After crossing the bridge, John stops the wagon and gets out of the driver's seat. He walks around to the side of the wagon and opens the door, freeing the prisoners inside. He carefully cuts the restraints off both men's wrists just as Landon Ricketts approaches.
Landon looks around, his hand resting on his belt, watching the surroundings closely. John shuts the metal doors of the wagon with a clank. The two freed prisoners move to the front and climb into the driver and shotgun seats. John sheaths his knife and lets out a tired sigh as he walks over to Landon.
"Now we'll take care of things from here. I know you have other matters to attend to," Landon says.
John nods in agreement. "It's been nice riding with you, Mr. Ricketts."
Landon chuckles heartily. "You too. You took me back to another time," he replies with a smile. "Talk to Louisa. She'll help you, and she's well-connected in that other land. I hope you find what you're looking for, Marston." He extends his hand for a shake.
John grips the old man's hand firmly. "You know what I'm looking for," John says with a serious look.
Landon laughs softly. "If you say so, Marston. If you say so." He starts to walk away but turns back suddenly. "Oh, I almost forgot! There's a boy named Felipe... I taught him a few things. You should go see him too. Last I heard, he's hiding out somewhere in Alta Cabeza." He walks over to his horse and mounts it, then rides away with the prisoners, leaving John standing there, deep in thought.
John adjusted himself in the saddle of his Kentucky horse, feeling the heat of the Mexican sun beat down on him. He removed his hat, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. Closing his eyes for a moment, he tilted his head back, allowing the sun's warmth to envelop him. Yet, the heat was unrelenting, and he quickly placed his hat back on to shield his eyes.
He was in Alta Cabeza, on a mission to find the boy Felipe. The day had been long and exhausting; just ten hours earlier, he had helped Luisa get her younger sister to safety, away from the chaos of the revolution. The girl was too innocent for such turmoil. After delivering her to the docks, John had managed only a few hours of restless sleep before setting out again. Now, after searching this area for what felt like an eternity, he finally spotted a thin plume of smoke rising in the distance. Urging his horse onward, he pressed his heels into its sides.
As he approached the campsite, John's keen eyes took in the scene: a tent stood precariously, surrounded by empty rum bottles that littered the ground. An open crate nearby revealed canned food, indicating some sort of recent feast. A wagon was hitched to two brown standardbred horses, which grazed nearby, oblivious to the chaos of the human world. Above a low fire, a cauldron hung, but it was dry—evidence that the food had been consumed long ago.
Then, sitting in front of the flickering flames, was a young man, perhaps only 16 or 17. He was younger than John had expected. The boy had an olive complexion, and his long brown hair was tied back in a ponytail. Though he was clean-shaven, a severe scar stretched across the left side of his face, where an eye should have been. The scar was jagged and raw, the skin crudely stitched together; it was a haunting reminder of past violence. Dressed in a simple white shirt, black pants, and worn brown boots, he carried a double-action revolver at his hip and a Winchester repeater slung across his back.
John dismounted his horse and walked closer. "Felipe?" he called out.
The young man rose from the dusty ground, indifferent to the sand clinging to his pants. He narrowed his eye, sizing John up. "Who's asking?"
"John. John Marston. Mr. Ricketts told me to come and see you. Not sure why, though." John shrugged, resting his hands on his belt.
"Is that so?" Felipe replied, his voice emotionless, but a flicker of recognition crossed his face at John's name. "If he sent you... you probably need help with something. I told the old man to send people who are in need of some kind of ayuda."
"Yeah, I'm searching for two men. Bill Williamson and Javier Escuella. You know them?" John stepped closer, trying to gauge the boy's reaction.
"I know Javier. Did some jobs for the pendejo." Felipe spat on the ground, his disdain evident.
"Do you know where I can find him?" John asked, hope creeping into his voice.
Felipe shook his head. "No. Haven't seen him in months."
John grumbled to himself, his frustration growing as he scanned the horizon, which was nothing but a sea of orange desert. But just as he was about to turn away, Felipe spoke up.
"But..." Felipe began, catching John's attention. He looked back at the boy, suspicion creeping into his expression.
"Let me guess... You need a few favors before you can help me look for him," John said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Yeah." Felipe nodded, raising an eyebrow.
John studied Felipe's remaining eye, searching for sincerity. After a moment, he sighed, "What is it?"
Felipe smirked, an unusual flicker of mischief crossing his face. "Bank robbery. El Chuparosa Banco." He gestured with his hands as if to add flair to his words, but the excitement quickly faded, leaving him stoic once more. "One of our men died... he was a rebelde, el maldito imbécil…" He cleared his throat. "So we need one more gunman."
John nodded slowly, the gears in his mind turning. "Okay."
Felipe extended his hand, and John shook it firmly. "Meet me and the crew at Ojo del Diablo. And be ready."
With that, John turned back to his horse, ready to ride into whatever chaos awaited him, determined to find the men he was searching for.