Authors: Al Lacy
“Come over here, dear,” said Vivian, and led her to a chest of drawers. She opened one and took out a small bolt of light blue cloth. “We definitely were planning on bringing a girl home, and I bought this material so I could make her a dress. Do you like it?”
“Oh yes! It’s beautiful!”
Tom’s attention had gone to the window. He took a step closer and said, “Well, look at that, will you?”
Katie and Vivian stepped up beside him and looked out to see Richie coming down the lane toward the house.
In Topeka, the Shawnee County sheriff and his deputies had joined Dale, Royce, and the older orphan boys in their search for Richie Woods. The conductor and the engineer were holding up the departure of the train at the depot while the search was being made.
The town had been covered, and the searchers were standing in the dusty street in front of the sheriff’s office as Dale and Royce were thanking the sheriff and his deputies for their help.
Johnny Smith had suggested that Richie might have headed for the Selby farm, but Dale, Royce, and the sheriff agreed that the boy would have no way of knowing where the Selby farm was located.
The sheriff said, “Gentlemen, I know the train has to move on, but my men and I will keep searching. We’ll cover every road and every farm until we find him. We’ll wire the depots ahead of you and let you know when we have him.”
“All right, Sheriff,” said Dale. “We’ll have you put him on the next train through, and we’ll—”
“There he is!” cried Johnny Smith, pointing down the street.
Every eye in the group followed Johnny’s finger to see Tom Selby on his saddle horse with Richie Woods riding in front of him. A smile the size of Texas gleamed from Richie’s freckled face as Tom drew rein.
Dale and Royce stepped up with the sheriff on their heels.
“Where did you find him, Mr. Selby?” asked Dale.
Tom grinned. “In my front yard. He was walking the direction he saw us go when he hurried out of the terminal. A couple of teenage boys from a farm near mine picked him up and gave him a ride.”
Dale frowned at the boy. “Richie, you shouldn’t have left the terminal. We’ve been looking all over town for you. The sheriff and his deputies have been helping us. Come on. We’ve got to get back to the train so it can leave.”
Tom’s saddle squeaked as he leaned closer to Dale. “We’ve decided to take Richie too, Mr. Radcliff. He’s really a special boy. We’ll just tighten our belts. Even though we don’t have another bedroom, Richie has agreed to sleep on the floor in Katie’s room.”
Dale smiled, as did Royce. “Well, I’m glad for this. It’s good to know that Richie and Katie won’t be separated.”
Tom nodded and placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Richie has something to say to you, Mr. Radcliff.”
Richie’s face crimsoned as he looked down at Dale from the saddle. Tears formed in his eyes. “M-Mr. R-Radcliff, I … I’m sorry I ran away. I’m sorry I caused so much trouble. But … look how good it turned out. I’m gonna have a new home and be with my sister!”
The men and boys all laughed, thankful that the situation had turned out so well.
Dale let a grin curve his lips. “You’re forgiven, son. I can imagine how hard it was for you to think of being separated from
Katie. You’ve got a lot of pluck, I’ll say that for you. I hope you have a wonderful life. You be good now and mind the Selbys.”
“Oh, I will, sir,” said Richie, turning to look up into Tom’s eyes.
Tom smiled and tweaked his new foster son’s nose.
Richie giggled.
“Let’s get back to the depot, Mr. Selby,” said Dale. “We’ll get your signature on the official papers, and you can take Katie’s brother home.”
I
n Colorado Springs, Colorado, on that same morning of April 6, El Paso County Sheriff Clay Bostin stood at the kitchen window finishing his final cup of coffee while his wife, Mary, was putting the breakfast dishes in the dishpan.
Bostin looked up at the Rocky Mountains to the west of the house and marveled at God’s handiwork. The sun tipped the apex of Pike’s Peak rosy red. A deepening rose color reflected on the adjoining mountain tops and this magnificent glow crept down the shadowed slopes. The gray dawn that had been there when the Bostins sat down to breakfast had now changed to a radiant morning with a golden red hue.
Bostin finished the last drop of coffee and placed the cup in the hot, soapy water in the dishpan. He smiled at Mary, who was wiping the table with a wet cloth, and pointed with his chin at yesterday’s newspaper, which lay on a small table next to the cupboard. “I meant to ask you last night. Did you get a chance to read the paper yesterday?”
Mary nodded. “Yes, and like you told me, there’s a notice that there’s another orphan train coming in on Wednesday, April 12.”
Clay met her gaze. “Do you want to try again?”
“Yes. Very much so. Though the Lord didn’t give either one of
us peace about taking an orphan from the last two trains, I really believe He has a special one picked out for us. Maybe he or she will be on next Wednesday’s train.”
The Bostins, who were in their late twenties, had agreed that whether God had a boy or a girl picked out for them, either would be fine. It was like when a couple had a baby by birth, they must take what comes: boy or girl.
Mary moved back to the cupboard and laid the cloth down.
For a moment, she allowed her mind to reach back to the past, when she was sixteen years old and had to have surgery, which unexpectedly rendered her unable to bear children. She thought of how devastated she was when the doctor gave her the bad news.
Another fragment of memory flashed into her mind: the moment when she told the young man who wanted to marry her that she could never give him children. A warm feeling went through her as she remembered Clay’s words.
“Mary, darling, I love you with everything that’s in me. If we can’t have a child of our own, then we’ll adopt one, but I want you for my wife, no matter what.”
A lump rose in Mary’s throat as she looked at her husband. “I love you, Clay. More than you will ever know.”
He stepped to her and folded her in his arms. “That works two ways, beautiful. You’ll never know how much I love you, either.”
As was their custom, the Bostins took time to read a chapter of Scripture together and to spend a few minutes in prayer before he went to his office.
They had just finished praying when there was a knock at the front door of the house. As Clay left the kitchen to see who was at the door, Mary picked up her dishcloth, dipped it into the soapy water, and began washing the dishes.
When Clay opened the door, he found Western Union operator Gerald Pearson holding a yellow envelope in his hand.
Clay smiled. “Well, good morning, Gerald. You’re at it early, aren’t you?”
“You might say that, Sheriff. I have a telegram for you and it’s urgent. I’ll wait to see if you want to reply.” As he spoke, he handed the envelope to the tall, broad-shouldered lawman.
Clay opened it quickly and saw that the telegram was from Warden George Gibson at the Colorado Territorial Prison in Canon City. While reading it, he could hear Mary’s footsteps coming down the hall from the kitchen.
When she drew up, drying her hands on a dishtowel, she nodded to Gerald Pearson, noting the grim look on her husband’s face. “What is it, honey?”
Clay set his jaw. “Bad news. You remember Shad Gatlin was to be hanged at sunrise this morning.”
Mary’s brow furrowed. “Yes.”
“Well, he escaped from the prison last night without the guards knowing it until dawn. He’s on the loose.”
The sheriff, Mary, and Gerald Pearson knew that it was Clay’s deputy, Art Flynn, who had spotted Gatlin in the nearby town of Widefield two weeks previously, got the drop on him, and put him under arrest. Gatlin, who was from New Mexico, had been convicted of murder there three years ago and escaped before they could hang him. He had murdered at least eleven people in southern Colorado since then, including two children. A week after Deputy Sheriff Art Flynn had brought Gatlin in, he went to trial, was convicted, and was sentenced to hang at sunrise the morning of April 6 at the Territorial Prison.
Clay set concerned eyes on Mary. “Gatlin was carrying a grudge for Art. He just might come after him. I’ve got to ride like the wind and get to the Flynn house immediately. Gerald, I need
to you to go my office for me. When my other two deputies show up—which they will shortly—tell them where I’ve gone and why, will you?”
“Sure, Sheriff.”
“Then wire Warden Gibson and tell him I’m on the alert for Gatlin. Bill my office for the wire charge, okay?”
“Will do,” said Pearson. He excused himself to Mary, bounded off the porch, mounted up, and galloped away.
Clay went to the small barn behind the house, saddled and bridled his bay gelding, and led him up to Mary, who was now standing by the back porch. He took her in his arms, kissed her soundly, told her he loved her, and leaped into the saddle.
She watched until her husband was out of sight, then climbed the back porch steps, took the galvanized washtub off the wall, and carried it into the kitchen.
Nearly two hours had passed when Mary Bostin was hanging her wash on the clothesline behind the house. She heard pounding hoofbeats and looked up to see her husband come riding in, his face pale.
Her heart sank as Clay slid from the saddle.
“Honey, don’t tell me—”
“Gatlin got to the whole Flynn family, honey.”
Mary’s hand went to her mouth. “Oh no!”
Clay’s voice was strained as he said, “When I arrived at the house, I found Art, Ella, and little four-year-old Ronnie in pools of blood on the kitchen floor. Art and Ronnie were dead. Ella was dying. She lived long enough to tell me that they were just sitting down to breakfast when Gatlin burst into the kitchen. He shot Art first, then Ella, then Ronnie. Art and Ronnie were killed instantly. Gatlin must have thought all three were dead, because
he dashed out of the house immediately and rode away. Ella got that much out, then died.”
Tears filled Mary’s eyes. “Oh, Clay, this is terrible. Poor Ella. How awful to see her husband and little boy shot to death right before her eyes.”
“Yes. That low-down skunk has got to pay, honey. He had to have stolen a horse somewhere near the prison. I found the hoofprints by the back porch and followed them on the road far enough to be able to tell that he is heading due east. No doubt he wants to get across the Kansas line. I’m going after him.”
Mary felt a chill touch her backbone. She had never gotten used to her husband having to hunt down vicious outlaws. “Which deputy are you taking with you?”
“Neither. I’m going after him alone. With Art dead, we’re short of deputies. I have to leave Brent and Randy to watch over the town and the county. They both offered to go with me, but understood how it has to be when I explained it.”
Mary’s lips lost color. “But, darling, I’m afraid for you to go after that beast alone. He’s a crafty, heartless killer.”
“I have no choice. I can’t leave the town and the county with just one deputy to watch over them.”
“I—I understand. I just wish it didn’t have to be this way. I’ll pack food for your saddlebags while you feed and water your horse.”
Clay thanked her and asked her to bring his Bible as well, and led the horse toward the small barn.
In the kitchen, while she packed food in paper bags, Mary prayed in her heart for God’s protection on her husband as he trailed the killer.
When Clay led his gelding up to the back porch, Mary came out the door with the paper bags in her arms and his Bible in her hand. She handed him the Bible first. He inserted it in the saddlebag
where he always carried it when traveling on horseback.
She then gave him the packed food, and he placed it in the other saddlebag.
He then took Mary in his arms. “Sweetheart, this is one of those times we talked about before you married this lawman. We know this is part of my job. I’m in God’s hands, and there is no more perfect place to be. You pray with me that the Lord will deliver that killer into my hands real soon.”
“I will, darling, but if you’re not back by next Wednesday, I won’t go to the depot to look at the orphans. We need to do that together. We’ll just have to wait till the next orphan train comes through.”
“I hope I will have caught Gatlin and brought him back by then, but if not, you should go ahead and prayerfully look the orphans over. If you feel an attraction toward a certain boy or girl, and the Lord gives you peace about him or her, go ahead and sign the papers for the child and bring him or her home. You have proven over and over on other matters how well you know the mind of the Lord, and I trust your judgment.”
Mary smiled. “You flatter me, Clay. You’re sure you want me to take this responsibility on myself?”
“Dead positive.”
“All right. If you’re not back by Wednesday, I’ll look the orphans over and follow the Lord’s leading.”
“Good. Well, I’ve got to get going.”
Clay kissed Mary ardently, and she clung to him, reluctant to let him go.
He sensed her fear and gently pulled away, still keeping his arms around her. He met her tear-dimmed gaze. “Like I said, sweetheart, this is part of my job.”
“I know, love, and I send you off in God’s care. Please get your job done and hurry home.”
“I’ll give it my best, honey. Take care of yourself too.”
“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me. Just catch that beast and come back to me.”
Clay kissed her again, then turned and quickly mounted his horse. As he settled in the saddle, he said softly, “I love you.”
“I love you too.” Mary’s throat tightened with fear.
She watched his beloved form until horse and rider were out of sight, then went into the small white clapboard house and hurried to their bedroom. She fell to her knees with her elbows resting on the bed and her head lowered into her hands, and prayed, asking God’s protection on Clay and to help him catch the killer quickly.
She rose from her knees with the peace in her heart that passes all understanding, and busied herself around the house, trying to make the hours pass quickly.