One More Sunrise (7 page)

Tag grabbed the purse and tossed it to Darryl. He gave Stella a hard stare, then moved toward the front of the coach and looked up at driver and shotgunner.

At that instant, Anna stepped out of the coach, concern for Stella having replaced the look of fear on her face, and leaned over, offering her hand. “Come on, dear, I’ll help you up.”

Stella shook her head again, in attempt to clear the cobwebs from her brain. She mumbled something indistinguishable, lifted her hand toward Anna, who grasped it and helped her to her feet.

A dazed look was in Stella’s eyes as she gingerly ran a shaky palm over the red welt that was forming on her pale cheek.

The Moran brothers looked on until the women were back inside the coach. Chacone and Tully still held their guns trained on driver and shotgunner.

Tag looked back up at the crew of two, and before he could speak, Buck said thinly, “You didn’t have to hit her. She’s an old woman.”

“Shut up, or I’ll drag you down here and beat you to a pulp. Now both of you toss down your wallets.”

Reluctantly, both men complied. Tag caught both wallets, handed them to Darryl, then set cold eyes on Buck. “Now I want the money box.”

Buck put a blank look on his face. “Money box? What’re you talking about? We don’t have a money box.”

Tag looked at Doke, then back at Buck. “Don’t lie to me, mister! You’re carrying money to the Bank of Casper from their affiliate bank in Fort Collins. Now produce it! You’ve got ten seconds! Refuse and you get a bullet in your thick head!”

Doke said, “You’d best give them the box. It isn’t worth getting killed over.”

Buck sighed, leaned over, and reluctantly reached under the seat.

He brought up the canvas-covered metal box, removed the canvas, and handed the box down to Tag.

Grasping the handle of the box, Tag smiled at Doke. “You gave him good advice, pal.”

Buck noticed that the gang’s leader held Doke’s gaze for a few seconds, then turned and said to his fellow outlaws, “Okay, boys, let’s go. We got the box.”

Passengers and crew watched while three of the gang members went behind the boulder to the right and led six horses into view. The gang placed the male passengers’ and the crew’s handguns in their saddlebags, along with the purses and wallets.

Tony then went to Doke’s double-barreled shotgun, picked it up off the ground, snapped it open, and took out the two shells. He threw the shells into the forest as far as he could, then tossed the shotgun into a nearby patch of weeds.

At the same time, Gib was emptying Buck’s rifle. He threw the cartridges over the top of the boulder, then flung the rifle toward its base. It landed in the dust, sliding, then clattered as it struck the hard surface of the boulder.

The gang mounted their horses, and just before Tag led them away, he gave Buck a hard look. “Thanks for the cash box,
pal
.”

He focused on Doke’s face for a second or two, then spurred his horse. The six outlaws galloped away in a cloud of dust, heading south.

Buck grabbed a handful of spare cartridges from a cloth sack at his feet, started out of the box, and said to Doke, “Let’s get to our guns!” Suddenly Vern Stanton jumped out of the coach, his spare revolver in hand, took aim at the fleeing outlaws, and fired. The last man in the line of galloping horses stiffened and peeled out of the saddle.

By this time, Buck and Doke were on the ground, picking up their weapons and loading them with the extra ammunition they carried up on the box.

The outlaws pulled rein and saw Darryl Moran lying on the ground, writhing in pain some twenty yards behind them. His riderless horse had left him behind and had joined the others.

Tag and the rest of his men looked beyond Darryl and saw the big man with the revolver in his hand taking aim at them. They also saw driver and shotgunner on the ground reloading their weapons.

“That big guy had that gun stashed somewhere on the stage!” exclaimed Bart Moran.

Vern Stanton fired his second shot, and the bullet hissed within inches of Gib Tully’s head. Gib whipped out his revolver and fired back, but missed Stanton completely. The rest of the outlaws were pulling their guns when Stanton fired another shot, and the slug ripped through Tag’s hat, sending it flying. Tag’s eyes bulged as he put his hand to his bare head.

At the same time, Buck Cummons shouldered his rifle and fired. The bullet tore through the flesh of Gib’s shoulder. He jerked from the impact. The outlaws were trying to take aim at the three men at the stagecoach, but their horses were dancing about fearfully and whinnying, spoiling any chance of getting off effective shots.

More bullets were coming from the driver and the big man.

Tony Chacone finally got his horse stilled long enough to fire a shot. The slug chewed dirt a few feet from Stanton, and the big man fired again. His bullet barely missed Tony’s left ear.

Anxiety framed Tag Moran’s face. “Gib, are you hurt bad?”

“It’s only a flesh wound, Tag,” gasped Tully, gripping his wounded shoulder. “The bullet went on through.”

Another slug whistled past them from the driver’s rifle.

Tag looked back at his youngest brother writhing on the ground. “Guys, Darryl’s hurt bad. We’ll only get shot up ourselves if we try to pick him up and take him with us. Doke will take him to a doctor, I’m sure. Let’s go!”

A
s the outlaws galloped away and disappeared over a rise, Vern Stanton looked at Buck Cummons and Doke Veatch, breathing heavily with anger. “I wish I had a way to follow ’em and get our guns and money back. I’d like to put ’em down like I did that one that’s lying on the ground out there.”

Clayton Jubb and Wayne Hoover left the coach and stepped up to the spot where the other three men stood, looking at the outlaw who lay flat on his back some fifty yards away. Inside the coach, Anna Devries had an arm around the dazed Stella Yoder and was looking at the men through the open door.

Buck turned to Stanton. “Where did you have that gun hidden?”

The man still had his gaze fixed on the fallen outlaw. Slowly he looked around at Cummons. “I had it in my boot, strapped to my leg. Never hurts a man to have a spare gun on him. I knew those rotten outlaws would make us give up our guns, so I took this one out of my boot while the women were leaving the coach and slipped it under the seat.”

Wayne Hoover said, “I knew you’d use it if you had the opportunity, Vern. Too bad Clayton and I didn’t have guns hidden on us too. Maybe we could have put some more of those dirty skunks down.”

Clayton Jubb grinned at Buck. “I’m sure you hit one of them, even though he stayed on his horse.”

Buck nodded. “I got him, all right. He’ll lose some blood.”

Stanton glanced at the fallen outlaw again, then turned to the driver. “How much money is in that metal box?”

“I was told by the Fargo agent in Fort Collins it was fifty thousand dollars.”

“Hey, look!” exclaimed Doke, pointing to the rise where the outlaws had disappeared from view.

“Well, lookee there,” said Stanton. “That guy’s horse is coming back to him!”

They watched as the black horse trotted down the slope and drew up to the outlaw on the ground, looking down at him and bobbing his head.

Still gripping his shotgun, Doke said, “I wonder if he’s still alive.”

“Well, if he is, we’ll just leave him there to die,” Vern Stanton said gruffly.

Doke shook his head. “We can’t do that. If the man’s alive, we have to get him to a doctor.”

“The closest doctor is back in Cheyenne,” said Buck. “Chugwater doesn’t have one, and the doctor who used to be in Wheatland died a couple years ago. They haven’t gotten a new one, yet. But we’re already behind in schedule, Doke. Even if that guy out there is still alive, we can’t take him to Cheyenne. We need to keep moving. We’ve got another passenger booked to get on the stage at Wheatland, and he and these people need to get to Casper.”

Doke nodded. “I understand that, but if he’s still alive, we can’t just let him die. I’ll take him to a doctor in Cheyenne on his horse, if you’ll let me do it and go on without me. I’ll ride his horse to Casper and meet you there.”

Buck sighed. “All right. Let’s all get on the stage, and we’ll take a few minutes to drive out there and see if he’s dead or alive.”

Vern Stanton shook his head. “I don’t understand you, Veatch. Why do you care if that no-good outlaw out there
is
still alive? He’s got my bullet in him because he robbed us. I say let him die!”

Buck sighed again. “Mr. Stanton, I tend to have the same feelings you do about this, but you were in the Civil War. I’ve read about how men on the battlefields saved the lives of wounded enemies because it was the decent thing to do. Right?”

Stanton’s bitter eyes played across the driver’s face. “Yeah. I guess so.”

“Let’s go,” said Buck, and headed for the front of the coach.

The trio climbed back inside the coach, and the crew mounted the box.

While Buck was driving the stage toward the fallen outlaw and the horse which was still standing over him, he looked at his shotgunner. “Doke, I couldn’t help but notice the way you and some of those robbers looked at each other, especially the leader. Do you know them?”

“Yeah. I know ’em.”

“I thought so. Well, who are they?”

“They’re the Tag Moran gang, who’ve been written up in the newspapers all over this part of the country for the past two years. They’ve robbed banks in Nebraska, Colorado, and Wyoming, and successfully eluded the law.”

“I’ve read about them. So how do you know them?”

“The four Moran brothers and I have known each other since we were boys over in Scottsbluff, Nebraska. We grew up together. I haven’t seen them since they went on the outlaw trail.” He squinted at the man lying on the ground as they drew near. “Looks to me like Darryl Moran lying there.”

Seconds later, when Buck pulled rein, Doke jumped down and hurried to the fallen man. All five passengers were watching him from inside the coach, then Vern Stanton opened the door and stepped out.

The outlaw’s horse whinnied at Doke as if to ask for help for his master when he knelt down beside him. Doke looked over his shoulder at Buck, who was still up on the box. “He’s unconscious, but still alive. And I was right. It’s Darryl Moran.”

Stanton moved up, stood over Doke, and ran his gaze between Doke and Buck. “I heard you two talking while we were driving up here. Doke, I still don’t agree with what you’re planning to do. Just because you and this outlaw used to be friends is no reason to go to the trouble of taking him all the way back to Cheyenne to a doctor. You oughtta let him die.”

Doke was checking the blood flow from the wound in Darryl’s back. He looked up at Stanton. “I can’t just let him die. Even though Darryl went bad like his brothers, I still have to try to save his life.”

“Okay, Doke,” said Buck from up on the seat, “I’ll take the stage on and let you take that guy to one of the doctors in Cheyenne. You will turn him over to the Laramie County sheriff, won’t you?”

“Of course. I’ll tell the doctor who he is, how he got shot, and once he’s patched Darryl up, the doctor can turn him over to the sheriff. But I just can’t let him die.”

While Vern Stanton scowled at him, Doke picked up the limp, wounded outlaw, cradling him in his arms. He turned to the big man. “Mr. Stanton, will you take Darryl and boost him up to me after I get in the saddle?”

At first, big Vern looked as if he would refuse, but he clenched his teeth and nodded. Doke placed the bleeding outlaw in Stanton’s arms, moved to the horse, took hold of the pommel, stepped into the stirrup, and swung into the saddle.

Stanton hoisted Darryl up to him, placing his limp form in a sitting position on the saddle in front of Doke. With the unconscious outlaw leaning against him, Doke looked up at Buck. “I’ll do my best to catch up with you by the time you get to Casper. If
not, I’ll run into you while you’re heading back south.”

Buck nodded. “I’ll be looking for you.”

Doke then wheeled the horse southward and headed toward Cheyenne.

Tag Moran and his gang rode hard for several miles, then Tag slowed his mount and motioned toward a small stream. “Let’s water the horses and ourselves, boys.”

As they moved at a slow walk toward the stream, Tag looked at Gib Tully, who was still holding his wounded shoulder. “We need to wrap that wound, Gib.”

“Yeah,” breathed Tully. “It’s not bleeding bad, but if we can stop the bleeding altogether, I’ll be all right till we get to the hideout. Kathryn can patch me up then.”

They drew up to the stream and dismounted. While the others were leading the horses into the slow-moving current to let them drink, Tony Chacone helped Gib sit down on a fallen tree trunk with Tag walking beside them. Tag ripped the sleeve of his good arm from Gib’s shirt and went to work to make a bandage for his shoulder wound.

While he was doing so, Tony said, “Wasn’t that something, Darryl’s horse leaving us and heading back to him.”

Gib nodded. “Doesn’t surprise me. Ol’ Blackie kept running when Darryl fell off him ’cause guns were roaring. He was scared. But when we were riding hard with no guns going off, it didn’t take ol’ Blackie long to decide to go back to his master.”