Author's Note

WARNINGS: Possible, but infrequent strong language, violence, themes of the sexual nature, angst.

PAIRING: Jack Marston and an OC

REFERENCES: 'People Are Strange' by The Doors

'God's Gonna Cut you Down' by Johnny Cash

There's a very small reference to 'Lawless' in this chapter. See if you can spot it.

OTHER: Thank you, Isabelle, for taking the time to review – and a lovely review at that! It was very motivational, so thanks again.

This chapter's a lot longer (I think) than last. Last chapter was more of an epilogue, more than anything. Here we get introduced to more characters and OCs are developed. I hope you read this and enjoy it, if you do, please review, favourite, follow etc.

Chapter 2: When you're a Stranger

After a tiring journey across Rio Bravo, riding at what Jack considered a painstakingly slow pace; both he and the wanderer had made it into the town of Armadillo. By the time they arrived, it couldn't have been any earlier than noon. Checking his pocket watch whilst the horse was still trotting slowly, Jack realised the time was half past the hour of twelve exactly. The Sun was at its hottest at this time so many of Armadillo's people were hoarding in the Saloon either parched or merely savouring being in the shade. This is also the time of day where the depravity is most scarce. It wasn't until nightfall when Armadillo showed its true colours. Jack was tempted to warn the wanderer about this, knowing that she was probably being lulled into a false sense of security – he decided against it, however. She would find out for herself in due course.

Jack was considered somewhat of a notable figure around this town and some others. Whether it was infamy as opposed to fame – that notion was debatable. The inhabitants had their own opinions on the matter, but either way he was especially renowned around these parts and whether or not they considered him a worthy icon, he was still respected and obeyed by many. He had an inkling that this was out of fear, something that he didn't want. He had no intentions of abusing his status in such a way; he'd seen the men, the power greedy men, both corrupted and glorified. Through personal experience he had witnessed the monster that is corruption harm is family, abusing their power and control over the underdogs and the little people. We tolerate this kind of behaviour; we tolerate it because it's common. We tolerate it because the little people can't and won't stand up to the big bug.

Jack was the dark horse. Jack stood up against the law for the sake of justice itself – the irony of it all. He stood up, but for what price? If he's learnt anything from his father, it's that God's going to cut you down for your Sins, someday. There is no escaping your past, no clean slates; no turning over a new leaf, what goes around comes around. His philosophy on life, after he had avenged his father's death, was that death could literally be around any corner.

"This is it, miss, end of the road," Jack started as he pulled on the reins of the horse. The horse came to a full stop in the middle of the dirt road. Jack turned his head slightly to make eye contact with his passenger and also to help her down. His hand reached around to take hold of hers and after doing so, she hopped off the horse.

"Muchas gracias, senor, me has ayudado mucho," (Thank you very much, sir, you have helped me very much) thanked the Mexican whilst looking up at her saddled saviour, of sorts.

Jack understood little Spanish, but grasped the gist of what she was trying to say. In response, he tipped his hat and mumbled, "Happy to help, ma'am."

"I will pray for you, kind gentleman, in hopes that your good deeds will be repaid," continued the lady, her hands meeting as if she was already beginning to pray.

"No problem. Now, if you don't mind, I've gotta go see a man about a horse. Stay safe, miss."

She smiled and nodded as she tucked stray hairs behind her ear. Soon after, Jack was trotting off, once again, leaving the girl stranded in the strange town. She was at a loss of what to do, or where to start. The smile faded at the realisation.

There seemed to be a lot of commotion coming from within the Saloon behind her, so her journey in Armadillo was to begin there. Upon entering, she felt out of place amongst the local folk (or at least the wide majority of them were local). Not once had she left her home town of Chuparosa, Mexico. She had been rather sheltered in the sense that she was always accepted in her small town and always aware of her surroundings. At the moment, she considered herself to be stuck in a predicament far worse than the one she was in back home – as they say, out of the frying pan and into the fire.

Nevertheless, she soldiered on and gently nudged her way to the bar. As feeble and as quiet as a dormouse, she eased through the patrons, but at the same time, with the agility of a cat. When she eventually reached the bar, she was ignored for a good five minutes due to the amount of customers.

"What can I get you, ma'am," the bartender, Dewey Greenwood, asked as he rested against the bar.

"I'll have a gin, please," she replied, opening her satchel for her money.

"Right away, ma'am." He reached under the bar to grab the bottle and a tumbler, and then began pouring the liquid into the glass. "We don't get a lot of Mexican ladies in here. Just passing by?" Dewey questioned, trying to create conversation.

"Maybe," she responded with a smile, not knowing how else to reply as she wasn't so certain herself. She downed the burning liquid in the glass, pulling a face of disgust whilst doing so. She didn't necessarily enjoy the taste of liquor, but like many other people enjoyed the feeling afterwards. Liquor could be the cure to life's problems – but we have to make sure that they don't become the cause.

"Is there anything else I can get you, ma'am?"

"Actually - my name is Catalina. I'm really in need of a favour, por favor. Can you help me? Please, senor, I'm desperate and I am begging you. Find it in your heart to rent out a room to me, even just for a short while. I need a place to stay, until I figure out what direction God intends me to go in. At the moment, I am lost and so alone."

A moment of silence passed before Dewey sighed, "Ain't nobody stayin' in this Saloon without payin', missy. I'd like to help, but–"

"Oh, senor, please. I don't have much money, but I could pay you back, I promise you. With God as my witness, I swear to you. I could help around the Saloon."

"How old are you, miss?"

"Eighteen – why?"

"Many women your age and older make a livin' by - satisfying a certain need, shall we say? A certain physical need which men are more than willin' to pay for," Dewey hushed, picking his words carefully as not to offend Catalina.

The bartender's attempts to make subtle his implication were futile and had failed, ultimately leading to offending Catalina. Her eyes widened in disbelief and her jaw dropped slightly. Before a brief pause she started, "Surely you don't mean that I should sell myself to those seeking the pleasure of the flesh!"

"Ma'am, please, it was only a friendly suggestion. Many women have turned to that in the past when there ain't nowhere else to turn. I had no intentions of offendin'. If that ain't a road you wanna ride down, then may I suggest searchin' elsewhere for work and a place to stay? I am sorry, ma'am, I'd really like to help, I would. But there ain't no work here."

Catalina's eyebrows knitted together on hearing the bad news. Her sad eyes looked to the ground in a sulky manner as she started to leave the Saloon in defeat. "Thanks anyway, senor."

Meanwhile, Jack had been stocking up on ammo and had also invested in a new Mauser Pistol, taking pride in his current weapon array. In Jack's opinion, it was the simple things in his life, such as a new gun, which were to be the most enjoyable. Simplicity itself was glorious.

He was just about to finish up with his purchases, but was rudely interrupted when an unfamiliar voice sounded behind him, "Mr Marston?"

Jack spun around quickly to meet who he thought to be a stranger. "Excuse me, do I know you?"

"No, no, but everyone is this town knows you." Jack eyed the badge on the gentleman's waistcoat; it was in the shape of a star. Immediately, he knew he was the new Sheriff in Armadillo. Jack automatically took an instant disliking to this stranger. He wasn't one to judge a person before getting to know them, but as far as Jack was concerned, it was the law as a whole who had killed his father. "I'm Sheriff Tom McKinley; Sheriff of this here town." He stuck his thumbs into his trouser pockets and his chest puffed out as if to boast.

Jack said nothing in reply. Instead, he continued to store the new ammo into his bandolier. The Sheriff started again, "You know, I've heard stories about you, boy–"

"Don't always believe what you hear, Mr McKinley," Jack grumbled, not entirely interested in where the conversation was currently at nor where it was going to. He refused to give Tom any eye contact thinking he'd soon get the hint that he wasn't interested. Tom's eyes, however, darted towards what Jack seemed so interested in.

"That's an awful lot of ammo there for one man, son. If I didn't know any better, I'd–"

"Huntin', sir. Huntin'."

"Huntin' with a Mauser?" Tom's mood had turned snide and sceptical. Jack's ignorance and boorish behaviour hadn't settled well with him, despite how minute the fault really was.

"Yes siree!"

Jack finished up by shoving the Mauser into his holster and was about turn and leave the Gunsmiths but was aggressively pulled back by McKinley. "Well, that's a lie, if I ever heard one!" Tom yelled, still having hold of Jack by the shoulder. Jack was forced to make eye contact now as he was placed directly in front of the Sheriff. "Do you expect me to believe that, boy?!"

There was a long pause; an awkward one. Jack was a fair few inches taller than Tom, so he took this to his advantage to stare down the middle-aged, slimy man. Jack reached into his pocket and casually pulled out a cigarette from its carton. He placed the cigarette between his lips, slowly before muttering, "Don't you ever touch me again." He shrugged out of Tom's grip and left the Gunsmith.

"Now, Jack, is that any way to treat both your elder and the authority?" Tom chuckled, forcing his mood out of the hot temper it was previously in. "Look, boy, I think we got off on the wrong foot." Tom snaked his arm across Jack's shoulders and urged him towards the Sheriff's office as opposed to his original destination.

"Mister, give a kid a break. I ain't got time for your shit. Stay outta my business and I'll stay out of yours."

"Your business is my business. This whole town is my business and as long as you're in it - well, let's just say I'm gonna keep a mighty close eye on you, boy." They came to a full stop outside of the Sheriff's office. Jack swallowed hard as he glared at the man. He swallowed his rage; his fists balled up, knuckles going white with suppression. "I like you, Jack; I really do. I see, uh, potential, in you."

"Sir, I ain't ever gonna help or work for you or any other authority figure. I ain't your lackey, nor will I allow myself to be pushed around by a man because he wears a badge, when I never did nothin' wrong in the first place. I've lost a lot in my life, but I still have my dignity, sir – no disrespect, each man to his own. G'day, Mr McKinley." Jack tipped his hat in Tom's direction and then turned his back to him.

As he was walking away and lighting his cigarette with a match, he heard Tom holler something from behind. "I can be your best friend, Jack – or your worst nightmare."

"Once you witness Hell, you're able to defeat any one of your nightmares."