44. BARER OF EVIL TIDINGS

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"The bearer of evil tidings,

When he was halfway there,

Remembered that evil tidings,

Were a dangerous thing to bear."

—Robert Frost

"You know, one of these days you'll get yourself killed." Cripps said as he watched me load up my saddle bags for the day ahead. I rolled my eyes, looking back over my shoulder to him.

"Won't we all..." I muttered, pretending not to feel his disapproving stare on the back of my head. "I'll be back to annoy you soon enough."

"You'd better be, I need some supplies." He replied, humour back in his voice. I scoffed and carried on readying my bags, Cripps knew I hated supply runs, and yet always found some excuse as to why it could only be me that did them.

Once my bags were ready, I moved to stand beside him, leaning against the bloodied butchers table that he so rarely left. He handed out a cigarette and I took it from him gladly, sparking a match on the bottom of my boot. I supposed now was as good a time as ever to speak with him about what was to come next.

"We are headed to Wyoming, after all this is played out." I said, the words falling from my mouth in a tumble. I had wanted to just get it out in the open, to put it all on the table.

"Wyoming..." he sighed, as if he had been expecting it. "Well, I heard it's pretty."

"It's good for huntin' too, plenty of opportunity to expand the business." I suggested, earning a confused look in return.

"You don't want be hauling an old man around with you, surely?"

"Cripps, my home is your home. You know that." I said, flicking the ash from the end of my cigarette. He pondered for a moment; his expression much softer.

"I know that." He said quietly, fiddling with the knife in his hands. "I'll think about it, there might not be much for someone like me down that way."

"You mean there ain't no Maggie Fike in Wyoming?" I said, smirking. He gave me a nudge, hard enough to push me off the edge of the table I was leaning on. I laughed as I stumbled sideways, trying to find my footing. "Alright, alright!"

"You keep talkin' and I won't be goin' nowhere with you." He said, familiar glint in his eyes.

"Sure," I said, throwing my finished cigarette on the ground and turning to Aine. "Just think about it."

"I will." He replied, nodding back at me.

I set off towards the luscious green fields of Little Creek River, a place I had once called home. I'd left Sadie with the promise of meeting her the following afternoon at Hanging Dog Ranch, guns freshly oiled and ammo restocked. I'd made it there early, finding a good spot to leave Aine far enough away from the ranch not to be spotted. I fed her apples, saving one for myself as I laid down in the long grass. I'd missed this place, I'd missed the peaceful sounds of fresh running water, I'd missed the bite of it once submerged. It was funny, in a way, because I had come here to carry out an act that was far from peaceful. Whatever was left of the O'Driscoll's was about to be snuffed out for good. After Sadie was through with them, they would be no more than a distant scratching memory in the back of the minds of their victims.

I was under no illusion that killing the O'Driscoll's would fix everything. There would always be another gang, another group bidding for power, another woman widowed. I worried about how much stock Sadie had put in beating these men, about how she would feel when it was all said and done. Would it be a weight lifted? Or a weight added? I supposed only time would tell. The only thing I could do was be here for the friend that I had grown to cherish so dearly, and so here I was.

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