Chapter Text
Javier liked to think of himself as a decent hunter. It usually took him a few hours, but he could reliably bring back one or two rabbits—sometimes more if the weather and terrain were on his side. Bill Williamson, on the other hand, was another story entirely.
Bill was loud. Every step he took seemed to find the crunchiest branch in the forest, each one snapping like gunfire under his boots. He cursed constantly, his rough voice carrying through the trees like a warning bell to every creature in earshot. Javier loved Bill like a brother, flaws and all—and the man had plenty—but after today, he swore he would never, never hunt with him again.
“Could you try to keep it down, amigo? You’re scaring away all the game,” Javier muttered, trying to keep his frustration in check.
“You try being quiet in this terrain,” Bill grumbled, tripping over an exposed root.
“I am being quiet,” Javier replied, shaking his head. “Just walk lighter.”
Bill threw his arms out. “What the hell does that even mean, Javier?!”
“It means—” Javier stopped mid-sentence, his head tilting. Voices drifted through the trees. He froze, hand instinctively going to the revolver on his hip. “¡Coño!”
“What?” Bill asked, confused.
“You don’t hear that, amigo?”
“They’re probably the ones scaring off all the game. Stay here, I’ll handle them,” Bill said, starting forward.
“Don’t be stupid, compadre. Could be bounty hunters. Best we hide and wait them out.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be back in a moment,” Bill shot over his shoulder, trudging toward the voices.
“Idiota…” Javier muttered under his breath. Of course Bill wouldn’t listen. He followed at a distance, keeping low, weaving between trees. The voices grew louder—then a gunshot cracked the stillness, followed by shouting.
Javier’s pace quickened, heart in his throat. By the time he reached the clearing, it was already too late. Bill, hogtied and cursing, was being heaved onto the back of a horse by a pair of armed bounty hunters. Javier stayed hidden, jaw clenched, watching helplessly as they rode off into the distance.
Only when he was certain they were gone did he break cover, whistling sharply for his horse. He swung into the saddle and dug his heels into the animal’s sides, racing back toward camp.
“They got Bill!” Javier yelled the moment he reached the clearing, the others already stirring at his urgent tone.
“Who’s got Bill?” Hosea demanded, rising to his feet.
“Bounty hunters! We were out hunting, heard voices, and the idiota decided to confront them. I told him—we should’ve left, but he didn’t listen, and now they’ve got him. They’ve got him!” Javier’s voice cracked with frustration.
Hosea’s brow furrowed. “Arthur’s out near Valentine right now. Ride out and find him. The two of you get Williamson back before they move him.”
Micah snorted from where he leaned against a crate. “Oh, the hell he’s gonna pay. Let’s just cut that bastard loose. All he does is sit around camp and drink. Why waste men saving him?”
“Don’t talk that way, compadre,” Javier shot back, temper flaring.
Micah sneered. “And you’re no better, always sitting by the fire with that damned guitar.”
“I hunt, I rob,” Javier snapped. “I contribute enough for both of us. Bill is Bill, but he’s my amigo.”
“Gentlemen, not now,” Dutch’s voice cut through the tension as he stepped out of his tent, his eyes narrowing at the argument. “Micah, if you’re not going to help Mr. Escuella, stand down. We’ll deal with Williamson when he returns. Javier, time is wasting—go find Arthur and bring our man back.”
Hosea nodded firmly. “He’s by Valentine. Best hurry, Javier. No telling what those bounty hunters will do to him.”
“En eso,” Javier muttered, vaulting into his saddle. He dug his heels into Boaz’s sides, the horse leaping forward in a burst of speed. His poncho snapped behind him in the wind as he pushed the animal harder, eyes scanning the rolling landscape ahead for any sign of Arthur.
Relief flooded through him when he finally spotted the familiar figure riding along the road. “Arthur! Arthur! Oh, am I glad I found you!”
“Javier?” Arthur reined in, his brow furrowing as Javier skidded to a stop beside him.
“Arthur, they got Bill,” Javier panted.
“What? Who has him?”
“Bounty men. I found their camp nearby,” Javier lied—he’d only seen where they were headed, not their exact location. “They’ve got him tied up, amigo. I’m going to take care of it. Come on!”
Arthur sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. For a moment, Javier feared he would refuse, leaving him to attempt the rescue alone.
“Sloppy Bill…” Arthur groaned.
“Yeah…” Javier admitted reluctantly. He hated speaking ill of Bill—despite his many faults, Bill had always treated Javier kindly, even back when he barely spoke English. “Well… you coming, amigo?”
Arthur grunted, adjusting in his saddle. “Alright, lead the way.”
Javier let out a shaky breath and spurred Boaz forward, Arthur’s horse thundering just behind.
“So, how’d you find him?” Arthur asked over the wind.
“We went hunting, heard voices. I told him we should hide and wait them out, but he wouldn’t listen. He never listens. They took him, and I saw their camp on my way here. Not well hidden. But it’s only a matter of time before they pack up and head to town to collect the bounty,” Javier explained.
“Guess we’re in their sights again,” Arthur muttered.
“When are we not, Arthur?” Javier replied dryly.
“Fair point,” Arthur said, a wry smile tugging at his lips.
“What’ll Dutch do?” Javier asked cautiously.
“Ain’t for me to say. Doubt Bill’ll like it, whatever it is,” Arthur said.
“He’s a problem… we all know it,” Javier muttered.
Arthur raised a brow. “Is that for me to say?”
“I… I think it is, Arthur,” Javier admitted. “He’s my damn problem, that’s for sure.”
Arthur smirked faintly. “Well, let’s save his ass first. Then figure out how to kick it.”
The bounty hunters’ camp came into view, nestled in a sparse clearing. Javier pulled up sharply. “Okay, we go on foot from here.”
Both men dismounted, tying their horses back in the brush. Javier crouched low, his revolver drawn. In the center of the camp, Bill knelt with his hands tied to a post, head hanging low.
“Stake out your position,” Javier whispered, slipping into the shadows of the trees as Arthur took up position at his flank. Together, they crept toward the camp, ready to strike
“Hey! You idiots ever hear of Dutch’s boys?! You’re gonna pay for this!” Bill’s voice carried across the clearing, brash and unbothered.
Javier clenched his jaw from his hiding spot, silently praying for the man to shut up before he got himself shot.
“You have no idea what hell’s coming your way!” Bill barked again, followed by a grunt as he struggled against his bindings.
“We’re shaking in our boots, idiot,” one of the bounty men jeered, drawing a round of laughter from the others.
Javier exhaled slowly through his nose. Dios mío, Bill…
“I’m bored listening to this son of a bitch,” another bounty hunter muttered, earning a chorus of agreement.
“Hey, let’s just take him into town and collect the bounty. Get us some money,” another suggested.
“Won’t be long before you’re tucked up in a nice, warm cell,” a man chuckled. “Then you can run your mouth all you want.”
Javier pressed his back to the tree, revolver in hand. “I’m ready when you are, Arthur,” he whispered.
Suddenly, one of the bounty hunters spun toward the tree line, eyes widening. “His friends showed up!”
Arthur was faster—his revolver cleared leather in a blink, and the man dropped dead before he could raise the alarm.
“Oh! Oh! Kill them sons of bitches!” Bill hollered, oddly delighted.
Gunfire erupted. Javier squeezed off a shot, dropping another bounty hunter, only to realize Arthur had aimed for the same man.
“Brings tears to my eyes!” Bill laughed, as if he wasn’t the one tied up in the middle of the chaos.
Bullets whistled overhead. Javier ducked behind a tree, reloading with practiced efficiency. “You’re in the wrong line of work, cabrones!” he shouted, leaning out to fire again.
Arthur had already charged the last man. “Time to die!” the bounty hunter roared, only to be tackled to the ground. Javier winced as Arthur drove his knife home, the scuffle ending in a pained grunt.
Silence settled over the clearing, broken only by the rustle of leaves and Bill’s triumphant voice. “Just in time,” he said as Javier strode toward him, revolver still in hand. Arthur, true to form, had already started rifling through the bodies for anything useful.
“Let’s go! Get me outta here!” Bill demanded, impatience clear in his tone.
“Cálmate, amigo, I’m workin’ on it,” Javier muttered, drawing his knife to cut Bill’s bindings. The ropes fell away, and Bill groaned as he stood, rubbing his wrists.
“Ugh. I owe you fellas for this,” Bill admitted.
“Damn right you do,” Arthur grunted, not looking up from the corpses.
“Well, I’m heading back to camp. Gonna find a bottle and nurse these bruises,” Bill said, stretching his sore shoulders.
“I’m headed back too. I’ll give you a ride,” Javier said, swinging back onto Boaz. Bill climbed up behind him with a grateful nod. “Thanks, Arthur!”
With that, Javier spurred his horse toward camp. Bill was free, safe, and alive, yet Javier couldn’t shake the knot of unease in his gut.
“You didn’t listen to me, idiota. I told you there were bounty men,” Javier said over his shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” Bill muttered. “Thought I could handle them.”
“Dutch told us to lie low. Lie low means hide, not fight,” Javier snapped. “Next time I say hide, you hide. ¿Me entiendes?”
“It won’t happen again. Calm down,” Bill said, his voice tight.
“Dutch isn’t gonna be happy about this,” Javier warned. “He’s gonna be very angry with you.”
“You told him?”
“Of course I told him. How else would I have known where to find Arthur? He’s always out and about, amigo. Even Micah thinks we should get out more.”
“Like hell. I go out, I get captured by hunters. I’d rather take guard duty,” Bill grumbled.
“You got captured because you’re estúpido,” Javier shot back.
“Javier!”
“I tell no lies. Pipe down now—we’re close to camp. They’re gonna be mad,” Javier said, tightening his grip on the reins as the familiar shapes of their hideout came into view.
“Took you long enough,” Micah sneered as Javier pulled Boaz to a halt at the edge of camp.
“Rescue takes time, compadre, and I—” Javier’s words cut off in a sharp grunt as Micah yanked him off the saddle, throwing him to the ground.
“Out of my way!” Micah snapped, storming past him.
“Micah!” Hosea barked, but the man was already on Bill, dragging him off the horse and slamming him to the dirt with a thud that rattled teeth.
“You lazy son of a bitch!” Micah roared, his fist connecting with Bill’s face in a sickening crack. “You’re lucky Dutch is compassionate enough to have sent a rescue. But unfortunately for you—Dutch is in town. And I am not considerate enough to forgive you.”
“Everyone gets caught eventually, Micah. Better on a hunt than on a job gone wrong,” Charles said evenly, his voice sharp with warning. “Let the man up. Let’s be reasonable about this.”
Micah turned on him, lip curling. “No. I’m done with him. I’m done with all these lazy men lounging about. Let this be a lesson to everyone—this is what happens when you’re useless!”
Each word punctuated another brutal blow. Bill’s face snapped to one side, blood flying with the force of Micah’s fists. Javier’s hands shook as he surged forward, rage boiling in his chest, but Sean grabbed his arm.
“He’ll beat you too—let it pass!” Sean hissed, straining to hold Javier back.
“He’s killing him, amigo! He’s killing him!” Javier fought against Sean’s grip, panic edging his voice.
Bill coughed a wet laugh, blood on his teeth. “You think this makes you tough, Micah?! I’ve taken worse beatings from a goddamn mule!”
Charles lunged to intervene, but Micah was already past reason. With a roar, he drove Bill to the ground, both hands locking around his throat. Bill’s boots thrashed violently against the dirt, then slowed… and stilled. His chest never rose again.
Micah released him, panting hard. He turned on Javier and Uncle, his eyes glinting with cold fury. “If the two of you don’t start pulling your weight, this’ll be you,” he spat, dropping a glob of saliva onto Bill’s lifeless body before stalking off.
“Bill!” Javier dropped to his knees beside him, shaking him violently. “Bill! Bill, wake up. Bill, wake up!” His voice cracked, desperation ringing in every syllable.
But Bill didn’t move.
Hosea knelt beside them, a heavy sigh escaping as he closed Bill’s unseeing eyes with gentle fingers. “I’ll speak with Dutch,” he said softly. “He would’ve punished him, but never like this. Micah’s gone too far.”
“He’s gone,” Javier whispered, the weight of the words hollowing him out.
Arthur rode in just as the words left his mouth. His horse slid to a stop, and he swung down, eyes wide with alarm. “What happened? We just saved him—what the hell happened?”
“Micah happened,” Charles said bitterly, stepping aside as Arthur took in the bloody scene. “We should give him a burial before Micah can ruin that too. Just outside camp—I know a place.”
Javier gave a shaky nod, numb as Arthur and Charles carefully lifted Bill’s limp body. He trailed after them in silence, down the hill toward the riverbank.
Charles led them to an old oak tree, its roots twisting like gnarled fingers into the earth. “Here?” Arthur asked quietly.
“Here. Far enough Micah won’t find it,” Charles confirmed, setting Bill gently down.
They dug in silence, the only sounds the scrape of shovels and Javier’s uneven breathing. When the grave was ready, they lowered Bill into the shallow earth. Javier stood frozen, tears cutting silent tracks down his face, whispering his goodbyes and vows of vengeance in Spanish.
Charles stacked stones into a small cairn. “We’ll use this as a marker until we can get him a proper stone.”
“I should’ve just let the bounty men have him,” Javier muttered, voice hoarse.
“What?” Charles looked up sharply. “Javier, how—”
“It wasn’t that high,” Javier said dully. “Wouldn’t have been hung. Least then he’d still be alive.”
Charles touched his shoulder gently. “Come on. Let’s get back to camp.”
But Javier shook his head. “I can’t… Lo lamento. I can’t go back. I’ll kill him. I’ll kill Micah.”
“Javier—” Arthur started.
“Valentine,” Javier interrupted. “Find me near Valentine if you need me. I’ll help when I can. But I can’t be part of something that kills a man for getting caught. I’d rather go it on my own again.”
He didn’t wait for their reply. Turning away, Javier bolted into the woods, calling for Boaz. He swung into the saddle and spurred her toward Valentine, grateful for the stash of money hidden in his saddlebags. As the camp disappeared behind him, one thought burned hotter than the rest:
Micah Bell would pay for this.
***
Javier lingered in the woods for weeks, living off whatever he could forage, the grief gnawing at him like a wound that wouldn’t close. When enough time had passed—though it never truly felt like it—he returned to Bill’s grave.
Someone had done right by his friend. A simple marker stood there now, carved with Bill’s name and a short inscription Javier couldn’t read through the blur of his tears. Maybe it was Charles who’d seen to it. Or Hosea. Or Arthur. Even Dutch, perhaps. It didn’t matter.
Being here hurt more than he’d expected, but he had to do this.
He knelt in the dirt, carefully planting the wildflowers he’d gathered over the past weeks. Each stem was pressed into the soil with quiet reverence, his hands steady despite the ache in his chest.
He remained there on his knees for what felt like an eternity, his head bowed, until the soft crunch of approaching footsteps pulled him back. Instinct made his hand go to his gun, but he froze when he saw the familiar figure.
“Arthur,” Javier breathed, his voice raw.
“Dutch has been looking for you,” Arthur said, stopping a few paces away.
“I’m camped just outside Valentine. Not hard to find.” Javier stood slowly, brushing the dirt from his hands. “He upset, no?”
“He’s worried. Very worried. It’s not like you to just take off like that,” Arthur admitted.
“You did this?” Javier asked, nodding toward the grave.
“The flowers? No.”
“Not the flowers—I did that.” Javier’s gaze lingered on the stone marker. “You do Bill right with a marker?”
Arthur shook his head. “That was Dutch.”
A small, bittersweet smile tugged at Javier’s lips. “Dutch is a good man. Still has my loyalty, he does.”
“Then why leave?” Arthur asked. “You could still come back, maybe with a slap on the wrist—especially if you bring some money.”
“Micah still around?” Javier’s tone hardened.
Arthur hesitated, then nodded.
“Then I won’t return. You tell Dutch where to find me. If he wants to hear it from me, I’ll tell him—but not in Horseshoe Overlook. We can meet in Valentine.”
“He might kill you,” Arthur warned quietly.
“Then so be it. As long as Micah is in that camp, I’ll stay away,” Javier said, his jaw set.
“Javier… don’t be a fool. You’ll die if you go on like this for too long.”
“Then bury me next to Bill,” Javier replied, swinging up onto Boaz’s back. He gave Arthur one last look, his voice steady with finality. “In Valentine, Arthur. Tell Dutch he can find me in Valentine.”
With that, Javier turned his horse and rode back toward his lonely camp, the flowers swaying gently over Bill’s resting place behind him. Unable too leave the pain of living in a world without Bill behind
Unknown to anyone at that moment, Bill Williamson woke—not in the cold ground, not in the grave Javier had wept over, but beneath a sky full of unfamiliar stars. Towering trees surrounded him, their shapes strange and wrong, and the air was sharp with the scent of pine.
A shadow fell over him. Blinking through the haze, Bill made out the figure of a young man, maybe in his early twenties, his dark hair framing a face that held no warmth. Ocean-colored eyes stared down at him, flat and unreadable.
“Are you hurt?” the stranger asked, his voice low and calm.