The Angel Butcher of Rio Bravo: An RDR2 Story

xlii. Approaching sunrise

John.

The Pinkertons continued to swarm the camp; the remaining gang members seeking whatever cover they could.

Abigail clung against a barrel's bowed side, and John crouched in front of her, his palm growing slick against the grip of his revolver. He was furious with her for not going with Lenny, and at the same time, overwhelmed with love that she'd stayed behind for him. 

Arthur and Tine were sitting with their backs to a crate next to them, and further along, John could see Dutch, Javier, and Bill; all huddled together behind Pearson's wagon. Dutch winced as Agent Ross called out: "Come on out, Van der Linde."

"Can't you just let us alone." John heard in Dutch's reply the beginnings of him turning on the old charm, but it only roiled in the pit of his stomach; the same charm and scheming that saw him, Arthur, and Tine nearly facing the noose.

But it didn't seem to work, this time. "You know full well I can't," Ross said. "You actually wrote it down, you idiots. "Wedding rings. Debts. Teeth. I know you didn't come by these honestly." John peered over the barrel's top to watch Ross thumb through the gang's ledger, which he hadn't remembered seeing in months. "Unbelievable. And sure are a hell of a lot of names in here contributing, more than I'd expected. We could do to take a few more of you all in."

Next to him, John watched Arthur's face turn grave, the man tighten his grip on his own guns. Dutch's reaction was more forceful, still. 

Dutch grabbed the rescued girl and pushed the mouth of his pistol to her temple, holding her in front of him. She lowed, a horrible sound deep in her throat, and more tears carved clean tracks down her filthy face. "Wouldn't take me a minute, Ross," Dutch shouted. "Surely you'd rather do without a little more blood on your hands."

"Drop the girl," Ross sounded more annoyed than worried. "You and I both know your promises don't mean shit."

John could have sworn that most of the gang were watching the girl in distress, her eyes wide and animal-like in their panic, her slip in tatters her only modesty, but he saw Dutch, really saw him, in that moment. His expression went from angry to eerily calm, and he pulled the trigger. The girl collapsed to the ground and Mary-Beth shrieked, startling the gang and its Pinkerton onlookers and allowing them to scatter in all directions. 

The dissonant crack of repeaters and pistols echoed all around them as they ran. John scrambled after Abigail, pushing her through the dense forest up the hill that crowned the cave at Beaver Hollow. The rifle he'd given her to fight off the bear - a seeming age ago - was slung on her back; he'd missed it before. To his left, he glimpsed a flash of Tine's bright hair and Arthur's blue shirt through the trees as they bounded down toward the creek. 

John felt a tightness in his own heart, as much due to running uphill as it was to the sad state of the gang and its leader, and ahead of him, Abigail wheezed but dutifully continued her way up the hill. They reached its gentle peak and rested, hands on their knees, sucking breath, staring at each other. 

Their peace was short lived; Arthur's strained voice yelling Tine reverberated through the trees, reaching them at their sanctuary. John looked to Abigail in a desperation, his still-pounding heart sinking at the thought of another fight. But she surprised him, already running down the hill toward the sound, the rifle clutched in her fingers. He dashed after her, his feet wayfinding over tree roots and small pits in the ground, all of his focus on his three beloveds.