June 6, 1883
-Liberty-
The sun is starting to rise. I lean against the door frame of the hunting shack, and light a cigarette I pulled from the pocket of the Frenchmen. It's my turn to keep watch while Justin and Jesus are resting. Justin certainly needs it the most, so after we patched him up, he damn near passed out. Jesus didn't sleep at all, so even when he's supposed to be getting some sleep, he sits on a chair with his gun at the ready.
We carried the men out of the shack and tossed them behind back. We laid the bodies out in a neat row as respectful as we could. Certainly more respect than these men deserved.
Jesus joins me at the door, and I offer him a cigarette which he declines.
"We need somewhere to go," I say, tapping the ash outside the door.
"I got a place in mind," Jesus says, then looks over at the room where Justin is sleeping. "Once he's ready for travel, we'll head further west."
"Where do you have in mind?" I ask.
"The old Sheriff of Utopia staked some land out after Leavenworth arrived. I visit from time to time," he says, and I nod, then realize I'm going to go to the former Sheriff after I murdered the current.
"What does that mean for me?" I ask, and he looks at me. "Considering I killed his replacement."
"Mutually trying not to die creates strange bed fellows," he says, and I take a puff. "We'll cross the bridge when we get there."
We're both silent for a minute, and I break the quiet with a question.
"So, you're not Mexican?" I ask, and he grins a little.
"I'm from Texas," he says. "My parents are Mexican though. You?"
"New Jersey," I say, flicking the cigarette out the door. "Parents are from New Jersey though," I continue, making him chuckle a little.
"How did Sigmund get your brother killed?" he asks, and I'm quiet again. "You don't have to talk about it."
"Leavenworth was a merchant boat Captain during the war, my brother worked for him. The rebels captured them at open water and held them at Castle Thunder. They were put on military trial for being spies. They weren't, but Leavenworth gave a false confession and said my brother was. They shot him soon after."
"What if your brother was?" he asks.
"If he was, I would have been damned proud of him regardless," I say, and he kind of nods. "Leavenworth was the last on my list. I killed the Commander of Castle Thunder first, then the man who pulled the trigger. The Captain of the Confederate ship and his first mate were next. Last was Leavenworth."
"How long did that take?"
"Years. I started this three years ago," I say, and we both hear some noise from the room. Justin limps out, holding his left hand which was likely still throbbing from one and half fingers getting cut off. "You good?"
"Define good," he says, and takes the chair Jesus was just sitting in. On the table was a bottle of whiskey that he takes a hearty gulp from. Not even a cough.
"You a good drinker?" I ask, but he ignores the question. "Jesus, fill him in."
"I know someone who could give us some shelter until we sort this thing out," Jesus says, and Justin takes another sip, gesturing for him to continue. "Damon has a homestead further west, maybe a few hours. We could get there before noon."
"Damon Killian?" he asks, and Jesus nods. "That gonna be a problem with the Sheriff killer here?"
"We could leave a few things out," Jesus suggests, and Justin shrugs.
"When do we move?" I ask.
"As soon as he's ready," Jesus says, then looks at Justin again.
"I can handle the ride," Justin says, standing up slowly, finishing the bottle and placing it back on the table. "Let's get moving."
--
June 6, 1883
-Jesus-
I can tell just by looking at him the ride is rough for Justin. He's a tough son of a bitch, so he doesn't say anything about the discomfort. He grunts as Liberty leads the horse, but we don't stop for anything.
The sun is at its peak when I can see the outlines of a structure in the distance. We are getting close to Damon's. I can see his home and the barn slowly taking shape as we approach.
The old man must have heard the hooves because I see someone stepping off the porch with a rifle or shotgun over his shoulder. In just a minute I can see it is Damon, and he lowers the gun and places it against the side of his porch.
I stop the horse just in front of his property and hitch it on a slab of wood he's likely hammered in for just that purpose. Damon is walking at me as I'm walking toward him, and when we meet in the middle, he wraps me in a big hug.
Damon Killian and I go back a long time. He was my Sergeant during the war with the Indians, and I survived the battle of Little Bighorn under his leadership. Thankfully we were under the command of Major Reno and not Custer, otherwise we'd be dead. We didn't survive the battle because of Reno; he was just as foolish that day.
Damon has aged as well as any soldier has, which is horribly. He is a shell of the man I first met all those years ago, and he was old when I met him. He fought in the war with the south under Sherman and fought in his entire campaign. His sturdy frame has degraded into a corn stalk. He looks as if a large breeze would blow him down.
"Our lord and savior," he says with a laugh. "Hola."
"Your Spanish still sucks," I say, and he laughs again. I hear the door shut and look up the porch to see his daughter Jessica approaching. "Hola Senorita."
Jessica looks as vibrant as ever. A young widow who's been living with her father since her husband died at Little Bighorn. He was one of those unfortunate bastards who was with Custer. Unlike her father's ashen grey hair, her hair is a brown so dark it doesn't shimmer.
"Good to see you Jesus," she says, wrapping me in a hug as well. She then looks past me and to Liberty helping Justin off the horse. "You brought friends?"
"Not quite," I say, and Damon looks at me, then at them. I'm surprised it took him this long to notice how injured we look.
"You all look like you've been through hell," Damon says, and I nod. "We'll talk inside. Jessie, get some coffee ready."
"Yes daddy," Jessica says, and starts making her way back inside.
We all take seats inside while Jessica works on the coffee, pouring us all a portion in mismatching cups.
"Sorry the cups ain't the same, we usually don't have this much company," Jessica says, and we all ensure her it's perfectly all right. "Why do you all look like something a cat coughed up?"
All three of us look at each other, and Justin decides to lead the explanation. Damon quietly sips his coffee and listens, stopping to ask a question every couple of minutes. For now, he leaves out the fact Sigmund is dead, and the girl in his home pulled the trigger. When we explain the stagecoach getting robbed, he laughs out loud.
