The Iron Wagon (12 page)

“You might as well plan to stay for the whole day, General. Knowing my wife, she will want you to come to our house for Sunday dinner, and Breanna and our two daughters are tremendous cooks. Believe me, you wouldn’t want to miss out on dinner at our house!”

A look of glee passed over Ryan Alden’s face. “Well, after eating all those army meals for so long, that sounds like a little bit of heaven to me. Now tell me about Breanna, Ginny, and Meggie.”

Cheerfully, John told the story of how, as the Stranger, he met Breanna, fell in love, and married her at Denver’s First Baptist Church on Sunday afternoon, June 4, 1871. He went
on to tell the general about his three fine children and how the Lord had blessed them with sweet spirits, intelligent minds, and fine characters.

Alden said, “Wow! What a story! God sure has blessed you, Chief Brockman.”

“Indeed, God has blessed me beyond measure in giving me such a beautiful and wonderful wife, such a wonderful son, and such wonderful daughters!” John then noticed Paul smiling broadly. “What are you smiling about, son?”

“I was just thinking how the Lord has blessed Mama with such a wonderful husband and my sisters and me with such a wonderful papa!”

After spending over an hour with Major General Alden, John looked at his pocket watch. “Well, General, Paul and I had better head back to Denver. We’ve taken up quite a bit of your time.”

Smiling, Fort Logan’s commander said, “I’ve loved every minute of it. But I realize you have things to take care of at home.”

General Alden rose to his feet. John and Paul did the same. When the general stepped outside with them, Paul’s attention was drawn to a shiny wagon standing a few yards away. Two soldiers had drawn up in it and had just finished unhitching the horse team that had pulled it, and now were leading the harnessed horses toward the corral several yards away.

“Wow!” Paul eyed the wagon as it glistened in the bright sunlight. “I have never seen a wagon made completely of metal before. And I’ve never seen a wagon with a big cage built into the wagon bed either. What is it used for?”

“Well, Paul,” replied the general, “the wagon is made of iron. The army has iron wagons just like this one all over the West. You know there are wild, angry Indians all over the West making war against the white people because they have been or are being forced onto reservations.”

Paul nodded. “Yes sir.”

“When the army has to battle the fierce Indians and capture some of them during a battle, the soldiers take them in these iron wagons to places where the warriors are imprisoned for their acts of violence.”

“I understand, sir. I just never knew these iron wagons existed.”

Chief Brockman interjected. “General, I know about the iron wagons, but I have never seen one up close.”

“Well, come on, Chief. I’ll let you get a close look at this one.” General Alden led father and son to the wagon that was shining in the sun. “The wagon bed is eight feet wide and twelve feet long. As you can see, the cage fits the bed exactly. The iron straps that form the cage are four inches wide, and the straps run vertically and horizontally.”

Father and son nodded.

“Each opening between the straps is only two inches square. This is to make it so no captive can reach between the straps and grab a soldier. The cage is six feet high.”

Looking again at the top of the cage, then down to its floor where it sat on the bed of the wagon, John said, “That’s what I guessed. Six feet.”

The general showed them the hinged iron gate at the rear of
the cage, which was held shut by a heavy-duty padlock. “In using these iron-caged iron wagons, soldiers have been known to cram more than a dozen Indian warriors into them.”

Paul sighed. “I hope that one day soon, the Indians will decide to make peace with the white people and make no more war against them.”

The general and Paul’s father agreed. Then John and Paul swung into their saddles.

John took the reins in hand. “Thanks for showing us the iron wagon, General. It’s quite interesting.”

“Sure is, General Alden,” Paul agreed.

Then John said, “We’ll look forward to seeing you at church tomorrow.”

With a wide smile adorning his face, Alden said, “I definitely plan to be there.”

Looking down from his mount at Fort Logan’s new commander, Paul said, “General Alden, I am very glad that I got to meet you.”

As John and his son rode away, they looked back toward the fort a few times and talked about how much they liked Major General Ryan Alden.

“It won’t hurt Chance if I put him to a mild trot before we head for home,” Paul said.

“Sure. Chance can’t gallop anymore, but a mild trot won’t bother him. Let’s go!”

A
t Central City’s gold mine, Wayne Shelby was forty feet down into the earth, using a steel-headed pick to chip gold from a solid wall of it by the light provided from a flaming kerosene lantern. He was working alone, but he could hear miners in other areas at his level using their picks.

As Shelby swung the pick, his mind went back to his conversation with the chief U.S. marshal in the parking lot at Denver’s First Baptist Church.

John Brockman’s words echoed in his brain:
“Please tell me if a man who will lecture against
nothing
is anything more than a fool.”

As Shelby thought of those ice-edged words, wrath welled up inside him. He stopped swinging the pick and dropped it on the dirt floor of the cave. His face was set in a harsh and furious mold as he shook his fists and growled, “You think because I don’t believe your nonsense about God, heaven, and hell, that you’re smarter than I am, Brockman! Ha!” He leaned down, grabbed the pick handle with both hands, and swung the sharp point of the steel head against the cave wall. When chips of gold splattered from the solid wall, Shelby hissed, “I wish I could whack your head with this pick, Brockman!”

He viciously hit the wall again, breathing hard. “You and your quote from the Bible that the fool has said in his heart that there is no God!
You
are the fool, Brockman! You’re a fool for believing that
Bible and quoting stupidity from it! It’s the
wise
man who says there is no God!”

Gritting his teeth, Shelby kept swinging the pick against the wall of gold while trying to get John Brockman’s words out of his thoughts.

But the words kept coming into his mind. He could hear Brockman reminding him that he had just preached from God’s Word, warning lost sinners that if they died without repenting of their sins and receiving the Lord Jesus Christ as their Saviour, they would go to an everlasting, burning hell.

While breathing even harder, Shelby’s own words that he had spoken to John Brockman then came back to him:
“So you’re telling me that as an atheist and an unbelieving sinner, I will go to hell when I die, right?”

Brockman’s pointed reply as he lifted up his Bible echoed in Wayne’s mind:
“That’s right, but when you hit the flames of hell, you will no longer be an atheist. You will know God exists then! There are no atheists in hell. While screaming in the flames of hell now, they all know that there indeed is a God and that He means every word He says in His Bible.”

Gasping for air in his anger, Shelby stopped swinging his pick, set the top of it on the dirt floor of the cave beside him, took a deep, quivering breath, and let the handle of the pick fall to the floor. He took a few steps to where his canteen was sitting on a rock shelf, and picked it up, unscrewed the lid, and drank several gulps of water. When he’d had his fill, he replaced the lid, then set the canteen back on the rock shelf. Returning to his spot, he bent down and grasped the pick handle with both
hands again, and began chipping away at the wall of gold. While doing so, he was thinking evil thoughts about John Brockman while trying to put his mind on some other subject.

When John and Paul arrived at their ranch, the sun was just beginning to lower over the jagged Rocky Mountains to the west. The glaring steel blue sky directly above them was beginning to lose its brightness as the golden sun descended.

Paul was scanning the sky, and out of the endless space came slow-changing colored shadows from the few white clouds riding the wind. The setting sun was turning the valley where the Brockman ranch was located into a soft, red sweep of beauty, and the golden blaze on the rugged mountain peaks seemed to lift them higher toward the sky.

Taking it all in as he and his father rode their horses past the ranch house toward the barn and corral, Paul said, “Wow, Papa! Isn’t that a beautiful sunset?”

“Sure is. Our great God sure knows how to create indescribable beauty, doesn’t He?”

Paul chuckled. “Oh, yes. Like He created Mama.”

John smiled as they drew up to the corral gate. He swung down from his saddle. “I agree wholeheartedly with that, son. There aren’t enough words in the English language to fully describe her awesome beauty!”

As Paul dismounted, he smiled at his father over Chance’s back. “I sure hope when it’s time for me to fall in love and get
married that the Lord will give me a young lady with Mama’s kind of beauty.”

John opened the corral gate with one hand while holding onto the reins with the other. “I’ve got a feeling He will do just that, son. Of course, there is no other woman as beautiful as your mother, but I’m sure the one God has for you will be close.”

Paul grinned. “Well, as beautiful as Mama is, close will be good enough.”

When the two stallions had been unsaddled and unbridled and given hay and grain for their supper inside the barn, John and Paul headed for the house. At that moment, the Langford buggy pulled up to the front porch, then passed from view as Whip was drawing rein.

John chuckled. “Looks like your uncle Whip and aunt Annabeth may be having supper with us.”

Paul also chuckled. “What’s new? We all love having them, don’t we? And they love being here.”

“You’re right on both counts, my boy.”

As they drew up close to the back porch and saw that the kitchen windows were wide open, John sniffed the air and sighed. “Mmm-mmm. Smells like your mother and sisters are cooking pork chops.”

Paul sniffed in a breath filled with delicious aromas. “I think you’re right, Papa, and boy, am I hungry! Something about being outdoors in the fresh air and sunshine makes me just ravenous.”

“Yeah,” John said as they moved up the back porch steps. “Me too.”

John opened the door, and when father and son stepped into the kitchen, Breanna was leading Whip and Annabeth into the kitchen from the hallway. Ginny and Meggie were both busy at the stove.

“Well, howdy, Whip and Annabeth!” John said.

The Langfords returned the greeting; then John hugged Breanna. “Are they having supper with us?”

“They sure are,” Breanna replied, smiling. “They just stopped by to spend a few minutes with the girls and me, so I asked them to stay for supper. There will be enough food for all of us.”

John chuckled. “I don’t doubt that for a minute.”

“So how did it go at Fort Logan?” Breanna asked.

“I’ll tell you all about it during supper,” John said, then gave Annabeth a brotherly hug and Whip a pat on the back. He then went to his daughters at the stove and hugged them both at the same time.

“Time to sit at the table, everybody.” Ginny carried a steaming coffeepot to the table.

The Brockmans and the Langfords sat around the large kitchen table. Heads were bowed, and John led in prayer, thanking the Lord for His great love and wonderful ways and for the food before them.

As soon as he had closed his prayer in Jesus’ name, John started passing the platter heaped with golden-brown fried pork chops, fluffy mashed potatoes, and smooth, creamy white gravy. Followed by the platter were bowls of green beans with chopped onions, pickled beets, homemade applesauce, and a basket of biscuits.

As they began to eat, John looked warmly at Breanna and his daughters and said, “This meal is fit for a king.”

Mother and daughters beamed happily back at him.

“Save room for spice cake!” Breanna admonished John, Paul, and their guests.

“No problem there, Mama!” Paul replied, and John, with his mouth full, nodded, as did Whip and Annabeth.

While everyone was enjoying the well-prepared meal, John and Paul told Breanna, the girls, and the Langfords of their visit with Major General Ryan Alden at Fort Logan.

Everyone was thrilled with the story.

Paul then ran his gaze around the table and said, “I’d like to tell you about the iron wagon Papa and I saw at Fort Logan. I mean, it was really something to see!”

“Well, tell us about it,” said Meggie. “It’s an army wagon of some kind, huh?”

“Yeah, little sis. It’s really fascinating how it is built and what the army uses the iron wagons for.”

“Well, tell us!” Ginny chimed in.

While still eating, Breanna, the girls, and Whip and Annabeth listened closely as Paul told them all the things General Alden had told him and his father about the iron wagons used by the army in the western part of the United States.