The Angel Butcher of Rio Bravo: An RDR2 Story

xxviii. Back into the fold

John.

When John had been frogmarched out of the front gate of Sisika Penitentiary and spotted Tine, her knife to a guard's throat, it was as if he'd summoned her. From that short distance she refracted the sunlight, dazzling to behold. He ran after that light, chased it, all the way to freedom.

Closer, though, when they'd managed to get themselves into a boat and after Dutch - Dutch, who'd been waiting for them - had released him from his embrace, the effect was gone. Tine was drawn-looking, with dark circles under her eyes. Her arm was crooked, with a smile to match when she'd briefly caught his eye. Arthur and Dutch looked similarly worse for wear; their cheeks hollowed and hair and beards longer than either would normally have allowed.

But none of it mattered, save for the safety of Abigail and Jack. Dutch spoke incessantly about their travels abroad after the bank job went south; another adventure about which John didn't care to hear.

"What about Abigail, Jack?" He'd finally interrupted, trying to keep his teeth from clacking with the gait of Arthur's massive horse, "They OK?"

Dutch's reply, they're just fine, buzzed against his eardrums until they arrived at the collection of shanties that made the gang's new camp, until he walked through the front door of the main building with Dutch's arm slung protectively around his shoulder.

"Look who I found," the leader announced, holding his arms up in a showman's flourish.

"John," Abigail's greeting was little more than a breath of relief, something John heard just before she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressed her forehead into his chest. Jack rushed his shins soon after, and John felt the tension leave his body, utterly surrounded by his family. He felt hands to his shoulders and back, the gang welcoming him back into their fold. He held Abigail in turn, kissed the crown of her head, tousled Jack's hair.

He wanted nothing more than to shed himself of his prison garb - that number, 827 - and curl into a private place with Abigail and Jack. But, the gang had other plans, desperate to catch him up, so he gamely held a coffee and listened to Pearson recount the gang's hurried move northeast - "Your Abigail caught wind of those Pinkertons somehow," he said, and at John's side, she smiled to herself, bashful. Tilly praised Jack on his reading, and Mary-Beth furtively whispered that something wasn't right with Karen. Jack crouched at John's feet, playing with his wooden train.

The train sparked John's memory. "Where's Tine?" He asked absentmindedly, slowly looking around him.

"God knows where," Abigail replied, rolling her eyes. "Took off near about a month ago."

"No, she's here," John stretched his neck to see over Charles, sat before him, "but she's not here."

"What on earth are you saying, John Marston?" The question snapped out of Abigail, her previously serene expression soured.

Dutch cleared his throat. "Supposing this is news to everyone, we found Miss Nilsen on the way to you, John." John surveyed the room again, noticing half of his rescuing party - Tine and Arthur, both - absent.

"She's back?" Abigail's fingertips momentarily dug into his arm.

John loosed a nervous chuckle. "I didn't realize she'd been gone, but yeah. She came in with us. Just wondering where she went off to."

Dutch stood, then, cutting off whatever words were writhing behind Abigail's pursed lips, waiting to be unleashed. "We're a full house, or, nearly," he said, addressing the group, regret limning his baritone. "It's so good to have everyone where they belong. Of course, we've outgrown this place, as resourceful as you all were to seek it out."