Hey guys, I'm here with another pet project of mine. Now I know this particular subject isn't read much anymore, but I figured with RDR 2 coming out soon I'd go ahead and get this out. There's also the fact that I hadn't really seen a concept like this one so I figured 'eh, might as well be me'.
I do not own RDR, everything belongs to Rockstar and others.
"You do realize this won't be easy, starting over as you want to."
"I don't care."
"Still, I feel compelled that I should warn you..."
"Just get it over with." There was a long silent pause.
"As you wish."
His eyes flew open, and he sucked air into his lungs as if he had just been submerged underwater. Instantly pain flooded his chest and mid section, leaving him gasping and taking shallower breaths. He was laying on a bed, well more like a mattress with just a sheet. Above him was a plain wooden ceiling with a kerosine lantern hanging from one of the rafters. To his right, hanging from the wooden plank walls was a cow hide.
Forcing himself to sit up slightly, he could see that he was in a small room that appeared to be a storage space. At the foot of the bed was an old fashioned wood burning stove, a chair, and a butter churn. Off to his left sat a nightstand with another lantern on it, along with a few empty glass bottles. Looking down at himself, he got a good look at his body as it was stretched out before him.
His midsection was wrapped in bandages, which explained why it hurt to breathe and move. He was wearing a pair of off color gray trousers, and was barefoot. Sunlight flooded in through the window that was above the nightstand, as well as the other ones that were present around the room, indicating that it was daytime.
The sound of a wooden door creaking open off to his left caused him to try and sit up a little further. However this was rewarded with more pain, and he fell onto his back struggling for breath. A pained moan escaped his lips as his head hit the pillow.
"Well, you're alive." He turned his head toward the sound of the new voice. A blonde haired woman wearing a white blouse, tan vest, dress skirt, and fancy turquoise necklace was standing in the doorway, looking down at him. She was beautiful, in her mid to late twenties if he had to guess. But she had a hardened, tough vibe about her as well. Her hair was tied back into a short pony tail.
"That explains it," he said, panting from the effort of having tried to get up. Dead people didn't feel pain. Unless they were in Hell, which he doubted he was.
"How are you feeling?" the woman asked.
"Like I got steamrolled by a freight train," he confessed. His whole body had a dull ache to it, and it hurt to take anything deeper then a shallow breath.
"I'm not surprised. When we found you alongside the road, it looked like your horse had rolled over top of you. The doctor said you have a few cracked ribs," the woman explained. He frowned at that. He didn't remember riding a horse. Actually, come to think of it, he didn't remember much of anything beyond when he had woken up a few minutes ago. This was something he found alarming, but he didn't show it mainly because of the pain from his ribs.
"What were you doing out there? Did you get waylaid by road agents?" the woman asked.
"I don't remember," he replied.
"Well, where are you from?"
"I don't remember that either." The woman folded her arms and an impatient scowl appeared on her face.
"Well what do you remember?" she asked.
"English," he replied curtly as he tried to sit up again, rapidly becoming annoyed at being questioned so much. The woman sighed and made her way over to him before helping him up so he was sitting on the side of the bed.
"I'm sorry for getting short with you. You took a pretty bad ding to the head, the doctor said there might be some memory loss," she said. He just sat there, trying to regain his breath. Now that he was upright, he didn't feel as much pain in his midsection.
"Do you remember your name, at least?" she asked. He blinked a few times, as if he was trying to clear sleep from his eyes.
"Court," he finally answered.
"Court?"
"Yeah, as in 'guilty!'" he said before stamping his foot on the floorboard, imitating a judge in a court of law. This earned a chuckle and a smile from the woman.
"Pleased to meet you, Court. I'm Bonnie MacFarlane. Ms. Bonnie MacFarlane." In any other situation, Court might have picked up on the emphases she put on the word Ms. But his current condition kept him from doing so.
"Nice to meet you, Ms. MacFarlane," Court said as he tried to stand, leaning heavily on the nightstand as he did so. Bonnie placed a hand on his shoulder and eased him back onto the bed.
"None of that, now. You need to get all the rest you can so those ribs can heal," she said. Court was too tired and weak to protest, much less fight back.
"Where are we?" he asked.
"We're on my ranch, well, my father's ranch, Mr?" she paused, waiting for his last name.
"Lonergan," he answered. Was that right? It sounded right, so he stuck with it.
"Well, Mr. Lonergan, don't you go moving around too much and break those bandages. We had to pay the doctor fifteen dollars in order to patch you up," she said, "now you just lay here and rest up. We're gonna need you in top shape in order for you to start paying us back." Court didn't bother fighting it. In the condition he was in, it wasn't like he could get very far anyway.
Court slept a majority of the time over the course of the next few days. The only time he got up was either to use the bathroom or eat what little food Bonnie brought him at meal times. His sleep was usually dreamless, but when he did dream they were too chaotic for him to make sense of. By the morning of the third day, he was able to move around on his own fairly well.
Bonnie brought him some of the clothes they had found him in. An off color button down shirt that may have been white at one point, a denim vest, a pair of boots, and a black wide brimmed hat. After dressing himself, Court stepped out into the morning sunlight and looked around. This was the first time he'd actually gotten a chance to look at the ranch, and what he saw impressed him.
Standing tied off to a post by the porch of his place of residence was a horse. It was a turkmen, dark bay in color with a line of white down the center of its face right between it's eyes. Bonnie had informed him that this was the horse they had found when they had found him, so they assumed it belonged to him.
"Hey boy, you know me?" he asked, gently reaching his hand out and placing it on the horse's face. It snorted and flicked it's ears, as if to say 'of course'. Court struggled to try and remember this animal, but only came up with very brief flashes, none of which he could make sense of. A name, however, did come to mind.
"Cochise, is that your name?" he asked. The horse flared its nostrils and dipped its head, but otherwise didn't give an answer, not that he was expecting one. Patting Cochise on the side, Court turned his attention to the rest of the ranch.
Off to his right were a fairly large set of corrals and sheds, while to his left was a circle of cabins that housed the ranch hands. Directly ahead of him was a low single story wooden building, and directly across the road from that was a large barn sitting next to a windmill. Walking his way to the road, Court looked both ways before starting toward his left. Across the road from him was a low, single story brick building. A sigh over the front door named the place as the ranch's foreman's office. Back on the side of the road he was on was what Court could only assume to be the main house. It was a massive, two story wooden structure with faded white paint, a fence surrounding the yard, and a massive tree to give it shade.
As he walked, Court found that he couldn't shake the feeling that something was just...wrong. It wasn't the lack of memories or general idea of who he was, although that contributed to it. No, it was a feeling that he didn't belong, and not a city person in a rural setting kind of way either. Everything felt off, primitive somehow. Like it all should have been much more advanced then it was, the people riding horses or wagons, even the train he'd heard coming and going from time to time. Then he spied Bonnie, and his uneasiness vanished somewhat.
Bonnie was leaning on railing of the front porch, looking out over the ranch. Out of everything that had happened the past couple of days, the woman was one of the few things that was constant in Court's life. She was a reminder that he wasn't going crazy, and that there was still sanity in the world. Even if that sanity was full of sarcastic comments and general back talk.
"Ah, Mr. Lonergan, how are you feeling?" she asked when she noticed him walking up the stairs of the porch.
"Much better, Ms."
"I'm glad to hear that. How's your head?" she asked, tapping her temple with her finger, indicating his memory.
"Still hazy at best," he replied. Bonnie frowned at that. They had both hoped that as his body recovered, so would his mind. It seemed this was not to be the case.
"I'm sorry to hear that. In any case, do you think you're healthy enough to do some work? We could use a hand around here," Bonnie said.
"I'll give it a try, no promises though." As it turned out, Court wasn't the best rancher in the world. Trying to heard cattle was something he found frustrating. Horse riding was something he could handle, however breaking them usually resulted in him getting bucked off. They finally found something he was good at in the night patrols around the ranch. Bonnie had armed him with an old Spencer carbine and set him loose against a few targets. They found that shooting was something that came like breathing to him, and while he was on night patrol he found it familiar, as if he had done something like this before.
"My, my, what kind of dangerous outlaw had I brought into our midst?" she asked one evening about a week after he had woken up. He had just shot a coyote that was on the run with a chicken in it's mouth from about halfway across the ranch. Evidently, the shot was enough to impress the woman. Her comment, however, had him frowning even though it was meant as a joke.
Court had almost no idea what his life had been like before he'd lost his memory. Based on his skill with a firearm, it was quite possible that he actually had been a dangerous outlaw. However a quick check with telegraph office in the ranch's train station confirmed that there was no warrant out for the arrest of one Court Lonergan.
It was the morning after the coyote incident that things took a change for the different. Court approached the main house for his daily chores. What he'd found was a wagon hitched up and ready to go, and Bonnie seemingly waiting on him.
"Ah, Mr. Lonergan, moving around later then usual I see," she said.
"That ain't my fault. Amos burnt most of breakfast," Court replied. The ranch hands usually ate from a central communal fire ring, with each one taking turns on preparing a meal. This morning it had been a ranch hand by the name of Amos' turn to cook, and he had badly scorched the bacon he'd been trying to put together.
"I ain't surprised there. Amos always was lacking in the colliery department," Bonnie said.
"So what's going on today?" Court asked.
"Go saddle your horse, you're riding into town with me," came the reply. He arched his eyebrows in surprise, but didn't say anything in argument. For over a week now he'd been ready to get out and stretch, explore the area around the ranch. The chance to go into town was not something he was willing to pass up.
"Oh by the way, you'll need this. Took if off ya when we found you," Bonnie said as he started to turn away, tossing him a leather belt wrapped around a bundle. Court caught it with ease and realized that it was a gun and gunbelt. Sitting in the holster was a Colt Single Action Army, worn from years of use, but well oiled and maintained. Looking up from the belt, he gave Bonnie a look of confusion. Everything else had been given back to him, why wait this long to return this?
"Didn't know who we were dealing with yet," Bonnie said as if that explained everything. Rather then press the matter, Court turned and walked off toward his cabin. He pulled on the belt and tightened it around his waist as he walked. The belt felt familiar, like he was wearing a favorite shirt. He gave the gun a few test draws and found that it came smoothly to him. Satisfied, Court set to saddling his horse before returning to Bonnie.
The two had found that while riding was something he could do, handling a team of horses to pull a wagon was not. Thus, here they were now with Bonnie driving the wagon and Court riding along side her on his own mount.
"So, Mr. Lonergan..."
"If it's all the same to you, Ms, I'd rather you just called me Court," Court interrupted.
"Alright, Court. But you'll have to lay off the 'Ms.' and just call me Bonnie," came the reply. Court gave the rancher a smirk.
"I think I can handle that."
"Good, now as I was saying, how have you been getting along?" she asked.
"I'm doing alright, I suppose. The work is hard, but there's food for me to eat and a bed to sleep on," he said. Granted he could have used some of the finer things in life, like a bed that wasn't as hard as a plank or a pocket full of cash, but he was too polite to say something like that. His main focus had been on paying Bonnie back for the money he owed her. Now that this debt was almost repaid, he needed a plan for what to do next.
"I'm glad to hear. So what are your plans now?" she asked as if reading his mind.
"Now...I'm not entirely sure, to be honest. Part of me likes what I've got here now. It ain't much, but its better then being homeless and completely destitute. The other part of me got this itch to get out there and find out who I am, make my own way," he said.
"Sounds like the rational part and foolhardy part of your brain are fighting," Bonnie quipped dryly.
"All I know is this; if a man doesn't know who he is, then he doesn't have much of anything," he replied.
The town of Armadillo wasn't large by any stretch of the imagination. It consisted of a single main street, with two rows of buildings down each side, each row containing five individual buildings. On the west end of town sat the train station, while on the east sat a pair of two story structures along side the sheriff's office.
Court took in all of the town as he rode alongside Bonnie. For being small, the place seemed to have everything you'd expect in a town. A doctor's office, a barber and dentist office, a gunsmith, a general store, a saloon, even a bank.
"Armadillo. Manhattan it is not," Bonnie said sarcasticly as she brought the wagon to a halt in front of the General Store.
"Doesn't seem like much, but it looks functional," Court replied as he leaned forward on his saddle.
"It has it's perks. Why don't you go see the Marshal? Ask around, maybe someone here has seen you before," Bonnie suggested as she climbed down from the wagon. Court gave her a wary look.
"Don't you need help loading the wagon?" he asked.
"I can manage on my own. You go on, look around, you earned it. Just don't get yourself shot," she said. Court just shook his head.
"Bonnie, you wound me with how little faith you have in me," he said before turning his horse and trotting toward the low white building on the edge of town with the sign 'Sheriff' hanging over front of it. Bringing his horse to a halt, Court swung down from the saddle and tied it off to a hitching post that sat next to the steps leading up to the front door of the building.
Adjusting his hat slightly, Court walked up into the office and out of the heat of the mid morning sun bearing down on him. The Sheriff's Office, much like the rest of the town, wasn't much to behold. A few cells lined the far wall. A desk with a gun rack behind it sat in the corner off to his left, and an open area that seemed to be a waiting area was off to his right. The front door was standing wide open, probably as a means of trying to keep the interior of the building cool.
There were only two other men in the building besides Court himself. The first was sitting in a locked cell with his arms folded like he was a board child pouting in time out. Meanwhile the second cell was standing wide open, while the man inside lay on the bed and snored rather loudly. Judging by what he had seen, Court figured that the first man was a prisoner, while the second was a lawman who was very, very inept at his job.
"Law enforcement at its finest," he muttered.
"Ain't it just," the prisoner said, clearly just as annoyed by the sleeping man as Court was. Still, he picked up a pebble from the floor and tossed it through the bars.
"Hey, HEY! Ya got a visitor," he said as the man began to wake up. The lawman sat up and snorted before rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
"Shut up, you!" he said, gesturing toward the prisoner. Turning his head, he realized that the prisoner was actually right and there was someone else in the room.
"What you want?" he asked, his thick southern draw clear as day.
"I was told to come find the Marshal. And I hope to God that ain't you," Court said as he hooked his thumbs in his gunbelt. The lawman stood and spat a black lump of tobacco juice into a corner. He stopped in the cell door and leaned against the bars. Overall he was greasy and unclean, with a bowler hat, a dark colored shirt, gray button down vest, and a pair of blue jeans. A shiny star sat on his chest, designating him as a law man.
"You that fella from the train company?"
"No."
"Then where ya from?"
"McFarlane Ranch, I guess," Court said. The lawman perked up at that.
"MacFarlane? You with them Bollard Twins?" he asked, drawing his gun and aiming it at Court. The young man felt a cool sense wash over him as he stared down the black barrel of the lawman's gun. Rather then panic, he drew his own gun and aimed right back.
"Calm down," he said, his voice level. The prisoner had gotten excited by the sudden turn of events. He was up out of his seat and at the bars, eager to see what would happen next.
"Shoot 'em, mister!" he said, hoping to spur on violence. Court just ignored him. The lawman had both hands on his gun and was visibly shaking, while Court only had one hand and was steady as a rock.
"What's going on here?" came a voice from behind Court in the open doorway. He sounded tired and annoyed, like a parent breaking up a fight between two children for the umpteenth time.
"I got me one of them Bollard Twin boys!" the lawman aiming at his gun at Court declared, as if he was relieved to see someone arrive to back him up.
"I got me an idiot lawman who's bound to get more people shot then saved," Court replied. All he had said was where he had been staying. Sure, there was a local gang that operated not too far from the ranch, but that didn't mean Court was working with them. Not by a long shot.
"Jonah, put your gun down," the new man said. Reluctantly, Jonah lowered his pistol, and Court did the same, returning it to it's holster. Now that the situation was over, Court felt the cool and focused sensation wearing off. Maybe he had been in situations like this before. That would certainly explain his cool demeanor. Then again, Jonah had been so shaky that Court doubted he could have hit the ground with his hat in three tries.
"You must be the man Bonnie found alongside the road," the newcomer said. For the first time, Court got he chance to look at him. He had salt and pepper hair with a gray well trimmed beard. He was wearing a white shirt with a maroon vest, and had a lit cigar hanging from his mouth. A white wide brimmed hat sat atop his head, and a pair of revolvers hung from either hip on his gunbelt.
"That's right. Court Lonergan," he said holding out his hand to shake. The newcomer shook it before leaning against the desk and taking off his hat.
"Marshal Leigh Johnson. What can I do for you, Mr. Lonergan?" he asked.
"Well, Marshal. I was hoping you had something that could help me. A missing person's report, someone seeing me get off the train here, that sort of thing," Court explained. Johnson nodded as he plucked the cigar from his lips.
"Jonah, get out of here for a while," he said as he exhaled a cloud of smoke.
"Yes, sir, Mr. Johnson, sir," Jonah said as he started walking toward the door. The entire time, he was sending Court a stink eye.
"You, I done seen enough of your hide around here," he said.
"I think there's some kids down the way you can go scare," Court replied, clearly not intimidated in the slightest by the Deputy.
"Oh, hardy fuckin' har! Dickhead," Jonah said before walking out the door.
"I'm sorry to say, Mr. Lonergan, no one's come forward with either a warrant or a missing person's report for you. If there is anyone out there looking, they're clearly not looking here," Johnson said once his deputy was gone.
"I tried the telegraph office at the ranch and turned up nothing. This was my next option," Court said.
"Well, I'm sorry to say that I can't help you much more in that regard. That being said, if you're up for it, I might have a job for you." Court eyed the Marshal warily.
"I'm not sure I'm cut out to wear a tin star, Marshal," he said.
"Neither was I, yet here I stand. You showed a level head when dealing with Jonah just a little bit ago. Most ranch hands would have panicked and shot him, but you didn't. That tells me you can handle yourself in stressful situations, and I could use a man like that," Johnson said.
"So what? I walk into your office, point a gun at one of your deputies and get a job?" Court asked, not believing his ears.
"Not quite. You gotta put in an application, if you're interested," the Marshal replied before handing him a folded piece of paper. Unfolding it, Court was surprised to see that it wasn't an application, but a wanted poster. The man depicted was wanted for assault with a bounty of forty dollars.
"What's the catch?" he asked, looking up from the poster.
"Simple. You bring him back, alive, and the job is yours," Johnson said. Court looked back down at the poster. Forty dollars wasn't much, but it was a good start. When every cent was worth something, forty dollars could go a long way.
"Looks like I'm going into the bounty hunting business."
And cut, that's a wrap for the first chapter. Like I said in the beginning, I hadn't really seen any stories with the concept of someone else going on the adventures in Red Dead besides John. For those of you who are familiar with my work, you may recognize the names in the title and the main character. A while back I had a story with the same title and main character, however it was set in Legend of Korra, and in the end it didn't really pan out. But now I've brought it back, this time in a setting that makes much more sense.
But anyway, enough of that for now. Please please remember to review or PM. Let me know what you liked or didn't like, and I'll see you all next time!