CHAPTER XXVI
KAMASSA RIVER, NEW HANOVER, JUNE 10TH 1900
Sitting alone again. That's where Sawyer found himself. Sitting alone once more, like he'd done for most of his life. The only irony this time was that he was at the same spot where his strange adventure across the land had started. The Kamassa River, the last place he and Roland had sat together as outlaw's. The young, wanted man didn't fully understand what had brought him back there, yet it had just felt right once he'd came upon the energetic torrent, surrounded by hills, cliff faces and pine trees.
Watching the water move, not knowing where it started or ended, Sawyer felt the same about himself. For the longest time he'd forgotten where his journey had even started and had even littler knowledge on where it was due to end. So with a nonchalant, uncaring attitude, he'd sat himself down on the muddy bank close to the river, watching Negan drink his fill from it.
When the outlaw had found his horse during his escape from Saint Denis, he'd found him stabled next to Friday, Ellie's horse. Given she wasn't likely to be returning to collect her stallion, Sawyer had felt it necessary to transfer the weapons and ammo from Friday to Negan. He didn't really know what for, but it had felt right. If that horse was to stay there for awhile, he didn't need the Anderson Brothers' stock falling into the wrong hands. But maybe the wrong hands were his, he thought.
I don't ever wanna see your face again, Vic had said, And if I do, I'll fuckin' kill you myself.
Those words had echoed off of Sawyers mind like concrete walls. The man had been well within his right, Sawyer knew. He'd lied to Vic from the moment they'd met in Valentine's Saloon, only days earlier. And while there'd been a reason for it, the young outcast hadn't predicted becoming such close allies or, dare he think it, friends with the Deputy. Yet, like most events in his life, the unpredicted became the reality.
Now, finding himself alone at the side of the river, completely devoid of any company other than a loyal horse, Sawyer was well and truly lost. He felt he had nobody to blame but himself for being a liar and a coward. His actions had lost so many people their lives and had now even cost the only two people who'd ever accepted him gruesome injuries and certain death respectively. It was his fault and his alone.
A different thought had ran through his mind constantly since riding out into the country from the Lemoyne capital. A thought he didn't like, but was strangely comforting nonetheless. It was there, beating into his brain relentlessly, but not truly bothering him. It would certainly make everything easier if he surrendered to it, and he could feel himself doing that faster and faster.
His eyes unfocused and his movements lifeless, Sawyer unholstered his Schofield, grasping it tightly in his right hand. It was loaded now since taking the ammo from Ellie's horse, so it was almost as if the stars had aligned for it. What else was there? He wondered. It was stupid for him to think he'd been given a second chance with Vic and Ellie. It was stupid to think he was working towards some kinda redemption. He felt there was no such thing as redemption anymore, or forgiveness. Only the actions he'd committed and the choices he'd made. Nothing could undo that. But he could undo himself.
Before he could give himself the chance to think against it, Sawyer pointed the revolver's barrel against the underside of his jaw and chin, breathing hard through just his nostrils like an animal. Everything around him stopped and everything fell silent. Trying to pull the trigger, Sawyer began to clench his teeth and dribble through them with such intensity as his gasping became heavier and more distressed.
Do it! He thought, Just do it!
His eyes now closed tightly, face crunched up hard and his breath held deeply, the young outlaw let himself feel how close to the end he was and how easy he could make it all end. But it wasn't enough, as the seconds dragged by he still found himself sat with the gun to his head and the trigger still not pulled. Why couldn't he do it? He kept wondering. Was he even too cowardly to kill himself?
Exhaling hard, Sawyer withdrew the gun from his chin and began to slap himself around the head, trying hard to psyche himself up for what should've been the easiest choice he'd ever made. Soon, he slowed his breathing again, closed his eyes and then reattempted, holding the barrel back to where it had been.
It was too late. He heard the steps approaching him. Opening his eyes he saw that Negan had finished drinking down at the river and had walked towards his owner with almost a concerned presence. The stallion might've even been aware of what the outlaw was about to do. Animals were a lot cleverer than people gave them credit for, Sawyer had always felt.
He couldn't do it now. Maybe he never could, but certainly not with his only loyal companion there watching. With that thought, Sawyer felt his eyes well up as he lowered the gun from his head again and uncocked the hammer. Soon, the tears were streaming down his cheeks as he began to cry to himself. Even though there was nobody present except him and his horse, Sawyer still tried to hide his emotions. He'd never been the kind to show them to anyone, yet couldn't hold them back any longer. He just wanted to cry and get it all outer the way finally, as to stop feeling himself about to implode.
As he sat there, sobbing quietly, he felt Negan quietly snort and begin gently nudging him with his snout. It made the outlaw smile and laugh a little at long last.
"Hey, fella. It's all good." Sawyer lied to his horse, stroking his face, "Just a rough mornin' is all."
He began to feel bad for his horse. Given he had nobody else to feel bad for, it was appropriate. Who would've taken care of Negan if Sawyer had pulled the trigger? It wasn't fair. Then again, neither was life, but the young outcast wasn't about to let an innocent creature suffer because of his own mistakes. Maybe it was time to move him on, he thought. Get Negan to a better place, with better folks and then he could get on with the other thing.
"You wanna take a ride, boy?" Sawyer asked Negan, sniffing away the gunk pouring from his nose, "You wanna go see some people?"
Sawyer knew the closest town was Van Horn. It was the trading post of New Hanover, right on the edge of the enormous Lannahechee River. If he could get Negan safe anywhere, that was as good a choice as any. At least the ride wasn't gonna be too long, so it wouldn't be too much of an interruption to his personal plans.
Standing up and holstering his Schofield yet again, Sawyer felt his body begin trembling slightly. He'd been in enough gunfights and close calls in his time, but having got within an inch of shooting himself, it suddenly felt entirely different to him. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, but it proved to the outlaw that he truly had gotten close to doing it and wasn't simply putting on an act to fool himself.
Once he'd wiped his eyes and cheeks again, Sawyer turned to his horse and climbed the stirrups up into the saddle. The sun was shining nicely above them, which made the decisions he was making seem like they were being accepted by anything or anyone looking over him. It was strange, but almost comforting while taking one last look over the beautiful landscape in front of him. The flowing river, the grass shivering from the cool breeze, birds chirping and flying overhead. It truly was amazing, Sawyer thought. But time was of the essence, so he couldn't allow himself to be distracted by nature any longer.
"C'mon." The outlaw said to Negan, clicking his tongue.
Once Negan was in his stride, Sawyer couldn't bring himself to look back, sideways or in any direction but forward. He was dead set on getting to Van Horn, making sure his stallion was in good hands, maybe having one last drink and then getting on with it. His life had been a circle of violence, misery, deception and crime. And now, he was ready to tie it off.
While he rode through the hills and fields of New Hanover, feeling the wind hit him, seeing the herds of cattle, groups of deer and other animals go about their lives, Sawyer had time to finally think. Now was the time for introspect if there ever was any.
He'd truly loved his time with Ellie and Vic. They'd been the only people in his life to forget his crimes and mistakes and to take him at face value. Until the truth came to light, of course. But with someone like Ellie it had been different. In her he saw someone he wished he'd have been at the same age. She was fearless, never thought to do the wrong thing. The girl was as fiery as a molotov cocktail, but it was for the right reasons. She believed in right, not wrong. If the outlaw had only had the same mindset years earlier, things my have been different. He might've been different.
And her relationship with Vic was something to admire. He knew nothing of their pasts, other than a mention here and there of her Father. From Sawyer's perspective, the deputy seemed like a surrogate Uncle of sorts and he saw how deeply he cared for Ellie to his core. Even when the outlaw had wanted to return the affectionate peck she'd given him on the train to Saint Denis, he hadn't dared do it in front of Vic. Even if Sawyer thought there wasn't really any ulterior feelings in it, that was how much the lawman protected her. He would clearly kill for her and die for her.
It pained him to think that he was responsible for dragging her and Vic into his rage fueled vendetta against Roland Payne, a man he'd willingly rode along side and helped in various, detestable acts. It wasn't right, and never had been. Sawyer hadn't done it intentionally, but he couldn't help but feel now that he'd simply used his two companions to help achieve his own goal. And for that he should never have been forgiven.
All Sawyer could do now, as he rode minute by minute, was hope that somehow Vic had caught up to Roland, rescued Ellie and finally did what he himself could never do. Put Roland in the ground. If any man could truly do it, Vic Noble was the one now, and he had Sawyer's full confidence. Not that Vic would ever care for it though. Not anymore.
His quest to kill Roland had somehow taken a backseat now. It was pointless, Sawyer had began to feel. What good would it have done, really? He'd been just as responsible and complicit in the crimes as that psychopath had been. Who was he to be dishing out the justice? The outlaw asked himself. It was folly. A complete farce. And now, thanks to his own stupidity, he'd endangered two great people. For that he deserved exactly what he was going to give himself. Nothing was more right. Not to him. Not now.
It took maybe another half hour to see the quiet port town show itself on the horizon, and only another ten minutes to stroll down into its streets. Passing it's first row of rundown buildings and lighthouse on the edge of the epic river, Sawyer didn't feel at all like he belonged. Then again, he'd never felt that anywhere. Maybe it was the knowledge of why he was here rather than anything else. Van Horn wasn't a bad place, just not a good one either. And if he could help it, he wanted to get back out of it as soon as he could.
The young renegade watched the currents of the river and heard them crashing around as Negan trotted slowly down the path. People of all kinds were hard at work doing their daily jobs as usual. Some were hanging out laundry, a bunch outside the local hotel were helping haul in the latest delivery of crates and some were just taking their breaks on the town's small boardwalk, overlooking the coast while having a smoke or a drink. That was a good idea, Sawyer suddenly thought. If this was it for him, it might've been nice to go out with some decent bourbon and a few smokes.
Firstly though, he had to visit the nearest stable or ranch hand in town. A few more yards down the streets, just past a Telegraph Office and a Fence was a horseshoeing business, sporting the name Moenning & Son. It was a tall, brick building with boarded up windows and a messy yard beside it. Sawyer felt that was the place to get Negan cared for, or at least get some help in doing so. The young man then climbed down from his saddle and had the horse hitched to a post just outside.
"You're gonna be a'ight, boy. I promise ya." Sawyer told his stallion softly, his voice breaking a little.
After petting Negan's snout a few more times, the outlaw walked towards the front doors to the building only to find them locked when he attempted to enter. Pressing his forehead against the door windows, Sawyer could see a couple of folks inside going about their work. They didn't seem to notice him, so he began knocking a few times. When the people inside heard him, they simply waved him off casually.
"The fuck? C'mon! I'm here for your business!" He said loudly, rattling the doorknob.
"Hey, dipshit! Leave the damn door be! We're closed right now!" A man said waking round from the building's yard.
"I'm just tryin' to find a place to leave my horse, is all. Can't you fuckin' do that for me?"
The working man shook his head, "This ain't a stable, but there is one at the top end'a town. It ain't open right now either though, most places are closed up around this time for an hour or two."
Sawyer sighed and rubbed his face with frustration, "Look I'm not even lookin' for ya money. I just want my horse over there taken care of. That's all."
"Can't do it for ya, son." The rugged man replied, "Go visit the stable in an hour. If they got the space, they'll do it for ya."
The outlaw stood tired, hands on his belt, pacing back and forth a little before kicking at the dirt on the ground. It was an immature response, but this had become a bump in the road for his plans. Plans he didn't want to delay further.
"'A'ight, I'll just do that. Thank ya." Sawyer then replied, tipping his dirt cap to the man.
The renegade walked back over to his horse and looked him in the face again.
"Look's like ya got me a little while longer, pal." He said, "Not too long though, I promise ya."
Standing there, observing the small village of Van Horn and the large wooden pier, Sawyer began to want that drink he'd been thinking about. The town did have a saloon, and they were always open, no matter what the time. Maybe that was the best idea to kill the last couple hours, he thought.
Soon he unhitched Negan and reclimbed into his saddle, kicking him off into a strong trot further down the street. They continued on towards the large building that was surely the watering hole of town. Upon getting closer, Sawyer read the sign above it's doors and windows. 'OLD LIGHT SALOON' confirmed he was at the right place. It stood at the back end of the long pier and boardwalk the town had. If you were to walk further down past the saloon, you would eventually come to the pier's edge, overlooking the endless horizon of the river that could've doubled for the ocean.
It was starting to hurt him, knowing he'd be leaving his loyal, dark stallion behind soon, so it was becoming harder and harder to look him in the eye. He loved his horse and it seemed to love him. Every person out there had their horse. Vic had April, Ellie had Friday and even Roland had his own beastly, feral looking thing. And most of all, Negan had certainly been Sawyer's.
Climbing down once more, and tying the reigns to another hitching post, Sawyer patted his only companion once on the face without even looking. He couldn't bring himself to when walking forward into the saloon shutters.
Inside, there weren't many people to speak of. Most tables were not occupied. There was a bunch of old men playing cards, a couple of working girls doing their rounds trying to pick up any hapless fella without a chance in hell with any other woman. The piano was vacant and full of dust, likely not being played since nobody knew how to. It was truly a grotty saloon, very fitting with the salty, sea smelling atmosphere of the isolated port town.
Sawyer strolled on past the other patron's without a glance, heading straight for the bar.
"I'll get ya beer, son." The bartender said, wiping his apron before reaching for a glass.
"I don't want a beer." Sawyer replied with a glare, "I'll make my own decision today, thank ya."
The bartender fiddled with his big brown moustache, "No harm intended, sir. You just don't seem like the kinda fella that can afford much else."
"Bourbon." Sawyer demanded blatantly, "Double."
The man nodded and placed a small spirit glass on the counter. He then grabbed at the most common bottle of bourbon he had on show.
"Nah." Sawyer than blurted out, "I want ya most expensive."
Stopping midway through, the barman just glared back in surprise before crouching down behind the counter. That was always where the best drinks were kept. Outer site, Sawyer knew, to keep from inspiring any robberies. Typical, he thought.
The tired outlaw watched calmly as the bartender removed the cork from the new bottle of bourbon and poured a liberal amount into the glass. Once he was finished, the barman slowly pushed the glass further towards Sawyer, who then took it promptly before laying a ten dollar note onto the hard, rough wooden counter.
"Much obliged." He whispered, "I'm gonna finish this at one'a ya tables, that a'ight?"
The barman simply nodded, "Whatever's ya pleasure, sir."
As he walked away from the bar, strolling towards the first free table he could find, Sawyer noticed one of the working girls giving him the eye. Not that he liked it. There were plenty of things he wasn't in the mood for, and that was definitely one of 'em.
Soon enough the young fugitive found a seat at a vacant table just a couple down from the group of old men playing cards. They were casually talking to one another, there didn't seem to be any bad blood, so clearly it was a friendly game. No chance of dying in a premature shootout here, he thought.
As Sawyer began to sip at the bourbon, savoring every single drop of it, his mind flowed back to Vic and Ellie. He wondered where they were, how they were doing, if they were safe. It pained him so much he took a bigger gulp to help sooth it. It had been almost a full day since he last saw them and yet it felt like an eternity. Just as quick as they'd turned up in his miserable life, they'd vanished again. At least it was nice to remind himself why he was planning to do what he was due to.
"Hay there, honey." The woman said, her voice so full of shit, "You need some company there?"
"Nope." Sawyer replied, no eye contact.
Without permission, the whore pulled out a chair next to him at the table and plonked her worn, used ass down next to him.
"You sure look like ya do." She persisted, flashing that false smile they all had.
"Do I?" Sawyer then looked up, his face grimacing, "I'm here, on my own... Drinkin' the hardest liquor in town... Choosin' specifically to sit alone... How d'ya figure exactly that I need some company?"
"A man without a purpose." She replied, putting on such a forced voice meant to draw you in, "A little tense, needs loosenin' up. I see your kind all the time."
Sawyer finished another sip, "Ya really don't, miss."
"Sure I do." She wouldn't stop, standing up from her chair and approaching him.
"I know what you need, a good ol' night under the sheets."
As she tried to sit herself on Sawyer's lap, the outlaw's patience ran out. He immediately shoved the prostitute away with his right hand, so hard she crashed against another table and fell to the floor. She let out a small scream of shock as she went down.
"Get the fuck away from me." He growled, "Whatever you think you I need, believe me, you ain't got."
Everyone had taken notice, especially the group of fella's playing cards. One of them, Sawyer heard, stood up straight away from his chair.
"This cocksucka botherin' you darlin'?!" The dirty, weathered old man shouted to the whore.
"Sure is! I was bein' friendly and he fuckin' pushed me!" She yelled, her voice breaking.
"That right, huh?" The fella said, beginning to walk around to face the outlaw.
Seeing the man about to draw his gun, Sawyer made sure to beat him to it. The young, death wishing renegade drew his Schofield in a flash, pointing it right up to the old man about to threaten him. The outlaw was younger and clearly quicker, as the old fart didn't even manage to get his out of the holster before facing the barrel.
Everything in the saloon stopped. No more drinks were poured or sipped, no cards exchanged. Just the glances of an old man and the young man about to kill him. Sawyer didn't move a muscle, but the elder man stood over him made sure to hold up his hands slowly before any bullet went off.
"You ain't got it anymore, ol' timer." Sawyer said, his voice dark and deep.
Eyes were still watching the scene with baited breath. The other guy's playing at the table watched as their friend faced down the gun. The barman had his head down, fearing another cleanup and the whore still sat on the floor looking away.
"You wanna know why I'm here?" Sawyer asked, not expecting a response, "I'm lookin' for a fuckin' reason."
The old, grey-bearded man began sweating with his hands still up in the air. He closed his eyes a few times tightly, not knowing if this was it for him or not.
"Now... If you don't wanna be my reason... I suggest you sit your wrinkly ass back down and fuck off."
"That's a deal, youngster. I don't want much more trouble than this, a'ight?" The man said, his voice stuttering.
Sawyer motioned with his gun for the man to move back to his table, which he soon did. And the outlaw did not put the gun away until the guy was seated and back to playing with his friends. Soon the atmosphere returned to normal and the silence was broken again.
Looking back to the whore on the ground, Sawyer took another gulp of his expensive bourbon.
"Nothin' personal." He said quietly, "You're just better off gettin' a top of someone else."
With that, the working girl got back to her feet and brushed herself down. Without another word she stormed off, heading behind the bar and into the back rooms that were only for staff members.
Finally, now completely free to sit with himself, Sawyer switched his mind off and continued drinking. That was, until he began to hear the conversation going on nearby at the poker table. He didn't mean to listen, but he couldn't help it after hearing the words Payne and bank.
"Yeah, apparently it was a goddamn bloodbath," One man said, "Bodies every fuckin' where."
"How they know it's him again?" Another asked.
"Shot another few Marshall's on his way outer the town. They all know him at this point. Who doesn't?"
Sawyer knew who they were talking about. It was beginning to seem that no matter where he went, Roland's shadow was always there. He began to grit his teeth hard, sick and jaded.
"Yup, made away with a lot'a cash, they say." The same man Sawyer almost just shot said, "God knows what he wants to spend it on, the motherfucker's wanted in most of the state."
"We're fuckin' lucky he ain't comin' through this way... Hit me." Another said, taking another card from the pile.
"How d'ya know he ain't?"
"Fuckin' Pinkerton came through here this mornin'. You didn't see him?"
The rest of the group all shook their heads. Sawyer on the other hand, widened his eyes and felt his ears open even wider.
"Yeah, he came through, takin' those fuckin' scumbag O'Driscoll's stayin' at the hotel away. He seemed to be givin' them all orders, and they were followin' them to the letter."
The outlaw sat nearby, beginning to take grip of his whiskey glass real hard. His teeth were clenching harder by the second. It was becoming clearer that Vic hadn't managed to catch up to them since leaving Sawyer alone on the bank's rooftop. He began to shake slightly with nausea and rage. This couldn't go on anymore, he thought.
"Where'd they say they were headin'?" Another card player asked curiously.
"Well that dog-lookin' agent said somethin' about north. Ambarino I think." The other replied, "Said this Payne fella weren't waitin' around, he wanted them all up there pronto. Said it was him that still had all the money, and some young gal hostage."
That was when Sawyer almost shattered the glass within his hand. He'd found it again. That fire that burnt within him from the minute he'd woken up in Crowley's room at Emerald Ranch. It was suddenly so clear to him. How could he have been so fucking careless? He couldn't kill himself. Not at all. Not while Roland Payne still roamed the lands. And not when he still had Ellie in his captivity. Sawyer wouldn't allow it, not for one more second than he had to. Roland was supposed to be dead. And if it was down to anybody on the goddamn face of the world to do it... It was him. It had always been him.
A few more minutes went by at the poker table, more gossip and drinking, before the old man who'd almost been killed by Sawyer had started feel a little guilty about their encounter. Almost respecting the young fella's confidence, he felt maybe it was worth telling him that and maybe buying him another drink.
"Say there, boy. Maybe we started out wrong there, you need another..." The man stopped talking, because turning around he saw that the outlaw's chair was empty and he was nowhere in sight.
