Snake Skin | John Marston

Next Generation Gunslinger

Arthur led the horses on the open road while the other men chatted nearby.

"You find a good spot, wolfman?" Arthur asked.

"Yeah..." John replied. "...follow the trail southwest. There's a spot that's remote but should still give us enough time to spot the oil wagon."

Y/N had figured out the backstory behind John's facial scars—wolves. He had been attacked by wild wolves. Now it all made sense. She mentally noted this and resolved that someday she would ask John what it was like, just to tease him about it.

"They see this blocking the tracks, they'll stop soon enough," Arthur said calmly.

"See? This is what I mean!" Sean complained. "I disappear for a couple of weeks, and you cut me out of all the action."

"Just the action that requires a brain," John joked. Y/N chuckled at his comment, and John noticed her amusement. He wasn't the type to share his thoughts openly, and he would have felt embarrassed if his crew knew that he had found himself thinking of Y/N more than once since they met. He wasn't in love, but he was genuinely curious about where she came from and why the price on her head was so high.

Sean laughed sarcastically. "Ah, you're a funny feller, John Marston. What do folks say? You had your feet up playin' sick, fondling that new scar?"

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Stay close on this. Wouldn't want you getting scratched up by a squirrel or something. That could put you out of commission for the rest of the year."

"Why do you speak so much, Sean?" Y/N asked, riding close to the wagon.

"'Cause I still got some blood in me veins! These old bastards have forgotten how to live."

"I blame these two for rescuing him," John said, glancing at Y/N.

"Too much trouble for what we got out of it..." Arthur added.

"Yeah, it takes a whole army of bounty hunters to bring in Sean MacGuire," Sean boasted.

After a bit of travel, the outlaws reached their destination. They positioned the oil wagon right on the train tracks and freed the horses. Arthur, stepping into the leader's role, spoke up. "Charles, you deal with the engineer. John, secure the passenger car fast. Take charitable donations and make sure everyone behaves. Little Mister MacGuire, you focus on the baggage car. Grab any valuables you can find."

They all agreed, and then Sean asked, "So, what are you doing?"

"I'll make sure that train stops, no matter what," Arthur answered.

"What about the law?" Sean inquired again, his curiosity relentless.

Y/N groaned quietly, adjusting her position in the saddle. "We're in the middle of nowhere. It'll take a while for word to get to the law."

"But we should still move quick," John added, and Y/N nodded in agreement.

"Aye aye, scarface," Sean commented, turning to Y/N. "But what are you doin' anyway, little bird?"

"Oh, shut up, please," Charles complained.

"Yeah, Arthur, what am I doing?" Y/N asked sarcastically as she dismounted her horse.

"You?" Arthur pointed at her. "You keep an eye out for the law, locals, anyone or anything. You sense hostility, you make 'em bite a bullet, Golden Cobra."

Y/N flinched at the nickname but kept her confident facade. She wasn't just another face in the gang; she was part of this life, and she intended to prove it. Arthur then gestured toward the three men. "Mister Smith, Mister Marston, Mister MacGuire, get over there!" He pointed to some nearby trees. "When she slows... board her."

They all felt the ground tremble as the train approached. Everyone ran for cover, but Arthur climbed onto the oil wagon, weapon in hand, waiting for the right moment.

"Dramatic," Y/N noted, grinning. "I like it!" She dashed to find her own cover behind some rocks. Her job was to protect them from the outside, and she took that responsibility seriously.

Suddenly, the train appeared, but the driver didn't waste any time and began to slow down, stopping just before hitting the oil wagon. Y/N watched from her hiding spot as the boys sprang into action. They boarded the train, leaving her outside to scan the area. After a few tense minutes, she glanced around one last time, stretched her bandana over her face, and made her way to the train, boarding it.

The first person she saw was John Marston. He quickly noticed her and approached. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm good. We're good," she replied.

"Did you see anyone?" he asked as he led her to the next car.

"If I did, they're dead meat. Don't worry, John."

"Here," he said, handing her a sack almost full of cash and valuable jewelry. "Hold it."

She nodded, following John as he terrorized the rich, snobby passengers into giving up everything they had. After a while, they heard gunshots. Both hunched down, moving cautiously to the end of the train, weapons drawn.

The scene became quiet, and John nodded at Arthur.

"Close call," John muttered, turning to face the exit of the car. Y/N followed right behind him.

"Yeah, scarface," she replied, throwing in a joke for good measure.

He sharply turned to her. "Don't. Don't be like Sean. He's giving us enough trouble; I don't want another one around."

"What do you mean around? You think I'm staying with you guys?" she challenged, leaning against the doorway.

Before John could respond, they both noticed someone approaching. Two lawmen rode up slowly, eyes scanning the train.

John grabbed Y/N by her wrist and dragged her to cover behind some wooden boxes.

He signaled her to keep quiet, putting a finger to his lips. She nodded, pursing her lips and waiting for something to happen.

"Come out of the train now! Do ya hear?" one of the officers yelled, clearly aware of the situation.

"We said— you men come out now!" the other raised his voice, echoing his partner.

"Men?" Y/N whispered to John, her tone laced with mockery as she pointed her revolver.

John clicked his tongue and shook his head, a mix of disappointment and amusement in his eyes. "That's what you're most concerned about? We're about to get shot at, Miss."

Not fully paying attention, Y/N peeked over the boxes and spotted two more lawmen gathering nearby. She scoffed, pulled down her mask, and stood up from her cover. The lawmen noticed her immediately.

"What in hell's name are you doing, Y/N?" John hissed, still crouched.

Y/N put on a façade of a scared, helpless woman. "You wouldn't hurt a poor lady, now would ya, gents?"

The lawmen looked confused, and before they could react, Y/N swiftly pulled out both her revolvers and aimed straight at them. Without hesitation, she shot all four men off their mounts, watching as their horses bolted in panic. All the outlaws stared in awe at the young woman. John looked up at her, speechless.

At that moment, the outlaws realized what they were dealing with. That was a gunslinger of the next generation—precise, fast, and fierce—just like a cobra.