Past the square, past the bridge
Past the mills, past the stacks
On a gathering storm
Comes a tall handsome man
In a dusty black coat
With a red right hand
- Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds
"John! Come give me a hand with this!"
John looked up from where he'd been smoking a cigarette on the outskirts of camp, overlooking the lake they'd adopted. Arthur Morgan was riding in, and his horse was all over the place. Looked like it was spooked, John thought. He got to his feet, tossing his unfinished smoke aside.
"John, god dammit, I said get over here and -!"
"I'm coming, I'm coming!" John shouted, walking toward Arthur. "Jesus, keep your britches on."
"Marston, I knew you was stupid but I never knew you was so damned slow -"
"You keep talkin' shit and I'll forget all about ya and go to bed, you old asshole." John approached Arthur's horse, grasping at the reins. Arthur himself had dismounted and was trying his damndest to calm the thoroughbred, which was tossing her head and braying. John grasped the other side of the bridle and yanked hard, pulling the horse's head toward him. Her eyes were rolling. Something had spooked her, that was for sure.
"Easy there, girl," he murmured, patting her neck gently. The thoroughbred continued to snort and stamp. "The hell you do to stir her up so much, Arthur? You get set on by somethin' on the way back?"
"Nah, it's that damned woman on her back," Arthur replied, strained, still pulling at the bridle and panting. There was a sparkle of sweat on his brow. "Get 'er down, will ya, before she causes the damned beast to bolt on me? I'll never catch her, Lord knows."
John turned to the saddle, behind which a woman was indeed tethered. John approached her, pulled her down and put her over his shoulder. She thrashed madly in his grasp, keening against her gag. The horse calmed at once, her ears flattened, staring at the woman with rolling eyes.
"Jesus, she's madder'n a hornet, ain't she?" John remarked as Arthur tied his horse. "The hell'd you do to her, Morgan? This how you show ladies you're sweet on 'em these days?"
"Shit, just saved her damn life, is all, don't everybody get up and thank me at once," Arthur replied gruffly, brushing himself off and giving John an insulted look. "Picked her up from a couple o' Pinkertons fixin' to make her into a public attraction. There was talk of takin' turns on her like a goddamned merry-go-round, John. I ain't usually the chivalrous sort but I couldn't hardly just ride on past actin' like I didn't hear 'em talkin'." He smirked, tipping his hat. "Woulda spoiled my supper."
"Well, you coulda just turned her loose, no sense bringin' her all the way back here into this damn snake den."
Arthur was shaking his head. "Had to get outta there quick, they was ready to blow us both fulla holes, and she was already trussed up like a Christmas turkey. What was I 'spose to do, cut her free and leave her in the woods? Some girl not yet thirty wanderin' around with no weapons and no supplies? Shit, might as well just shoot her outright, she wouldn't have lasted a day, no bearings -"
"Valentine, then -"
"Yeah, sure, riding into Valentine after we cleaned out their bank sounds like a fine idea, John. Shit, I bet the law would probably have shaken our hands and invited us both in for tea and biscuits."
The woman thrashed on John's shoulder and he staggered, grasping at her again.
"Alright, fine, you grumpy bastard," he said, shaking his head. "What d'ya wanna do with her, then?"
"Keep 'er here, for now," said Arthur, arming sweat from his brow and shaking his head. "She's not a Pinkerton, clearly, but I still ain't sure I want her runnin' free 'til we decide just what she is. Dutch will agree, I think. We can talk to him come morning."
"Alright, well then where we gonna put her? Molly and Pearson won't be happy we got another mouth to feed -"
"Ah, to hell with Molly n' Pearson," said Arthur, shaking his head, "just put her in the spare o'er there, she'll keep for the night."
"You don't think she'll make a run for it?"
"Nah, not til dawn, lest she wants her fool self eaten by a goddamned cougar," said Arthur, emphasizing the last word pointedly as he glanced at the woman on John's shoulder. "Ain't no reason for her to go, she's disarmed and got nothin' to her name 'cept them jeans she's wearin'. She'll be nice. Or she'll be dead. Either way suits me fine just this very moment."
He slapped John's shoulder gently.
"Talk her down, won't ya, Marston? You're the one who's good at talkin' folk down, I ain't so good at it, as you can well see."
John struggled with his feet again as the woman thrashed.
"Yeah, I can see that," he said, laughing. "Alright, if you think she ain't gonna knife us in our sleep, I s'pose . . . "
"She wouldn't dare, not after I put my skin on the line savin' her," Arthur replied imperiously. "Get yourself some rest, Marston, and make sure she knows what she stands to lose should she run for it. We outgun her and she oughta know that, so she minds her manners."
John nodded. He knew well enough. If she managed to bypass the bulk of the camp, she'd be damned lucky, but it would be nothing short of a blue-eyed miracle if she got past Charles and Javier. They were marksmen to rival Annie Oakley.
"Alright, go on then, leave me with all your problems as per usual," he said, snorting.
"Well if it's too much goddamned trouble , John, give her here and I'll -"
"Nah, she's already on my shoulder, go on to bed," said John, shaking his head. And when Arthur hesitated, "go on, Arthur, for Chist's sake."
"Alright, alright, fine," said Arthur, sounding put off, "Christ, Marston, you sure are bossy tonight. I'm goin', I'm goin'."
John watched him slouch away, then started toward the spare tent. The woman on his shoulder thrashed a bit more.
"Calm yourself, woman, it's just a bed," he said, and patted her shoulder gently. "Just a bed, now. No need to get yourself into a tiff. We're tryin' to be good to ya."
The tent overlooked the lake on the other side of the bayou, and in all honesty it wasn't a bad spot; John himself was set up facing Josiah's tent, which was less than ten feet away. The lake, modest though it was, gently lapped at the shore only a few short steps from there. He'd been a little skeptical about this spot, just like Dutch had been - they knew next to nothing about the fall of the land, and Rhodes was a sleepy little town that gave John the willies, for some reason - but he had grown rather fond of it over the past few weeks. It was awfully pretty, even if the air was thick enough to cut with a knife sometimes and the cicadas and loons were loud as klaxons in the early mornings.
John laid the woman in the bed facedown and bent over her, knife held at the ready.
"Take it easy, now," said John gently. "I'm gonna untie you now, and if we ain't amiable about it there's liable to be worse problems. This here is a place for you to rest up. Ain't no one gonna take advantage of you. Arthur said them Pinkertons were fixin' to make a spectacle of you, but that ain't the way we do things here. This here is the Van Der Linde gang. We're not that way. You understand?"
The woman craned her neck, nodding, and the one eye John could see marked him.
"You gonna behave? If I cut ya loose?"
She nodded again.
"Ain't gonna try to run me through? Or do nothin' stupid?"
She shook her head.
"Alright, then. Hold still."
His knife was deft, and in a moment her binds were cut loose. She scrambled back from him at once, yanking the kerchief from her mouth, and struggled to her feet, backing into the rear of the tent, looking at him with clear wariness.
And for the first time in his adult life, John was struck dumb by a woman. She was utterly beautiful, almost unearthly so. She was tall, lean, with long dark hair and high cheekbones, and beneath thick brows a pair of bright hazel eyes shone, angry and alert. He had never seen another like her. It took a moment for his tongue to come unglued.
"Ma'am, please, I apologize. My name is John Marston."
"I bet it is." The woman was getting to her feet. "You boys in the habit of snatching up strangers? They'll throw you in the clink for that type of shit where I come from."
"Well, no, we ain't." John eyed her warily. She was edging toward the mouth of the tent already, and he raised both his hands, palms out, seeing where this was going to go. "Now, miss, we just agreed -"
"I didn't agree to jack shit," said the woman, and then she was moving, hideously fast.
"Hey! HEY!"
She'd damn near gotten out of his reach. Her speed . . . it was weird. Even as John threw himself at her and hoisted her back onto his shoulder by the waist, he felt a twinge of unease. Something about her was just . . . off . . .
"Let me go!" she hissed.
"I wish I could, miss, but we got things to discuss," John told her, and he deposited her back onto the bed. She backed up again, drawing her knees to her chest, glaring at him from beneath her brows. "Now I know you're scared, but this is the way things gotta be for the nonce, and you said you'd behave seein' as how Arthur done you a favor."
"Yeah, he stole me away from one gang of assholes and dropped me into another one, how very august of him," the woman said, but she was curling her legs beneath her Indian-style even as she spoke, clearly a concession of concord. She knew she wasn't getting away, at least not yet, and that pleased John. He sat slowly on the opposite side of the bed, the springs creaking rustily beneath him.
"Well, we may be assholes, but we ain't Pinkertons," said John. "They're some nasty pieces of work, take it from me. You're safe here with us, for now."
The woman looked up at John, both hands clasped in her lap, then dropped her gaze to the bed. In the low light she seemed even more beautiful. He took the opportunity to scrutinize her, now that the immediacy of his worry she'd bolt like a spooked mustang had passed; she was wearing strange clothes, something he wondered if Arthur had noticed. The jeans and scuffed boots were easy enough to recognize, hell John had a pair or two of those himself, but the blouse was decidedly odd. It was white, sort of billowy, with two leather strings that dangled to her midsection and an open throat that exposed quite a bit of her throat and collarbone and well, here he was, gawping at her like a schoolboy. He cleared his throat, rubbing one hand over his face.
"You said your name was John?" the woman said, lifting her gaze to his again. She sounded a little warmer now.
"Yes ma'am, John Marston," he replied.
"I'm Rane, Rane Roth," the woman said, and to John's bafflement she stuck out her hand.
"Well, you surely ain't from around these parts, but it's a damn pleasure," John said, laughing and shaking it. Her grasp was firm and dry. "Whereabouts do you hail from, Rane Roth? I ain't never heard no accent like that one, and I've been from one end to t'other."
Rane sighed. "I'm from a lot of places. Most recently from London."
"Well, I reckon you musta come by boat, then, and without soundin' too limey, at that."
"By boat?" Rane asked him, looking surprised. She glanced around her. "Why would I come by boat?"
John laughed. "Well how the hell else you gonna cross the ocean? Sprout wings and fly?
"What are you . . . ?" Rane trailed off. "Where am I, exactly?"
"Well, you're on the outskirts of Lemoyne," said John.
Rane leaned forward a little, her brows knitting. "Lemoyne. Lemoyne."
"Yeah, the very same."
"What year?"
John looked bewildered. "Huh?"
"The year. What year is this?"
"Why, it's 1899."
Rane blinked. "Beg your pardon?"
"1899, miss, last I checked." John was looking at her in perplexity. "You okay there?"
Rane stared at John for another moment, her mouth hanging slightly open, then passed a hand over her face, her gaze drifting away from his.
"Holy fuck," she said softly. "Holy fuck, that can't be right."
"You okay there?" John asked her again. He wanted to reach out and touch her wrist, but found he could not quite bring himself to do it. "You come over kinda pale, miss -"
"My wand," said Rane, looking up at him. "And my sword. Did - did either of them - did that guy that brought me in -?"
"Arthur," John supplied.
"Arthur, yeah, did he have anything of mine?" She reached out and grasped John's forearm, and to his rather embarrassed surprise he felt a flurry in his stomach at her touch. "Anything? Any of my stuff?"
"I dunno, I surely didn't think to ask," John replied, still feeling quite bewildered. "Somethin' of yours you need? We got lots of supplies if it's -"
"No, no, these are . . . these are special," Rane told him, shaking her head. "I need them. Both of them."
"Well, now, if you promise not to run off on me, I'm happy to go ask him," John said haltingly.
"I'm not going anywhere," Rane said at once, looking at him baldly. "Cross my heart."
John looked at her appraisingly for another moment, then hoisted himself to his feet with a grunt.
"Alright, I'm gonna trust that you won't, against my better judgment," he said, low. "You set right there and don't get up to no funny stuff, or we're gonna have ourselves some problems. Not to sound too ungentlemanly but we got sharpshooters in this camp could hit an acorn at fifty yards. Okay?"
"You got it."
"Alright, stay here. I'll be right back."
John strode off, casting a glance over his shoulder as he did. The woman - Rane - certainly didn't look like she was about to spring up and streak away. She looked scared more than anything. That grayish shade hadn't left her face. Something John had said to her had scared the daylights right out of her, that was for sure.
Arthur was lying on his bunk at his repose, his hat tilted back over his eyes. John rapped on the wagon's side smartly and Arthur jerked awake, flailing.
"God - damn -!" Arthur slung the hat away from him, sitting up and casting John a dire look. "The hell you playin' at, Marston, can't you see I'm tryin' to -?"
"That woman you brought in," said John, folding his arms. "She have any belongings with her? A sword, she says?"
"The hell'd you do, John, left her alone? She's probably halfway to Saint Denis by now!"
"She ain't goin' nowhere, I talked her down," said John, shaking her head. "Just scared, is all, seems confused. Askin' me what year it is and all manner of strangeness . . ."
"Well, knowin' them Pinkertons they likely knocked her around a bit before I came upon her," said Arthur, leaning back again and crossing his feet. He retrieved his hat from the ground and placed it over his eyes once more. "No, she ain't had nothin' on her 'cept the clothes she was wearin', and with that bunch she's lucky she had that. Anything she had is still at their camp."
"And where is that, exactly?"
Arthur lifted the tip of his hat just enough to expose one wry eye. "You thinkin' about goin' back for her effects, John?"
"Well -" John struggled, feeling suddenly inept. He wrung his hands briefly, feeling warmth rising in his face. "Well, I just may at that, if it helps her get back onto her feet after all this -"
"Oh, I'm sure it's to help get her back on her feet, of course, no other reason," Arthur said, snorting. John gave him a sour look.
"Oh, you just always gotta say somethin', don't ya?" he snapped as Arthur laughed. "I'm just tryin' to do what's right, Arthur! Damn, but ain't you just -!"
"Oh calm down, would ya, I'm only teasin' you," said Arthur, dropping his hat again and grinning. "I saw her, too, you know, it's hard to say no to a lady that purty, 'specially for a young buck like you. They're holed up just northwest of Rhodes, little clearing near the shore. You happy now?"
"No," said John, and shoved at one of Arthur's boots. "Go back to sleep, you old sourpuss."
"Oh I intend to do just that," Arthur replied, still smirking. "You go rescue your lady fair, John Marston."
John rolled his eyes, turning from Arthur, and strode back toward the bayou, his face still pink.
FOR a moment, it looked like Rane really had taken a powder, and John could have kicked himself for being so foolish as to let her have the chance, but then he spotted her standing on the shoreline, arms wrapped around herself, looking off into the growing darkness, the breeze teasing the ends of her long hair. He shook his head, breathing a sigh of relief, and approached her, his boots crunching in the silt.
"Miss Rane, Arthur says he didn't have none of your things when he brought you in," he said, drawing to her side and shoving his hands into his jeans pockets. "But if you like, I'll help you get 'em back from the Pinkertons come dawn. Arthur says they're hidin' out not too far from here."
"Fuck," Rane muttered, and struck at her thigh, frowning. She sighed. "I'd welcome a hand, yeah. I'd take 'em on myself but I'm about as useless as tits on a bull without my sword."
John snorted. "Well, we got plenty of guns, that'll turn the trick just the same, miss."
Rane looked over at John, smirking, and for a moment he was struck dumb by her once again. The late sun, red and fiery, cast her face into sharp resolution, and he felt his breath halt in his throat for a moment. Like a goddamned teenager, that's what you are , he thought to himself admonishingly. Arthur saw right through you, John Marston, damned if he didn't.
"Just Rane. I'm not 'miss' anything." Rane looked faintly amused.
"'Course, miss - er, 'course, Rane." John followed her gaze toward the bayou again. "So you feelin' okay now? You had a funny look when I left."
Rane laughed, but there wasn't much humor in it. "I tell you what, I feel batshit crazy for even saying it, but I think . . ." She trailed off, shaking her head. "I dunno. Maybe I just need to keep my dipshit mouth shut til the morning. Like saying it out loud makes it real, you know?"
John rocked back on his heels, hands still crammed into his pockets, looking sidelong at her profile and feeling graceless. "Well, if there's anything I can do, I'm more'n happy to -"
"Just help me get my stuff back and I'll call it a draw," said Rane, glancing at him. She hesitated, then added, "I know I didn't make much of an entrance but I do appreciate you guys taking me in, even for the night. Wish I'd have come upon you guys first, rather than those fuckheads. First time being hogtied, and not too wild about doing it again."
John laughed. "Well, m - er, Rane, I think I may just kick back now. We ain't got much in the ways of food just this moment but Pearson'll throw us somethin' together come morning, he usually does."
He pointed back toward the camp.
"I'm just over yonderways if you need anything," he told her. "Anything at all."
Rane followed his finger. "By the tree?"
"The very same. Now I mean it, you need anything, you come and you see me. I sleep light. Most our boys do. You're safe with us tonight."
Rane glanced up at him, her face half-hidden by the growing shadows. "Thanks, John Marston. For being so nice to a stranger."
There it was again - tingles all through his gut when she spoke his name. He felt about as helpless as some fool tied to the front of a train, with this young woman he'd met not half an hour ago getting into his head like this. Arthur'd never let him live it down if he caught scent, that was for sure. And Arthur caught most.
"Well, like I says, we may be assholes but we ain't Pinkertons," John replied, trying to sound gruff. "Get some sleep, and don't go runnin' off just yet like I asked. We'll pay them a visit come morning."
"Roger."
John was about to correct her - it's John, miss - but realized a split second before he opened his fool mouth that this was just more of her strange way of speaking, and snapped it shut again. He fumbled with a response, but in the end his nerve failed him and he turned away and strode back toward camp, pulling his hat back on. Rane watched him lope off, arms still crossed, then turned back to the bayou. Whatever was going on here, it was a nice view, at least. And the man, John . . . he wasn't half bad, either.
THE morning dawned golden and beautiful, and Rane awoke to the smell of fresh coffee and wilderness, both of which were familiar and welcome. She sat up, the scant blanket falling off of her, and stretched richly, both hands over her head, squeezing her eyes shut and groaning.
"Well, would you look at who's awake."
Rane turned her head, glancing over her shoulder. Arthur stood there, one hand grasping a crass mug of steaming coffee, peering at her over it with a smirk. The early morning sun was bright and orange, casting his face into sharp resolution. His eyes were sharp and bright. Rane had the immediate impression that she wouldn't be able to get a trick past this guy.
"I guess you decided not to run off in the night, then," he said, sipping his mug. "Glad to see you stuck around."
"Well, I was threatened on pain of death, so you could say I was motivated," Rane replied dryly, getting to her feet and pulling her boots on. "But I appreciate you getting me away from those . . . those guys, whoever they are."
"Pinkertons," Arthur told her. He lifted his mug toward her. "And it was my pleasure, miss."
Rane inclined her head, still yanking on her boots.
"So. I hear tell you're goin' off to that Pinkerton camp to reclaim what's yours with one of my men."
"If he'll have me, yeah." Rane straightened, squaring her shoulders.
"Well," said Arthur, chuckling and shaking his head, "I daresay he'll have ya, miss."
Rane looked at him for a moment, her mouth downturned.
"He offered to help me."
"I am most certain he did."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Only that," said Arthur, shaking his head. He inclined his coffee mug towards her once more. "Your good health, madam. And here's to you getting your things back with all of us in one piece. My boy in particular."
He moved with hideous speed towards her, his gaze sharpening, and with one hand he grasped her upper arm and drew her close. He faced her now, so close that his breath moved the stray hairs before her face. She marked every minute detail of his face, inches before hers.
"You get John Marston hurt or killed," he said softly, "and I'll find your trail even if you ride on to hell to get away from me. I don't care how pretty you are, you'll still go into the ground same as any of the rest I've put under for tryin' to harm that boy. You understand, girl?"
Rane nodded, staring up at him. His grip was iron. "Yeah."
"You sure about that?" Arthur shook her gently, still glaring down at her.
Rane nodded again, looking into his eyes.
"I just want my stuff," she said softly. "That's all. Then I'll be on my way. I don't want to cause you guys any more trouble than I already have."
Arthur stared at her another moment, then released her roughly. She staggered back, rubbing her arm ruefully. Arthur leveled a finger at her over his coffee mug.
"You remember what I said," he told her.