A/N: So, yeah. This upload is technically a week later than it was supposed to be.
So, basically, this girl on a discord server I'm a part of, had a writing contest, and the deadline was in a week. That's why I focused on writing a one-shot for it instead of working on my other stories.
Oh, and I found out that I was the only one out of two people who entered the damn competition. I mean, we're kind of a small server, but we have over seventy people.
Anyway, enough rambling…
By day, Samuel Hawkeson slayed O'Driscolls. It was all in the name of vengeance, but it proved to be a noble cause, at least in the eyes of the people of Rhodes.
At night, however…
"Don't you know who we're with?!" a mercenary said as Micah, wearing a bandana, was walking up and down the trio of men who were on their knees, in front of the carriage. The blonde had his guns out, while Sam, wearing a dark coat and a bandana of his own, was emptying the carriage of anything valuable.
"Hey, they've got guns back here, too," said Sam.
"Well, take 'em. They won't be needing those anymore."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Sure."
"We're with Cornwall Kerosene and Tar…" said another mercenary. "Mr. Leviticus Cornwall."
Sam paused. What in the world were Cornwall's men doing so far down south? He hesitated to shove more money into the bag.
Micah laughed to himself. "And I hear he's got plenty to share with us. Hurry up, Mr. H."
The young man snapped out of his thoughts. He pushed down his doubts and just hurried to fill up the bag. Then, he hopped down from the wagon.
"Okay, I got-"
Sam stopped to see Micah struggling. One of the men was dead, Micah managed to slam one against the wall and shoot him, but the other got on him from behind. That's when Sam dropped the bag and pulled the man off Micah's back.
However, Sam was bitten on the hand. He let go and was kicked to the ground. He backed up as the mercenary approached him, but the second Sam felt metal, he picked up a fallen gun and shot the mercenary in the head. Somehow, he still remembered the way the body stood there for a second before finally collapsing.
Sam stood up slowly, and just dropped the gun, using his handkerchief to wipe the blood off his face.
Micah was still reeling from what just happened. "Well, nice shot."
"We weren't supposed to kill them," said Sam. "That wasn't-"
"That bastard jumped me!" said Micah. "You gotta roll a bit looser."
Sam sighed. "You're loose enough for the both of us… Well, we can't just leave this cart here, I know a guy we can use to get rid of it. Come on."
Night had fallen by the time Micah and Sam made it back to camp. They had gotten lots of money from that stagecoach and a modest sum from selling that cart to Seamus. Hopefully, he'd get rid of it soon, and Sam trusted him to keep his mouth shut.
"Hey, you're back!" Lily greeted, as Sam handed Aurora's reins to Kieran. She frowned upon seeing some droplets of blood on his clothes. Sam didn't even look at his cousin and brushed past her.
"I need a beer," Sam grumbled.
Arthur had returned from a successful hunt with Charles. The camp was overdue for some more food, and it was cheaper to hunt for some game than simply buying it. He gave the pelts to Pearson to sell and the meat to cook.
"Thank-you, Mr. Morgan," said Pearson, "Mr. Smith." Meanwhile, in the back, they saw Sam, down a bottle of whiskey, before tossing it aside for another.
"Oh, hey…" Sam covered his mouth for a burp.
"And what're you up to?" said Arthur.
"Robbed a stage with Micah," said Sam. "That's all." And with that, he downed another bottle, while walking past the two gentlemen. "See ya."
Charles raised a brow. "Is he alright?"
Arthur shrugged. "He's been acting strange, lately. Drinking more."
"Well, being around Micah makes me want a swig of the navy rum," said Pearson. "Told me Micah ended up shooting the fellers they were robbing."
Arthur sighed. Sam was still kind of new to this, but he didn't want to kill unless he absolutely had to or if they were O'Driscolls.
"Ow!"
At a table, Sam, Micah, Bill and Javier were playing five finger filet.
"Sorry, amigo," Javier chuckled. "You drink."
Sam just laughed and took a drink from a whiskey bottle. Then he passed the knife to Bill.
"Maybe Lily knows something," said Charles. "I'll talk to her."
Arthur hoped that would work. Any second spent around Micah was trouble. He warned him plenty of times to stay away from that creep.
Sam awoke with cold water splashed on his face. He shot up straight into a sitting position, wincing as the bright light of the midday sun hit his eyes.
"Mr. Hawkeson!" Miss Grimshaw hissed, holding an empty pail of water. "Get the hell up before you sleep through the entire damn day!" She huffed and stormed out, leaving Sam soaked and forced to change out of his union suit.
Molly pulled out her pocket mirror and had tied up her hair nicely for the day. She didn't have any blemishes on her face or any zits. No. She took great care to make sure her face was clear. She was pretty. She knew it. She brushed some of her red hair back and walked back towards Dutch's tent.
Dutch was awake, but still just laying down. Molly was confused. They had been spending less and less time together, even going to bed at different times. She waited for him to come to bed last night so they could go to sleep together for the first time in a while. The woman heard his voice throughout the camp, heard him walk by the tent several times, but he never came in, and before she knew it, she was asleep. Well, it was that… and some other things were bothering her about her man.
"How've you been today?" said Molly. She stood outside of the tent.
"I've been resting," said Dutch.
"Can I come in?"
"I'm still kinda resting."
"The thing is Dutch…" Molly stuttered, "the thing is… I'm eh… I'm… I-I was always a good girl, and well… well… is there something wrong?"
"Nothing at all, my dear."
"Nothing?" Molly asked. It was the same as last time. Was he sure?
Dutch sat up. "What could be wrong? I mean, we have… we have made our escape outta the mountains, and life is beautiful once more."
"But you've been so cold," Molly spoke, honestly.
Dutch scoffed. "Miss O'Shea. I am many things. Many bad things. But cold? Never!" With that he swung his feet back onto his cot and laid down. "Though I do need my rest. So please… please, excuse me."
Molly sighed, and left the tent with a discouraged huff.
Sam sighed and leaned back in his chair, with his boots on the table. It was a boring, stuffy afternoon at the sheriff's office. He was hoping to have his shift today at the Gray's place to find more clues about the rumored gold, but the sheriff decided that their "guest" needed some security on him. Perhaps he feared that O'Driscolls might come back for Seth Laslow.
Sam, however, was restless, his fingers tapping at the desk near him. He didn't want to be alone with his thoughts. Why were they drifting away from his goal? You know, to avenge his uncle, the one man who raised him over his real parents? There was no time for self-loathing… that was after he found his uncle's killer.
It looked like Sheriff Gray and probably his deputies went through the rest of the moonshine, which he wasn't surprised about. He brought his own drink just in case. It was quiet, and he took one of the books Lenny lent him to read. At least that would help a little.
"I know who you is," Seth hissed through the bars. "You that bastard who's been killing all of us?"
Sam took another swig of whiskey and set it down on the table, before turning the page on his book.
"You know what they do to bastards that do this kinda shit to us?" Seth went on. "You're buddy, Kieran, ain't much better. In fact, I think they'll be even worse to him."
The young man sighed, but still, he didn't move. "I thought I told you to shut up. Well, unless you're ready to talk to me and the law."
"What the hell would a nobody like you even want?"
Sam chuckled. He stuck a piece of paper on the page he was on and closed the novel he was reading. "Maybe I should answer your question with a question of my own: Why did you O'Driscolls attack a town, and deliberately target a 'nobody' doctor like my uncle." He took his feet off the table and stood.
"How the fuck should I know about that, you idiot? We kill people all the time, and it don't ma-"
Seth cried out loud when Sam punched him in the gut. Just as he fell downward, Sam caught him by his shirt collar and pulled him forward, slamming his face against the bars of his jail cell. Sam held up the map Arthur took from the rival clinic in Valentine all those months ago.
"A nobody, huh? Then can you explain this?!" He let go of the man, holding the map away, when Seth tried to reach for it. That, in Sam's eyes, was interesting. He sat back down in the chair. "So, you've seen it before?"
"Maybe I have, maybe I haven't?" said Seth. "What's it to ya? There's a whole lot of us and only one of you."
Sam shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah. And I'll keep killing you guys," his eyes narrowed, a stare that could kill a man, showing, "one by one, until I find that man who did it."
Then the door swung open and the sheriff hobbled in. "Everything okay in here?"
It took a moment for Sam to snap out of his heated mood. He turned to the officer. "Yeah, O'Driscoll getting snippy with me, that's all."
"Well, my men are back from patrolling the Bayou. They haven't seen any O'Driscolls, but we'll keep a few out there, just in case."
"What about Brandon?"
"He's out looking, too. Said he'll let me know if something comes up."
Sam didn't necessarily trust that, but Brandon had yet to double cross him. Or maybe, that was his plan: To get Sam and the gang to lower their guard. Was he really not that stupid, that he hadn't even thought about trying to turn over the whereabouts of the gang to the Pinkertons, or Cornwall?
Well, if anything happened, he was sure Dutch could handle it. They had gotten this far.
Sam was let off work for the day. He started down the road, slowly coming to realize he'd have to go back to camp if he didn't have anything to do, which sucked. He wanted to just hang out and explore, but the last thing he needed was to draw more attention than he already had, being a known "bounty hunter," or whatever stories Brandon or other people were making up about him. He opened a new bottle of whiskey and took a drink.
"Help a blind man?"
Sam stopped in his tracks, and saw that man he once saw in Valentine. It had been a while since he saw him, and his head was still injured back then. His memory of the night after his uncle's death had been so foggy, he thought he had imagined this man before him, but unless the bump on his noggin made him crazy, this man was standing before him once again.
"Didn't I see you once?" said Sam. "In Valentine?"
"I'm just an old man, riding the rails, my friend," said the elder. He held out his tin cup, the coins inside clinking, as they moved around. "How about a fortune?"
Sam shrugged. "Sure." And he put some change into the cup.
The blind man smiled. His nose twitched slightly, picking up on the scent of alcohol in Sam's grasp.
"Sometimes, that which you fear, is not something you should run from, but embrace."
"Uh-huh… Thank-you… I guess."
Once Sam said his goodbye to the old man, he hopped onto his horse and rode back towards camp. He tried to think of the words' meaning, when he heard gunshots in the distance. Sam saw where the birds were flying from the top of the trees. His heart began racing, but still, he rode Aurora towards the commotion.
When Sam got there, he saw a tiny camp, with one man passed out on the ground and Charles pinning someone down with his boot over their throat. Arthur walked up, and Charles backed off the man just for the older outlaw to grab him and start beating him.
"Where is Trelawny?" Arthur asked, sternly.
Sam quickly dismounted his horse. "Hey, what the-" He ran forward, just to be stopped by Charles.
"I don't know anything," the man begged.
"Tell me where he is!" Arthur punched the man in the face.
"You go to hell!"
"You better tell me now, you son of a bitch!"
"Okay… okay, for Christ's sake. They took him to a cabin, over by the cornfields."
"Which cornfields?"
"Left… down the path there… by the Braithwaite Manor."
Arthur punched him in the head, and left the man passed out in the dirt.
"Trelawny?" said Sam. "That fop from the jailhouse?"
"Dutch has been asking about him," Arthur said, as he searched the unconscious man for anything valuable. "We saw the caravan he was at, but he was gone, like someone just took him."
"What would they want with him?"
"Could be any of a hundred things, but he's got a big mouth, so we gotta make sure he don't spill nothing."
"We could use your help," said Charles. "Care to lend a hand?"
Sam shrugged. He strove to finish the bottle of whiskey. Arthur rolled his eyes, and Sam held out his hand, telling him to wait a second, but he was really trying to down what was left… Then Arthur slapped it out of his hand and it spilled on the ground.
"Alright, I'll go," said Sam. "Geez…" But when he mounted his horse, he pulled out a tiny flask and drank out of that, instead.
"Follow me," said Charles. "I think there's a way around so we don't have to go through the Braithwaite's place."
"Yes," said Arthur. "I've spent enough time there. After you, then."
The ride towards the Braithwaite Manor was quiet, mostly. Charles and Arthur would say something to each other, mostly of how much of a chatterbox Trelawny was, but Sam was mostly spaced out. Any time Arthur would try to make eye contact with Sam, he'd look elsewhere. He was starting to have second thoughts about bringing Sam along. What if he was already drunk?
The group didn't go anywhere near the manor. They were far south from it, and were searching through the crop fields. There weren't that many guards out at the moment. Maybe nobody was out this far during that time of day. It was pretty hot.
Then two men came out from the front door of a tiny shack, dragging a beaten man with his hands and feet bound.
"Get out there," one of the men said, "come on, boy."
"The thing is… after that shack, this will be remembered like a good time," said the other.
Arthur, Charles and Sam were already off their horses, with their guns drawn.
"Put the man down, gentlemen," Arthur said, sternly.
Quickly, the two let go of their prisoner and ran towards the cornfields. The three men ran up to check on Trelawny. He looked beaten up, part of his face swollen, and his clothes dirty and torn. Charles pulled out his knife and cut the man's arms free.
"That the lot of them?" said Arthur.
"I… I think so," Trelawny said, out of breath.
"So you're alive?"
"Allegedly." Trelawny winced at Sam's poking and prodding.
"His wounds are minor," said Sam. "But you should-"
"Go get them," the man said. He reached for the ropes still around his ankles. "I can handle this."
"Don't leave that house until it's safe," said Arthur. He grabbed Sam's arm and pulled him along. "Let's go."
"Yeah."
Charles was already ahead, trying to pursue the fleeing bounty hunters. Arthur was already firing with his shotgun at a man he saw.
Sam's eyes were darting around, until he saw birds flying up from one of the fields. He went in and had someone jump on his back. He leaned forward and made them fall off, their back onto the ground. He saw Sam's face, before he met a bullet in his chest.
"There's one more!" Charles shouted. "Somewhere over here!"
Sam and Arthur ran in Charles' direction. They checked around, searching high and low, knowing that he couldn't have gotten far.
Then, Sam heard some rustling nearby and a stranger's voice chuckling. He held his gun in hand and ran through some of the dried up corn fields. In a clearing, the young man saw Arthur with a lasso around his neck, in the hands of the bounty hunter while he was kicking and squirming.
"ARTHUR!" Sam yelled. His need to shout came so naturally, it gave him away. The bounty hunter pulled out his gun.
"He's mine!"
"He's no one's!" Sam yelled. "Let him go!"
"Let me take him…"
"No…"
"You get outta here."
"No!" Sam shouted, desperately. "That's my friend!"
"He's not your friend…" the bounty hunter said, a creepy smile on his face. He reached into his pocket, his grip refusing to loosen on the rope around Arthur's neck. "I'll give you money…"
Was he serious? Money? For a man's life?!
"Oh be quiet," a voice hissed. A knife flew through the air and hit the bounty hunter in the throat. He fell back, choking on his own blood until he was still.
Arthur rolled onto his side gasping for air and managed to get the rope off his neck. Sam was relieved to see Charles walk up from behind him.
"Arthur!" Sam ran over to his side and crashed onto his knees. Once he caught his breath, Sam stood up, offering a hand to help Arthur, but he was too stubborn and proud to accept it.
And what he said next, didn't help Sam's current mood.
"You… You should've taken the money," Arthur said, still catching his breath.
Sam somehow knew it was a joke, but wasn't sure if he was a fan of Arthur's self deprecation. His eyes drifted, seeing figures… in the barn nearby.
"I know," said Charles. "I'm a fool."
"Shit… thank-you," said Arthur. He spat in the ground, and soon saw Sam running towards the barn. "Hey, wait! Where are you going?"
"They're in that barn!" Charles was quick to catch onto Sam's thinking. "Get after them!"
The pair were rushing to catch up to their impulsive friend, but someone was on the second floor window, shooting. Arthur's shotgun was too short ranged, but it was nothing Charles' bow and arrow couldn't fix.
They got inside, just in time to witness Sam tackle the last man to the floor, and shoot his brains out.
"Jesus!" said Arthur.
Sam stood up, out of breath. He seemed completely unaffected about the blood on his arm, the front of his vest or the droplets on his face. "Oh, shut up. You've seen worse." And he walked past Arthur like it was nothing. Granted, it was nothing to him, but to see Sam with that same look, concerned him. Surely, he was just angered by what that bounty hunter did to him, but he wasn't sure what was going on.
Arthur shook his head. "Let's go check on Trelawny. You okay?"
"Yeah…" said Charles. He was given pause with the way Sam handled himself, "never goes easy, does it?"
"Sure don't."
The three met up back at the shack they found Trelawny in. Sam was doing his best to patch him up, cleaning the blood from his face, and any cuts on his arms, as well as cleaning the blood off himself.
"You're lucky I carry supplies on me all the time," he said.
Trelawny nodded. "And I guess I can count myself lucky you're here, O'Driscoll Slayer."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Not you, too."
"You okay?" said Charles.
"Who were those men?" said Arthur.
"They were bounty hunters," Trelawny groaned as Arthur helped him up from the chair he was sitting in, "attached to Cole Stoudemire."
"Okay."
"They weren't looking for me… per se."
"What'd you tell 'em?"
"Not much. I… told them I was an intellectual… come down here from Oregon… looking for a job at the university." Once the man was near his horse, Charles and Arthur helped him into the saddle. "Course, they didn't believe me. It might be best if I stay with you gentlemen for a while."
Sam turned to the others. He didn't know this man well, but it wasn't like they knew him well, either. But, if Dutch trusted him, it probably wouldn't be a problem.
So, the three acted as the man's escort to the camp, showing him the way to Clemen's Point. Sam just sighed when they got the horse's hitched. He didn't say a word to Arthur or Charles, drank out of his flask and then left to go tend to Trelawny's injuries.
Meanwhile, Charles decided enough was enough and talked to Lily about Sam's behavior. She didn't recall much. The last time she saw him being himself, she had gotten drunk with Arthur. Sam took her to bed and then she must have fallen asleep. She didn't see or say anything weird, and if there was something, there was a chance that she didn't remember. Arthur had a similar story, but remembered talking to Sam for a bit, before falling asleep himself. Did he say something to make Sam drink?
Something wasn't right, but Charles couldn't figure it out.
Trelawny was all patched up in Sam and Lily's tent, but he was so tired and sore, that standing up and walking was a hassle. So, he decided not to do so, unless there was an absolute necessity, like going to the bathroom or something.
Sam and Lily didn't really ask Trelawny any questions as to who came after him and what they wanted, and neither of them trusted that he didn't say much, but if there was anyone he'd speak honestly to, it would probably be Dutch.
Sam was up to administer just a small dose of morphine, but as he held the syringe, his half-lidded eyes were able to see his hand shaking.
"Damn it…" he grumbled.
"What is it?" Lily said, who was cleaning up some of the bloody rags left on the floor.
"Here, take it," Sam said, handing Lily the syringe. "I think I've had one too many."
His cousin nodded, reluctantly taking the needle from him, while the young man sat down in his cot with a plop. He shrugged and pulled out his flask.
"Just don't end up like Swanson," Lily quipped, and stuck the syringe in Trelawny's upper arm.
"Thank-you, miss," the gentlemen said, finishing the water Sam had given him earlier.
"Trelawny, my good man," Dutch boomed from the entrance of the tent, his arms held out like he was making a proclamation. He had a cigar in one of his hands.
"Been a little while, hasn't it, old friend," the injured man replied, happily. He sat up straight. His energy for talking was still there.
"Lily, Sam, would you mind giving us a minute?" said Dutch.
"Of course not," said Lily. She grabbed Sam's upper arm, as if reprimanding a child, and dragged him out of the tent.
"I hope they didn't hurt you too badly," said Dutch.
"Oh, please…" Trelawny replied, nonchalantly. "You can't be in my line of work, without taking a few nicks here and there."
"What did you tell them?" the gang leader then asked, his voice growing stern and his eyes narrowing.
"Not much," said Trelawny. "I promise you, but…" He leaned forward, reaching under the cot he was sitting at for his bag, and pulled out while wincing in pain. He sat up and looked through it, still looking slightly disheveled.
"What is it?"
"You said you wanted information on Mr. Marrows, did you not?"
Dutch scoffed. "You're kidding! You actually found something?"
"Not per se." He had taken so many things out of his satchel it was kind of piling up on the cot, but it was neat, like he usually was dressed, except for right now. "Ah, here it is. I've tried the best I could to find anything regarding that fellow, but he's done very well to cover up his tracks. If anyone knows anything about him, it would have to be that young lady who always follows him around. Unfortunately, she never opens her mouth for anything. All I could find about him, really, was this."
He handed Dutch a neatly folded piece of paper, and when he opened it, all that was there was a photo.
It was of a young man, with blonde, neatly trimmed hair, a clean shaving face and straight forward smile. He was dressed up neatly in a police uniform.
Was that… Brandon?
It always seem to be more… more and more civilization.
I wanna get back in the open country, or the west, or… what's left of it, but… even that ain't the way I remember it.
"I don't get it! What's getting you bent out of shape?"
Arthur looked up from his journal, and saw Micah interrupting Sam's breakfast that he was having with Charles, John, and Lenny.
"I mean, I'm sick of you running around with that peashooter," said Micah.
"This?" said Sam. He pulled out his pistol. "You mean this fucking thing? The last gift my dear uncle ever gave me?" His voice grew stern and before Micah knew it, the gun was being pointed at him. Charles, Lenny and John just sat there in silence… and John was secretly kind of hoping that Sam would just pull the trigger and kill the greasy bastard already.
Arthur, who was still in his tent, was witness to the dark look Sam got in his eyes when he was about to cause some trouble. Not mischief, like stealing or pickpocketing, but the type that meant that whoever was on the receiving end was in deep trouble. It was the same look he saw after Charles saved him from the lasso of that damned bounty hunter, before he ran into the barn and viciously killed the remaining men who were still there. It was a dark mood that Arthur had only ever seen from Dutch.
Then after the silence, Sam and Micah just started laughing and the young man lowered the gun back into his holster. The other men, however, were just stark still.
"I was just sayin', seeing as you was angry about those bounty hunters, I figured you needed a real man's weapon," said Micah. And with that, he placed a Schofield Revolver on the table. "Think of this as a gift, but I expect something in return."
"Whoa!" Sam was too engrossed in the new sidearm, to even ask how he got it, why he was giving it to him, or what favor Micah would ask in return. Sam couldn't believe the next set of words falling out of his mouth. "Thank-you, Micah."
Micah had given Arthur a holster, back when he broke Micah out of jail. Maybe it was his way of trying to butter people up, like he was doing with Dutch. Arthur was still confused. Why was Micah trying to get in Sam's good graces? Did Sam save him? Did he owe him something?
Or was it because Dutch somewhat had a soft spot for the young man?
It was later in the day when Arthur was told by Dutch to go and talk to Leopold Strauss. Now, he didn't mind having him around the camp. He mostly took a book and kept to himself, but when it came to how he brought in money, Arthur just didn't like it, and it made him not like Strauss, either.
Anyway, Sam had finished his chores, and was just hanging out in his tent, not knowing what to do with himself. He heard Arthur's voice, and he realized he hadn't been hanging out with him lately. He felt bad, but God forbid, he found out why he was really staying out of his way. Maybe with enough time he'd just forget about it, but…
"Sharking already?" It sounded like Arthur.
"I prefer to call it banking." It sounded like Strauss.
Sam picked up his pillow just so he could groan into it. Not this shit again… He knew Strauss wouldn't stop because of one incident. Now, granted, he didn't really have anyone he knew in the area that owed money, but it was the memory of Thomas Downes and how Sam had to defend him that really made him want to do something. He also feared what Dutch would do to him if he had to point his weapon at Arthur again, which he really didn't want to. Well, if anything happens, he had a new sidearm, to target practice with. He took a swig from his flask and stood.
"You ain't the one handing out the beatings," said Arthur.
"No, but I am the one feeding the women and children in the camp," said Strauss. "What choice do we have, Mr. Morgan?"
"Ah, I don't know, I…" Arthur sighed, a huff leaving through his nose. "Well, come on then," the outlaw said, reluctantly. "Tell me who."
"Here's the list." The Austrian turned to the current page and pointed at the correct name. "Refinery worker turned hunter… by the name of Winton Holmes. You'll find him up in the hills north of Strawberry." He read just a bit further down the page. "Ah, and an apprentice undertaker. This one working in Rhodes…his name was Gwyn Hughes."
"And how many of them do you think will be able to pay?"
"With enough encouragement… both of them," Strauss said, a sleazy grin appearing on his face.
Arthur didn't even want to say another word to this man. He took the list of names and just went to go get supplies. The job in Rhodes could probably be done in an afternoon, but if the other debtor was in Strawberry, it could take some time. So, he packed some supplies and went towards the hitching post to get this over with.
However, Soleil wasn't the only one waiting for him…
"And what are you doing here?"
Sam was leaning against Aurora nearby.
"I heard you and Strauss," he said.
"Oh."
"Why?" Sam asked simply.
Arthur stepped back, crossing his arms.. "What do you mean why? We need money!"
"But you clearly don't like it?"
The outlaw shrugged. Did Sam overhear all of that? "We all gotta do things we don't like. Now, get the hell out of my way, unless you wanna help."
And with that, Sam got up from leaning on Aurora. The horse just snorted, staring at her master, before stooping down to eat some grass.
"Good," said Sam, "because I was going, anyway… to help you not kill anyone."
"Sam-"
"They're innocent people." The silver eyed man walked up to Arthur standing almost face-to-face to the outlaw. Arthur was impressed that he at least had grown some spine. "I thought you all had a code."
"Just get moving!" Arthur grumbled. He pushed him away, turning him towards the horses.
"Gladly." And the rookie outlaw was ready to go in less than a minute.
The two rode out of the camp together. Sam had been in town enough times to know where most of the buildings were. He never went to the funeral home there, but that was where he guessed the apprentice undertaker was.
The sun was setting. That didn't really affect the overall plan to collect Gwyn Hughes' debt… but it was good timing for the debtor.
Sam was off his horse before Arthur and immediately went to look around, hoping to find the debtor before he did. He didn't understand why he wanted to stop Arthur from beating anyone up when it came to this type of job, but he didn't like how people could do such things, and it would still be legal… kind of. The debt part was legal, but he wasn't sure about the beatings. And, he was sick of being a bystander to innocents getting beaten.
He learned that the hard way.
The front door was locked, so they were probably closed for the day. Sam circled around the building, and heard some noises in the back. He found a young man working on a casket.
Sam cleared his throat, trying to sound as nice as possible. No. He couldn't tell this man to run, it would be the same as betraying the gang. If he and Lily were casted to the wayside, he wouldn't have their protection against the O'Driscolls. He and Dutch were on somewhat good terms, but he knew if the gang leader found out about him tagging along on Strauss' debt collecting, he'd be walking a thin line, while Dutch hoped nothing would happen again.
So, reluctantly, he told him the truth.
"Excuse me," said Sam. "Are you Gwyn Hughes?"
The young man working on the casket looked up, and raised a brow. "Um, yes?" he said. "Can I help you?"
"Yes, uh… do you know a man named Leopold Strauss?"
Gwyn nodded.
"Yeah, he said you owe him money or something?" said Sam.
"Oh, that…" said Gwyn. "Yeah, I… I don't have it yet. I'm sorry."
"It ain't him you should be apologizing to." Arthur's more deep and stern voice, startled the young apprentice as Arthur, who was taller and more built than Sam came around the corner and stared daggers at the debtor. "You start picking out a box for yourself if you don't got that money you owe Leopold Strauss."
Gwyn backed away from the wooden casket he was working on, leaning his back against the wall.
"Well, I-I don't… I-I… I need more time," Gwyn pleaded.
Arthur shrugged. "Doesn't everybody? That casket for you, or you want another?"
Arthur started walking towards the apprentice. Sam's hand moved to his holster, but his mind hesitated on what to do. If he pulled out his gun, if he managed to pull this off a second time, what would happen? Would Dutch really give him another warning? Arthur was practically his son!
Luckily, Gwyn Hughes acted before Sam would have to make a choice.
"Wait! Wait-wait-wait-wait-wait, I… I can get it for you!"
Arthur stopped his advance.
"But, uh… well, uh… Come with me to the churchyard? And stay close…" He walked past Arthur and Sam starting to round the corner, but kept his eyes on the odd pair.
"Alright…" said Arthur.
The pair followed Gwyn Hughs down the road and up to the small church that was sitting atop of a lone hill.
"Oh, this ain't right…" Gwyn muttered to himself.
"What ain't right is borrowing money you can't pay back," said Arthur.
"I guess you're correct," the young undertaker replied, nervously, but uh… this, it ain't exactly right… what we're doing."
Sam saw the church up ahead. It was one thing to steal from people, and he wasn't even that much of a religious person, but something about stealing from the church was just… a taboo to him. They hadn't really done anything wrong.
"You ain't the first to put his hand in the collection box and you won't be the last," said Arthur. "Rest a little easier knowing churches been taking more than they need off poor folks since time began."
Sam had to resist the urge to backchat him. He really wanted to, but he'd be undermining the job they needed to do.
The church was small, made of white wood, with a small set of stairs leading up to a lone door. It was simple, and within a wide radius, the church was surrounded with a white picket fence. Since it was getting dark, the place was empty.
"Okay," said Arthur. "You head on into the church, I'll keep watch."
"Well, it ain't in there," said Gwyn. "It's under here. I'm digging up Mrs. Claypole."
Sam nearly choked on his spit.
"Jesus!" Arthur exclaimed.
"Well, she got a bunch of jewels in there that she don't need," Gwyn said, quickly.
The three kept walking, with Sam regretting his decision to come out here. He didn't even know what he was doing. If he threatened Arthur, Dutch would probably just kill him. He thought Dutch was above this, but again, he was still an outlaw, despite his talk of them being something other than criminals, or something different, or whatever.
They came upon a grave, its marker shown with a simple cross. Gwyn sighed and dusted his hands on his pants.
"Okay," he said. "I'll get to this, uh… this exhumation."
Arthur had Sam stay behind in case Gwyn tried to flee from doing what he had to do, while the outlaw guarded the entrance of the church grounds to make sure no one entered. There was no way to stop anyone from jumping over the fence, from the other end, but the place was as quiet as an entire church in prayer.
Gwyn started digging. Sam had to resist the urge to puke right now, but he had to keep an eye on the debtor. He just tried to think about something else, with the sound of dirt being shoveled still bothering him.
Eventually, he struck wood, and Sam looked over to see that he found the casket. Gwyn went to open it, and Sam was immediately taken back to the day when he had to identify his uncle's dead body. He turned away, hearing the creaking of the casket lid opening, the dirt sliding down and hitting the body or the bottom of the coffin. He gulped hard, trying not to throw up what he ate for lunch, as he heard shuffling. Then the coffin was closed.
"Well, there's your payment," Gwyn said, as he climbed out of the hole. He stood and looked down. "Forgive me, Mrs. Claypole."
Sam turned to the apprentice. He was covered in dirt. It was almost poetic of how it represented the sin he had just committed, but Sam wasn't better for letting it happen.
"Here," said Gwyn. "She had a broach. Looks like diamonds."
Sam didn't see Arthur yet. It just felt sick, and he didn't know why. He had touched plenty of dead bodies in the few months he'd been running with the gang. The young man swallowed his fear and held out his hand, letting the broach of the dead woman touch his palm. It sure had the weight of being valuable, like that gold bar the German man gave him.
"Thanks," Sam said, awkwardly. "We should probably get out of here, now.'
Arthur caught up with Sam, while Gwyn scrambled to rebury the body. Sam didn't want to see that and just showed Arthur the valuable looking broach. Arthur didn't even flinch on taking it.
"Yeah, that should cover it," he said. "Come on."
How had Sam forgotten that Arthur, too, was an outlaw? At least with Micah, it was more clear on what kind of man he was, but with Arthur, it was a different story. One minute, he'll save Lily from an O'Driscoll harassing her, bring food to the gang, and take Jack fishing, the next: Well, this.
They walked out of the churchyard in relative silence. Arthur looked over, seeing that Sam was pale, despite trying not to look like he had seen a ghost. His forehead was laced with sweat and he kept swallowing, like he was trying his hardest not to throw up.
The outlaw then pulled Sam by his arm and started dragging him towards the stagecoach.
"Whoa, what?" Sam tried to ask, angrily, but his voice came out shaky and small, which the young man hated.
"It's gonna be a long trip to Strawberry, and I don't feel like staying up all night. Let's take a stage, instead."
Sam shrugged. He was too upset to care or to try and understand Arthur's intentions behind riding the stagecoach. "Fine."
The two whistled for their horses and Arthur paid the man to take them to Strawberry. Sam was the first to get into the carriage. He sat next to the window, his form slumped against the far wall. Arthur was making sure the horses would follow them, before getting into the stage himself. He was just in time to witness Sam drink from his flask, but he didn't say a word as he sat down next to him.
Sam sighed and just let his eyes shut, as the wonderful buzz of alcohol in his system began to show itself in his senses. Maybe he could try and forget about what just happened for a little while…
He was a bit fearful without that dreamcatcher that hung in his tent, but he managed to relax. The rocking of the carriage, even when Sam was just a little boy, before his lips touched the bottle, would always calm him, making him drift off.
Christ, Sam reeked of alcohol. Granted, he drank his fill moderately throughout the day, and all that running around, doing chores and jobs, evened him out, somewhat, but he was tipsy by the end of the day and the smell wasn't helping. The carriage, thankfully, had windows with curtains, so Arthur left his window open to let the smell air out.
What the hell was going through Sam's head now? And why wasn't Lily more concerned about this? John hit the bottle sometimes, but if it ever became as severe as Reverend Swanson, or Uncle, he'd slap him upside the head. Fuck, Hosea would slap Dutch upside the head if he ever did that.
Maybe Sam needed one, but not now. Arthur slept.
There was a sunrise. Sam stood over a cliff, the warm air blowing gently on his body. There was more land on the other side of a gap. It was pitch black in the abyss, but he had an idea of what was down there, hearing the growls and seeing those yellow eyes.
On the other side of the cliff was just a river, but Arthur was standing near it, fishing. It was quiet, and he looked unbothered by the wolves that were growling and wanting to snap out with their sharp teeth and get a piece of Sam.
If he wanted to get to Arthur, his only choice was to jump over it, huh? He had to face what scared him to do it. He had to just do it!
He stepped back. There was no way in hell he was going to attempt a jump with those wolves wanting to take a bite out of him. But then, he was given a nudge forward by some antlers. Sam turned around and saw that it was some kind of stag. It was beautiful, in a way, but it didn't push him forward again. The stag just stared at him, curiously, and suddenly, that gap he had to jump didn't seem so wide, anymore. Before he could attempt the jump, however…
Sam woke up when the carriage ran over a huge rock in the road. The young man bounced up from his seat a little, and as luck would have it, he had somehow fallen asleep and leaned against Arthur again. He rubbed his eyes, sitting up and soon noticed the older man was writing in his journal.
"Did… Did you stay up?" He mumbled, voice still riddled with sleepiness.
Arthur shrugged. "I slept a little, but woke up and couldn't fall back asleep. "You were out like a log."
Sam leaned against the wall, his body away from the other man. At least the smell had aired out, and they knew they were in West Elizabeth, because the fresh cool mountain air was felt on their skin.
It didn't stop the awkward silence, though.
"Been keeping busy?" said Arthur.
"Of course," said Sam. "What are you doing?"
"John said something about stealing some horses from the Braithwaites," said Arthur. "Sounds stupid. There's no way someone nearby is willing to take some horses for thousands. The last thing we need is to stir up the nest before we even know if they're sitting on that gold. What about you?"
"Just guard duty, and robbin'," said Sam. "I make sure they don't recognize my face when I rob."
"With Micah…" said Arthur.
"Micah is-"
"Crazy? Unpredictable? Destructive?"
Sam sighed, letting the wall and the seat he was sitting in hold his weight entirely, as his head lolled to the side and faced the window. "And you are?"
Arthur scoffed. "None of those things?"
"And yet you're out to beat a man over some money?"
"I was told to. What's your point?"
"Micah, at least, makes sense."
"What?"
"That fool can be annoying, but goddamn it! At least he knows that he's bad, but he don't give a rat's ass. I don't have to keep thinking with him."
"How you mean?"
Sam only gave him a stern look, despite his relaxed demeanor and Arthur just sighed. He turned his head away, and was thankful that they were in the privacy of the carriage.
"There's no game I'm playing, Sam," Arthur said, keeping his voice low just in case the driver could hear them. "I ain't a good person. I kill people. And maybe," he turned back, looking Sam dead in the eye, "when you stole Dutch's money all that time ago, I shoulda killed you, but you ain't dead."
There was a pause of silence. He saw Sam with that flask in his hand, grabbed it and tossed it out the window. Sam was too stunned to even respond to his words or his actions.
"We're here, gentlemen!" the driver said.
"Now, put down the beer and let's get this goddamn work done," said Arthur. The carriage came to a stop, and he was the first one out of the stage. Sam was second, and left Arthur with tipping the driver.
The young man downed whatever canned food he swiped from Arthur's bag. God, he needed a drink… There was no saloon in Strawberry, but surely the general store had something.
Well, whatever. After they got the debtor, he could drink until he forgot this whole thing even happened. He got on Aurora and they began their search for Winton Holmes.
So, why did it still hurt?
If Winton Holmes was a hunter, then perhaps he was out hunting. Sam didn't know much about hunting, but Arthur had picked up a few things from spending time with Charles. Luckily, their man wasn't too far from town. Up on a small hill, sleeping under a cliffside by a fire, was a man. There were a few things set around, a fire cooking up some stew nearby and other supplies. It was like he had been here for some time.
This time, Sam didn't even bother getting off his horse, or even trying to give the man a friendly warning before the storm that was Arthur Morgan showed up. He just… didn't care anymore. Arthur just walked up and kicked the man awake. He flinched and backed up near the rocks behind him.
"Winton Holmes?" Arthur asked like it was nothing.
The man took a moment to calm down, and just looked at the outlaw before him. "I didn't expect to see anyone out here."
Arthur nodded and walked over to the fire. "Funny… how far a man's debts'll follow him. You got some money for me, boy?" He grabbed a ladle and took a bit out of the stew that was just sitting by the campfire. "I seen your name in our ledger," he said, before sipping up the stew in the ladle.
The debtor gulped before responding. "You with the German?"
"Austrian," Sam answered flatly from the trees. "And yes, we are."
"Look, I got it for you," said Holmes. "It's just… I don't got it yet." He scrambled to his feet. I-It's up in them hills."
"You panning for it?" Arthur said, looking up at him.
"Hunting it. I tracked this cougar." Arthur stood up and sat down on a nearby crate, as Winton continued explaining. "It's rare… lilly white coat… the pelt'll more than cover what I owe."
"If I'm skinning anything… I'm skinning you, boy," said Arthur.
"Please," Holmes pleaded. "I'm outta work… It's the only way you'll get paid… a-and all the hard work's already done."
Arthur sighed irritably. "Fine." And he stood up. "Move."
Winton started walking towards the horses. "We'll uh, uh, need our horses. It's, um, quite a trip."
"Yeah, yeah."
Sam and Arthur followed Winton Holmes up the mountain trail. Sam just kept his mouth shut, his ears just picking up the usual complaints from Arthur about how the debtors can't ever just pay. The hunter told him that he knew it was a risk, but Arthur didn't know anything about the man other than his name.
"Sir…" said Winton Holmes. "I'm… I'm merely stating… a man without a job… with limited prospects… at those rates… repayment was by no means guaranteed… I said I'd do my best… and I did."
"You're continuing to annoy me," Arthur growled.
Sam didn't bother. Another desperate man that Strauss took advantage of. Another person Arthur was happy to beat the living daylights out of. Why did he come again? He couldn't stop it. He might as well just stop all together and let Arthur do as he pleases. It didn't matter what he said, despite knowing he doesn't like these ventures Strauss sends him on. He already said himself that he wasn't a good person. Well, it's not like he ever was.
He's a killer.
An outlaw.
So was Sam.
So was Lily.
He didn't have the intention to "fix" him. Hell no. It was too late for that. Sam was too late to fix himself. He had a lot of blood on his hands. He just… wanted to understand Arthur better, but maybe there wasn't a point. And here he was, feeling bad that he froze when that bounty hunter had him with that lasso around his neck.
It's not like stopping Arthur from beating up Thomas Downes made any difference, in the end.
The trio trotted up the river stream, heading higher into the mountains, air growing chilly. Once out of the river they kept going higher and eventually headed off the beaten path. Then, they dismounted their horses and approached a cave.
Sam was a little intimidated, having never hunted a cougar before. "You ever hunted a cougar, sir?"
"Oh, plenty," said Winton. "My pa and I shot tons of cats, but… just never one like this… Anyway, here's her den. Just stick close and follow my lead."
"Alright," said Arthur. "Show me."
"You'll see her soon. Quiet now. Won't be able to miss her, shining in the dark."
The three got out their own lanterns, and wandered inside. It was dark. Obviously. The passage seemed to narrow, twist, turn and widen again as they went deeper. Then they heard it: The roar of a cougar. Sam nearly jumped out of his boots. He had been to West Elizabeth before, but never ventured into the wilds to hear a cougar. This animal was actually real!
"There's a cougar in here, and I bet she's white as virgin cotton," Winton said, his voice determined.
Sam pulled down a gulp. He wasn't so sure if his determination was a good thing.
"This is stupid," Sam grumbled. "Can't we just leave bait outside of her den?"
"Nah, she'll see us coming from a mile away," said Winton. Then the path began to divide into two. "The tunnel diverges up here. We should split up and see if we don't converge down a ways."
"Yeah, yeah," said Arthur.
Winton went left and so did Sam, feeling safer with someone with more hunting experience. Arthur took the right and kept his lantern out, and his Scholfield at the ready.
The outlaw slipped when the path below him grew steep and he didn't have time to notice his hat fall off his head. He had to get back on his feet in case the cougar was nearby.
Down the path, he found a body in a crevasse. It looked like it had been there for some time.
"There's a corpse down here…" said Arthur, "an old one." His voice was loud and echoed off the cave walls. He turned left, seeing that it was as far as he could go and followed the wall. His boot stepped on something, and he looked down to see a pile of bones, and he could see the remnants of a body. A human one. The bones had been picked apart and tossed aside. The skull was barely even a shape anymore. "Another body," he said. The outlaw gulped, but tried to stay calm. Although, he was starting to regret his decision to come out here.
All of a sudden, he heard a scream. Glass shattered and there were gunshots. It didn't sound like Sam, at least.
"Holmes?" Arthur said.
No response.
"Winton Holmes?!"
Arthur started running in the direction of the voice. Sam was right. This really was stupid. He kept running, his heart starting to race with nerves and horror. His boots ran over the dirt, stepped on more bones, and he found blood smeared on the walls and floor.
How much did this damn cougar eat?! he thought.
And then he found him. Winton Holmes was dead on the floor. His chest was clawed out by a beast.
"She got him…" Arthur muttered. His heart raced even more. His teeth were held tight and his breath was shaky. "Crap, crap, crap…"
Then, Arthur saw footprints. They couldn't have been made by Holmes. So, he followed them.
"Sam!" he then called. "Sam! You there?!"
There were more gunshots. Arthur nearly tripped over himself, from the damn terrain and the surprise. It sounded like it was at the entrance of the cave.
Arthur kept his pace, rushing towards the entrance of the dark cave. The ground was sloped, so every step had to be careful, which was tough for humans, but probably way easier for a cougar.
Then there was a scream.
Sam's scream.
"Shit!" Arthur then hissed. "Sam!"
Just as Arthur reached the entrance he saw Sam yelling, swinging around with a cougar on his back. He slammed his back into the wall, bumping his head backwards and made the animal lose her grip. Sam bolted out of the cave, his back dripping blood.
The cougar stood up, growling, claws covered in the blood of her prey and her eyes landed on the other man in the cave. Just as she charged at Arthur, the outlaw pumped the cougar's head full of lead and it fell just within feet of him.
"SAM!"
Arthur forgot about the debtor, the cave, and even the cougar. He had to make sure Sam was okay.
The young man had run outside hollering and tripped over himself on the ground outside. The horses neighed loudly, and Aurora had approached her master, who was curled on the floor, breathing way too fast. Arthur approached him quickly.
There was a deep claw mark on the back of Sam's shoulder. He had smaller cuts on his back, but it was the big claw mark that concerned Arthur. He put his hands on it, trying to apply pressure. Sam wheezed and reached out at nothing as he screamed. Tears escaped from his silver eyes and raced down his cheeks.
"Did ya… Did you get…" Sam managed to say between gasps. His voice cracked, like a dam crumbling under the weight of heavy water.
"Yes, I got it!" said Arthur. "Is that what you care about right now?"
"You seemed to!" Sam yelled, through gritted teeth. "And now your damn debtor's dead!"
"Would you shut up and let me do something?" He reached for Sam's hand that was tightly gripping the wound. "Sam, let me…" The young man choked back a sob, when he tried to pry off his hand. "Let me look!" He forcibly moved Sam's bloodied hand, the shout rendering the dark-haired man still and pliant.
"My bag…" Sam stuttered, his body still shaking violently. "I have stuff..."
Arthur reached into Sam's satchel. He was getting blood all over his hands, and it didn't look like the wound was gonna stop bleeding any time soon. So, he took off Sam's vest and just tore the fabric of the shirt Sam was wearing to further reveal the wound some more.
"Shit…" Arthur pulled out some gauze, and a bottle of whiskey. He also found a kit of medical supplies, filled with tools and herbs. He found a needle and thread.
"I'm s… I'm sorry…" Sam spoke, his voice still shaky, but getting soft. He looked terribly pale.
"Stay awake, damn it!" Arthur growled. He kneed Sam in the side, albeit gentler than he would've done on an enemy, or a debtor. The young man yelped. He swallowed hard another sob escaping his lips.
The needle and thread were ready after a minute or two. He moved Sam, so that he was more on his stomach, his head, looking sideways, towards the hellhole he ran out from that was the cave. Arthur pulled out his handkerchief and put it in Sam's mouth.
"You bite this thing and not your tongue, ya hear?!"
Sam nodded, shutting his eyes tightly as more tears escaped. Arthur didn't give him a warning before pouring the whiskey. Sam shook, groaning as the liquid stung his open wounds, and then the needle pierced through his skin. The young man screamed, held in place by one of Arthur's hands while doing his absolute best to sew the wounds shut. Sam squirmed and kicked, but the outlaw was on him like a boulder, holding him still. Eventually, Sam conceded, merely holding the rocky ground beneath him, his fingers digging into the dirt. His teeth bit the handkerchief with force, as he tried to keep his body still, each time the needle poked through the skin on his back.
The bleeding had slowed with the wound sewed shut. Arthur took the needle away, keeping Sam who was quietly sobbing still with one hand. Sam knew it had to be done. He was kind of, sort of, not really, a doctor, but it didn't make it any less painful.
With a wet rag, the blood was cleaned off his back and the bandages were soon applied over the wound. Sam's face was covered in sweat, and his wounds still throbbed, but Arthur's warm hands on him, provided at least a little relief. He got some more bandages and covered the smaller scratches that he knew would heal up and close on their own.
"Come on," Arthur said, sitting back. He took off the jacket he had brought with him and put it over Sam's shirtless back. "I ain't leaving you here to lay in a pool of your own blood."
Arthur got Sam to sit up. He groaned as he was moved, his vision swimming at the motion. He was still pale over the ordeal. Sam spat out the handkerchief and leaned all his weight on Arthur. The outlaw coaxed Aurora into laying down and had Sam lean against her. The young man's breath was heavy and his body jolted slightly when his back collided with his horse. Arthur maneuvered him so that the corner of his back wasn't touching the horse at all. Then, the older man stood up and reached into his own satchel, putting some kind of cover scent lotion on Sam and even the horse, in case there were any more cougars. He went back into the den to get that damn pelt.
The cougar was dead, of course. Arthur couldn't bring himself to look at the dead Winton Holmes as he skinned the hellcat.
Sam wasn't sure if he lost consciousness from the pain for a little while, but when he finally opened his eyes, vision hazy, he saw Arthur back with a white pelt rolled up and tucked under his arm. Arthur's warm, calloused hand touched his chin and lifted his head to look at him..
"You still with me, Hawkeson?" said Arthur.
"I'm alright…" Sam slurred, glassy eyes half-lidded. He was exhausted. His voice was raspy from yelling and screaming. The adrenaline from the whole thing was wearing off. "Jus… a scratch…"
"Christ…" Arthur cursed under his breath. "Alright, let's get you up. Just grab onto me. Faster than walking."
"Arthur…" Sam croaked. He held up a shaky hand. Arthur held back a gasp as he saw what Sam was holding: His hat. "You… dropped… this…" Sleep was crying out to him and as Arthur grabbed his hand and took his hat back, he gladly gave into it.
A/N: Oh no! Sam's hurt and they're stuck in the mountains. Just them in the mountains… xD
Anyway, see you next chapter!
*Runs away like an idiot*