by Al Lacy
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.
FOURTEEN
As 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.
As she was passing the delivery rooms, even though the doors were closed, she heard the cries of two newborn babies. Her throat clogged for a few seconds, simply from knowing tha
t two mothers had just brought their babies into the world.
Tears were in Annabeth’s eyes as she reached the washroom, opened the door, and went in. No one else was there at the moment. Annabeth dabbed at the tears in her eyes with a towel, then began washing her hands at one of the sinks.
Even though it had been nearly three months since Dr. Carroll had given his heart-wrenching diagnosis, the desire to be a mother was still within her heart.
When she was drying her hands, Annabeth said, “Dear Lord, I still haven’t adjusted to the fact that I will never give birth to a child. The yearning is still strong within me.”
She took a deep, shuddering breath, then placed the towel in a basket for washing. “Lord, Whip is carrying this difficult situation in his heart too. He is trying so hard to be brave, but I’ve watched him look at babies at church, in stores, and on Denver’s streets with longing in his eyes. Of course, he’s not aware I have seen this. He’s trying to be so strong for my sake, and oh, how I love him for it. But Lord, there is such emptiness within me. Ever since I entered my teenage years, I’ve wanted to be a wife and mother. Now the mother part of that dream will never be fulfilled.”
Annabeth thumbed tears from her eyes. “Please, dear God, help me to accept Your will and be content with such things as I have. I am indeed so blessed with my precious husband, with such dear and caring friends, and such a loving church family. I’m the nurse I always wanted to be, and caring for the sick was Your calling for my life. Help me, Lord, to be as grateful as I should be for Your glorious gift of salvation and to accomplish and carry out Your will for this life that You have given me.”
By this time, more tears were streaming down Annabeth’s cheeks. She heard the voices of two surgical nurses outside the washroom door. Annabeth hurried to the basket where she had placed the towel, picked it up, quickly dried her cheeks, and closed off her prayer in Jesus’ name just as the door opened.
That Saturday, both Whip and Annabeth both had the day off from their jobs. At midmorning, Whip was doing yard work around the house, and Annabeth was sweeping floors inside and dusting furniture.
Whip took in the beauty of the towering Rocky Mountains a few miles to the west and the foothills in between. He also ran his appreciative gaze around the level area to the east of his home. There was green grass bright with late summer flowers, and the area was dotted with groves of graceful fir trees and pines and spruces, lifting their branches that shone brightly in the golden sunlight beneath the clear blue sky.
Soon Whip finished the yard work and placed his tools in the small toolshed near the barn. Closing the door, he pivoted, and his attention was drawn to the small fenced-in area nearby where his big, gray pet wolf, Timber, was kept. The area also included a small wooden shed, which was Timber’s living quarters. Timber entered and exited the shed through a low, hinged door at the bottom of the shed on the front, next to a normal-size door.
Whip’s attention had been drawn to the spot because Timber was standing on his hind legs at the fence, wagging his tail and looking at his master. As Whip drew nearer, Timber went to all fours and hurried to the gate, whining a warm welcome to his master. Whip opened the gate and grinned. “Howdy, boy!”
As Whip entered the fenced-in area, Timber was quickly on his hind legs again, but this time he placed his paws on his master’s chest, panting happily as he was being petted.
While Timber and Whip shared their affection for each other, Whip marveled that this once-wild wolf had become like a tame German shepherd or any other big, loving dog. However, the times when Timber traveled with him as he was pursuing outlaws, Timber attacked them when commanded to do so by his master and was every bit a fearsome, snarling, growling, wild wolf.
Ruffling the fur on top of Timber’s head, Whip said, “What a tremendous help you’ve been to me, boy, in capturing outlaws so many times.”
Timber let out a yip as if he understood what his master had said.
Whip chuckled. “I wish you could wear a marshal’s badge. You sure deserve it!”
Timber ejected another yip and wagged his tail.
After spending a few more minutes with his pet wolf, Whip left the fenced-in area and headed toward the house. As he walked, Timber gave off a soft yip.
Whip turned and looked back at his wolf, who was standing at the gate and wagging his tail. “I know, boy. You want to chase outlaws with me again. Probably won’t be too long.”
Timber yipped again as his master neared the back porch.
While Annabeth was dusting furniture in the parlor, she was unaware that her husband was about to come in the house. Since she was alone, she began praying out loud, saying, “Dear Lord, please help me to control this deep desire within me to be a mother. It just won’t go away.” As she prayed on, Annabeth did not hear the back door open, nor did she hear her husband’s footsteps as he drew up to the parlor.
When Whip saw that his dear wife was praying, he remained silent and let her proceed.
Annabeth’s eyes were closed as she leaned against the back side of the sofa. “Lord, I know You are fully aware of my dilemma. I come to You often with it because I need peace about it, which only You can give me. I love You, dear Lord, and I’m looking to You for help in this heartrending situation. I know You are going to help me. Please help me like David asked You to help him with a burden he was carrying in Psalm 141:1, ‘Lord, I cry unto thee: make haste unto me; give ear unto my voice, when I cry unto thee.’ Please, dear Lord, make haste unto me in this heavy burden I am carrying. Please give me release from the burden, and give me peace real soon. In Jesus’ precious name I pray, amen.”
When Annabeth opened her eyes, she saw her husband standing in the open doorway of the parlor. He quickly walked toward her, opening his arms. With tears filling her eyes, she smiled at him.
Whip folded her into his arms and tenderly kissed Annabeth. “Sweetheart, though you cannot give birth to a child of your own, I have an idea.”
Easing back in his arms, Annabeth wiped the tears from her eyes. “What is your idea, honey?”
Looking at the sofa, Whip said, “Let’s sit down here, and I’ll tell you.”
Whip let his wife sit first, then eased down beside her, putting an arm around her shoulders. He looked into her eyes. “Since we know you can never bear a child, how about we adopt a child when one comes available?”
Tears welled up in her eyes again as a smile graced her beautiful face, erasing the lines of despair. “Oh, Whip, my darling, do you honestly feel that this is our solution?”
Smiling himself, Whip replied with a lilt in his voice, “Yes, sweetheart, I do!”
“Oh, Whip, I’ve thought about it too, but I haven’t brought it up to you because I didn’t think you’d want to adopt a child.”
Whip helped her wipe the tears from her cheeks with his free hand. “Honey, I think it is the most wonderful and gratifying thing we could do.”
“There’s no way for us to know how long it might be before a child is available, but the Lord knows our hearts and our desires, and His Word says in Psalm 37:4, ‘Delight thyself also in the LORD: and he shall give thee the desires of thine heart.’”
“Yes, it does,” said Whip. “Let’s pray about it together right now.”
With his arm still around his wife’s shoulders, Whip led in prayer, asking the Lord that whenever some little child in the Denver area was put up for adoption, He would make it so they knew about it and would allow them to adopt the child.
When Whip finished praying, Annabeth was crying and sniffling. Gripping her husband’s free hand, she looked at him through her tears. “Oh, darling, I just know our Lord is going to make it possible for us to adopt a little child. And—and when He does, I’ll resign from my nurse’s position at the hospital and be a full-time mother. I’m sure Dr. Carroll will understand.”
Whip kissed her lips softly. “Sweetheart, that’ll be fine. I have no doubt that Dr. Carroll will thoroughly understand why you want to be a f
ull-time mother. And as for us, we can make it financially on my deputy marshal’s salary.”
Annabeth smiled. “Thank you for talking to me about our adopting a child. It’s just the perfect solution for filling this strong desire in my heart. I know that in His time, God will give us a child to love, raise, and teach of His love and the salvation that He provides through the blood of our Saviour.”
Thrilled at his wife’s response to his idea, Whip kissed her again, then folded her into his arms and held her tight. A deep sense of peace filled both of their hearts.
On the following Friday, Annabeth was working at Mile High Hospital. Just as she finished helping one of the surgeons repair a broken kneecap on a young man in his early twenties, Nurse Edna Colter entered the room. She smiled when she saw that the doctor was covering the patient with a sheet on the surgical table and that Annabeth was just putting away the surgical instruments after sterilizing them.
Edna greeted the doctor, then stepped up to Annabeth. “Honey, Dr. Carroll wants to see you as soon as possible. It appears that you’re about finished here.”
Annabeth nodded. “Yes, I am. Do you know what Dr. Carroll wants to see me about?”
“He has an emergency assignment for you.”
“You’d better hurry, then, Annabeth,” said the surgeon.
With a gracious expression, she said, “I will.”
With that, Annabeth hurried out the door with Nurse Colter behind her. Moments later, when Annabeth entered the office of the hospital’s chief administrator, she found Dr. Carroll in conversation with Breanna. Dr. Carroll’s back was toward Annabeth, but Breanna was facing her.
Annabeth smiled at her friend. Then the doctor finished what he was saying, and Annabeth said, “Hello, Breanna.”
Breanna smiled back. “Hello, Annabeth.” She hurried to her best friend. The two women hugged each other. Then Breanna said, “I know about your emergency assignment, but I’ll let the boss tell you.”
Dr. Carroll stepped closer to Annabeth. “I want you to help Dr. Bates deliver a baby. The young woman who is about to give birth to her first child is Grace Fawley, the widow of Charles Fawley, one of the miners killed in the cave-in at the Central City gold mine.”