All My Tomorrows

by Al Lacy

She watched Johnny move to the buggy, climb in, and shake the reins.

  As it rolled away, he waved. She waved back, then stepped in, closed the door, and leaned her back against it. A lantern burned on a small table next to the door. She lifted her left hand and gazed at the ring that sparkled on her finger. With a happy heart, she headed toward the parlor door, eager to show her parents the ring and let them know that all was well concerning her future with the handsome young lawman.

  The next morning, Johnny Bostin dismounted in front of the U.S. Marshal’s office, his heart throbbing with joy from the night before. When his feet touched ground and he headed toward the door, he put his thoughts on the business at hand.

  As he stepped into the office, he saw Deputy Jack Caldwell sitting on a chair by the deputy at the front desk. He greeted both men, noting that Caldwell looked a bit pale. “Jack, are you not feeling well?”

  “I’ve had a sour stomach since I got back from Canon City last night. I’ll be okay, though. Chief’s waiting for us in his office.”

  The two deputies had a few minutes with Chief Max Carew, who cautioned them to be very careful, but assured them he had the utmost confidence that they would bring the gang to justice. He handed Johnny a slip of paper bearing the name of the farmer who had reported seeing the gang in his yard at the well, and a description of how to find the farm.

  The pair mounted up and trotted their horses due south. When they rode past the spot where Johnny had proposed to Priscilla the night before, a warm feeling washed over his heart.

  They arrived in Pueblo two hours later, and turned east. Just under an hour after that, they rode through the gate of the farm some twelve miles from Pueblo. Farmer Bill Farley was walking between the house and the barn when he saw the two riders heading straight toward him. Their badges glinted in the sun.

  He was smiling as they drew up. The younger one said, “Mr. Farley, I’m Deputy United States Marshal John Bostin, and this is Deputy United States Marshal Jack Caldwell. We’re on the trail of the Widner gang, and Chief Carew asked us to come by and talk to you.”

  Farley nodded. “Sure. Slip outta those saddles and we’ll go sit down on the back porch of the house.”

  When they were climbing the porch steps, the deputies noticed the face of a woman at the kitchen window. She smiled and disappeared.

  After talking a few minutes, the deputies were assured that there were five gang members who took water from the well, and that they rode out headed due east. Farley reminded them that he heard the gang members say they were going to hole up nearby for a while and rest.

  While they talked, Johnny noticed that Jack was rubbing his stomach and there was less color in his face. When they were ready to go, Jack gritted his teeth as he stood up and his hand went to his midsection.

  Johnny frowned. “Jack, are you all right?”

  Jack bent over. “I … I’m in a lot of pain and I’m getting nauseated. But it’ll probably pass. We need to get going.”

  Johnny shook his head. “You’re in no shape to go on. I’ll go after the gang alone.”

  “But it’s gonna be tough enough for two of us. You can’t go up against them alone.”

  Johnny turned to the farmer. “Mr. Farley, could I get you to take this stubborn mule to the doctor in Pueblo?”

  “Sure. Be glad to. I’ll take him in my wagon. You go on, Deputy.”

  Johnny rode off the Farley farm. By asking questions of farmers and villagers along the way, he learned that they had seen five men riding together, a couple of days before, heading due east.

  Later that afternoon, as he trotted his horse along the road, he caught sight of a group of men riding southward through a field about a quarter-mile from the road. He slowed his horse, squinted, and was able to count five riders. A moment later, they passed over a rise and disappeared.

  Johnny felt sure the five riders were the ones he was pursuing. They must be holed up somewhere over the rise. He put his horse to a gallop until he reached the crest, then slowed to a walk. He saw that the riders were heading toward a small farmhouse in a grove of cottonwood trees.

  He followed at a distance, making sure if they looked back, they would think he was just a rider heading across the fields, minding his own business. Drawing rein in the shade of a clump of trees about a hundred yards away, he watched them ride up to the aging old farmhouse and dismount. The place looked deserted, which made Johnny relieved. There wouldn’t be a farm family involved.

  When the riders put their horses in the dilapidated old barn a few yards from the side of the house, they gathered on the front porch and sat down.

  Leaving his horse in the shade of the trees, Johnny made a circle and drew up close to the farmhouse by crawling on the ground and hiding behind a large boulder that was imbedded in the soft soil. He noted that the area was cluttered with similar boulders, each rising two to three feet above the ground.

  Johnny peered around the edge of the boulder and immediately recognized Dolph Widner. It was the gang for sure!

  Pondering the situation for a few minutes, Johnny had an idea. He thought on it a few more minutes and decided he had the solution. Quickly, he went back to his horse, mounted up, and galloped toward Pueblo.

  When he reached Pueblo, the young lawman went into a clothing store and purchased eight hats, all with wide brims. Some were black, some were brown, and some were white.

  At dawn, Deputy U.S. Marshal Johnny Bostin hunkered behind a boulder some sixty feet from the front porch of the old farmhouse where the Dolph Widner gang was holed up. He looked toward the barn, which he knew was now unoccupied. Under cover of darkness, he had gone into the barn and led all five horses to the clump of trees where he was yesterday, and tied them along with his own horse, where they couldn’t be seen from the hideout.

  Johnny ran his gaze over the eight western-style hats that he had placed at different spots in a large half-circle around the front of the house. They were positioned strategically on boulders—which were large enough to hide a man—and would appear to be deputy marshals, ready to cut them down if they resisted arrest. Heavy rocks on the back sides of the hats would keep them from being blown off by the morning breeze.

  Rifle in hand, Johnny had his head high enough so he could see the house, and a few feet from his head was one of the hats, making it look like two armed men behind his particular boulder.

  At sunup, all five of the gang members came out onto the front porch, obviously intending to make their way to the adjacent barn.

  Johnny prayed for help, waited for all five to step off the porch, then raised his head a little higher and aimed his rifle at them. “Everybody freeze right where you are! Get those hands high in the air!”

  The outlaws’ heads swung around, and their eyes bulged as they saw the numerous hats, thinking they were cornered and outnumbered by a band of lawmen.

  “Dolph, there are nine of ’em!” one of the gang said. “We ain’t got a chance!”

  “You’re right about that, mister!” shouted the lone lawman. “My men and I are not going to play games! If you don’t drop your gun belts instantly, we’ll shoot you down like dogs and save the hangman from having to put ropes around your necks!”

  Late that afternoon, Sheriff Clay Bostin was in his office when Deputy Randy Ashbrook limped through the door in a hurry, using his cane. “Sheriff! Come outside! You gotta see this!”

  When the sheriff reached the boardwalk with Randy at his side, he was overjoyed to see his son dismounting with all five members of the Widner gang on their horses with their hands tied behind their backs, their faces grim and sullen.

  Johnny grinned at his father. “Got room enough for Dolph and his boys in your jail, Dad?”

  Clay’s mouth hung open. “How … how did you—”

  “I’ll explain later, Dad. Let’s get them locked up first.”

  “Where’s Jack, son?”

  Johnny explained about Jack’s stomach giving him trouble yesterday morning, and that far
mer Bill Farley had taken him into Pueblo to the doctor. “I stopped in Pueblo this morning and found out that Jack had to have his appendix out. He won’t be home for a week to ten days.”

  By this time, a crowd was gathering around the front of the sheriff’s office.

  They looked on in amazement as the sheriff said, “Son, you’re telling me that you did this all by yourself?”

  Johnny grinned. “No, Dad. Not by myself. The Lord helped me.”

  Johnny then went to the U. S. Marshal’s office and told the story to Chief Max Carew.

  Priscilla Wheeler ran into Johnny’s arms as soon as she opened the parsonage door in response to the knock. She explained that her parents were making a visit to one of the church members on the other side of town.

  They went to the Bostin home, and Mary was happy to see her son and to hear that the Widner gang was behind bars. Johnny told her that they would be transported to the Canon City prison tomorrow, where they would face the hangman.

  Johnny explained to his mother about Jack Caldwell, then took Priscilla back to the parsonage and spent a few minutes telling the story to the pastor and Madelyne, who were home by then. The Lord was praised, and Johnny was invited back for dinner that evening.

  When Johnny returned to the U. S. Marshal’s office, Chief Carew was standing in the front office, telling the story of the gang’s capture to two deputies who had just returned from an assignment. The deputies congratulated the young deputy, then Carew took Johnny into his office and closed the door. “Sit down, Johnny.”

  Carew sat down behind his desk and leaned his elbows on the top. “I knew that President Grover Cleveland was to be up in Denver for a couple of days this week for a special meeting with the Indian agents in this part of the West. I wired Chief U.S. Marshal John Brockman in Denver an hour ago about your single-handed capture of the Widner gang, since his office has jurisdiction over this office, as you know.”

  “Yes, sir. Like you and my dad, I admire Chief Brockman very much. Dad knows him personally, but I have never met him. So the president is in Denver right now?”

  “Yes, and listen to this. Brockman wired me back five minutes ago. He said he went to President Cleveland and told him about your accomplishment. The president had heard about the bloody Widner gang back in Washington, D.C. Brockman’s wire informed me that President Cleveland is making a special trip down here by train tomorrow to honor you for what you did. Chief Brockman is coming with him.”

  Johnny put a shaky hand to his mouth. “Chief … I … I’m scared.”

  Carew laughed. “You single-handedly captured the most notorious gang of killers in these parts, and you’re scared to face the president?”

  Johnny swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

  The next afternoon, the bulk of Colorado Springs’ population was on hand at the railroad station, where on the rear platform of the presidential coach, Chief Max Carew stood between the president and the tall, dark chief U.S. marshal from the Denver office. A nervous Johnny Bostin stood on the ground, ready to mount the steps of the platform when it was time. Carew introduced President Cleveland first and the crowd gave him a rousing welcome. Cleveland then took a step back, allowing Chief Carew opportunity to make his next introduction.

  Carew then introduced Chief U.S. Marshal John Brockman, and because the people of Colorado Springs knew Brockman’s outstanding record as a federal lawman, they also gave him a rousing welcome.

  Cleveland gestured for Brockman to step forward and speak first. Sheriff Clay Bostin and his wife, Mary, stood at the forefront of the crowd. Close by the Bostins were their pastor and his wife, and standing next to Madelyne was a bright-faced Priscilla.

  Brockman smiled as he looked at the sheriff and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, your sheriff and I have met on several occasions over these past few years, and I very much admire him. I’m sure that with his open and bold testimony, all of you know he is a dedicated Christian.”

  Heads in the crowd were nodding.

  Brockman smiled. “I also happen to know that his wife is also a dedicated Christian, as is their son, whom we are honoring today.” He looked down and smiled at Johnny, whose face was a bit pale. Johnny managed to return the smile.

  Brockman continued. “I will not infringe on the president’s time, but I want to say to you, Deputy Marshal Johnny Bostin, I am impressed with your courage and adeptness as a lawman. God bless you.”

  There was applause, then as the president stepped forward, he motioned for Johnny to mount the steps of the platform and stand beside him. Carew stepped back, giving Johnny room.

  The crowd listened intently as President Grover Cleveland presented Deputy U. S. Marshal Johnny Bostin with a special written letter of commendation signed by himself, commending him for his courageous and resourceful capture of the infamous Dolph Widner gang.

  The crowd applauded. Johnny noticed that Priscilla had tears running down her cheeks, as did her mother and his own mother. Sheriff Clay Bostin’s buttons were about to pop off his shirt. He and Brockman exchanged smiles.

  Cleveland said, “Deputy Bostin, I’m sure these people would like to hear a few words from you.”

  Holding the letter, Johnny swallowed hard, ran his gaze over the faces of the crowd, then turned to Cleveland. “Mr. President, I want to thank you for this honor. I … I don’t feel that I deserve it, but I will always cherish this letter. The reason I don’t feel I deserve it is because I was not alone in capturing the Widner gang. I had help.”

  Surprise showed on the president’s face, as well as the faces of most people in the crowd. Some, however—including the Bostins and the Wheelers—knew what was coming.

  Feeling more relaxed, now, Johnny said so all could hear, “The one who helped me capture the killers is the same one who went to Calvary’s cross for me, shed His precious blood, and died to provide this sinner forgiveness for his sins and salvation for his lost soul—my Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ. He promised in His Word that He would never leave me nor forsake me. Yesterday, I called on Him to help me capture the gang because I knew I couldn’t do it by myself. All the praise and glory goes to Him.”

  While the crowd was applauding, Johnny motioned for Priscilla to come to him. Blinking in astonishment, she left her parents and made her way to the steps of the platform. John Brockman moved down, gave her his hand, and helped her mount the steps. She gave him a smile that expressed her thanks.

  Johnny took Priscilla’s hand, then looked out at the crowd. Smiles were spreading on faces.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” said Johnny, “since the Lord has allowed me this moment in the limelight, I want to make use of it. I would like to announce that this lovely young lady, Miss Priscilla Wheeler, has consented to become my bride. We plan to be united in holy matrimony next June. I don’t deserve her, either, but the Lord gave her to me, and I’m going to keep her!”

  There was applause mingled with cheers.

  A proud Clay Bostin applauded with tears in his eyes, as did Mary and the Wheelers.

  When the applause and cheering faded, President Grover Cleveland congratulated the young couple, and the whole crowd cheered and applauded again.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  It was a clear April morning in 1887 on the Arizona desert. At Fort Apache, Colonel James Strasburg—commandant of the fort—stood outside the stockade gate and watched as his four patrol units rode away for their daily security tour.

  A flood of golden sunshine was on the desert, and a dry, fragrant breeze drifted across the wide-open spaces, carrying the sweet scent of the wildflowers that blossomed in every direction.

  Strasburg gave the patrol units one last glance as they spread out in four directions, then turned and walked back inside the fort. The corporal who stood at the gate said, “I hope all is quiet out there on the desert today, Colonel.”

  “Me too,” said Strasburg, “but you never know about those Apaches.”

  As the colonel headed toward his house inside the fort,
the corporal closed the gate and returned to his partner in the tower.

  Strasburg smiled when he saw his guest come out of the officers’ barracks on the other side of the compound and head toward the house, where Della was preparing a special breakfast.

  His guest was Colonel Fred Howell, who was on his way from where he had served as a major at Fort Laramie, Wyoming, to serve as commandant at Fort Thomas in southern Arizona on the Gila River.

  At that moment, Howell’s escort of twelve cavalrymen was eating breakfast in the mess hall.

  Strasburg had been pleasantly surprised upon meeting Colonel Howell yesterday to learn that he was a born-again man and was dedicated to the Lord. It had made the evening they had spent together a special blessing.

  Others expected at the Strasburg house any minute were Fort Apache’s chaplain Ben Locke, his wife, Tina, and missionaries Cody and Donna Rogers.

  As he met up with Colonel Howell at the front porch, he noticed both the other couples coming toward the house.

  “Good morning, Colonel,” said Strasburg. “Sleep well?”

  “Sure did, Colonel. I wish I could take that bed to Fort Thomas with me.”

  Strasburg laughed. “Well, maybe they’ll have one that good.”

  “I sure hope so.”

  The other two couples drew up. Strasburg introduced the Lockes to his guest, both of whom were showing their seventy-plus years. The Rogerses were in their mid-twenties.

  Strasburg said, “I want you folks to know that Colonel Howell knows and loves our Lord Jesus.”

  Instant smiles spread over four faces, and each one told Howell how happy they were to know he was their brother in Christ.

  Howell set smiling eyes on Donna. “Mrs. Rogers, my wife Sarah has auburn hair just like yours.”

  Donna smiled. “Oh?”

  “Mm-hmm. Well, not exactly like yours. We are in our fifties now. So her hair has some gray creeping in.” He chuckled. “Like mine.”

  “Well, Colonel, if the Lord lets me live to see my fifties, I’m sure there’ll be some gray creeping into my hair too.”