NOTHING GOLD CAN STAY: RDR2

5. WHEN OTHERS ARE SLEEPING

"The leaves are all dead on the ground,

Save those that the oak is keeping

To ravel them one by one

And let them go scraping and creeping

Out over the crusted snow,

When others are sleeping."

- Robert Frost

Cripps had had a few things to say when I arrived back at camp, almost a whole day later than he had expected me. He had told me he was worried sick, that he'd barely slept, that he thought the worst had happened...all while furiously pulling the liquor out of the saddle bags with shaking hands. I asked him to play the harmonica, it's perhaps the fastest anyone had ever told me no. The rest of the evening was spent on opposite ends of the camp. He eventually drank himself to sleep, I wondered over to remove the bottle from his hands. Empty already.

I lit a cigarette and sat by the fire to warm my feet. I'd not given much thought to what I would do if Cripps were to die. He was and old man and he didn't exactly take care of himself. Would I continue with business? Could I continue the business? He had all the contacts; he prepared all the product. All I did was shoot and drive wagons. No, I couldn't do it alone. What else was there? I could always take up bounty hunting full time? Maybe see if Maggie Fike would let me work for her? I could go back to selling pelts for scraps? I didn't need much to get by.

I blew out smoke as I looked over at Cripps' sleeping form, curled up in the back of the wagon, his chest rose and fell silently. The movement was the only confirmation that he was still alive. Is there anything I could do to keep him around? Perhaps he would drink less if he had to ride to Valentine himself. Perhaps he would end up in the saloon. I ran my fingers through my hair in frustration, deciding there was nothing I could ever force the man to do, or not do. Even for his own good. Whatever happened, happened. And I would keep moving. I had to keep moving.

I was so caught up in my spiralling thoughts that I hadn't noticed how quiet it was. I hadn't noticed the lack of grazing pronghorns, or the sudden weight in the atmosphere.

I hadn't noticed, not until it was too late.

I reached for my gun, but they were already on me. A rag was shoved in my mouth before I had the chance to let out a scream, the shrill laughter of the attackers rang in my ears, drowning out my struggle. I kicked wildly in every direction and threw my body left to right in a desperate attempt to get free. But two pairs of hands pinned me down as my head was shoved into the dirt with great force, my arms pulled behind my back in an unnatural position. I looked up to see the tip of a boot, and then nothing.

There was nothing. No oblivion. No white light. No hand reaching out through the darkness. Just nothing.

And then suddenly I was falling back to earth. The sound of the fire and the smell of cooked meat. The loud, high-pitched shriek of the intruder's laughter. The overwhelming pain in the side of my head.

I opened my eyes and looked around wildly, my hands were tied to the hitching post behind my back, I had been propped up onto my knees, Aine was nowhere to be seen. I looked towards the wagon and squinted, trying to make out the details through my blurred vision. I could just about make out Cripps' curled up figure, had they not noticed him? Had they already killed him?

"Well, lookie here!" One of them shouted, he was drunk. Even with my limited function I could tell he was drunk. "She's up! Roy, she'd up!"

Roy. The one with the thick moustache was Roy. I'll remember that.