Know My Name - a RDR2 Story

Ranch Hands

Let me tell you a story about a young woman who fell into two crowds: the good and the bad.
Of course, there are pros and cons to each category, but I suppose it only depends on the way you look at it...

If you're reading this on AO3, you've already noticed the Chapter Titles changes. If you're reading this on Wattpad, ignore the next couple of notifications.

TW!: guns, violence, blood, gunshot wounds

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"That's it? Retrieve some furniture n' yer in?" Kam asked as she looked down upon Dutch from the high-up branches of a thick oak tree. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

"Well, that's what he wants me to do." Dutch commented, scratching the back of his neck that had obtained a smooth texture from the sweat of his own labor. He leaned up against the tree with his feet kicked out, thinking about the comfort of his own cot back at camp and how much he missed it. He didn't have a sleeping arrangement just yet, so he was cast out to the forest to find leisure in nature. That leisure just so happened to be calling his name in a hushed whisper.

Kam sat with her legs dangling over the sides of the thick branch, resting her overworked back on the midsection of tree while swinging her feet from 20-feet in the air. She had a stick of dried jerky in her hand that smelt like spicy seasoning. She had, of course, seasoned and dried it herself. Sure, the store-bought jerky was fine, but it didn't pack that extra punch Kam was looking for. She would have offered Dutch some, but she had seen him go in for a glass of whiskey, so she wasn't exactly thrilled that he didn't share.
Sharing is caring, but she didn't care.

"When does he want you t' go get it?" she asked after swallowing the dry meat.

"Tomorrow morning." he answered as he slid his butt down onto the ground with his back leaned up against the tree. He heaved an exhausted sigh and a low grunt. His muscles were tingling, and he desperately needed the relief of a soft bed after sitting on a train for 60 hours or so.

"Great. I'll come with." Dutch looked up at her with a questioning but sarcastic expression. She didn't look back down at him, but she knew what his gaze felt like. It felt like Colm's. Hard, tough, unwavering, but with a sense of encouragement and trust.

"And how, pray tell, do you plan to do that?"
"You find out where the wagon is stored, you tell me, I'll hide in the wagon, you drive it back, I jump out on Wednesday."
"You plan to hide in the wagon for two days?"
"Easy way in, no one spots me, an' I have the element o' surprise. It's perfect."
"I don't like it..."
"Hey, you ain't the one riskin' bein' caught." she grabbed an apple from her side satchel and dropped it right between Dutch's spread legs, nearly hitting him in the head. "Try not t' fry yer brain thinkin' too hard."

The chuckle that erupted from Dutch's throat was quiet, but Kam heard it, nonetheless. Both outlaws, undercover and hiding, fell asleep to the sounds of mooing cattle and the wind drifting the crops to the side as the night sky lit up with bright, glimmering stars.

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"Come on, kid. It ain't that hard."

"I'm trying... it's just..."

"Look, if you want to eat tonight, then you gotta kill it."

A small girl at the ripe age of 14 with long, curly black hair quivered slightly as her hands shook, the Volcanic Revolver shaking in her beaten down and battered hands. An older man with gray hair, expensive clothing, and a lit cigar leaned over her. They both crouched amongst the trees, hiding in the bushes as to not scare away the white-tailed buck ahead of them.