First 20 Pages, The Iron Door

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The Iron Door A Historical Novel

By R. Rex Macklin

Latest entry: 07/17/2012

12081 West Pajaro Verde

Tucson, Arizona 85743(520) 578-1490

E Mail: [email protected]

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Preface

The reservation assigned to the Comanche tribes and their allies by the treaty of Medicine

Lodge in 1867 was a beautiful land of well over two million acres taken from the

country ceded by the Chickasaws and Choctaws in 1866.

The greater part of this land was wide, rolling plains, but a little toward the northwest the

granite masses of the Wichita Mountains abruptly lift into the ever present purple-

blue haze.

From these mountains, beautiful streams carried away the water drained from their

heights and in the grassy flats that resulted from the run off, deer and buffalo once

abounded in vast numbers.

These mountains are the central location of my Silas Ison stories.

The following story and three others are based on visits to my Great Grandfathers home

and mining claims in these Wichita Mountains in the State of Oklahoma.

The visits took place in the early 1950s and at that time I was an impressionable,

wet behind the ears, pre-teenager.

My Great Grandfather, Silas Lee Ison, was the very last of the 5,000 hard rock miners

Who prospected for gold in the Wichita Mountains. Silas was truly the last of his breed.

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The days spent with him I have never forgotten. The stories he told to me he had told to

others many times before (and after) my visits with him.

One of the best records of some of Great Grandfathers exploits was written by a

Gentleman named Steve Wilson, who actually interviewed my Great Grandfather

several times prior to his death in 1972, at the age of 102.

Steve Wilsons book was published in 1976 and carried the title, Oklahoma Treasures

And Treasure Tales. I recommend the book highly, if you have an interest in learning

about Oklahomas mining history and the Wichita Mountains.

Another account of my Great Grandfathers life was written by Mr. Lee M. Seibert dated

November 3, 1980. I dont know if it was ever officially published, but it was well

researched and written with compassion and, I think, affection. I still have some of his

correspondence written to my Grandmother; Thresa Bertha Ison concerning Silas and his

life.

After my Great Grandfathers death in 1972 the rights to the 80 acres of land he and his

father, George W. Ison, had lived on for over a hundred years, reverted back to the

Federal Government.

Sometime after his death the government, using the excuse of vandalism and disrepair,

Bull dozed his cobble stone home, his storage barn, his smelter and all other

records of his existence into the red Oklahoma dirt he so dearly loved.

Not only was this, I think, a spiteful act it was a tragic loss to Oklahoma history and my

extended family.

I hope you enjoy this story. The geographic locations, the animals, the flora and other

details described in my stories still exist in these beautiful mountains for anyone to see.

Ronald Rex Macklin

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Tucson, Arizona

The Iron DoorBased on a story of Silas Lee Ison

1698in the Sierra Jumanos

1Chapter oneArrival

I am located in a vast area known as the Comancheria. In front of me, nestled in a

constant blue haze, and rising sharply from the plains, lies a landscape of solid granite

masses known as the Sierra Jumanos. Here I make my first entries in my journal and

begin keeping a detailed record of our quest for gold.

I am commander of this expedition and we have traveled from the Gulf coast all the way

here, during the early part of May, 1698.

Our mine is located deep in the most rugged part of these boulder-jumbled mountains.

During the month of June we have struggled and labored with our miners to find the gold

and silver we were told by our friendly Indian guides is located here. To my surprise, we

have been very successful with our endeavor and our treasure continues to accumulate.

But everything comes at a cost.

So wrote Major Juan Alberto Garcia on the first page of his leather bound journal given

him by his wife on departure from Spain. Major Garcia was tall, handsome and

powerfully built. Although his demeanor was kind, his very appearance and deportment

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demanded respect. His men not only saluted his rank, they saluted the man. He was an

officer with a certain future and a brilliant past.

The cost to which Major Garcia alluded in his journal entry, was not only paid in hard,

back breaking, labor but in the continual attacks by the Comanche tribes inhabiting the

area.

Comanche raids had become more and more frequent as each week passed. The

mountains were like a ship infested with rats. It had become quite clear to Major Garcia

and his troops that they were not welcome here in these mountains.

The Enemy

Engaging in battle with the Comanche was a new experience for Major Garcia and his

expedition. Although his men had armor plate, firearms and explosives they often faired

badly against the Comanche. While his men were reloading their weapons, a Comanche

could fire six arrows from under the neck of his horse at a full gallop. When these devils

mounted a horse it was if they became part of the animal. They gave no quarter and asked

none in return.

As a result of their tactics and superior numbers, casualties were always heavier on the

side of the Spaniards. Comanche do not die easily. The men would say. Its like we

have to kill them twice.

All the officers agreed, they had never, in their lifetimes, seen any enemy as adept at

horsemanship as these Comanche. When mounted, they brought fear into the hearts of

their enemies. Never had any man seen an enemy more totally adept at war and killing.

The Comanche were fearsome and cruel. It was said that they took the scalp of their

enemy because that would keep them from enjoying whatever afterlife they believed in. It

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was also true that the Comanche believed those killed at night would not enjoy an

afterlife.

Regardless of the constant strain of enemy attack, Major Garcia, was a diligent leader.

Not only was he responsible for the entire expedition, but he insisted on taking the full

responsibility for controlling and maintaining the gold inventory and storage for the entire

facility. Besides his own expedition, he was also responsible for the gold being mined by

other groups in other parts of the Sierra Jumanos.

So, not only did he have a mine to oversee, but a storage facility as well. A storage facility

that was virtually swelling with accumulated gold during each passing week.

With each Comanche raid the troops under his command became fewer and fewer and

Major Garcia knew that reinforcements would not be forthcoming. The other areas needed

their troops to defend their own facilities.

It would not be long till Major Garcia would not have enough troops to perform the duties

he had been assigned.

As the days passed, between raids, more gold would arrive for storage.

At this time, approximately four months into the expedition, Major Garcia was

responsible for enough gold to ransom several Kings. As the pile of gold grew larger the

Majors troop numbers and courage grew smaller.

As a result of his fear, not only did the Major insist on having guards stationed around the

mine, but also around the gold storage cave entrance and inside the cave.

The Storage Cave

Under Major Garcias watchful eye, the gold ingots had been stacked into an existing

remote cave facility in such quantities as to resemble stacks of cordwood. The gold ingots

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were piled as high as a mans waist and lined six deep along the walls on the caves dirt

floor. Each ingot was approximately the size of a flat iron and weighed about the same.

This particular morning in September, things had been uneventful and no raids had taken

place. Major Garcia was in his tent bringing the gold inventory and his personal ledger up

to date with yesterdays events and gold delivery.

As Major Garcia made his entries Sergeant Emilio Castrava entered the tent. Sir, the

guard shift has been changed and the cook will bring your evening meal shortly.

Excellent, Major Garcia said. As he looked up from his ledger, You have done well

Sergeant. Will you join me and Captain Estabonne for the evening meal? With a look of

surprise and pleasure, the Sergeant responded Yes, Major I would be honored to join

you. Then tell the cook to bring enough food for the three of us. The Major said as he

closed the gold inventory book and placed it in a small drawer in his mahogany field desk.

As Sergeant Castrava left the tent, Major Garcia extracted a small thin cigar from its

silver case and cut off the end with a small pearl handled knife he carried in a sheath

inside his highly polished black boot.

As the smoke from the cigar began to curl upward in a tiny translucent ribbon, Captain

Carlos Estabonne entered the tent, which he shared with Major Garcia. Good afternoon

my friend, Major Garcia said as Captain Estabonne sat down on his cot with a heavy sigh.

Good afternoon Major, Ive just come from watching the unloading of the latest

shipment of gold. Twenty five more ingots have been added to the ever growing stockpile

That is good Captain, General Bustamonte should be pleased with the fortune we have

accumulated for our King in Spain. Yes, who would not be pleased with such a

treasure?. I have invited Sergeant Castrava to join us for dinner tonight, he has done an

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excellent job of managing the scheduling and rotating of the guards. Major Garcia said

as he exhaled a large cloud of smoke into the small tent.

2Chapter twoThe Iron Door

Tomorrow, Captain, will you begin the construction of the iron door we discussed to

secure the treasure cave? Captain Castrava nodded in the affirmative and said, This

will eliminate the necessity of having guards inside the cave as well as without. We have

the materials assembled and the pieces have been cut to size. We just have to assemble

them and set the door in place. Due to the weight of the iron, we will need at least six men

to lift it and fit it into the opening we have modified to fit the door. Excellent Captain!

the Major said as he put out his cigar in the tray on his field desk. We also have a large

chain and lock to secure the door once it is set in place. The Captain said as he lie back

on his cot Hopefully, tomorrow will be a good and productive day, if there are no raids

by the comanche.

At that moment, the cook and Sergeant Castrava arrived with dinner. A large, covered,

silver platter with small pieces of roast pork loin, and a mound of steamed vegetables in a

special white wine sauce was served by the cook on beautiful porcelain plates using

brightly polished silver utensils . The three ate like there was no tomorrow and savored

every morsal.

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All was well that evening the wine served with dinner was superb, sparkling and soothing

to the palette. All three men slept well that night.

The next morning construction of the iron door began. The workers of metal formed the

massive pieces into the exact form of the cave opening. Once the door was assembled, it

took twelve strong men to place it into the opening. The hinges were securely fastened to

the granite so the door would open with as little difficulty as possible. Once the door was

in place, a deadbolt was assembled that could be chained and locked.

With the door firmly in place, the interior guards would no longer be needed. This would

free up at least six men for other duties at the station.

In the coming weeks the cave with the iron door would not only be a storage place for the

gold, but a prison for those unfortunate Comanche braves who were wounded and

captured during their frequent raids. The number of prisoners grew as the days passed.

In the same drawer that Major Garcia kept his inventory journal, he kept the key to the

iron door and a small silk map of the exact location of the facility in relation to the

surrounding mountains and canyons. He knew he would receive a new command soon

and he wanted his replacement to have complete directions to and from the facility at his

disposal.

Little did he know, his transfer would never occur.

As the days passed the Comanche attacks became more frequent and more savage. It

seemed the numbers of the Comanche was increasing as the number of troops grew

smaller.

It would not be long till the Comanche came in such numbers as to completely overpower

and kill the entire garrison at the cave storage facility.

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The troops not killed in the final raid were locked, alive, in the cave in place of the

Comanche prisoners who were released by the victorious attackers.

These unfortunate Spaniards were given very little food or water with which to sustain

themselves.

Among those able to escape the final massacre were Major Garcia, Captain Estabonne,

and Sergeant Castrava. As they rode, hell bent for leather, Major Garcia had placed his

journal and gold inventory into a shoulder bag along with the large key to the iron door

and the silk map, with that over his shoulder, his reins clutched in his left hand and in his

right hand was his blood stained sword. In his mind he held rage, hatred and a burning

desire for revenge. Somehow, someway, he knew he would bring that to fruition if it were

the last thing he ever did!

June 1899The Wichita Mountains

3Chapter 3

A Dying Mans Legacy

Once each month for the last six months, Brandon Scott Holt made the twenty-five mile

journey into the town of Indiahoma from his claim in the Wichita Mountains for supplies.

It was always just himself, his lineback Dun and a packhorse. It was a time for Brandon to

think, a time to ponder and a time to visit an old friend.

On his monthly trips, Brandon always stopped at the cabin of James Patrick Wilson.

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JP (as he was affectionately called by everyone) was a grizzly 85 year-old hard rock

miner. Brandon had befriended him during his brief , but so far unfruitful, stay here in

these rugged Wichita Mountains. JP made the best corn bread and beans any man ever

put a fork into!

To actually spend some time with the old man, Brandon would usually stay overnight at

JPs place and continue his journey to town the next morning.

Brandon sincerely liked the old man and J.P. had given him some good advice about

proving up his new claim. Like J.P and hundreds of others; Brandon had the same fever

that drew thousands of men to these ancient blue Wichita Mountains. Gold!

This trip, as Brandon came within fifty yards of JPs cabin he noticed a body spread

eagled on the ground between the cabin and small barn J.P. had erected for his stock.

Brandon spurred the horses into a gallop. As Brandon drew closer, he could see it was old

J.P. himself lying face down in an ever-expanding pool of blood. Brandon quickly

dismounted and knelt next to the injured old man.

J.P. was unconscious, his breathing was shallow and labored. Gently, and with great care,

Brandon rolled the large man on to his back. From what Brandon could see, J.P. had been

gut shot and had lost a lot of blood, judging by the pool on the ground around his body.

Brandon assumed from what he could see, that J.P. had been ambushed and left for dead.

Straining every muscle, Brandon carried all 250 pounds of J.Ps limp, rotund, body into

the cabin and gently placed him on a small, unmade cot just inside the door. Brandon

opened J.Ps bloody flannel shirt and tried to clean up the wound as best he could. He

then, with slight pressure, held his bandana on the wound to stop any further bleeding.

The shot had gone clean through J.P.s middle and out his back, just missing his spine.

Although there was no lead left in him, the large caliber bullet had likely done irreparable

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damage as it passed through his internal organs. The bullet had left a large two inch hole

where it exited J.P.s back.

Brandon was sure that J.P. was far beyond any hope of making it for long.

While caring for the old man, Brandon noticed that J.P.s cabin had been ransacked. All

of JPs belongings were strewn about and nothing was where it belonged.

Judging by the mess, it was clear that somebody had wanted something and they wanted it

bad enough to kill to get it.

After having been unconscious for about an hour, J.P. finally regained consciousness. As

he came back from the brink, he looked into the eyes of his benefactor. Brandon, where

am I? J.P. croaked out with his graveled voice. Youre on the cot in your cabin, youve

been shot up pretty bad and lost a lot of blood .

My God, the last thing I remember I was heading out to the barn to tend the stock. J.P.

gasped through his blood stained lips. It dont hurt much, but I know its bad! he choked

on the blood in his throat.

Dont talk anymore. Im going on into town to fetch Doc McCoy. J.P. grabbed Brandon

by the shoulder and said, Aw come on Brandon, by the time you get there and back, you

know Im gonna be long dead! Brandon knew this was true. Then what do you want me

to do? J.P smiled and said, Please, just sit and stay with me till Im gone? I dont relish

being alone when I die. Brandon nodded silently in the affirmative. J.P. managed a weak

smile and slipped once more into unconsciousness.

Only a few minutes passed and J.P. was awake again. But this time, he was white as a

sheet and very soft spoken. Brandon, youre a good friend and youve always treated me

right. I dont have no kin, so I want to give you the only thing I have of value besides this

place. Oh come on J.P., dont talk that way. No Brandon, Damn it, I mean it! J.P.

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was ashen colored and now in great pain. He pointed a crooked, shaking, finger at the

fireplace, The third stone from the bottom, left side of the hearth, pull it out! Brandon

walked to the hearth and knelt down to remove the stone as J.P. directed. Upon pulling out

the stone, directly behind it, Brandon found a small wooden cigar box. He pulled the box

out and took it over to J.P. on the cot.

J.P. opened the small box and took out a large rusty looking key and a small silk map. I

want you to have these. J.P. handed the items to Brandon. Where in the world did you

get these? It dont matter where I got them, what matters is they will lead you to wealth

beyond your dreams! the dying man said. Because my health was so bad, I never had a

chance to do anything with them myself, but youre young and full of vinegar, you can

find the treasure for yourself. As Brandon looked closely at the two items, the dying

mans brown eyes slowly lost their gleam and depth, they became shallow and cold.

Brandon closed the eyelids that would never open again. Brandon thought to himself,

The old man faced his last enemy like the man he was. His journey is over.

Tomorrow, Brandon would have to take the body to the undertaker in Indiahoma and

report the murder to the Sheriff. Right now he had some stock to tend and some serious

thinking to do.

Chapter

On to Indiahoma

Arising with the sun, Brandon went to the barn and hitched up a team of horses to JPs

Supply wagon. He then wrapped the old mans body in a thick blanket and carried him

out where he gently placed him in the back of the wagon. After tying his own two horses

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leads to the tailgate he climbed into the seat and headed for Indiahoma.

The trip was uneventful and as Brandon drove into town he headed directly to the

undertakers office. He tied the teams lead rope to the hitching rail and went into the

mortuary office.

A large, middle aged, man sat behind a roll top desk making entries in a green canvas

journal. As Brandon entered, the man put his pencil down and stood up. Good morning

sir, my name is Mike Walker, But everybody calls me Mort cause of what I do for a

living. How can I be of assistance? The man had a pleasant smile.

Brandon extended his hand and as they firmly gripped hands, Brandon said, My name is

Brandon Holt and I have the body of my friend J.P. Wilson in the buckboard out front.

The Smile immediately left Walkers face My God man, what happened? How was J.P.

killed?

As they stepped outside, Brandon explained. I found him lying outside his cabin

yesterday afternoon but he was shot up pretty bad. I did the best I could do, but he only

lasted a couple of hours after I found him. The two men gently lifted the body from the

buckboard and carried it inside, through the office, and into a smaller room. There they

placed J.P. on the morticians work table. If you will tend to J.P., Ill go report this to

Sheriff Welch. You got it! Mort said, as Brandon headed out the door.

About three buildings down the boardwalk, Brandon reached the sheriffs office.

Through a large plate glass window, Brandon could see the Sheriff standing by a pot

bellied stove with a cup of coffee in one hand, and gesturing wildly with the other. He

was speaking very loudly to another man who was standing silently with his hat in his

hands. Damn it Jake, if I have to lock you up one more time for drunk and disorderly Im

going to throw away the Key! the sheriff was saying as Jake stood biting his thick lower

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lip and shuffling his feet. Finally breaking his silence Jake said, I know Larry, Im

nothing but a cull, but Ill try to do better, I promise! The sheriff gestured toward the

door, Get the Hell out of here Jake, before I change my mind. Jake was out the door

before Brandon could enter.

After Jakes abrupt departure, Brandon went into the well arranged, but dusty, office of

Sheriff Welch. Hello Brandon, what brings you to my office? the sheriff said. Im

afraid I have some bad news to deliver. Brandon said, I just left J.P. Wilsons body off

at the undertakers. I found him yesterday afternoon. He was on the ground, lying in a pool

of blood, just outside his cabin. He was shot up pretty bad. He only lasted a couple of

hours after I got him inside and stopped the bleeding as best I could.

I figure he was ambushed as he was going to tend his stock yesterday morning. As the

Sheriff invited Brandon to have a seat, he said, Who in the world would want to kill old

J.P.? He never hurt a soul in his whole life. As Brandon sat down he told the sheriff

About J.P.s place being ransacked and how he thought whoever killed him had been

Searching for something.

Brandon did not tell the sheriff about the key and the map J.P. had given him. Maybe

later when he had things figured out. If they would kill J.P. for it, he figured they would

do the same to him.

And since he had no idea who killed J.P. he didnt trust anyone, not even sheriff Welch.

Sheriff Welch knew that J.P. had no next of kin and there was no one to notify. So he

told Brandon he would make arrangements to have someone tend to J.P.s place till

they could figure out what needed to be done from a legal standpoint. As Brandon got

up to leave he said, Larry, If there is anything else I can do, please dont hesitate to let

me know. Thanks, Brandon. Im going to ride out there tomorrow and look things

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over. Ill keep in touch on the investigation. If you hear anything please let me know.

You Have my full cooperation. Brandon said.

After leaving the Sheriffs office, Brandon headed for the livery stable. There he left

J.P.s horses and buckboard as well as his own horses. Upon leaving the stable he went

To the general store to get his monthly provisions. By now, word about J.P.s death was

getting around town. As Brandon entered the store, the owner, Jeffrey Macklin said,

Well, it sounds like youve had your share of excitement for the month. Brandon

smiled and said, Jeff, Ive had my share of excitement for the year! Can you believe

anyone would harm old J.P.? Jeffrey came around the counter and put his hand on

Brandons shoulder, I guess there are those who would kill anyone for the right reason.

What can I do for you today Brandon, your regular monthly supplies? Thanks Jeff,

the usual fare if you please. And he handed Jeff his list. Brandon then went to the gun

rack and picked up a brand new Winchester repeating rifle. I hear this is a mighty fine

weapon? He said as he tried the action. Jeff looked up from the list and said, I think

its one of the best ever made, but some still prefer the Spencer. Put this one on my

bill Jeff and throw in a couple of boxes of ammunition, if you please. Jeff smiled and

added the rifle and ammunition to Brandons bill. You gonna shoot something?, Jeff

said half smiling. You never know when a varmint might show its ugly head. Brandon

said. There seems to be some in the neighborhood. Could I leave all this stuff here

overnight Jeff?, Im going to stay over at the hotel tonight and go back to my claim in the

morning. No problem. Jeff said.

As Brandon was stepping out the door, Jeff suggested, Why dont we meet at Kathys

place in the morning before you leave, and well have some breakfast. That woman sure

knows how to put together a mans breakfast. And she aint bad to look at either Great

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idea, Ill see you at sun up. Brandon said as he walked on out the door toward the hotel.

The sun was beginning to take its nightly plunge into the Western horizon and darkness

would soon flood the unlit streets of Indiahoma.

After Brandon checked in at the hotel, he headed over to Kathys place to have some

Dinner. When Brandon entered the caf he picked a table nearest the door and seated

himself. As he looked around the dining room, he noticed two men in an animated

discussion, seated at a table on the opposite wall near the kitchen entrance. The men were

unknown to him and he paid them no mind. At that moment, Kathy came out of the

kitchen area with a pot of coffee and a large cup, she came directly to his table with a big

smile on her lovely face. Brandon, its so good to see you. The news around town is

youve had some real excitement in your life today? Well Kathy, if you call losing a

friend excitement, then Ive had more than my share. Kathy poured the black coffee into

his cup and handed Brandon a menu. Why in the world would anyone want to kill old

J.P.? Brandon took a sip of the steaming hot coffee and said, I think I know why

Kathy, but I need some time to figure it all out in my mind. Once I do figure it out, youll

be the first to know. Brandon handed the menu back to Kathy and said, Ill have the

Steak and mashed potatoes, please, with lots of gravy.

Across the room, the two strangers were continuing their conversation. Jeremy Walters

and Jordan Colter had not been in Indiahoma for long. Their recent stay in Arizona had

been less than satisfactory. Jumping claims and cheating at cards had almost gotten them

hanged. But, as luck would have it, they had fled the jurisdiction of the local Marshall

at precisely the right moment in time. Now they were concentrating their efforts on the

unsuspecting miners in the Wichita Mountains with some limited success. As Jeremy

took another sip of coffee, Jordan said, Its too bad we wasted our lead on that old Coot

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yesterday, he didnt have any of the stuff we were told about, at least not wheres we

could find it. We did every thing but tear the damned cabin down. Jeremy sat

his half empty coffee cup down with a thud and snarled, We should have burned the

place to the ground. Jordan looked over at Brandon and Kathy talking and said, I heard

that jackass is the one who found the old man, said he was still alive when he found him.

Reckon, the old toad told him anything? Jeremy looked over in Brandons direction and

said, How could the old man tell him anything, he didnt even see us. He was

unconscious the whole time we was tearing the place apart. Thats why we thought he

was finished.

Jordan grabbed Jeremys wrist and said, I dont mean about us, I mean about what it was

he was supposed to have. The key and the map. Jeremy wiped his mouth on his coat

sleeve and said, You may have something there my friend, the old man could very well

have told that fool where the stuff was hidden. He might have it in his possession right

now! Jordan said, He aint dumb enough to carry it on him, but it might be in his room

at the hotel. The two men got up quickly, threw some money on the table and left the

caf.

As the men left, Brandon got a good look at their unshaven, rough hewn, faces and their

dirty trail dusty clothing.

There goes a couple of real winners. Kathy said as she placed his meal on the table.

They have been around town for the last two weeks, Im told they have a

camp just a few miles outside town. Brandon cut a small piece of steak and just before

inserting it into his mouth said, I imagine Sheriff Welch knows all about them. As he

chewed the tender beef, Kathy said, I hope he does. I just know they are up to no good

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This Man Named Holt

Earlier the next morning while Brandon was having breakfast with Jeff Macklin, these

same two men had picked the lock on his second floor room and went through all his gear.

The men didnt even try to hide their actions; the room was a total wreck. Fortunately,

Brandon had been smart enough to keep the key and map on his person and not in his

room. Since this unfortunate event, Brandon had to change his plans about returning to

his claim that morning. Instead, Brandon went to Sheriff Welch and told him the whole

story, even about the map and key.. But since Brandon had no real proof the men had

actually committed a crime there was nothing Sheriff Welch could do.

Brandon next decided he had to find a safe place for the precious items he carried.

Finally, an idea came to him, it seemed the perfect solution to his problem.

Brandon went back to the hotel and asked the desk clerk for an envelope. The desk clerk

handed him a small manila envelope from under the counter. Brandon extracted the two

items from his boot, and placed them into the envelope. He then wrote a short note to his

wife Allison and sealed it with the items to be mailed.

Brandon left the envelope with the hotel clerk. The clerk was instructed to keep the

envelope in the hotel safe until morning and then it should be posted to St. Louis.

Brandon flipped the clerk a shiny Morgan Silver Dollar.

Since his plans had changed drastically he decided rather than spend another night in the

hotel he would head back to his claim right now. So Brandon headed for the livery stable.

to get J.P.s wagon, his horses and his own gear. He tied his own horses to the end of the

wagon and headed for Jeffs store to get the supplies he had purchased the previous day.

Jeff helped him load the supplies onto the wagon. As Brandon climbed up to the wagon

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seat, he placed the new, fully loaded, Winchester rifle on the seat next to him. Jeff said,

After all thats happened you better be mighty careful. I will. Brandon said as he

gathered the reins and headed the wagon and horses out of town.

During the last few hectic hours, Brandon had decided it was time to go home to

Missouri. His wife Allison had been patiently waiting there, waiting for him to send for

her, waiting as she had always done.

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First 20 Pages, The Iron Door