PROLOGUE
KAMASSA RIVER, NEW HANOVER, JUNE 3RD 1900
Sawyer squinted as the sun beamed on his face. It was a warm day, so warm that he'd carried his bandana in hand rather than around his neck ever since waking up. The red cloth was darkened by the amount of sweat that he'd used it to wipe. Sawyer sported a thick, dark-brown beard around his mouth and cheeks. He'd let it grow hoping it would mask his youthful features, but today it had just made his face boil that much more. Could've been worse though, his beard wasn't as long as Roland's. Sawyer's big, hulking acquaintance had a beard that almost concealed his entire neck. At the same time, Roland Payne was as bald as a newborn. It was almost like the hair on his head had retreated down to his face. Sawyer, in comparison, had just the sides of his head shaved. The two men made for an odd-looking pair as they both rode their horses through the fields towards the river, with the sun scorching every part of them.
Sawyer had rode with Roland ever since he'd found him on the run from U.S Lawmen in West Elizabeth. The big man was 51-years old, making him twenty-seven years Sawyer's senior. When they'd first starting riding together as outlaws, Sawyer hadn't known what Roland had been set down for. He'd told his older fellow outlaw all about his own past. Growing up around the swampy lands of Lemoyne, giving out papers as a boy in Saint Denis, orphaned for as long as he could remember. Sawyer had told Payne everything. But rather than spill any explanations on his imprisonment, Payne had just shown him instead. In their six months together as outlaws, Sawyer had watched as Roland tortured, killed and robbed almost everyone they'd came across. Sometimes in the blink of an eye, without any provocation. It was scary. Sawyer had thought now and again that Roland might possibly turn on him at any given moment. Life was starting to get intense at all times.
"Down there looks good enough." Sawyer pointed.
There was a nice patch of grass a few yards from the river to set up camp. The strands were flattened, clearly another group had camped in that spot once before.
"Yeah..." Roland growled, like he hadn't even listened.
Sawyer had rode with Roland hoping to eventually finance his new life and future in New Austin, far away from where they were. But so far, all they'd managed to rack up were some big bounties in Scarlett Meadows, Annesburg and the entirety of West Elizabeth. It seemed no matter where they went, more people wanted them dead. Through the actions of both, Sawyer would admit, but mostly through Roland. He was just mad at times. Sawyer had seen it every single time. They would get to a place, everything cool, but then something would snap in the older outlaw's head. One wrong thing and everything would turn to shit. He'd draw his Volcanic Pistol and start popping heads without a word. Sawyer had never had any other choice but to defend himself and his unstable partner. And in that process, had more people after his own neck than he'd ever intended.
Roland headed down to the edge of the flowing river to survey the other side. It was Sawyer's own job to pitch the tents and start the campfire. It wasn't hard though, he had it all going within a half hour. The horses were hitched on two different tree stumps. Even their respective horses looked different. Sawyer's horse, Negan, was fast, clean and almost majestic. It was as brown as Sawyer's own hair and never seemed to flinch at any danger. Roland's horse, which didn't have a name, was the complete opposite. It was filthy, sluggish and about as unstable as the man who rode it. If it wasn't for Negan, Sawyer would've probably felt outnumbered.
Finally now, after riding for hours, the sun started to go down. But the young outlaw could tell that they were in for a humid night. And the heat in New Hanover's Heartlands could make anyone irritable, let alone someone like Roland. To keep from feeding the shitty thoughts, Sawyer just started cooking up some Venison over the camp fire in order to feed their bellies instead. Roland was still surveying the area around the camp, gun in hand. No doubt he'd have an appetite after the day of riding cross state. Payne was a tall, tank of a man. An odd mix of muscle and fat. You could tell he'd been through a lot in his days. He had a deep scar under his right-eye to prove it. Sawyer would be lying if he said he wasn't afraid of his older comrade. He'd also be telling bullshit if he denied ever thinking of cutting ties, but they seemed to be too far past that now. Or were they? He would sometimes think.
"What can I smell?" Roland's deep voice asked as he approached from the growing darkness.
"Venison, from the Valentine butcher." Sawyer replied, still holding the meat over the fire with his hunting knife.
Roland sat down with a thud across the fire, sending some dust and gravel flying into the air. He removed his beige jacket to make the heat ease up, which reminded Sawyer to do the same. The young outlaw proceeded to remove his black waistcoat and then slightly unbutton his dirty white shirt. They both reeked, having not really washed for weeks. The younger man had wanted a deluxe bath when they were in Valentine, but after seeing Payne snarl at a couple of guys outside the saloon, Sawyer had thought it best they headed on outer town before adding another bounty to the list.
"Here, man." Sawyer called over, holding out the cooked meat.
Roland snatched the hot meat with his bare hand and bit it clean in half. It wasn't a huge piece of Venison, but it wasn't small either. The man was just an animal. More beast than the creature he was eating ever was.
"You're fucking welcome." Sawyer said in under his breath, prepping another piece.
Payne instantly stopping eating and looked up at Sawyer with a look of death.
"What was that?"
Sawyer felt a thin, cold sweat overcome him for a moment. A weird combination of fear and anger. This was getting ridiculous.
"Nothing man. Sorry. Forget it." The young outlaw said, keeping his cool.
Payne, like a feasting wolf, began munching and chewing again.
Sawyer was starving and couldn't wait to eat his own piece. He hadn't eaten all day and this red piece of meat, getting browner as it cooked, dripping with fat, looked about as delicious as the women in Valentine's saloon. He wanted to eat and just think about nothing right now. His mind was exhausted as usual, not just from the journey, but the daily mental battle he fought with the man he rode with. It was Sawyer's job, the young 24-year old kid, to keep Roland in check. Most people would expect it to be the other way round. But it wasn't. Sawyer had to constantly make sure Payne didn't lose his shit, rob any innocents, kill any lawmen or force himself on any women. Life was hard anyways, but for Sawyer it just seemed that much harder.
"So what's next?" Sawyer asked.
"What's that mean?" Payne responded, his mouth full of Venison.
"What do you mean 'what's that mean'? I mean where the fuck do we head next?"
"I don't know, kid. Saint Denis? A lot of money down there for the taking."
"A lot of Marshall's too." Sawyer pointed out.
Payne seemed to scoff, "Ain't a problem."
"Nah? Not a problem? I suppose you're probably getting used to having those badge-boys bird-dogging our asses. I mean you're right man, what the fucks a few more huh?"
"It's always us or them, Sawyer. You know that." Roland said chewing, not even paying the young outlaw any real attention.
"Sure, at times it is. But sometimes it ain't. If you catch my meaning."
Roland swallowed the last of his meat and then wiped the fat and grease from his lips and thick black beard. Sawyer watched as he sat up from the log he was laying against.
"Why you being so fucking annoying tonight, kid? Even more so than usual?"
Sawyer couldn't help but glare, "Having lawmen in two different states wanting to see you swing through almost no action of your own, does tend to irritate one."
"And what's that supposed to mean? You saying this is all down to me? If I remember correctly, boy, a lot of those bullets fired were your own."
Sawyer scowled but did not reply. He just kept cooking the meat. Watching it turn from raw to cooked slowly almost mirrored the feeling Sawyer had in his stomach. His patience was burning and soon it would be turned to ash.
"That's right, boy. It ain't all me." Roland whispered in a harsh tone, "And if you sit down and talk to me like that again... Make sure you got more in your hand than a knife."
Sawyer looked up at the ugly, bald, beastly looking man he once called a friend and tightened the grip on the knife. But before any action could be made, both outlaws heard the snap of a twig branch behind the camp in the darkness.
In a matter of seconds, Sawyer had dropped the knife and meat, drawn his Schofield Revolver and aimed it at the woman. Payne had done the same with his Volcanic. This woman froze where she was, her hands slightly raised. You could see her already shaking, even in the dim light from the fire. Sawyer looked her up and down, she was dressed real nice. A clean blue and white dress. Clearly she wasn't a poor gal, but probably far from rich too. She was about as innocent looking as a puppy. Payne slowly but surely made his way around the campfire, not once taking his dark, sunken in eyes off the frightened woman.
"What you want, madam? Noth'n here for you." Sawyer said, slowly.
"Oh I think there is." Payne sinisterly smirked.
"Hey..." Sawyer turned his head to Roland, "Don't, man."
The woman was about to speak when she was suddenly joined at the hip by a real small, gentle looking boy. Can't have been any older than five years. Sawyer himself started shaking. It was a mother and her child. And they'd ran into the wrong person.
"Please... We were just hoping to find a crossing. We're on our way to Van Horn, see." She admitted, her voice cracking with every word.
The little boy started pointing at Sawyer, "Mommy, that man has a bang-bang."
Oh fuck, Sawyer whimpered inside his own head.
"On your way to Van Horn Trading Post huh?" Payne laughed, approaching her closer, "What is it you got to trade then, Miss?"
The mother's eyes were wide and watery, you could even see the campfire reflecting off of them.
"Or is it Mrs? After all you do have a little cub with you. Where's your fella?"
She didn't answer. All she did was slowly push the boy further behind her with one hand. Sawyer kept his gun on her, as did Roland. But only one of the outlaws wanted to put them away.
"Now I asked you a fucking question, lady!" Payne yelled ferociously out of nowhere, grabbing her by the lower jaw.
Sawyer's heart was going as fast as a running buck. It felt like it was forcing its way out of his throat. The young outlaw couldn't bare hearing the mother start to scream and cry and her little boy do the same.
"What you got to trade at Van Horn, huh?!" Roland roared, still no response. "Now you hand whatever you got over, or me and my partner there are gonna be serving you and your little boy up at the nearest Trapper!"
Payne had snapped again, so angry that his face was red and hot. But suddenly there was a chilly sensation to his temple, and he heard the click of a revolver's hammer.
"Let her fucking go. Now..." Sawyer ordered the much bigger man, sternly.
Roland's eyes went as wide as Flat Iron Lake, his own jaw now dropping. Even the mother looked on in disbelief at what the young outlaw was doing. Every noise from every person went silent. All that could be heard was the wind through the grass and the flowing river a few yards away.
Roland turned his head slowly to look at Sawyer, the barrel now facing his forehead. He finally let go of the woman's face. He'd gripped her so tight that he'd left bruises already. She very quickly backed away and made sure her son was okay.
"What the fuck do you reckon you're doing, boy?" Payne asked, seething like an angry wolf.
"The right thing, you piece of shit." Sawyer responded, jaded, angry and tired beyond belief.
"Oh yeah? Go ahead then. Shoot me" Payne growled, smirking ever so slightly.
Sawyer stared at Roland, both men's eyes finally accepting the toxic dislike for one another. The giant unit of a man had just gave the younger outlaw permission to kill him. And because of that, Sawyer didn't do it. The young man knew how sly Payne could be.
"Go on, boy. Do it. Pull the fucking trigger. Do the right thing." Roland said amongst heavy furious breathing.
Sawyer kept his eyes fixed on Payne, for the longest time. He waited for the beast to make a move, but he seemed to become as still as a stuffed bear.
"Now you pull that trigger, kid. 'Cause if you don't... That woman, that boy, I'm gonna tear them apart and make you watch."
That promise and that thought made Sawyer glance at the two innocents for a brief moment, and that was all Payne needed. Before a fly could even move, Payne clasped his hand around Sawyer's revolver, jamming his thumb between the hammer and the bullet. When Sawyer jolted and tried to shoot, the bullet then went nowhere. Instead the two men just scuffled for a brief moment before Payne managed to yank the Schofield out of Sawyer's hand and whip him across the cheekbone, opening up a wound and letting the young man's blood flow down his face.
Sawyer collapsed straight to the ground, his vision and head a complete haze. His eyes rolled and rolled, seeing nothing but colours and shapes. The young outlaw tried to push himself up, but that's when he felt Roland's boots crack open his ribs with a few hard kicks. Sawyer groaned, screamed even, as the pain coursed through his entire abdomen. He could taste his own blood from the crack on his cheek and even some mud and dirt from the ground he had kissed.
Amongst his own cries and screams of agony, Sawyer heard both the mother and her child crying out for help and yelling loud in fear. The young outlaw tried to move, tried to find a gun, knife, rock, anything that could help put down the beast and save the two innocents, but it was all futile. The pain from his ribs made it hard to even breathe and the blow to the head made it impossible to see. Sawyer had no chance of helping anyone. He could already feel his own consciousness slipping away, kept awake only by the sounds of the mother and her little boy's cries of terror.
After a minute or two, bleeding heavily and feeling like his chest and stomach were on fire, Sawyer heard two gunshots. Two loud and evil gunshots, from the familiar Volcanic pistol that he'd heard many times. And that was when he stopped hearing the screams and could drift off into nothing.
