blood off the table next to the lifeless form that was covered with the sheet.
Dr. Dane introduced the sheriff to Doke Veatch, explaining that Doke was shotgunner on the Wells Fargo stage that ran the route from Fort Collins to Casper.
Polson shook Doke’s hand. “Sure. Your face is familiar. I’ve seen you on the stage several times when it’s been here in Cheyenne.”
Doke smiled. “I’ve seen you too, Sheriff.”
“I’ve met your driver, but I can’t think of his name.”
“Buck Cummons.”
Polson snapped his fingers. “Yes! Buck Cummons. He’s been with Wells Fargo for quite a while, hasn’t he?”
“Yes, sir. Over twenty years.”
Dr. Dane pulled the sheet down, exposing the face of the dead man. “I’ll let Doke tell you the story, Sheriff.”
Doke told the story, exactly as he had told it to the doctor, adding that they were carrying the metal cash box containing fifty thousand dollars from the Bank of Fort Collins to the Bank of Casper, which the robbers somehow knew was aboard.
The sheriff rubbed his chin, leaned close to the lifeless form, and studied the facial features. He turned to Doke. “How many robbers were there?”
“Six, including this one.”
Polson rubbed his chin again and looked down once more at the face of the corpse. “Sounds like the Tag Moran gang to me. They’re the only gang of six that are robbing banks in the territory. Though I have no photographs of any of the gang’s members, I feel certain from the descriptions sent to me by lawmen in Colorado and Nebraska that this is indeed one of the Moran brothers.”
Doke felt his stomach roll over.
Polson rubbed his chin thoughtfully once more. “Strange.”
Doke frowned. “What do you mean, Sheriff?”
“As far as I know, the Moran gang has never held up a stagecoach before. They concentrate on banks.” He paused and shook his head. “But of course, as you explained, you were carrying the metal box containing fifty thousand dollars that somehow they had found out about. This is no doubt why they held up the stage.”
“I would say so, sir.”
“I’ll wire the bank of Fort Collins about the robbery, even though I know Wells Fargo will do so as soon as they learn about it in Wheatland.”
“Yes, sir,” said Doke. “Well, if it’s all right with you, I’ll take this dead outlaw’s horse and ride north. I need to catch up to the stagecoach by dawn tomorrow morning before Buck has to head back south from Casper.”
“Sure,” said the sheriff. “Just let Wells Fargo have the horse.”
Doke nodded. “Fine.”
Dr. Dane laid a hand on Doke’s shoulder. “I want to commend you, Doke, for the compassion you showed this outlaw. Most men wouldn’t have bothered with him. They’d just have let him die and said good riddance.”
Doke rubbed the back of his neck. “I just couldn’t go off and leave the man lying on the ground, bleeding, Doctor. I had to try to save his life.”
“Well, indeed you are to be commended,” said Polson. “It was a genuine act of mercy.”
Doke smiled. “I guess there’s enough callousness in this world, Sheriff. Well, I’d better get going.”
Doke bid good-bye to Ella Dover, then the doctor and the sheriff followed him into the office, where he also bid good-bye to Naomi Logan.
Both men stepped out onto the boardwalk and waved to the Wells Fargo shotgunner as he rode away, riding north out of town.
Dr. Dane turned to the sheriff. “I’ve read a lot about this Moran gang. They seem to be quite elusive. Not one of them has ever been in jail.”
“Right. They’re slick for sure. But one of these days they’ll make a mistake and get themselves caught. Not too long ago, I was in contact with Chief U.S. Marshal John Brockman in Denver about all the banks the Moran gang have robbed right here in Laramie County. He is aware of every one of their robberies inWyoming, Nebraska, and Colorado. He told me if the gang isn’t caught soon by lawmen and posses in the
Dr. Dane introduced the sheriff to Doke Veatch, explaining that Doke was shotgunner on the Wells Fargo stage that ran the route from Fort Collins to Casper.
Polson shook Doke’s hand. “Sure. Your face is familiar. I’ve seen you on the stage several times when it’s been here in Cheyenne.”
Doke smiled. “I’ve seen you too, Sheriff.”
“I’ve met your driver, but I can’t think of his name.”
“Buck Cummons.”
Polson snapped his fingers. “Yes! Buck Cummons. He’s been with Wells Fargo for quite a while, hasn’t he?”
“Yes, sir. Over twenty years.”
Dr. Dane pulled the sheet down, exposing the face of the dead man. “I’ll let Doke tell you the story, Sheriff.”
Doke told the story, exactly as he had told it to the doctor, adding that they were carrying the metal cash box containing fifty thousand dollars from the Bank of Fort Collins to the Bank of Casper, which the robbers somehow knew was aboard.
The sheriff rubbed his chin, leaned close to the lifeless form, and studied the facial features. He turned to Doke. “How many robbers were there?”
“Six, including this one.”
Polson rubbed his chin again and looked down once more at the face of the corpse. “Sounds like the Tag Moran gang to me. They’re the only gang of six that are robbing banks in the territory. Though I have no photographs of any of the gang’s members, I feel certain from the descriptions sent to me by lawmen in Colorado and Nebraska that this is indeed one of the Moran brothers.”
Doke felt his stomach roll over.
Polson rubbed his chin thoughtfully once more. “Strange.”
Doke frowned. “What do you mean, Sheriff?”
“As far as I know, the Moran gang has never held up a stagecoach before. They concentrate on banks.” He paused and shook his head. “But of course, as you explained, you were carrying the metal box containing fifty thousand dollars that somehow they had found out about. This is no doubt why they held up the stage.”
“I would say so, sir.”
“I’ll wire the bank of Fort Collins about the robbery, even though I know Wells Fargo will do so as soon as they learn about it in Wheatland.”
“Yes, sir,” said Doke. “Well, if it’s all right with you, I’ll take this dead outlaw’s horse and ride north. I need to catch up to the stagecoach by dawn tomorrow morning before Buck has to head back south from Casper.”
“Sure,” said the sheriff. “Just let Wells Fargo have the horse.”
Doke nodded. “Fine.”
Dr. Dane laid a hand on Doke’s shoulder. “I want to commend you, Doke, for the compassion you showed this outlaw. Most men wouldn’t have bothered with him. They’d just have let him die and said good riddance.”
Doke rubbed the back of his neck. “I just couldn’t go off and leave the man lying on the ground, bleeding, Doctor. I had to try to save his life.”
“Well, indeed you are to be commended,” said Polson. “It was a genuine act of mercy.”
Doke smiled. “I guess there’s enough callousness in this world, Sheriff. Well, I’d better get going.”
Doke bid good-bye to Ella Dover, then the doctor and the sheriff followed him into the office, where he also bid good-bye to Naomi Logan.
Both men stepped out onto the boardwalk and waved to the Wells Fargo shotgunner as he rode away, riding north out of town.
Dr. Dane turned to the sheriff. “I’ve read a lot about this Moran gang. They seem to be quite elusive. Not one of them has ever been in jail.”
“Right. They’re slick for sure. But one of these days they’ll make a mistake and get themselves caught. Not too long ago, I was in contact with Chief U.S. Marshal John Brockman in Denver about all the banks the Moran gang have robbed right here in Laramie County. He is aware of every one of their robberies inWyoming, Nebraska, and Colorado. He told me if the gang isn’t caught soon by lawmen and posses in the
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