Chapter Text
At the Horseshoe Overlook camp, Tilly and Mary-Beth were taking a rest from scrubbing clothes with water, taking advantage of the fact that Miss Grimshaw was trying to talk to a barely sober Karen.
“Miss Jones! I think the girls could use an extra pair of hands!” she gestured with a hand to the girls. When Miss Grimshaw turned to look at them, they were already scrubbing the clothes and fabrics again.
“What about Molly? She ain't doing nothin’ all day!” Karen grinned, a bottle of booze in her hand.
“Oh, you know how she is.” she rested both hands in her hips, her voice a resigned critic.
The silent didn't last long anyway, some hooves could be heard nearing the tents. Of course, The Count was leading the group behind them both. On top of him, Dutch was holding… something? A piece of metal apparently, shaped in an abstract, blocky way. It even casted a faint light. Looked like a lantern that went through ten wars.
Sean, pretending to do guard, acknowledged the group of men with an absent nod, and the object caught his attention with a small flash of light, like it could blink.
“That's all you robbed from that train? A lantern?” he guffawed. But couldn’t lie about his own curiosity towards the piece of metal.
“It ain't no lantern, boy! It's…” Dutch tried to come up with something, like he did for the whole ride home.
Karen stood up in wobbly steps, and let out a loud laugh. While Miss Grimshaw instinctively placed a hand on the drunk's back, like a mother trying to teach her kid to ride a bike.
“The hell is that?” Karen chuckled out.
“We don't know, but… We'll figure it out, as always! Right, Hosea?” Dutch spoke with that classic calm that always came before his speeches.
Hosea sighed heavily, climbing down his horse.
“Let's not do anything stupid to find out, please.” the old man stated. It never really worked.
“Yes, yes…” Dutch muttered, distracted by another flash coming from the inside of the object. He was examining it, but it felt like trying to do a staring contest with the sun himself.
Just next to Dutch, Arthur and Hosea stared at the artifact Dutch was holding, equally intrigued as anyone else. Even Charles approached to take a look, but Micah shoved him to eye the object before him.
Charles wanted to punch him right on the face, but contained himself by breathing in fresh air.
The men inspected whatever the thing was, it looked like some sort of mechanism, the edges were too clean and the wires too straight.
“2019?” Arthur frowned in a mutter.
On the other side, Micah wasn’t questioning the words and digits on it.
“You think we can sell the pieces separately?”
“What’s this button?” Dutch thought out loud.
“Don’t you dare to press it, Dutch.” Hosea warned wisely, a hand on Dutch’s shoulder.
Everyone had questions, nobody had answers. But Dutch had some type of illness in his damn brain because he didn’t hesitate, he didn’t think twice, or once, to press the red button like a kid playing with a gun.
Suddenly, a flash worthy of blinding them all emerged from the device, along with a breeze that seemed to come out of it, hitting the tents, and the light making the horses squeal. Was it an explosion? No, they were all in one piece, same with the camp, same with the horses and the chickens.
They were fine. In the exact same place, no one moved, no one died, nothing happened, except for a few big details that they didn’t notice yet.
“What the hell was that?” Molly emerged from the central tent, her eyes squinting after the flash was gone.
“Of course you didn’t listen… I said we was going to figure it out!” Dutch recalled.
Arthur blinked, noticing some of the members coughing, but everyone stopping their duties, joining in a circle as a concerned group. The air felt different, heavier. Not because of the tension, but more because it even smelled odd. He looked around. Trees weren’t as abundant as before, some were cut down in that strange flash.
A loud, low noise was heard, above in the sky. Instinctively, the gang looked up.
“That is a damn big bird!” Uncle cackled out, happy that the previous flash didn’t make his whisky disappear.
“That ain’t no bird…” Arthur murmured in confusion.
“I bet… Cough! —half-breed! —cough! Charles can tell what bird it is!” Micah’s cough trailed off to his cynical chuckle, looking at the man with the most patience in the world.
“Don’t bet a penny, then, because all I know is that if you keep up with that, I won’t doubt to put a bullet in your skull, Micah.”
The patience didn’t linger much, after all.
“Can that thing shut up?” Charles sighed out, staring at the shining bird, annoyed by that metallic, loud sound that made the trees tremble.
“What? Micah? That won’t be easy.” Arthur said with a faint smile.
“Are we gonna ignore the fact that some trees are just… gone?” Javier interrupted, just like the flash interrupted him while trying to brush his horse Boaz.
“I think the giant bird is more interesting” Lenny spoke up, as the gang saw the so-called bird leave. Its noise eventually died in the distance.
Outside of the circle the gang had formed, Dutch and Hosea were already discussing the strange device. Did that thing just cut some of the trees down? Made a giant shining metallic bird appear in the sky? The air heavier? What if they pressed the button again? Could they change the settled number on the artifact?
Their questions lingered, yet stopped as they heard a clear voice, unknown. Dutch’s hand immediately resting on the butt of his revolver, not drawing it, yet.
“Hey, guys, do you have a permit to set up camp here?” the stranger asked, dressed in a funny, simple blue suit. He looked like a sheriff, but his medal wasn’t gold, it was platinum.
“Is it your land, friend?” Dutch took a step forward.
“No. But it’s someone’s. Private property.”
“The hell you mean?”
“You have to pay for a permit to camp here, we’re not in medieval times, or cowboy times.” the stranger laughed briefly.
“But we are in 1899.” Hosea said.
“What?” the sheriff-looking stranger frowned, as he chewed on something. Maybe tobacco? Tobacco that smelled like strawberry, too. “Respectfully, are you guys on any drug?” he scoffed.
Both men looked at each other, then back at the stranger, who stepped forward too, stepping on some crunchy thing.
“Ugh… people here, they don’t know the concept of a trashcan.” The man bent down to pick up the loud paper.
But he couldn’t finish the simple task. Arthur had thrown a knife to the back of his head like it was some daily activity, watching the man fall flat on the ground. Blood was already pooling around his head.
“I know that trick… they reach for their boots then try to shoot you dead.”
“Arthur!” Hosea, the voice of reasoning and thinking, was ready to scold him. But Dutch treated Arthur like a champ.
“Well done, son!” he patted Arthur’s shoulder like a parent who would cheer his son to kill a whole town.
John piped up, walking to them.
“I was going to throw him a knife first, Arthur stole my target!”
“Too slow, Marston.” Arthur chuckled.
“Don’t start, you two.” Hosea caught up to them, returning to the circle the gang was reunited in.