The fire crackled softly. I opened my eyes a little from the light penetrating through my eyelids. The sky overhead has acquired a pure blue hue. The snow glistened in the sunlight. The trees, covered with frost, stood motionless. Muffled voices could be heard somewhere in the distance. Lifted my head and squinted. It turned out that I had fallen on my side, wrapped in blankets with my head, and just like that I fell asleep under the canopy of someone's tent. Curled up, a dog was sleeping next to me, warming me with its warmth, but when I began to move my numb limbs, he raised his head, pricking up ears. I carefully took a sitting position and stretched my whole body. Patted the dog on the head with caution, but he only smeared his hand with his tongue in response.
Laying my tangled hair with my palms, rubbed sleepy eyes and involuntarily looked around. There was an open chest with neatly folded men's clothes, a stack of various books on top, and a closed bag with things next to it. On the other side, apparently hidden, were weapons: a shotgun and a rifle. I frowned, remembering how my father tried to teach me to shoot and how I was hysterical, not wanting to feel this heaviness in my hands and the cold of metal.
Shaking my head, I wrapped myself more tightly in blankets, considering such a close inspection of someone's modest home indecent, and carefully got on my feet, which, as it turned out, were still without shoes.
– Hey! – I turned my head when I heard a woman's voice. – Come on, sit back down.
I stared uncomprehendingly to this approaching woman with a slightly frighteningly strict look and, obeying under a heavy gaze, fell back.
– You froze all your feet off last night, dear, – she said, sitting down opposite me, grabbing my feet with rough fingers and pulling off my socks. – Not blackened, so it won't fall off.
I gave a strangled grunt in response, surprised at her directness. She was looking at me, her dark gray eyes slightly narrowed. The dress and blouse hugged her large forms, a multicolored scarf was thrown around her neck.
– I'll give you other clothes, – the woman said, straightening up.
– Why? – I asked without thinking.
– Did you see yourself? – she replied, crossing her arms over her chest, looking like I was the slowest person in the world at the moment.
– Yeah, – I muttered softly, staring at the bloody skirt and hands. – Sorry.
– Did you stab someone for the first time? – the dark-haired woman asked, scrutinizing me with some kind of sympathetic gaze, and I nodded weakly in response. – Don't worry, you won't feel as lousy as you do now. But this it depends on how much strength there is in a person.
Then I didn't really understand what exactly she meant.
I awkwardly lowered my eyes to my hands, noticing the darkened spots of dried blood, due to which the skin acquired some kind of orange hue.
– Here, – the woman put a stack of clothes and shoes next to it. – Maybe it will be a little big. John is the smallest here, so his old clothes may well fit. Change your clothes.
– Thank you, – I nodded belatedly and looked at her. – Excuse me, but what's your name?
– Susan, – she replied, continuing to look at me with such eyes that I felt uncomfortable. – Or miss Grimshaw. As you wish.
She stepped aside, and I began to look at the clothes she had given me. Black frayed trousers and a shirt of the same color. Looking around to realize that there was no one nearby, began to carefully change clothes. The pants turned out to be long, so I had to tuck them up. The shirt was a little loose, but it was quite appropriate. Miss Grimshaw returned with a pair of brown boots that belonged to her and I tucked the edges of her trousers into them. Then the woman handed me a beige coat, which was also a little too big for me. Susan appraised me from head to toe, as I got up from the ground, and chuckled contentedly.
– Thank god you don't look like a maniac, – she said and smiled – You're very pretty.
I looked away in embarrassment, and miss Grimshaw with a grunt disappeared into another tent, from which loud male snoring could be heard. I looked around. The camp of these strangers is located on a small, snow-covered clearing among the trees, not far from the ill-fated lake. The dog ran around my legs, breathing fast. There were three tents around, a bonfire, and above it a vat, apparently with some kind of ragout, opposite a long log serving as a place for breakfast, lunch and dinner. A black horse was standing among the trees, and Ringo was standing nearby, shifting from one foot to the other.
It was quiet all around, and I, wrapping my coat more tightly, sat down on a log, stretching my legs closer to the warming fire. The frost touched my cheeks pleasantly, the sun shone directly into my eyes. Hesitating doubtfully, took a plate and even hot ragout. From the very sight of any food, drool accumulated in my mouth, and my stomach painfully rumbled.
While I was enjoying this delicious ragout, thoughtfully staring into the fire, remotely listening to the snoring from the tent, men's voices were heard behind me, accompanied by the crunch of snow underfoot.
– Is that my coat?
With a spoon in my mouth, I turned my head. Arthur was standing with a cigarette in his mouth, his eyes narrowed, and a deer carcass was hanging on one of his shoulders. The young man was big, broad-shouldered and covered the sun with himself. His gaze was frightening. As if it was his vocation to intimidate.
– Your coat? – I asked, nervously looking at myself. – I didn't... I didn't know...
– Relax, – he suddenly laughed hoarsely and slapped me on the shoulder, which made me almost drop the plate with the remains of the ragout, choking in surprise. – I won't get poorer.
– Be careful, Arthur, – next to him was a smiling blond man, whose name I still did not know. – Fragile ladies are treated quite differently, or have you forgotten?
Fragile lady? I wanted to laugh hysterically.
Arthur rolled his eyes, still grinning, and stepped aside, dropping the carcass of the animal.
– I didn't introduce myself, did I? – the stranger said, looking down at me. – My name is Hosea Matthews. And you're Joanna Starr, I remember.
– To be honest, I thought you were a foreigner, – I smiled stupidly. – You behave somehow... differently.
– I don't even know if it's lucky or unfortunately, – the man replied, glancing at the sky.
Hearing the slurping sounds, I shifted my gaze to Arthur. He was sitting opposite a dead deer and wielding a long hunting knife over it. As if sensing my gaze, he looked up and winked again. He saw how I pursed my lips in confusion, how my cheeks involuntarily lit up, and he laughed soundlessly, returning to business. As if he liked to embarrass me.
– Have you been hunting deer? – trying to forget what happened, I asked when Hosea sat down on a log next to me, and he nodded in agreement. – I don't understand... Then why did you buy that deer from me?
– I saw you there, in front of the butcher's shop, lost when he unfairly tried to lower the price, – he replied after a while of silence. – I realized that you are different from others. You behave differently...
– It's just that Hosea is trying to lead you to an important conversation, – another man's voice was heard, deep and rolling, as if all the animals were supposed to run away deep into the forest now. – And I'll help him.
I noticed mister Matthews' eyes, first a quick doubt flashed through them, and then a barely visible gratitude, addressed it seems to Dutch. The man, stretching his stiff back, sat down on a stump on the other side of the fire. He was dressed in a black shirt and some kind of garish-colored vest, and a red-and-white checkered bandana hung around his neck. Miss Grimshaw appeared behind him.
– My name is Dutch van der Linde, – the man said, leaning on his elbows. – Just in case, these are Hosea Matthews, Susan Grimshaw, Arthur Morgan and John Marston.
– The last one, it seems, has already been lost in this shitty town, – muttered Arthur, who had managed to get dirty in the blood of a deer.
– He'll be back soon, – Susan said, waving her hand, and put her hand on Dutch's shoulder, who immediately threw her off casually. – The boy can handle everything.
– Hosea wants you to join our gang, – the man said.
– Gang? – I asked, frowning.
– We're outlaws, – he explained, grinning.
– Outlaws? – I said, hardly realizing what was happening.
– Did you accidentally hit your head on the ice there? – Arthur said with a grin, wiping the blood from his hands.
– Are you some kind of criminals? – I frowned even harder, looking around at everyone.
– We're not criminals, Joanna, – Dutch moved closer. – We are outlaws. We are free and independent, and we are changing this cruel world. We rob the rich and help the poor, the way we once were. And since you're here and in no hurry, you have nothing to lose.
– So are you something like Robin Hood? – I asked cautiously after a short silence.
– Even better, – said Arthur smiling, and everyone laughed softly in response.
I thoughtfully ran my eyes over each one again. They were waiting for my answer. Being an outlaw? A bandit?
– But what can I do? – I said, looking down at my hands. – I'm only fifteen, and I don't know much, and I need to be useful in a gang.
– Don't worry, – Hosea squeezed my shoulder approvingly. – We'll teach you everything. Arthur was fourteen when we found him, and John was twelve.
The latter seemed to feel that we were talking about him. Out of breath, he jumped off his horse, adjusting his hat.
– How's the situation? – Dutch asked, straightening up.
– Tense, – John's eyes seemed to be trying to get into my head, and in his hand he held a folded piece of paper, which he handed to Morgan.
– Damn! – Arthur laughed with an impression and, showing us, as it turned out, a poster, poked my painted face with his finger. — Yes, you're definitely an outlaw now, girl!
– What?! – I jumped to my feet and grabbed the sheet.
"WANTED for ATTEMPTED MURDER and CAUSING PHYSICAL HARM.
THE REWARD IS $70.
JOANNA STARR.
Attacked her own family. Unwell.
It is necessary to detain ALIVE. She was last seen in the territory of "...".
To receive the award, contact Mr. SMITH AT the SHERIFF'S STATION"
– What the hell...? – I whispered, reading the words on the yellowish paper. – Unwell?
– Tell me what happened, – I met John's searching gaze.
– You already know, – I realized it right away.
– I know, – the young man nodded, propping a tree with his shoulder. – But I'm interested in your version.
I took a quick look at everyone. Curiosity changed their faces. They can't blame me, right? Exhaling noisily through my nose, covered my face with hands. Shook my head and hugged myself by the shoulders. The looks around were too penetrating. It was like they wanted to gut me from the inside out. As if they were wondering how much I looked like them.
– My mom died a year and a half ago. She had some kind of mental disorder, she was even called crazy, and then she got sick and died as a result. I was left alone with my father and two older brothers. They started treating me like a cook or something, and sometimes... Sometimes they could, you know, touch. My father didn't care, I think. He didn't do anything.
I was silent for a second. My throat tightened from the coming tears. Raised my eyes to the sky and took a deep breath.
– The last time they got drunk. And they tried to rape me. And I hated them, you know? And there's no one to help. So I grabbed a knife. First put it in the hand of one, and then in the eye of the other. And my father... He was standing there on the stairs. And saw everything. I ran away from home in what I was wearing, only managed to grab my jacket. I don't even manage a horse well, and that night it was as if he himself knew what he needed to do.
– Animals are often better and smarter than humans, – Arthur said softly, and I glanced at him, looking distantly somewhere over my shoulder.
I pursed my lips and rather abruptly wiped away the tears that had accumulated in the corners of my eyes.
– There are a lot of rumors in town, – John said, sighing. – Many people say that you are as crazy as your mother, you attacked your brothers yourself. And others say they are complete bastards and deserve it.
– Maybe I'm crazy, – I shrugged. – I don't know... But I'm not going back, and I'm certainly not sorry.
They were all looking at me. But, it seems, no one condemned. Dutch smiled encouragingly and put a big hand on my shoulder.
– Don't worry, Joanna, – the man said. – No one in this gang is sorry for what they once did.
Everyone laughed contentedly, and my insides warmed up. I looked at my face on the poster, and then miss Grimshaw snatched the sheet from my hands, tore it into pieces and threw it into the fire.
– Screw these assholes, – she said, and I grinned back at her.
There was a dog nearby, running around all this time. He sat down near the tent and, sticking out his tongue, looked at us with his head bowed.
– This is Copper, by the way, – said Arthur, and when dog heard his name, he wagged his tail.
– So, my friends, we're packing up, – Dutch clapped his hands, making me suddenly jump, and his voice just beat on my ears. – We need to move on.
– Wait, – when everyone started doing their things, Marston suddenly squinted, came closer and, taking the edges of my coat with his fingers, pushed it aside. – Are these my clothes?
– Hey, – I slapped the boy on the arm, forcing him to yell. – Now it's mine.
He silently rolled his eyes, but still smiled, and began to help the others. I caught a glimpse of a knife and a revolver glinting in the sun. I had nothing to pack, so I went up to Ringo and gratefully touched his neck. The horse snorted and lightly nudged my shoulder with his head. I grinned, stroking his muzzle. I think he was hungry.
– Here, – as if reading my thoughts, Arthur appeared next to me with an apple in his hands and a pack of oatmeal cookies.
Ringo happily ate an apple from the men's hands, who immediately patted him on the neck, which caused the horse to close his eyes. The packet of cookies was now in the bag.
– Thanks, – I nodded, watching as Morgan looked into the horse's eyes, scratching his sides. – It's like you have some kind of connection with him.
– Maybe, – he replied, grinning, and then looked at me.
Arthur was taller than me by about a head and seemed to occupy all the space around. After a pause, he reached under his jacket and took out a hunting knife. I involuntarily wanted to recoil back when the young man handed it to me, holding the blade. My eyes caught on the revolver in the holster on his belt.
– Take it, – he said, smiling out of the corner of his mouth. – I think you know how to use it.
I carefully picked up the knife and examined it. The handle was cream-colored, and the rays of the sun shimmered on the metal surface.
– Can I have a revolver? – I asked, looking up.
– Take your time, maniac, – Arthur laughed hoarsely in response. – It's a little early for such a weapon.
– But John has a revolver, – I said. – And how old is he?
– Marston is sixteen, and he already knows how to shoot perfectly, – the young man said, leaning closer. – And you still have to study, so be patient.
He grinned, suddenly pulled off his hat and threw it over my hair. It was huge and fell over my eyes. When I finally could see normally, muttering under my breath, adjusting my headdress, I realized that Arthur had already disappeared. Exhaled sharply. Looked at the knife and hid it under my coat.
Gradually, everyone began to approach their horses and load them with things. I realized that standing on the sidelines was a bad idea, and I started helping. After a while, everyone was already saddling their horses. Grunting softly, climbed onto Ringo, pushing my hair back, the hat slid over my face, and I irritably put it back in place. I didn't have time to notice how John was next to me, clearly laughing at my attempts.
– I'll come with you, – he said, grinning. – Otherwise we won't move.
I rolled my eyes, but let him take the seat, as it turned out, behind me. John wasn't a little boy either. At the age of sixteen, he was already a tall, fit and strong young man, so I was taken aback when his arms wrapped around me from both sides to grab the reins. Arthur put his horse in front of everyone in order, as Marston explained, to check the situation ahead of us. I really could have been hunted to return to my "family" and get money.
– They say you've been in a gang since you were twelve, – I said, to break the long silence on the road. – How did it happen?
– Someones wanted to hang me for theft, – John replied in such a matter-of-fact tone that every muscle tensed with anxiety. – Dutch, I could say, pulled me out of the loop and gave me another family.
– What about your family? – I asked cautiously.
– Dead, – he said shortly, but firmly, and made it clear that there would be no conversation about it.
I nodded distantly and pulled my coat tighter around me. I poked John in the face with my hat, so he took it off my head and put it in a bag on a horse.
– How old is Arthur? – looking around to make sure that Ringo was riding at a sufficient distance from everyone, I asked, asking a question that had been tormenting me for a long time.
– Twenty six, – Marston replied with a hoarse cough.
– They've been together for so many years, – I said in amazement. – Doesn't he have anyone else?
– There are too many personal questions, – the young man said, sighing and apparently regretting that he decided to ride on the same horse with me.
– Is Hosea alone too? – ignoring his words, I continued enthusiastically. – What about Dutch and miss Grimshaw?
– I'll throw you into the snow right on the move if you don't stop, – a sharp voice sounded in my ear, forcing me to press my head into my shoulders.
– I'm silent, – I muttered, holding out my hands as a sign of reconciliation.
The snow around us carefully covered the tall trees, the path under our feet, covered the wide fields. Everything sparkled under the rays of the sun, occasionally blinding the eyes. A light wind blew in my face, blowing my hair, the curls of which were intrusively climbing into John's face, who snorted irritably every now and then. Arthur returned, saying that everything was clear ahead, and then, amid interesting conversations and ringing voices, we calmly moved on.