CHAPTER XXII

STRAWBERRY, WEST ELIZABETH, MAY 23RD 1900

Quinn didn't like Strawberry. It was too cold, damp and cramped for his liking. He'd cursed Sheriff Freeman's name the entire journey from Tumbleweed to the small mountain settlement. He and Robson had been sent East towards New Hanover to try and recruit some further help for their hometown far back out in New Austin. Quinn could only wish that Freeman had sent Barnes or Vic to do the job.

The day was winding to a close and the dark clouds were looming. The New Austin deputy was exhausted already from the long ride and it didn't help knowing they still had a far ways to go. West Elizabeth was the region between New Austin and New Hanover, so Quinn and Robson had decided to take a night's rest at the Welcome Center that they'd heard mentioned by a lot of folks while on their travels.

So far, they'd recruited nobody. It seemed the small, far outer the way town of Tumbleweed didn't peak anybody's interest anymore. Certainly not the people living further East. West Elizabeth had Strawberry, Big Valley, the capital city Blackwater and a direct trainline to New Hanover and Lemoyne. These places were thing's people far out in the dried plains of New Austin could only ever have imagined. The riches people could make and the lives they could build were something to behold. So alas, it seemed no poor bastard was gonna traverse all the way back to the dusty wastes of Tumbleweed to help uphold the law.

"Get a fuckin' move on, will ya?" Quinn groaned to Robson.

His fellow deputy was on the bridge of Strawberry overlooking the flowing river and viaduct. Robson seemed amazed by it and how it all worked. It gave him the feeling that Strawberry, and places like it, were far head of his own hometown.

"Pull your head outer your ass, Quinn." Robson replied, "You done nothin' but fuckin' complain since we set off."

"Can you blame me?" Quinn asked with a wince, "This place is rotten. I got a feelin' they'll fuckin' charge me a goddamn premium for making a boot print in the mud."

Robson than began to walk on back from the bridge, "Lose some damn weight then, huh?"

"Ah, fuck you." Quinn replied.

It was true, Quinn was a man on the larger side, but it wasn't so much fat as it was muscle. Quinn was around six feet three, a real imposing guy. Robson was just as stocky, just not as tall. The two lawmen were an odd pair to look at, especially given they came from New Austin and were therefore tanned, sunburnt and clearly feeling the colder air.

"How much cash we got?" Robson asked, curious on what they could afford.

Quinn pulled out a wad of notes from his beige duster coat and began to count it.

"Forty, fifty, sixty dollars." Quinn said, putting the money back, "I guess we can afford a drink or two and a night in that place."

The two men looked up towards the immaculate Welcome Center. It stood at the top of the tallest hill in town, overlooking everything below. Word had it that it was two English guy's who ran it.

"You think Vic was talkin' bullshit?" Robson asked, "About the limey?"

"I doubt it. Vic ain't no liar. Besides, there's only one way to find out. Gotta go in an ask."

Quinn then began his ascent up the hill to go and enquire about room prices, hoping that the owner really was a friend of Vic's. That way, he and Robson might've been able to get a discount. Or even a free room if they were lucky enough.

"Hey, you go on a head, a'ight?" Robson said loudly, "I'm gonna go get some bourbon and smokes from the store."

Quinn nodded before handing Robson ten bucks, "A'ight, get me some coffee and buck meat too while you're there."

Robson gave Quinn a thumbs up before he turned around and headed down the hill towards the large, long deck that the Strawberry General Store was built on.

The two lawmen couldn't wait to turn around and head back home. The recruitment thing had been pointless, Robson thought. Freeman had his head in the clouds. Tumbleweed was fading and everybody living there knew it to some degree. What with all the huge capital cities being built, stories from the East of huge industrial town's that paid good money for hard workers made it difficult for anybody to really care about small, shanty settlements out in the dry deserts anymore.

Robson couldn't lie and say he'd planned to stay loyal to Tumbleweed and Sheriff Freeman forever. Even he'd thought about quitting and starting up again somewhere else. But his comradeship with Quinn, Vic, Barnes and the general sense of care to the townsfolk of his home seemed to keep him going all the while longer.

Still, Robson appreciated the time away. It was good to see the world a little bit, even if it was still relatively close on paper. Seeing the enormous mountains of Ambarino high above in the distance was amazing. Robson had only ever seen such things in paintings. The closest thing he'd ever gotten to a good view was of the El Presidio across the San Luis River from the Rio Bravo.

It seemed that Quinn, however, didn't appreciate such things. Yet Robson was adamant that he was gonna make everything last while he was away from home.

As soon as Robson entered the General Store and the bell above the door rang, he tipped his hat to the man behind the counter.

"How do, friend." Robson greeted the man.

The owner nodded back, "How're you this fine day, Marshall?"

"Tired. In need of cigarettes and a golden drink. You catch my meanin'?"

"I reckon I do." The owner replied before pointing to the corner of his store, "Over there, I think you'll find what you're after."

As Robson strolled over, past the fruit and savoury snacks, the owner continued to talk.

"Whiskey, Bourbon, Beer, everythin' a man of your talent's needs, I'd say."

While looking over the selection of items, more than Robson had ever seen before, the General Store door opened again, the bell ringing overhead once more. The deputy didn't pay it much attention until he heard the gun hammer click. That's when everything else stopped. Robson stopped browsing, the owner stopped talking and time stopped moving.

"Everythin' in the fuckin' bag, now." Commanded the stranger, his voice angry yet reluctant.

"Sure... Right away... Just... Please... Don't..." The owner said, struggling to find the words.

"I said fuckin' NOW!" The younger man yelled.

Robson had already turned around and crouched behind one of the displays of confectionary the store had. It left the deputy somewhat out of sight, yet he could still peek over and see what was happening at the counter.

Once he did, Robson saw the owner rummaging through his recent earnings, stacking the cash in his palm's ready to stuff in the robber's sack.

The bandit himself was small framed, with a duster cap on his head and a red bandana covering his face. He seemed to be real edgy, constantly looking over his shoulder to the outside of the store. Something was going on, Robson knew. It definitely wasn't a straight forward hold up.

Robson soon equipped his Schofield Revolver and pulled back the hammer as slowly and silently as he could. One wrong move and bullet's might've started flying.

"This is all I got, I swear to you..." The owner said, his voice breaking.

"Well I... I need somethin' more than that though, don't I?!" The young robber yelled, jabbing his Cattleman Revolver at scared owner.

"Well... What else do you want from me?!" The owner asked loudly.

"He don't need nothin' else!" Robson then shouted, standing to his feet and aiming the Schofield at the robber.

The owner gasped in shock at the standoff he was now witness to. The robber's eyes were wide, but thanks to the bandana, he couldn't tell if it was through anger or fear.

"Now put the fuckin' gun down, boy!" Robson yelled, "You're only fuckin' yourself over by doin' this!"

The young robber turned to aim his Cattleman at the man he soon identified as a deputy. He noticed the badge but also noticed his darker tan and sun scorched skin. He was an outer town deputy for sure.

"Ain't you a little outer your jurisdiction, friend?" The young robber asked, his gun hand trembling a little.

"Wherever you sons'a bitches are makin' trouble, I'm well within my jurisdiction."

"Yeah? Well you're soon gonna wish that you'd stayed far outer town."

"How d'ya figure that, son?" Robson asked, "You don't seem like you really wanna pull that trigger."

"I don't." The robber said, "But I will if you fuckin' make me."

Robson scoffed, "Oh yeah? Well go ahead you little fuck... Shoot me."

Without any further hesitation, the young robber fired his Cattleman and hit Robson straight between the eyes. The deputy's body flew backwards into the very same wares he was browsing moments earlier.

Bottles ended up smashed, cigarettes got crushes and confectionary littered the wooden floor. The owner stood with his mouth agape and his eyes wide.

"Shit! Fucking hell!" The young, concealed man yelled in frustration.

He then turned the smoking Cattleman back to the owner before dropping the sack of cash, reaching over the counter with his free hand and grabbing the man's shirt.

"What are you gonna?!" The owner shouted in panic before being clobbered with the Cattleman's butt.

Once the owner was on the floor and unconscious, Sawyer turned around to inspect the main muddy street of town. He couldn't see Roland yet, so he was probably still doing his part. It seemed most of the people of town had scattered though. Thanks to Roland Payne being pretty feared and recognisable, most folks had cowered away to their homes.

Sawyer then found himself stood alone in the store with a sack of robbed money, a beaten store owner and a dead deputy. The young outlaw felt slightly sick. He'd not seen anybody else go in the store before him. The Marshall, whoever he was, wasn't supposed to have been there.

There was nothing else for Sawyer to do but wait for Roland's signal outside in the street. So with not much else to think of, Sawyer walked over to the dead deputy's body and crouched down to inspect him.

The puddle of dark red blood was getting larger and larger as the seconds went by. The bullet had made a messy hole in the lawman's face that Sawyer struggled to look at. Not because of the blood and bits of skull, but because he was a man of the law.

Sawyer proceeded to just do what Roland had told him to do if such things were to happen. He began to search the body for any money or valuables the deputy may have had on him.

The young robber started patting the dead man down, feeling his pockets for anything and checking his belt for any ammo. Soon enough, Sawyer took the Schofield rounds and then decided to take the Schofield Revolver itself. It seemed a worthy replacement of his worn out Cattleman. He felt terrible taking it, but that was what he had to do if he was gonna make it outer the situation he was in.

Finally, he found the ten dollars that the deputy had had on him and stuffed it immediately into the sack full of cash. All together, it couldn't have made up more than a hundred dollars, the outlaw noted. Roland wasn't gonna be happy with that, but he'd have to fuckin get over it, Sawyer thought to himself.

The young outlaw loaded the Schofield and then took a close look at the Marshall's badge that the deputy had been wearing. It was silver and incredibly shiny. Sawyer contemplated taking it to sell, maybe at a Fence somewhere, but before he could decide, he heard the screams and cries from outside the store. Something was finally going down and he'd need to get out there fast.

Sawyer grabbed the sack of money, slung it over his left shoulder and burst back through the store door and onto the wooden deck that looked slightly downwards onto the main path through Strawberry.

That's when he saw the young fella get thrown through the shutters of the only saloon in town. The guy was thrown hard and fast, so much so that he had no chance to break his own fall. He soon fell from the saloon entrance decking and into the rancid mud of town. Sawyer knew that it was Roland that had thrown him out, but he couldn't explain the woman that was screaming too.

Sawyer quickly made his way down the steps to the street level, his new Schofield cocked and ready to fire at a moment's notice. The man was getting up from the ground, covered so much in mud that he was wiping his eyes and spitting it out.

"Come and get me then, you son'bitch!" The guy shouted towards the saloon, readying his fists to fight.

Sawyer then watched in horror as the man was shot multiple times in the chest and stomach area from a gun coming from within the saloon. Seconds later, he dropped back to the ground and his blood began to seep into the mud.

More screams, Sawyer heard. Screams and cries of despair from a girl.

Sawyer approached the saloon slowly, his revolver still raised and his face still covered by the red bandana. He looked down at the dead man filled with bullets and sighed to himself. This had not been the plan. None of it. Already, like every other time, thing's had gone from simple to sinister real fast.

"LET GO'A ME!" The young woman screeched as she too came flying through the saloon shutters.

Sawyer saw the girl flying his way. The young bandit then reached out instinctively to catch her, only for her to grab him by the shirt and bandana, pulling down his disguise as she then hit the muddy floor alongside the innocent man's corpse.

All of the people who were still on the street, albeit cowering in fear at the transpiring events, could now see Sawyer's face. His young, rough, bearded face. He locked eyes with many of the folks around, hearing their voices muttering about him. He suddenly felt nervous, like he was on stage back in the Saint Denis theatre performing a show. He was the centre of attention, but not for long.

Soon, the bear-like foot steps came charging outer the saloon and then stood an unmasked Roland Payne. Sawyer looked up at his dreaded companion with some of his own fear.

Roland was stood breathing heavily, a double-barrel shotgun on his shoulder and blood all over his jacket and face.

"What the fuck's happenin'?!" Sawyer asked, angry and confused.

Roland stepped off the deck and into the mud, "Two little rat cocksucker's... Thinkin' that they're more than they really fuckin' are..."

"We didn't even do anything!" The woman cried, looking up, her face dirty and her eyes watery.

Roland didn't let her continue, instead he slammed his giant boot into her face, knocking her out old into the dirt.

"Hey!" Sawyer shouted, "This fuckin' necessary?!"

Roland's head darted towards Sawyer as he stepped in closer, "You keep that fuckin' mouth of yours shut, boy. You remember one thing... That we're in this fuckin' shit together!"

Sawyer took a big gulp, "Yeah well... This isn't the right way to go about it, Roland!"

Roland turned away from his younger protegee, threw away the double-barrel shotgun and equipped his Volcanic Pistol.

"What the fuck are you doin' now?" Sawyer asked, wincing with confusion and bewilderment.

The huge, hulking animal of a man continued to silently ignore Sawyer and cock back the hammer of his pistol and aim it down at the woman who he'd just brutalized.

"ROLAND! FUCKIN' STOP!" Sawyer exclaimed.

The evil menace then turned to face Sawyer again, "You fuckin' question me again! And I swear... I'll kill you, boy!"

"Yeah, yeah! Same fuckin' threat again, huh!?" Sawyer yelled, "Just leave her be! You've done enough, a'ight!? Let's just get the fuckin' money and go!"

Sawyer was becoming more and more unnerved. Not only was their confrontation on show to everyone in town who was still on the street, but he knew that there was a group of Marshall's on their asses that could be in Strawberry any minute, having followed them all the way from up near Big Valley. Yet Roland insisted on committing more petty murders just for fun.

"What are you Sawyer, huh?!" Roland asked, now revealing aloud the young outlaws name, "A fuckin' queer?! You can't even get over me killin' one fuckin' whore!?"

"She ain't a whore!" Sawyer replied in terror, "And she ain't the fuckin' first either!"

Suddenly, Roland had his Volcanic Pistol in Sawyer's face. Not the first time, probably not the last. Every time the kid tried to speak sense to the evil fiend, he ended up being threatened with death. It had started to grow tiresome for Sawyer months before, but it was starting reach unbearable heights.

"A'ight, guess I don't fuckin' need you then." Roland snarled, "If all you're gonna give me is this sentimental horseshit!"

Sawyer went silent, not wanting the trigger to be pulled. He let Roland continue, having no choice to do otherwise.

"Nah... I didn't think so." The monster whispered, "Shut the fuck up, kid... Realise that I'm doin' this to get you the fuckin' money you want."

Roland then slowly backed away from Sawyer and aimed the gun back down to the unconscious woman.

"For what you need... You're gonna have to be a fuckin' man of action... Not a man of deeds." Roland said quietly, his words haunting.

The young outlaw and his fellow raider locked eyes for a silent moment. Soon, Roland's eyes widened and he sported a sickening grin as he pulled the trigger, executing the girl. Sawyer's eyes tightened and he grimaced at the sound which was soon followed by the cries and gasps of the Strawberry citizens.

"NO!" Yelled a voice in the distance, "You fuckin' bastards!"

Both Roland and Sawyer turned around to see who the voice was and where it had come from. Soon they saw the lawman up above, standing on the deck outside of the General Store. Sawyer noticed he was wearing the same badge as the deputy he'd had to kill earlier in the store. It looked as though he'd managed to sneak into the building and found his dead colleague.

In a matter of milliseconds, the other outer town deputy had his own Cattleman revolver aimed at the two robbers and began to fire. In the midst of the hail of bullets, Sawyer was suddenly tackled to the ground by Roland, who'd seemingly saved the young bandit's life.

Even so, the bullet's from the deputy continued to fire. Roland and Sawyer, both laying in the mud, aimed their own guns up and began firing back at the deputy, who was moving quick across the decking. With no bullet's hitting either the robbers or the deputy, all three men soon ran out of ammo.

"Fuck!" Sawyer shouted, emptying the Schofield's chamber and loading more rounds.

"Get up you fuckin' idiot!" Roland shouted, grabbing Sawyer by the shirt and yanking him to his feet.

They both ran to some form of cover. Roland back into the saloon he'd recently left and Sawyer to the underside of the decking that the deputy was stood on.

There, in between the strong wooden beams holding the decking up, Sawyer finished loading the Schofield and waited for the strange lawman to show his face. He was still above the young outlaw somewhere outside the store. Sawyer could still hear his footsteps through the wood.

Soon, the young bandit looked towards the saloon and saw Roland pointing above. Sawyer realised he was giving him signal on where to shoot. But before he could release a round, Sawyer saw Roland get hit with a bullet.

"Oh for fuck sake!" The youthful robber roared.

The round seemed to hit Roland in the forearm as he'd been pointing. He'd fled back into the saloon now, as Sawyer could hear more screams of terror from within it.

Sawyer then refocused his senses on the deputy above. He heard his footsteps go back and forth. The young renegade couldn't tell which way the man was gonna go, his movements were too sporadic to predict.

The young outlaw continued to sweat profusely and wait. Eventually, he heard the footsteps stop. That's when it happened. The outer town Marshall soon dropped down from the deck and into the muddy path, gun still in hand. He came down like something out of a kid's story you'd tell around a campfire.

Once he hit the floor, the deputy fired at Sawyer who took a quick dive to the floor to dodge the incoming rounds.

"Fuck!" The deputy suddenly yelled in pain, his leg having taken the brunt of his unpredictable manoeuvre.

Sawyer saw the opportunity and, in self defence, shot the deputy in the shoulder, spinning him around to face the saloon. By pure instinct, Sawyer fired another round from the Schofield, hitting the deputy in the spine, sending his body face down into the dirt immediately.

"No!" The young man then screamed, "No! No! No!"

That was two lawmen dead, thanks to Sawyer. He lay there in shock, feeling sick and evil. He hadn't meant for any of it to happen. It was supposed to have been a simple robbery of the town. Enough money to leave his current life behind. Yet, thanks to the actions and persuasion of Roland, he'd practically killed all chances of that.

More guns suddenly started to fire, snapping Sawyer out of emotional trance. He lunged to his feet and turned to see Roland exit the saloon once again, blood pouring down his arm and hand, but seemingly unbothered by the wound.

"Get the fuckin' horses, boy!" The evil beast commanded, returning fire to the assailants.

Sawyer looked up briefly to see that a small pack of lawmen had began to fire at Roland and himself from outside the Strawberry jail at the top of town. Roland was taking his time in cover, between the saloon and the butcher stall, shooting at the deputy's without hesitation.

The young outlaw grabbed the sack of cash, plus the other one that Roland had filled and began to sprint desperately to the exit of town where he and Roland had hitched their horses.

He hated knowing Neigan was with Roland's vicious steed. It was said that your animal companion matches the owner's personality, but with Roland's horse they seemed to have sent it straight from hell, Sawyer thought. On more than one occasion, Sawyer had noticed Neigan would have small gashes on his face or body where the dirty grey, feral-like horse had kicked him.

The crossfire of town continued behind Sawyer, though it became quieter and quieter the further away he got. He was sure that Roland would be killing more people, particularly the deputy's, and therefore only increasing the amount of people hunting for them both. They'd already got in bad trouble in Annesburg and Scarlett Meadows in the month's prior but this, Sawyer thought, was becoming something far more dangerous and unhinged.

Eventually, the young renegade came upon the horses just outside of the entrance to town, below the huge sign reading 'STRAWBERRY'. Neigan looked startled, probably by all the gunshots, screams and shouts. It also could've been thanks to horrible horse stood next to him, the outlaw figured.

Soon, he had Neigan unhitched and began to unhitch Roland's horse too. But suddenly, Sawyer found himself still. He stopped midway. Thoughts started to fly around his head like a buzzing fly.

Why? He thought. Why not take Neigan and just go? Sawyer wondered. Roland was back in town, probably enjoying his little murder spree, but this was a chance Sawyer might've been waiting for. A chance to cut Roland loose.

Yeah, he thought, why not? He had both bags of cash, maybe not the exact amount he wanted but a good starting point. And if he cut Roland off, Sawyer realised he wouldn't need to split it with anyone.

Soon, Sawyer nodded to himself and smiled slightly. He stopped unhitching Roland's steed and instead hooked the two sacks onto Neigan's saddle and climbed up onto him. That's when the huge hand grabbed a hold of Sawyer's reigns.

"Hey!" Roland yelled, "You fuckin' leavin' without me?!"

Sawyer looked down, a feeling of despair and disappointment overcoming him, "No, man! I just didn't know what to fuckin' do!"

"I tell you what we gotta do, boy!" Roland shouted, snapping his horse's reigns from the tree and climbing onto the saddle, "We gotta make fuckin' tracks, right now!"

The young outlaw looked back behind him and Roland, hearing the thunderous rumble of approaching horses. He knew immediately, that it was most likely the pack of Marshall's from Big Valley.

"Oh fuck... We're surrounded, Roland!" Sawyer yelled in shock.

"Nah, like fuck we are!" Roland growled, equipping his Volcanic Pistol again, "Just follow my lead, boy!"

The evil marauder then gave his horse a kick and soon had it moving like a bullet. Sawyer had no choice but to follow suit, given that if he didn't, he was either gonna get shot down or be captured and hanged for everything he'd done or been made to do for the last six months.

"Come on pal, let's get outer here!" Sawyer yelled out to Neigan, who soon began to power-trot.

The two bandits galloped back through Strawberry on horseback and it was then that Sawyer saw the bodies. So many bodies. Some women, some men, some older folks and a lot of them Deputy's. It seemed as though when the young outlaw ran for the horses, Roland had went on a kill-crazy rampage again. Every single corpse had a bullet hole or two in them. This wasn't the first time Roland had massacred a bunch of innocents, and Sawyer knew in his heart it wasn't going to be the last time either, not unless something was done about it.

Once the two men got to the bridge overlooking the viaduct, Roland noticed more men of the law appear at the other side, trying their best to flank him and Sawyer. Roland wasn't gonna be slowed down by anybody though, so he aimed his Volcanic Pistol and began to unload on them.

Sawyer looked ahead once the bullet's started flying and watched as a couple of the lawmen dropped to the ground, either dying or holding the wounds on their bodies. A couple of them had avoided the shots but had no choice but to dive outer the way of the oncoming horses to stop themselves from being trampled to death.

The two outlaws rode further and further to the outskirts of town, bullets still firing behind them, but not landing once.

"Easy fuckin' score, huh Roland?!" Sawyer shouted, furious about the chain of events.

"Shut the fuck up, Sawyer!" Roland yelled back, "Or those two bags are gonna be mine and I'll leave your ass to the fuckin' pigs!"

Sawyer snarled at Roland from behind, but couldn't afford to do anything stupid. Not with a pack of vengeful lawmen on their tails. The young outlaw had to bite his tongue once again and stay on Roland's trail if he had any hope of surviving.

Thankfully the townsfolk had all but disappeared, whatever survivors there were. This gave Sawyer and Roland an open path to other exit of town. Roland knew the area well enough and had planned to make a beeline for New Hanover. That way he could get in contact with the O'Driscoll gang and Agent Wilson to discuss the idea of taking on a huge robbery.

"That way, boy!" Roland yelled, pointing north at the dirt trail that curled up the hill's above Strawberry.

The further the two men galloped, the quieter their surroundings got. The Marshall's weren't far behind, but it seemed easier to escape them on just two horses as it would be with a full-sized gang.

Sawyer was relieved, yet still felt the nervous sweat running down his back, the shouting and cursing behind him fading away as he and Roland ascended further into the hills.

"Where the fuck do we go from here?!" Sawyer shouted, confused and scared from both the man in front of him and the men far behind.

"Further East!" Roland shouted, "Plenty of fuckin' pickings for us that way!"

Sawyer groaned, "More fuckin' robberies?! Do you have a fuckin' death wish or somethin'?!"

"Ain't got no death wish, boy!" Roland called back, "Why?! You got one?!"

"Not me... But I'm gettin' a little tired of brushing with death as much as we fuckin' seem to be doin'!"

"Get fuckin' used to it then, boy." Roland said sternly.

Sawyer's teeth clenched in anger. Yet he couldn't seem to really do anything about it. It was clear now that even he was as much a wanted man as Roland was. That is, if anybody really noticed that it was Sawyer who killed the two outer town deputy's and not Roland.

Nevertheless, he didn't have time to dwell on it. What with certain death only a few miles behind, Sawyer had to focus on keeping up with Roland. Something he found himself struggling to do more and more. He found himself wondering when his companion's homicidal tendencies would finally push him to breaking point.

Something deep down made him feel it wouldn't take too much longer.