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Chapter 9

Javier maneuvered the knife around, stabbing it between the middle of his right hand. It repeated four times, before the knife finally cut through his thumb. Despite the deep scar in his thumb, he bit down at the bleeding, instinctively trying to chase the agony away. When it did, he sighed and placed his hand back on the table, prepared to go at it again.

Not much went on in Horseshoe Overlook. It was a relieving thing for Javier. He had been preoccupied with shit for the past twelve years. It reminded him of why he'd stayed devoted to Dutch until the end.

Instead of the constant distrust, contempt, and weary glares, the people he was surrounded by was a companionship, folks who cared about his well-being, and a family that Javier forgot. He was a Mexican desperado heading north into the US to find fame and fortune in a country that despised his people, and despite all of it, he managed to get a home in the Van Der Linde gang. None of them judged him for his skin color and accepted him as part of the family, something that no other white men would do for him. He found a home where his culture was tolerated and accepted by the other gang members; in his spanish guitar and skill with a gun-leading to his consistent loyalty until the very end.

And somehow, Javier have been boosted by the determination to save all of them.

"You know, vanity is a sin, Mr. Escuella," Sean's humorous voice cut through the air.

The Mexican stared up at the Irishman, "So is judging others, my little friend."

"My da used to say "the bigger the box, the smaller the gift", you know what I mean..."

"Yes, our papas taught us many things, haven't they? For example," Javier flicked the knife, "my dad used to say when someone disrespects you fillet them with a knife if you know what I mean." He intended to make sound as threatening as it could have been.

Sean chuckled nervously. "I ain't disrespecting. I'm only looking out for your mortal soul honest."

"Oh, fuck off, Sean, assuming Karen ain't so that to you enough."

Sean scoffed. "I'm in charge of Karen, my Mexican friend," he replied. "Can say the same about you and Tilly. Heard folks talking about how you're growing soft for her."

Javier rolled his eyes. "I am capable of emotions, Sean."

"You are? I have seen you sucking up to Micah a few times." Sean retorted.

"Sucking up isn't the word I would use. Don't talk about things you don't know, Sean." Javier retorted.

"Well, your favorite boy fittle is gone for a few days. Hope you aren't getting too lonely without him." The barb was intended to both piss Javier off and make him laugh at the same time in reflection.

Mierda, he'd missed Sean MacGuire.

It was an idiotic plan that got him killed as well.

Arthur approached, no doubt hearing the conversation. Yes, it was talked about that the man had a good hearing or just liked to hear in on conversations. But no one minded it because he was the third in command of the Van Der Linde gang. And to be fair, none of them wanted to talk in whispers all of the time.

"Hey, Arthur," Javier smirked, "have you heard the latest news? Sean here is going to be a good as a shooter as you one day."

"Hmph, this boy couldn't even hit a tent at two paces," Arthur said, grinning.

Sean MacGuire looked. "Hey, Arthur, looks you ain't a sharp man."

"Looks you ain't a wise one. Now, get out of here and do something useful."

The Irish complied, goofy grin across his lips as he disappeared within camp.

"So, what is he up to today?" Arthur asked. "Might want to be my shadow again?"

Javier huffed. "Try to watch where you're going, why don't you? Your head would have been blown off if it wasn't for me."

"I had the situation perfectly under control," Arthur huffed pridefully.

Javier's eyes darkened briefly. "You nearly died, Arthur."

"So did you," Arthur reminded. "At least, my close call was just an encounter with the door. How your shoulder treating ya?"

"I don't even feel it," Javier answered sincerely. His arm still had a little bit of a numbness and slight pain, but it was better than all of the opium, morphine, phenacetin, and acetanilide, he used to use and not only because they were a feature. "Say, do you want to go fishing?"

He knew exactly what compelled him to ask that question, despite how abrupt it was.

"What? You ain't got Marston optional to go out on such small trips, Javier?"

The disappointment was aching, but Javier understood. Or at least tried to. After all, Arthur Morgan was a very busy man. But Morgan have been dead for too long... and Javier missed the cabrón. His deteriorating health was devoted in getting folks out, instantly labeling him a better man than most of them could ever be.

"Erm, I don't know, Javier, I mean you're better at fishing than I am," Arthur began to answer with underlines of sheepishness.

Javier chuckled. "I mean, come on, you're never going to get better if you don't try. And we can bring John along."

"Oh, do Marston have to tag along everywhere with us?" Arthur asked. "You know, it may be time to pay our debts and get what we can to finally leave this all behind."

"Oh?" Hurt dawned across Javier's face. "Well, I guess..."

"Oh, get over yourself, Escuella, I'm coming," Arthur smirked slightly.

"I'll ride too!" John shouted. "Getting tired of this camp." He added in a grumble."

The three men approached their horses.

"I know of a little river nearby," Javier commented.

"Now, you know something is up, Morgan, never heard of Javier leaving camp much."

"Well, get used to it," Javier said, as he guided his horse to the left with the two following behind, going down the trail to make it to the nearby river.

"Maybe, he'll be even more useful than you are, Marston," Arthur replied. "Wait, you don't have any uses at all."

Marston huffed, "You wait, Morgan, one day you're going to need my help."

"Yeah, when I'm dying..."

Javier grimaced, recalling when the two broke off from Beaver Hollow. Damn it, that was so long ago. When Dutch and Micah insisted him and Bill chased after Arthur and John with them, both men didn't want to. Somehow, even with aiming guns at them, it didn't felt right to do so and they wanted to survive.

They guided their horses to a stop, and moved over to the water.

The three men dismounted their horses and approached the riverbank. The water was clear and calm, reflecting the blue sky and the green trees that lined the banks. Javier pulled out his fishing rod, something that he haven't used for a long time. Arthur and John followed suit, each with their own rods.

Truth be told, the scenery was beautiful.

Javier wouldn't mind taking it easy near here. If it wasn't for the fact that he might have to be on the run with Dutch since he didn't intend to abandon Arthur or John this time, the Mexican would have probably done it.

"Alright, what do we have here?" Javier said, surveying the water, full of glint shadows and illuminated figures. "Looks like a good spot for some trout or maybe even a bass."

Arthur nodded, "Trout sounds good. Haven't had those in a while."

John pointed out, "You mean you don't like beans and soup?"

Javier cast his line expertly, the hook landing with a soft plop in the water. "Oh, John, of course you would have began getting used to that. It was all Pearson was giving you I heard."

Arthur cast his line as well, though with less heart into it if Javier was being frank. "Forget you like that Whiskey and trouble more than the rest of us, Escuella."

Javier laughed, "Fresh fish is my favorite."

At least, it used to be before Mexico robbed that passion of him. Damn, it had been years since Javier fished. The food in Mexico was far from pleasing, but fishing reminded the Mexican of the four best years of his life.

John struggled a bit with his cast, his line getting tangled in some nearby brush.

'Oh, come on, how did that even happen?'

"Damn it," he muttered, trying to free it.

Arthur glanced over and smirked, "Need some help there, Marston?"

John shot him a glare, "I got it, Morgan."

Javier watched as John finally freed his line and cast it into the water. "You know, John, you might catch something if you actually put the hook in the water."

John rolled his eyes, "Oh, don't you start, Escuella."

They fished in companionable silence for a while, the only sounds the rustling of leaves and the occasional splash of a fish breaking the surface. Javier was the first to get a bite. He reeled in a decent-sized trout, its scales shimmering in the sunlight.

"Nice one," Arthur commented, admiring the catch.

Javier grinned down at the caught fish, "Thanks. Your turn, Morgan."

Arthur concentrated on his line, feeling a tug. He grunted and started to get agitated since the little fucker decided it didn't want to be an empty meal for their stomachs. Eventually, it tired out, and he reeled in a smaller trout, but it was still a good catch. "Not bad," he said, satisfied.

John, meanwhile, was having less luck. He cast his line again and again, but nothing seemed to bite. At first, he steadied himself, waiting for that expected tug. Eventually, he got frustrated and moved closer to the water's edge, trying to get a better angle.

"Careful there, Marston," Arthur warned, "you would do us all a favor if you fell in but we can't lose any more folks that may be helpful."

John waved him off, "I got this."

Just as he said that, his foot slipped on a wet rock, and he tumbled into the water with a splash. Arthur and Javier burst out laughing as John surfaced, sputtering and cursing.

"Damn it!" John shouted in his hoarse voice, swatting at the water, trying to stand up in the waist-deep pawn.

The water which wasn't deep, fortunately for John. The lack of him being able to swim made it a good thing that he didn't join them in Guarma when they'd got washed after the events of that boat. The poor fool would have drowned, and Abigail and Jack would have had no one left. At least, Marston could take a bit of water.

Arthur doubled over, laughing so hard he could barely breathe. "Marston, Marston, Marston! You know you're supposed to stay ashore of water! Oh what would Hosea think?"

Javier joined in, "Maybe the fish will take pity on you and jump into your hands!"

John glared at them, trying to wade back to the shore. "It's not that funny."

Javier extended a hand to help John out of the water, and Arthur reached down and gripped his arms, showing that he did care as well. "Come on, let's get you dried off. Can't have you catching a cold."

John accepted the help but only for a moment before pushing them away, grumbling under his breath. "I swear, one of these days..."

Javier clapped him on the back, "Don't worry, John. We all have our moments. Not sure Morgan would let you live it down though."

Arthur grinned. "I will think 'bout it."

"Perfect," John remarked.

"Quite a sentimental yet unexpected scene, wouldn't you agree, Mr. Ross?" A voice Javier hadn't heard in a long time emanated behind them.

Similar to Arthur and John, Javier stiffened and turned around to face the harbinger of the voice. It was far too early, wasn't it? Milton was closing in on the gang, but if memory served him correctly, the perras - Milton and Ross - hadn't made themselves known until Arthur went on a fishing trip with Jack. They were in the immediate area, looking for trails...

There was a wagon of men. Ten of them, adorned in suits and bowler hats. Yet, only that cabrón, Ross, held his rifle up over his shoulder and his finger wrapped around the trigger. Perhaps it was unfair to judge the bastardo for not torturing him yet and killing John and probably his family too.

But Javier felt a personal hatred to Ross. The bastardo not only tortured him but murdered John and possibly his family too.

The men was moving with such arrogant stride that made Javier want to spend his remaining bullets on them.

"Morgan, isn't it?" Milton asked rhetorically as he looked at the man standing in front of them. "Arthur Morgan, Van der Linde's most trusted associate." He looked to the younger man and indicated to Arthur. "You read the files, typical case... orphaned street kid seduced by that maniac's sliver tongue and matures into a degenerate murder." His eyes landed on Javier. "A lost immigrant... and who are you?"

"Rip Van Wrinkle," John replied bluntly, hand on his revolver.

Milton seemed to have refrained from a snort, keeping his voice level. "Huh good day, sir, I'm Agent Milton. This is Agent Ross. Pinkerton Detective Agency, seconded to the United States Government. Nice to finally meet. You are a wanted man, Mr. Morgan. Five thousand dollars for your head alone."

"Five thousand dollars?" Arthur asked. He offered with a small smirk, "Can I turn myself in?"

"We want Van der Linde," Milton continued dryly.

"Haven't seen Dutch in months."

"That so? Because I heard a guy fitting his description robbed a train belonging to Leviticus Cornwall up near Granite Pass."

"Is that old-fashioned nowadays?" Arthur asked with a breathy chuckle.

"Apparently, not." Milton held up his hands in a placating manner. "This is my offer, Mr. Morgan," he continued. "Bring in Van der Linde and you have my word you won't swing. I can even extend my generosity to Chicano over here," he indicated to Escuella, "and your other friend."

Javier's shoulders tensed, "What did you call me, you racist zorra?"

Milton rolled his eyes as Ross's grip seemed to tighten, "Calm your animal, Mr. Morgan."

"No one ain't going to swing anyway, Agent-"

"Milton."

"You see, we haven't done anything wrong aside from not playing the game to your rules," Morgan played the false pretense of innocence.

Milton rolled his eyes, "Spare me the philosophy lesson, I've already heard it from Mac Callander."

"Mac Callander?" Arthur's voice dropped with concern.

"He was pretty shot up by the time I got to him, so really it was a mercy killing," Milton declared ruthlessly. "Slow but merciful."

"Oye, ¿eso es necesario?" Javier found it more difficult to not draw.

Milton was a killer through and through.

While Ross was a nightmare for Outlaws in 1911, Milton had hunted the most savages in the recent years and have successfully been apart of the nightmare that broken up the Van Der Linde gang. Using Micah Bell who them manipulated him, Bill, and Dutch that the rats were Arthur and John was by no means not stupid.

Arthur threw his fishing rod down, causing Ross to aim instantly at Morgan. Javier's hand slid over his holster, prepared to empty three rounds in the cabrón if he tried anything. John did the same.

"Enjoy being some rich man's toy, don't you?" Morgan snarled.

"I enjoy society, flaws and all," Milton retorted, angry, "you venerate savagery and you will die savagely. All of you."

"We're all going to die, Agent," Arthur said with a twinge of threat in his tone.

"Some of us sooner than others-" Milton flipped on his heel. "Good day, Mr. Morgan, Mr. Chicano, Mr. Van Wrinkle, I imagine we'll meet soon."

Arthur stared at him before scoffing, "I imagine so, agent..."

"Try to stay out of trouble, would you?" Ross directed at them arrogantly, notably keeping an eye on them as Arthur's hand flexed over his revolver in his holster. "We don't need you get pretty shot up like your friend back there, now, do we?" The man's laughter rang in Javier's ears.

He would never forgetting hearing that laugh as Ross tortured him for the hell of it. One time, the cabrón even allowed a cigarette to mark his shoulder, leaving an burning imprint that deliberately allocated pain down his entire body for a day.

Targeting John's family who were arguably defenseless also was on the forefront of his memory.

So much for them being the good guys, Javier reflected with a scoff.

The deaths of Hosea and Lenny was buried in his memory.

Downing both of them wouldn't be too hard on the hitman.

"Don't do it," Marston advised, placing his hands on their stomachs, to the surprise of both.

Javier have long since knew John wasn't a rat and that he was played by Micah, but what reason did he have to prevent them from shooting the two? There was none. With two bullets between the eye, they...

"Why not?" Javier and Arthur chorused at him, keeping their mutual hands on their revolvers.

"Sharpshooters. On the surrounding cliffs and trees. Milton has this place swarmed." John responded in a moment of awareness that even stole Javier's breath away. "We take 'em down, they'll come down on us faster than them wolves on that mountain."

It made sense when Javier thought about it. Milton approached some of the most dangerous outlaws in the land and would obviously have snipers around them.

Javier's reputation in Nuevo Paraíso within the years building up to 1911 wasn't a understatement by any means. He had no doubt in his abilities, but Milton's insubordinados were watching them and had plenty of cover. The moment they had their backs turns after killing two Pinkerton agents, it was likely they would be gunned down within seconds.

He'd doubted that even the man John Marston grew into would have been able to fight off that many agents at once.

Besides, Milton didn't came down here to fight. So far, the bastardo was attempting to demoralize the gang by getting to Dutch. They didn't matter, not yet.

But when they did, Javier would deal with Ross personally. No one would be able to get in the way when the Mexican had a say in it.

By the way Arthur seemed to analyze the situation before nodding, the big brother of the Van Der Linde seemed to have come to the same conclusion. How ironic, the one that they often mocked for his dumbass decisions in one way or another was the one that just saved their hides.

"Come on, we better inform Dutch of his new friends," Arthur insisted.

They gathered their catches, headed back to camp, and approached Pearsons with their bags of fish. It wouldn't be enough for a week but a few days of fish would do for the gang.

"Dutch!" Arthur rushed up to the man's tent, finding the man smoking a pipe while sitting. "We got a problem!"

"What?"

"We just found some guys out near the river. A fella name um Milton... and... um..."

"Ross," Javier reminded.

"Ross," Arthur nodded in appreciation, "and they are employees of the Pinkerton Detective Agency. And they know about the train and they know we're here."

Dutch stood up urgently. "Were you three followed?"

"No," Arthur dismissed. "We didn't know what the hell they were planning! We were thinking 'bout whacking them but John thought otherwise. They know that we're near here. And they want you, Dutch. They offered me our freedom in exchange... they did."

Dutch stared up at the camp's entrance. "Why didn't you take it?"

"Huh, very funny. Well, what do we do now?" Arthur asked.

'Well, well, well, it looks like we may be leaving much sooner.' Javier thought.

Dutch paced and stared beyond for a few seconds before walking back to them, "I say we do nothing just yet."

'Nothing?!' Javier thought frantically.

"They're just trying to scare us into doing something stupid. We've survived them mountains. We just need to stay calm."

Arthur nodded, satisfied.

"Dutch, I-" John started, sharing the same opinion as Javier.

Dutch growled, "Have a little faith, son!"

A familiar shout broke from the woods. "They got Micah!"

Lenny broke in from the forest. The young man breathed, reaching over his knees, face hot with desperation.

"Dutch! Arthur! They got Micah!"

It all started and ended with Micah Bell.

Author's note: I wasn't above killing someone here, either Milton or even Ross, but I thought about it and I'm like there's no way that approaching some of the most dangerous gunslingers Milton wouldn't have some Pinkertons positioned somewhere. And so, I gave John a moment of hindsight. The man is smarter than given credit for. If they'd killed one or both of them, in only 15 seconds, would the three would be realistically overwhelmed and killed. I don't want Javier to always have the best insight in these situations.

Now, as to why Arthur, John, and Javier went fishing, well, Javier misses them and he pretty much hates existing right now so he wants to be with his brothers. I believe in the vanilla game, Milton either already knew the Camp's area or had a good guess where because he was searching for a while so they met probably a couple of meets before Milton originally meet with Arthur. Just one of those butterfly effects.