by Al Lacy
Tag set his jaw and shook his head. “No way, Kathryn. We deserve to live like royalty for the rest of our lives, but we can’t do it on what we have.”
Kathryn turned and looked at her husband, her face pinched.
“Gib, you made it back alive and unharmed. Let’s take our share and head to California. It’s too much of a risk every time you ride out of here to rob more banks. Our share of the money the gang now has is enough for me.”
Gib smiled, shaking his head. “Honey, nothing’s going to happen to me. I promise. We’ve stuck with Tag this far. Let’s go all the way with him. Just think of what it would be like to have two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in our pockets.”
The others watched as Kathryn laid her head against Gib’s shoulder. Knowing that her husband could not actually make such a promise, she wanted to insist that he leave the gang right now, but it would be useless. Gib was as determined to reach the goal as was Tag.
She sighed and looked up at the face that she loved so much. “All right, darling, I’ll do whatever you say.”
Gib smiled broadly. “Good girl.”
Tag then brought up Doke Veatch and said that sometime soon Doke would be coming to the cabin to see them. He explained his thoughts about the possibility of getting information from Doke about future Wells Fargo shipments of money between banks, so they could make big hauls like they did the day before yesterday. No one would ever know Doke was the inside informant, and of course, he would be given his cut of the money when they robbed the stagecoaches.
Tag explained that there was no time yesterday morning to discuss it with Doke, but that he told him he had something important to talk to him about, and asked if he would come to the hideout sometime soon so they could talk. Doke agreed, which prompted Tag to draw him a map so he could find the place easily.
Lucinda’s features darkened. “Tag, I don’t know this Doke Veatch. Can he be trusted? He could bring the law up here.”
Tag chuckled. “He’s not gonna do anything like that. My brothers and I have known Doke since all of us were very young, back in our Scottsbluff days. Bart and Jason could tell you about the day when we went swimming in the North Platte River and I saved Doke from drowning. He has a loyalty to me for saving his life that will never go away. He talked to me about it in Wheatland in our short conversation. He would never turn on me and lead the law to us.”
“I can testify to Doke’s loyalty toward Tag, Lucinda,” said Bart. “There’s nothing to worry about.”
“That’s right,” put in Jason. “Absolutely nothing to worry about.”
Lucinda nodded and gave her husband a thin smile.
“Hey!” said Gib. “I don’t know about the rest of you guys, but I could use some of that home cooking we always get in this place!”
Tag, Tony, Bart, and Jason all agreed wholeheartedly.
Lucinda laughed. “Well, Kathryn, let’s you and me head for the kitchen and fix up some good eats for these hungry men.”
As the two women made their way into the cabin and toward the kitchen, Kathryn was trying to still the fears running through her mind as expressed to the group earlier.
Lucinda was secretly having her own fear. Learning that Doke Veatch had been given a map to the hideout left her with a strange feeling of trepidation. Call it woman’s intuition, she thought, but I don’t like it.
In Denver, Colorado, Chief United States Marshal John Brockman was doing paperwork at his desk in his office. The morning sun shone through the large window, brightening the room.
There was a tap on the door. The chief looked up as it came open and Deputy U.S. Marshal Charlie Wesson stepped in with a yellow envelope in his hand. “Chief, a telegram just came for you from Sheriff Jack Polson in Cheyenne. From what the Western Union delivery boy said, it has something to do with the Tag Moran gang.”
Brockman’s eyes widened as the deputy handed him the envelope. Looking at it, he said, “Charlie, you don’t suppose this is going to be good news, telling me that some lawman and his posse have managed to capture that nefarious bunch.”
Wesson grinned. “Hey, that would be good news!”
Brockman opened the envelope, took out the telegram, and read it while Charlie waited to hear its contents. When he saw disappointment frame the chief’s rugged features, Charlie’s grin faded.
Brockman looked up at him. “Sheriff Polson wanted to let me know that Moran and his gang held up a stagecoach near Chugwater. They got a cash box containing fifty thousand dollars being sent to the Bank of Casper from the Bank of Fort Collins.”
“Oh no. So now they’re going after stagecoaches as well as banks.”
“Yep. Polson says Darryl Moran was shot by a passenger on the stage while the gang was riding away. He was taken to Dr. Jacob Logan’s office in Cheyenne, but died on the operating table. The rest of them are still at large.”
Charlie pulled at an ear. “Well, sir, at least there’s one less member in the gang.”
Brockman nodded. “Yes, but if Tag Moran and the rest of them aren’t caught soon, I’m going to have to take some deputies and go after them.”
“Well, if you do, Chief, I’d sure like to be one of those deputies.”
“We’ll see.”
Wesson returned to the desk in the outer office, and Brockman went back to the paperwork.
Nearly an hour had passed when Charlie Wesson tapped on the door and stuck his head in. “Chief, there’s a man out here who would like to see you. His name is Wally Talbot. He says he met you once in Kansas, and he just wants to see you for a few minutes before leaving for home.”
Brockman pushed his desk chair back and rose to his feet. “Please bring him in.” As he spoke, he stepped around in front of the desk.
When Wally Talbot, who was in his late thirties, entered the office, he stopped and looked at the smiling chief with admiring eyes.
Behind him, Charlie Wesson closed the door to give the two men privacy.
Brockman, who was a little older than Talbot, had coal black hair with just a touch of silver at the temples. He was square-jawed and had a pair of identical white-ridged scars on his right cheekbone. His eyes were pools of gray that seemed to look through a person rather than at him.
Talbot moved up to him and extended his right hand. As they met each other’s grip, he said, “Chief Brockman, you and I met in Wichita back in May 1868. I was—”
“You were about to be forced into drawing against a gunfighter named Hatch Wasserman.”
Surprise showed in Talbot’s eyes. He chuckled as they let go of each other’s hands. “I didn’t think you’d remember me! You saved my hide by taking out Wasserman. Then you led me to the Lord.”
“I remember it well, Wally. How are you doing?”
“Just great, sir.”
“You still living on that farm just outside of Wichita?”
“Sure am. When you led me to Jesus that day, you told me of a good Bible-believing church in town and strongly advised me to go there. I did that very next Sunday and got baptized. I met the lady who is now my wife in that church and now we have three children—all who have come to know Jesus as their Saviour.”
“Wonderful! Come on over here and sit down.”
Before either man could move, there was another tap on the door. Charlie Wesson opened it and stuck his head in. “Chief, Mrs. Brockman and the children are here to see you. I told Mrs. Brockman that you were busy at the moment, but I just wanted to let you know they’re here.”
“Bring them in, Charlie. I’d like for them to meet Mr. Talbot.”
Wesson nodded and hurried away.
Wally looked at the tall man. “This will be an honor, sir.”
He then saw the beautiful blonde enter, smiling at her husband. Her two children were beside her.
“Breanna, I want you to meet an old friend of mine from Wichita, Wally Talbot.”
Breanna offered her hand, and as Talbot took it gently, she said, “I’m happy to meet you, Mr. Tal
bot.”
Talbot did a slight bow. “The pleasure is mine, ma’am.”
John smiled down at his son and daughter. “Paul, this is Mr. Wally Talbot.”
Paul extended his hand. “Glad to meet you, Mr. Talbot.”
“You too, Paul,” said Talbot, shaking his hand. “How old are you?”
“Eight years old, sir.”
Talbot smiled warmly, then turned to the chief. “Fine young gentleman, he is.” Then he set his eyes on the pretty little girl. “And who is this?”
“Her name is Ginny. Ginny, say hello to Mr. Talbot.”
Taking hold of the sides of her skirt, Ginny curtsied and smiled. “Hello, Mr. Talbot. I’m very happy to meet you. I’m six years old.”
“And a fine young lady,” said Talbot, doing a slight bow.
Ginny then turned to her father and embraced him. Paul joined in and John hugged them both. When they let go of him, Breanna said, “We just finished our grocery shopping, so we’re ready to have our company for dinner tonight. As long as we were this close to the office, we decided to come in and see you.”
John smiled. “Well, it’s always good to see my little family. And I’m glad to know we’ll be able to feed our company tonight.”
Breanna laughed at his dry humor.
Talbot was looking at the children as they stood beside their father, thinking how amazingly Paul’s features resembled his father’s and Ginny’s resembled her mother’s.
Breanna ran her gaze between her husband and the man from Kansas. “So how do you two know each other?”
John grinned. “Well, it goes back to May 1868.”
“When he was known only as The Stranger, ma’am,” added Talbot. “We only met once, but he certainly proved to be my friend.”
Paul’s eyes lit up. He always loved to hear about his father’s past life and hoped to be just like him one day. He grinned from ear to ear, looking up at him. John caught the beam on his son’s upturned face and laid his hand on Paul’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze.
Talbot spoke again. “Your husband saved my life, Mrs. Brockman. I was in town that particular day and a well-known gunfighter by the name of Hatch Wasserman purposely stepped up to me on Main Street and started talking rough to me. I didn’t know who he was, but I knew he was a gunfighter by the way he wore his gun low on his hip and tied down. He was looking for a fight, for sure. I was just a farmer and wore a gun for protection, not because I wanted to get into a gunfight with the likes of him. Your husband happened to be close by, and he could tell by the looks of me I was a farmer, not a gunfighter.
“When I told Wasserman to go away and leave me alone, he took the gunfighter’s stance and challenged me to draw against him. It was then that this man in black moved up, called Wasserman by name, and told him to back off and leave me alone. Then Wasserman drew against your husband, ma’am, and he put him down. Just before Wasserman died there in the dust, he identified this man as the one people called ‘The Stranger.’ ”
Paul looked up and grinned at his father.
Talbot set his eyes on the tall man. “I’d heard of this fella called ‘The Stranger’ who rode all over the West helping people who were in trouble and putting outlaws where they belonged, but I’d never seen him before that day.”
Talbot reached in his pocket and drew out a silver medallion the size of a silver dollar. “Do you remember giving this to me that day?”
Breanna and the children looked at the medallion, then Ginny smiled at her mother. Breanna winked at her.
“I sure do, Wally,” said John.
The medallion was centered with a five-point star, and around the circular edge were inscribed the words: THE STRANGER THAT SHALL COME FROM A FAR LAND.—Deuteronomy 29:22.
Wally turned the medallion toward Breanna. “Did you know he gave medallions like this to people he helped out of trouble, ma’am?”
Breanna nodded. “Oh yes. I have one of my own that he gave to me the first time we met. God sent John to me when I needed him.”
Wally arched his eyebrows. “Really?”
“Yes, sir. Really.”
Wally looked back at the tall man. “Something’s been eating at me all these years.”
“What’s that?”
“This ‘far country’ you’re from, Mr. John Stranger—what country is it?”
John smiled. “Oh, that’s a secret, Wally. Only Breanna knows what country it is.”
Wally looked back at Breanna. “Would you let me in on the secret, Mrs. Stranger—er, uh—I mean, Mrs. Brockman?”
Breanna’s blue eyes flashed as she looked from the medallion to her husband with a teasing smile on her face, then turned back to Talbot. “Sorry, sir. That’s a well-guarded secret.”
Wally playfully swung a fist through the air. “Phooey! Well, you can’t blame a guy for trying.”
The Brockman family laughed.
Wally looked at the medallion with affection. “Well, I’ll always treasure this, Chief.” He slipped it back into his pocket. Then he turned to Breanna. “There was something else this husband of yours did that day he saved my life, ma’am.”
“Mm-hmm?”
“Right after Wichita’s sheriff and two of his deputies carried Hatch Wasserman’s body away, this John Stranger fella asked me where I’d be right then if Wasserman had killed me—heaven or hell. I told him I hoped I’d be in heaven, but I didn’t know for sure. He told me I could know for sure I was going to heaven when I die, and he would show me from the Bible if I’d let him. I said I would. He went and got his Bible from his saddlebag, sat me down on a bench in front of the general store, and led me to Jesus. I can tell you right now, ma’am, I know for sure and positive when I take my last breath in this world, I’ll be in heaven with my Saviour.”
“Wonderful, isn’t it?” said Breanna.
“It sure is.”
John spoke up. “Wally told me just before you and the children arrived, Breanna, that he got baptized in the church I recommended there in Wichita, met the lady who is now his wife in that church, and all three of their children are Christians.”
Breanna nodded with a wide smile. “Praise the Lord!”
John’s brow furrowed slightly. “I’m curious, Wally. What brought you here to Denver?”
“I have a friend named Bill Altman from Wichita who now lives up there in the mountains some thirty miles west of Denver in Central City. You know where it is?”
“Oh yes. I’ve been there several times.”
“Well, my friend Bill is dying with consumption, Chief. We knew each other as boys in Kansas, and have kept in touch by mail since Bill moved to Central City about twenty years ago. I’ve been witnessing to him in my letters the past twelve years, giving him Scripture and trying to get him to open his heart to Jesus, but he hadn’t done it yet when I received the letter about his consumption. He’s had it for about four years, but hadn’t told me about it until recently. So I came last week to talk to him, and I had the joy of leading both Bill and his wife to the Lord.”
“That’s great!”
“Yes, sir. Do you know Central City’s physician, Chief?”
“Sure do. Dr. Robert Fraser. He and his wife are both fine Christians.”
“For sure. Well, Dr. Fraser told me that Bill won’t live more than a few weeks. So—so the next time Bill and I meet, it will be in heaven.”
“Well, praise the Lord, Wally. You and Bill will have all eternity together in heaven—no more parting.”
“Yes, we talked about that. And just think, Chief …”
“Mm-hmm?”
“Since you cared enough about me to lead me to the Lord twelve years ago in Wichita, you have a hand in Bill and Darlene Altman’s salvation.”
“Hallelujah!” said John.
Paul looked up at the man from Wichita. “Mr. Talbot, how did you know Papa was now a lawman here in Denver?”
“Well, Paul, about a year ago Wichita’s sheriff told me that the man they called John Stranger w
as now Chief U.S. Marshal here in Denver, and that his real name was John Brockman. I wasn’t sure your papa would remember me, but since I was planning to come to see Bill Altman, I decided to also see the man who saved my life and led me to the Lord.”
“I’m very glad you did, Wally,” said John.
“The children and I are too,” said Breanna.
“We sure are, Mr. Talbot,” spoke up Paul. “I always like to meet people my papa helped out back when he was known as ‘The Stranger.’ ”
Breanna asked, “When are you leaving for home?”
“I’m scheduled on the eastbound train that leaves Denver at nine-thirty tomorrow morning, ma’am.”
“So you’ll be here in town till tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. Since you’re going to be here this evening, I would like to have you come for supper and be an added guest.”
John nodded. “Yes. We’d love to have you, Wally.”
Paul jumped up and down. “Yes! Then we could tell Mr. and Mrs. Tabor and Miss Tharyn about Papa taking out that no-good gunfighter and saving your life, Mr. Talbot!”
Ginny jumped in rhythm with her brother. “And we could tell them about Papa leading you to Jesus too, Mr. Talbot! They’ll really be glad to meet you!”
Wally’s features tinted slightly. He shook his head slowly. “Folks, I really appreciate your invitation, but I wouldn’t want to interfere with you and your guests.”
Breanna shook her head emphatically. “You would not be interfering, Mr. Talbot. David and Kitty Tabor and their daughter, Tharyn, are very dear friends of ours. They are sweet and dedicated Christians. I know they would love to meet one of John’s friends from his John Stranger days. My husband has quite a colorful past, and everyone is always fascinated with tales of his travels. They would also enjoy hearing the details of how this led to John bringing you to the Lord. Please say you will have supper with us tonight.”
John laid his hand on Wally’s shoulder. “Yes, Wally. That way you and I can have more time to talk and catch up on more details of each other’s lives since 1868.”