The Angel Butcher of Rio Bravo: An RDR2 Story

i. "Damn Norwegian"

Arthur.

Dutch Van der Linde huffed another long sigh, hot vapour streaming from his lips in the freezing air, staring at the two men who knew him most. Hosea Matthews, leant against the mantel of the fireplace, trying to return the warmth to his bones, and Arthur Morgan, sat across from him, his heavy blue duffel coat buttoned up to the neck. The three men shivered in unison, teeth all but chattering in the small cabin they'd claimed as their own, the warped wooden boards that made up its walls no match for the storm howling outside.

"What should we do with the woman?" Hosea asked, cupping his fingers to his lips and blowing on them, as if it'd do anything.

"She might not feel safe in her home, yet," Dutch said, stealing a glance through the window back toward the main building in Colter, where Sadie Adler, a widow they'd just rescued from the clutches of the O'Driscoll gang, was being fed and clothed by the women. Her rescue was yet another unpredicted development in a devastating day; the capstone to the gang's fleeing north in an unseasonable snowstorm, less a good handful of their members after their planned robbery in Blackwater became an unmitigated disaster.

"She were real frightened," Arthur added quietly, his radiant blue-green eyes cast down to the floor. "Can't imagine what Colm and those fellers gone and done to her."

Dutch nodded, saying, "we'll keep her as long as she wants to be kept, I guess" as the door to their shared cabin opened, inviting a rush of wind and a snow-covered figure inside. Tine Nilsen shook snowflakes off the brim of her hat, revealing a head of white-blonde hair, pale blue eyes, a sweet, heart-shaped face.

Arthur knew that her angelic countenance belied the devil's plaything. Tine was brutal and merciless; while the Van der Linde gang had its fair share of killers, she was the only one with a moniker on her wanted poster: "The Butcher of Rio Bravo."

Fortunately to Arthur - or unfortunately, depending on which day he was asked - she was also effective. Out scouting just hours before, she'd found the Adler homestead, and Sadie, too. And he realized it likely that the traumatized widow wouldn't have left with them had Tine not been there.

Now before them, Hosea and Dutch nodding in greeting, Tine removed her overcoat and gloves, just the apples of her cheeks rosy, wisps of her white-blonde hair gilded copper in the firelight. "Damn Norwegian," Dutch guffawed, prompting a smile from Tine. "Real good work today, Miss Nilsen. We need another half dozen like you."

Her smile broadened at the praise as the thought of six more bloodthirsty Tines in the gang curdled Arthur's stomach.

"Mmm," she hummed noncommittally, the smile fading from her face. "Where's John gone?"

"Out scouting, same as you," Dutch replied, the brief humour that had found its way into his deep voice once again absent. "Hope he finds us some food." Dutch's lover, Molly O'Shea, emerged from their shared bedroom, leaning against the doorframe. Dutch stood, scratching at the dark curls that sprung from the nape of his neck. "I'm going to turn in, you three. It's... it's been a day." Dutch's expression said what he couldn't bear to admit twice; that the Blackwater job had been a failure, nearly ruined them.

Molly curled her fingers around his upper arm and led him into the room, his shoulders visibly slumping as the door closed. Hosea mumbled more of the same and left the room, only Arthur and Tine remaining in front of the fire. She moved to Dutch's vacated chair and plunked into it, kicking out her legs, the brass points of her boots occasionally waving back and forth.

For a while, there was only silence, Tine toying with her knife, wood crackling in the fireplace, Arthur's stuttered, shivering exhales from the cigarette he'd lit with fingers trembling from cold.