An Outlaw's Redemption

Chapter Nineteen

Market Square: Springfield, Missouri July 21, 1865

The music was lively, the lamps were lit, the table was surrounded as the stakes were set. A little friendly game of poker at the Lyon House Hotel was just what Weston needed to blow off some steam from the trail. He tossed his bet in the center, "I'll see you, and raise you five more."

The dealer grinned, "Alright, I'll see your five and raise you twenty." Weston glanced at his cards, "You must be pretty confident in your hand...I'll fold."

"House wins."

Weston collected his remaining winnings and stood, "Deal me out of this hand." He pocketed his money and turned to watch another ongoing poker game in the corner. It had been going longer than he'd been here, but from the looks of it, things were bound to take a turn sooner or later. The man playing the high stakes game had won nearly two hundred dollars. Quite the sum for the day. As Weston watched he leaned against the bar and sipped his Sarsaparilla. Another man who stood nearby the table seemed to be loaning money as needed to local gamblers and encouraging them, and sometimes coaching them on how to beat the man on the winning streak. It seemed apparent that most of the money the man had won belonged to the other gentleman and he didn't appreciate his losses.

Unwilling to admit defeat, the generous man with the loans reminded the man at the table of a "forty-dollar debt" from a past horse trade. The man at the table shrugged and paid him the sum but the man was still unappeased. By now, names had been exchanged back and forth so much that Weston knew the poker player to be Bill Hickok and the man taunting him was Davis Tutt; they'd shouted their names enough at one another that Weston and everyone else couldn't miss who they were. They were both known gamblers and at one time had even been friends. Weston knew Hickok's reputation and decided to continue watching to see how things played out.

Tutt claimed, "You owe me an additional thirty-five dollars, you old weasel, from the last poker game!"

Hickok continued playing his hand and shook his head, "I think you're wrong, Dave. It's only twenty-five dollars. I have a memorandum in my pocket."

It seemed to Weston that this ten-dollar difference in the debt would fester into more than either man had bargained for from the looks of things. Tutt continued to nag at Hickok while he was playing poker, ultimately grabbing hold of a Waltham repeater gold pocket watch in front of Hickok.
"I'll just keep this for collateral until you pay me the full thirty-five," Tutt announced.

Weston shifted his weight and placed his drink on the bar. From the look on Hickok's face, that watch was one of his most prized possessions and he wasn't going to give it up that easily. Weston decided he would help him out if need be. Hickok looked livid but being outnumbered and outgunned inside the hotel by several of Tutt's associates, he decided not to resort to violence at that moment. He laid his cards on the table and quietly demanded that Tutt put the watch back on the table.

Tutt replied only with an evil smirk and left the premises with the watch in hand. His actions publicly humiliated Hickok. Not only had he stolen his watch, but his demanding payment or a collateral from a fellow card player implied he thought Hickok was an insolvent gambler trying to avoid his debts. To ignore such an insult from Tutt would ruin Hickok's career as a gambler in Springfield, his only source of income at the time.

The men continued to mock Hickok, and Weston was beginning to get irritated that Hickok sat there and took it. He couldn't understand how a man with Hickok's reputation wasn't letting his guns do the talking.

He sat there and said nothing. Finally, a man said, "I bet Tutt is going to wear that watch of yours right down the middle of town square tomorrow."

Hickok narrowed his eyes and replied, "He shouldn't come across that square unless dead men can walk."

Weston knew then Hickok had made up his mind about what he was going to do about the situation.

He must have the patience of Job, Weston figured, how else could he put up with this madness so long?

Within an hour, word reached Hickok that Tutt was parading around the town square proudly displaying his pocket watch hanging from his front pocket. Weston watched with intense curiosity as to how this thing would play out. He still planned to be of help if it was necessary, but right now Hickok seemed to have it under control.

Weston followed Hickok at a distance and watched as he neared Tutt in the town square. They exchanged a few words, he heard Tutt tell him that he wouldn't take less than forty-five dollars now. Weston shook his head, This fella sure ain't too bright.

Hickok refused and another man said, "You'd better just take the thirty-five, Dave."

A sigh of frustration escaped Hickok's lips, "Thirty-five?! I only owe you twenty-five you old goat!"

Tutt dangled the watch in front of Hickok's face taunting him, "Forty-five or no watch!" Hickok's face grew grim, "Dave, I don't want to fight you...when the war closed, I buried the hatchet, and I won't fight now unless I'm put upon."

"I don't want to fight you either, Bill."

"Why don't we just have a drink and talk this out?"

After the drink, it seemed that nothing had changed. Tutt left the saloon still wearing the watch and muttered something as he crossed the town square. Hickok ran out after him and called, "Dave, here I am."

He cocked his pistol and gave a final warning, "Don't you come across here with that watch."

Tutt didn't reply but turned with his hand on his pistol. Weston figured that was reply enough. It seems he wouldn't have to lend a hand to Hickok anyway, he was handling this one personally. Both men faced each other in a dueling position; each hesitated briefly. They had, after all, once been friends.

Each fired a single shot at the same time. Tutt missed, but Hickok's bullet struck Tutt in the left side between his fifth and seventh ribs. Tutt called out, "Boys, I'm killed," and ran onto the porch of the local courthouse, then collapsed in the street and died. Hickok holstered his gun, "You old fool...shame that's the way it ended for you."

The Sheriff soon arrested Hickok and charged him with murder, but the court reduced it to manslaughter based on the circumstances. The trial lasted three days and Weston stayed for every one of them. It didn't seem fair to him. Hickok claimed it to be self-defense, which from everything Weston had witnessed that week he was in agreement with him. His lawyer was the former Union military Governor of Arkansas, John S. Phelps. He had a very convincing argument, but out of the twenty-two witnesses that testified; Weston being one of them, there was no hard evidence to prove one way or the other.

The jury deliberated for an hour or two before they finally reached a verdict of not guilty...a very unpopular ruling at the time. Weston couldn't help but feel a bit of pride himself that Hickok had been freed, it made him believe that there could be a few decent people left in this world.

When Hickok left the courthouse, Weston neared him and extended his hand, "Mr. Hickok, I just wanted to say that I'm glad things worked out in your favor today."

Hickok smiled, "Thank you, son. I don't believe I caught your name."

"Weston Barlow."

Hickok grinned, "Well, Mr. Barlow, can I interest you in a drink?"

Weston dipped his head as the Sheriff headed around them, "No, but thank you. I'd best be moving on. I've learned not to hang around one place too long."

Hickok smiled thoughtfully and seemed to understand that Weston was uncomfortable around the lawman. His next words seemed to be in a code of some sort, "You can harness a mule or an ox, but you have to give a horse a chance to run."

Hickok understood he wasn't meant to be tied down, he needed to be free; that and the wanted poster mirroring Barlow's face hung directly behind him. With a firm hand on Weston's shoulder, he whispered as he shielded him from the Sheriff and passed by, "Ride it like you stole it."