An Outlaw's Redemption

Chapter Ten

Summer 1857

Trust is a funny word. It has been used and abused to the point of exhaustion. Weston knew that better than most at this point in his life. At twenty-five years old he'd seen his fair share of "trust" — he'd seen the way the word had been twisted and misused. One thing he'd learned, if he ever told someone he trusted them, they'd better not make him regret it. Glancing back into the wanted poster, which bore his name and image, he was reminded again of the abuse inflicted with the use of that word. He'd trusted the wrong man once or twice; that's why his face was on a Dead or Alive poster now...with a bounty higher than it had ever been yet. He was certain that seven thousand dollars would cause many to hunt him down like a deer.

Crumbling the piece of paper, he pocketed it inside his coat. This meant more death and more graves...unnecessary ones. Why couldn't folks just give him a chance to be good? To be the man he longed to be. Adjusting his hat, he mounted his horse and started riding. He needed to get as far away from here as possible. He headed north, up to Michigan. He knew his old friend James Cole would be up that way. He hadn't seen him in seven months' time, one of the longest times he'd gone without sharing the dust of the trail with his friend.

Truthfully, he missed him. He was the only person in the world he felt he could truly trust...the only one that still knew the real Weston Barlow. Jimmy had headed up to Michigan for a job with the Mayor of Detroit, John Patton. It took many weeks for him to get there, but eventually he did. Arriving in the thriving town on April tenth just as they seemed to be preparing for something quite special. Banners and ribbons of red, white, and blue decorated the streets, hanging from businesses and wrapped around poles. It looked as though they were getting ready to celebrate the fourth of July. Music played loudly from Saloons and Theatres as Barlow rode down the street. Santana's ears bent backward; he seemed to feel as out of place as his companion did as his hoofs tapped across the cobblestone path.

Weston gave him a gentle pat on the side of his neck, "Easy boy. You're fine."

Heading for City Hall, Weston tipped his hat towards ladies as he passed by; occasionally they would curtesy, but mostly they just continued about what they were doing and paid him no mind. When they reached the mayor's office, Weston handed the holding boy five cents to hold onto Santana's reins for him and he entered the building; hopeful his friend would be here. There was a secretary seated at a large, oak desk, whom he asked, "Is Mayor Patton in?"

The man looked up at him and sighed, "I'm afraid you've arrived at the mayor's lunch hour. You may wait here if you'd like, but if it's urgent, you can find him at the Red Hen."

Weston thanked the man and retrieved Santana. As he mounted his horse, he asked the boy, "Can you point me in the direction of the Red Hen?"

The little boy smiled, "Yes, sir. That's my aunt's café."

He pointed down the block and offered, "I'm getting hungry myself; care to let me ride along with you? I can get you a free lunch."

Weston smiled, "Well, I've never turned down food. Hop on."

As they rode, the boy said, "I'm Peter. What's your name?"

Weston grinned, "Weston."

"Can I call you Wes?"

Glancing at Peter, he chuckled, "Sure, you can call me whatever you want."

"Where are you from?"

This little boy is quite curious and kind, Weston thought. He was thankful there was still a place in the world where a child could simply be that — a child.