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Chapter 5
The arrival at Horseshoe Overlook proceeded just as well as it did last time.
John laid on his back at the front, wheeled on the cot of the wagon, accompanied by Tilly, Grimshaw, and Reverend, with the Mexican riding in front. Somehow, the peaceful atmosphere and the birds flying through the skies gave the false illusion of hope; the snow slowly became grasslands and the end of the lack of civilization.
It was as if Javier wasn't driving them to their deaths.
As if none of them mattered and this wasn't the beginning of the end!
Javier was very careful in ignoring harsh bumps, not wanting to risk injuring John further. The Mexican was quiet as one could be, ignoring any attempts to stir up conversation from everyone here.
The moment they'd arrived, the place was just exactly as Javier's buried memories remembered.
The Mexican knew that while it was a pretty comfortable spot it only intended to be a short-term resolution.
Just like that, the next couple of weeks proceeded on.
Javier did what he had to; helping with the chores around camp, tending to the stables, cleaning the horses, giving Kieran food and water (the boy didn't just lie), and the like. He did whatever he could, feeling at home throughout that time, and just... waiting; relaxing. In Javier's personal opinion, he hadn't been like this for years. For so long, he'd lacked any substance to keep himself moving.
Despite all the things he'd done, he'd never felt so out of place.
The actual conversation was still so odd for him.
The Mexican sat on the nearby log and started to eat his stew.
He felt nudging at his side and resisted the impulse to draw a revolver and shoot the bitch that interrupted him. The very temptation gave him immediate shame when he thought about who it was and realized who was sitting next to him.
"You look a bit better, Mr. Escuella," Tilly said softly, a small smile crossing her lips.
"Hola, Tilly," was all Javier responded with, resisting a drawn-out sigh.
"Hmph, you know," Tilly laughed slightly, "I almost thought you were in the mountain for far too long that the snow might have melted your brain."
"What do you mean?"
A small snicker came to her lips. "Come on, all of the sudden you were questioning Dutch for a while there. Everyone saw it, including Arthur. And just when I didn't think you were so independent."
The slight ashamed him even more.
Even with Bill leading a gang of violadores in 1911, Javier still stood by his side and got him into contact with some of his contacts in the Mexican Army. He'd remembered with painful clarity when the idea of ambushing John came up in a moment of intelligence in that burro's head, and still, Javier shot it down-even though John was guns blazing for him.
Yet, John was willing to stop when he had a choice when it came to Javier and Bill...
He'd remembered with the news broke out of that Culo Reyes shooting Bill. In the end, when Marston held both of them at the end of their revolvers, he couldn't pull the trigger... And yet, they were willing for him. For Arthur.
How much would things have been different if he'd been more loyal to Arthur and John in Beaver Hollow?
Just how stupidly loyal was he?
He'd killed that short-sided idiot with his loyalty. It was a terrible idea to have Bill meet someone like Allende. It was amazing that those backstabbers didn't betray Bill, as they already had their money and next to nothing to gain by protecting him.
Javier shrugged and forced a grin. "It may have been, hermosa."
"Oh," Tilly's eyes narrowed and her face fell in concern and wonder, "just what happened on that mountain?"
"I had time to... think about it all," Javier answered ominously, knowing that wasn't totally a lie. The knowledge of the horrible year of 1911 still was flesh in his memory. Sometimes, the Mexican have hallucinations that he was back there.
"You mean what happened in Blackwater?"
"Yes."
"What do you think 'bout that whole situation?" The dark-skinned woman asked, leaning closer, showing her vested interest.
Javier sighed. "Dutch fucked up."
"Well, we all did," Tilly defended instantly.
While Javier was tempted to find a way to shoo her away, the Mexican knew she would see right through him. Tilly was always smarter than she gave herself credit for. All of the women were, including Abigail.
"I had no choice," Javier replied roughly. "Didn't you ever see him after he killed that girl?"
"No... Wait, Dutch killed a girl?!" Tilly's voice broke in surprise.
"Yeah," Javier answered bitterly, tasting ashes. He realized that the events of what happened always lingered in the back of his mind somewhere, contributed by the events that followed in the months afterward, and so far, everything was going the same
"Surely, she was armed. Or something. I'm sure Dutch'll have his reasons." Tilly replied, looking slightly desperate.
Javier stared back with disappointment. Was he that blindly loyal? Did he believe so much in Dutch that it hadn't crossed his mind that the man could be wrong? Maybe when Javier could engineer a chance to get rid of Micah, it would allow Hosea and Arthur to be more appealing to the man.
Of course, that wasn't likely either.
Micah was gone for 4 years (rumored to have been on top of Mount Hagen), and Dutch's crazy side went crazier.
"I saw it for myself, Tilly. The woman was unharmed and not a threat to anyone." Javier answered absently, his voice strangely void despite the chaotic aspect within his heart. "She had no pistol, no weapon; she was just an innocent passer-by. She could have easily strapped on one of us when we weren't looking if she did."
Tilly looked torn for a moment. "It could have been an accident. Maybe Dutch didn't see her-"
"Oh no, he saw her. There was a lot of commotion, too." Javier wondered how such chain of events didn't shatter him last time. It should have made him ask all types of questions about Dutch as it did with Lenny and Hosea at first, then John, and eventually Arthur.
Yet, the Mexican had been still indoctrinated by that bloody code. He allowed Micah to get inside of his head and spew a bunch of nonsense that should have seen Javier revolting against him. He'd always known somewhere inside of him that the man was a snake; that he cared about no one but himself...
And he was too stupid to listen to goddamn reason!
Arthur and John'd tried to save him, but he just refused to listen.
Goddamn it, they were all pack of fools!
"Maybe she was pulling a piece. Out of her breast if I had to guess," Tilly pointed out. "I'm sure Dutch wouldn't whack someone for no good reason."
"There was no weapon, Tilly," Javier closed his eyes as he remembered those events. Why did it have to be him? Couldn't it have been Arthur or John?
Or better yet, both?!
"I'm sure that we're all going to be okay."
Javier's lips stretched, extending a small scar across his eyebrow. No, they weren't. Too many people died to bring Javier to the state he was in twelve years. Even knowing all that he knew, the Mexican doubted he could save them all. "I hope so."
"Dutch's plans are leaving me... uncertain. We have lost the Callander brothers and Jenny." Javier admitted. "I love Dutch. He's my father. But... But I think Micah might be bring too much heat for us to keep on going."
A pause passed.
"I see..." The dark-skinned woman stood up.
Javier did the same instinctively, gauging her reaction. Emotions crossed her face; ranging from conflict, anger, resignation, pain, and... Goddamn it, he may have said too much.
He held out his arms, "Tilly, I... I..."
She refused to fall into his arms. Oh damn, what have he done?
"I... I have to go. I-I'm go-going to g-go m-meet u-up with Ka-Karen and Ma-Mary Beth. Uncle's planning something, erm I think. S-see you later." Tilly stuttered before darting off, her yellow dress waving behind her as she moved to the wagon.
Javier sighed and stared after her, feeling like shit. But it didn't last for long. What was the point of him going back in time? Why send him back here when all did was fuck things up?
Now, Tilly may want nothing to do with him.
The Mexican wished that he was...
His legs seemed to have given up and he collapsed against the seat.
The next few hours proceeded in a blur, though Javier only left for a moment when a sudden chillness shot through the air to place his Poncho on and returned just as quickly.
His silence was cut short when Arthur approached, "There he is."
'¿Qué chingados está haciendo aquí?' Javier thought to himself.
"Hello, Arthur."
"Saw Tilly running away from you like you're some old creep in the woods," Arthur commented, taking the offered seat next to him. He then asked, "How are you, friend?"
Javier shrugged. "I'm alive."
"Fair enough," a small snort left the other man. "Well, at least the camp's peaceful. Without Sean to yap off in everyone's ear, I can finally sleep without being interrupted by his pestering."
Truth be told, while Javier had a clear memory, he remembered not much about Sean MacGuire. Blocked him out in the later years. All he could remember was when Bill rode back and Sean's head was half blown-off by those Grays. Traidores.
Despite this, Javier smirked. "Gee, Arthur, with how much you talk about our little Irish, I think you miss him almost as much as you'd missed Marston up in the mountains."
"I didn't miss Marston. Get the story straight, Javier."
"Oh, I was just imaging you looking a little nervous when we were walking." Oh, he didn't. He remembered Arthur in that blue trench coat looking around, controlling his fear with the stoicism he usually had.
"Heh, I was observing. That was Hosea's idea," Arthur deflected.
"And you agreed."
Arthur continued, "After Hosea kept going on 'bout it. Would have left him to be with the wolves as their new family if I could." By the way the man's face flickered ever so slightly that anyone not trained in the field of being a hitman or whatever else, Javier spotted the deception.
Oh, who was he trying to fool? He didn't want to lose John. It would break him. Break him as much as Sean, Kieran, Hosea, Lenny, Molly, and the falling of the gang did.
"Sure, brother. Are you going to keep pestering me?"
"Eh, you know, you should try doing some of my work, kid," Arthur persisted.
Javier grinned. "Oh, but you're so good at it, amigo."
Though he did wish he could.
Being surrounded by these ghosts of the past, the Mexican wanted to leave camp more often than not. To crawl into some dark place and avoid any detection by the law or this gang of the dead.
Edgar Ross' smirk continued to tear at his memory.
Arthur's scoff banished Javier's thoughts. "Sometimes, I would like to lounge around and do absolutely nothing, but life ain't that way, kid."
Javier's mustache twitched. "Don't I know it?"
Eyebrows raised, he offered. "Would you like to come?"
"Ay?" Javier arched his eyebrows at the man across from him. "Missing me before you're leaving, Morgan? Didn't know you could be so emotional, brother."
"Don't get all sweet on me, Javier, I ain't Tilly," Arthur rebuked, "or some other woman in a bar that you get wrap up in your little game."
"I'm one hell of an attractive man," Javier replied to the smug estúpido. He missed Arthur and constantly thought about him too. "You, on the other hand, would be more successful in talking to your hand than a woman."
"Would they still approach you if you have a bruised eye?" Arthur threatened jokingly.
"You know, in Mexico, we often overthrow the tyrannical."
"Calling me a tyrant now?" Arthur responded, "I'll have to ask Dutch to see if you can carry out horseshit for a few more days."
"Like I said, tyrannical."
"Hey, is that Uncle sleeping at the wagon?" Javier motioned.
"That old useless pile of shit," Arthur grumbled. "But still if it would help you take your mind off things... you can come with."
"Don't worry, hermano, I'll be fine."
He looked a bit disappointed, and Javier felt worse.
"Catch you later then."
Still, despite his reassurance, the Mexican felt a bit of disappointment as Arthur approached the wagon to wake up the fat fool.
Another spur of wind passed into the air, knocking against Javier's. Staring up at the white clouds, it looked like the makings of a possible storm were ahead. Not that that would ever stop any member of this gang. They'd often worked in rough conditions like blizzards, thunder, and outright tornadoes, and lived through it all.
He already knew where he was heading next before he even gave thought to his actions.
Leopold Strauss.
The man was hitched on a log, casually sitting. On any other occasion, Javier would ignore him. He didn't commonly speak to him since he was often stationed around camp-more than Arthur and John. Robbing and killing were also on the list, though that was a secondary objective. Thus, he was indifferent when he was booted out of the gang. Hell, he'd even forgotten the man existed at all.
'You and me, we ain't decent, but those folk, they was.'
At the time, Javier remembered watching from the background, pissed beyond belief at what Arthur was doing. Javier can't ever remember interacting much with the man in the four or five years he was initiated in the gang.
Somehow, even now, despite all the terrible things he'd done in Mexico and for Dutch when they'd parted from the burning Beaver Hollow, Javier still felt his gut twist at the thought of loaning money from the poor.
It wasn't right.
It ain't like he knew anything about morals or had reasons to judge the man.
The man jumped slightly when the Mexican all but appeared next to him with the sickest scowl known to mankind.
"Ah, Mr. Escuella, you-"
He only came face to face with an emotionless stare...
"Let me see your book now," Javier demanded, snatching his book away from him without permission and looking at the pages; the name still in his mind.
"Ah, you're trying to make money, Mr. Escuella?" Strauss asked, keeping any indigence out of his tone. "I didn't believe that you had any strong feelings for this time of work I do."
"I don't, compadre," Javier replied simply, looking through the page of the accountants.
Javier finally found the page and frowned, his eyes narrowing on the one name.
"Well, for possible future reference, I believe I should expla-"
"This one. He owes us a lot of money. I'll take care of him."
Strauss looked at the name and scoffed. "Oh, that one? You cannot be serious. That is a trivial matter and requires... a firmer hand."
"He is the one," Javier answered coldly.
"But-"
His glare remained. "He is the one."
"Mr-"
"¿Hay algún problema, cabrón?"
At that moment, Strauss recoiled at the venom in his tone. His voice lingered with nothing but the threat of what would happen if he didn't listen. Unintentionally, his hand drifted down to his holster, now looming over his revolver. He wouldn't have dared to threaten the fucker in public before. The man was reliable in Dutch and Hosea's eyes, maybe even more than Javier. And so, he had to play his cards right.
At his shock stare through what Javier remembered and witnessed from that usual apathetic form, Javier sighed, removed his hand from his thigh, and now laid it on his shoulder. He'd forgotten just how much charisma he had lost throughout the years.
"Mis disculpas, my apologies, friend," he replied with fake guilt, "but I want to do this. I am aware that I am no Mr. Morgan, but Arthur ain't always going to be around and it's been a while since I've done anything. I tend to get reckless." he lied. "Now give me the job or I'll go and tell Dutch that you're trying to prevent us from making money. Sure he won't be happy about that.
Strauss' expression went from severe to cold in a moment.
"Alright, Mr. Escuella," he finally relented, picking up his pencil and crossing the name. "When you have the money, put it in the deed box."
Javier nodded, "Gracias."
He made his way to Boaz, thinking in silence.
What was he going to do? What was he supposed to do? Arthur had too many folks he'd done good by. Javier met some before he'd left America. He remembered that veteran home in Saint Denis which had help from Morgan. The way he pretended not to care only to help the weak and helpless made him one of the best men out of this gang of the worst.
One way or another, he had to give Arthur a fair chance.
If Arthur was going to die, at least it would be quick and painless.
He kicked his American Paint workhorse into a gallop and began the journey to Thomas Downes' home.
