Disclaimer: I own none of the characters presented in this story. Red Dead Redemption and all associated with said property belong to Rockstar Games.

Disclaimer: Strong depictions of violence, murder, and other such heinous and repugnant acts, very harsh language used throughout, and some taboo and offensive material occasionally presented.

Part Forty-Five: Javier

2:34 PM, August 25th, 1899

With one hand, Javier ran his fingers along the string, striking a soft, pleasant tune. With the other, he drilled his thumb into his forehead, rubbing the loose skin on his temple together. Why did he do this? Why does anyone do anything? Boredom.

Micah and Molly had borrowed Javier's horse for their supply run and were taking their sweet time on coming back. Not that it would matter, he thought. Dutch doesn't let me do nothin' no more.

He glanced to the man now, sitting with John by the rotting spool table; it was impossible not to—his pink pocket square glowed with an attention-seeking fervidity. He was sitting next to John, of all people, they were inseparable now. Javier hated himself for it, but a needle of jealousy was twirling against the back of his scalp, and it stung. A lot. He left for a damn year, a year! I questioned Dutch once, just once! It wasn't fair, it really wasn't for the poor envious Mexican housewife.

At least Grimshaw had snapped back—it was the only thing that entertained him nowadays. Presently, she was prodding Uncle's stomach with her boot; to his credit, the old bastard could sleep through anything.

"Get up, ya stupid coot!" She bellowed. There wasn't even a crack in his chain of snores.

Javier returned to mindlessly strumming his four-year-old guitar (it was a few weeks older than Jack and Uncle Javier never ceased to tease him about it) until a harsh animalistic screech rang out from the woods. Instinctively he rose and coiled his finger around his revolver's trigger just in case, but it was only Sadie and Branwen who entered camp, the pair jockeying like children.

"Just… fuckin' heel, ya damn beast!" Sadie roared, and Branwen only neighed boisterously in reply.

"You ain't talkin' to him right!" Kieran said as she hopped off the steed. "Horses don't answer well when you—"

"Out of my way, O'Driscoll," she hissed, thumping against his shoulder as she walked through him. Javier noticed she was sodden and dripping with wet brown mud. She stormed over to Dutch and John, leaving blobs of brown everywhere she stepped. Javier thought of Cain then, of how the sweet mutt loved to drown himself in mud like a pig. It was why he'd loved Lakay so much (he was the only one, anyone could confirm) and why Javier imagined he died—he crept too close to a gator and got swallowed (not too far from the truth). The dog had always been loving, and loyal to a tee. Javier respected that.

Sadie was blabbering to Dutch and John, waving her hands about expressively; she was rightly worked up. What're they talkin' about? Javier wondered. Again that sharp prickle bore into the back of his head. This is ridiculous. I am being a child. I can just walk over and see what's what. His grip tightened on his instrument and his eyes narrowed but he did not stretch to his feet. This is fuckin' ridiculous. I am a grown man. His eyes narrowed further, but he wasn't looking at Dutch anymore. He remembered the mountains, how cold and persistent the wind was, kicking up snowdust like sand in the west—heh, he'd half expected a few powdered tumbleweeds to blow by. He remembered fighting the wolves with Arthur, they were fast, agile as hell, and blended dangerously with the environment. He'd braved all that to save John, and now as his brown eyes froze on the scarred man, a second needle pricked him, at his ear. You wish you hadn't, it whispered.

He scampered to his feet and pulled away from the needles, ambling to the spool table, accompanied by his dear old friend: Mr. Guilt.

He caught the last thing Mrs. Adler said as he reached her: "... told me the O'Driscolls are hiding at Hanging Dog Ranch."

Mr. Van der Linde chuckled and rose, trailing the round table past a seated John to pat the widow's shoulders and give them a proud shake. "Well done, Sadie, well goddamn done!"

"What do we do about Langton?" Mr. Marston asked, tapping his fingers anxiously on the decaying wood.

"Don't worry," Dutch said, not breaking Sadie's gaze, not blinking either. He ran his hand down to her elbow before snaking it back up, "the train'll be here in a couple days with the money. Our new exit strategy is in the shop, but hopefully, it'll be ready a few days after that. We'll be long gone by the time that clown finds us. Just gotta stay close to home. I'll send Abigail on another supply run to Emerald Ranch tomorrow to purchase enough supplies to last us until we're gone. Maybe a few more horses too. Strauss got a guy meeting us there who might buy them state bonds off us, so we won't be short the scratch."

"Really?!" Javier blurted without realizing. "That's great!" Why hadn't he mentioned that before now?

He winced, expecting Dutch to leer, but instead he smiled warmly. "It is." He peeped his head over his shoulder to John. "Told ya those bonds were worth it."

John sighed, throwing his hands up. "And you were right. Ya happy?"
"A bit. Well, a bit more than a bit, to be—"

"Dutch," Sadie interrupted, her eyes still as cold as death. "I want to do this now. Hanging Dog is just a few hours from here. I can end this today."

"No," Dutch said, finally letting go of her arm, "not by yourself. That's a two-man job, you need a partner."

"Fine," she grunted, looking at Javier. "Come with?"

Dutch answered for him. "No, he and John are goin' with me on an errand." Javier froze with excitement. I am? His eyes widened as he looked at Dutch, trying to gauge if this was a jape. The man's eyes were still on Sadie, drinking her up. "Who else? Who else?"

"Bill? Charles?" she asked dispassionately.

"Uh, no on both. I sent 'em up to the Wapiti Reservation. Bill's got some, uh, issues from the Indian Wars and I want him to get used to seein' 'em since we're gonna be gettin' to know each other real well soon enough." His irises twinkled with a coy slyness when he said that. He drummed his fingers on his stubble chin."Who else? Who else? Oh, what about me! I'll be busy for a hot minute, but if you hold down the fort there for a few hours, I'll get there, by hell or high water. I'd love for us to talk more… one on one." Javier's gleeful smile dropped a mite, by the way Dutch was speaking to her or the wild grin he was hiding under that thick mustache.

Sadie, however, was oblivious. Or she didn't care. "Sure. See ya there." She gyrated and trekked back to the "stables." Branwen blenched away from her instinctively. "C'mon, you brute, this ain't any more fun for me…" she started, trying to mount him before he threw her off, back into the mud piles she herself birthed. Her grunt was so low Javier imagined Cain would've pawed at his floppy ears. Cain…

Dutch laughed, a hearty, merry laugh. "Just take The Count, honey. He likes you well enough."

She grunted again in response (boy, she really was striving to be the new Arthur, wasn't she) and climbed atop the snowy draft horse before riding off.

"Alright," Dutch said, so softly Javier thought he was talking to himself, "Javier, I'll need to ride with you now. Let's move out."

They walked hastily to the horses and mounted up, John on Horse, Javier leading Dutch on The Duke.

"Where are we headed?" Javier asked as they pulled out of camp, galloping downhill into the thicket.

"Cumberland Forest," Dutch answered. "We're meeting with Eagle Flies again. An army patrol is gonna walk through the spot we've planned and we'll tar and feather 'em. Good ol' fashioned American humiliation."

"R-really?" Javier stammered, confused. "You need three guys to help with that?"

Dutch chuckled. "Well, in case things go wrong, I want plenty of firepower."

"And that's the plan, ain't it?" John murmured, his head low, not even looking ahead to steer his steed. "Things going wrong."

"What?" Javier was lost.

"What, you didn't hear? We're gonna give the Wounded Knee Massacre another go." John spurred his horse rougher than he needed to.

Dutch sighed dramatically. "What my sarcastic friend is tryin' to imply is that conflict between the natives and the army is exactly the end result of this escapade." Javier felt one of Dutch's hands leave his chest, and he knew the man was twirling it around, drawing the air, doing all the normal poises he did whenever he explained a plan. "Y'see, Eagle Flies is young, naive. He thinks he can stand up to Favours, fight him back, but when he sees the sheer numbers the army's packing, I guarantee he tucks tail. He may be as stubborn as me and twice as disillusioned, but he's still smart as a whip, I know. He'll do the right thing: run back to his father, with words of viscera and horror. Just like we want him to."

"Why?" Javier asked. "What does that do for us?"

"You'll see. The original plan was to use the conflict between the natives and the army—and therefore indirectly Cornwall—to create a smokescreen to distract the Pinks again and slip right on to New Orleans on that boat with all the money from the upcoming train job. Now, the natives are gonna be our smokescreen and our escape route."

"This don't feel right, Dutch," John grumbled. "Hurtin' these people this way. Ain't they been hurt enough?" Javier wanted to chime in his agreement, but he'd questioned Dutch enough to last a lifetime—he couldn't take any more punishment. But that did get him thinking: Why the hell is John able to talk back this damn much?

"We're helping them," Dutch insisted. "You'll see. Just have faith."

"Why can't you enlighten me, Dutch? God's Plan is a mystery to man, Dutch, not yours. And seein' is believin' after all."

Dutch exhaled softly. Javier felt it on his neck and it made his hair stand up. "I-I can't right now, John. The Pinks knew about the boat. Somehow, someway, we've been compromised. I want to keep information on a need-to-know basis now."

John laughed. "So what? You think I'm a rat?"

"No, John. Jesus, don't be so melodramatic. We don't need a rat, just loose lips. So I want to keep all the lips nice and tight."

Javier glanced over to John and noticed for the first time his attire: he wore an all-black suit, shirt, and pants, with navy blue boots, silver spurs, and a cheap black gambler's hat with two strands of unfastened brown rope making up the band. Asides from the light scarlet pocket square, he and Dutch were dressed about the same, compared to Javier who wore a blue denim jacket, red bandana, gray pants, and a wrinkled cotton shirt. Maybe that's why they get along so well.

"What are we gonna do about the O'Driscolls?" John asked as they looped downhill onto a beaten beige road. "If they fleeing west, it means the Pinks'll be back in full force soon enough. Maybe we should follow their lead, head out west?"

"No," Dutch said conclusively.

"And what about the Murfrees? I know Sadie and Bill took out all the ones squatting on the land, but surely word's gotten out that we've taken Beaver Hollow. They'll fight to take back what's theirs."

"But it ain't theirs, John, it's ours. And I ain't gonna part with it so easily."

"Dutch—"

"Morale is important, John. If we keep packing up and leaving, packing up and leaving, people will start doubting that we'll ever stop. A community needs a home and that's that. I woulda thought you'd known that. You're an expert at packing up and leaving."

John fell silent. They all did, until the forest broke and they spotted some figures atop a ridge in the distance.

They dismounted, walking slowly to Eagle Flies and the other Wapitis. The land wasn't completely flat, but the amount of extra work required was minimal. Javier glanced down to see a clearly marked gray road. He'd ridden through it a few times but had never paid much heed to the ridge above. That's probably the idea.

There were seven Wapiti men, and one woman, Eagle Flies and Paytah included. Their horses were hitched far enough away to be out of view from the soldiers below. And with them was an obsidian prairie wagon stuffed with red crates. One word was imprinted across in midnight black: Explosives.

Shit, Javier thought, Dutch didn't mention nothing about that.

"My friends," Dutch greeted, sniffing deeply. "Ah! The smell of cordite and integrity, it is a beautiful thing."

"The smell of rebellion!" Eagle Flies cheered.

"Hear fucking hear!" cried Paytah.

"Javier, John," Dutch addressed, "take some dynamite and set charges to the trees below the ridge. When those army boys come through, we're gonna trap 'em in the valley.

Javier and John went to work, collecting some sticks from a wooden box and curving along the ridge to a hill. They carried the explosives downhill to find a spool and wire waiting for them in the middle of the road.

"I'll set the bombs, you run the wire," John said grimly.

"Alright." Javier paused before continuing. "John… what Dutch said… that was uncalled for—"

"It's fine. Let's just get this done."

And so they did. John stuck the dynamite to the chosen trees, marked with a dab of appropriately red paint, and Javier gingerly led the spool of wire into each explosive. They raced back up the hill to where the others waited for them. Dutch connected the wire spool to the wooden blasting machine; John manned the T-shaped lever while the others lay flat on their backs, waiting for the sounds of a dozen pairs of army boots clicking against the gravel-strewn road.

As it turned out, they wouldn't need to wait long. Ten minutes later, the sound of twenty pairs of army boots chanted across the valley. Clickety-clack, clickety-clack.

"The patrol is larger than expected," Eagle Flies said, a crack in his voice.

Dutch chortled. "Don't worry, that's a good thing." He turned to John. "Want me to man that plunger, John?"

"No," John grumbled, "I got it." Clickety-clack, clickety-clack, clickety-clack, clickety-clack.

"Oh remove the weight of the world from your shoulders for a minute," Dutch bellyached, raising a pink and red bandana over his nose as a mask. "We're just gonna give them a little scare."

"Yeah," Javier whispered, fingering the maroon bandana that sat on his neck and lifting it to cover his face. "Just a little scare." Clickety-clack, clickety-clack, clickety-clack, clickety-clack, clickety-clack, clickety-clack.

"That's a lot more than expected," Paytah murmured. His hand was resting on his holster and Javier noticed it was shaking.

The men popped close enough into sight that Javier could make out more than blurry dots. They were men with distinct faces; their suits were identical, yet always a little bit different, like a snowflake. They probably had fathers and mothers who loved them and wives and children to come home to. And they were going to blow charges five feet away from them. Javier thought of his uncle, how he'd been castrated and fed to a pig because he and some other workers unionized for better pay. What would be the retaliation for trapping men in a valley with explosives?

Clickety-clack, clickety-clack, clickety-clack, clickety-clack, clickety-clack, clickety-clack, clickety-clack!

"Everyone just stay calm—we've got the upper hand," Dutch whispered coarsely. "Okay, they've passed the first charge. John, blow it!"

Javier feared for a moment that the explosives wouldn't go off—like with Cornwall's train in the mountains—but they did. Dual orange clouds eclipsed both ends of the valley and the satisfying low tone of wood creaking and snapping pealed just before the tall oak trees collapsed and fell, confining the army men to their scenic cage.

"The fuck?!" one of them decried after he was thrown from his horse.

Eagle Flies was the first to straighten upwards; he stared down from the ridge, armed with a loaded and ready Carbine repeater. "You're surrounded!" he screamed. "Put your hands up! Nobody need get hurt. Your humiliation of us has gone on quite enough."

Yes, it has! Goddamn government thinkin' they can tax us whatever they want whenever they want! Now put down your guns and give us whatever you got! This is a robbery! The words were caught in Javier's throat. He can shout them, trick the army guys into thinking this was just a poorly executed stick-up, pretend the native problem had nothing to do with it; Eagle Flies' bandana was the exact same shade as his skin and didn't hide his ethnicity at all, but a few random Indians committing robbery wasn't the same as an active demonstration of resistance from the Wapiti tribe. He could spit those words out and mitigate the conflict before things got out of hand. No, no, he decided. Dutch has a plan, trust the plan. This will be better for them in the end. He said so himself.

"This ain't a good idea…" one of the army guys bellowed. He was condescending and irritable. And Javier was certain he wasn't older than twenty.

"Put down your guns!" Eagle Flies roared. The other natives loudly cocked their guns and strung their arrows back to their chests, ready to let them fly.

"You are makin' a mistake, boy!" another army man called out. He was twenty-seven and planned to propose to a waitress he met two months back on this very night.

"No," Dutch announced boisterously, creeping into sightline, his twin pistols eager, "you're making a mistake. Put your hands up, soldier, take a little humiliation, and leave this fine folks alone." Paytah had started a fire near the wagon (yes, near the wagon stuffed with dynamite—old Paytah wasn't the brightest fellow), and on it placed a fat cauldron bubbling with cold dark liquid tar. Javier didn't see them, but he suspected the feathers were somewhere in the wagon—not that it would matter. His gut told him they wouldn't be used.

"Who are you?" hollered Mr. Right.

"A concerned citizen," was Dutch's quasi-accurate answer.

"Is that so?"

Javier heard it then: the clickety-clack of two dozen more army boots, outside of their trap, coming up trail a few meters behind the heels of the first regiment. "They're being ambushed!" a voice bellowed.

"What now?" Eagle Flies asked Dutch.

"This is too many, we should get lost!" said another native, this one gaunt and sharp-featured.

"No, no, no, not quite yet…" Dutch said, leaning over the ridge. "Soldier! You and your friends gonna high-tail it outta here? Well, go on!"

"Excuse me?"

Dutch groaned and rolled his eyes at Javier. "I'm gettin' bored of this." Bang! Someone, Javier wasn't sure who, fired his gun, and that was it. "Your friends fired first, soldier!" Dutch barked, and then he led the natives in returning volleys.

It was a turkey shoot; there was no cover for the army boys besides each other and that expired quickly. The edge of the ridge curved upwards slightly, making it hard to hit anything standing above it while keeping it exceptionally trivial to shoot anyone below it.

In just a few minutes, every man trapped in the valley was dead.

"We got to go!" Paytah cried, stumbling over the hot cauldron, spilling the oily tar across the grass, snuffing the life from the green blades. "That second regiment'll be here any second!"

"In just a moment," Dutch said calmly. "We need to check the Patrol Commander for any papers. He might have a letter from Favours that'll prove your case about Cornwall and the oil under your land."

The natives looked to Eagle Flies for their orders, eyes shining with trust and curiosity over their next move. Eagle Flies mirrored those same glassy orbs back onto Dutch before he said softly: "W-we can… check… quickly?"

Dutch smiled. "Yes, sir, we surely can!" He raced down a rocky slant that guided them to the valley, the other nine biting his tail. The ground was stony, with the occasional clover sprouting in a spiral from a small crevice between the gray road. And it was painted with blood; the land drank it up greedily. They got to work quickly—unfortunately, there was no sign indicating which man was the Patrol Commander, so they had to search every man.

Javier probed a young man and discovered an unmailed letter to his mother—the ink was stained with fluid, you can guess what kind. The boy reminded him of Lenny with his skinny frame, wispy mustache, and similar high cheekbones (heh, but trust me, he looked nothing like Lenny; with how that boy's face was smashed in like a melon, no one looked like him anymore).

But there was no message from Favours or Cornwall. John walked over with a headshake, indicating he'd been just as successful. "Dutch, we got to move now. They're gonna be on top of us any minute."

"Just a second longer," Dutch said confidently, gradually, patiently, working his hands through a dead man's pockets.

"Dutch," John hissed quietly, so only Javier could hear, "you did it. Congrats. You pissed the army off and now the natives are gonna eat shit for it—can we get lost now?!"

Dutch slowly turned to face John, iron in his eyes. "Incredible. John, you got this really nifty trick: you open your mouth and Abigail's voice comes out."

"I can think for myself," John growled insistently.

Dutch snorted. "Yeah, when she's whispering in your ear, telling you to follow me and Eagle Flies, telling you to disagree with me. She blamed you for Jack's kidnapping and that weren't even your fault! I mean, dammit John, are you really too cunt-struck to remember she tried to shoot ya? Tried to kill you!"

John dug his tongue into his bottom lip, searching for a defense and finding none. "That—"

Boom!

A cannonball blasted a small crater near them and ricocheted into the sky. Soldiers broke through the treeline, guns flaring orange as they fired again and again.

"Shit! Run! Run!" Dutch hollered, scurrying backward as he shot back with his pistols.

Another cannonball burst from over the hill, shoving two trees down in the process. It came straight for Javier and he hit the deck to avoid it. Pebbles showered over him as he plugged his ears from the impact with the ridge's rocky base. When he stood up, dust from the ridge hovered across the field, blurring friend and foe until he was firing his double-action revolver blindly. Dutch and John were no longer in sight and his adrenaline was pounding wildly.

"No! Get off me!" a voice screamed in the foggy distance and Javier instinctively raced to it, dashing along the line of fire, feeling bullets whiz by him. A tree shaped like a carrot, trunk planted in the ground, branches bifurcating like a green stem, loomed uphill, shrouded by earthy mist and Javier made his way for it.

Before the tree was Eagle Flies, gagged and bound in rope by three soldiers who held a knife to his throat. "Nod yes or no: is this an act of war?" one of them asked. "Is it?!"

Javier positioned his palm by his gun's hammer and shot all three men, sprinting to the hostage but he never made it. He was tackled and rolled down the hill, feeling a worm in his hair.

The soldier landed on top of him, dropping his repeater and drawing his pistol, aiming it at Javier's face.

Bang! Javier redirected it one inch to his right. The bullet trimmed his ear. Bang! Bang! Bang! The noise was thunderous and Javier's eyes involuntarily filled up with tears in response. His right ear chimed with ringing and he couldn't hear anything from it. His vision was watery, like opening your eyes in a murky lake, and the man on top of him seemed to be grinning so wide his teeth stretched up to his forehead. Grunting, Javier drew his hunting knife and slid it into the soldier's chest. He moaned softly and rolled off.

Javier hurried upwards, cutting Eagle Flies free and pulling him to his feet.

"Thank you," the native said, as another tumultuous boom sent the massive carrot crashing down on top of them. "Get down!" Eagle Flies shoved Javier out of the way and they barely managed to avoid the tree as its sharp branches burrowed into the stony terrain.

"Follow me!" Javier yelled, taking Eagle Flies by the hand and leading them back to the ridge where their horses, hopefully, still were.

More soldiers stood in their way and Javier gunned them down, reloaded. The slope back up to the ridgeline was steep and the men struggled against it. The smoke was clearing and Javier saw only the dynamite wagon, no horses. He whistled for The Duke, gyrating several times nervously. He felt his boots slide into something sticky and looked down to see he was standing in gooey tar. When Javier perked his head up, The Duke was trotting over to him. Fiercely loyal, the animal was. Javier respected that. "C'mon!" he cried to Eagle Flies, louder than necessary—his hearing was not improving. "Let's go!"

They mounted the black horse and galloped away as more soldiers began to reach the ridge and fired on them. Javier grinned and fired only once. Boom! The dynamite wagon went up, blasting army men away and setting more on fire.

Eagle Flies mumbled jargon—of course really he shouted it—and repeated himself several times until Javier registered it: "Head downstream Dakota River near Window Rock! That's where the others'll meet us!" If there are any others, they thought in unison.

They arrived at the shoreline, where the beige sand bled into the ultramarine water. The river was as reflective as a mirror and Javier spent nearly ten minutes staring at it, poking his ear with a finger, as though it could be cured like a clogged pipe. At that point, the other natives arrived. Most anyway.

"Aleshanee, where's Paytah?" Eagle Flies asked.

"They took him," one of them, a woman, answered. She was broad-shouldered and with her flat chest could nearly pass for a man, if it weren't for the full pouty lips, narrow eyes, and large, round Adam's apple—

Oh shit, that is a man, Javier realized.

Eagle Flies stomped his boots furiously. "Damn!"

"We'll get him back," Aleshanee said, touching Eagle Flies' shoulder compassionately. "Just not today. We need to go home."

"Father will be furious…"

"Tell him they fired first, son," coaxed a familiar voice.

Javier darted his head around, searching, but he didn't see anything. Then he felt a wet hand patting his back. John and Dutch had emerged from the river behind them, soaking from head to toe. The sun was tilted in the sky and glimmered the waters so a golden outline surrounded the pair as they took heavy steps (their shoes were swimming) to the center of the crowd.

"You ain't got nothing to be ashamed of," Dutch told Eagle Flies.

"The hell happened to you?" Aleshanee asked.

Dutch exhaled with a smile. "Took a dive." He pointed to his grizzled companion. "Had to carry this one or he woulda drowned."

Aleshanee hid a smirk. "You can't swim?"

John's temperament wasn't in the mood. "Where's my horse?" He was still as a statue but for the droplets blossoming and falling off his hat.

No one spoke so Javier said it. "It wasn't there when we left… musta gotten spooked by all that noise."

John's nostrils flared. "Perfect. Mission accomplished, right, Dutch?"

The man said nothing, only stood there with a forced smile on his face.

After a few breaths, Eagle Flies spoke. "What are we gonna do? They got Paytah!"

Dutch's smile gradually dissipated. "I–I ain't sure… there were so many of them." He snuck a peek to see if that last part was sitting with the natives like he wanted it to. His lip crept up slyly before falling again. "Don't worry, son, we'll get him back, just give me time. Okay?" Eagle Flies waist twisted in an anxious twitch and he said nothing. "Okay?"

"Okay."

Dutch nodded and stared at Eagle Flies until he reciprocated. "Now, meet with Charles, I sent him back to your reservation with Bill—"

"You did what?—"

"—he'll help you scout out Fort Wallace, that's most likely where they'll be takin' Paytah. Once you fellers got a plan, come back to me and I'll put my best men on it. Sound good?"

Eagle Flies eyes were wide, his mouth was agape. He looked like a deer staring down a scope. "I-I—"

"Sound good?"

The wind hissed for a moment before Eagle Flies said anything. "Sure."

"Great!" Dutch slapped him on the back. "See ya soon!"

Thinking this powwow was concluded, John tapped Aleshanee's shoulder and dipped his head to the native's white and red Thoroughbred, Henry Holt (the story behind the beast's namesake is an enthralling one, and I promise I'll arrive at it anon). "Give me a ride back to the reservation?"

"Sure. Let's go." They marched to the steed before Dutch seized John by the arm.

"John, can we talk a minute?"

"I don't wanna." He shimmied free but Dutch clasped his other arm.

"John, John. I'm… I'm sorry. About what I said—"

"Yeah, yeah, you're always sorry, Dutch."

"John—"

"Always fuckin' sorry…" he mumbled. "And still you're always fuckin' talkin'."

Dutch grabbed John by the coattail, spinning him around. He was suddenly furious. "Well, what do you want from me?! To be like you? The one-word-sentence factory? I can't speak any less for the same reason you can't speak anymore: it's our nature, John."

"Whatever…" John pulled away again.

"Don't 'whatever' me, boy! John!" Dutch hoisted him by the collar of his shirt, suddenly strong as an ox. John was balancing on his tiptoes. Then he lowered the boy onto his feet, whipping the nonexistent soot from the duster coat. "Look… John… I'm sorry. I really am. I wish I could tell you that will be the last time, but I can't. I am what I am, John. I see things." He put his finger on his brow for the last sentence. Then he shifted that finger horizontally and drove it into John's heart. "Y'know… my mother… she-she weren't a bad woman, but she… we all got a canoe needs paddling, y'know. And, well… she had me paddling hers for a long time. And I can't help but see… I think Abigail's got you paddling hers a bit, too." He let that hang in the air. Most of the other men got real interested in the sand, or a pebble in their shoe. What more could they do? John put on a pale, reticent mask, but the eye holes were a mile wide, and even from near the shoreline, Javier could see a look of deep consideration stapled to his face. But you're right, John," Dutch continued, "it ain't my business, You're your own man and I'm sorry. You're my son, and… I guess I just forget sometimes that you ain't a boy no more."

Dutch let him go, but John didn't leave. He stood there, staring at the man who'd been his father for practically his whole life, and Javier could tell he hated him. Hated him because he was beginning to believe he was right.

John stumbled away like a corpse and struggled to mount the short horse. Aleshanee yelled in a language so native Javier couldn't understand and they rode off. John's navy boots backdropped with Henry Holt's red and white hide reminded Javier of the American flag waving in quick flashes

Eagle Flies and the others followed briefly after, and then it was just Dutch and Javier alone at the edge of the Dakota River. Javier felt nauseous and he couldn't explain why. It was like an infection: outside he was normal as could be, but just past his Mexican shell, he was rotting, his insides turning black. The whole damn world seemed to be rotting—with a smile.

"You okay, Javier?" Dutch asked, and Javier's throat filled with acid

He swallowed roughly. "Y-yeah. I'm… fine…" He whirled face to face with his master, the words spitting out before he could stop them. "What are we doin' Dutch? Jesus, this-this is Annesburg all over again… madness."

"It ain't. I got a plan."

Javier knew he ought to shut up, he was in the dog house with Dutch as much as it was, but the acid seemed to be melting his tongue into speech. "What plan? Like Blackwater? Saint Denis? The boat? ¡Dios mío! We used to help people, Dutch, remember that? Now we're just killin'. Innocents, enemies, Pearson, it don't matter." He wanted to stop, but he couldn't. "We coulda just taken the damn boat the second Sean found it! But no! You just had to have your precious score!" His breath was heavy and tired.

Dutch's face was dark with rage. "You don't trust me…"

Javier felt regret swelling up. "Dutch, I—"

Then Dutch started laughing. Hands on the knees, whole body shaking, laughing. "Oh, Javier, that's quite, quite alright. Silly me. Of course, you don't trust me. Because you're out of the loop. So let's fix that." His laughter stopped but his grin held—it was fatherly and genuine. "I want to create enough conflict with the natives and the army to end this pathetic excuse for peace they've formed. You've seen the reservation, the way these people live—oh, no! You haven't! Oh, here, I'll show you later but I assure you, it's miserable. Children dying of disease, nobody having two cents to rub together… horrible business. But when Eagle Flies goes home and tells Rains Fall about what they're up against, and knowing that Colonel Favours wants war, the chief will have no choice: abandon ship. We'll provide Captain Monroe with evidence of Favour's corruption—I had hoped to find it with that Patrol Commander but no cigar—and he'll head up to Washington to sway the Federals—they'll need to make a problem go away. Now, the issue is that America ain't big enough for both the Wapitis and Favours, and for whatever reason I can't fathom, the government seems to be partial to Favours."

"So here's what we'll convince Monroe to convince them: send a train down to take the natives out of state. To Canada. Rains Fall is a man of peace, and between that option and war with Monroe, trust me, he'll emigrate. They all will. To a better land, mind you, a land free of Favours and the reminders of what this country's new owners took from them. Everyone wins: the natives are free, truly free, Favours gets his state back to himself, the government washes their hands of this mess for good, and Cornwall, damn him, can dig up their land for his precious, precious oil." Dutch smile shifted from impish to devilish then. "And us? We sneak aboard that train, disappear with that haul we'll make from the army payroll coming in to fix that train Sadie and Uncle blew. And like that… poof! We're gone!" He started giggling hysterically. "The one place the Pink'll never think to look for us: a government-sanctioned train! And Canada's a big country, bigger than America, we'll get ourselves lost nice and easy."

Javier rubbed his temples, listening to the rippling water and whispering wind—they were a lot less overwhelming than Dutch's voice. Shit, that's a lot to take in. "Will-will the government go for that?"

"'Course they will! I may not know government, Javier, but I know people. They see an opportunity to make a thorn go away, they'll sign whatever paper they have to, do whatever it takes. If it's off the books, who cares? What, ya think John Hancock writes everything the government does in pink ink on the White House walls? But… hey…" He pulled Javier close. His smile faded into a low murmur. "Let's keep that between us for now." His eyes turned cold and hard. "Remember what I said? About loose lips."

"Y-yeah," Javier stammered.

"I lied. I don't think loose lips tipped off the Pinks. I think we got a rat amongst us, Javier."

Javier recoiled like he'd been slapped. "Dutch, you—"

"I said 'think,' not 'know.' It's just a theory, Javier, that's why I want you to keep it quiet. I don't want to plant any more paranoia in camp. Especially after Karen… Just, don't say nothin'."

"Of course not, Dutch," he said quickly, enthusiastically, almost. "I promise." A new needle pricked him—I know something John don't know…—and he wasn't sure if it was guilt or pride.

Dutch chuckled. "I guess I don't need to be tellin' you nothing. You kept it this long."

"What?" Javier's eyebrows lifted in bemusement.

Dutch's grin was infectious. "You've been keeping it since Shady Belle, remember? On the balcony, we talked about helping folk again, like we used to. You gave me this idea, Javier. To help those natives, deliver them to a better life. We'll even give them some of our take—they'll be more than enough to go 'round. That's what you wanted, right?"

"Y-you been thinkin' about that…?" The needle bore deeper into his head, penetrating his skull…

"'Course. I-I know I been treatin' you coldly Javier, and I'm sorry. I do things… and I don't know why I do 'em, and then I'm too damn arrogant to admit I'm wrong. But here goes—for the first time ever: I was wrong. You're a good man, Javier. I'm real proud of who you've become, son." With that word, the needle started clawing out of his forehead, working its way down to his mouth. "And… I've made up my mind. His damn cowardice at Van Horn's sealed it. If you really want Micah gone, boom, he's gone."

Javier wanted to shout yes. Celebrate that bastard's departure, but it was too late. That needle had sewn through his mouth and now he couldn't speak, although the voice he heard in one ear certainly sounded like his own: "No. You don't need to do that. I've long forgotten it."

"Are you sure? If you saw him shoot an unarmed woman…"

"No, you were right. I didn't see nothing."

Dutch laughed, jovially, happily. The kind of laugh you give right after a good fuck, the kind that meant for that one moment, you were completely, totally satisfied. "Let's head over to the reservation. I want to chat with Monroe if he's there. Get the seeds planted. Then I need to go see about a girl in Hanging Dog Ranch."

"Alright, let's go," Javier said loyally, respectfully, mindlessly.

The river sparkled with golden light. The green and auburn mountains and hills stretched on for miles like something from a romantic painting. The trees were laden with amber leaves and some fell, floating in the strong gale. All was right in the world.

So there's Dutch's new plan. Let me know if you like it.

Also, I feel like I'm just repeating myself in these endnotes, so I'm gonna try transitioning to doing new stuff here. Let me know if there's anything y'all would like me to point out specifically-quotes, symbols, moments, allusions, intentions, etc.

I've put a lot of work into this fanfic, so if you've enjoyed it, please consider sharing it so it can reach as many people as possible.

Next chapter is one of my favorites, involving my second favorite new duo... see ya then!