Author's Note: If you've read "I Promised Your Mother" at all (it's rated M on account of drug use, violence, and heavier adult themes), I enjoy a little bit of horror/occult added into the mix. Whether the "ghosts of the fallen" and "voices of the long departed" are real or only imagined by Dutch, I leave up to you to decide, which is why I leave it sort of vague to let you choose how you want to interpret it. Enjoy.
The painted mare carried along the trail faithfully, her head bobbing with her steps as she and her rider ambled along the steep and narrow path. The ground was icy this late afternoon and occasionally her metal shoes would slip a little on the frozen ground, yet she recovered with confidence almost every time. It reminded him of his old trusty steed, well…her trusted steed until she passed. He shook himself from the reverie of his thoughts, his eyes had been glassed over slightly as he watched their shadows creep along. He gently pulled back on the reins, asking the mare to pause for a moment and she did so with a snort, smacking her lips and shifting the metal bit under her tongue.
"You know," he told the animal quietly, gently patting her neck as he straightened himself in the saddle, "I ought to give you a name."
The creature turned her head a bit, glancing at him with one of her dark brown eyes and shifted her left ear a bit.
"But…she was always better at these things than I was." He mumbled, clearing his throat and trying to sniff up nasal drippings. The mare exhaled loudly, shifting her attention back to the path ahead of them and starting off without prompting. He quickly retrieved the reins and tugged back on them again, causing her to toss her head a little as he worked the bit back and forth in her mouth.
"You got a real attitude just like he did. I 'spose in keeping with the theme, I'll call you Marquise." He grumbled as the animal finally snapped her head one last time, tugging the reins tight and huffing in protest. "What? It's a perfectly refined name for a nag like you!"
He sighed, letting the reins fall from his fingers again and folding his arms as the mare snorted loudly and went back to picking her way on the path again.
"I'd call you Annabelle, but that seems pathetic and a little sentimental. Even for me. You'd think after all this time I'd have gotten over it, put it firmly behind me once and for all but…I think between the manner in which she died and the manner in which poor Arthur did…and Hosea…and Lenny, Jenny…" his voice trailed off as he tried to recall their faces, at least how they looked when they were alive and well. But he couldn't, he growled a bit, frustrated as all he could recall was how the light faded from their eyes. But he had just seen them, some of them anyway, so why could he only remember their tragic endings and not happier memories.
The wind picked up a bit as they carried on and he simply leaned the pommel against his forearm, letting himself be swayed by the animals movements as he idly picked at his beard in thought. He had other things to tend to now, more important things.
"My own death." He reminded himself. "Going out on my terms the way I want to go. A warrior's death."
'Don't.' Ah, it was her voice in his head now and he quietly nodded, closing his eyes as he continued shifting in the saddle lazily.
"I have to. You know I do."
The mare stopped, slipping a little on the crest of a hill and turning back to look at where they had come from. Her nostrils flaring a bit as she carefully studied the road, lifting her head a little and creaking the leather tack as she stretched her head up. Both of her ears moved forward, like radar dishes as a mournful sound echoed from somewhere far behind them on the trail. It was faint, distant, and partially inaudible as the wind picked up again.
He adjusted his coat, popping the fur lined collar up to protect his neck, before rubbing his hands together fiercely and retrieving the rein. He gently prodded her with a spur, bucking forward a little on his seat.
"Giddyup." He clicked his tongue and the mare obeyed, shifting her attention back to the road.
Ain't no sense in going back, just like he had tried almost in vain it seemed sometimes to convince John Martston and son of letting sleeping dogs lie.
"Though I'd be lying to both of you if I said there wasn't some part of me that wants to go back to a better time...but we can't. If we did...you'd just end up like the rest of 'em." He answered quietly.
—
Staying off the main road would delay him but as a wanted man he couldn't exactly travel quickly anymore. He had set up camp near a frozen pond, carefully pulling out a mirror and studying his frazzled and icy beard as the sun began to slow slip down the horizon. The winter sunset was crimson, salmon, and even a little golden as the snow gleamed a soft pink color in some angles to match the sparse clouds above.
"I ought to shave. But this is about the only thing keeping my face from freezing the hell off. I've had it too long now, I'll have to change up my look when I get back." He snapped the small mirror shut and stuffed it back in his pocket, turning his attention to the small campfire and holding his gloves out to it.
"I'd have gotten you something to eat before we left," he looked up at Marquise who was hitched to a pine tree, "but it's been a while since I had an animal in my care."
The mare shook herself, smacking her lips and resting one of her back feet up on the point of her hoof. Maybe he ought to clear some of the fresh powder out of the way and see if there was any grass left, but that would require effort and it wasn't a guarantee. As he wrestled with the idea of doing so, the animal's body language changed again and it was the sound of her shoe crunching the snow that snapped him out of thought. The fire crackled and though it was hardly audible, he could hear a mournful voice call out to him, specifically, from below.
"That was the one thing I couldn't stand about you son, you never knew when to fuckin' quit." He folded his arms indignantly, shuffling his feet in the snow as he remained seated on the now wet saddle blanket by the fire.
But the voice was far off still, echoing like a whisper off the sides of the mountains and rocky outcroppings. He wouldn't be able to rest tonight, but as the sun began to slip below the horizon, he knew John wouldn't continue to stalk him until the morning came.
"And I'll be long gone by then." He scoffed, turning to his saddle bags to look for the heavily salted bear meat and unbuttoning his jacket a little to look for his knife.
But Marquise didn't seem convinced of this, still silently keeping watch over the pass even as he began to cook a greasy piece of meat. The fat sizzled, catching fire a bit and prompting him to blow on it every time it did. He hated bear meat for that reason alone, while it was rich, gamey, and prized, it was a pain to cook over open flame.
"Uncle Dutch!" The whispering echo cried out in the fading rays of sunlight and gave him pause as he quickly pulled the knife away from the fire and turned to look at Marquise in disbelief and also disappointment.
"Are you fucking kidding me!" He snarled, throwing his knife out of his hands and quickly rising to stand. He kicked the snow at his fire, smothering it bitterly and causing the hot wood to hiss and moan.
"I told that sonofabitch to keep away! God damn it!" He panicked a little, still desperately kicking at the snow even though it was clear that the fire was out already.
'You can't leave that boy to fend for himself, Dutch.' Hosea this time, in that gentle and tender tone in a vain attempt to calm him down.
"I can and I will!" He snarled, throwing his hands up in protest and frustration and trotting towards the mare now. He fumbled with the leather reins, desperate now to untie his mount, but the more he clawed at the material, the more tangled it seemed to become.
"AHHH! GODDAMN IT!" He punched the small tree as hard as he could, wailing on it with a closed fist until the skin of his gloves tore apart from contact with the bark. He hit it one more time, feeling his skin scrape against it, and decided head butting the tree once or twice might make him feel better. Though, he did so more gently so as not to cut his face, finally groaning and pressing his forehead to it. "You're right, Hosea. I know you're right."
It was abundantly clear that John had taught the boy next to nothing about how to rough it in the wilderness. And now that they were in snow again…
"I always made sure we were safe, even in the worst circumstances." He murmured, recalling the cabin they had holed up in years ago when they stopped to bury Davey. It was a shithole as much as it was a shitshow, but they still believed in him.
We've been through worse than this before. Now all of you…all of you get yourselves warm. Stay strong. Stay with me. We ain't done yet.
He was surprised he could even recall that bullshit speech he had given back then. As he peeled himself away from the security of the tree and put his now cold and exposed fingers on the leather strap of the mare's reins, he laughed.
"It wasn't bullshittery either, I meant that, for once." He smiled, carefully undoing the hitch he had made with utmost care and tossing part of the rein over the animal's neck. "Stay there, darling. We've gotta go get that boy and I have to fetch your saddle."
By the time he finished tacking up he heard the boy calling out his name again, closer now than it had been but still a ways off. As he secured the cinch and swung up onto Marquise, he cupped the sides of his mouth with his hands and bellowed back a response.
"STAY PUT JACKIE!" He lowered his hands from his face and prodded the mare's flank with his spur, "Uncle Dutch is coming, son."
—
"JACKIE!" He hollered as he moved Marquise through the snowdrifts, the last of the sunset had gone some time ago and the moon had begun to peek through the mountains now.
"HERE UNCLE DUTCH!" Came the reply, louder than it had been for the eternity it felt like searching for each other in the darkness with only the cold pale moon lighting the way. It was the longest game of hide and seek he felt he had ever played. He was sure the boy had to be moving around too, instead of staying put like he had told him to.
"Come on." He tapped the mare again and she began to trot as best she could through the snow, shaking her head and jingling the metal pieces hanging from her bridle. "IS YOUR DADDY WITH YOU?!"
"NO!" Jack replied somewhere off to his left through a thick stand of pitch black trees.
"Thank God." Dutch muttered under his breath, "WHY NOT?"
"I DON'T KNOW WHO THEY WERE BUT—" Jack began to scream back when Marquise and Old Boy nearly slammed into each other in the darkness. The boy had been crying, though he was trying to hide it as best he could now, quickly and furiously rubbing his eyes with the sleeve of a jacket that his father brought him from home.
"Did they get him?" He was fearful now, had John been gunned down by some asshole seeking revenge for the men that he had killed or had it just been a case of the wrong place, wrong time.
"I don't…I ran away. But! But that's what he told me to do, sir." The boy's teeth chattered a bit and the older man nodded, his fearful expression changing to that wild and unhinged coldness that Jack had become familiar with.
"Where is John, son?" It came out as a growling whisper as he shifted the mare closer to Old Boy and placed the scraped up glove on his shoulder. Jack gulped, fearful of making any sort of prolonged eye contact or irritating the man further than he was.
"I don't know." He whimpered, fidgeting with the reins even as that heavy hand softened a little and the callousness faded down into genuine concern.
"Tell me what happened, Jackie." He said tenderly, gesturing towards the direction of the trail and letting go of the little one's shoulder.
"We was ridin' home when a feller recognized my Pa, said my Pa had killed his brother long ago in Blackwater and he would see the man hung for it. Him and three others, I dunno if they was—"
"Were, not 'was', you're not a goddamn country bumpkin, son. Speak properly, not like that degenerate old fool and that who—" he sighed and gritted his teeth a bit, "your mother."
"Said they were gonna take him to an outpost for a while, until they could get the law out. He told me to find you, and said you'd know what to do. You're not gonna…well we're not—unless we have to, right?" Jack cautiously lifted his gaze as they made their way out of the woods and onto the moonlit path.
"You ain't doing shit. I ought to let your daddy swing like I should've years ago, but," he glanced over and looked through some hair that had fallen into his eyes, "the fallen would never forgive me if I did. Do you know which town they took him to?"
"They mentioned a fort not far from here. Said it was abandoned some time ago, on account of their bein' no more savages to…"
"Don't call them that, son. They ain't savages. They're folks like you and me just tryin' to survive." He muttered quietly, flexing his battered fingers in his torn up glove to try to get his blood circulating again.
"What are they really like, Uncle Dutch? Is it true some of 'em cut off the scalps of folks and display 'em like trophies on their saddles?" Jack had certainly read about Native Americans, but it seemed like based off some of the objects around the cabin that Dutch would know far more than what books could tell him.
"Yes, some do. But that ain't all of 'em. My daddy used to work the fields with a couple of 'em, poor bastards. Fell in love with an Indian girl once too, a long time ago now, guess you could say she was my first love. I don't think I was much older than you are now." He smirked unconsciously as he recalled the dark haired beauty from his childhood. But what was her real name again? Not the one we white folk called her but her true name…
"But I thought you only ever loved Annabelle, though. That's what you said anyway." Jack smiled, seeming somewhat surprised by this revelation himself and the boy was happy that the tension between them had seemed to pass. He relaxed in the saddle a little, eagerly awaiting the tales of Dutch's past, as John never really talked about his own or anyone else's for that matter. Uncle and his mother would talk about her days as a prostitute sometimes and he would try to ignore it, as they only made him feel worse about having ever been born at all. But Uncle Dutch's stories were like mythology to him and he felt closer to the man because of this than he did John, especially when he would drop his guard enough between his fits of rage and despair to actually talk about them.
"Chloe was what she went by, I can't for the life of me remember what her true name was now. And," he glanced over at Jack, "I did only ever love Annabelle. But that native girl? If my daddy hadn't died I'm sure I would've lived happily ever after with her. We were what you might call 'childhood sweethearts'. Her daddy was the one who taught me what I imparted to yours, and Arthur. But after my daddy died, well…I decided to be out on my own. I 'spose it's on account of that girl that I'm taking up with the natives again. I'm sort of…one of 'em myself in that way. With no real place to call home anymore."
"You never saw her again, Uncle Dutch? The girl you was–I mean, were, in love with?" Jack asked sheepishly, trying to imagine what the older man might've looked like at his age along with the young maiden he was in love with once.
"No. She died before I had a chance to. On the way to some Indian School up in Canada, along with others after my momma sold the farm. Couldn't keep it going I guess. Woman drank most of the proceeds away anyway I'm sure. You certainly have an enjoyment for making me stroll down memory lane. It's in the past now, like everything else." He had always felt guilty for not rescuing Chloe when he had found out she had been essentially kidnapped, but it had happened not long after he left anyway. It wasn't until he ran into one of his old childhood friends years later that he had found out and by then it had been too late. It had always bothered him too, the way knowing he could do nothing for Annabelle, or Arthur, or Hosea bothered him these days too.
Everything I ever love gets taken from me anyway, he thought resentfully, realizing that he undoubtedly would probably end up losing this boy too if he slipped back into his old habits. I promised her, he nodded silently and tapped the mare to prompt her into picking up the pace. Old Boy also started to canter as well, following close enough to Marquise that occasionally their riders would smack knees.
But it was the knee smacking that gave him pause and he stopped the mare abruptly, causing Jack to pull back on his own reins too.
"Uncle Dutch?" Jack raised his eyebrows, "We've stopped. We're…you're…"
"Jackie, we need to turn around." He spun the paint around but the boy seemed confused and kept his horse still.
"Uncle Dutch, they're gonna hang my Pa, remember?" The easy and friendly demeanor between them shifted back into irritation for Dutch and fear for the boy.
He ain't a mind reader, you mad dog. The older man backed the mare up and nodded quietly, letting his hands fall onto his pommel for a moment as he adjusted his weight in the saddle.
"I know," he hasn't meant for it to sound so cold hearted, "but we're gonna need some help if we're gonna make sure that ain't gonna happen. We'd have to ride hard, but—"
"We could ride to Beecher's Hope. Charles and Uncle—" the boy protested, unsure of where Dutch was going with this particular plan.
"That old bastard is worthless, even if he was a formidable fighter according to him 'back in the day' and Charles…well we don't exactly see eye to eye, son. It'll take too long either way and we don't have the luxury of time," he reached into a pocket inside his coat, feeling around with his exposed fingers for the crudely drawn map he had of the route between here and Cochinay, "do you remember Josiah Trelawny, Jackie? English fellow. Top hat?"
"Sorta?" The boy responded nervously as Dutch found the map and pulled it out, rolling it out and trying to look it over in the faint light.
"I heard a rumor he's been hanging out in West Elizabeth." He lied, Trelawny wasn't hiding out at all, he had been conveniently supplying Dutch all these years with stolen equipment. That is, if Dutch hadn't managed to get a hold of it himself or needed to sell off bonds or gold they had taken on raids. He'll be taking winter supplies to Cochinay around this time like he does every year. I can't go on the main road to ensure I'd get there with enough time to spare, but the boy could.
But…he rolled the map back up and held it out for the boy before reaching for something around his neck and pulling it up over his head with his other hand. But what if this is how I die? Rescuing that worthless bastard from the gallows, again? Leave him to hang and be done with it, once and for all.
'I made a call once Dutch, you didn't like it but you know it was the right thing to do. You said you wasn't gonna punish John no more. You swore it to her.' Arthur's unmistakable gruff and grumbling voice said in a hushed tone, as though he were trying to whisper it into Dutch's ear. Jack had now turned Old Boy to face the trail that led to the main road and eventually Cochinay. If John's horse could survive a midnight run that far anyway.
"Take this," he held out the black chord with a small silver pendant on it and watched the boy slide it over his own head, "if they ask where you got it, you tell them I sent you and that I need horses and warriors. You ride fast and you ride hard, son. Your daddy's life depends on it, you understand?"
What the fuck am I doing? This is the last goddamn thing I should be doing!
"Yessir." Jack nodded solemnly and touched the small pendant around his neck, "I'll give this back to you soon. You have my word…as a man."
"If I should fall, tell them to bury me at the base of the cliff in camp. They'll know where I mean. Not a pyre, not left to decay in the open, I want to be buried where I buried her. I don't need a goddamn headstone or a shrine or any of that nonsense either. The spring wildflowers can mark our resting place. Now git!" he smacked Old Boy as hard as he could which caused the animal to go tearing off in the moonlight.
"HOW DO I GET THERE!" Jack screamed back as the animal bolted away.
"USE THE MAP! SURELY YOU CAN READ A MAP SON!" He called back, watching the inky black mass fade into the surrounding darkness before turning Marquise back towards the old cabin. "Do you know how to get to that old fort I wonder?"
"I was wondering what you might decide to do." A familiar voice purred from the darkness, shadow being made into form as a man riding a large black horse seemed to materialize from nothing.
"If I could put a bullet in you, knowing I'd never have to deal with you again, I hope you know I'd do so gladly." He snorted, rebuttoning his thick jacket and trying to pull the collar back up to shield his neck from the chill of winter's night.
"Even though I'm offering to help you, Dutch Van der Linde?" Death smiled, removing his hat briefly before replacing it with a wink.
"Your 'help' comes with a price tag." He remarked bitterly as the man slid into where Jack and Old Boy had been a moment ago. "The boy…the boy will make it there, won't he? Or have I sent another one of my kin to their demise, unknowingly?"
"Maybe," Death responded, tugging on his suit jacket and nudging Prosperina down the trail, "shall we then, Van der Linde?"
"Am I going to make it in time for John or am I running closer to my own fall?" He tapped the painted mare who followed closely behind. The Strange Man shrugged.
"I can't answer that either. Though I suppose dying in defense of a man you raised from a boy would be…poetic. But," Death smirked over his shoulder as the two continued down the trail, "that wouldn't be how you would want it, would it?"
"What's the price for your escort service, old friend? A couple coppers over my eyes or another soul?"
"Simply observation. I'm not doing accounting, not tonight anyway, this is a favor for an old friend. To be honest, I didn't think you had a shred of decency left in you. I mean, you left him to die before…so what changed?" The Strange Man pensively fiddled with his mustache, his dark eyes glinting like dying embers a little in the pale moonlight as they continued riding on.
"Nothin'." He snorted, rolling his eyes and trying to hide his mouth in his collar a bit. He knew the entity would know he was lying through his teeth, but then again it was because of their brief encounter this morning that he had decided to go. He could blame the boy, he could blame the almost perfect hallucination of Belle, and he could blame his own guilty conscience too. And it would still be bullshit. No, he had broken a promise he made decades ago now, knowing all the while that he had been betraying not only her trust but theirs too. Betraying himself ultimately in the end.
I don't want to be forgiven or redeemed. That ain't me. He looked away and down at his torn glove, flexing his fingers again to try to warm the blood a bit. He wouldn't have time to repair them, now that they were practically galloping through the darkness to wherever Death and his mount were taking them.
—
The men at the timber gates and lookout posts raised their rifles or pistols at him, he could see in the distance other young men fixing a Gatling gun on him and the boy swallowed nervously. His frightened panting came out like hot white steam in the faint dawn and warm torchlights. He raised his hands above his head and felt the cold pendant against his chest, he gasped and frantically tugged at it to pull it out from under his clothes. Wide eyed, he held the small object aloft, trembling and swallowing hard as he did so.
"Dutch Van der Linde sent me! See! He gave me this!"
"Who's to say you didn't steal it from him, you little pale faced shit?" A boy, no older than he angrily stomped forward with a rifle far too large for him.
"Relax Kino, you think a scrawny kid like that could really gun that man down?" An older youth stepped forward, maybe nineteen or twenty, lowering his pistol and putting a hand on the boy. "Where's Mr. Van der Linde, boy?"
"At an old fort rescuing my Pa! To the southeast of here! Please! He told me to ride fast and ride hard, asking for warriors and—" but the guardsmen just laughed at Jack, causing him to flush in frustration. "I don't have time to play games!"
"He's bullshitting," another one turned to spit chewing tobacco out, the yellowy brown mixture of leaf and saliva staining the pure white snow, "Mr. Van der Linde wouldn't send a child. Let alone a white one."
"I ain't a child! My name is John Marston!" Jack screamed back, slamming both his hands down on the pommel angrily.
"John Marston?" A curiously dressed man had quickly ascended the stairs and looked down at the boy and the horse. His hair was graying now, his mustache was thicker but still twisted at the ends a little as he surveyed the boy. He was an odd looking fellow, but Jack remembered what Dutch had told him about a man named 'Trelawny'.
"Are you…are you Trelawny?" Jack asked and the older man nearly jumped for joy, pounding an open hand on the rough timber.
"You remembered!" The man laughed delightedly, giggling and smiling warmly down at the boy. "You went by Jack last I saw you. You were what? Six? Or four maybe. But if you're here…is he? Are we?…"
Trelawny lowered his voice now, looking rather disappointed now and pushed himself away from the gate, gesturing at the guards to open the gate.
"Are we what, Mr. Trelawny?" Jack asked as the gate swung open and he urged Old Boy inside.
"Never mind, never mind…I shouldn't be one to talk. I wanted to wash my hands of that…degenerate, disgraceful, smarmy, foul tempered—" The Englishman descended the staircase, cursing and snarling angrily when Jack rolled his eyes and interrupted.
"My Pa is in trouble. Uncle Dutch went to go—"
"Uncle Dutch is a liar and a conman. Far more interested in saving his own ass! I would know! But…" Trelawny shook his head and folded his arms disgustedly, "that bastard is family, I guess. He undoubtedly slunk off to some isolated retreat to 'medicate' himself and in order to wash his hands of you, sent you here to rope me into this mess. Knowing I'm more pliable on account of…"
He tugged at his thick hide duster that he wore over his suit, his mouth curled into a sort of snarl as he wrestled with whether or not he wanted to accept this quest. Typical goddamn Dutch, he thought as he rolled his eyes again and looked up at Jack. He certainly takes after Marston in a way, though I suspect, dear cousin, that you chose young John Marston on account of him at least looking like he could've been yours. If I didn't know any better, I'd say this boy even has some of Dutch's features…then again…it would be of no surprise to me if this child was that arrogant cocksuckers bastard.
No, he knew Dutch had always been careful and rather paranoid about children, long before Abigail Roberts joined the flock. But, he nodded quietly, a lot changed when you died and even more so when Hosea was gunned down.
"Nastas, was it?" Trelawny turned to the seemingly oldest native who nodded quietly, "Go rouse Mrs. Adler if you would."
"Mrs. Sadie's here too? But Uncle Dutch said we didn't ride together no more, that we were all through with each other after Uncle Arthur—" Jack shook his head in disbelief, maybe Trelawny was right after all, that Dutch was just a conman and a schemer. Maybe the old man had set him up, sending him on a goose chase knowing that John would die and this would be the end of any reconciliation. He realized he had secretly held onto some hope that they could go back to the way things were, even if it seemed that the adults didn't believe so.
"We don't. Mrs. Adler is here to recuperate on account of that troglodyte not being home. We ran into each other in New Austin and she got knocked around pretty good by a bounty. She's riding with me, temporarily. Neither of us want anything to do with 'Uncle Dutch', personally, but he lets us pass through these parts unhindered. And, pays me good money for supplies. Certainly safer here than being out in the wild. I'm too old now to be gallivanting in the wilderness like we used to, young Jack Marston." Trelawny folded his arms, holding them tightly against his chest and grumbling under his breath.
"You need to convince them, Mr. Trelawny, these…" Jack gulped a little as he debated calling them savages but recalled what Dutch had told him, "people to help us rescue them."
"Jackie!" He heard the telltale raspy voice of Sadie holler to him as she exited a tent and pulled her buckskin jacket close to her. The boy practically launched himself off Old Boy and went running into her arms. She smoothed back his hair with a laugh and patted his arms, grimacing a little. "Hey now, that hurts a bit, partner. What are you—"
She stopped mid sentence and looked up at Josiah who closed his eyes and nodded his head forward a moment. Her joy at the reunion with Jack was turning into concern now. The boy should be at Beecher's Hope, safely tucked away in his room reading or arguing with his Pa over chores. And this place, she thought to herself nervously as she glanced around at the native army Dutch had been slowly building up, this wasn't somewhere she hoped to ever see any of the Marston Clan.
"Jackie," she leaned down into his ear a bit, "where is Dutch? More importantly…where the hell is John?"
"Supposedly," Trelawny snorted as he took a few tentative steps closer, "Ol' Dutch sent the boy here to collect warriors to free the boy's father from capture. If…you can believe such a thing."
"Dutch? That broody man never lifted a goddamn finger for John when he was in trouble before! You!" She turned to one of the natives with a snarl, "I need a horse! NOW!"
"I don't take orders—" the warrior replied indignantly when Trelawny surprised everyone by pulling a cattleman out of practically thin air and lifting it up to fire it. The echo of the shot crashed against the cliff sides and rocky outcroppings as he slowly lowered it.
"You will from Mrs. Adler if you know what's good for you, my good man. The boy has your fearless," Trelawny twisted his face up in a look of disgust, "leader's necklace, and you will choose amongst yourselves who is riding with us. Otherwise…any future aid on my behalf ends right fucking now. Understand? Which one of you wants to be the one to explain to Mr. Van der Linde that your unwillingness to assist us is what cost him his fucking supply line? Or would you all prefer I pack up now and you can starve this winter?"
Sadie smirked, watching the faces of the warriors around her change from distrust and resentment to fear. She had never heard Trelawny swear before, let alone lose his composure.
"Goddamn Mr. Trelawny, you sure got a temper under all that fine English refinement! Might make a real fightin' type after all."
"I don't know what this asshole is up to," he tucked the cattleman back into a holster hidden in his waistband angrily, "but he certainly has explaining to do."
"You saw him last and you know him far better than I ever did, what do ya think he's up to? I mean if this were a trap…if he were scheming something. But…but he told me he was done after we put down Micah!" She raised an eyebrow and patted Jack's back a little, trying to both think over the situation and speak on it at the same time. The boy continued to cling tightly to her, not wanting to let her go at all but not wanting to hurt her if she was already wounded. But, Jack couldn't let them keep talking about Dutch the way they were, it wounded him a little, to remember how much they all cared for the man. And now? Now they were talking about him as though he were a monster.
"He ain't scheming. He's…he's got a…Mrs. Sadie," Jack pulled away and looked up at her with a sigh before hanging his head and clutching the object around his neck, "I know Uncle Dutch ain't a good man. But, this time I think…well I wanna believe—I—"
"Oh, sweetheart. I am so sorry he got you tangled up in this goddang mess, partner. Dutch doesn't…well, he don't do things outta the kindness of his heart. He mighta, once, and I know that's true on account of how I came to know y'all. But he ain't that man anymore," she carefully put her hand on the boy's cheek and rubbed her thumb over it and noticed that Jack had begun tearing up, "but if you say he's doin' right by John…I believe you. I don't believe a goddamn word outta that man's mouth anymore, but I believe you."
"Where's this fort, Jack?" Trelawny interrupted the tender moment and stepped a little closer, whistling for Gwydion as six young men mounted up quickly and brought a horse for Sadie to ride.
"I'm not sure, it ain't too far from Uncle Dutch's cabin in the woods. The one where he and Miss Annabelle–" Jack began as Trelawny mounted the appaloosa and Sadie her own horse.
"I see," he turned to one of the young men and pointed at Jack, "get this young man a horse and escort him back to his home."
You had better do right by that boy you kept around for her, Dutch. Otherwise I'll put a fucking bullet in you myself in front of your little army once and for all. Trelawny scowled a bit and turned his attention back to the gate as he readied his horse to take off once it opened.
"No!" Jack protested, stepping back a bit, "I'm comin' too!"
"The hell you are!" Sadie chastised, gently smacking the top of the boy's head. "Your momma's gonna be fit to be tied if she finds out I let you ride with us into danger!"
"Mrs. Adler, please!"
"Sadie," Trelawny looked over his shoulder a moment, looking at Jack and then her, "if it isn't what the boy believes…if he…if this is for–"
"If Dutch wanted to do that, he woulda put both of us down at Mount Hagen, Josiah. He's crazy but he ain't that far gone yet…I hope." She admitted, as the gate opened and Jack returned to Old Boy and mounted up. He was determined now, regardless of what the 'adults' told him to do, this was the one way he was going to make his father respect him, or maybe convince Dutch that he could be an outlaw too.
"I'm coming. I told Uncle Dutch I'd return this," the boy tapped the pendant around his neck, making sure he didn't make eye contact with either Sadie or Trelawny, "and a man keeps his word."
"Jack Marston! I don't give a damn what you promised that lunatic! You ain't coming!" Sadie snarled but Trelawny backed Gwydion up between their horses.
"I'll take responsibility for the boy. I'm not much of a fighter, Mrs. Adler, but I know how to lie low when the going gets rough. I wouldn't let anything happen to her grandchild." He placed a hand on the woman's shoulder and she cocked her head in confusion.
"Who's?"
"Annabelle. She was as precious to me as she was to him. Now then," he kicked his appaloosa gently, "let's ride. We don't have much time and we have a lot of ground to cover."