Chapter 6: From two to three.
A.N: Alright, it has been a very long time since I updated, I'm really sorry!
Thanks to everyone who reads, favorites, follows and/ or reviews! It means a lot!
I own nothing but my OC.
It was never verbally agreed that Nera would stay with Django and Schultz. But in some cases, there's just no need for it.
After the three of them had breakfast, they wrapped everything up and prepared themselves to travel to the nearest town. This time, Nera would ride with Django. The two men were quite surprised to see that she didn't put up much of a fight. She grumbled and sighed, but did as she was told.
"What happened to Miss I-Can-Do-It-By-Myself?" Django mocked, after helping her on his horse.
"Too tired. The coffee didn't do the trick." Came her reply, supported by a long yawn. "So, if you find me drooling on your jacket whilst being asleep, try not to throw me off, please."
"I make no such promises." He jested amicably.
They arrived close to noon in a small town. It was decided that they would bring the bodies of the Brittle brothers to the local authorities, first and foremost. The local sheriff eyed them with suspicion, as they handed over the corpses. But luckily, the man didn't ask too many questions.
Once they had collected the reward, each bounty hunter went their own way. Django and Schultz dropped Nera off at the doctor's office. After that, Django went to a local store to buy some clothes and a new saddle, while Schultz bought some supplies for their trip into the mountains.
After half an hour, Nera left the doctor's office, supported by a pair of crutches. "Damn tree, damn ankle, damn crutches." She mumbled as she sat down on the front porch. She observed the passers-by to pass the time. Her attention was called when a little girl walked over to where she was sitting.
"Excuse me, Miss. But why are you dressed like a boy?" She asked with pure innocence and a strong southern drawl. Nera guessed that the girl couldn't be any older than eight.
"Well, I like to wear things that are comfortable. And trust me. In a couple of years, you'll know why I don't wear fancy gowns, corsets or whatever the latest fashion has in store for you." She said.
The girl opened her mouth to say something, but she was cut off as her mother stormed over and grabbed her by the arm. "Amelia! How dare you disappear like that?!" She angrily condescended her frightened daughter.
"It's all right, Miss. She just wanted to ask me a question." Nera interjected, trying to diffuse the situation. Apparently, the woman hadn't even noticed her before Nera spoke. Her eyes nearly bulged out of her eye sockets, as she seized the cowboy up. The woman looked at Nera with a look of disgust, like she was covered in horseshit. And Nera couldn't make a better comparison, since it was the exact look her brother gave her when she very much covered in horse faeces.
"Let's go!" The mother of the child declared, making it quite clear that there was no room for any argument. Hurriedly, she dragged her daughter away from a downhearted Nera. "Mother of the year." The cowboy grumbled, feeling sorry for the little girl.
Not long after that unpleasant encounter, Schultz and Django strolled towards her, having finished their own business and shopping. Nera couldn't suppress a grin as she eyed Django. "I must say, Django." She started. "This is the best outfit I have seen on you so far." It sure is an improvement, compared to the blue valet outfit. "Very bounty hunter-isch."
The two men had also noticed her state of impairment. She noticed them exchanging glances and answered them before they could ask her about it. "It's just a sprain, guys. The doc said I can't put any weight on it for at least five days." She stood up, and together they made their way to the stables. "So, what's the target, commander." She inquired of Schultz, since she hadn't used any nicknames for Django, in the past.
He didn't seem to mind her use of nicknames for him. Although, he did wonder if she would ever call him by his first name. "He is known as John Silver, but his real name is Smitty Bacall. I recently found one of his associates, Gerald Nash. And after I made sure he wasn't executed, he gave me the current location of Smitty Bacall. They had continued writing letters to one another, after the gang split up."
"How long will it take to get there?" Django asked.
"If my calculations are correct, approximately a week or so if we don't run into any trouble on the way. Oh, and I hope you have a winter coat, Nera."
"That I do." She answered as they entered the stables. Without hesitating, she 'walked' towards her own horse, only to be pulled back by a strong hand.
"Don't think so." She heard Django say firmly. He let go of her to put a new saddle on Tony.
You fall out of a tree once and you're branded for life. She gave them her most pleading look. I really don't want to bounce against someone on a horse for five days.
But it wasn't enough to change their mind. And so she ended up on Fritz, seated behind Schultz, feeling defeated and annoyed at the prospect of the following five days.
Her cheeks involuntarily started to heat up and turn red as Schultz wrapped her arms around his torso. These are going to be longest days of my life. She told herself as they rode off.
But in the following week, the trio fell into a comfortable routine. Every couple of hours, they would take a brief pause. When they were too tired, they would make a camp. Nera or Schultz had taken it upon themselves to teach Django in the art of reading and writing. And they were proud to see him make fast progress. He had told them beforehand that he had tried to teach himself to read and write, whilst still being enslaved. A dangerous thing to do when you're a slave, cause there aren't many owners who would want a slave to educate himself. At least, if it isn't beneficial for the owners themselves.
Nera persisted and used her crutches for five days straight, unable to comprehend how one could do that for the rest of their life. So on the sixth day, she hesitantly took a few steps. Even though her ankle was still a bit sore, she could walk without much of a problem. She couldn't be more pleased to have regained the independence she had taken for granted.
On the eve of the seventh day, Schultz informed his company, as he held a map in his hands, that they were close to their destination.
And the next day around noon, they got ready at a vantage point on a hill. From there, they were able to oversee an entire farm. The bounty hunters were lying on to ground, so they wouldn't be detected.
"Stay down on the ground, or he'll see us." Schultz informed his companions.
"A farmer? Why would he care if he saw us?" Django inquired befuddled.
Schultz turned towards his male companion. "I presume he would care, since he's about to get shot. That man over there is Smitty Bacall." He announced and gave Django the riffle. "The honour is all yours."
Django took hold of the weapon and aimed for the man in the field. But Schultz noticed the young man's hesitation as Django didn't pull the trigger.
"Ooh. What happened to Mr. I-Wanna-Kill-White-Folks-For-Money'?" Schultz jested.
Nera spoke for the first time since they had settled on top of the hill. "Gosh, doc. Maybe the point of shooting a man in front of his son, makes him feel uncomfortable?" She voiced her opinion.
Schultz now turned his attention towards her. "Why? He'll have a loved one with him. Who knows, they might share some heart to heart last words. Most don't get that and it's a damn sight better than he deserves." He looked back at an uncertain Django. "Put down the riffle. Don't worry, I'm not mad at you."
Schultz retrieved the wanted poster from his wallet and handed the piece of paper over to Django. "Read it aloud. That's todays lesson." Schultz told him. Django did as he was told. His reading skills had improved to a point where he could almost fluently read the words. He finished reading all the members of the Smitty Bacall gang.
"Well done, Django. Now that's who Smitty Bacall really is." He said, pointing to the face on the poster. "If Smitty Bacall would have wanted to start a farm at twenty-two, they would never have printed this. "But Smitty Bacall wanted to rob stagecoaches and he didn't mind killing innocent people doing so."
He folded the paper and put it back in his wallet. "Do you want to save your wife by doing what I do? This is what I do. I kill people and sell their corpses. His corpse is worth seven thousand dollars. Now quit your pussyfooting and shoot him."
"Can I propose an alternative?" Nera quickly interfered before any shots could be fired. She didn't know why, but a small part of her expected them to be mad or annoyed as she was about to voice her opinion. The kind look on their face and the gentle nod for her to continue talking, made her appreciation and respect for them grow even more. At that moment, she was one hundred percent sure that they saw her as an equal, as a partner. And somehow, that small gesture made her the happiest she had been in a long time. Goddamit! Don't get emotional now, Nera! You've got to deal with the situation at hand.
She scraped her throat, praying that her voice would be normal. "I suggest we wait and try to deal with him once he's alone. Dead or alive is something we'll just have to see at the moment. I am against killing him in front of his son. For his son's sake. We've been riding for a week. Surely there is no harm in waiting a little longer?" She could see how they were thinking about her idea.
To give an example, she pointed at the outhouse, which was placed around thirty meters away from the main house. "I mean, he'll have to take a dump at some point. And I'm pretty sure he'll be alone by then. What if we trap him right then and there?" She asked hopefully.
Schultz was the first one to reply. "I agree to take a different approach. But this is your bounty Django, so this is your call."
Django looked back at Smitty and his son for a couple of seconds, making up his mind, before deciding what to do. "We'll wait."
A.N: I had trouble writing this chapter because of the Smitty Bacall bounty. The humanizing versus the bounty part. But hey! Looks like we're taking a different turn from the movie.
I also took inspiration for some of the dialogue from the graphic novel that was created after the film came out.
30 meters is 98,4 feet.
I'm really glad this one has been written. Really glad. If you want to let me know what you think of it, I'd be happy to read that.
PS: Sorry for any remaining spelling mistakes or grammatical errors.