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Chapter 6
Javier rode Boaz through the country plains. He realized with every stride how much he'd missed that horse. Leaving Boaz behind for good and switching his saddle wasn't something that Javier'd enjoyed, but it just no longer felt like his own horse. This was the horse of the old Javier Escuella; the man who lived by a code, believed firmly in honor, and had good enough morals to at least ask questions.
And now, even through the beautiful scenery, the Mexican wondered how he was going to deal with this little problem. He knew one thing for sure; he couldn't let Arthur get TB a second time over.
"Sir!" Someone shouted.
Javier came to a halt, pondering if someone had recognized him from Blackwater. Last time, it happened a few times to a few of them. Folks who traveled all over would pin them down, trying to whack them like every desperate fool.
"Sir!" The man; a young teenager, shouted. "Sir!"
Someone gripped the side of his horse and his arm by extension. Javier looked down at the man, seeing him recoiling slightly. It was then he'd discovered that the man was just a boy. A teenager, to be more exact. With dark black curls and a small mustache.
"Thank goodness you're here! My horse got shot-poor old girl! I need to get out of here! They're some of those savages looking for me. O'Driscolls or someone."
Although the knowledge of O'Driscolls terrified him, the Mexican ain't no hero.
"Why should I care?" Javier inquired, arching his eyebrows.
"Because... Because my ma! I'm all she has left. Please, sir, help me."
"There he is!" A savage voice shouted.
Javier could have pulled on the reins and left the boy behind, likely without any detection. But looking at the young man-a kid, he was reminded of the decapitated form of Kieran dragged back to Shady Bell, and decided to get off of his horse, beckoning him to hide.
Javier withdrew his revolver in his holster, slapped Boaz on the rump to go for cover, and hid behind the nearest log perched. The O'Driscolls came out, repeaters and shotguns in their hands. The Mexican knew where they were. His senses picked them up. Without even having to look, he aimed his revolver at the first one, and caught him in the head, dropping him. The rest turned and fired.
"Behind the log!" Someone shouted, opening fire with the rest.
"Woah! Woah!" The kid looked beyond scared like Micah Bell was standing in front of them.
For some reason, Javier kept his left hand in the boy's own.
When they stopped to load their weapons - the bunch of the goddamn savages not knowing that they should have waited - the Mexican unloaded his revolver, dropping them one by one. Only one was able to reload his weapon and managed to avoid getting shot until he ducked behind a tree.
"You animal! You'd slaughtered them all!" The man was shooting with abandon, trying to get a lucky shot.
This time, instead of waiting as he did, Javier moved to the edge of the log and looked out. He'd barely seen him; his arm at least. He peeked out, and fired, catching him in the arm.
"ARGH!" The man shouted in agony.
One arm didn't work now, leaving him with a hard-working muscle. The next part was easy. The Mexican took the opportunity to put three final bullets inside the O'Driscoll, dropping him onto the ground.
"Woah, you took them all out too," the kid breathed. "You know, you remind me of my pa when he was alive."
Javier didn't say anything, merely walking over and looting their bodies, as well as picking up their ammunition. Fortunately, some of them had revolvers, even if they didn't use them.
"Gee, can you take me out of here?"
Javier was tempted to reject him. He'd already helped the little shit, didn't he? And his loyalty belonged to the gang, not to some little delinquent in the forest. But there might be more, and perhaps Javier was feeling particularly kind today...
"Where to?"
"Just the train station. I'm pretty sure I could get a horse. I got a real nice Uncle. Well, he ain't exactly an uncle, if you know what I mean but-"
"Alright, alright, climb onboard," Javier interrupted with masked irritation, not needing to hear his whole life story.
Thankfully, Boaz was a friendly horse, so she wouldn't mind a passenger. Much more than Javier deserved.
The entire time, the boy attempted to start up conversation. Upon Javier's lack of responses, mainly due to his awkwardness, he eventually fell silent, much to the appreciation of the Mexican. Stopping at the nearby station, he waited outside for some reason.
The boy returned with an older man.
"Thank you, sir, his mom would be real happy. We'd feared the worst. You're a good man."
Javier only nodded slightly, his mood lifting when the man slapped ten dollar bills in his hands. "Take care of yourself, boy."
He pulled on the reins and took off.
After a few hours, a ranch came into sight. Based on the map, Javier assumed it was the Downes ranch since there ain't much else around. Getting off of the horse, he gripped his bandana and placed it around his nose and mouth. He didn't plan to get Arthur's sickness or deal with his burdens. This wasn't one of them books. He tightened it, to make sure it was in place, before approaching.
A man was standing outside of his ranch; coughing in a small rocking chair outside, shoving his face into his hand and whacking the cough out of himself as he pushed aside the blood. The man wasn't what he'd imagined. Blue eyes and brown hair, with a walrus mustache to boot. His condition almost made Javier freeze and for a moment imagine another man in his place.
Almost.
Thomas Downes stopped coughing and breathed heavily when he noticed the form of Javier walking up. The Mexican stopped.
"You-uh..." The man managed to stand up, no doubt attempting to look intimidating, or perhaps stare death in the eye, "what do you want?"
"Why else, compadre, I have came by for a lovely conversation," Javier replied sarcastically, keeping some distance away from him. "Your debt's due, Thomas Downes."
The man bravely stepped closer, glaring at him. "I don't have the money."
That should have given Javier the motivation to shoot the man dead here. Thomas Downes participated in the downfall of his family, albeit unknowingly. He, or rather his sickness, took Arthur from the world. What reason did Javier have not to treat him as if he was just another barrier in the way of the gang? Arthur Morgan could live a healthier life without air clogging his lungs.
Javier's fingers twitched closer in the direction of his holster, "Then I'm sure you know what that means."
He was no stranger to assassination.
"It means for you to get out of here," Downes asserted. Did he not notice what Javier was reaching for? "I don't have the money and I'm not going to let some thug threaten me. I will pay the debt when I can. I ain't got nothing else to say to you."
He shrieked slightly when a revolver was right in front of his head. "Do you want to try this again, cabrón?"
"Sir, please!" The man instantly became submissive, his eyes chillingly flickering between the revolver and the man holding it. "I have a family! I hav-" Thomas Downes doubled over and started to cough, sputters of blood starting to leak from his mouth onto the clean ground. Almost instinctively, Javier took one step back; his mind processing the dilemma of the situation and the cruel irony of it all. Arthur Morgan was in front of him now, reaching for his chest as he coughed out to the world, falling on all but deaf ears. This was just all... pitiful.
"Sell your wife," Javier recommended, recalling some of the putos in Mexico who tended to make the most out of the whores, "or your place. We ain't a charity fund, Mr. Downes."
"I own more than I have!" Downes shouted in turmoil. "I can't pay it!"
The bridge of his lips twisted into a nasty grin. "Then you'll be dead in a few more days."
"Bu..." He began, only to cough again.
"You shouldn't have borrowed the money if you couldn't have paid for it," Javier said.
The door opening echoed behind him as a woman, presumably Mrs. Downes; and a younger man, likely her son, joined them. Upon seeing what was happening, the woman was terrified. She stepped bravely in front of her husband and even reached out to Javier's arm. She tried to push the gun away from him, but Javier pushed her aside mostly with ease.
"Let go of me," Javier said, threat in his tone.
"Sir, please, don't do this."
"Let go of me," Javier repeated in a darker tone. "I would hate for me to have to put a bullet in your skull, tramp."
"He's sick!"
He shrugged, "Shouldn't have borrowed money if he couldn't pay back."
"He didn't feel like he had a choice. He has a family!" She insisted. "Without your friend's loan, we would have our farm repossessed by the bank and get thrown out. My son..." Javier eyed the kid standing quietly, judging him with contempt and the slightest fear. "Please! Please. You have a family, don't you? My son already has to watch his father die. Don't speed up the process. Please, if you look inside of you..."
'You have a family, don't you?'
'You have a family, don't you?'
'You have a family, don't you?'
Those six words slammed into Javier's skull, causing his throat to thicken as if he were being swung all over again. Just like that, the Mexican was disarmed. Not of his weapon, but his will to kill the man. Those words shouldn't impact him this heavily. Javier wasn't an honorable gunslinger like Arthur and John. It was far too late for him to decide that he should go down the straight and narrow.
He knew exactly what made those people he'd killed different from this man. They were armed; a threat to him and the cause he'd fought for. But this man, and his family, was none of them. He was pitifully helpless, incapable of standing against Javier and probably even little Jack. Hell, even Uncle in his drunk state would be able to make this man plead for mercy if he'd really wanted to.
And yet... Javier still cared for his family, didn't he?
For every last soul in the gang except Micah.
While some had his priorities over others, he didn't want any of them to be victims to the impending chaos that would fall over them in the next few months... but he might not be able to stop it.
He'd betrayed, got people he'd known killed, destroyed his own morals... and yet he still cared about them.
Looking at the woman - Mrs. Downes - his heart eased. She didn't attempt to reach for the gun as she could have. As he wished for her to do so. Mierda, what was he about to do? Was he going to be proud of this? Killing a sick man who couldn't fight back and potentially his entire family...
"I know you Outlaws don't give a damn 'bout anyone but yourselves. But look at my husband..."
Oh, he looked.
He looked, alright!
Javier's eyes swayed between her and her husband, to her boy standing behind them, confused. "Do you know who I am..." He allowed a small amount of anger not felt at her to return, "-you..."
Thoughts of a woman from long ago and the sister who'd refused to interact with him filled him with trepidation. His mother was a loving woman. She protected him from the worst of Mexico, but she had only been successful with one child. His fate had been set when he'd ended up murdering a powerful, puto, high-ranking army officer in Punta Orgullo over a woman he was in love with.
"I guess I shouldn't care," she interrupted. "Your type don't ever want to fix your problems. You only want to cause pain in society and justify it because you likely have a bad hand in life. After all, it ain't like a young man like yourself woke up one day and chose to kill fellow folks. For God's sake, they sent a kid."
Did she really want to die? Affronted, he grounded out, "I'm not a kid, and it is too late for me to turn around and start reconsidering life. I have to do this."
"As long as you're alive, it's never too late, Mr." She enforced. "Even now, you're hesitating at killing a sick man. I can see the shame and guilt in your eyes. You're... You're lost, probably, but you can still stand up against your inner self. Be a good man. At least, try. Maybe it ain't all for nothing. You have to decide to be the man that you want to be for the amount of time that you have left. Help someone or help yourself."
Coughs came from the man behind them again. But now it reminded him of something else. He'd remembered when everyone lost faith in Dutch and believed that they weren't going to make it out. He'd remembered as Arthur's body began to shrink in size. When the gang fell apart, Javier took it harder than anyone.
He knew that.
And all of a sudden... he didn't feel like killing el hombre enfermo anymore.
What was he about to do in his fear?
'Murder a dying man?'
But whatever else the hell was he supposed to do? It was about surviving. If Arthur died again and Javier could have prevented it, he would never be able to forgive himself.
She pressed, cutting through his line of thinking, "My husband taught me many things, one of those things being: Redemption is possible in all, even those who fell so low. You just have to be brave enough to take it."
And Javier's throat clenched tightly.
"Do you still want to kill my husband?"
Javier thought about it and shook his head slightly. "I will... tell them that I have the debt." Luckily, he had his own money; some from his own jobs gambling in Blackwater, and the ones he'd got earlier. A few dollars more than Downes' debt. He was a killer, yes, but he found that he didn't want to go down the same path to 1911.
But if there wasn't going down for him, that only left going...
Did it?
Did it even fucking matter?
Dutch'd used him for years, expecting him and Bill to still follow him even when he was in Colombia, and even though they had little to do with him, they'd still put their name in shame. They'd tried to blame John for how things turned out. Bill, especially. Somewhere in Javier, he'd regretted how things turned out. His fate had been only his to blame, just like the rest of them. ¡Maldita sea, these folks were practically going through the same thing that they all were in the gang. Life wasn't easy out here for them.
Once upon a time, he had morals too. Morals that weren't tainted yet by remaining loyal to Dutch even in his madness and following Micah's chaotic nature. Or at least, he thought he had morals at the time. His morals came from Dutch and him creating a better life for them in America.
In the end, all of them had twelve long years to do so, and they never did.
By now, Javier lowered his arm...
And placed his weapon back in his holster. His eyes connected to hers. He was scum in Mexico. He was scum here. He didn't have anything else than to be. But Arthur was still alive. John ain't hated him yet. And Dutch... well, aside from his small bitterness and resentment, he would have to wait to see if he could save him from the crazy delusions that Micah put on about all of them.
It occurred to him. Like Heidi McCourt, Thomas Downes didn't deserve to die, and Javier didn't want to be the one to pull the trigger.
The woman grasped his shoulder before indicating him to his horse. "You're a good man or at least you can be..."
"This man your husband set himself with is a dealer. He ain't the type who will you let go until you're out of the area," Javier advised, putting more. "Here's some extra so you can get a train."
"Where can we go?" She asked, looking at the dollar bills in her hands.
"Maybe Canada or Missouri. It'll probably not help much but you'll be safe for sure." Damn, Javier didn't know much about tuberculosis and where it would be a good idea to go. It ain't like he had time to plan this all out. "Just go. You don't want them to send someone meaner than me."
"We'll be gone by tomorrow."
Enough time then. Javier nodded immediately before swinging on top of Boaz and pulling his reins, ushering him forward.
He rode back to camp, ushering through the countryside, removing the bandana along the way. By the time he was arriving back, it was reaching night. While Javier had been out at the late point of the evening, he did not doubt that someone could attempt to follow him. They were just O'Driscolls in the area after all. He approached the woods around camp shortly, pulling the reins to slow the horse as he approached. He heard a familiar voice interrupt the silence of the rustling footsteps, as well as the sound of a repeater loading.
"Who's there?!"
At the familiar voice, Javier answered, "It's Javier, Karen."
Karen approached, getting a good look at him. "Oh, hi, Javi. Ain't like you to be leaving camp without Dutch."
"Decided to take a vacation outside of camp," Javier remarked.
"You know, Arthur really needed you earlier when all of us gotten into trouble in town."
"I see," Javier retorted. "Is Tilly safe?"
"Yeah, she is," she grinned at him knowingly, "nice to know you care so much though... promise you won't get mad."
"You know I will," he stated honestly.
"Well, she and Mary-Beth went and got themselves assaulted," either she saw the rage across his face even in the dark shadow or she felt the need to assure him on impulse, "-not to worry, Mr. Morgan was there."
The possessive anger within him dimmed slightly. Javier wasn't like the men Arthur and John grew into. Not yet anyway. He still felt the call for vengeance.
"Well, gracias for telling me." He beckoned his horse forward.
He did think about starting a conversation with Tilly, especially after what happened earlier, but the young woman was asleep, probably tired after such an event, so Javier decided not to bother her. More than that, he had his own thoughts to attend to.
And they retributed.
"Aye, Javier, where were you?!"
"Decided to do a favor for Mr. Strauss," Javier shrugged. "Ain't nothing. What happened to you?" He grinned.
"Little shuffle in town," Arthur murmured.
"I hope that doesn't have to do with our two lost pioneers."
"Decided to sent Bill and Charles out looking for Sean."
Wait, what?
Oh, shit! He'd forgotten that this was around the time they were going to start freeing the little Irish.
"You sent Bill? Bill Williamson? Out to look for..." Javier started, his tone judging.
"Hey, don't give me that. Wasn't like you were around."
"But Bill?!"
"I would have sent you instead if you were there," Arthur growled.
"Oh, aight, but if he fucks this up..."
"Won't be surprised." Arthur shrugged but nodded. "Well, catch you later then."
And Javier was alone as Arthur moved away.
Left alone with his thoughts...
'I'm loyal to my family.'
'No, I won't let my child die because of Dutch. I can't.'
'I have a son, Mr. Escuella! I want him to live!'
'You're not the man I thought you were, Javier.'
'The way you left me was wrong, and the way you and Dutch left me was wrong. I hate to judge, but the way I see it, it's either me or you.'
'Redemption is possible in all, even those who fell so low. You just have to be brave enough to take it.'
Dark clouds were falling over the sky.
The rain descended from the skies, staining his clothes and the horse.
From afar, he noticed a familiar animal.
The bull.
The same bull that had haunted him for many years, coming after him in times of melody, in nightmares, to stare at him with dark beady eyes that cut through his soul. He'd seen it shortly after he befriended Micah. He'd seen it after Blackwater. He'd seen it after Sean died; Kieran, Lenny, and Hosea as well. He'd seen it after betraying Arthur and John in Beaver Hollow. He'd seen it many times throughout the years. And... at last when he died the first time. And he was looking at it again, now, still, the fur of the bull unkempt and unhealthy, and its eyes stared into his soul-no longer judgemental anymore. Just… exhausted. Conflicted.
A ray of sunrise ascended above the horizon, extending out across the land with soft black features, expanding out towards the black bull. It turned its head and watched with a dark gaze, staring out to beyond, avoided by all, ignored by all, remaining in the shadows of the den. On the outskirts, a buck and crow both looked at him, anticipating, as if preparing to stand something greater than them...
The bull came out of the den and slowly made its way into the sunlight as if coming out of the shadows for the first time in years.
