Free One More Sunrise by Al Lacy Page A

floating just under the choppy, foam-covered surface. When I dived in, I struck my head on the log and it knocked me cold.”
    Buck shook his head. “Oh, boy.”
    “Well, the Moran brothers saw what happened, and it was Tag who dived in to rescue me in spite of the debris that was coming down the river. They told me later that I kept going under the surface, then bobbing to the top. Tag had to risk his own life to finally get his hands on me. He pulled me out and pumped water from my lungs. When I came to, Bart, Jason, and Darryl told me how Tag risked his life to save me from drowning. I hugged him and thanked him for it.”
    “I can see why you were close to him.”
    “Very close, even though he’s five years older than me. It grieves me, Buck, that Tag has become an outlaw, but I still owe him for laying his own life on the line to save mine. This was one reason why I wanted to try to save Darryl’s life yesterday. He was Tag’s brother, and I’ll always feel a debt to Tag.”
    “I can see that,” said Buck. “It’s just too bad Tag and his brothers became outlaws.”
    “Yeah. It puts a wall between us, for sure.”
    At just after nine o’clock, the stage pulled into Douglas, and after a half-hour layover, it was rolling swiftly along the road southward toward Wheatland.
    Though he tried to stay awake, Doke slumped down on the seat next to Buck.

W heatland’s Main Street was busy with traffic as the brilliant Wyoming sun edged its way toward its apex in the awesome blue sky.
    Wagons, buggies, and carriages moved both directions, stirring up dust. People moved up and down the boardwalks, some stopping to talk to each other. Amid the creaking vehicles in the dusty street were riders on horseback.
    Tag Moran stood in the shadow of the slanted wooden roof that hovered over the boardwalk several doors down from the Wells Fargo office. He leaned against one of the supporting posts, his hat pulled low, and kept his line of sight trained on the wide, dusty street toward the north.
    The outlaw leader had moseyed past the Fargo office a few minutes earlier and noted the chalkboard by the front door, which gave the arrival and departure times of the stagecoaches.
    The stage from Casper, which Tag knew had a regular stop in Douglas, was scheduled to arrive at noon.
    For a moment, Tag ran his gaze the other direction along the street, noting the town’s two banks that stood catercornered from each other at Wheatland’s main intersection. He and his gang had held up Wheatland National Bank six months ago and made aclean getaway, even though the sheriff came after them with a posse of twelve men. One day soon he would bring the gang back and rob the Bank of Wyoming across the street.
    He thought of the fifty thousand dollars they had gained by robbing the Wells Fargo stagecoach yesterday and smiled. Looking north once more, he said in a whisper, “Doke, ol’ pal, if I could talk you into tying in with us, you’d be invaluable. You could let us in on more money shipments like the one yesterday when the affiliated banks send cash to each other.”
    Tag rubbed his jaw.
If I could have some time with you, Doke, I think I could convince you it could be done without endangering yourself with the law, or with Wells Fargo. And when we cut you your share, you’d have money to make your life much more enjoyable than it is on shotgunner’s pay
.
    Suddenly Tag’s attention was drawn up the street where he saw the stagecoach coming toward Main Street ahead of its cloud of dust.
    Up in the box on the stage, Buck Cummons tugged on the reins as the stage drew into town. While they were moving slowly down the street, Doke yawned and laid his shotgun at his feet. Then, rubbing his belly, he said, “I’ve got a hungry on, Buck. I’m glad it’s time to stop for lunch.”
    Buck chortled. “We both like the food at the Meadowlark, pal. I’m gonna get me a big T-bone steak.”
    “Sounds good to me.”
    Moments later, Buck drew the