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Chapter 17

It was an hour later when the outlaws started to redress themselves and began saddling their horses, readying themselves to leave. It had been a good hour of repose for men and animals, but they had a lot of ground to cover before nightfall, and their leader had started to feel restless. Eleanor found Butch in a quiet spot along the banks, gliding pebbles over the still water of the river, now as calm as if she never formed a threat to anyone who wandered through her stream.

"I think we're good to go.." she announced her presence shyly, wrapped in Frank's blanket. Another pebble was send over the surface of the water, creating perfect ripples.

"Ye know what the Injuns call this river?" Butch asked, not bothering to turn around and face her as he picked up another pebble. " They call it Tewa P'osoge. Big Water."

She watched him throw the pebble, only this one, broke the surface with a loud splash. "Ahh, nuts.." he cursed. "Ah can't do it when someone's watchin'" He turned to her with a clumsy smile and shrugged.

"How is it that you know so much about their culture?" Eleanor asked curiously. He didn't seem willing to answer her, and took to upturning the soggy dirt with the tip of his boots. "Their language.. their healing methods." She continued. "What they call places."

He looked up, and scanned the cliff's ridges with his keen eyes, taking his time before answering her. "These places had names before we got here." He explained. "It's funny how Injuns name everything, but at the same time say that nature is ever changing and ye can't step into the same river twice. What's the point in naming all that shit if it's just goin' te change on ye every day?"

She chuckled at his obvious frustration. "I think they name places for the same reason we do. To know where they are."

He tilted his head gazing at her, like he did sometimes, even when he thought she didn't see it. It gave her the feeling he could look straight through her, seeing something only he could detect with his unnatural eyes. "In the war.." he started, shifting his weight in uneasiness. "We had Injun scouts showing us the way. They called these places by their culture's names." He waited for a reaction, but the shivering young woman simply stared at him in silence. "That's how I know."

"Is that where you learned their language?" she asked quietly, encouraging him to share more of his history with her. But the question seemed to annoy him and he averted his gaze from her, curling his lip in a mean snarl.

"Ah knew their language long before that.." He forced himself to give her a straight answer, figuring she deserved that much. He had been the one to start this conversation after all. "Or atleast a few of them anyhow."

A slight breeze disturbed the still river, causing ripples on the surface. She tightened her grip on the itchy horse blanket around her, while the wind danced with her hair. "I know so little about them." She said. "I only know what my grandfather told me. He travelled with an Apache man when he was young. Said he could hear the spirits talk to him on the prairie wind."

"Yea.." Butch mumbled, no longer looking at her. Instead, he studied the banks of the now moving river. "Most men don't need no wind to hear voices in their heads." A small group of deer had gathered on the other end of the stream, quenching their thirst with the cool water. They rendered themselves safe enough to drink right across from the humans on the other side. "Ye roam around these parts long enough, ye'll eventually find yourself talking to them." Butch continued, picking up a much bigger rock than the pebbles he had glided over the surface earlier.

"Do they ever say something back?" Eleanor asked. He paused for a moment, toying with the stone in his calloused hands.

"Yea.. sometimes." He said. Like he was about to throw a baseball, he struck a pose and threw the stone as far as he could in the direction of the drinking deer. The loud splash send the animals scattering away in panic. He laughed as he watched the deer trip over eachother frantically.

"Oh come on.." she complained. "Now why would you do such a thing?"

He gave her an unamused look, but said nothing. Seconds later, a mountain lion appeared from behind a rock, looking perfectly disappointed. Only a few feet away from where the deer had been drinking. The animal sniffed the ground, admitting defeat, and decided to try its luck elsewhere. Butch turned around to face her with a cheeky grin. "They say things like.. hey, Butch.. there's a cougar behind that there rock.. " He wiggled his eyebrows at her playfully, and chuckled at her attempts to hold in her laugh.

"So in tune with nature you are." She mocked. "Saving innocent deer from vicious predators."

He took a swaying step into her direction. "This place where we're going.." he started. "It aint half as bad as those idiots make it sound like. We won't have te worry about any Rangers there."

"Somehow I can't help but worry about a place where Rangers don't dare to go." She spoke carefully, not wanting him to cut off the conversation prematurely again. He let out a big sigh, obviously at a loss for words.

"Look ere', little Shark.. there's worse than Rangers out there. Those fine suits that burned down yer mother's ranch? Ye think they aint on yer trail right now?"

She blinked, confused. "Well, why would they be interested in chasing me?"

"It aint you they want." He gazed at her sternly. "But if they do so happen te find you. They're the last to bring ye home. Ah don't know what they're gonna do te yer mother, or what they've already done. But ahm tellin' ye now.. they aint gonna spare ye if they find you."

She swallowed thickly at his words, feeling her stomach turn. "Are you saying I should prepare for the worst.. considering my mother?" her voice trembled, and she hated herself for letting her panic show. He sniffed, looking anywhere but her eyes.

"Ahm sayin' that town aint the worst of yer problems right now."

There was a short silence, his cryptic way of speaking sinking in. "And my mother.." she asked softly, dreading the answer. "She's.."

"Ah don't have all the answers, Sharky." He interrupted her gently, his voice just above a whisper. "And ahm a poor excuse for comfort, ah know.. " he quieted down, seeing her eyes fill up with tears, although she did her best to fight them back. Her breathing deep and rapid, struggling to keep herself calm. "Hey now.." His voice brought her back, and she looked up to meet his eyes. "That aint never gone saved anyone's life." He chided softly. "Frank's wailing is rubbin' off on ye."

She chuckled through her tears, and reached up to rub them away roughly.

"Ahh, see ah can still make ye laugh." His playful wink made her smile despite herself, despite the dark clouds hanging over her life right now. The uncertainty of its outcome. He was indeed able to make her laugh at moments where she wanted to do anything but laughing. But somehow his clumsy ways of cheering her up always managed to put a smile on her face. Her giggling distracted her enough for him to come closer to get a better look at the still healing wound on her forehead. A man had obvious problems if he found the need to hit a woman with the back of his gun with such force. "How's that comin' along anyway?" He mumbled, nodding at the stitched up cut. "Yer still seein' stars?"

She shook her head shyly, gazing down at her bare feet, her toes buried in the soft sand of the river's banks. "It doesn't really hurt anymore."

He took a step back, her own uneasiness contagious. "Good.. that's good." He nodded, his hands on his gun belt. "Might not even leave a scar."

She forced herself to smile at his kind optimism, but she knew he knew better than that. It would leave a scar for sure. Like Barret had told her. A reminder of Evans' cruelty, and the price she paid for trying to protect her home.

"How's your stomach?" she asked in turn, it had been a while since she had inquired about his illness. But instead of giving her a straight answer, he just chuckled at her.

"Time te move, Sharky."

She watched him walk back to camp, remaining in her spot for a few moments. But he didn't look over his shoulder to see if she was following, and she listened to him bark his orders at his men when he disappeared from her view.

The command to move out was given not much later. Sending the men into their saddles, and continue on a trail only the oldest members of the gang seemed to know.

Mexico didn't look much different from Texas. It was just as dry, flat and hot. Winter had not yet arrived, the sun was as merciless as she knew it, and the sand had the same pale yellow color. Yet the air smelled like Mexico's indigenous flora, different than the scent of the prairie back home. To save the horses from overheating, a big part of the trip was done at a walking pace, and she soon found herself regretting the action of putting her dress back on. Frank handed her his canteen every now and then, sharing his water with her happily.

As usual, Ray rode alongside Butch, both men knowing the way like the inside of their own pockets. They spoke on occasion, a few words or a question, but always in hushed tones to make sure the rest of the gang was left out on the matter of the subject.

"What are they talking about?" Eleanor asked Frank, her voice just above a whisper, causing the young outlaw to lean toward her in order to hear her properly, almost sliding off his smooth saddle. But he could only shrug in answer to her question. The conversation between the leader and his right hand man remained a mystery unsolved.

They had been riding for what seemed like hours when she noticed vultures had begun circling the small group of horses and men, expecting one of them to eventually succumb to the elements. She peered up at the eerie looking birds, casting shadows in the yellow sand with their broad wings. The horses neighed restlessly at the raspy hisses they produced, a sound she recognized from her dreams.

How men were able to navigate through the rippled haze on the horizon remained a mystery to her. Everything looked the same, and there were no markings alongside the road to help a traveller stay on the right trail. Apart from the occasional horse or cow carcasses, the bones a chalky white from the sun and being gnawed on by so many hungry animals.

When the sun was already starting her descent, they came by a lone, dead tree, standing out in the middle of the vast open space of the Mexican desert. A skeleton dressed in grotesque looking rags was swinging from one of the branches. A sheriff's star decorated its torn jacket, and a sign was hung around its thin neck. But the writings on the piece of board were in Spanish.

"Thus to lawmen.." Barret explained to her, no emotion in his voice. "That's what it says. Means we're close."

It wasn't revealed to her whether the skeleton in the tree had actually been a real lawman in his waking life, or whether he had been an outlaw just as much as anyone around here, and his body simply served as an example. No matter who he had been, he now was a nameless warning to anyone trespassing this land.

The ruins of an old fort of some sort erected itself at the horizon some time later. Its bleached white walls reflecting the dying sun light. She vaguely noticed the vultures that had been circling above them for the duration of the trip, retreating into the distance. For the first time during their travels, Butch peered over his shoulder.

"Flank her." He barked at the men riding closest to her. Barret moved his much bigger horse close to her own, and her mare nipped at the patient stallion's nose in agitation. Frank followed his example, only her horse didn't seem to be bothered as much with the invasion of her personal space by his mount, and continued bothering Barret's military steed instead.

"Ye don't look anyone in the eyes." Butch pointed a warning finger at her, his gaze dead serious. "Am ah clear?" She nodded frantically, her heart beating in her throat at a rapid pace.

They passed the jaded white arch into the courtyard of the old fort, and she suddenly understood the gangleader's instructions. The place was littered with low lives, sitting at long wooden tables decorated with empty bottles, bee's wax candles and plates of unidentifiable food. Up on the balconies of the top floor's apartments, women dressed in nothing but chemises leaned over the wooden railing, curiously peering down at the newcomers.

Yet among the drinking, hollering criminals, there were dogs and children running around. Women of both Mexican and Native heritage walked around with plates of food, serving the outlaws in a quiet manner. A village of outlaws, Eleanor had heard about them before. Places completely controlled and occupied by men and women that had all broken the law at some point in their lives. As a bounty hunter, one good make a good sum of money for their retirement right in the middle of this courtyard, but she doubted whether there was a bounty hunter brave, or rather stupid, enough to show his face in here.

"Cavendish!" A woman that had been sitting at the head of one of the long tables, got to her feet. Her long black hair reached till the small of her back, but it was tousled and dirty, as if this evening had gone on forever, and she hadn't seen a sunrise in quite a while. "You owe me money!" she continued with a thick Spanish accent, as she walked up to him.

Not planning on rushing anything for anyone, Butch dismounted his horse slowly, his body stiff from sitting in the saddle for so long. "Rosa.." He greeted her almost cordially.

"Don't you Rosa me!" Her thin face made her brown eyes even more expressive. She crossed her arms over her chest, staring the gang leader down with an audacity not many men had survived. "You dare show your face in here, just like that?! What is it with you, hm?! chicas cost money, Cavendish! No exceptions!"

Butch rolled his shoulders and peered at his men with a sly grin. "Ah come on now, Rosa.. For old times' sake, eh?"

The woman narrowed her hazel eyes and scoffed. "You waltz in here like you own the place. Mirar, I have girls to feed! You pay this time!" she held up a warning finger close to his face. "Or you'll be sorry!"

He took a threatening step in her direction, fed up with her attitude, and backed her against one of the wooden tables. "Ah see the hospitality of this place has gone a little downhill since mah last visit." He hissed at her.

"You have one of your men to thank for that!" she hissed back. "You think any man can just come in here, cut up one of my girls like that and not pay for it?!"

"Evans don't ride with me no more." He told her, no emotion in his voice. "Fact ah don't see him ridin' at all for a while to come." The woman was silent, regarding him with the same wary glare she always seemed to have on her dirtied, gaunt face. Her eyes left his for a moment to inspect the men behind him, still on their horses.

"What did you do to him?" she asked, obviously missing the one face in the group of outlaws that had followed him.

He shifted where he stood, getting uncomfortably close to her, but she didn't seem impressed, rather bored. "Gimme a bottle of whiskey and ah'll tell ye all about it.." He whispered close to her face. She clicked her tongue in annoyance, and pushed him away, causing him to chuckle.

"Keep your secrets, Cavendish.." she huffed. "Fine.. one night! Put your horses in the stables."

Relieved with the permission to stay, the men dismounted, and Eleanor quickly followed their example as quietly as she could. Somehow she felt like she didn't want to be seen by this Rosa. Thankfully the noise of the other men around the tables, and the mariachi band in a corner of the courtyard quickly resumed its deafening buzz, drowning out any other sound. The stables were quiet, and she placed her horse next to Frank's, in need to be close to the one person who was always kind to her. They saddled off their horses in a comfortable silence.

Petting her grey mare, she watched Frank fill the trays with water. The parched animals wasted no time to quench their thirst. Criminal ran town or not, they knew how to treat their animals. There was fresh straw on the ground, and the roof seemed safe from leaking. An elderly, Spanish looking man that mumbled to himself, paced through the dim litted corridors of the stables with a bucket of feed. A couple of mules in the next pen nipped at eachother's snouts playfully, giving out their funny sounds as the man filled their trays with food.

"Are ye hungry?" Frank asked. She looked up at him with a faint smile and nodded, hardly remembering the last time she had something to eat. "There's plenty of food here. And it aint half bad either. It's spicy though.. can give ye a tummy ache." He continued, rubbing his stomach absentmindedly.

"What is this place?" she asked, gazing at the young man. She was desperate for answers, and she knew he was the wrong person to request them from, but she didn't expect anyone else to even look at her when she asked a question. Frank looked unsure about giving a reply, and continued petting his horse to distract his mind from going into overdrive.

"Ah know it used to be a soldier fort.." He started, giving her a lopsided smile. "Now it's the only safe place we can go to. Ye know..after becoming an outlaw and all."

For a second, she considered asking about the woman named Rosa, but Barret joined them before she could voice her question.

"Are you two done here?" He asked.

"She's scared about goin' out there, Jack." Frank spoke in all of his innocent honesty, and she felt herself grow red in embarrassment. Half expecting the much tougher outlaw to just give her a sneer, she gazed at him defiantly, daring him to make a less than courteous remark. But he simply looked her up and down, only mildly interested in her state of mind.

"I'm not scared.." she spoke in her own defence.

"I don't care if you are or aren't. You're here now, find a way to cope with it." Barret said in his monotone voice. "Anyone gives you trouble.. that's what that gun is for. You make sure it's loaded, and you go out there and get yourself a plate of food." He regarded her coldly, showing no mercy. When she didn't stir, he moved to let her through, giving her a mock bow. "After you.."

She raised her chin in an attempt to look dignified when she passed him by, and thankfully, she heard Frank following her in close pursuit. The rest of the gang, including its leader, had made themselves comfortable at one of the long wooden tables. Food was already being served, and everyone was given a drink to work up their appetites.

There seemed to be a strict hierarchy within the walls of this old fort turned outlaw village. None of the present gangs interfered with eachother, and it seemed to be an important rule to live by. Among the scantily clad women, dangerous looking men paced the upper balconies, rifles at the ready should a fight break out below in the busy courtyard. Yet there seemed to be little rivalry between the outlaws. Butch was greeted by various gang leaders, and shared a word or two with an older man who had taken a seat beside him. The woman Rosa, who had been busying herself with getting the gang members seated and cared for, now took a seat on Butch's other side, mingling herself into the conversation. She leaned in close to the outlaw's ear.

"Who's the stray kitten?" She whispered. Butch leaned back in his chair, scanning the perimeter in search of the person at question. He found her seated at the other end of the table, flanked by Frank and Barret. The latter shoved a glass of whiskey in front of her, but she only regarded it with a disgusted expression.

"A matter ah still need te solve. Takin' longer than I had thought it would." The gang leader mumbled, chucking down the remains of his whiskey.

"Really?" Rosa said, leaning her chin on her hand, her elbow resting on the wooden surface of the crudely crafted table. He gave her an annoyed look and clicked his tongue.

"Yea, really."

She motioned for one of the Native looking women to come over with a bottle of hard liquor, refilling Butch's glass. "Where did you find her? Is she one of Red's?"

The outlaw scoffed and downed his glass in one haul, as if made nervous. "She aint none of that. She's ah.. ye know.. rancher's daughter." He held up his glass for another refill, but the Native woman just gave him a dirty look and walked away. "Yer waitress don't like me."

"White Feather." Rosa said. Leaning over the table, she reached for another half empty bottle and placed it in front of the complaining outlaw with a loud clunk. "Apache. You know how they are. But don't change the subject on me, Cavendish. Tell me more about your kitten."

From a distance, Eleanor observed the interaction between the gang leader and the woman. The words of their conversation drowned out by the deafening noise of hollering, drunk criminals and the band that kept on playing like there was something to celebrate.

Despite his earlier crude demeanour, Barret had gotten her a plate of food and something else to drink than the bitter tasting whiskey Jesus had raved about. Frank chatted happily about every odd thing he had ever seen in this already odd environment, but she could hardly get herself to listen to his stories. Skinny had joined them moments later, bringing his own plate with him, gravy dripping down his long beard. Only the older members remained close to Butch, all occupied with their own barely clothed olive skinned women. Catching her locked fixation on the gang leader and his current company, Barret followed her gaze.

"Rosa.." He started. "They go way back. I don't know every detail of it, and I don't care to. And if you're as smart as you look, you refrain from asking about it."

"Ah like her.." Frank said cheerfully, ripping the meat off a chicken bone. "She pinches my cheeks and calls me her little Loquito or somethin'..Ah don't know what that means but.. she always smiles when she says it."

"Don't that mean crazy?" Skinny asked, confused. "That word she calls you?" Frank just shrugged, he didn't know any Spanish.

"Yea, it does.. means little crazy one.." Barret chuckled menacingly. "Suits you perfectly." Skinny laughed, and Eleanor couldn't help herself either. Frank looked perfectly offended, like a little boy who had just been told Santa Claus doesn't exist. In good company, as good as it came in these parts, the place wasn't that bad.

A little boy of about seven years of age collected empty plates from the tables, sneaking between the drinking criminals with women on their laps. She had noticed him before, but to the rest, he went unseen, collecting plates until he had an impressive stack in his young arms. He brought them to one of the rooms on the ground floor, presumably the kitchen. He seemed to be the only child with a task. The others just played with the dogs, or teased the mules by poking them with twigs, until their mothers put a stop to it. When he came to their table to collect their empty dishes, she placed a hand on his arm, and smiled.

"What's your name?"

The boy looked up at her in surprise, his eyes a sky blue. But he said nothing in return, as he looked from Eleanor to the rest of the outlaws.

"Your name, boy." Barret threatened, but the child didn't seem impressed. Which wasn't surprising because of where he was growing up in.

"Emilio." He finally said, stretching over the table to grab Skinny's empty plate, causing the young outlaw to jump at the dish suddenly being pulled away. Stacking the plates in his arms, the boy left without another word.

"It's her son." Barret said, giving a small nod in the direction of Rosa, still talking to Butch. Eleanor shot a quick glance in their direction, but she somehow felt like looking away. She had noticed before how much closer to woman had gotten to Butch, and now she had thrown one leg over his lap. Yet he was still talking, with a clouded over expression in his eyes, and hardly seemed to notice her hand against his chest.

"Look."

Frank's voice got her attention, and she followed his gaze toward the open desert. The sky a pitch black, with a thin rim of dark blue on the horizon. Lightning could be seen in the vast distance, the storm had followed them all the way here. The bright bolts reached all the way to the dry ground, disappearing into the earth's parched soil.

"When that hits, all hell is going to break loose." Barret mumbled, getting up from his seat. "Come on, I'll find you a room to sleep in."

R&R