Now I don't take pleasure in a man's pain,
But my wrath will come down like the cold rain.
And there won't be no shelter, no place you can go
It's time to put your hands up, time for surrender,
I'm a vigilante, my love's defender,
You're a wanted man, here everybody knows.
You better call the police, call the coroner,
Call up your priest, have him warn ya.
Won't be no peace when I find that fool
Who did that to you, yeah,
Who did that to you, my baby,
Who did that to you,
Gotta find that fool who did that to you.
John LegendThe following day John Marston woke near dawn, as he did most mornings.
It was a tired habit. He was up at daybreak during the week to start his farming duties these days, but today was Saturday and here he was anyways, all comfortable somnolence departed from him already. He'd been quite happy to sleep past noon not so very long ago, when there was no work to be done. But of course there might indeed be work this day. Not the farming sort, but work nonetheless.
He glanced askance, rubbing his face, his palm rasping against his unshaven cheek. The window to the left of the bed he shared with Abigail was brightening behind the transparent grommet drapes, but only just. The light was low, gray and grim. It was going to snow, judging by the chill in their room. Maybe all those puffed-up ranchers in Valentine ought not count their unhatched chickens yet, after all.
He shifted, sighing, and rolling over beneath the heavy quilt turned to Abigail. She was still asleep, both hands curled beneath her chin, her dark hair tangled about her head. He lay there for a moment, hands clasped beneath his cheek, looking at her, his eyes skating over her features. After a moment he threw the blanket off of him roughly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The motion of the mattress woke Abigail, whose eyes opened slowly, blinking at him as he sat on the side of their bed, shirtless, his lean torso caught in the early morning light, accentuating the ridges of his spine and the long muscles of his shoulders. He put both hands over his face, sighing.
"You going?" she asked, her voice soft and rough with sleep. "So early?"
"Here shortly." John sat back, putting his hands into his lap, then glanced at her, his expression a little boyish. "I'm sorta frightened, Abigail."
"You're frightened?" Abigail watched him from her pillow, her eyes dark and discerning. "For what reason, John?"
John shook his head, chewing his thumbnail. "I don't rightly know. I truly don't."
"Well, sure you know. Is it Rane or is it Micah? Surely it's one or the other."
"Why would it be Rane?" said John, a little accusatory. "She's on our side, for Christ's sake."
"You know that ain't how I mean," said Abigail, low.
John shook his head, scrubbing at his face. "It's Micah."
"That so?"
"He ain't small time, is all, and we're riding in to wake some snakes. Could be he'll land on us with all four feet, and I ain't exactly been practicing my sharpshooting these past couple years."
Abigail wasn't so easily derailed by this. "And she ain't got nothin' to do with it?"
John sighed, turning to her and meeting her gaze. "Abigail, I know we ain't always seen eye to eye on this, but I want you to hear me right now. I want you and me and Jack together. More than I want anything else. Rane don't factor into it. Okay?"
"But you care about her."
"I care about her because she's my friend, and because Arthur loved her and she loved him. And that's it. I need you to believe me on that," he added quietly. "She's hurting for Arthur real bad, Abigail. She deserves this just as much as me and Sadie."
"Oh, hell." Abigail shifted on her pillow. "She tell you that? Might could be she's forgotten all about him and this is just her bein' idle, John, not all women hang onto men that way."
"Nah." John shook his head. "I bet she'd never admit it, you remember how she is with her goddamned hubris -"
"Oh, don't I ever."
"- but you can tell that she's been sufferin'. You shoulda seen her last night. Pounding drinks, cussin' and carryin' on . . . Lord knows if it was me in her place and you in Arthur's, I'd do the same."
Abigail fell back onto her pillow, looking at the ceiling, one hand massaging her brow.
"John Marston." She sighed. "You're gonna be the death of me."
John rolled toward her, taking her face in his hands, and kissed her long. "Abigail. I love ya. You know I do, sweetheart."
"So I'm told." Abigail drew back, meeting his eyes. "I hope you don't think less of me if I don't send out the welcome mat for her nevertheless."
"Nah. Nor would she, I don't think." John planted another kiss on her forehead, getting to his feet and snatching his shirt up from the floor. "I'll be back before dusk."
Abigail got up onto her elbows, eyeing him shrewdly. "I wanted us to be through with this life years back."
"So did I, but it seems that this life wasn't through with us yet." He tweaked her chin gently, meeting her eyes. "You're gonna sit right here and be gentle, and I'll be back nightfall, then the three of us, Rane and Sadie and me, we're all gonna go our separate ways and be finished with all that old business once and for all. I ain't gonna leave you and Jack, honey. Not for anything."
Abigail nodded, her lips pursed, then took his hand and kissed his palm gently. "Okay, John. You go. And you be safe."
"Yes'm." He offered her one last wan smile, then strode off out of their little bedroom, pulling his shirt over his head as he went. The screen door banged shut behind him.
THE sky was still velvety crimson overhead as John saddled Rachel and led her out of the barn, and it was now shot through with dark, fluffy clouds. Snow clouds, he thought. It might have been a fair winter and what seemed to be the start of an even fairer spring, but the cold months weren't finished with them just yet. It was chilly enough to see his breath shearing in front of his lips, and this time he didn't skip out on his heavy duster.
He rode to the fore of the ranch, halting a stamping Rachel there, and sat astride her, drawing his collar close around his neck and waiting. It wasn't more than half an hour before Sadie appeared astride her dappled mustang, looking bleary-eyed.
"You look like you were ridden hard and put away wet, Mister Milton," she remarked, tipping her hat toward him.
"Will you quit callin' me that, please? Christ, bad enough I gotta hear it from my boss all goddamn day."
"Sorry." Sadie looked around. "Rane here yet?"
John shook his head, scanning the road leading to the ranch a little anxiously. "You reckon she'll show?"
"Well, if she ain't still too drunk, which she very well may be, I imagine she will, yeah." Sadie tilted her hat back on her neck, peering up at the sky. "I believe it may snow before the end of it."
"Yeah, I was thinking that myself. Maybe all them fellers in Valentine jumped the gun a little bit. All that talk about a good winter and the river not floodin' and here we are comin' up on June and it's about to dump on us again one last time."
"Yeah."
"I mean we ain't got much in the way of livestock here, but even Mister Geddes is all of a dither about the market, keeps talking of selling off his head of cattle just because they're bought stiff right now. I just keep tellin' him it ain't worth it, turning 'em loose just to be stuck without a herd come summer, but shit, he don't listen. At least calve a few first, you know? Set yourself up for the next season?"
Sadie was eyeing him shrewdly. "You nervous or somethin', John?"
"Nervous? Why you ask me that?"
"Because you're talking so fast you sound like an auctioneer, and I know you don't give no shit about cattle."
John scoffed, rolling his eyes. Sadie sighed, massaging the bridge of her nose.
"Dammit. I knew I shouldn't have come after you. A day in and already goin' to bits -"
"Sadie, Jesus Christ," John snapped impatiently. "Look, I been looking for Micah for three goddamn years now, of course I feel a little bit anxious to get it over with. Wouldn't anybody? Don't you?"
"Yeah, but I'm nervous because the man's a crack shot, not because I'm burning up for the pretty young thing riding with us to do it -"
"Alright, look, I don't wanna hear no more about that, Sadie Adler, and I am goddamned fuckin' dead serious about it, you hear me?" snapped John, suddenly quite vitriolic. Sadie recoiled a little. "I can't have no more bullshit in my head right now besides this thing with Micah, that's more than enough to get me all out of sorts, so quit antagonizing me over fuckin' Rane Roth. Christ almighty, you ain't nothin' if not relentless. Alright?"
Sadie lifted both hands, looking surprised and a little chastened. "Okay, okay, sure. I was just takin' the piss outta you, John, I didn't mean nothing."
"You think you can put a lid on that horseshit for a little while without runnin' off your mouth? Because I got shit on my mind besides her, believe it or not, this ain't easy for me any way you look at it."
"Okay, okay. I was only teasing."
"Well, you can call it teasing but I say you're makin' like a sheep-killing dog and being a shit for the hell of it, myself," John muttered crossly, pointing. "Here she is."
Sadie followed his finger. Eli was trotting towards them, and Rane astride him. Her hair was tied back in a high knot, and she looked cross and not a little hungover.
"I should have fought you a lot harder about this whole meeting up at dawn thing, John Marston," she remarked blearily as she drew close, pulling Eli into a tight, prancing little circle. "This getting up early shit is for the birds."
"Might could be it's made worse by the twelve pints you put away last night," said Sadie, laughing.
"Well, that's what hair of the dog is for," Rane replied, pulling her flask from her jeans pocket and brandishing it for a moment before taking a swig. John scoffed.
"Good lord, Rane, it ain't even midday yet, for crying out loud . . ."
"Maybe there was some misunderstanding last night about how much of the time I spend drunk these days," said Rane dryly, reeling Eli around and glancing at him over her shoulder. "We're heading for Strawberry, I understand?"
"We sure are." Sadie spurred her horse on. "You two follow me."
"Wait, I don't get to say hi to the family?"
"Quit," said John, low.
Rane subsided reluctantly. "Well, honestly I would have liked to see Jack, at least. How's he living these days?"
"Long and scrawny and all legs just like his pa," Sadie replied, smirking. "He's gonna be a lanky son of a bitch if he keeps going."
"He must be what now, six? Seven?"
"Seven, yeah." John was nodding. "Sproutin' up like a weed."
"Well, kids tend to do that." Rane glanced back at him as Eli trotted beneath her, his hindquarters twitching. "Abigail's good? I was afraid to ask last night."
"As Abigail goes, sure, I guess so."
Sadie snorted. John cast her a dire look.
"Somethin' funny?"
"Oh, hell, John, quit being so sensitive!" Sadie cried, laughing. "Jesus Christ, you're so damn prudish anymore! You were always the first one to call Abigail out back in the day!"
"Yeah, well this ain't back in the day no more," John muttered crossly.
"She's about as pissed as a hornet that you're still around," Sadie informed Rane, still laughing. John scoffed, looking irritable. "But she ain't dead, and she's tending to her own, so I guess she's doin' good, which is what Mister Milton here won't tell ya."
"Qut callin' me that, I said." John snapped Rachel's Ranes, breaking into a trot. "We wasn't sure you'd show up on time, Rane, all that boozin' you did last night."
"You guys are lucky I'm here at all, I had to ride to Annesburg and drop off ol' Szechuan Bob before dawn," said Rane grimly. "And the Sheriff was already two cups of coffee deep, which - Sadie can back me up on this - is a very, very bad thing when you're hung over -"
"Christ, that man could talk a gate off its hinges," Sadie muttered, shaking her head.
"- exactly, so I'm about sixty percent asleep right now, I'll tell no lies. Also hungry. If I see a Waffle House, we're pulling over."
"So the way I see it, we get to Strawberry and split up, see if we can't find Cleet that way," said Sadie. "Cover more ground between the three of us."
"No." John was shaking his head. "I want us stickin' together for this. If we come on Cleet, we're gonna do it all in one. I ain't keen to start trouble in town, Abigail's trying to find work there and Rane can take him down quiet."
Rane snorted. "When have I ever done anything quietly?"
"You know." John gestured vaguely. "That . . . thing you do, with the ropes and the red light and all that chintzy shit."
"Chintzy?" Rane cast an insulted look at him over her shoulder. "Did you just call me chintzy?"
"You know what I mean."
Rane scoffed, turning back to the trail a trifle haughtily."Well, sorry to disappoint you, but that ship has sailed."
John looked at her with some surprise. "What? Why?"
"Because the genteel and most preeminent Micah fucking Bell smashed my wand three years ago. Thought I told you guys that."
"So get another one," said Sadie, shrugging.
"Get another one? What do you want me to do, pop on down to the wand store?" Rane pulled her flask and took another swig, wincing. "We get those things when we're little kids, Sadie, it's no small feat to replace one. I wouldn't even know where to start looking, you don't just snap a twig off a tree and start waving it around all willy-nilly."
"You planning on taking on Cleet shitty-assed drunk?" John asked her a trifle reproachfully. "Before noon, at that?"
"Not like it would make much difference," said Rane, sounding boastful enough, but John saw her stow her flask into her pocket again nevertheless, looking a little chastened. "That guy couldn't hit the floor if he fell out of bed, judging by what I saw."
"Just take it easy, is all I'm askin'."
Rane sighed, glowering ahead. "If you say so."
THE three of them came upon Strawberry some hour later, as the sun was riding a little higher. The snow clouds were drawing together now with more decisiveness, and the first little flurry of snowflakes was beginning to fall, lighting on Rachel's mane. Rane was peering upwards, smirking, squinting a little.
"Think winter isn't quite done with us yet," she said, her voice light. "Your cattle ranchers might have gotten their party on a little prematurely."
"It's a fluke," said Sadie, looking around her, one hand on her gun. There weren't many people about, but she felt a little uneasy nevertheless. "There's always a squall or two end of season."
"You sound nervous," Rane remarked, glancing back at her shrewdly.
"You ain't?"
"There," said John abruptly, pointing past Rane's shoulder before she could answer Sadie.
Both women glanced in the direction he'd indicated. There was a man sitting on the porch of the inn some ways away, boots propped up on the balcony ledge, smoking a cigar. Rane squinted, her eyes flicking across his features. He was tall, lanky, with dark, thinning hair and a sort of mousy look about him. It could have been Cleet, maybe but . . .
"I don't really remember what he looked like anymore," she remarked, low. "You sure that's him?"
John heaved a rough sigh, nodding his head. "Oh, I'm sure, alright."
"So now what do we do?" Sadie said, glancing between Rane and John. "Should we go in after him right away? I sure wish we'd have spotted him a little further out."
"He's looking right at us," said Rane, turning her face down a little and covering her mouth with one hand. "You think he'd recognize us? I only met him a time or two."
"Him and me spent plenty of time together," said John quietly.
"Shit, he's getting up," Sadie breathed.
Rane cast her eyes over her shoulder. Cleet was indeed getting to his feet, slow and a little cautious, his eyes on the three of them. He pulled the cigar from his lips and cast it unceremoniously away from him toward the little river that ran through town, then turned and started for the inn, walking rather quickly.
"Oh no you don't, motherfucker," she whispered, slipping off Eli. "Come on, you guys."
