The Iron Wagon

by Al Lacy

  Edgar met John’s gaze. “Would you be willing to do me a big favor that would cause you to take a later train to Denver tomorrow?”

  John replied with a slight frown on his brow. “If it’s something very important, I could do that, yes.”

  “I have a friend who lives some twenty miles south of here,” Edgar said, “and he’s dying of cancer. His name is Ralph Webb, and he’s seventy-two years old. Ralph’s doctor made it plain that Ralph will die soon. Now that I’m saved, I want both Ralph and his wife, Laura, to be saved.”

  John smiled. “I understand that, my friend.”

  “Could you go to the Webb home in the morning and lead Ralph and his wife to the Lord?” Edgar asked. “I can’t go with you because of my job, but I’ll draw you a map so you can find their house. You can drive my horse and buggy there, and I’ll write a note for you to give to the Webbs, Chief, so they’ll talk to you.”

  John smiled again. “I’ll be glad to do it. I’ll telegraph my office in Denver and let Paul and the other deputies know what I’m doing. Then I’ll catch the first train available after I return from the Webb home.”

  Edgar thanked the chief for his willingness to do this.

  The next morning, Chief Brockman drove the Martin buggy, following the map drawn for him by Edgar. When John handed the note to Laura Webb, she read it, then invited the man with the badge on his chest and a Bible in his hand into their home.

  Using his Bible, John had the joy of leading both Ralph and Laura to the Lord. He told them that he would have Pastor Alex Duffy come and visit them so he could help them in their new Christian life. The new converts told him they would welcome Pastor Duffy.

  As John was driving Edgar’s buggy back to Phoenix, he caught sight of an Indian man lying on the ground some thirty yards from the road. The man’s horse was standing over him in the shade of some trees.

  John quickly drove the buggy to the spot and pulled rein. Before he even left the driver’s seat, he could see that the man, who was obviously an Apache, was breathing but in much pain.

  As John knelt beside the man, he figured him to be in his early thirties. “Hello. I am chief United States marshal John Brockman from Denver, Colorado. Do you understand English?”

  The Indian managed a slight smile as he looked at the badge on John’s chest. “Yes sir. I was raised speaking English as well as Apache. I am Chief Windino. My reservation is a number of miles west of here. I—I was riding my horse in this area alone, after visiting another Apache reservation to the southeast. I—I hope you understand, Chief Brockman, that the white man’s army in Arizona allows Indian chiefs to visit other reservations.”

  “I have heard that, yes.”

  Chief Windino licked his dry lips, then drew a short breath. “I was on my way home when suddenly a coiled rattlesnake appeared a few feet from where I am now lying on the ground. I did not see the snake at first, but my stallion did and shied away, trying to escape the snake. I was thrown from my horse, and when I hit the ground, the snake lashed at me and bit my upper left arm. This—this only happened a few minutes ago.”

  John saw that Chief Windino had the snakebite covered with his right hand. “May I look at the bite?”

  The Apache chief nodded and removed his hand from his arm.

  John gazed at the bleeding bite. “Chief, I must get the poison out of there quickly or you will die. May I do it?”

  Windino looked at him with pleasant, dark eyes. “Yes. Please help me.”

  Knowing much about rattlesnake bites, John used the knife in the scabbard on the Apache chief’s waist to make the necessary three-quarter-inch cut across the bite, then sucked the poison out, spitting it and some of the chief’s blood in the dirt.

  When John finished, he washed his mouth out with water from a canteen in the Martin buggy. He then poured water over the snakebite on Chief Windino’s arm, cleaning it out as good as possible.

  After this, John tore a portion of cloth from his own shirt-tail to use as a bandage. He quickly wrapped the cloth around Windino’s arm, covering the snakebite.

  The Indian chief’s face had become pale. Sweat beaded his brow and ran into his eyes, which had a glassy sheen in them.

  “Chief Windino, you need medical help as soon as possible. Will you allow me to take you into Phoenix to a doctor?”

  Chief Windino hesitated to answer, as he was thinking what his tribe would think of him letting a white doctor treat him. He licked his lips nervously. “I should go to my own medicine man instead.”

  John understood why the Indian was fearful of having a white doctor treat him. “Chief Windino, I must hurry to save your life. Phoenix has to be closer to us than your reservation. You need help immediately.”

  Windino closed his eyes briefly, then opened them and slowly nodded.

  “Good.” John noticed that the man was already beginning to shiver, due to the rattlesnake’s poison that had already gone into his body. “I was able to draw most of the poison out, but some of it is in your bloodstream. I will take you to a doctor in Phoenix who will have the proper medicine to give you, and he can stitch up the cut I had to make on your arm.”

  Tears were in Windino’s eyes as he said weakly, “Thank you for saving my life. Most white men would have let me die.” He swallowed hard. “Are you sure a white doctor will want to work on an Indian?”

  John nodded solemnly. “I assure you, if he shows any hesitancy, I will persuade the doctor to take care of you.”

  Windino’s lips almost made a smile. “You are indeed a fine man, Chief Brockman.”

  John bent down and picked Chief Windino up into his strong arms, placed him on the right side of the driver’s seat of the buggy, then tied the reins of the Indian’s horse to the rear of the buggy. Quickly climbing up onto the left side of the driver’s seat, John put the Martins’ horse to a trot and headed for Phoenix.

  Having been to Phoenix several times, John recalled where there was a doctor’s office on Main Street, though he could not remember the doctor’s name. When John drove the buggy into town, he spotted the sign in the second block, then recalled the doctor’s name when he saw the sign: Dr. Lee Adler.

  After parking the buggy at the hitching post in front of the doctor’s office, John lifted Chief Windino down from the driver’s seat and carried him toward the office door. As he stepped inside, the eyes of the young nurse at the desk widened at the sight before her. She could make out the badge on John’s chest, which was just visible above the Indian’s legs.

  She stood. “What can I do for you, sir?”

  “Ma’am, I am chief U.S. marshal John Brockman from Denver. I happened to find this young man, Apache Chief Windino, on the ground a few miles from town.” He explained to her about the snakebite and his treatment of it. “I need Dr. Adler to see Chief Windino as quickly as possible.”

  “Dr. Adler is free right now, Chief Brockman.” She headed for a door at the rear of the office. “Follow me.”

  John was glad to see that the nurse showed no prejudice against the red man. Seconds later, she led them into an examination room where the doctor was preparing the worktable for the next patient.

  “Dr. Adler,” said the nurse, “this gentleman carrying Apache Chief Windino is chief U.S. marshal John Brockman. Chief Windino has been bitten by a rattlesnake and needs your care.”

  Dr. Lee Adler, who was in his midfifties, smiled at them. “Of course, Chief Brockman. Please place him right here on this table.”

  Pleased that the doctor also showed no prejudice against the Indian in his arms, John smiled at him, then carefully laid Windino on the table. John took a couple of steps back and halted where he could watch the doctor go to work on the Apache chief.

  “Doctor, do you need my assistance?” the nurse asked.

  “No. I’ll call you if I do. You can return to the office.”

  As the nurse passed through the door, Dr. Adler removed the makeshift bandage from Chief Windino’s upper left arm and examined the c
ut.

  John spoke up quickly and explained about cutting the snakebite and sucking out the poison.

  Dr. Adler nodded as he did a quick but thorough examination of the snakebite. He turned to the chief U.S. marshal. “You indeed saved Chief Windino’s life by making the cut on his arm and sucking out the poison. It takes a little time for the thick rattlesnake poison to work its way into the bloodstream, but if you hadn’t come along and done what was needed, Chief Windino would be dead by now.”

  The Apache chief had tears in his eyes once again as he looked at John. “I want to thank you once more, Chief Brockman, for saving my life.”

  John smiled at him. “I’m just glad I came along when I did.”

  Dr. Adler went to work and stitched up the snakebite and cut on Windino’s left arm. Finally he wrapped a real bandage around it.

  John paid the doctor for taking care of Windino. As he walked the Apache chief out of the office, he held onto him tightly so he wouldn’t stumble or fall.

  When they reached the buggy, John helped Windino climb onto the same spot of the driver’s seat as before. Then he climbed onto the seat himself, took the reins in hand, and put the horse and buggy into motion with Windino’s horse still tied to the rear. They headed in the direction of the reservation, as directed by Chief Windino.

  NINETEEN

  A few miles from Phoenix, John turned to Windino, who was slightly slumped over on the seat. “I’m interested in how you got to know English so well. Do you mind telling me?”

  “Of course not, Chief Brockman,” Windino said with a smile. “My mother was a full-blooded Apache, but she had been raised by a white man and his wife right here in Arizona. She had gone to school with white children and learned to speak, read, and write English. She returned to her Apache people when she was eighteen years of age, and a short time later, she married a young man named Hawkuah. My mother’s name was Soft Moon. Both of my parents are dead now.”

  John nodded. “I see.”

  “I was born almost exactly two years after my parents were married. As I grew up, my mother taught me to speak, read, and write English. Does that answer your question?”

  “It sure does,” replied John.

  Windino looked at John with appreciative eyes. “Chief Brockman, I want to thank you again for saving my life.”

  John smiled. “I would do it again if you needed it.”

  Windino shook his head in wonderment. “You are a very special man.”

  John let several seconds pass, then looked at the Apache chief. “Do you know who Jesus Christ is?”

  “I have heard that Jesus Christ is the virgin-born Son of God.”

  “Do you believe it?” queried John.

  Windino thought on it for a moment, then replied, “I have no reason to doubt it. Certainly, the God who made this world could do that kind of miracle.”

  “Have you heard about Christ’s death, burial, and resurrection?”

  “I have heard that He was nailed to a cross made of wood and that He died on that cross. And I have heard that three days later He arose from the dead.”

  John guided the buggy off to the side of the road and pulled rein. He reached under the seat and lifted his Bible so Windino could see it. “Do you know what this is?”

  Windino nodded. “It says Holy Bible on the cover. You are a Christian, aren’t you?”

  “I sure am. I want to read to you from this book about Jesus Christ.”

  Windino nodded but remained silent.

  John then told the Apache chief the story of Calvary, pausing often to read Scriptures to him on the subject. Using more Scriptures, John gave Windino the full gospel story, then showed him passages on salvation and the new birth, explaining to him his need to be saved and warning if he did not receive the Lord Jesus Christ as his Saviour, he would go to a never-ending, burning hell when he died.

  Windino looked John in the eye. “I mean no disrespect to you or your beliefs, Chief Brockman, but as an Apache chief and the leader of one of the Apache reservations, I must stay with my Apache religion.”

  John could tell by the look in Windino’s dark eyes that he meant what he said. John closed the Bible with a silent prayer that the Lord would use the Scriptures he had given Windino to eventually bring the chief to Himself.

  John placed the Bible back beneath the seat. “We will move on then.” He put the horse into motion, and they headed on toward Windino’s reservation.

  Windino was still slumped over on the seat when the buggy rolled onto the grounds of his well-populated reservation, and Windino showed the chief U.S. marshal where to stop. Many Apache warriors, rifles in hand, surrounded the buggy. A crowd of women, children, and older men gathered around, curious.

  Windino raised a hand and spoke to the warriors in the Apache language. Then they lowered their weapons and took a few steps back.

  John looked at Windino. “What did you say to them?”

  “I told them to keep the peace, that this white man with me saved my life today. I will now tell them what you did to save my life.”

  John sat in silence, watching the faces of the Apaches surrounding the buggy as their chief spoke to them in their language. The only words John understood were when Windino told the people the name of the white man who saved his life: chief United States marshal John Brockman. When Windino finished, most of the men, all of the women, and all of the children gave a rousing cheer while smiling at John and waving their hands in the air.

  John noticed that a number of Apache warriors, who stood back from the rest of the crowd, were scowling at him with hatred in their dark eyes. Keeping his gaze on them, John said from the side of his mouth in a low voice, “Chief Windino, why are those men over there looking at me angrily?”

  Windino replied, “There are still warriors on every Apache reservation in Arizona Territory who hate white people and often attack and kill them.” Windino took a deep breath. “I am sorry for this, Chief Brockman, but there is nothing I and the other Apaches who do not hate white people can do to change them.”

  Two warriors who were standing close to the buggy stepped up and lifted their hands toward their chief, ready to help him down.

  Windino was about to let them help him from the buggy when John reached down and lifted his Bible from under the seat. “Chief Windino, I would like to give you this Bible. Will you accept it?”

  The Apache chief smiled and nodded. “I certainly will.”

  “Good. Will you do me a favor and read it when you get to feeling better?”

  “Yes, I will.”

  “You no doubt noticed when you were sometimes looking at the pages as I was reading to you that many passages are underlined.”

  “Yes. I did notice that.”

  “Of course, I would like it very much if you would read the whole Bible, but the passages underlined in both the Old Testament and the New Testament are about heaven and hell. And in the New Testament, those underlined parts show the gospel of Jesus Christ and God’s plan of salvation. Please pay attention especially to those underlined passages in the New Testament. Will you do that?”

  Windino smiled. “I will, Chief Brockman, I promise. Thank you for giving the Bible to me. Because you saved my life, I feel I owe it to you to do as you ask me.”

  John grinned warmly. “Good! I appreciate that. And Chief Windino …”

  “Yes?”

  “I would like to come back someday and see you again. Will you allow me to do that?”

  Windino’s face was beaming. “You will always be welcome to come and see me!”

  “Thank you,” John said, his smile broadening. “Well, I must get back to Phoenix so I can catch the next train to Denver.”

  Windino shook John’s right hand white-man style, thanked him once again for saving his life, and allowed the two warriors to help him down while another warrior untied Chief Windino’s horse from the rear of the buggy.

  Federal marshal Danford Pierce was at his desk in his office when one
of his deputies knocked on the door. “Sir, Chief Brockman is here to see you.”

  “Please send him in,” Danford said.

  Shortly, John entered the office and greeted Marshal Pierce.

  Danford smiled. “John, welcome! It’s good to see you. Please come in and have a seat.”

  As they sat together, John gave him the details about saving the life of Apache Chief Windino. John went on to tell Pierce about taking Windino home to his reservation in the Martin buggy and how most of the Apaches were friendly to him but that some of the warriors scowled hatefully at him. He then shared Chief Windino’s comment on the scowls.

  Marshal Pierce nodded. “Chief Windino has it right. There are still Apache warriors on all the reservations in Arizona who hate white people and will kill them when they find a way to do it without endangering themselves before the guns of the U.S. Army.”

  “Not only that,” John Brockman said, “but by the reports I’m getting from you and the other federal marshals in Arizona Territory, more and more outlaws are showing up all over this territory.”

  “That’s right, Chief. You know about that eight-man Dub Finch gang down in Texas, don’t you?”

  John nodded. “They’re named after their bloodthirsty leader, they’ve robbed and killed people in Texas for years, and they’ve never been caught. What about them?”

  “Well, the Dub Finch gang is now reported to be in Arizona.”

  The chief shook his head. “Oh no! Those seven men that Dub Finch has following him are vicious, heartless killers, just like their leader! I sure hope that gang will be caught and arrested soon, before they rob and kill more people. Do you know where in Arizona they’ve been seen?”

  “Not exactly. All I know is that people in eastern Arizona have reported seeing them. What towns or particular areas the Finch gang has been seen in or around, I do not know.”

  The chief U.S. marshal rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Danford, I want you to let me know by telegraph if the Dub Finch bunch brings trouble to Arizona and where they are located.”