CHAPTER II

EMERALD RANCH, NEW HANOVER, JUNE 7TH 1900

Argh! Sawyer sat up. He felt like his head had been cracked open and his ribs shattered. It was hard to focus his vision or make a move without a seething pain shooting through his temple and body. The young outlaw gasped and coughed as he sat up on the bed, breathing in dust and grime from the warm, darkly lit wooden room he found himself in.

Looking around with just his eyes, head resting on the pillow, he tried to avoid vomiting from the nausea inducing aches that plagued his upper self. He was in a small bed in the corner of a cabin-like room that creaked. Across from him was a table full of bandages, healing tonics, a mirror and small shiny tools. Seeing that, Sawyer looked down and saw that a thick white cloth bandage was wrapped around his stomach and back.

Outside, across the one small window in the room, he could hear voices and the distant rumble of horse-shoes galloping across the dirt.

After calming himself down, taking some minutes to slow himself, Sawyer managed to sit up out of the quilt on the edge of the mattress. His face hurt badly, not just his head. It felt like a piece of it had been torn away by a bear. Thankfully it was just a big red bruise when Sawyer reached and picked up the mirror.

His beard had grown bigger, he was in nothing but his underwear, yet he seemed cleaner than when he last caught a glimpse of himself. Questions started to fill the young outlaws head. How did he get here? Why was he still alive? What happened to the mother and child? Were amongst a few others.

He kept groaning and coughing. Even breathing had been made difficult. But Sawyer could fully understand all the injuries and pain. What he couldn't understand, was how he was still breathing at all. Roland Payne never left anyone alive, so why him?

Before those thoughts could be fed, Sawyer heard approaching footsteps coming closer to the room's door. Slowly but trying to be quick, Sawyer instinctively searched his close space for any weapon, but ended up picking up one of the small knives from the table next to his bed. It was small, shiny, but very sharp. The young outlaw brandished it in front of himself as the door opened.

It was an older gentleman in a blood stained white shirt, sporting little hair but a big grey moustache. He was carrying a leather flask as Sawyer began waving the knife.

"Who the fuck are you?!" Sawyer yelled, the pain obvious in his voice, "Where the hell am I?!"

The gentleman backed against the door, both hands out, "It's alright, son! You're okay!"

"You better stay the fuck away from me, man!" Sawyer shouted, struggling to keep himself up.

Sawyer held the knife in his right hand, but was forced to hold his ribs with the left. It was stuck there like glue.

"I'm a friend! I'm your friend! Just stay calm!" The old man said, slowly and gently moving his hands up and down to try and calm Sawyer.

Sawyer blinked quickly and hard, panting and growling. Still pointing the knife, he looked the man up and down. It didn't take long for him to realise the older man was a doctor. The young outlaw then felt all the paranoia, shock and anger leave him, along with most of his energy.

"Oh..." Sawyer whispered through another long and tired breath, "I'm sorry."

His grip released, dropping the knife to the floor before he collapsed backwards onto the bed. The old doctor quickly moved to try and catch his patient, to no avail.

"No harm done, son. Just take it easy there." Said the doctor, gently moving Sawyer into a comfortable position.

The doctor checked Sawyer's bandage, "You've been out for a few days now. Found you up by Kamassa River when my boy and I were out fishing."

Sawyer watched, still exhausted, as the doctor then calmly took his head and closely inspected the swollen bruises on his face. The Doctor spoke calmly with the voice of a heavy smoker. Not only was he there to help Sawyer physically, but he seemed to help him mentally thanks to his hypnotic voice.

"What's the damage?" Sawyer asked with a strained voice.

"Cracked ribs almost definitely and I'm assuming a headache from Mother Nature, on account of the face wound?" Asked the old medical man.

Sawyer slowly nodded, "Oh yeah."

The doctor then smirked, you could tell by the way his moustache became slightly slanted.

"What's in the flask?" Sawyer whispered.

Opening the top of the small leather bottle, the doctor held it out, "Water. Gotta keep you hydrated, son."

Sawyer's heart skipped a beat, he didn't even realise until that moment how thirsty he was. The young outlaw quickly took the bottle and started gulping down the cold fluid. It was glorious and seemed to almost cool and calm the pains throughout his body. When he'd finished drinking, he took a couple of big gasps for air.

"Keep hydrated, but try not to drown yourself." The old man chuckled, taking the bottle away.

Sawyer finally felt comfortable enough to ask the questions that had flew around his skull since he awoke. He lay content on the bed, feeling the pains and soreness slightly subside and watched as the doctor stood up from the bed and pick up the knife.

"You found me out there, Doc?" Sawyer asked, looking up at the old fella.

"Yeah that was me and my son. Saw you near the shore at the crack of dawn. Must've been raided at your camp 'cause we saw the campfire was out and you'd been ransacked." The doctor revealed, organising his medical tools.

That told Sawyer something he'd forgotten all about. All of his belongings were gone. His guns, ammo, rations and probably even his cash. Roland had obviously taken it all.

"You brought my clothes back, right?" Sawyer then wondered.

"We did. Thankfully those weren't taken from ya too. Probably wouldn't have brought you back had we found you in your birthday suit." The doctor laughed smirked again.

Sawyer laughed a little along with his saviour, his ribs aching as he did. All the younger man could think about was the bastard who had left him in such an injured state. Roland Payne. Then it finally hit the young outlaw.

"What about the woman? And her little boy?" Sawyer turned and asked, frantically.

Even the old doctor stopped what he was doing. He let out one long sigh that sounded more like a growl than any sort of breath. Sawyer kept watching him as the medical man pulled a small stool out from the corner of the room and sat down in front of the bed. With his old, wrinkled hands that showed almost every vein, the doctor pulled out a cigarette packet and lodged one between his lips. Before lighting, he offered one to Sawyer. The young outlaw shook his head. All he wanted was an answer.

"We found them too." The doctor said, lighting the match and then his cigarette, "They weren't as lucky as you, son."

"Oh fuck…" Sawyer whispered in regret. In his mind, he had failed. "What happened to them?"

The doctor took another puff, "The woman was shot in the back and the head. Probably in that order too."

"And the boy?" Asked the outlaw, his voice cracking slightly.

"Shot once. In the stomach." The doctor revealed grimly before taking a very long drag.

That made Sawyer feel sicker than he had felt already. Not only because he felt he had failed the mother and child, but also due to the fact that Roland not only killed the little boy, but made him suffer more than even the mother. The sick and evil outlaw had given her a quick death, but he'd let the child suffer in pain. Sawyer felt sick, but that sickness slowly and surely turned into rage.

After finishing his cigarette, the doctor went down from the stool onto his knees and reached under the bed Sawyer was laying on. The young outlaw was sweating and shaking slightly in anger but was distracted when the doctor brought out his clothes and boots from underneath.

"A bit dusty, son. They been under there for four days," The doctor said calmly, handing Sawyer the overalls, "But everything's there that we found you in."

"Is this everything I had? Was there a gun? A knife? Money? Anything else at all?" Sawyer asked quietly.

"That's everything, sorry to say." Replied the older doctor.

Sawyer sighed again but accepted his predicament. His former partner, outlaw and a man who at one point he thought was a friend, had now beaten him severely and robbed him of all his belongings before brutalising two innocent people. Anger, fury, rage were words not even close to what the young outlaw felt. As he sat with gritted teeth, quietly shaking on the doctor's bed in Emerald Ranch, Sawyer's one goal in the world slowly formed. He wanted revenge.

"What's your name?" Sawyer asked as the doctor approached the door again.

"Doctor Ted Crowley, son. It's good to meet you. Shame about the circumstances." The old man replied, nodding with respect.

Sawyer nodded back, "I'm Sawyer, for what it's worth. Thank you."

"Just doing my job, Sawyer. No thanks needed."

Sawyer sat back up, clothes in hand. He was going to attempt to get dressed and finally get back on his feet. He had work to do.

"Oh actually, there was one other thing." Doc Crowley said suddenly after opening the door.

The injured outlaw stopped and looked back up to the man that had found him. Crowley then reached into his top pocket and pulled out something small and shiny.

"This was left in your mouth when we got to you." The doctor threw the small item over to the injured outlaw, "You spat it out when we were picking you up."

Sawyer caught the object and very quickly realised that it was a bullet. A revolver round specifically. The same ones that Sawyer fired from the Schofield that Roland had clobbered him with. It was at that point that Sawyer finally realised. It even made him smirk a little bit. Roland had left him alive with a bullet in his mouth, the same kind he had killed the mother and child with, as a last and final insult to the younger outlaw. Almost as if Payne wanted Sawyer to live in humiliation and regret. And maybe even as a message that Sawyer wasn't even worth a bullet being fired.

"Not sure why. Seems pretty bizarre." Crowley muttered, shrugging his shoulders.

"Yeah, sure does. Thanks again, Doc." Sawyer replied, smirking and still staring at the small shiny piece of copper.

"Again, no thanks needed. Just come out when you're ready and we'll get you on your way properly, son. Just don't rush yourself."

Sawyer looked up at Crowley and made a small weak salute with his right hand before watching the old fella finally leave the room.

Sawyer then finally managed to pick himself up off of the bed, albeit moaning and groaning again from the soreness of his ribs. It took the outlaw a few minutes to get his clothes back on, having to move slowly. Once they were on Sawyer took a moment leaning against the window to catch his breathe. Emerald Ranch was a peaceful looking place. He could see small cabins and a barnyard full of sheep outside. He didn't belong in such a friendly settlement. Sawyer knew full well that if Crowley or any other citizen of town knew he ran with Roland Payne once, they would have left him right where they found him. After a few minutes of silence and reflecting, the young outlaw pulled the bullet back out and continued to inspect the small shiny piece of copper that Payne had left with him.

Sawyer both scowled and smiled, "I'm coming for you, Payne."