The Angel Butcher of Rio Bravo: An RDR2 Story

xx. Family man

John.

In Colter, delivered to Abigail's embrace in pieces, John had been reunited with his family. Before then, outside of Blackwater, too; hat in hand, Tine in tow.

But bringing Jack back from his kidnapper, the rambunctious, joyful celebration the gang'd had with John, Abigail, and their boy at its core on Shady Belle's expansive lawn: he felt like part of a family, instead of just beholden to one.

That night of the party he'd slept in the room upstairs with Abigail tucked into him, Jack in his little cot on the floor; and they'd done the same every night since. John began to beg off jobs - some kind of boat heist Trelawny'd been planning, as if this gang hadn't had enough trouble on boats for one lifetime - in favour of camp duties, to stick by his son, his woman.

Serving as a guard almost daily as a result, he frequently saw Arthur and Tine gallop off, en route to something. But no jealousy, no itching trigger finger befell him.

Because he was on guard duty so often, John also had the misfortune, a couple of weeks after the party, of being the first to see what had happened to Kieran. His head was clumsily detached from his neck, held in his dead hands. After Kieran, he spotted a swarm of O'Driscolls, moving through the treeline and onto the property.

As John took cover behind a wagon and began picking off enemies, shouting for Abigail to take Jack into the house, Tine and Arthur rushed to join him. Some things had to stay the same, and he was glad of their support.

"Ain't too many," he remarked, ducking as a bullet whistled over his head. The O'Driscolls must have been hoping for prolonged shock value with what they'd done to the unfortunate Kieran, because their numbers were few.

"It's that Mrs. Adler hunting them down, I'd wager," Arthur replied, thumbing bullets into his gun, then chuckling: "Remind me to stay on her good side." John vaguely remembered the blonde woman who'd skulked around the cabin in Colter, hardly imagining her able to lift and fire a gun. But he hadn't been so effective himself, then, either.

Just as soon as it had started, the gunfire abruptly stopped. Dutch sprang from the house and bellowed after a final O'Driscoll who'd begun to run off, clutching his hat to his head with one hand and holding his britches up with the other. Tine smiled devilishly at her companions and stood just as he was due to pass, swinging the butt of her gun forward and letting the O'Driscoll break his own nose on it.

He collapsed to the dirt, red blood spurting through the fingers wrapped around his broken nose. Tine sat on his chest, stopping his writhing with her knifepoint at his throat.

"Please," he stammered, his voice muffled through his blood-stained hand, "Spare me, I'll work for you, I'll do whatever you ask."

Tine was unmoved, the Van der Linde gang surrounding the pair on the ground. "That boy you beheaded worked for us, too. You want to groom horses and shovel shit for the rest of your life?"

"Yes, please, I'll do anything." His voice wheezed slightly, Tine sitting heavy on his sternum.

She appeared to think for a moment, then frowned again, looking to Bill. "Reckon we should geld this one, so as not to take any chances."

Bill grinned. "I'll get the tongs," he made to scurry away from the gang huddle as the O'Driscoll under Tine moaned, fresh tears streaming down his cheeks. Tine slapped him.

"Stop crying, Jesus," she snapped, then pointed behind her, to where Kieran's corpse had been lain, his head carefully placed close to his neck. "Who did that?"

"Weren't me," he blurted, "I always liked Kieran."

Tine grimaced. "And yet, here you are, riding behind him while he's looking like that." The O'Driscoll opened his mouth to defend himself, argue, something; but he was cut short, Tine's knife plunging into his neck, killing him quickly. "That's enough," she muttered, wiping the blade on the dead man's shoulder before rising from her spot.