Well I suppose the review section couldn't get any better. I received amazing fanart by the talented TeiyusTeki. And my hundredth review by Outlaw Bear was just too much honour. Thank you guys so much for the love and support! I hope this story will continue to take you all to a different world whenever reality is too hard to face.
Small warning to the tender hearted amongst us: This chapter could be considered rather violent.
Chapter 27
Four men and a dog sat around a campfire. Tired, homesick for their beds, and unknowing of their exact location.
"I bet we walk right into a town of some sort at the foot of this darn mountain. And all ye ungrateful youngsters will be scratchin' behind yer ears fer yellin' at me like ye did." The oldest grumbled as he spat into the fire. The flames made a hissing sound as his alcohol induced saliva vanished in the heat, as if the fire spat back. Apparently, the man was responsible for the whereabouts of the rest, and he had gotten into trouble as soon as he had voiced his concern about their current route.
"Whut sort of navigator don't bring a map?!" A haggard looking man with red hair barked back. "Are ye even a real trapper? Or was that all tall talk from an ol' coon?!"
"Ah was trappin' these parts when yer mama was still wipin' yer nose, boy." The old man defended himself. "Ye'd be hangin' upside down above a Comanche bonfire right now if it wasn't fer me."
The man with the red hair spat in the sand next to his boots, and had nothing more to say. A younger man sat beside him, some would even still call him a boy, his expression vacant as he gently pet the collie laying at his feet. Then there was a big sturdy man, round as a barrel, who seemed oblivious and uninterested to the topics that were being discussed. He dug his yellow teeth into the fried leg of some sort of bird, belched as he chewed, and continued doing what he was best at. Eating.
"Ah don't even think we're supposed to be here." The young man finally said with a shaky voice as his eyes scanned the woods around them. His frantic behaviour didn't seem to disturb his dog, and so, the rest of the company didn't share his alarm. "Whut if we're in Injun territory er sumthin'?" The young man had started to hyperventilate. "Ahs have this feelin' we aint supposed te linger ere. Don't feel right. Don't feel right at all."
The man with the red hair struck him across his head harshly. "Pull yerself together ye gump!" He hissed angrily through his teeth. "Ye've been blabberin' about Injuns ever since we left! If there was Injuns around we'd be dead already." He spat on into the sand again. "Besides that's whut that gun is fer." That last statement seemed to distress the young man even more.
"Ah aint shootin' no injun!" He protested, his hyperventilating returning in full force. "Ah aint killin' no one except animals!" The rest of the men laughed and shared glances.
"They are animals, boy." The old man chuckled. "Ye better kill em, er lose yer pretty scalp. And then no woman will want ye anymore and ye'd die without ever gettin' te be with one, is that whut ye want?" The rest followed in on his chuckling, all except their youngest member, who stared at the old man in utter shock.
The dog had lifted her head, staring straight into the forest, but no one seemed to notice her focused attention. Then she barked, softly, more like a howl, and the men grew silent. "What is it, gal?" The young man asked his dog. She got to her feet, her back straight, and she barked again, this time louder, her focus still on the same spot just behind the first row of trees. "She heard sumthin'." The young man decided, his breathing growing rapid again. "She don't bark like this unless sumthin's going on."
"Well tell her te shut her trap." The man with the red hair snarled. "Put a sock in it."
The young man seemed offended, more so now it was about his dog. "Ah aint puttin' socks in Abby's mouth, Zeke!" He shot at the red haired man. "Ah brought er along so she could warn us, and she's warnin' us now!"
"Ahh, it's probably just Sam returnin' with the fire wood, ye idiot! Quiet down that goddamn mut before ah kick er so hard she don't remember left from right!" Zeke answered angrily. All the while the dog barked, and barked, and pulled on the piece of rope that the young man had tied around the pointy tip of his own boot.
"Why would she bark at Sam?! She's known him all er life! She knows whut he smells like!" the young man protested, almost getting dragged along as the collie struggled to break free from the rope. "Shut er up!" Zeke warned again. As the dog continued her noise, the red haired man swiftly kicked her against her legs, causing her to topple to her side with a loud painful yelp.
"YE BASTARD!"
The fat man's piece of meat was knocked right from his grip as the young man jumped onto Zeke, pushing him into the fat man's side. Staring at the spilled food with a defeated expression, the fat man decided this was the right moment to mingle into the conversation, and jumped on top of the two fighting men, joining their fight over a now sandy piece of bird leg.
The old man shook his head at the three fighting men and downed the rest of his cold coffee. "Morons." He grumbled. "Te lot o' ye"
No one noticed how the collie managed to break herself free, and run off into the dark. Seconds later the gut wrenching yelp of a dog getting stabbed rendered the men silent, their fighting ceased at the disturbing sound, and no one moved a muscle anymore.
"A..Abby?" The young man called out carefully, untangling himself from the others before getting up from the ground and dust off his trousers. There was no reply. "Co..Come ere' gal." Instead of a dog, a man appeared between the trees, walking up to the company of hunters.
"Woof." Butch said sadistically. "She won't be comin' no more, boy."
For a moment, nobody moved, and a wave of recognition came over the tired, stained faces of the buffalo hunters.
"Lord protect us.." The old man spoke first, softly, more to himself than to his company. "Butch Cavendish."
The young man seemed more distraught by the news of his lost pet than the sight of the wanted criminal, and peered over Butch's shoulder, looking for his dog, before moving his tearstained eyes back to the gang leader's gaunt face. "Ye killed her?" He choked on his tears. "Ye killed her! Ye monster!" He reached for his gun clumsily, nearly dropping it, but Butch was faster, and held the boy at gunpoint.
"Put it down er ah'll make ye join yer pooch." The gang leader warned. The crying young man hesitated, his expression filled with rage. "Don't be stupid." Butch continued, cocking his gun. "Ah ain't asking ye again." Still bawling like a child, the young man slowly lowered his gun. "Sit down." Butch ordered, pointing his gun at the ground. "All o' ye." The four men huddled together, their previous quarrel forgotten. They seemed scared, intimidated, and the youngest still very upset about the loss of his dog. "Guns out." Butch continued. "On the ground, shove em to me." Slowly, the three men obeyed. Taking out their weapons and shoving them toward the gang leader.
"Ye too, oldtimer." Butch told the old man without looking at him. The old man, feeling slighted in his position, took his time to take out his revolver and tossed it into the sand in front of the gangleader's snake leather boots. Despite the provoking glares Butch received from the older man, he ignored it, and shoved the pile of guns away from the campsite with the side of his boot. Making them come to a piled up halt at the edge of the tree line. He bend down and picked up a rolled up piece of rope from one of the saddles.
Only now the youngest of the company seemed to understand the severity of the situation now the first wave of shock of losing his beloved pup was behind him. The very realization send him into an instant panic attack. "Butch Cavendish.." He repeated the name with a trembling voice. "Oh mah lord.. We're gonna die!" He received another blow from Zeke.
"Keep it together, ye idiot." The red haired man grumbled. "Ahm sure we can work out an agreement with mister Cavendish ere' that would benefit the both of us." He continued, trying to peer over his shoulder at the impassive gang leader while he tied the four men together by their wrists. "Ah heard he can be reasoned with when offered the right price."
"Ah yea?" Butch mumbled, tightening the knot in the rope. "Ahm willin' te bet mah bottom dollar the person that told ye that aint never ran into me in all his life." Zeke's self-assured expression fell, and he whimpered softly while the outlaw got to his feet. "Ah take it none o' ye hotdoggin' buffalo boys know where they are?" Butch asked rhetorically, playing with the chamber of his own Colt. When no answer came, he huffed. "Who's idea was it te pass through these hills?" He looked at the four men, their wrists now tied behind their backs, his eyes resting on Zeke. "You, mister right price?"
Zeke shook his head. "Ah aint no navigator. It's ol' Ben over there we hired te git us across the plains." He nodded at the old man, who's expression darkened at being thrown in front of the outlaw's feet like that by one of the men he was trying to lead into safety. "It was his idea to go across the mountain. It would give us a whole day, according' te him. And now we're stuck in the Cavendish gang.. ye're a bona fide genius, Ben! Well done!"
"Shut up, ye ungrateful worthless piece of shit." Ben growled, but Zeke just scoffed and mumbled something under his breath. "Whut did ye call me, boy?!" The old man roared in anger, struggling against his bindings to do God knows what to the younger man that defied him.
"Shut yer trap." Butch commanded calmly, staring at the old man with a warning glare. "Or ah'll make sure ye never utter another word again." Slowly, Ben calmed down. "How long have ye boys been hunting?" the gang leader inquired, peering at the piled high wagon. "That's quite the small fortune ye got there drippin' blood."
"We've been out here for two months." Ben answered, now gazing at the ground, his hope of survival leaving him slowly. "Ye want the lot, take it.. " He continued with a nod toward the wagon. "If that would slim down the chances of those boys gettin' shot at yer hand."
"Ah don't care about yer hides." Butch said, kneeling down in front of the four men to be at eye level. "But ah know who do. And yer in the middle of it." His gaze rested on the old man. "Ye lead yer whelps straight into Apache territory." A grin came over his mangled face, making him look all the more terrifying in the flames of the campfire. "With a wagon full of hides of buffalo herds belongin' te the Tonkawa." He chuckled dryly. The old man said nothing, but his face had gone completely pale and his lip trembled.
"A..Apache?" The young man stammered, drawing the gang leader's attention. "They.. they don't take yer scalp, right? Not.. not like them Comanche's up north, right?" Butch didn't answer, and moved his eyes back to the old man with a much telling grin before getting back on his feet.
"Ah wouldn't count on it, boy." He grumbled. "They don't take lightly to white men poachin' their buffalo. However.." his eyes rested on the fat man, who had been trying to become invisible despite his big posture, his face like a scared child. "Maybe they agree on lettin' ye all keep yer barks if ye hand over butterball here. They could feed their whole damn village with the likes o' him." He made himself laugh, especially when the big man started trembling like a leaf. "Build a tipi out of yer skin too, ah reckon." As the bulky man started crying soundlessly, Butch just chuckled.
"Let them go." The old man started pleading in a desperate measure. "Keep me here, let them git on their horses and git out o' here." Butch ignored him as he walked around the campsite, picking up a canister. "Yer just gonna watch us all git killed by redskins?!" Ben continued more forcefully. The gang leader took a deep swig from the home brewn Moonshine, and made a face at the cruel taste. "Have ye no decency?!" the old man yelled. "We're white folks, just like yerself!"
Putting the cork back on the bottle, Butch licked his lips. "Ye better don't holler like that around ere' or yer just makin' it easier fer them te find ye." He chuckled. "Saves me te trouble of wastin' a bullet tryin' te git their attention. Then again.. it aint really a matter if they'll find ye, er when.. just a matter of who. Aint that right, old man?" The company's navigator gave no reply, but his lip trembled in his building anger at the injustice of the current situation. "And fer yer sake, ah sure do hope it's them Tonkawa's with the better hearing abilities." Butch continued, and lifted his gun into the air. He fired one shot, and the noise carried through the mountains' canyons with a sickening echo, causing the three men to flinch. The old man hadn't flinched, but tears of anger rolled down his carved in, sunbeaten face.
"Let them go." He begged. "Please! They're just boys!"
Butch tilted his head in curiosity. "Boys?" he said, and peered at the three men huddled together. "Ah see only one boy, and two men." He stated. The old man said nothing, and looked away, which to Butch was a sign the man was hiding something. He narrowed his eyes. "Whut's goin' on ere?" The outlaw asked. "What boys?"
The three men were just as silent, their expressions of fear unchanged, but the youngest now seemed more defensive than scared. But none of them offered an explanation, which greatly agitated the dangerous man holding them at gunpoint this very moment.
"Which one of ye beef chasers was stupid enough te bring their kid along, eh?" Butch grumbled darkly, tossing the canister of moonshine to the side. "Where is he?" His keen eyes roamed the campsite. "Where are ye, kid?!"
Half a mile from the dramatic scene, Eleanor waited patiently for the gang leader's return. Hidden safely among the trees and the two tired horses, she sat on her blanket, gazing at the dim light of the distant campfire. She had heard the shot, and hoped that it meant the end of this dreadful evening was nearing. If the men had to die, let them die quick, with one shot, as she knew Butch was capable of. But then again, he also enjoyed playing with his prey, much like a cat could do. A sound caught her attention, something ran through the woods, panting lightly. It wasn't heavy, its steps light but swift. It then passed her, and against the light of the campfire, she caught the silhouette of a child, hasting himself back to his company after hearing the gun shot.
"Oh dear God.." she whispered to herself. No doubt the child was unaware of what was taking place at the campsite, no doubt he had no idea he was about to run into the barrel of a dangerous outlaw. Ignoring Butch's instructions, she went into pursuit of the child, following in his pace as fast as her feet could carry her, the tresses of Frank's leather straps jingling softly. It was as if she moved in slow motion, every other sound was drowned out by the leaves cracking under her boots, her heart beating in her throat and her fast breathing like clouds of fog in the cold night air. The boy stopped just behind Butch, taking in the scene in pure bewilderment. His young eyes went from the outlaw's back to the faces of the four men sitting on the ground.
"He's got a gun, Sam!" The young man shouted in pure panic. "Shoot him!"
As Butch turned around in an agonizingly slow manner, his heels digging into the ground, to see who had come up behind him, Sam reached for the much too large revolver with his still small hands.
"Shoot him, Sam! He killed Abby!"
Now facing the slightly thrown off gang leader, Sam's courage was leaving him quickly. The gun he held, now pointed at Butch, was trembling in his hands, and big tears of fear were rolling down his pale cheeks. Butch tilted his head at the young child that had managed to caught him off guard.
"Shoot, Sam! Shoot!"
As the child started crying more and more, the gun almost slipping from his grip, Butch slowly lowered his own weapon, only to spread his arms in invitation, his Colt dangling from one finger. As the boy's sobbing continued to grow more desperate, the gangleader's face lit up with a wicked smile.
"Shoot him, Sam!"
Butch took a daring step toward the crying child, his expression calculative and calm. "Is that yer older brother hollerin' at ye te shoot me?" He asked. The boy nodded vigorously. "Ah knew it was." Butch continued, taking another step in his direction. "Ye ever killed a man before, boy?"
"Don't listen to him, Sam!"
For a moment, the boy's eyes switched to his brother's frantic face before coming back to the outlaw's tranquil features, as if the man was approaching a wild animal, or a spooked horse. Then he shook his head, he never killed a man. "Aint a pretty sight." Butch explained calmly. "Lot of blood, gurgling.. All sorts of sounds ye don't want te hear. All sorts o' sights ye aint never forgettin'" He took another step in his direction, and made a face. "Ye don't want that, do ye?"
Hesitating for a moment, the crying child shook his head slowly, but didn't lower his gun. Slowly, Butch was closing the distance between them, his blue eyes fixed on the young boy's distraught face. "Give me the gun, boy." The gang leader ordered. "Give me the gun and ye can go sit with yer brother."
"Shoot, Sam! Shoot him!"
Still unsure about what to do, the child didn't move, his eyes going back and forth between the outlaw and his older brother, who he didn't want to disappoint. "Did you kill Abby?" Sam asked with a trembling voice. "Did you kill my dog?"
Butch licked his lips in contemplation and then nodded. "Ah did." He confirmed. "But she got me good. Got her teeth printed allover mah arm.. ye lower than gun, sit with yer brother and ah'll show ye what she did te me." He offered. It didn't seem to console the child, and he broke out in tears allover again, holding the gun more tightly in his grip now.
Getting impatient with the situation, Butch took another step into his direction. "Hand over the gun, boy." He ordered more sternly. "Ah aint tellin' ye again." The boy's expression had gotten darker, and the gang leader had picked up on it. In a flash Butch had closed the distance, grabbed Sam's wrist roughly and pried the weapon from his small fingers. Whatever moral restraint the outlaw had saved for the situation, he was fed up with it now, and mercilessly aimed the loaded revolver at the panicking child. "Got ya." He mumbled with a wicked grin. "Gotta learn te do what grown-ups tell ye to do." He cocked the gun. The child's older brother cried out in the back ground, shouting incoherent wishes and curses at the outlaw's back, which were all ignored.
At that moment Eleanor positioned herself between Butch's gun and the boy, causing the tip of the barrel to press against her chest. Slightly out of breath from running, she gazed at the gang leader defiantly, almost angrily, as if she was offended to find out he was able to hold a child at gunpoint. Her anger rose when she noticed he didn't lower his gun either, his expression going from slight surprise to pure anger at her disobedience. For a moment neither of them spoke, and even the young man in the background had stopped his wailing.
"Step aside." Butch broke the silence.
"You want to kill this child you'll have to do it through me." She shot back at him, her voice slightly trembling at her dangerous provocation. "Is that what you want?"
His expression darkened, and he narrowed his eyes. "Step.. aside.." He told her again, warning her with his entire posture, his entire voice. She shook her head slowly, almost pleadingly. "I won't let you do this." She whispered. "I can't stand aside idly and watch you kill an innocent child. I won't." he pulled up his lip in a furious snarl, but she didn't back off. "Don't do this." She begged softly. "Please.."
He growled, and grabbed the front of her shirt roughly. "Shut up!" He hissed, and pushed her aside with such force she lost her footing and landed in the dusty sand with a small painful huff. "Ah'll deal with you later." He threatened, and turned back to the boy. "Die at the hand of a bullet er die losing yer scalps to the Apaches. Let's ask yer big brother what he thinks is best." Butch spoke menacingly. The interruption had only caused his aggravation to build. He turned toward the trembling young man sitting with the rest. "After all he thought it was such a great idea te let his little brother shoot a man, let's see if he's got the wisdom to pick between a barkin' er a shootin' What's it gonna be, big brother?!"
The young man could do nothing but cry over the sight of his terrified little brother, and no sensible word left his lips. Butch scoffed at the teenager's tears. "Yea.. Don't big brothers just know best, eh? Bullshit.."
Not about to give up, Eleanor got to her feet with difficulty, rubbing her sore arm. "Aren't you tough!" she sneered. "Aren't you just the undisputed king of crime!" she spat, but quieted down as Butch turned toward her slowly, his expression impassive. "But you won't kill a child.." she spoke determinedly, the very idea not making sense to her. "Not even you would do such a thing. I know you.."
The gang leader narrowed his eyes at her, and shifted his weight from one leg to the other. "Know me, eh?" his voice had gotten darker, like a low growl. With slow, swaying steps he walked up to her. "Ye think ye know me?" He whispered to her through gritted teeth. Confused, she blinked, and before she could answer he had turned away again, walked up to the four men tied together, raised his gun, aimed it at the red haired man, and fired without a second thought, without his expression ever changing. The young man cried out in fear as he was covered in the blood and brain matter of his colleague. The fat man had shut his eyes tightly and was praying out loud, big tears rolling down his round cheeks. The old man struggled against his bindings and cursed the gang leader high and low, his thick Irish accent hard to miss, which made his incantations all the more complicated to decipher.
She stood, bewildered, staring at the man that had saved her life like she suddenly saw him for the first time. He turned to her, cocking his gun a second time. "Anything else ye think ah won't do?" he asked. "Since ye know me so well."
"How could you.." she started, still half in shock. He walked up to her, his face close to hers.
"Ye want te know somethin' about killin' children?" he hissed. "The first one is the hardest. After that, they're all the same..damn..thing." Then she struck him. Hard. Across his face. His words a pure insult to everything she considered human. The impact had only slightly averted his eyes from hers, and as he slowly regained his hardly shaken bearings, she knew she had overstepped the line once more. He moved his jaw, feeling it throb, and spat out a drop of blood. "That was a dumb thing te do." He told her. Before she realized it, he had grabbed the front of her shirt again, pulling her close to his face. Her expression remained hard until she caught sight of his knife, dangerously close to the soft skin of her throat. She trembled, her eyes flashing from the trademark weapon to the eyes of the man wielding it. He moved the cold steel to the side of her head, and she whimpered feeling it against her already half frozen cheek, thinking he was going to carve in her face like the very man he had saved her from. He snarled angrily, and she felt a sharp tug, to which she cried out in pain, her eyes tightly shut. When she opened them again, he held up a strand of her auburn hair. His warning loud and clear. "Next tahm it's yer ear." He told her, and let her go. Her knees, weak from the ordeal, buckled underneath her weight, and she slumped down against the tree he had pinned her against. "Know me.." He mocked the dazed young woman. "Ah'll make sure ye do before this damn trip is over."
Recollecting her ability to breathe calmly, she gazed ahead of her, through his legs as he was still standing in front of her collapsed form. She noticed how the child had regained his mobility, overcoming his own shock in a much more courageous way than his family and company had done. She blinked against the sight, hardly aware of what she was seeing, her brain taking a while to process the images. The boy had noticed the pile of guns close to the edge of the tree line, and slowly made his way over, while keeping his eyes fixed on the outlaw leader. She frowned watching him bend over gingerly to pick up one of the revolvers, cocking back the hammer with his small finger, and aiming it at Butch's unattended back.
"Oh my God.." was all she could mutter right before the birds were scared from the tree tops by a loud gunshot.
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I love cliffhangers.. R&R!
