by Al Lacy
“Yes, that’s good.” John chuckled. “Did you hear me kidding Dr. Tim Braden at church Sunday?”
“Oh yes. The two of you were talking about how Dr. Tim had asked for permission to observe the hip replacement surgery Dr. Dane performed on Georgene Rogers. You ribbed him, saying he wanted to learn how to do hip replacements so he could replace Dr. Dane.”
“Yes. Had to have a little fun with him. I’m glad to see Dr. Tim and Dr. Dane becoming such good friends. Maybe someday Dr. Dane’s practice in Central City will grow so much he can take Dr. Tim in as partner.”
Breanna smiled. “That would be good, wouldn’t it? I’m sure it would make Tharyn and Melinda happy.”
“As close as they are, it would be like a dream come true.”
“I’m sure it would. Well, darling, I guess I’d better head for home.” As she spoke, Breanna arose from the chair.
John stood up, towering over her. “Oh, by the way, the Moran gang is back at it again.”
“Oh? I was hoping they’d decided to quit the outlaw trail.”
“Unfortunately, no. I just got a telegram from Sheriff Bob Gaston of Delta County, Colorado, informing me that the Moran gang robbed Delta’s bank two days ago, and once again, got away clean.”
“Oh no. Did they shoot anybody this time?”
“Not in Delta, but Sheriff Gaston also told me in his telegram that the gang has hit four banks in two weeks. They hit both banks in Salt Lake City, the bank in Grand Junction, and now the one in Delta. He said at Grand Junction, Tag Moran shot and killed a bank teller who pulled a gun out of a drawer and tried to thwart the robbery.”
Breanna sighed. “I hope that gang makes some kind of mistake that will get them caught again.”
Late in the third week of April, Lucinda Moran and Kathryn Tully left the old cabin and walked to the barn. They placed their purses in the wagon, and together, put bridles on the two draft horses, hoisted the harnesses onto their backs, and hitched them to the wagon.
Moments later they were on the wagon seat, and Lucinda took the reins and put the team in motion. She guided the team down the side of the mountain, weaving among the trees. At one point, a large limb from a birch tree lay in their path, having broken off the tree. Lucinda guided the wagon around the limb, but did not notice a hole in the ground to the right side of the wagon.
Suddenly, the right rear wheel dropped into the hole with the sound of wood splitting.
Lucinda pulled rein. “Oh no. Did you hear that?”
“I did. Sounded like something broke back there.”
Both women hopped out of the wagon and walked to the rear. The wheel had broken off the axle and splinters of wood were scattered about.
Lucinda sighed dejectedly. “Well, we won’t be going to Fort Collins, now. Let’s see if we can lift the wheel into the wagon bed. I’ll just have to force the team to pull the wagon back up to the cabin with the rear corner dragging.”
Four days later, clouds were gathering in the sky above the Rockies and a stiff wind was blowing. Lucinda and Kathryn had just finished breakfast and made their way to the parlor when Kathryn looked out the window and saw five riders winding their way up through the forest toward them. Focusing on Gib, she said with a lilt in her voice, “Lucinda! They’re back!”
Both women dashed out onto the wide front porch and waved as the gang drew near. The wind plucked at their hair.
The first men out of their saddles were Gib Tully and Bart Moran. They dashed up the steps to their wives while the others were dismounting.
When Gib had hugged and kissed Kathryn and Bart had done the same with Lucinda, Tag led the group inside to get out of the wind and joyfully showed the women the money they had taken from the banks. The last one they had robbed was the bank in Glenwood Springs, Colorado. No one mentioned the bank teller Tag had killed in Grand Junction.
Bart’s arm was around Lucinda as she looked at him and said, “I’m sure glad you didn’t get captured again.”
Bart laughed. “Never again, sweet stuff! We safely eluded capture after each one of the robberies, including the last one at Glenwood Springs, and we’re dead sure there are no lawmen on the trail behind us.”
“That’s right,” said Tony Chacone. “Having all these rivers and streams in the mountains makes it easy to lose those posses.”
“Yeah!” said Jason. “We’re the best posse losers in the business!”
The other men laughed.
Kathryn was clinging to Gib and looking at him with loving eyes.
Lucinda said, “I have one bit of bad news. Four days ago, we started out for Fort Collins to buy groceries and supplies, and I had to steer the wagon around a big limb that had fallen off a birch tree. The right rear wheel dropped into a hole and broke off the axle. So we’re quite low on groceries and supplies. The wagon’s out by the barn, with the wheel in the bed.”
Tag frowned. “We’ll have to repair it if possible, and if not, we’ll have to steal us a wagon somewhere. Let’s go take a look at it, boys.”
Gib Tully said, “Tell you what, Tag. Even if it can be repaired, it’s going to take a while. Since the ladies are so low on groceries and supplies, I’ll ride into town right now and get enough to last a few days.”
A frown creased Tag’s brow. “I appreciate you volunteering, Gib, but since our pictures have been in all the newspapers, somebody’s liable to recognize you.”
Kathryn nodded, worry showing on her face.
“I’ll be careful, boss,” said Gib. “But we gotta eat.”
Kathryn’s brow furrowed. “I wish no one had to go, darling, but since it has to be—please be very, very careful.”
Gib grinned at her. “I’ll wear my hat down low over my face, honey. Don’t fret yourself now. I’ll be back before you know it.”
In Fort Collins, dark clouds hung low and the wind was gusting through the town as one of Larimer County’s deputy sheriffs named Doug Pritchard was coming out of the general store. He saw a rider draw up to the hitch rail in front of the store and dismount, his hat pulled low over his face.
Suddenly an extra powerful gust of wind tore the rider’s hat off, and while he was chasing it along the edge of the boardwalk, Pritchard got a good look at his face. He bristled as he thought of the pictures of the Tag Moran gang that were on the wall at the sheriff’s office, and whispered, “Gib Tully!”
The outlaw quickly picked up his hat and jammed it down on his head, making sure the brim was low over his face.
Unnoticed by Tully, Pritchard backed into the recessed doorway of the general store, hoping no customers would show up from inside or outside.
His mind set on getting the needed groceries and supplies quickly, Tully crossed the boardwalk toward the door. Suddenly he stopped, his body tensing. He was stunned to find a man with a badge on his chest holding a cocked revolver on him. Lines curved down from the lawman’s lip corners into a squarely defined chin, creating an aspect of doggedness. The cast of jaw and mouth seemed almost brutal.
“Make a false move, Tully,” Pritchard said, “and it’ll be your last one.”
Gib Tully was disarmed, while people on the boardwalk looked on, and taken to the sheriff’s office where he was locked up in a cell.
Sheriff James Hoffman stood outside of the cell with Deputy Doug Pritchard at his side and peered through the bars. “All right, Tully. I want to know where the gang is holed up.”
Gib shook his head. “You won’t find out from me.”
“It’ll go a lot better for you if you tell me, Tully. We will catch the Moran gang sooner or later. You’re going to face Judge Yeager again. When it comes time for your new sentencing, the judge will go a lot easier on you if I can tell him that you told us where we could find the rest of the gang.”
Tully sneered. “What are you talking about? He already gave me a life sentence. Is he gonna have me hanged when I haven’t killed anybody?”
“No, but he could sentence you to life in solitary confinement. I
f he does, you’ll be locked up in a cell with no window, and you’ll never see the light of day again. Is that what you want?”
Tully swallowed hard, but shook his head. “I’m not telling you where the gang is holed up.”
Hoffman shook his head. “You’ll wish you had when it’s too late. Let’s go, Doug.”
Gib Tully stared after the lawmen with cold eyes as they left the cell block.
Sheriff James Hoffman went to the Western Union office and wired Chief U.S. Marshal John Brockman in Denver, informing him that they had Gib Tully in custody. He explained that Tully had refused to tell him where the Moran gang was holed up, and asked for word on what to do with him.
Brockman wired back immediately, saying he was sending one of his deputies, Clint Haymes, on the night train from Denver. He would have Haymes escort Tully to Cheyenne on a stagecoach in handcuffs, then take a stage to Rawlins and return him to Judge George Yeager and the Wyoming Territorial Prison.
The next day, just after noon, Deputy Clint Haymes had a sullen Gib Tully cuffed to his left wrist as they sat on a bench in the Wells Fargo office in Fort Collins, waiting for the stage to be brought from the Fargo barn and corral for the trip north.
Three other passengers were waiting, also: two men and an elderly woman. They were seated on wooden chairs close by. Obviously on edge, the woman kept staring at the handcuffs that linked the lawman and his prisoner together.
Soon the stagecoach pulled to a halt out front, and the agent saw driver Buck Cummons and shotgunner Doke Veatch leave the coach and head for the office.
The agent stood behind the counter. “Folks, the stage just pulled up. As you know, it’s scheduled to leave at one o’clock. When it’s time to go, I want you folks over here to let Deputy Haymes take his prisoner ahead of you so he can get him aboard first.”
When driver and shotgunner came through the door, Doke Veatch saw Gib Tully sitting on the bench, handcuffed to the man with a badge on his chest. Doke and Gib exchanged secret glances, but neither let on that he knew the other.
The agent introduced Cummons and Veatch to Deputy U.S. Marshal Clint Haymes, explaining that he was out of the Denver office, and told them the man cuffed to him was Gib Tully, a member of the infamous Tag Moran gang.
Haymes then filled them in on how Tully was caught, and that he had been sent by Chief U.S. Marshal John Brockman to take Tully back to Rawlins where he would once again face Judge George Yeager, then be returned to the prison.
Standing there looking at Gib, Doke was wishing he could do something to help him escape—but knew he could not.
At nearby Larimer County Hospital, Dr. Dane Logan had just finished a hip replacement surgery, and leaving the patient in the care of her doctor, walked out of the hospital. As always, he carried his medical bag. He headed down the boardwalk on Main Street toward the depot to catch the train that would be leaving for Denver at 1:15.
As Dane neared the Wells Fargo office, he saw the passengers coming out the door of the office to board the Cheyenne-bound stagecoach. He noted that driver Buck Cummons was leading Deputy Clint Haymes and the prisoner who was cuffed to his left wrist ahead of the other passengers. A second glance at the prisoner’s face told Dane he should know him. A second later, he knew he had seen that face in the newspaper as one of the Tag Moran gang, though he couldn’t recall his name.
Dane recognized shotgunner Doke Veatch bringing up the rear and slowed his pace to watch the procession.
Just as Buck Cummons drew up to the coach and reached out to open the door, he stumbled slightly.
Gib Tully was close to Cummons and saw the opportunity to grab the driver’s revolver from its holster with his free hand.
It all happened in a few seconds.
Taking both Cummons and Haymes by surprise, Tully swung the gun on the deputy and fired, hitting him in the left side just above his belt. Haymes buckled, but already had his gun out. He fired it, shooting Tully in the chest. Both men fell to the ground, and while Doke Veatch froze in place and stared in disbelief, Buck Cummons yanked his gun from Tully’s weakened grasp.
The elderly female passenger was screaming, and the two male passengers stood frozen in shock. People on the street were looking on wide-eyed as Dr. Dane Logan dashed up to the scene. The Fargo agent came charging out the door of the office.
Dr. Dane knelt beside the wounded men. His eyes met with those of Doke Veatch, who was searching the deputy’s pockets.
“Hello, Doctor,” said Doke. “I’m trying to find the key to the handcuffs so we can get these two men apart.”
“Thanks, Doke,” said Dane. He quickly examined both men, then opened his medical bag and went to work on Haymes.
Doke produced the key and hastily unlocked the handcuffs, removing them from the wrists of both lawman and prisoner.
The sheriff was summoned by someone on the street and soon arrived, along with two of his deputies—one of them being Doug Pritchard.
Dr. Dane was working furiously on the wounded federal deputy.
People in the crowd recognized the wounded outlaw from pictures they had seen in the newspapers, at the post office, and at the sheriff’s office. They were talking about him, agreeing that he was part of the Tag Moran gang. One man even called his name.
When Dr. Dane heard it, he then recalled it too.
A reporter from the Fort Collins Gazette was now on the scene, making notes.
The Fargo agent ushered the other passengers inside the office, apologizing for the incident. He asked them to sit down, telling them it would be a while before the stage could leave, then hurried back to the scene.
Noting that both wounded men were conscious, Sheriff James Hoffman bent down over the doctor. “Do you need help getting these men to the hospital?”
“I will a little later, Sheriff,” said Dr. Dane, “but I have to do what I can first. Deputy Haymes has a big hole in his side where the bullet ripped through him, and I must stop the flow of blood before he bleeds to death.”
Haymes looked up at the doctor with hazy eyes and whispered, “Thank you.”
Buck Cummons and Doke Veatch were standing close, with the Fargo agent between them, watching the doctor work.
Doke was noting the blood bubbling from Gib’s chest just as Gib looked up at Dr. Logan and wheezed weakly, “Y-you’re … tending … to him first … because he’s … the lawman, aren’t you?”
Doke Veatch swung his gaze to the doctor’s face, his mind flashing back to the day when Darryl Moran died while Dr. Dane Logan was tending to him in Cheyenne. He thought of Tag’s words that day in Wheatland: “Maybe that doc let Darryl die because he was an outlaw.”
The shotgunner gritted his teeth and thought, Tag, I told you that Dr. Logan didn’t let Darryl die because he was an outlaw … but now, I’m wondering if you were right.
Doke felt anger well up within him as Logan looked at Tully, but did not reply to his question.
Dane Logan feverishly worked at getting Clint Haymes’s bleeding stopped while the Fargo men, the sheriff and deputies, the reporter, and the crowd looked on.
Doke felt his rage toward the doctor growing. Gib Tully was bleeding too—from right around his heart. His shirt was soaked with blood.
Suddenly Gib stiffened, let out a low moan, and went limp, his eyes staring vacantly into space. Dr. Logan glanced at Gib, but quickly put his attention back on the bleeding wound on the deputy’s left side.
Doke felt his own blood heat up. He took hold of Gib’s wrist and felt for a pulse.
There was none.
Doke raked Dane Logan with a cold glance and said loud enough for all to hear, “This man’s dead, Doctor!”
Dane looked at Doke, glanced at the vacant eyes of Gib Tully, nodded, and put his attention back on Haymes.
Outrage etched itself on Doke’s features, but he quickly forced it away. Inside, he was raw with violence, wanting to grab the doctor and rub his nose in the blood on Gib’s shirt. He sucked in his breath so hard i
t hollowed his cheeks.
Moments later, when Clint Haymes’s bleeding had been stopped and a bandage had been securely applied to the wound, Dr. Dane looked up at the sheriff. “He can be transported to the hospital now, Sheriff.”
A smile broke over Hoffman’s rugged face. “Good, Doctor.” He turned to his deputies. “See if you can borrow one of these wagons parked here on the street. We need to get this man to the hospital right away.”
As the deputies hurried away, Dr. Dane said, “I want to go along with Deputy Haymes, Sheriff, so I can discuss the wound with whatever doctor is assigned to him. I was on my way to the depot when this incident happened, but I’ll catch the late afternoon train to Denver.”
At that instant, a man in the crowd said to Dane, “Doctor, I heard what that outlaw asked you—if you were tending to the deputy first because he was a lawman.”
Dane nodded. “Yes?”
“Well, is it true? Did you work on the deputy first because he was the good guy?”
Clint Haymes ran his dull gaze to the doctor, wondering what answer he would give.
Doke’s attention was riveted on the doctor’s face.
Dane eyed the man steadily. “No, I did not. Upon examining both men, I saw that Tully’s wound was lethal. The slug had definitely punctured his heart. He was not going to make it. So I concentrated my efforts on saving the deputy’s life.”
“Oh yeah?” pressed the man, his features stiff. “Then why didn’t you answer the question when Tully asked it?”
Still meeting the man’s hard gaze, Dane said, “I didn’t answer Tully’s question, sir, because I would have had to tell him he was going to die within a few minutes. If you were in my place, would you have told him that?”
The man bit his lips and shook his head. “No, I wouldn’t. I’m sorry, Doctor.” With that, he turned and walked away.