Chapter Text
The stagecoach was real nice. The seats had cushions on them and the windows had curtains that could be pulled up and down as the rider pleased. On any other day, Glen would've loved getting to ride in luxury. He hadn't left Duskridge since he'd been dumped there a decade before, and to go in such a nice fashion would've been a dream of his.
Unfortunately enough for the seventeen-year-old, he found himself sitting cramped on the floor of the 'coach, a gun pointed at his head as his kidnapper sat on the seat.
———
Only an hour prior had Glen been helping Frances at the saloon, serving drinks to the rowdy patrons celebrating Sammy Jr's 21st birthday. The face of the livery owner's son was flushed red with alcohol as he took another shot at the counter. He loosely gestured towards Glen to fill his glass again and the bartender's apprentice silently obliged.
If he were being honest, he wasn't the biggest fan of the crowd and all the noise that came with them. Frances had offered to let him take the night off, though he declined-- knowing his mentor would need the extra help with as many inebriated people as there were.
Duskridge hadn't been the place he'd seen himself ending up in at the age of seven, but he'd be stuck until he had saved up enough to find a house in a new, preferably bigger, city.
He had nothing against the people of Duskridge, they were all friendly and accommodating, it was more so the fact that his parents had abandoned him in a fairly non populated town and expected him to want to live there. He supposed the cynicism had really set in the previous year, when his parents had sent him a telegram on his sixteenth birthday.
It had been the first time they'd contacted him since they left him in Duskridge, and the idea that they got to roam free while he was unable to leave really pissed him off.
Despite his qualms with the town itself, Glen enjoyed the work that Frances gave him. He'd worked at the Dusty Widow since he was fourteen, and the steady income kept his hopes up enough that he could leave someday.
A sudden snapping of fingers a foot away from his face snapped Glen from his musings, the town's barber-- Abraham Gray-- was trying to get him to fill his glass. The apprentice tipped the bottle into the glass, pulling it away when Gray was satisfied with the amount.
Another cheer for the birthday boy erupted a few moments later, and Glen found himself wincing at the loudness of it all. He glanced at Frances, catching her eye, before gesturing towards the back door of the saloon. His mentor nodded shortly, smiling softly, before he took off, intent on getting out of the building and away from the noise for a few minutes.
Leaning against the wood paneling of the saloon, Glen shut his eyes and took in the cool night air. He could still hear yelling from inside, so he walked down the alleyway a bit more to distance himself further from the noise.
The rest of the town was fairly quiet other than the rickety sound of a stagecoach's wheels turning as they came down the road. Glen could spot faint candle lights from the windows of nearby buildings casting an orange glow through the glass panes. He breathed in a few deep breaths before turning back towards the saloon, though he didn't make it far.
The sound of the hammer on a gun being pulled back behind Glen cut through the silent night. He stopped in place and held his breath, unsure if what he heard was real or not. Slowly turning around, he saw the silver flash of a gun barrel quickly move to the side before it smashed into his temple.
He fell to the ground with little grace, only to be picked up moments later and dragged away from the alley. His vision was hazy, disoriented as the sharp pain in his head distracted him from all else.
The gravel dug sharply into his legs and back as he was brought somewhere in the middle of the main street. Glen tried to yank his arms out of his captor's grip, but the effort was useless when the gun was shoved in his face.
“Knock that out, kid,” a woman's voice bit out. “I don't wanna shoot you, but I will if you don't stand up right now.”
In the moment, Glen wished he were witty like Mister Blues or intimidating like Frances. He wished he could stand up and pull out a revolver of his own to scare the woman away. But he could do neither, so the barkeeper's apprentice stood up silently, a slight tremor running through his body, and turned to face this woman.
She had dark hair that flowed past her shoulders and pale, pale skin that reflected the moonlight with ease. Her face was twisted up in what appeared to be annoyance as she occasionally glanced to the side, looking back to the stagecoach that was behind her.
Glen had the thought to ask what she was doing, but she quickly looked back at him and started speaking. “Get in.” She punctuated the two words with a sharp jab of her gun to the open doors of the 'coach. Glen could do little but follow her directions in the hope that he wouldn't get shot.
Inside the stagecoach, he found himself going to sit on one of the seats when the woman suddenly snapped at him to get on the floor. He slid off the padded bench onto the ground and watched as the woman slid into the seat he'd been in.
After a moment he felt the stagecoach begin to move. Distantly, as Glen stared at the gun pointed to his head, he wondered what Frances was doing.
“Josiah!” The woman yelled suddenly, banging on the glass pane separating the inside of the coach from the outside. “If you don't get this thing moving faster, we're gonna have the sheriff on our asses!” There was no response for a few seconds, and the woman began to bang on the glass again.
Finally, she got a response before the pane shattered from the force of her fist. “Quiet, woman! They're gonna hear us if you keep up that noise.” The voice was gruff, sounding like it came from a man no younger than 40. “I gotta move slow anyways Marie, if we go any faster than a snail's pace they're gonna think we've got something we shouldn't!”
“Idiot, we do! The bank's gonna notice sooner or later if ya don't. Hurry. Up.” The woman-- Marie-- said, emphasizing the last few words. “Someone might notice this boy too...”
Glen could faintly hear the man grumble, “Goddamn you Marie...” as the stagecoach began to pick up speed. The gun dug harder into the side of Glen's head as he shut his eyes, hoping this was all just a sick and twisted dream.
———
Ira Mason was a simple man, he loved people, he loved parties, and he loved his wife. At the current moment, he was enjoying two of those things. Sammy Jr was a good friend of his, though Ira was a few years older than the livery owner's son, and he'd been ecstatic to hear that they were throwing him a party.
He himself wasn't partaking in the drinking, but he enjoyed the beaming faces of those around him as he put an arm around Nell's waist, pulling her close and pressing a kiss to the side of her head.
His wife laughed and nudged him in the aide before returning the gesture, hooking her own arm around him as she stared off towards the counter. Ira followed her gaze and he noticed Frances sending increasingly more worried glances towards the back door of the saloon. He looked back to Nell, silently gesturing towards the barkeep in a silent don't worry, I'll go check on her way, before walking towards Frances.
Standing at the counter, only a foot or so away from Sammy Jr, and leaned towards Frances. “Something wrong?”
She turned to him, worry pulling at her features. “It's Glen... I let him take a breather fifteen minutes ago and he hasn't come back yet,” she said quietly, “usually he just needs a few to get his head back on straight, but this is longer than normal. He didn't look too overwhelmed this time around, I'm worried something's happened to him.”
Ira nodded sympathetically. “I can go check out back if ya want, party this loud's probably just messing with him.”
“If you could... thank you Ira, I'd go myself but I'm pouring a drink every minute for these folks. Lord knows half of em aren't gonna pay until next month.” The crease between her brows softened slightly, but Ira could still see some tension in her shoulders. He smiled at her, tipping his hat, as he went behind the counter and out the exit.
The alley was empty. Ira looked to the left, looked to the right, walked to both ends and still found no brooding teenager. He frowned and looked at the dirt floor. Faintly, he could see the indents of two somethings having been dragged across the ground.
Ira followed the trail until it reached the street. Upon getting to the end, he noticed the fresh tracks of a stagecoach intersecting with two pairs of shoe prints. A dim realization began to set off in the deputy's head and he quickly ran back to the saloon.
Upon opening the door, he went to Frances' side, waiting for the woman to finish pouring a patron's drink. “I don't mean to alarm you Frances but... I think someone took Glen.”
The woman turned to him, bottle thudding on the counter (upright thankfully), a horrified expression on her face. “He's what?”
“Glen's... gone,” Ira repeated in fewer words. “I think they put him in a stagecoach, but it's hard to tell which direction they went with all the rest of the tracks.”
Frances gripped the edge of the countertop and looked out to the saloon. “We gotta get everyone to help. There's no way we can find him by ourselves.”
Ira nodded solemnly, “I'll get the sheriff and go out to Moonfall Ranch for Sugar. Get everyone's attention here, sober 'em up by any means.” Ira went to leave to go for the sheriff's, but turned back to Frances to ask “You think Moose is good at tracking more than just animals?”
“Mhm, boy's good at finding anything that moves. I'll wake him and rally everyone else who's willing to wake up. Glen might not know it, but more people care about him than he could imagine.” Frances wiped a stray tear that ran down her cheek as she headed upstairs. Ira took that as his cue to go and get sheriff Franco.
As he reached the batwing doors, the pulling of his sleeve got his attention and he turned around to see the school teacher. She was a short woman only a few years older than him with closely cropped hair and a gentle face. Ira struggled to remember her name for a moment before it clicked. “Yes Miss Maddox?”
He strained to hear her soft voice as she began to speak. “I heard your dilemma Mister Deputy and I was wonderin' if I could help in any way... I used to teach Glen at the schoolhouse...”
Ira smiled, “of course you could help, we'll need as many as we can get. Would you be willing to go and fill in the folks here on what's happening?” Bessie Maddox agreed quickly and began to get the patron's attention.
The deputy headed out of the saloon and down the street towards the sheriff's office, knowing that it was extremely likely that sheriff Franco was spending the night there.
“Sheriff?” Ira called out as he entered, “we're gonna need a lot of help...”
———
Drowsiness was beginning to take Glen. Every few moments his eyes would drift shut only for him to jerk awake when the woman would pop him on the head with the gun. He thought about the bruise that would form if he got out of this alive and hoped that it wouldn't be too bad.
Marie glared at him from her seat. “Boy, I'll shoot ya if you do something funny.”
He glanced her way for a second before refocusing on the floor. Glen wasn't too sure how long he'd been inside the stagecoach nor where they were in Duskridge-- if they were even in Duskridge anymore. All he could gather from Marie and Josiah were through their brief spats they'd have every few minutes when the stagecoach would slow and Marie would start screaming.
Eventually, a sound other than arguing arose. Glen could hear the slowly building noises of yelling... yelling from a lot of people.
The gun at his head pressed into his hair harder as Marie stilled, pulling open the curtain to look outside.
“Shit. Shit... Josiah! Josiah, they got damn near the whole town outside.” Marie shrieked, Glen caught a glimpse of the night sky outside and could see a faint glow coming from behind the stagecoach.
Josiah responded by stopping the 'coach again, “I told ya this was a bad idea, woman!” Glen wondered how the two had made it so far in life with such little competence.
“Why'd you stop it again! Go, go!” Marie started banging on the glass pane again with both hands. Apparently the commotion inspired Josiah to pick up, full speed, and Glen took the opportunity of Marie's distraction to escape.
He pushed open the stagecoach door and tumbled out, landing on the dirt and skidding across until he came to a stop, scraping his hands to hell. In front he could see Marie hanging out the side of the 'coach and waving her gun at him before realizing that she could just shoot at him.
Bullets flew by Glen, landing nowhere near him however, and he resolved to stay on the ground to avoid getting hit.
More shots rang out, this time from behind Glen, and he ducked. The next few minutes were filled with the sound of gunfire and yelling, none of which he saw due to the fact that his head was damn near buried in the dirt in an attempt to not get lead buried in him.
Finally, there was a loud crash... then silence. Glen tentatively raised his head to see what happened and noticed the stagecoach far ahead of him, tipped onto it's side. He could see the sillhouette of Sugar on his horse beside it as well as the figures of a few other people.
Realizing that those figures included the sheriff with Marie and Josiah in what seemed to be cuffs-- Glen stood up. He was safe. Behind him was a large crowd of people... it almost seemed as if the entirety of Duskridge had shown up.
A hand on his shoulder startled him and Glen turned to defend himself... only to see that it was the deputy.
“Hey Glen, good to see ya in one piece,” Deputy Mason said with a grin. “That's some shiner you got on ya.” The deputy gestured to the side of the face where he'd been hit the first time. Glen reached up to touch the tender skin.
“Yeah...”
Before he could say anything else, he noticed Frances pull apart from the crowd of people, running towards him.
“Glen!” She wrapped her apprentice into a tight hug before stepping back, hands on his arms as she took a good look at him.
“What's with all the people?” Glen asked, feeling someone stunned with the whole situation.
Deputy Mason and Frances shared a look before the Deputy turned to him. “They're here for you, buddy.”
“...No,” Glen said dumbly, disbelieving that so many people in this backwater town would come to his aid.
Frances smiled at him, “They all care, Glen. No one messes with Duskridge.”
Glen nodded slowly, a warmth in his heart. Maybe Duskridge wasn't that bad of a place to live after all...