An Outlaw's Redemption

Chapter Twenty-Three

Autumn 1852

The wind whistled though him as Weston hunched down on the edge of the rooftop. They'd been searching for him all night after he and Jimmy won the high stakes game at the saloon. Seems the local gamblers didn't take kindly to some other folks winning their money. But their game had been fixed and Jimmy knew just how to read the cards. Pretty soon he'd figured out a way to beat them at their own game and talked Weston into joining him.

They hadn't cheated mind you; they had just known when the others were bluffing or when they went to using a marked deck. The signals they passed to each other hadn't been too hard to miss either, but still, they didn't appreciate being beat.

By the end of the night, Jimmy and Weston had won over a thousand dollars combined.

Well, as you probably guessed, there was a shootout. The other's tried to pull a gun on them and Weston shot two of the three men at the table with them. The third man rounded up the rest of his buddies afterwards and chased Jimmy & Weston out of the saloon. Deciding to go their separate ways and meet up again later, Jimmy hightailed it out of town in a hurry, while Weston headed up to his room in the hotel. But sure enough, the remaining gambler sent his henchmen to Weston's room. He snuck out the window and crawled up to the rooftop. He waited most of the night for the men to give up looking for him so he could sneak out of town like Jimmy had, but those men didn't give up easy.

Shame they don't put that much effort into an honest game, Weston thought.

He raised up, to shift his position, but his boot gave away. His leg had fallen asleep due to the way he'd been forced to sit on it all night and it was too numb to properly support Weston's weight. Franticly he struggled to keep hold of the roof, but he fell two stories to the hard ground below. Cracking a rib in the process. When he regained his breath, he pulled himself upward. Gritting his teeth from the pain. He knew he shouldn't ride, but he had no choice — it was either that or face the men who wanted to kill him. While he could easily shoot them, he would much rather not.

One swift whistle made Santana break loose of his holding and made his way to him. Weston gripped his side and moaned. The breath it took to whistle felt like a knife digging into his side.

He could barely suck in any air without the burning pain rippling through him. Somehow, he mounted Santana and heeled him forward. With every step of his horse, Weston felt like he might fall off from the pain alone. He wanted to scream, but he couldn't suck in enough air to even breath at any normal capacity, so screaming out in pain was out of the question.

He grabbed the reins tighter with one hand, wrapping his other around his side, and grit his teeth as he forced himself to keep moving. A muscle tightened in his jaw as he tried to hold his breath. It was easier that way and less painful. Of course, he couldn't do that for long, so he would take a breath and try again.

Slumping over the saddle from the pain, Santana somehow brought Weston to a small house in the middle of the prairie. A woman came outside and took pity on him, having her two boys help him down from the saddle and bring him inside. They even took Santana to their barn and tended to him while their mother and their little sister saw to their unexpected visitor.

Her name was Eliza Jane Spencer. She was a widow with three children to tend for and a small farm slowly going down. Her boys did the best they could to take care of the place, but being only twelve and fourteen, they were not strong enough to do the heavy lifting required around the place. Her husband, Earl Spencer, had taken out a loan to help get them through to the harvest; but he'd had a heart attack while plowing in the field and left Eliza with a mountain of debt she couldn't pay. Now the bank would seize her land and she, along with her three children, would be homeless. But for now, she intended to care for this man who was clearly worse off than she was.

"Laura, go get me the spare bed sheet and then tell your brothers to go down in the cellar and bring up a bucket of ice."

The little girl nodded and did just as her Ma had said. Within a few minutes, Eliza had stripped the sheet down into long lengths of cloth and she'd wrapped them tightly around Weston's torso. She took a few safety pins from her sewing kit and pinned it in place securely.
Weston managed to regain his breath, "T-thank you, Mrs.?"
"Spencer, but you can call me Eliza if you like."

"Weston Barlow."

She smiled warmly, "Would you care for a bite to eat, Mr. Barlow?" He nodded and she wondered to the stove to retrieve a small bowl of potato soup. When she neared him, she apologized, "I'm sorry I don't have much to offer you."

He shook his head, "It's more than kind, thank you."

Her sons returned with the ice and Eliza crushed it as best she could then made Weston lye back as she placed it near his fractured rib; the ice helped the swelling go down.

After a while, the boys began asking questions about his guns. They seemed curious so Weston answered their questions. They all seemed to be kind and respectable children, a credit to their Ma. Eventually, when the children went to bed, Eliza told Weston about her husband and the farm; after she felt the need to apologize again for the meek meal. He smiled at her, "You don't owe me anything Eliza. Dinner was delicious. I'm sorry about your husband."

She nodded, "It's alright...the Lord will provide. He always does."

"Where will you go when the bank comes?"

She shook her head, "I don't know...I just don't know. He's supposed to come out tomorrow."

"How much do you owe on this place?"

"A hundred and fifty dollars."

Struggling, Weston reached into his pocket. He pulled out that amount and handed it to her, "Here. Give that to the banker tomorrow when he comes, but make sure you get a receipt."

Tears dropped from her eyes, and she shook her head, "I can't take this."

He grinned, "You're not taking it. I'm giving it to you. Consider it a payment for fixing me up so good."

She wiped the tears from her eyes, "You're a good man."

When she left to go to bed, he told her again, "Make certain you get a receipt, alright?"

She nodded, "I will."

When morning came, Eliza rose to find Weston gone. He'd left a note on the table, and it read:

Eliza,

Thank you for opening your home to me. You should be proud of your kids, they're something special. Don't forget to get a receipt from that banker. Here is something extra for your kindness — while it was delicious, growing boys need more than potato soup. I hope this helps.

~ Weston Barlow

Tears dripped from her eyes. The Lord had provided. She'd done unto the least of these, and the Lord had honored her sacrifice. Gripping the note tightly to her chest, she said a prayer of thanks.

It wasn't long before the banker rode in to evict them. To his surprise, the bill was paid in full. He wrote her a receipt and headed back to town. Pleased that his pocket was full of money. Eliza swelled with pride and told the children to get ready, and tonight they would be having a proper meal because they had enough money now to not only survive, but thrive, thanks to a stranger with a broken rib.

Barlow waited until the banker was a good mile from the farm when he gritted his teeth and called out to him, "Stop right there!" The banker held up his hands as he saw Barlow near him with gun drawn. Weston tried not to make his pain obvious, and he commanded the man to "hand over" the money. The scared banker did just as Weston asked. With their transaction complete, Weston heeled Santana and rode off with his remaining $150. It would be more than enough to see him through for a while. Satisfied that he had done his good deed of the day, Weston pressed on, until he found a place where he could rest and mend his broken rib.