Ransom

By David Waddell

Eight children from four wealthy families are kidnapped in New York City on New Year's Eve in 1885. Just when the children's parents had given up all hope of ever seeing their children again, they each received a letter from the kidnappers with two demands, which must be met in order to secure the release of their children. The first demand requires a large ransom to be delivered to the kidnappers at a place to be determined. The second demand requires that four Christian men, whom the kidnappers will choose, must deliver the ransom and if it's delivered by anyone else, all the children that were kidnapped will be killed. News of the large ransom spreads quickly throughout the United States, and every outlaw wants to get their hands on it before it gets to the kidnappers. Can the ransom get through to the kidnappers and save the children's lives, or will the kidnappers kill their young captives because the ransom was never delivered to them or was delivered by someone other than the four Christian men that were chosen to deliver it?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Feb 21, 2017
• ISBN: 9781635258288

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RANSOM

DAVID E. WADDELL

ISBN 978-1-63525-827-1 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-63525-828-8 (Digital)

Copyright © 2017 by David E. Waddell

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.

296 Chestnut Street

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

To the memory of D.E. Gene Waddell and Ronald R. Fisher.

One

Get up! the prison guard shouted at Morgan McCallister through the iron bars of his four-by-eight-foot cell he shared with five other cellmates at Yuma Territorial Prison.

Go away! Morgan shouted back as he lay on the middle bunk of his triple-twin bunk bed that he shared with two of his cellmates.

The warden wants to see you, now! the prison guard shouted back as he unlocked the iron cell door and then opened it.

Can we all come too? one of Morgan’s cellmates asked.

The rest of you all stay in your bunk beds, the prison guard said as Morgan crawled out of his bunk bed and then walked out of the jail cell.

We want to go pay a visit to the warden too, said another cellmate.

Stay in your bunk beds! the prison guard said as he shut the cell door and then locked it.

Why does the warden want to see me? Morgan asked the prison guard.

I don’t know.

He’s not going to have me strip naked again and then throw me into that dark cell, is he?

Maybe, but I really don’t know, the prison guard replied as he escorted Morgan to the warden’s office.

The last time I was thrown into that dark cell the guards chained my ankles to a couple of stout rings that were mounted on the floor, and it was so dark inside that cell that I couldn’t see anything, Morgan said. The warden left me inside that dark cell for several days, and he never told me why he did it.

He must have had a reason, the guard said as he opened the door to the warden’s office and then led Morgan into it.

Warden Thompson was sitting at his desk when the guard brought Morgan into his office and was looking over an official-looking document.

Do you know what I have sitting on my desk right in front of me? Warden Thompson asked Morgan.

No, I don’t, sir.

It’s a pardon from President Grover Cleveland.

A pardon for whom, sir?

A pardon for you, Warden Thompson replied as he picked up the pardon and then handed it to Morgan, who was standing across from his desk.

Morgan read the pardon and then asked, Does this mean I’m free to leave this hellhole, sir?

You’re not only free to leave this prison, but you’re also pardoned from all the crimes you’ve committed in your past too, Warden Thompson replied. You must have some very powerful friends to get our president of the United States to pardon you.

I have no friends outside the walls of this prison, sir.

You no longer have to call me sir since you are no longer a prisoner, Warden Thompson said. Your pardon could be temporary, however.

Temporary, why? Morgan asked as he took a closer look at the pardon.

That pardon says its temporary until a condition is satisfied.

Okay, I now see where it says it’s temporary and won’t become permanent until a condition is satisfied, but it doesn’t say what the condition is.

No, it doesn’t, but a letter was sent along with your temporary pardon and it instructs you to report to the Fifth Avenue Hotel in New York City to find out what condition you need to satisfy in order for your temporary pardon to become permanent, Warden Thompson said and then handed Morgan the letter. I never heard of a temporary pardon with a condition that requires it to be satisfied before the pardon can become permanent. This is the strangest pardon I have ever seen. Are you sure you don’t have some powerful friends that want you released from here?

Yes, I’m sure.

Do you have any powerful enemies that might want you released from here?

I could have a few of those, Morgan responded.

Whoever wants to meet you at the Fifth Avenue Hotel sent along some money for you to use to travel to New York City and to buy some new clothes too. Since we know your size here, I used some of the money to buy you some new clothes, a pair of boots, and a hat too at the general store in Yuma.

Thank you, Morgan said.

You’re welcome, Warden Thompson said as he handed Morgan the new clothes he had bought for him. You can use my office to change out of your prison uniform and into these new clothes.

Thank you, Morgan said.

Hurry up, Warden Thompson said. I have something else to give you as well after you change into your new clothes. The Warden left his office and shut the door behind him.

Why is the warden being so nice to me? Morgan wondered. He’s never been nice to me before. Something isn’t right, so I better be careful as I leave this hellhole. Morgan took his white-and-black-striped prison uniform off and tossed it onto the floor. He changed into his new clothes, which fit him perfectly and felt very comfortable too. He sat on a chair and put a new pair of socks on and then slipped the new pair of boots on to his feet. He stood up and walked around the warden’s office. These boots feel very comfortable on my feet. It’s been a very long time since I wore comfortable boots. Maybe the warden is being nice to me because I just received a temporary pardon from the president of the United States, he thought as he tried on his new wide-brimmed hat that the warden had bought for him.

Warden Thompson knocked on the door to his office then proceeded to open it up. He walked into his office and then smiled when he saw Morgan wearing his new civilian clothes, boots, and hat he had purchased for him. You don’t look like one of my prisoners anymore.

I don’t feel like one either, Morgan said with a wide smile on his face. Thanks again for buying me these new clothes.

It was my pleasure, Warden Thompson said as he walked over to his desk and pulled open one of its drawers. He reached in and grabbed a gun belt that had a .45 caliber revolver in its holster. Here’s your revolver and gun belt you were wearing when you were captured in the small mining town of Cerbat by Marshal Zane Graves.

The warden handed the gun belt to Morgan, who then fastened it around his waist with the holster resting on his lower-right hip. Morgan rested his right hand near the butt of his revolver and then drew it in a lightning-fast motion and pointed it at the warden. The warden saw his life flash in front of him and thought Morgan was going to shoot him. Morgan smiled and slid his revolver back into its holster.

I heard you had a fast draw, but I never knew you were that fast, Warden Thompson said as he felt his heart beating rapidly. I’m surprised you aren’t a little rusty.

I’ve always had a fast draw with very little practice, Morgan said. I’m just lucky, I guess.

Here’s your expense money and a train ticket for the midnight train, Warden Thompson said as he handed the money and train ticket to Morgan.

Thanks.

You have plenty of time to walk to town and get a bath and a shave before your train departs.

I could use a shave and a bath.

I do have to warn you about one thing, however, before you leave this prison.

What?

Some of your old gang might be waiting for you outside the walls of this prison.

Why would they be waiting for me?

Three men that were part of your old gang escaped from a prison outside Santa Fe, New Mexico, a couple of months ago and were rumored to be heading this way to find out where you hid the money from your gang’s last robbery.

I never hid it, Morgan said. I’ll tell you exactly what I told my men before we broke up and went our separate ways. I gave it all to a small church in that small mining town I was captured in. I heard an awesome sermon by a preacher named Quint Hayes, and he persuaded me to become a Christian that day, and I accepted Jesus as my Lord and Savior. When they passed the offering baskets around the pews, I gave them all money my gang and I had stolen a couple weeks earlier from a bank in Phoenix.

Where were your men when you gave all the stolen money to that church?

They were in a saloon down the street playing poker and getting drunk. They got extremely angry with me when I told them what I did with the stolen money, and they threatened to kill me if I didn’t get the money back. I refused to, and then two of them drew their revolvers and tried to shoot me, but I killed them both before they could fire their revolvers at me. The bartender pointed his double-barrel shotgun at me and ordered me to drop my revolver, and I obeyed him so he wouldn’t shoot me in my back. The three other men in my gang fled out the back door of the saloon and rode their horses out of town, and I haven’t seen them since. The bartender kept his shotgun pointed at me until Marshal Graves arrived five minutes later and arrested me.

Just be careful on your walk to town in case those three old gang members of yours are waiting to ambush you.

I, will and thanks for the warning, Morgan said as he and Warden Thompson shook hands. You are one very tough and strict warden.

That’s how I have to be when I have the meanest and most dangerous criminals inside these walls, Warden Thompson said. If I were nice and loose with the rules of this prison, the prisoners would not fear me and would attempt more escapes than they already do.

Hopefully, you will never see me again inside these walls.

I hope not, but if I do, you will regret it.

I know I will, so I doubt you will ever see me inside these walls again.

Just make sure you satisfy whatever condition you need to, or your temporary pardon will become void and you will end up back here with me.

I will try my hardest because I have had enough of this hellhole and your strict rules. Good-bye, and thanks for all you have done for me tonight.

You’re very welcome, and be careful outside these walls.

Morgan walked out of the warden’s office with his temporary pardon, a train ticket, and expense money to get him to New York City. He had a long journey ahead of him and was anxious to get started. He said good-bye to a few of the prison guards as he exited the prison. Once he was outside the prison’s main gate, he was a free man and no longer smelled the stench that was inside Yuma Territorial Prison. He smiled as he breathed in the fresh air. He pulled out his revolver and checked to see if it was loaded. He saw six cartridges inside the cylinder and slid the revolver back into its holster. No wonder the warden almost pissed his pants when I drew and aimed my revolver at him. Morgan thought. He knew my revolver was loaded. Morgan laughed out loud as he walked away from the prison where he had lived the past few years.

Morgan walked down the road toward town, watching and listening for anything unusual in case the remaining three men of his old gang were hiding behind a cactus, desert brush, or a gully along the sides of the road, waiting to ambush him. Along the way to town, he prayed and asked God to protect him as he walked toward town. His prayers were answered as he entered the town of Yuma alive and well.

Morgan saw a bathhouse at the edge of town and decided to visit it so he could take a quick bath and scrub the dirt off his body. He was only allowed to take one quick shower once a month at Yuma Prison, and it had been almost a month since his last shower. He walked inside the bathhouse and took a nice hot bath and scrubbed all the dirt off his body. A woman that worked at the bathhouse offered to shave all the whiskers off his face for just a little more money than his bath had cost, and he accepted her offer. After she was done giving him a nice clean shave, he paid her and left the bathhouse feeling cleaned and refreshed.

Morgan asked a stranger standing nearby what time it was, and he told him it was 11:30 PM, so he headed toward the train station. He saw the train as he walked toward the train station then stopped suddenly when he saw two men he recognized from his past standing in front of him. Their names were Bart and Jamie.

Don’t move! Bart said as he and Jamie glared at Morgan.

Hello, old friends, Morgan said. It’s been a long time since I saw the two of you.

Too long, Jamie said as he and Bart both had their hands near their holsters and were ready to draw their revolvers.

Where’s the money we all stole together from that bank in Phoenix a few years ago? Bart asked.

I told you all back in that little town called Cerbat that I donated it all to that little church that’s at the edge of that town.

We didn’t believe you back then and we still don’t believe you now, Jamie said. Why would anyone give money that they just robbed from a bank to a church?

Because I felt guilty about robbing that bank once I became a Christian.

You belong in hell with us, Jamie said. You’ve committed way too many sins for God to forgive you.

No, I haven’t, and you two haven’t either. God will forgive your sins if you—

Quit trying to preach to us and tell us where you hid the money! Bart interrupted.

I just told the two of you what I did with that stolen money, Morgan replied.

One last chance, Jamie said as he glared at Morgan. Where did you hide the money?

I told you already, Morgan replied.

Jamie and Bart didn’t like Morgan’s answer and drew their revolvers. Before Jamie’s revolver cleared its holster, Morgan shot him in his upper chest, and he fell backward and landed on his chest. Bart’s revolver cleared its holster, and then he aimed it at Morgan but never got the opportunity to shoot it because a bullet from Morgan’s revolver shattered his right elbow and caused him to drop his revolver. Bart bent over and started to pick up his revolver with his left hand when Morgan yelled at him.

Don’t touch your gun!

Tell me where you hid the money! Bart shouted.

I already told you I didn’t hide it but instead gave it to a church.

I don’t believe you! Bart said as his temper flared. He then reached for his revolver.

A bullet hit the top of Bart’s left hand before he could grab his revolver. Bart moaned and then looked at Morgan and then asked, Why didn’t you kill me?

I don’t want to kill you, and I didn’t want to kill Jamie, but he gave me no choice. I told both of you what I did with the money we stole from that bank in Phoenix, and I understand why you both are upset with me, but I accepted Jesus as my Lord and Savior in that small mining town of Cerbat, and I felt the best thing to do with the money we all stole at that time was to donate it to a church. I’m sorry if what I did got you all upset with me, but I don’t regret doing it.

Don’t move! a man shouted as he approached Morgan and Bart. My name is Sheriff Bruehler and I’m ordering you to drop your gun.

Morgan dropped his revolver and then reached into his pocket and retrieved his pardon then handed it to Sheriff Bruehler. The sheriff read the pardon and then looked at Morgan.

This pardon looks official and it’s signed by President Cleveland, so you may go on your way.

Thank you, Morgan said and then bent over and picked up his revolver then slid it back into its holster.

Do you know these two men? Sheriff Bruehler asked.

Yes, I do. The dead one is named Jamie and the one lying on the ground moaning loudly is Bart.

I recognized their faces from two wanted posters in my office. They both escaped from a prison outside Santa Fe, and the law has been searching for them for the past couple of months. There should be one more, though.

You must be talking about Joey Myers. He escaped with them too.

Yes, that’s the one I forgot to mention. I wonder if he’s here in Yuma too?

He’s not! Bart shouted. But he will be hunting Morgan down in the future especially when he learns that Morgan just shot and killed his brother Jamie.

You better catch that train, Sheriff Bruehler said to Morgan. It will be leaving soon.

What are you going to with Bart? Morgan asked.

He’s going down the street and will be checking into Yuma Territorial Prison.

He’ll love it there, Morgan said as he bade farewell to the sheriff.

I’ll see you in hell! Bart shouted as he watched Morgan walk toward the train station.

No, you won’t, Morgan shouted back. I plan on crossing over the bridge into heaven one day. Good-bye, Bart! I hope you enjoy Yuma Prison like I did!

Two

Marshal Julius Smith had been searching for Claude Williams and Gil Mackey for over two weeks in the Indian Territory west of Fort Smith, Arkansas. Hanging Judge Isaac Parker issued an arrest warrant for Claude and Gil and sent Julius into the Indian Territory to capture the two outlaws and bring them back to Fort Smith to stand trial and then be sentenced to death by hanging for the murders of two bank tellers while they were robbing a bank in Siloam Springs, Arkansas. They got away with two thousand dollars and then headed into Indian Territory to hide from any posse or bounty hunter that may be pursuing them.

When can we spend the two thousand dollars we stole from that bank in Siloam Springs? Claude asked. I want to go back to civilization and enjoy life again.

Gil threw a few branches into the campfire and then responded, Soon.

How soon?

Another two weeks.

Two weeks! I can’t stay in Indian Territory for two more weeks. I’m bored.

If we go back now, we might get caught by a posse or a US Marshal sent from Fort Smith to look for us.

It’s been two weeks since we robbed that bank, Claude said after sipping some of his coffee. I bet you any posse or marshal looking for us has given up by now.

You’re probably right, but why not wait another two weeks just to make sure.

I can’t wait any longer, Claude said and then stood up. I’m dying of boredom. Your jokes are no longer funny, and there’s just nothing to do out here except sit around and twiddle my thumbs.

You can take half the money we stole and leave, but I’m staying here for another two weeks to play it safe, Gil said and then took a sip of coffee.

We’ve got company, Claude said.

Where? Gil asked as he threw the rest of his coffee into the campfire and then stood up.

There’s a horseman approaching us from the east, Claude said.

I can’t see him, Gil said.

Because you’re looking west, idiot! I said he’s approaching from the east. Claude grabbed Gil’s shoulders and spun him around so he could see the rider approaching them from the east. Do you see him now?

Yes, but barely.

That’s because you’re going blind and have been for a while now. You’re just too stubborn to admit it.

If you wouldn’t have shot and killed those two bank tellers, no one would be looking for us now, Gil said as he picked up his Henry repeating rifle and then knelt down behind a large rock he found nearby.

Claude grabbed his rifle too and then knelt down behind a large rock next to the one Gil was kneeling behind.

What does he look like? Gil asked as he squinted his eyes but still couldn’t tell what the horseman looked like.

He’s a black man wearing a Marshal badge on the left side of his chest, Claude responded and then cocked the lever on his rifle.

He must be the black US Marshal from Fort Smith, Gil said. He’s Judge Parker’s favorite marshal, and he always gets the outlaws he pursues and then brings them back to Fort Smith, either dead or alive.

He’s not going to get us, Claude said. We’ll kill him before he gets too close to us.

That sounds like a good plan to me, Gil said and then raised his rifle and aimed it at the blurry figure riding a horse toward them.

Marshal Julius Smith rode his horse toward the smoke he saw rising from a campfire. He halted his horse after he saw two men run toward two large rocks then kneel down behind them and aimed their rifles at him. Two bullets whizzed by him as he sat tall on his saddle. He calmly drew his Winchester rifle out of its leather scabbard, aimed it at one of the two men shooting at him, and then pulled trigger.

Gil heard a loud thump and then heard Claude moan. He looked over at Claude and saw him lying on his back. Blood was seeping through his shirt just below his shirt’s collar. Claude started gasping for air, and Gil knew that his friend’s life was fading away. He turned his attention back to the marshal that was shooting at him, and then his lower jaw dropped opened when he couldn’t spot him. Where did he go? Gil wondered.

Gil cocked the lever on his Henry repeating rifle and looked around for the marshal. I know he’s out there somewhere, but where is he? Claude wondered as he squinted his eyes and looked all