Indians also shot their galloping horses. The horses immediately collapsed, and the wagon turned over, throwing terrified Lisa Martin out of the rear of the wagon and onto the ground.

The entire band of the Apaches agreed to let the other wagons go, then quickly turned around and rode back to the Martins’ overturned wagon. Dismounting, they saw the young lady lying on the ground, looking at them with fear showing in her tear-filled eyes. They also saw the couple lying a few feet from her on the ground
with bloody bullet holes in the clothing of their upper bodies. Both of them appeared to be dead.

Lisa Martin lay weeping as she looked at her lifeless parents, expecting the Indians to kill her.

Just as the Indians were raising their rifles to shoot her, pounding hoofbeats were heard, and a larger band of Apaches rode up and drew rein. Their leader spoke sharply to the Indians about to shoot the young lady on the ground.

Lisa didn’t understand the Apache language, but when the guns were lowered, she knew the chief had commanded them not to shoot her. She was surprised to see the chief speaking to them again, showing anger.

It seemed that he was asking them questions. They answered him in soft words, and after he said spoke to them again, he moved to the spot where Lisa lay. She was still weeping over her dead parents as the chief knelt beside her.

“Young lady, I am Chief Windino. I am very angry that some of the men from my reservation attacked the wagon train you were with. I assume this man and woman lying on the ground over here are your parents.”

“Y-yes sir.” She wiped tears from her eyes, surprised to hear him speak English.

“I am very sorry for what my men did to your parents, but I want to tell you that
you
will not be harmed. I will take you to my reservation, and I will have some of the women take care of you until I can get you to the nearest army camp where the soldiers can help you.”

Lisa was sniffling and still wiping tears. “Thank you, Chief Windino.”

A few minutes later, when the Apaches were preparing to ride away, one of the warriors looked at Lisa with blazing hatred in his eyes. Her heart trembled within her, and she silently prayed, asking the Lord to protect her from that Indian and any other who felt the same way toward her.

Lisa then set her eyes on the bodies of her parents on the ground. Tears streamed down her ashen cheeks as she considered her predicament.
Whatever am I going to do? Papa and Mama were my only living relatives. I have no one to go back to in Phoenix, nor do I have any reason to continue on this trip to California. I have hardly any money or any means of supporting myself
.

Sorrow overwhelmed Lisa as she sat behind Chief Windino on his horse.
I hope Chief Windino is true to his word and will take me to the nearest army camp. Please, Lord. Please, please help me
.

Lisa took a shaky breath and whispered, “Dear Lord, I am so glad to know that Papa and Mama are in heaven with You. I am alone here on earth, but I am glad to know I am in Your care.”

Chief Windino put his horse in motion, and his men followed as he headed in the direction of the Apache reservation.

Less than half an hour later, Paul Brockman was coming along the road, driving the iron wagon with the murderous outlaws in the cage. He guided the wagon around a slight bend in the road
and came across the two overturned wagons and the bodies of their occupants lying on the ground. He drew the iron wagon to a halt, jumped down from the driver’s seat, and hurried toward the overturned wagons. Passing the first one, he ran to the second and examined the man and the woman on the ground.

They were dead, and their horses were gone.

He then rushed back to the other overturned wagon, noting that both horses lay dead. He knelt down and examined the woman first, finding quickly that she was dead. He rose to his feet and went to the blood-soaked man. Just as he knelt to examine him, Paul was stunned to see that the man was barely breathing and looking up at him.

Before Paul could speak to the wounded man, Edgar Martin spoke weakly. “My wife is dead, isn’t she?”

Paul nodded sadly. “Yes sir.”

Edgar closed his eyes for a few seconds, biting his lower lip, then opened them. “You—you look very much like chief U.S. marshal John Brockman, who lives in Denver.”

Paul swallowed hard. “Sir, I am Chief Brockman’s son. My name is Paul.”

Edgar’s voice grew weaker as he told Paul his name, then how he, his wife, Celia, and their nineteen-year-old daughter, Lisa, were saved under the preaching of his father last April at the First Baptist Church in Phoenix.

Paul’s eyes filmed up with tears. “My father told our whole family about you and your family being saved and baptized that Sunday morning.”

Edgar managed a slight smile. “Your father is some kind of
man!” He then told Paul of the Apache attack, saying that he passed out two or three times during the attack. The next thing he knew, the Apache chief, who spoke English, was telling Lisa his name was Chief Windino.

“I know of Chief Windino, sir. I was about to ask about your daughter. Where is she?”

Edgar feebly licked his lips. “Chief Windino said some things to Lisa I could not understand. My—my brain was fading on me. But then I clearly heard him tell her he was going to take her to his reservation. I passed out then, and when I came to, Lisa and the Indians were gone.”

Paul nodded. “I see.”

Trembling severely, Edgar grasped Paul’s wrist. “I was so scared that the Apaches would torture Lisa and kill her. P-please, Paul, I beg you! Do whatever it takes to rescue Lisa from the Apaches! Get the army to help you!”

Paul’s mind was racing. Edgar’s breathing was now very shallow. Paul was about to try to encourage him by telling him that Chief Windino was friendly toward white people when suddenly Edgar gasped, drew a deep, ragged breath, and let it out. His eyes closed.

Paul carefully examined him, checking for breath and a pulse in his neck and his wrists. But there was no breath and no pulse.

Edgar Martin had died and gone to be with the Lord and his wife in heaven.

At that precise moment, a unit of ten U.S. Army soldiers rode up and dismounted. The leader introduced himself as
Lieutenant Felix Armendall. Paul told the lieutenant who he was and where he was from. Then, pointing at the prisoners in the iron wagon, who were now awake and sitting up, he explained who they were and what he was doing. All of the soldiers had heard of the Dub Finch gang.

Paul told the soldiers about the Apache attack on the wagon train and how he had come upon the victims in two of the wagons, with one man still alive, who had told him the story before dying just now.

“Lieutenant Armendall,” Paul asked, “can you and your men see that the bodies of the four people lying on the ground are buried?”

The lieutenant nodded. “Absolutely. It’s the least I can do.”

“Thank you, sir. I need to go to Chief Windino’s reservation immediately to see about Miss Lisa Martin. I sure hope she’s all right.”

“That’s mighty kind of you, Deputy Brockman. Tell you what. My men and I will escort you to Chief Windino’s reservation. It’s only about twelve miles from here. Chief Windino is quite friendly, even to us soldiers, though some of his warriors are not. It’s because of those unfriendly warriors that we’ll escort you there. I’m quite sure that if Miss Martin is all right when we get there, Chief Windino will let her go with you.”

Paul smiled. “I appreciate your offer to escort me there, Lieutenant.”

“Glad to do it. And later today, my men and I will see that the people from both wagons are given a proper burial.”

While the soldiers were mounting their horses, Paul
climbed up onto the driver’s seat of the iron wagon. Ignoring the Finch gang glaring at him, Paul put the team into motion. As Paul drove the iron wagon, Lieutenant Armendall rode beside him as the rest of the soldiers followed behind.

When they arrived at the reservation, the lieutenant had his men flank the wagon on both sides as he trotted his horse just ahead of it. Paul drew rein as several Apache warriors moved up and signaled for the wagon and the soldiers to stop.

The lieutenant greeted the warriors in a friendly manner. “I would like to talk to Chief Windino.” Even as the words were coming out of his mouth, he saw the chief coming toward him. Apache women and children were also gathering around the soldiers and the wagon.

Full of fear, the outlaws in the wagon’s cage stared at the Indians.

The crowd looked on as Chief Windino welcomed Lieutenant Armendall. From his saddle, the lieutenant pointed at Paul. “This young man would like to talk to you, Chief Windino.”

The chief nodded, then moved toward the wagon. He gazed up at Paul and said, “Please come down so we can talk.”

Paul smiled at him and quickly hopped to the ground.

Chief Windino stepped up to Paul, smiling. “I must ask, are you related to chief United States marshal John Brockman of Denver, Colorado? You look so much like him.”

Paul nodded. “Yes, I am Chief Brockman’s son, Paul. My father told our family of how he had saved your life last April when you had been bitten by a rattlesnake.”