An Outlaw's Redemption

Chapter Twenty-Five

Late Summer 1848

Juárez, New Mexico was mostly lawless in '48 when Weston was just sixteen. He had made a name for himself in a short time and much unwantedly. As Jimmy kept reminding him, if he continued to hang out with Cody, he would end up

more than simply wanted.

"You'll end up dead if you continue to entertain Cody's notions," Jimmy warned him, "you're fast, but you're stupid."

Weston narrowed his eyes, "Stupid? How am I stupid?"

Jimmy chuckled, "Simmer down, kid. I just mean you should know better than to let yourself get wrapped up with someone the likes of him. He and his bunch are fun, but their ways only going to end in heartache for you. They don't care about you, Barlow, but I do...so trust me, hanging with them will get you nowhere fast."

Weston shook his head, "You just don't like him because he had me do his shooting for him."

Jimmy nodded, "That's part of it; the other part is I know he won't stick his neck out for you. If you're going to do that kind of stuff, you'd better know you're doing it with someone who has your back no matter what; can you tell me honestly that you think Cody would lay his life on the line for you?"

Weston sighed, "I don't know what anyone would do until they do it...I'd like to think he'd do the same for me that I'd do for him; same as I'd do for you."

Jimmy heeled his horse forward, "Well, I hope for your sake you don't find out differently." He paused and glanced back at Weston, "You sure you won't join me and go to San Francisco? I'll be there about two months. It could be fun for you as long as you stay away from the dockside bars. They Shanghai folks down there."

Barlow shook his head, "I'll join you later, but I promised Cody and the guys I'd meet them in Juárez." Regretfully, Jimmy nodded and parted from his young friend as they went their separate ways; well over a thousand miles apart.

The city was buzzing with song, laughter, and the sound of guns being fired in excitement. Santana was nervous beneath Barlow as they rode into the town. Truthfully, Weston was nervous, too, he kept one hand on his gun and the other on the reins. He encouraged his steed nonetheless, "It'll be alright boy. They're just excited."

He neared the Big Sombrero — the hotel and gambling house Cody had written to him about. Tying Santana to the hitching post, he debated whether he should even go inside. Now that he was here, he couldn't remember why he'd agreed to come. This place gave him the creeps. He wasn't certain he could leave his horse without coming to find he'd been stolen. Still, there wasn't any other way to find Cody...and he had given his word. Though by now, Weston was wishing he would have just gone along with Jimmy to San Francisco. At least if he was with Jimmy, he wouldn't feel so alone.

But a promise was a promise. He had to be a man of his word. So, he swallowed a deep breath and headed into the hotel. Removing his hat, he asked the desk clerk where to find his friend. After giving him a description, the clerk grinned, then pointed up and handed him a key, "Top floor, room eight."

Weston wasn't sure why the clerk had given him a key, but he headed to the room as instructed. He cleared his throat and tapped on the door, "Cody? It's Weston Barlow."

He heard laughter and a stumble as his friend called out, "C-come in here, Babyface!" Arching a brow, he grit his teeth and unlocked the door. There his friend was, laying drunk as a skunk on the floor with a bottle in his hand. Two young women sat on the bed decked to the nines with feather boas and banana curls dangling on their shoulders; their silk dresses shimmering as the light danced across the slick material.