Everything was black as Bart stirred and blinked. His head felt like it was tied to a rock, and he could feel a sharp pain shooting through it. A hand rested lightly on his shoulder.
"How are you feeling?" The voice of Rachel Logan bounced around in his head, echoing. How are you feeling---how are you feeling. . . .
He shook his head. "What happened?"
"That man shot you—not bad, I guess, but it grazed your head. I pretended you were dead, and he was satisfied and rode off," she said. "You should be able to stand soon, after you sit for a minute."
As his vision and reasoning became clearer, Bart looked up at the sun to determine the time. Must be close to five o'clock, he thought. The gang would soon be showing up. He put a hand to his head and felt bandage on it.
"John—or Bart, I'm gonna level with you," Rachel said. "I already know that you're an outlaw, but what I want to know is, do you? Do you really want to be?"
Bart was sitting up, and Rachel was kneeling beside him. Her words hurt more than the bullet crease. He knew the answer to her question, but what was the use in telling her?
"Listen," he said, "I've seen all I need to see to convince me that there's no use in going straight. My Pa was hung by people who believed in law and order and he had never done nothin'. You don't know what the world is like, Rachel. It can be mighty, mighty hard sometimes."
"No, Bart, you're wrong. I know all too well the ways of the world. Do you know what I did before I came to Watertown? I worked in a saloon. A dirty place where nothing was sacred. I saw and did some things during that time that even now I hate to think about. I was trapped within that world, Bart. Trapped like an animal. And I wasn't much better than one, either. Anyway, I had run away from home, and one day my father found me. He took me out of there, to a ranch where I couldn't see any of my old friends, or do any of my old things. He took me out of there and taught me a New Truth. I learned about the greatest things a person can know. I found God.
"Now, Bart, I know how it feels to be trapped in something. I know you could've stopped it, but everyone makes mistakes. There is a way out." Rachel was nearly in tears. Bart simply stared straight ahead, listening closely to the words which his heart had been waiting to hear.
"Listen, Bart. There . . . is . . . a way . . . out."
"But how? The gang will never let me out now," Bart said somewhat begrudgingly.
"You know, it isn't the gang that's got you trapped. You have your soul trapped. Have you ever heard the Gospel, Bart?"
He shook his head. Things were so confusing! Life was so confusing.
"What have you heard about God?"
"Not a whole lot, I guess. Just that He's God and He can do whatever he wants to you."
"God sent his Son, to come and die for your sins. The Bible says, 'For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever shall believe in Him shall not perish, but have eternal life.' God's son was Jesus. He was nailed to a cross. They nailed his hands for you, Bart. He hung there until he died. Men mocked him. Beat him. He endured it all for us—sinners." Rachel put gentle emphasis on each word, slowly, but desperately speaking.
"Yes, God can do whatever he wants to you, but he chose to give you life," she went on. "But men don't always accept that gift, and that's why the world is like it is today. One day soon, Jesus will come again, and take all his children home, and punish the ones who shunned Him, even though He doesn't want to. All you have to do is pray, Bart. Say that you believe in Him, believe that He died for you, believe that you need the saving."
"I know . . . I know I need something." Bart's voice was shaky, and Rachel's cheeks were dampened with her tears. "I believe, Rachel," he said with sigh of resignation.
"Pray, Bart. Ever since you came into the store for the first time, I knew you would believe someday."
Bart did pray, and he felt years younger. He still didn't understand what happened to his father, to his mother, to him, but Rachel assured him that that was okay. Some things, she said, they would never understand. They spoke for quite some time.
It wasn't as if Bart hadn't thought about God before—every human creature has to at one point or another in his life. Nor was it as if the words Rachel spoke were what made him pray. His heart had been searching for truth, and wanting it so badly. All he needed was someone to tell him what to do and a little push from above. It had been the way Bart took all the tragedies that had happened in his lifetime that made him the outlaw he was. From his mother dying when he was young, to his father being hung, to falling in with Darth and Smithy, Bart had been fueled by revenge. But that was different now, and Bart even forgot he was called an outlaw, until the sound of hoof beats interrupted his and Rachel's conversation.
"Bart, get saddled there's been trouble—who's the gal?" said Lefty as the three outlaws rode up.
"I'm not going, Lefty."
"Not going?" Dumarie asked. "You are coming if we have to drag you. Come on."
Stan dismounted and went to tighten Bart's horse's cinch.
"Wrong, Dumarie. I changed my mi- . . . my heart, and I won't ride with any gang, anymore."
Lefty and Dumarie dismounted and came to face Bart.
"We got to get out of here—fast. Someone got in the way of a bullet, and it won't be long before there's a posse on our trail." Dumarie had sudden inspiration and realized Bart would go nowhere for his own safety. "If you don't mount up and ride with us, the girl gets plugged."
Bart stood there deciding what to do, as Lefty held his gun on Rachel, Stan stood off to the side holding the horses, and Dumarie glared at Bart. Charlie just stayed on his horse, prepared to flee at any moment. Bart's head still hurt from the bullet crease and he felt dizzy. He looked at Rachel. Her face was pale, but she didn't look afraid—she didn't exactly look at him, either.
"Okay," he finally said. "I'll go."
End of an Outlaw part 4 of 5 © 2018 by K.J. Bruce