The Iron Wagon

by Al Lacy

  Pastor Bayless had all three Brysons give their salvation testimonies before the congregation, and when the vote to accept them as members was a full one hundred percent, as explained to them by Pastor Bayless, the Brysons smiled happily.

  When Paul Brockman saw Noreen Bryson’s magnificent, captivating smile, it did something to him.

  After the service, the members were passing by the Brysons in the vestibule to welcome them into the church. When the Brockmans introduced themselves, Paul, wearing his uniform and badge, felt a special warmth in his heart when he welcomed Noreen as a member of the church.

  She smiled and extended her hand. “This is such a friendly church. Thank you, Deputy Paul Brockman, for your warm welcome.”

  With Noreen’s hand in his own, Paul felt a shiver of excitement make its way up his spine, and his heart quickened its pace. He shook her hand gently, wishing he could hold it longer but did the gentlemanly thing and released her. As her hand slipped from his, Paul immediately felt an emptiness fill his entire being.

  He told her again how glad he was that she and her parents had joined the church. She smiled at him. Then more people were moving up to the Brysons, and she turned her attention to an elderly woman.

  Paul swiveled and headed toward the front door, but before he went outside, he took a few seconds to look back over his shoulder at the lovely brunette, who was still in conversation with the older woman.

  At home after Sunday dinner, Paul went to his room upstairs for some quiet time. He lay on his bed, looked up at the ceiling, and reminisced about his all-too-short encounter with Noreen Bryson. Paul found her exceptionally charming.

  Having learned from his parents years ago to take everything he felt was important to his heavenly Father, Paul prayed, “Dear Lord, I realize I’ve only met this young lady one time, but my heart did some strange things when I shook her hand. If indeed Noreen Bryson is the one You’ve chosen for me, then show her real soon, and also give us both Your peace to proceed in a relationship. You know, Lord, I am not one to just date one girl after another and never want to get serious, so please help me to be content until You reveal Your own perfect will in this to me. Thank You, Father. In Jesus’ precious name I pray, amen.”

  Paul lay in the darkness. He really liked that beautiful, sweet girl. It sure would be all right with him if Noreen was the one God had chosen for him.

  The next day, Paul was moving along the boardwalk on Curtis Street in downtown Denver when he saw Noreen come out of a clothing store ahead of him. She was alone. Moving toward her as she stood looking around at the other stores on that block, Paul prepared himself to talk to her and get to know her better. He was within fifty feet of her when a man about his own age stepped up to Noreen and started talking to her with a flirtatious look in his eyes.

  There were quite a number of people on the boardwalk between Noreen and himself, which slowed him down, but as Paul neared them, he could tell that Noreen did not like what the young man was saying.

  “Leave me alone, mister!” Noreen snapped.

  As Paul was weaving his way among the crowd on the boardwalk, he could see that the man was obviously drawn to Noreen because of her good looks, and he kept talking to her. Drawing nearer, Paul saw Noreen turn to walk away from the annoying man, but he quickly grabbed her by the arm, stopping her. “Don’t be afraid, young lady! I mean you no harm. I just want to get to know you!”

  Noreen tried to free herself from the rude man’s grasp. “Let go of me!”

  Paul drew up and looked the man in the eye. “Let go of her, mister!”

  The man snarled at Paul and, despite his badge and uniform, snapped angrily, “Mind your own business, lawman!” He let go of Noreen’s arm and took a swing at Paul’s jaw.

  Paul dodged the fist and lanced a powerful left to the forehead that jarred the man to his heels, then swiftly crossed a whistling right that smashed his jaw with a hammerlike blow that knocked him down and out.

  The people on the boardwalk stopped, marveling at the speed of Paul Brockman’s fists and the power that went with it. The man he had punched lay absolutely still, definitely unconscious.

  Noreen glanced down at the unconscious man who had given her trouble, then smiled at Paul. “Thank you, Deputy Brockman, for stopping that rude man from bothering me.”

  Paul smiled back. “It was my pleasure, Miss Bryson.”

  “You can call me Noreen.”

  Feeling a touch of joy, Paul replied, “Okay, Noreen. And you can call me Paul.”

  As Noreen watched Paul silently, the crowd began to move on, with the majority of them taking a good look at the unconscious man on the boardwalk.

  Paul took a deep breath and said, “Could I take you out for supper some time soon at one of Denver’s restaurants?”

  Noreen’s smile disappeared. “That would be a date, Paul, and people who date often get serious about each other.”

  Paul grinned. “Yes, that’s true.”

  Noreen frowned at him.

  “What’s the matter?” Paul asked.

  “Well, since you’re a lawman, I could never get serious about you. So it’s best that we do not date each other.”

  “Do you have something against lawmen?”

  She shook her head. “No, but I would never marry one. I know that too many men here in the West who wear badges get killed in the line of duty, and I absolutely will not put myself in a position to so easily become a widow.”

  Quite stunned and disappointed, Paul said, “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

  The man on the floor of the boardwalk began to move, blinking his eyelids and letting out a groan.

  Paul took the handcuffs from his belt, bent over, and rolled the man facedown. Then forcing his hands behind his back, Paul handcuffed him. The young deputy picked him up, stood him on his feet, and held on to him so he wouldn’t fall. “I’m taking you to jail, mister, for attacking a federal deputy marshal.”

  As Paul walked away, holding onto his prisoner, who was stumbling somewhat, he looked back over his shoulder and in a friendly manner said, “I’ll see you at church in the midweek service, Noreen.” Well, Lord, it’s plain that You haven’t chosen Noreen Bryson for me. I will keep on praying and waiting for You to bring that right Christian young lady into my life.

  SEVENTEEN

  As time moved on and Paul Brockman continued his career as a deputy marshal, he proved himself to be exactly like his father in temperament and courage as well as being extremely fast on the draw with his Colt .45 revolver and the use of his fists when necessary.

  One chilly day in late November, Paul was walking along the boardwalk on Broadway, heading back toward the federal building after having delivered a written message and some official papers to Judge Dexter from his father. He paused to talk for a few minutes with Willie Henderson, one of the young men who had graduated from Denver High School with him and now was employed at a lumber company in the town of Aurora, an eastern suburb of Denver.

  After the two friends had exchanged some details about their careers, Willie patted Paul on the arm. “Well, I’d better be getting back to work, Paul. See you at church on Sunday.”

  “Sure enough,” Paul said with a smile. “See you then.”

  As Willie was walking toward a nearby hitching post where his horse was tied, Paul’s attention was drawn to a man in his early thirties who was standing in the street some fifty feet away, staring straight at him with a scowl on his face.

  It was the infamous gunslinger Buck Steffan, whose photograph Paul had seen in newspapers several times in the last two years. Steffan had taken out several other gunslingers in Wyoming, Colorado, Nebraska, and Kansas.

  Already people on the boardwalk and in the street recognized Steffan and stopped to look on as he headed alongside the boardwalk toward Paul, his evil eyes fixed on him.

  Paul knew what was about to happen. Apparently because he was wearing a lawman’s badge, he would have to face the blood-hungry gunslinger. Qui
ckly he stepped onto the dusty street and made a beeline for the approaching Buck Steffan.

  As Paul and the gunslinger drew within thirty feet of each other, both came to a sudden halt.

  “Listen to me, Steffan. You get on your horse and ride right now!”

  Steffan chuckled. “Hey, deputy U.S. marshal Paul Brockman, have I broken some law that you would order me to get out of town?”

  Paul was shocked to hear Steffan call him by name, and it showed in his eyes. “How do you know me?”

  Steffan glared at him venomously. “I’ve heard that you became one of your pa’s deputies. You sure do look a lot like him. I knew who you were the instant I saw your face. I’ve been here in Denver before and saw your pa. Do they call you Stranger too?”

  “No, they don’t. Now like I said, you get on your horse and ride. Right now! We don’t want gunslingers in this town.”

  Malice glimmered in Steffan’s dark eyes. In a gritty voice, he said, “I asked you if I’d broken some law that you would order me to get out of town. Well?”

  “Not that I know of, but like I said, we don’t want gunslingers in this town. Get out!”

  The people in the crowd that surrounded the two men exchanged glances, knowing that Deputy Paul Brockman was exactly like his father. When he gave an order, he meant it.

  Steffan’s back arched, and he spread his feet a bit, taking the gunfighter’s stance as his right hand lowered over the gun in his holster. “I ain’t leavin’! Go for your gun! It’ll please me to take out the Stranger’s kid!”

  Paul’s face suddenly looked like chiseled stone. Slowly lowering his own hand over the gun on his hip, he said stiffly, “I want you out of town immediately. Wherever your horse is, get on it and go!”

  Steffan shook his head. “I ain’t goin’ till you and I have it out!”

  Paul squared his jaw and narrowed his eyes. “I can outdraw you, Steffan. I don’t want to kill you, but if you force this quick draw, I’ll have to keep the bullet from hitting someone in this crowd. Now get going!”

  The well-known gunfighter laughed. “How do you know you can outdraw me?”

  “I just know it. It’s time for you to leave!”

  Suddenly Buck Steffan’s hand flashed down for his gun.

  The crowd saw Paul’s lightning-fast draw in action as he drew his Colt .45 and fired it. Even before Steffan could cock the gun in his hand, the slug plowed through his heart, killing him instantly; the gun dropped into the dust of the street as he fell backward and hit the ground hard.

  Bart Gilmore from the Rocky Mountain News happened to be on the street when the confrontation began. He made his way through the crowd as they were commending Paul for the way he had handled the situation.

  As he drew up to John Brockman’s son, he said, “Paul, it was plain to see that you didn’t want to kill Buck Steffan. You tried so hard to get him to leave town so no one else here would get killed. I’m going to write this up in my column so everybody will know the truth.”

  Paul smiled at him. “Thank you, Bart. I appreciate your attitude about the incident.”

  As time progressed, Paul was gaining confidence as a lawman. By the time he turned twenty-two, Paul had arrested many outlaws who were now in jail or prison and had sent some to their graves after shooting it out with them. Other outlaws, whom Paul had chased down and arrested, had been hanged as murderers. Among those outlaws were some Paul had led to Christ after they had been imprisoned, before they were executed.

  On Monday, February 4, 1895, Paul walked into the First National Bank of Denver to make a deposit. As he approached the window of teller David Barrett, who was also in his early twenties, Paul smiled. “Howdy, David. I’m always glad when no one is at your window so I can do my banking business with you.”

  The handsome young teller smiled back as Paul handed him the check and deposit slip. “Howdy, yourself, Paul. It’s always good to see you.”

  Paul had witnessed to David of his need to receive the Lord Jesus Christ as his Saviour on several occasions since David had come to work at the bank. David had always kindly told him that he didn’t believe what the Bible said about a burning hell.

  As David handed Paul his deposit receipt, Paul took it with a word of thanks, then said, “David, I sure wish you would come to church and hear my pastor preach. I’m very concerned about your eternal destiny. As I’ve told you several times, without being born again by repenting of your sins and receiving the Christ of Calvary as your Saviour, you’re going to a never-ending, burning hell when you die.”

  David licked his lips nervously, then met Paul’s gaze. “Paul, I—I’ve been thinking about all the times you’ve asked me to come to church. Maybe I really ought to come and hear your pastor preach. If there really is a burning hell, I sure don’t want to go there.”

  Encouraged, Paul replied, “There is, and according to God’s Word, if you die without being saved, that’s where you’re going.”

  David nodded solemnly. “I will come to your church next Sunday morning.”

  Paul smiled. “Promise?”

  David smiled back. “I promise.”

  The bank’s silver-haired president, Randall Kaylor, stepped out of his office, which was close to the tellers’ cages, and seeing the young deputy U.S. marshal, he called out, “Hey, Paul!”

  Paul looked his way. “Hello, Mr. Kaylor.”

  “Would you come into my office before you leave?”

  “Of course,” Paul said. “I’m through here. I can come right now.”

  “Good! Come on.”

  Paul told David he would see him Sunday, then hurried into the bank president’s office.

  Standing in front of his desk, Randall Kaylor said, “I read in the Rocky Mountain News last week of how you had single-handedly pursued and captured that well-known outlaw Lou Ambers and that after his trial, he will be going to the Cañon City Prison for a long stretch.”

  Paul nodded. “Yes sir.”

  “I won’t hold you here, Paul, but I just had to compliment you on being such a good lawman, just like your father.”

  “Thank you, sir. Papa taught me everything I know about being a lawman.”

  A moment later, as Paul stepped out of the bank president’s office, he saw a foul-looking man behind the tellers’ cages, holding a revolver to David Barrett’s head. He was commanding the other tellers to fill one of their canvas moneybags with cash and bring it to him. If they refused, he said, he would blow David’s head off.

  Paul noted that the hammer on the robber’s gun was not cocked.

  While the other terrified tellers were placing cash in the moneybag as frightened customers were looking on, Paul slipped up behind the robber, who was unaware of his presence. Quickly Paul placed the muzzle of his Colt .45 revolver against the robber’s head, knocking his hat off, and loudly cocked his gun.

  “Take your gun away from the teller’s head, mister! Right now, or I’ll blow your head off!”

  The robber was shocked and frightened. He hastily lowered his weapon.

  Paul snatched the gun from the robber’s hand, and while the bank president looked on, Paul cuffed the robber’s hands behind his back. Paul grabbed the back of the robber’s shirt collar. “Okay, mister. I’m taking you to jail.”

  “Paul,” said Randall Kaylor, “thank you for what you just did.”

  Paul smiled at him. “You’re welcome, sir. His hammer wasn’t cocked, so it gave me an edge on him.”

  The robber licked his lips nervously but said nothing.

  David Barrett said with a shaky voice, “I—I want to thank you too, Paul, for saving my life.”

  “My pleasure, David. Tell you what. I’ll be back here at the bank at closing time this afternoon. I want to talk to you.”

  David nodded. “Fine. I’ll look forward to it.”

  Paul guided the handcuffed robber out the door, holding his gun barrel against his side, and steered him toward the county jail.

  At three o’clock tha
t afternoon, Bible in hand, Paul returned to the bank, which was in the process of closing for the day, and found David Barrett balancing his financial work in his teller’s cage. When David saw the Bible in Paul’s hand, he said, “Looks like I’m going to get a sermon.”

  Paul smiled. “Well, you might call it that, but after what happened to you today, I don’t want to wait until Sunday for you to come to church to hear God’s plan of salvation. I want to give it to you right now. Okay?”

  David nodded. “As close as I came to getting killed today, I’m ready to listen. I’ll be finished here in just a few minutes.”

  Four minutes later, David led Paul to an empty room to give them some privacy. Paul could plainly see that David was still shaken up.

  The two men sat at a table, side by side, and Paul laid his Bible in front of him. As he opened it and began flipping pages, he said, “David, I want to show you about hell first so that you’ll see where you are headed at this moment.”

  David licked his lips nervously and nodded.

  Arriving at the passage he wanted, Paul said, “The Bible says over and over that hell is a place of real, literal fire. People who die without Jesus Christ as their Saviour go instantly to hell. Here in Luke chapter 16, the Lord Jesus tells the story of two men who died. One man was saved. The other was lost. Verse 20 here tells us about a beggar named Lazarus. Now look at verses 22–24 and read them to me.”

  Paul slid the Bible a few inches toward David so he could see it well. David focused on the stated passage. “‘And it came to pass, that the beggar died, and was carried by the angels into Abraham’s bosom: the rich man also died, and was buried; and in hell he lift up his eyes, being in torments, and seeth Abraham afar off, and Lazarus in his bosom. And he cried and said, Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus, that he may dip the tip of his finger in water, and cool my tongue; for I am tormented in this flame.’” David looked at Paul. “Jesus did say the rich man was tormented in flame.”

  “Right,” said Paul. “The term ‘Abraham’s bosom’ represents blessedness after death, David. What we know as heaven. Understand?”