An Outlaw's Redemption

Chapter One

Winter 1867

The snow beat perilously against him as the flakes plastered on his eyebrows. He pulled his hat lower on his head and gave his bandana a good tug with the tips of his freezing fingers. Despite his heavy coat and gloves, this storm was proving to be far too fierce for his attire. Though he had little choice in the matter now — this storm was his only means of escape from the determined posse who sought after the growing bounty on his head.

He hadn't ever desired to create such a name for himself, it just sort of happened somewhere along the way; then when one little thing led to another and another, he eventually found himself as the leader of a gang of outlaws. Each with a sad story much like his own; each whose luck always seemed to run out. There were only a few of them left now; many of the original members having either been shot and killed or sent to prison — and after today, he was not sure how many of the few remaining members were still alive. Three of them, including himself, had been gravely wounded in the robbery. They had separated to draw off the posse members, but they would meet up again eventually — they always did. It didn't matter where they went, they somehow always found each other again.

Glancing down at his bleeding wound, he winced from the pain. He knew he needed to get the bleeding to stop; if he didn't, he might not last the night...though he knew it was far too dangerous to stop where he was. He would be a sitting duck out here in the middle of nowhere in this storm. Pressing onward, he wondered how much time he had left; he had been bleeding for hours already and the jostling of his steed did nothing to aid his situation. He knew it would not stop bleeding on its own; the bullet needed to come out. Despite the cold, beads of perspiration soaked his brow; fever had set in — another bad sign. He could feel his mind drifting away; as much as he resisted it, he could no longer keep his mind active. His eyelids shut as he collapsed off his horse and into the mounting snow. The wind howled as if it were mocking him in its victory. Ordinarily, he would have fought back and kept going — but alas, he could not replace the blood he'd lost, no matter how much his will was to live. He was far too weak to fight back this time. Subconsciously he gave into his defeat as he blacked out.

Hours passed before an unfamiliar voice echoed in his ears and then another. A man and a woman, they seemed to be speaking about him. His mind stirred as he listened closely without ever opening his eyes.

"He's very lucky you found him out there," a young woman said, "I doubt he would have survived the night."

"God's mercy brought him here. Only God knew a doctor would be having dinner with me tonight," the man said. Barlow questioned his hearing, had the man referred to the woman as the doctor or was there another man in the room? He decided it must be the latter; he had never heard of a lady doctor before. The floorboards creaked beneath the weight of their shoes as each of them took a step closer toward him. He felt a gentle hand rest on his brow, and the woman's voice echoed in his ears once more, "His fever seems to be coming down. That's a good sign. When he wakes up, we will need to get some food in him. He'll have to keep up his strength to heal properly."

Their words began to fade again as everything grew dark once more, and he heard nothing else. Several more hours passed by, and the snow blew harder than ever before. Many feet of the white powder now lay on the ground slowly packing itself tightly together.

When he finally opened his eyes, he glanced around the room. It was small and humble, nothing too extravagant, just a single room which made up the main portion of the cabin. A stove sat in the corner opposite of the cot he lay on, a table surrounded by four chairs near the stove, and in the center of the room sat a sofa and rocking chair facing the fireplace — the roaring fire within gave off the only source of light in the room as it was well past midnight, and no one was awake aside from him. Raising himself, he grabbed his side and groaned as a sharp stabbing pain shot through his side. Glancing down, he saw his shirt had been removed and he now was wrapped with large cream-colored bandages which were held together by a large safety pin.