One More Sunrise (6 page)

Driver Buck Cummons, who recently turned fifty, smiled at his passengers. “Well, folks, we’re ready to board.” He looked at his shotgunner, giving him an eye signal, and Veatch nodded that he understood.

Vern Stanton hurried to the door and held it open for the ladies to pass through. They both smiled and thanked him, then he preceded them to the stagecoach while Jubb and Hoover followed, with the driver on their heels.

When Stanton reached the coach, he opened the door, then offered his hand to Stella and helped her aboard. While he was doing this, four young men who stood in front of the livery stable next to the Fargo office began calling to Anna with flirtatious words, calling her “blondie” and smiling.

Suddenly, Stanton turned and looked at them, his motion like the swift cut of a knife and his eyes like coals of fire. His attention stayed fixed on them until they went silent and their smiles faded away.

“Thank you, Mr. Stanton,” said Anna and took his hand.

Stanton helped her into the coach, and she sat down beside Stella on the seat that faced the rear of the coach. The bulky former army sergeant climbed in and sat down facing them, and Jubb and Hoover followed, crowding onto the seat with Stanton. Driver Buck Cummons closed the door, then looked back toward the office and nodded. At the door, Doke Veatch nodded in return, then pivoted and moved into the office.

“Okay,” said Doke to the Fargo agent who stood behind the counter.

The agent reached under the counter, lifted an oblong metal box by its handle and extended it to Doke. He then lifted up a folded piece of canvas and handed it to him. Doke smiled, took the canvas, shook it open, and wrapped it around the metal box. “See you in a few days.” He left the office.

By the time Doke reached the stage, Buck was up on the seat with the reins in his hands and one foot teetering on the brake. Doke reached up, set the canvas-covered metal box on the seat, shoved it toward Buck, then climbed up and sat down. He placed the metal box beneath the seat and picked up his shotgun. “Okay, Buck. Let’s go.”

The Wyoming sun was halfway down the afternoon sky. In a patch of forest just south of a small settlement known as Chugwater some forty-five miles north of Cheyenne and twenty miles south of Wheatland, the six men who made up the Tag Moran gang sat on the ground, each one of them with his back against a tree. Their saddled horses stood close by, swishing their tails at the flies that were pestering them.

Four of the gang members were brothers. The oldest, at twenty-eight, was Tag Moran, who was also known to be the toughest. Bart Moran was twenty-six, Jason was twenty-four, and Darryl was twenty-one. The other two gang members were twenty-seven-year-old Gib Tully and twenty-three-year-old Tony Chacone.

Tag took a pocket watch from his vest pocket, looked at it, and returned it to its place. “Stage should be along in about forty minutes.”

Gib Tully grinned at Tag. “I’m sure glad you ran onto your old pal, Harry Eads, in Wheatland, Tag. You didn’t know he worked for Wells Fargo until you ran into him there on the street this mornin’, did you?”

“Sure didn’t. He’s lived in Wheatland for a long time, but from what he told me, he’s only been with Fargo a few months. When he gave me the information this morning about the stage carrying the fifty thousand dollars from the Bank of Fort Collins to its subsidiary bank in Casper, all he asked for telling me about it was a couple hundred dollars, so I went ahead and gave it to him.”

“Wow! Fifty thousand dollars!” said Tony Chacone. “Maybe we should have started robbing stagecoaches a long time ago. We’ve robbed banks in western Nebraska, all over Wyoming, and in northern Colorado, and done well, but it sounds to me like we’ve been missing something.”

Tag shook his head. “Just robbing stagecoaches at random isn’t worth the effort, Tony. All you get is what the crew and passengers might have in their wallets and purses. But when you get a tip on big money being transported by a stage—like I got from Harry—it’s plenty worth the effort.”

“Opportunities like this with stagecoaches don’t come along very often, big brother,” said Bart, “but we’ve sure been successful robbing banks these past two years. We’ve been living well on our loot, plus we’ve got forty-five thousand in the kitty at the hideout. That’s seventy-five hundred for each man. This fifty thousand will sure add to the kitty—over eight thousand apiece. That’ll sure make my darling Lucinda happy.”

Gib laughed. “Yeah, it’ll make my sweet Kathryn happy too.”

Tag chuckled. “It ought to. When I came up with the idea of forming this gang, those wives of yours weren’t too happy about you guys becoming outlaws. But they’ve sure changed their tune since we’ve come home to the hideout these past two years with all that money.”

“Yep, Tag,” said Gib, “they sure have. Kathryn has her hopes up high because of the goal you’ve set for each member of the gang to have a quarter-million dollars so we can all head for California and live like kings the rest of our lives.”

“So does Lucinda,” said Bart. “Maybe the rest of you guys will find gals to marry in California so you can share your wealth with them like Gib and I are doing with our wives.”

Darryl Moran spoke up. “Well, before we reach that goal, we’ve got a lot more banks to rob.”

Tag nodded. “You’re right, baby brother, and I’ve got big plans. I’ll tell all of you about banks we’ll be hitting in the future when we get back to the hideout.” He looked toward the south. “Right now, we’ve got to concentrate on the stage that’s coming our way with the fifty thousand.”

Some twelve miles south of Chugwater, Buck Cummons pulled back on the reins, slowing the six-up team. A few seconds later, he veered the stage off the road and guided the team toward the gurgling stream of water known as Horse Creek. When Buck drew the team to a halt, Doke Veatch laid his double-barreled shotgun at his feet, then hopped down from the box and grasped a bucket from where it hung on a wire hook on the side of the coach.

Buck climbed down while his shotgunner was dipping the bucket in the creek, stepped up to the door, and pulled it open. “Doke’s gonna water the horses here, folks. It’s quite a stretch from Cheyenne to Wheatland, so we always stop here at Horse Creek and give the team a drink. If you’d like to step out and stretch your legs, you’re welcome to do so.”

Vern Stanton stepped out, adjusted the gun belt on his waist, glanced at the shotgunner as he was carrying the full bucket toward the horses, and said, “How about me helping Doke, Buck? I’m really eager to get to Douglas as soon as possible. I’ve been gone for over a month. My wife—”

“We only have one bucket, Mr. Stanton,” cut in Buck. “It won’t take Doke long to water the horses. We’ll be on our way shortly.”

Stanton sighed and nodded. “Okay.”

The others told Buck they would just stay in the coach. Stanton waited impatiently, pacing back and forth near the team while watching the shotgunner hurrying between the creek and the team, giving each horse a full bucket to drink.

The stop lasted a total of twenty minutes. The stage then pulled away from the creek bank and headed up the road.

In the patch of forest just south of Chugwater, the gang members were now on their feet in anticipation of the stage showing up.
Jason Moran was telling his brother Tag how excited he was about becoming filthy rich and spending the rest of his life in California, living high on the hog, when suddenly Darryl pointed south down the road. “Here comes the stage!”

Every eye turned that way, and they saw the cloud of dust on the road, preceded by the fast-moving stagecoach.

Tag ran his gaze over the exuberant faces of the other five. “Okay, boys. You know what to do.”

In the driver’s box on the stagecoach, Buck Cummons slowed the team as they drew near a narrow spot that was sided by huge boulders, each some fifteen feet in height.

As the stage entered the narrow passage, suddenly a large length of broken tree came tumbling down from the boulder on the right and blocked the coach’s path. “Whoa!” Cummons cried and quickly pulled rein, stopping the frightened horses.

The passengers were pushing their faces out the windows, and at the same instant, they and the crew saw five men, guns drawn, surrounding the stage.

Some of the horses whinnied nervously.

Gib Tully stood facing driver and shotgunner, and snapped loudly, “You first, driver! Throw your guns down on the ground. Your revolver
and
your rifle!”

Buck licked his lips, pulled his revolver from its holster, tossed it earthward, then leaned over and picked up the rifle that lay at his feet. From the corner of his eye, he saw the anger on Doke’s reddened features and whispered, “Don’t try anything. They’ll kill you.” With that, he tossed the rifle down.

On Doke’s side, Tony Chacone aimed his revolver at him. “Now you, mister shotgunner! Your scatter-gun
and
that gun on your hip!”

The expression on Doke’s face hardened. He felt his blood
heat up as he threw the shotgun to the ground. As he reached for his sidearm, he looked at the other robbers, and shock showed in his eyes.

Buck noticed it and frowned. Just as Doke was tossing his revolver earthward, a sixth man stepped around one of the boulders in front of the stage, gun in hand. When Doke saw him, his head bobbed. Buck’s frown deepened as he saw Doke and the sixth man stare at each other for a few seconds. The outlaw stepped up to the side of the coach, eyed the passengers through the windows, and barked, “All right! Everybody out!”

A tiny gasp escaped Anna Devries’s lips, and fear etched itself on her face. Stella patted her hand. “It’ll be all right, honey. They won’t hurt you. Let’s you and I go out first.”

“Bring your purses, ladies!” commanded Tag Moran.

As the women started out of the coach, Clayton Jubb and Wayne Hoover noticed Vern Stanton quickly reach down inside his right boot, take out a small revolver that was strapped to his leg, and stash it under the seat.

While the three men were climbing out of the coach, the Moran brothers held their guns on them. Chacone and Tully were still holding their guns pointed at the driver and shotgunner.

Tag stepped up to the men. “Get your hands in the air.”

All three obeyed. The outlaws noticed the mean look they were getting from the big, beefy man. Tag pointed his revolver straight at Vern Stanton’s face. “If you’re thinking about resisting, big boy, you’d better forget it.”

Vern did not reply, but burned Tag’s face with hot eyes. Tag relieved the big man of the gun in his holster and handed it to Jason.

He then patted Vern’s suit coat at the sides, making sure he was not also wearing a shoulder holster. He then relieved Jubb and Hoover of the small revolvers they wore in their shoulder holsters, and also handed them to Jason.

Tag grinned at the three men. “Next … your wallets.”

He took the wallets from their pockets and handed them to Darryl. “Okay, you guys get back in the coach.”

Vern Stanton glowered at the gang leader, struggling to keep his temper in check.

Through clenched teeth, Tag hissed, “Just do as I say, big boy, or you’ll be sorry.”

Stanton held Tag’s gaze for a few seconds, then turned slowly and moved toward the coach door.

When Stanton, Jubb, and Hoover had obeyed, and were seated in the coach as before, Tag stepped up to the two women. Anna was trembling.

Tag snatched the purse from her hand. “Get back in the coach.”

Anna bit her lower lip, blinked at the tears that had filled her eyes, glanced at a stern-faced Stella, and climbed back inside the coach.

When Tag faced Stella, who showed no fear of him, she set her jaw and said in her rough, croaky voice, “It takes a real coward to hold a gun on a woman.”

Tag sneered at her. “Keep your mouth shut, old woman! Gimme that purse.”

“You want my purse? Well, here it is!” Suddenly Stella swung the purse and hit him across the face with it.

Her sudden unexpected move took Tag off guard, and the impact of the blow caused him to stagger back a few steps. Rage filled his eyes and he lunged at her, fist swinging. He caught her on the cheek and she went down.