"Shit." He mumbled under his breath as he tried to stick to the shadows of the wall and creep along it as flat as he could. While the army had been long gone, it seemed that some other gang had decided to take up residence in the abandoned fort. Whoever they were, they were a large crew, and it reminded him of the O'Driscolls with their sheer numbers. He had anticipated simpletons, maybe farmers or homesteaders in much smaller numbers, not whoever they were.
More revenge. Over and over and over again…that's just the way the world was. It was foolish of me to come here, he thought bitterly, this has all the hallmarks of a trap and I would know what a trap looks like. Been in plenty of them over the years...
He could choose to simply confront whomever their leader was, while Dutch's reputation over the years had gone from 'Folk Hero' to 'Mad Dog', he was still considered formidable enough. His name had to still carry some weight after all these years. After all, he had been an outlaw for longer than some of the men he was seeing standing around scout fires beyond the open gate. But, it would be him against them if it came to it and while he was still nimble enough in what should've been retirement age for him, it would be a fool's errand.
He leaned against the wall for a while, rubbing his gloves against his face and trying to warm the exposed skin. I should've kept carrying a bandana, he thought, but these days I don't care if someone recognizes my face during a robbery or a raid, it's not like I need to hide behind 'Folk Hero' anymore. No, he would have to figure out a sneakier way in if he wanted to find John without getting killed in the process.
I just hope that stupid kid is capable of reading a map and that my necklace is enough to convince those Indian boys that they need to listen to what he says. But…what if they didn't? Well, he thought bitterly, then I guess I'm going to die 'poetically'. We both are. We all are, and that's just my luck I guess.
Moreover, why had he decided to get himself involved in Marston's mess. He closed his eyes briefly and scratched at his cheeks through his gloves, clawing at them a little as he yawned as quietly as he could.
'You said you weren't gonna punish Marston anymore, Dutch. When I was dyin' in front of you, don't think I didn't see the relief in your eyes when I said that John made it out. You love John like he's your own and you always have too, even if you forget it from time to time. Me? No. But John...that's your boy, Dutch.' Arthur mumbled.
"If you say so, Arthur." He whispered back sarcastically, opening his eyes again and pushing away from the wall to find a less guarded access point. Even when he ran his own camp, he knew there were blind spots, or little holes in the hen fence. "I was just…emotional is all, you all said I was acting crazy, so I did just like you all said and went crazy. You only think you saw relief but I assure you…I never cared for any of you all that much."
'Bullshit.' Lenny's voice now and he suppressed a smirk as he crept along the wall until he found a spot that wasn't guarded. But climbing it…
"I am getting too old for this nonsense." He grumbled, pushing away and eying the lodgepine wall for places he could potentially get a handhold or a foothold. He would have to ditch the gloves entirely and he instinctively flexed his fingers as though they might've stiffened with frostbite or chill. He slipped them off, using his teeth to bite at the seam and unceremoniously let the object fall from his mouth as he went to remove the one he had torn open. He carefully inspected his knuckles, he had really done a number on them, his index and middle joints were the worst of the damage. Hell, it hurt when he opened and closed his hand into a fist, and it will be sorer still tomorrow, if he made it out in one piece.
But, he mused as he squeezed the injured hand back into a tight fist and grimaced a bit, it'll have to do. He had a wall to climb.
He felt around a little above him for places where the wooden beams had come apart a little, carefully doing the same with his feet when his boot slipped. He let go of his holds and looked down at his shoes. Goddamn it, I am going to lose my fingers and toes because of this idiot.
'An' if we're lucky, maybe even yer life, Dutch Van der Linde.'
"Miss O'Shea," he purred back quietly, "dream on sweetheart. You're the last one of them I ever want to see, you goddamn harpy. I gave you plenty of chances to leave me but you refused and you ratted on me. You wanted me to be someone I ain't, just like she did, but unlike you…that woman had me in the truest sense of the word."
He knew she actually hadn't ratted them out, it had only been a long while later when he strangled a Pinkerton stalking him from town to town, wilderness to wilderness, that he learned Molly O'Shea had said nothing. That Susan had blown her nearly in two not for the sake of the alleged 'code', but to probably finally put an end to the whining and complaining that young woman did out of her 'love' for Dutch. Jealousy, he told himself, not out of love for me but for the want of me, knowing Susan.
'Are you going to rescue John or not, beloved? We don't have time for this, YOU, don't have time for this.' Annabelle now, her voice filled with a mixture of irritation, concern, and tenderness.
"I'm getting there, just be patient for once, woman. I'm only doing this because…" His voice trailed off and he slid one of his boots off, grimacing as his sock touched the frozen ground and became wet.
You're not actually doing it for her, you fool, she's dead and has been dead for ages now. You know she's nothing but your own mind trying to trick you into believing she's watching over you from the afterlife. You really think those folks would waste their time trying to shelter you from beyond the grave? To come back and comfort a sorry son of a bitch like you? You've lost it. And you're continuing to lose it day by day now.
"Jesus…" He muttered under his breath as he took the other shoe off now, "Why am I doing this then?"
'Because like Arthur said, he's your boy, Dutch. You never liked to admit it, but I know you and you were always throwing yourself headlong into harm's way for folks in the beginning. Much as you'd like to believe you were just 'protecting' that folk hero persona, you and I both know, old friend…that's the biggest lie you ever told anyone, including yourself. You got sloppy in the end. You're not mad, Dutch. You're just lonely.' Hosea replied and Dutch could swear he could feel the older man standing beside him, but he knew that gentle and comforting hand on his shoulder would never come.
"I…" He shook his head as his voice trailed off and he looked back at the climb he would have to make. "I should just go. John ain't some damsel in distress–"
'When the O'Driscoll's had me, you didn't come for me. You always kicked yourself for that one too. You wanna spend the rest of your miserable life regretting not tryin' to get John back for that boy? Or are you gonna take in another orphan and try again?' Arthur chuckled.
"I didn't know they had you prisoner, Arthur. If I had…well, we would've all either been killed or hung on account of my poor thinking. And then I would've never got to watch Colm swing. To pay for what he put me through. What he put her through. And what he put you through. But…we'll never really know what I would've done back then, will we? Maybe I wouldn't have gone and let you die there instead of at my goddamn feet." He felt around again for the holds and started to shimmy up the side of the wall now, taking his time to make certain he had enough of a grip in the cracks of the wood to secure himself to the slippery and freezing surface.
'Because that's what I told you, Dutchy. You took my word for it that Arthur abandoned you. I was the one who told Colm where your enforcer would be. It's only a shame it was that big bastard and not Hosea, I played you like a goddamn fiddle that day too. See, I knew you were a sentimental moron, still pining over that so-called 'refined lady' you lost to Colm. Now you got some bastard kid dictating to you to go rescue his 'daddy' from danger, playin' you like a goddamn fool again this time. It's like there's a chance that little brat is really yours…tell me, Dutch…is he really yours after all? Did you break in that filly before your golden boy could?' Micah laughed and Dutch gritted his teeth angrily.
"You're haunting me now too, are you? And here," He felt around for the next gap between logs, "here I thought you would know to leave me be, Micah. This is all your fault anyway. If it hadn't been for you–"
'It ain't, sweetheart. It's yours. You know it and I know it.' Miss Grimshaw uttered coldly.
"I thought you were loyal to me to the end, Sue. Even when I spurned you for my wife…you never left me. Shit, you blew a hole clean through Miss O'Shea for breaking the code just because you loved me so nearly and dearly. Or was it just on account of Molly being lazy and spoiled? Were you just jealous of her, I wonder?" He smiled and continued to press upwards. He would look down but he knew if he did he would just become disoriented, truly he never liked heights and he paused in his ascension to nervously cling to the wall.
"I'm not afraid." He told himself with a nod, exhaling a little and unintentionally looking down at his feet and realizing he had done the one thing that made him petrified now. "Shit."
He closed his eyes tightly, chewing at his mustache nervously and beginning to shake a little. He knew that he couldn't be that high off the ground but it felt like he was a hundred feet in the air and one slip would be the end.
'Take a deep breath, beloved. The more you panic, the more likely you are to make a mistake and fall to your death. I'm not ready for you to come home yet, Dutch.' Annabelle warmly encouraged, causing him to shake a bit as he moved his hand up with his eyes closed and felt around for the next holding place.
"Goddamn you, John." He whimpered a little, still keeping his eyes closed as he found the next places to put his hands and continued up.
'You're almost there, Dutch.' Hosea said and it made him feel a little better about his situation.
—-
"Why are we stopping!" Jack shouted as Trelawny and Sadie slid to a stop at a fork in the trail, causing the ragtag band of Dutch's Army and his old companions to skid to a halt too. "Come on you lazy nag!"
He kicked at Old Boy hard, encouraging the horse to move forward but the animal shrieked in response and Sadie turned around in her own saddle to shoot a disgusted look at him.
"Hey! If you keep pushin' him that hard, he's liable to go lame or die, Jackie! You've been runnin' all damn night and into the morning, we're taking a short rest before we get a move on…er," she glanced back at Josiah curiously, "or somethin'?"
But Trelawny was busy inspecting the map that Jack had been given by Dutch, cocking his head from side to side briefly before looking at the split road. He glanced back down at the map and then back up to the trail.
"Trelawny. You lost or somethin'?" Sadie nudged her horse closer to his and he set the map down briefly, rubbing his chin and humming as he adjusted in the saddle.
"How many men took your Da, Mr. Marston?" He turned his head to look back and the teeanger growled angrily, kicking Old Boy hard again and pushing him towards the front of the pack.
"Three. Why?" He spat as he forced Old Boy to stop again and earned another look of reproach from Mrs. Adler.
"Because," Trelawny looked back at the trail and then to Sadie again, "there are certainly a lot more than three sets of horse tracks."
He pointed at the fork that wound up into the mountains, following the scattered prints that had been left behind by various passersby. Some hoof prints were older than others, a lot of them too, riding two by two but somewhat obscured by the snow. But there were four sets of fresh ones as well.
"Well one of 'em could be Dutch." Sadie suggested quietly, inspecting the worn snowy path herself now before glancing back up at Josiah who was still rubbing his chin.
"Doubtful, but…" Trelawny shrugged and turned Gwydion a little to address the natives, "which among you is the best scout?"
"I am." A Sioux warrior replied, moving his white and dark brown horse to the front of the pack, dressed in mostly western attire save for his breastplate made of bone beads strung together that gave away his origin to the Englishman. "You can call me 'Fox', I doubt any of you could pronounce my real name anyway…"
"Splendid Mr. Fox, I'd like you to go and do some reconnaissance." Trelawny moved Gwydion out of the way as Fox rolled his eyes and headed up the trail without them.
"We don't have time for–" Jack protested, spurring Old Boy again when both Trelawny and Sadie blocked his path with both their horses now. "GET OUTTA THE DAMN WAY!"
"THAT IS ENOUGH OUTTA YOU JACK MARSTON!" Sadie shouted back, her cheeks flushed as she roared at the teenager who continued to try to out maneuver her on horseback. Both Trelawny and the other natives exchanged awkward looks as Mrs. Adler continued to block Jack no matter how he tried to get Old Boy to move around her. Finally she snapped the reins from him and smacked the side of his head with her open palm. "I AM FIXING TO HOGTIE AND GAG YOU! YOU'RE ACTING STUPID!"
"SO DO IT THEN!" Jack snarled back, going to strike Sadie in response when Trelawny intervened and snatched the boy's hand as he pulled his arm back, twisting it up behind him and causing Jack to snarl a bit as Josiah held on tight.
"I understand your frustration, young Mr. Marston but it is not appropriate for a gentleman to strike a lady." Jack was surprised at how firmly Josiah held onto his wrist, he tried to throw the man off but Trelawny yanked back as Gwydion moved forward a bit and the Englishman bent the boy's arm behind his back. "You've got his temperament, boy. I had my doubts at first but–"
"Am I missin' somethin' here? Whattya mean by 'his temperament' exactly?" Sadie folded her arms as Josiah pushed Jack forward and pinned him to the saddle.
"Let go of me!" Jack growled, thrashing a little to try to throw the man off of him still but the more he fought, the more it seemed Trelawny continued to prevail.
"Dutch had…well, has," Trelawny rolled his eyes and tossed the boy's arm out of his grasp, "appetites, as hot tempered men often do. There was some speculation as to the circumstances of how young Mr. Marston here was conceived back when we all...associated."
"I mean, I know he doted on that boy from time to time but–" Sadie began when Jack straightened up and shot a tearfilled look at Trelawny.
"He didn't! He said he didn't! He said my Ma chose that rotten bastard I call a 'father'!" He couldn't contain it now as hot and salty tears streamed down his face and he scowled at Josiah.
"And you believe him?" Trelawny raised an eyebrow with a smirk. "After everything he did to your parents, to you, to me, and Miss Grimshaw, and Miss Mary-Beth…do I really need to continue in order for you to understand? You're worried about the wrong man in this scenario, young Marston. Even if that pitiful bastard is your real father, you'd be wiser to choose John instead. You're not eager to retrieve the senior Marston back…it's him you're worried about, isn't it?"
"I…h-h-he," Jack sniffed loudly, wiping his eyes with his jacket sleeve mournfully, "he loves me, I know he does!"
"No, I can promise you he doesn't. That man loves himself. I would know…she used to make the same argument to me." Josiah replied quietly, turning his appaloosa off the trail and dismounting. "It might be a while before brave Mr. Fox returns. Would you like some tea Mrs. Adler?"
"Mr. Trelawny, you don't really mean that you truly believe that–I mean," Sadie looked over at Jack to study his features for a moment, "Dutch and John could maybe look alike from time to time..."
"If you squint, perhaps. Tea, Mrs. Adler?" Josiah began rifling through his saddlebags looking for his canteen and teapot.
"I guess." She replied, turning back to Jack now and gesturing for him to dismount too but the boy refused to look at her. She frowned a little, choosing to lighten the mood somewhat by adding after a moment. "I think he looks more like Abigail than John or Dutch. Wouldn't ya say?"
"Would you hooligans like any tea?" Trelawny found his equipment and wiggled a small teapot out from its place in his saddlebags, ignoring Sadie's remark entirely. "We're going to be here a while after all."
—-
Shit, John wanted to roll onto his side at least but his arms were tied tightly to the wooden post behind him. They beat the absolute dogshit out of me, he thought, still feeling the fresh cuts across his old scars and the aching in his ribs.
"Dutch ain't comin', I know that, but I pray he has enough decency to send that kid back to Abby. Least he could do for me anyway." He grumbled as he shifted in his bonds against the hard piece of wood they tied him to.
The old Fort had a prison, though to John it must've seemed more like a torture room. Undoubtedly where they had tormented the local indigenous peoples in an attempt to dissuade them from continuing to keep their land. He could see just by looking around the dimly lit room why Dutch had always been so keen on treating any native peoples he found with the utmost respect and kindness. The various chains, old rusty knife-like tools, and bloodstains on the floor and the wood paneling around him were echoes of a not so distant past.
The world was changing, rapidly too. When once upon a time John had known enormous herds of buffalo to be roaming the Heartlands, the prairie grasses were empty and slowly being replaced by alleged 'progress'. Weaponry had changed a lot now too, there was talk of there someday being great big flying machines that could carry a man across the country far quicker than a horse, and even horseless carriages.
His and Dutch's way of life was over, like the old man had told him, though Dutch would never hang up his gunbelt. But, John always considered himself more open to the idea of the modern world than he felt his father figure ever did. In a way, Dutch Van der Linde and men like him were just like the American Bison, only a handful might remain and it was only a matter of time before they died out entirely. But, he knew Dutch would continue to wage war on time itself if he had to, in a hungry pursuit of the so-called 'Uncivilized' paradise that must exist somewhere.
"Paradise…" He muttered quietly, "the only real paradise that exists out there now is death. Ain't no place left that's been untouched by human progress. I wonder what Hosea and Arthur might've thought if they had made it, 'stead of fallin' when they did. Shoulda been Dutch that fell, not them."
The door to the building opened and John shied his face away from the thin light of the dawn that peaked in behind the shadowy figure that shuffled inside. The door was closed by one of two men that walked with a man dressed in his Sunday best.
"You the one they call 'John Marston'?" The dapper dressed man asked, removing his bowler hat and tucking it under his arm. He had thin graying hair and an even thinner white mustache, he was a portly man too, and a rich one at that. Hell, John swore his face looked somewhat familiar to him though he couldn't quite place it.
"I might be." He replied, lifting his head and turning it so he could spit, "Who's askin'?"
"Ephraim," The stout man replied, gesturing to his men to grab him a nearby stool so that he could sit, "Ephraim Cornwall."
"I don't know you, Mr. Ephraim Cornwall and I ain't got a quarrel with you."
"Oh but you do, Mr. Marston." Ephraim reached into his jacket pocket and began to feel around for his silver case of cigarettes. "You don't remember my brother, do you?"
"I've killed a lotta men, Mr. Cornwall–" He began but stopped almost as instantly, wondering for a moment why the name sounded so goddamn familiar when it hit him out of nowhere. Leviticus Cornwall, you dumbass. Ephraim seemed to recognize that John had conveniently remembered the old oil tycoon and smirked as he pulled out his cigarette case and snapped it open.
"I am aware, you see my associate here," he grabbed one of the cigarettes and snapped the case shut, gesturing at a man behind him with it, "Marcus had a brother in Blackwater around the time you were running with that charlatan and degenerate Dutch Van der Linde. But, I doubt you recall him either. He worked for the Pinkerton agency, you put a bullet between his eyes as you and the rest of those lowlife scum fled the ferry."
"Could've been anyone, there was more than just me that day. Could've been Dutch himself for all you two idiots know." John grumbled as Ephraim lit his cigarette and exhaled audibly.
"Maybe," he mused, "but now that we have you, it should certainly make it easier to gather the rest of you."
"Rest of us are dead, Mr. Cornwall. Pinkerton's saw to that." Came the lackluster reply as John attempted to shrug a little in his bonds.
"Not all of you. The last four pieces on the board. Well, the ones we care about anyway. You, Javier Escuella, Marion 'Bill' Williamson, and...Dutch Van der Linde." He took a drag off his cigarette as John shifted uncomfortably against the wooden post. " The rest of them, well it's not like Mary-Beth Gaskill, Tilly Jackson, Simon Pearson, Josiah Trelawny, and Sadie Adler pose much of a threat these days to progress."
"They didn't do nothin' to nobody. Pearson and Trelawny are cowards and those women were innocent in all of it. They just–"
"Tended to the menfolk I'm sure, just like your darling little wife waiting for you back home. I have to admit, I was tickled rather pink when I learned that the old Van der Linde gang accepted whores in their ranks. Treated 'em real dignified from what Miss Jackson told us, well she's Mrs. Something-or-other now…your boss certainly had lofty ideas for a man of his station." Ephraim exhaled again, tapping the end of his cigarette onto the floor as the men behind him shifted. "What were you doing out here anyway, Mr. Marston? You up to no good again?"
"I was on a hunting trip with my boy." John answered coldly, "Till your men took me. I been outta that life for years now. I ain't seen Javier, Bill, or Dutch in years."
"Really…" Ephraim mused, scratching his mustache and stubbed chin pensively, "I find that difficult to believe."
"Ask your men. It was just me and my boy on the road and I came quietly. I coulda put 'em down if I wanted to but I'm trying to impart to the boy better than was imparted to me." The old code still lingered on in him, he realized, all the things that Dutch and Hosea had instilled in him. Though, unlike Arthur who leaned on Hosea rather regularly, John only ever had Dutch and vice versa. He had to wonder if the old man were in his position right now, whether Dutch would talk or choose to die, and it bothered him that he didn't actually know anymore.
Once upon a time, perhaps he would've firmly believed that Dutch would never do something to betray them, to betray anyone. But...now...
Would you spill your guts if you were in my position, Dutch? Or would you remember the kind of man you wanted to be...
"Where did Mr. Van der Linde slither off to then, Mr. Marston? Or did you think I didn't know about his little shack out in the sticks? We were planning on grabbing him too that day but…he abandoned you, didn't he? Where was he heading?" Ephraim took another long drag and John shrugged.
"I guess I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, Mr. Cornwall, I haven't seen Dutch in a long time." He lied, "We ain't exactly friendly anymore either. He tried to kill me a long time ago and I never forgave him for it. But, I tried to kill him too. So I guess that makes us even. If we had run into each other, I'm sure one or both of us would be dead."
"And here I thought you were an honorable family man these days, Mr. Marston." He stood up from his stool and nodded, prompting the two men behind him to go and fetch John from the post. They were rough about it too, finding points on his body where some of the other men had hit him last night when they brought him through the main gate. John winced as one pressed his fingers into his armpit, yanking him upwards as hard as he could to slide the knots holding him to the post up to undo them.
"I am an honorable man and a family man." John grunted as they dragged him forward now and chained him to the wall while Ephraim took a seat at a table that had been covered with a dark gray ragged cloth.
"Where is Dutch Van der Linde?" Ephraim folded the cloth over to reveal needles, knives, and even bonesaws that had been carefully cleaned and sharpened, raising a white eyebrow as the men backed away from John. He knew what was coming now and a part of him kicked himself for still clutching to that code. But I'm a better man than Dutch could ever be, he thought to himself before looking back up at Cornwall.
"I don't know. You can torture me all you want but my answer ain't gonna change. I ain't seen him and I ain't spoken to him in years."
—-
He had fallen asleep in an old shed that was on the perimeter of the fort, still full of pieces of tack and hay, barrels, crates, and plenty of places for even a man of his stature to be able to hide behind. He hadn't meant to either, he had meant to at least survey what was going on now that it was becoming light outside but his exhaustion had caught up to him. His cut up knuckles ached, his old bones ached from his harrowing climb up the unguarded wall, and he was cold. He shivered a bit in the thick hide jacket, trying to bury his hands into his pockets to look for his gloves but when he didn't find them he recalled leaving them on the other side of the wall. His teeth chattered a bit and he grunted trying to shiver more quietly. His socks were soaking wet and his feet were like pins and needles as he tried to move just a little to warm himself up.
I'm going to fucking die here, he thought, rubbing himself vigorously as his entire body produced a massive tremor that spanned from his head to his toes. He leaned forward and tried to look out the large gaps in the shed walls, keenly interested in finding movement and determining just how bad of a situation he had wound up in.
"This is probably the worst plan I've ever had." He grumbled, watching a pair of men stroll by the shed with rifles slung over their shoulders and tin cups with hot coffee in their hands. Then again, Blackwater was probably the worst one of them all. He needed to think of something and fast, he couldn't just hide out here all morning, he needed to get warm and soon.
"When do you think those agency boys will get here?" One man said to the other as they paused in their patrol and took a seat next to the shed.
"Hell if I know, allegedly Tommy sent somebody out to go round 'em up from the station. Might be a couple days though." The other replied, taking a sip of his coffee before setting it down in the snowy mound beside him.
"Hey, Jeremy…why are we waiting on the Pinkerton's? Why not just hang the bastard and be done with it?"
"I don't know," Jeremy replied in an annoyed tone as he unshouldered his rifle and leaned it against part of the wall of the shed, "that's just the way the boss wants it I guess."
"Yeah but Marcus is the one who recognized him when we was ridin' back from scouting out that cabin. Man said he was headed 'home' from a hunting trip with his son, but when I asked him where home was…he said near Manzanita Post but he was headed the wrong way. Should we have followed that kid, you think?" The other man asked, blowing into his hands and rubbing them back and forth furiously to try to warm them.
"Kid'll probably be dead. He was headin' towards that area the damn savages are hiding out at. They'll probably scalp him, maybe eat him too for all I know. You know how they are." Jeremy cracked a smile and both he and his companion laughed.
We'll see about that, Dutch thought bitterly as he felt around under his jacket for his hunting knife but all he found was the holster for it, tucked nearly into the small of his back. He shut his eyes in frustration, wanting to growl but he knew if he did that the men would probably hear him and come investigate.
I forgot the goddamn knife, because I'm forgetting things more and more as time goes on. Well…he glanced around his surroundings. There wasn't much he could use as an improvised weapon, except maybe the deteriorated bridle from a cavalry horse. He reached for it and inspected it carefully between his bluish fingers, turning it over and tugging on it to see how much give it had left. It stretched but was so old and worn that it would continue to do so until it finally broke, he tossed it away and continued looking when something caught his eye.
A broken chair. It was starting to come apart now but one of the legs had split and splintered long ago, he needed to find something to put an edge to it but it would make an excellent improvised shortspear. Bury it in one and hope I'm still strong enough to snap the other's neck before anyone notices or they make a sound, he thought delightedly. He had work to do if he was going to climb back over that wall and get the hell outta here.
'I thought you were here to rescue John.' Annabelle grumbled angrily from somewhere behind him, he was tempted to answer her out loud but knew if he did, he would inevitably join her sooner rather than later.
I changed my mind. He thought back, waving an arm in the direction her voice had come from bitterly and creeping forward as silently as he could to break the leg off the chair.
'Typical Dutch.' Arthur this time.
Deal with it, son. I am what I am and I'm not going to apologize for it. He's a grown man, he got himself into this mess and he can get himself out of it. There's goddamn Pinkerton's coming and I do not want to be here when they arrive.
'You were a man of honor once.' Hosea chimed in now, chastising Dutch a little which only further aggravated him.
"Don't you guilt trip me, old friend." He hadn't meant to speak out loud and quickly put his hand in his mouth and bit down on it, glancing over at the door to the shed now horrified. He could feel his heart squeeze in his chest and his hands shake as he listened for any indication that he had been discovered. The long pause seemed to go on forever but after a while he could hear Jeremy and his friend go back to their conversation. They didn't hear, he exhaled in relief and put his hands on his face as he tried to calm down, at least my luck isn't so shitty these days.
This was not his fight nor was it his problem, this was John Marston's problem to solve now and the second he could get the hell out of here the better. He went back to trying to pry the leg off the chair quietly again.
'DUTCH!' Her scream caused him to stop and immediately place both his hands over his ears, this wasn't his own mind playing tricks on him now. Not quite, anyway. No, this horrified and pained scream was a memory disguised as her comments to him from beyond the grave. He sweat a little now, despite how frozen he felt, he snapped both eyes shut in agony and gritted his teeth. He didn't want to weep but he could feel tears erupt from the corners of his eyes and stream down into his beard. This was when she called out his name as Colm crushed their hopes and dreams while riding her like a dog for the sake of revenge for his brother, his lieutenant who tried to rape her when he slipped out in the morning to gather herbs for her. For the nausea, he reminded himself bitterly, because I was so happy for a future that could never ever be.
He whimpered a bit, still clutching his ears as the world grew silent again and he looked at the chair again through blurry vision, trying not to let out any sort of noise. He swallowed hard and slowly withdrew his hands away, letting them rest on the top of his thighs as he knelt down in the shed and stared at the work he needed to finish.
Don't do that again, Annabelle, please...you made your point loud and clear, sweetheart.
He grabbed at the loose leg of the chair again and yanked it off finally, he needed to find something somewhat sharp now if he wanted to shape the broken end into something useable and formidable. Gunning those men down would draw too much attention, but they'd probably have knives on them. He smirked, it had been a long time since he had used the skills that native girl's father had taught him as a boy.
Maybe it will be a warrior's death after all...he thought with a delighted grin, just the way I always intended it to be.