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1.
John Marston rode into Armadillo as the Sun was bleeding all over the western horizon. He was out of money again, and as much as he wanted to get his family back, a man’s gotta eat. And shoot. Especially shoot, when it came to him.
And so he was heading to the gunsmith’s. If he wanted money, his best bet was always getting bullets and putting them in people.
His big black stallion’s hooves clattered on the beaten dust. He hitched him in front of the store, and already he could hear a racket coming from inside. Great. He put his hand on his revolver. Maybe it’s a stickup he ought to stop. Or join. Whichever seems more practical in the given moment.
Walking inside, he saw a young man standing in front of the counter and shouting. The gunsmith was holding a rifle deliberately out of his reach.
“Give me the gun, Jeb!” The young man shouted and stomped his boot. His straw-colored hair shook under his hat.
“I can’t, Nick. I’m not letting you go and get yourself killed!” He pulled the rifle higher up by the barrel. “I wouldn’t do that to your mother.”
“Cassie’s been missing three days! She said she’d be back in one, and now it’s been three days and nobody’s seen her!” Nick shouted. “Give me the gun!” He pulled a fistfull of money out of his pocket and slammed it on the counter.
John walked up to him and put a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Hey there, son, careful not to burst a vein.”
Nick looked at the rugged stranger and then pushed his hand off. “Don’t touch me! What do you know, anyway?”
“I know what wise advice sounds like.” John said, sticking his thumbs in his pockets. “This man here’s right.” He pointed at the gunsmith. “There’s no sense of running into danger with your first-ever rifle.”
“But my sister!” Nick shouted. “Somethin’ must have happened to her, and I’m not leavin’ her alone!”
“Nick…” The gunsmith tried again.
“Don’t you ‘Nick’ me! I’m going to find her, rifle or no rifle!” With that, the young man turned away and began to stomp out towards the door.
John just reached out his hand and grabbed him by the collar in such a way that Nick twirled around, facing the counter again. “Hey! Stop being a moron and leave the shootin’ to us with a few more years under our belts, will you?”
The young man huffed in rage, but he didn’t say anything. He looked John over, his rough-hewn vest, the pistols at his hips, the bandolier around his chest.
“Fine.” He said finally. “But if you don’t find no news of Cassie, I’m going up myself.”
—
And so John Marston found himself riding across half the state, up to Tall Trees. The man’s sister, Cassie Boyle, had been going up to Blackwater to visit a friend when all traces of her disappeared around those woods.
Nick Boyle might’ve had a reason to worry, John thought as he rode into the woods. The trees were as tall as advertised, and they also grew on steep hills that restricted his line of sight to a couple of yards. Slant curtains of light pierced into the misty, unsettling air. His horse was stiff as he moved, his ears whipping back and forth. He wasn't whining in terror yet, but he was on edge.
John passed over the ridge of another hill only to be greeted by the near exact same view. And another. And another. He was just beginning to consider how stupid this whole endeavor was when his horse huffed and stopped. John whipped out his pistol and looked around. Nothing but birdsong and the calls of larger beasts too far away to be a problem. Then, the former outlaw looked down and saw what his horse had noticed.
He dismounted and walked closer. There was blood on the ground, large amounts of it. Bugs and ants and flies were already converging there, gorging themselves on the pungent, reddened earth. John looked up and saw a scant few drops falling from the tree above him. Its branches were low and completely barren, though the other trees all had foliage. They jutted out of each other at sharp angles. And twisted up in the branches was hair. John took a few steps back. It was human, undoubtedly. Long auburn hairs, still bunched together into strands as if they had just been pulled off of someone’s scalp.
John walked back to his horse and rode away, spurring just a little too quickly. He would not be telling Nick Boyle about this. He hoped that the young man had enough common sense of his own.
2.
John was riding by Manzanita Post after another dumb, dead-end errand forced on him by Ross. Another dozen men dead, and the government wasn’t even near sated. Every minute spent with the federal agent seemed designed by some higher power to waste John’s time.
He slowed his horse when he reached the sparse settlement, and a strange figure caught his eye. While all the others around were clearly working men, trappers and handworkers with old stained clothes, this man was small and round and wearing an almost shining blue suit. When John got closer, he realised the man was crying.
The short gentleman noticed John as well, and with a yelp he hurried up to the former outlaw. “Mister! Mister, please!”
“What is it?” John stopped his horse.
“Have you seen my friend? This man,” he said, pulling out and pointing at a photograph. Marston squinted to make out the man in it, a tall black gentleman in a fancy suit.
“No, I haven’t.”
“Oh…” The short man sighed. “It’s just that, he’s my friend, and he’s gone missing in these woods somewhere.”
“Missin’?”
“Yes! He came here about a week ago, and before he was leaving he was telling me all about how he was looking for his ‘intellectual equal’ in the woods, and he wouldn't listen when I told him there were murderers in there!” The man gestured towards the trees and then broke into sobs. “I’m just so… worried about him…!”
John put his hand on the saddle and sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.”
The short man looked up, eyes shining from tears. “You would?”
“Yeah. I’ll try to find your friend, uh…”
“I’m Franklyn Foideveraux, and his name is Tobias, Tobias Budge.” He lifted the photograph again. “See, that’s him.”
John pushed Franklyn’s reaching hands away. “Fine. Fine! I’ll look for him, ok?”
“Thank you so much, thank you!” Franklyn said through more sobs.
John rode away quickly.
—
But time slipped away from John Marston, and he found himself in Manzanita Post at dusk. He looked into the forest as it was swallowing the light like a hungry maw. He decided against braving Tall Trees that night, and instead rented a dreary little cabin near the settlement. Mr. Foideveraux’s friend could wait another night. Given that he was most likely already dead.
In the morning John set out quickly. He rode through the woods, gun ever at the ready. This time, he has his bolt action rifle, in case something bigger jumped out from the fog.
He rode in tensed silence and then there was a sudden, loud crunching. It took him a little while to hear it over his horse’s hoofsteps, which is why it had come so near. John aimed his rifle and spotted a pack of coyotes chewing on… something on the hill opposite him. He fired a warning shot into the ground a few feet away from the animals. They yipped in surprise and scattered into the fog. John rode closer, already dreading the sight.
There wasn’t much to see. The coyotes had mangled the remains, but it didn’t seem like there was much left of the victim anyway. Crushed bits of bone lay in a loose heap, streaked with red and pinkish flesh. John recognised spilt brains immediately. He turned his horse, about to avoid whatever would come to feed there next, when he spotted something in the underbrush. He sighed, pulled out his revolver and dismounted. The small gun wouldn't do him much good against a bear or wolf. Hopefully, he can pull the trigger fast enough to make up for power with the sheer mass of lead he’s going to pump into whatever might attack him.
Leaning down carefully, he reached his hand into the foliage and pulled out a small item. It was a leather shoe, still polished in spite of the mud and blood splattered on it.
John dropped the shoe and swore. These woods ought to be given a wide berth. And Marston was never a man who disregarded his own advice. He rode off in the direction of the nearest road with haste.
3.
Despite Tall Trees’s dreariness, John found himself wandering through more and more often. The principle reason for this was game, which was abundant and highly profitable for someone with a good trigger eye and no money. He just needed to be alert and ready at every moment.
So when something large and strange rustled in the bushes a couple dozen feet away, John nearly pulled the trigger immediately. If it was a buck or a wolf and it noticed him, the beast could close the distance in no time. And if it was the human animal, well, bullets travel even quicker.
But something in his gut told him to wait. Maybe it was that thing other people called common sense. Marston wasn't sure, it was a strange concept to him his whole life.
He continued breathing quietly and looking at the bush through his scope. It shook and rustled periodically, and eventually, the animal within stood up to reveal a head of hair and a pale face. Marston huffed a laugh when he noticed the man wearing glasses.
He put away his rolling block rifle and walked down the hill, careful to stay at a distance and in the cover of trees. His hands rested on his belt, comfortably close to his revolver.
“Mister! What are you doing here?” He shouted. Less likely to get shot if his approach isn’t a surprise.
The other man twitched and looked around in panic. He began shuffling with his belt and pulled out a pistol of his own, then locked eyes with Marston and pointed the gun at him. “Don’t come any closer.”
But John already had his pistol aimed at the man. “Go on. Try your luck.” He said.
The man in the bush put his other hand on the gun, eyelids fluttering. He shifted a few times on his feet and then sighed and lowered his pistol. “This makes no sense.” He carefully put his gun back in its holster. “What are you doing here?” He asked, as if he wasn’t the one standing in a bush, wearing what was now clear to be a suit and tie. Albeit a very crumpled, dirty suit and tie.
“I was huntin’, but these parts only have very strange animals.” John said, taking a few steps forward. “What are you doing in that bush?”
“I’m looking at evidence.” The strange man said. “There have been murders in these woods, and I’m investigating them.” The man looked at the ground behind him. John took the opportunity to walk closer and see–
“Jesus.” He sighed. There was an entire severed arm on the ground. The skin was already beginning to gray.
“Yeah.” The investigator turned his head to look at John. It was clear from his patchy beard and sunken cheeks that he really was the kind of man who spent his time looking for chunks of corpses in the woods. His eyes narrowed and he made his mouth into a strange grimace. “You say you’ve encountered strange beasts in these woods, Mr.…”
“John Marston. And if you mean something–”
“Someone.”
“...like this, yeah, I have. There was a girl, and then a man, but…” He shook his head. “Little that could be done for them.”
The man straightened out his back. “Cassie Boyle and Tobias Budge?”
John put his hands in his pockets and nodded.
“I know of them.” He looked away. “That’s all I need.” And he stared at the rotting arm again.
John watched him shiver and close his eyes and then stand completely still for multiple minutes. At one point, his eyes popped open and he glared at John.
“Would you be so kind as to leave?” The man whispered.
“As you wish.” John took a few steps away from him. “If you want to get torn apart, who am I to stop you?”
The man frowned. “I can take care of myself, thank you.”
“Haha, right. I could have riddled you through fifteen times over and you wouldn’t have even smelled me.”
The investigator glared up at the hills around them. Truly, there was no knowing when one was being watched here. “What are you suggesting?”
“A little partnership.” John said. “Mutually beneficial. I keep you from getting shot, mauled or otherwise gruesomely murdered, and you give me financial compensation for my time.”
“Right. And I imagine I have a say in the formation of this… partnership?”
“‘Course.” John shrugged. “As I said, every man’s got a right to get killed on his own accord.”
The man sighed and nodded. “I accept. But only,” he lifted his hand, “as long as you don’t interfere with my investigation.”
John put his pistol back in its holster. “I wouldn't dream of it.”
—
It turned out that, for all his weak frame and sickly stare, the investigator, named Will Graham, didn’t intend to leave Tall Trees until he found the killer. John followed him for hours, up one hill and down another, dismounting so often that his soles were beginning to ache. And whenever they did find something Graham thought interesting, he would stare at it for what seemed much longer than necessary and then move on without a word.
“Come on! That can’t be a clue!” John said after Will Graham stopped his horse just to look at an empty birds’ nest.
“Everything can be a clue, Mr. Marston.” Graham mumbled. “You just need to know what you’re looking for.”
“And what are we lookin’ for?”
Will Graham adjusted his glasses. “A cannibal.”
John pulled his hand over his face. “A cannibal? Seriously? What, did he feel like having an omelette as a side to his human steak?”
To his surprise, the investigator laughed. “Maybe. I wouldn’t put it past him.” He kicked the nest lightly. “We’re getting close though.”
“To what? The cannibal?”
“Possibly.” Graham looked around, as if inspecting the air itself. “He passed through here recently. Keep an eye out.”
John nodded and readied his gun. “I’ll make him eat lead before he even gets close to bitin’ one of us.”
They rode on. The Sun was sinking at an angle, making everything that it illuminated bright gold. John protested when Graham turned his horse westward, given how they were now being effectively blinded, but the investigator ignored him, and he had no choice but to follow. He strained to listen, blinking away rays of sunlight as they peppered through the trees. He eventually had to look down at the ground before him, and when he saw the mud he shouted: “Stop!”
Graham did, turning his head to look at the treeline. “What is it?”
“Son of a…” John stared at the marks in the mud. There was no telling where they began, their horses had trampled that, but it was clear that they were footsteps.
Graham finally noticed them. He hissed through his teeth. “They’re fresh. He was here.”
“Damn right. The bastard must have been following us from a distance.”
“On foot?” The investigator mumbled.
“With the speed we’re going, even my dead old man could keep up!”
Will Graham followed the footsteps onward, to where they ended in a little grove of shorter trees. “There.” He pointed and spurred his horse.
John cocked his gun. “You think the son of a bitch is in there?”
“If not, he definitely wants us to see whatever he left behind.”
The path leading into the grove was too narrow for the horses, and so John dismounted reluctantly and walked into the dense foliage. Graham followed behind him.
The path through was clearly hand-cut, and recently. It was only barely wide enough for one man to fit through, branches scraping at their clothing. Marston was acutely aware of the fact that even turning around would be a problem.
As they followed the path, there was a distinctive rustling from the direction they were heading. The way through the thicket, however, was not straight, and they turned multiple bends that led them away from the noise and then nearer again. John almost fired multiple times, each brighter corner or dark, misshapen trunk nearly setting him off. The noise was only getting louder, though, like someone moving through uncleared thicket. John hurried his steps when the source seemed almost next to him. He rounded a corner and something large and wide jumped out at his face. John immediately fired repeatedly, his palm burning against the hammer as ear-shattering gunshots echoed through the forest. There was a muffled shriek and then the body thumped to the ground, much lighter than he’d expected.
Will Graham walked up from behind the former outlaw as he was wiping sweat from under his hat. He stared wordlessly at the mutilated bird.
“An eagle.”
“Fucking piece of…” John struggled for breath. His heart was still beating in the rhythm of the fired bullets.
The eagle was tangled up in ropes that had snapped when John turned its chest into a bloodied cavity. The cut ends of the rope were still hanging off the trees, a ring of sunlight passing through the hole the bird had left.
The investigator threw a sidelong glance at Marston. “A symbol of Saint John.”
“You kiddin’?” John put the pistol back in its holster, just so he didn't start waving it around. “Got bored of all the murder and people-eatin’ and now he’s leavin’ me personalised greeting cards?”
“Seems so.” Graham said quietly.
John shook his head and turned to face the investigator. “And how do you know all this, anyway? Your deductions seem awful specific for a man you’ve never even seen!”
Graham’s eyes flitted from Marston’s face and back to the ground. His fingers began to twitch. “I… do know the killer.” He said.
“Great.” John lifted his hands into the air. “Are all your friends murderers and cannibals, Mr. Graham?”
The investigator shook his head.
“Oh, so just the one?”
“No, I didn’t know at the time!” Graham straightened up. “He was a… unusual gentleman, definitely, but I never imagined he did things like… this.” He motioned at the dead eagle. “We were… close, and then horrible rumors started about him, accusing him of ungodly deeds, and I tried talking to him but he disappeared, left town.”
“The actions of an innocent man, surely.” John raised his eyebrows.
“I know he is most likely…” Will Graham sighed. “Most definitely a terrible criminal. But I must know what drives him.” His eyes flicked from side to side, distant. “I’ve spent so much time looking for him…
John didn’t say anything, he simply looked into the Sun. It was red and only faintly glowing anymore. “It’s getting’ dark. We should head back out.”
Graham turned away. “I still have some things to look at here.”
“And you’re sure your cannibal friend won’t come out to have a chat?”
Graham shook his head. “This was what he was leading up to.” He swept his arms across the bloodied clearing. “His big denouement. He won’t appear again today.”
“If you say so.” John pulled a cigarette from his satchel and lit it. He puffed a cloud of smoke and walked through it, out to his horse and out of these wretched woods.
4.
John avoided Tall Trees for a while. Partially this was out of his control, as Ross was sending him out all over the coast now, but he wasn’t eager to return to the woods anyway. He was hoping to forget the things he saw in there, and also that the man responsible would forget about him. He didn’t like the thought of receiving a late-night guest with rotten intentions.
But, as he should have honestly noticed after all these years, trouble had a way of finding John Marston. He was the one fool enough to walk up to it every time though.
He stepped up to the weeping woman on a Blackwater porch and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Ma’am?”
“Oh, my girl, oh, my girl…” The woman was repeating into her interlocked fists, like a prayer.
“What’s with your girl, ma’am?” John asked.
“He took her. He took her!” The woman shrieked, revealing for a moment her reddened face and eyes.
“Well, who did?”
“The killer in the woods! He took my darlin’, beautiful girl, and the police ain’t doing nothing!” She continued sobbing, snot and tears trailing down her face.
“In Tall Trees?”
“Yes! Oh my God, please help me!” She lifted her face to the sky.
“No need to call on God, ma’am. I’ll go find your daughter.” John said. Another week, another gnawed-up corpse, he thought.
“Hurry, sir! She disappeared only a couple hours ago, she could still be alive!”
John shook his head. “Well, here’s hopin’.”
“Please! My dear girl, my darling Abigail!”
John’s eyes widened at the name. For a moment his brain skidded on its tracks, and he imagined his Abigail, alone with a cannibal in those woods. He then remembered where she was and where he was and that this woman most likely wasn’t his mother-in-law. Still, he immediately whistled for his horse standing just across the street, got on and spurred it hard. Maybe there still was hope for Abigail.
The wind whipped through his hair as he sped across plains and then into the cool forest air. He zig-zagged between tree trunks, and at one point something caught in his peripheral. He pulled out his pistol and aimed at it, still riding at a mad pace. It was another rider, following him along. “Mr. Marston!” He shouted. “It’s me!”
John recognised Will Graham’s voice.
The investigator was struggling to keep up with him, and so John slowed his horse down.
“You’re looking for the girl?” Graham asked, out of breath.
“Yes. Abigail. You know where he took her?”
“I have an idea.”
“It better be a good one!” John shouted and spurred his horse.
The investigator rode up in front of him, heading uphill and north until they were in a mountainous area, their horses’ sweat searing holes in fresh, untouched snow.
“There! Look!” Will Graham pointed to hoofmarks leading up to a tall, steep mountain. Uphill was the horse, as well as two well-defined pairs of footsteps, one much smaller than the other, leading up to the peak.
They leapt off their horses. It was too steep to ride now. Graham pulled out his gun. “The tracks end there.” He gestured towards the beginning of rocky, smooth terrain. High up above the foot of the mountain there was a hole in the rock, pitch-black against the pale stone.
“They must be in there.” Graham mumbled. “Alright, um, you go up that side, and I’ll go here.” He pointed to two different trails leading up the mountain.
“Whoever gets to the motherfucker first gets to shoot him.” John said, loading his pistol.
Will Graham just nodded quickly and then ran off, his flimsy brown suit whipping after him.
John began the climb himself. The thin path quickly turned into rubble he had to scale carefully, especially as the Sun was leaving. It wasn’t really setting as much as fading out from behind the thick cloud cover. John ran up steep mountain sides and cursed as heavy rocks rolled down from under his feet. Hopefully the cannibal didn’t hear him. Hopefully Graham wasn’t under them.
Finally, he reached a tall ledge, the entrance to the cave already visible. He pulled himself up, clutching his pistol, and reached another ledge, and then another. Many more ledges than he’d expected later, and John was standing in front of the cave, gun pointed in front of him. He steadied his breathing. The wind whipped and wailed behind him, but the inside of the cave was dead silent. He began to walk inside. His spurs clicked softly, and so there was no sense in hiding his presence anymore.
“You! Let go of the girl!” He shouted inside.
There was a yelp and then a clatter. John picked up the pace. He wouldn’t be too late this time.
He rounded a dark corner to enter a small space, illuminated by a single foggy lantern. There was a man standing there, holding a knife to the throat of a young woman with dark, unbound hair. There was something strange about him, beyond the knife he was sticking at a young girl. His vest had big, round buttons, like on an old picture of European royalty on coins and the like. But even stranger was his face, illuminated by the flickering light from below and looking like a bare skull. Like the ones John had seen in the violent swamp nights of Lemoyne.
“I said let the girl go!” John shouted again.
“Mr. Marston.” The cannibal's accent was strange, his arms still and solid around the squirming girl. “You’ve found me, I see. Did you like the arrangement I left you?” He smiled, and it was the most unsettling thing John had ever seen.
“Enough talk! Drop the knife!”
“I’d imagine that you didn’t. You tore it apart, after all.” The cannibal sighed. “And they called me barbaric.”
John cocked his gun, but sudden movement from the side of the cave stopped him. Will Graham stepped in from another passage, pistol trembling in his hand.
“Will.” The cannibal turned towards Graham, pulling the whimpering girl along. There was an unmistakable softness to his voice.
“Dr. Lecter.” The investigator said, still aiming for the killer’s head.
“You’re a long way from Baltimore, aren’t you?”
“As are you, Doctor.” Graham answered through gritted teeth. Marston couldn’t make out the emotion on his face from this angle.
“You know how it is. The company there simply wasn’t suited to my tastes anymore.” Lecter licked his lips. “But you, Will… you had a good career ahead of you. What brings you here, then? To this den of sinners and outlaws.”
Graham let out a shaky breath, not taking his eyes off Lecter. “I can tell you all about it.” He shifted on his feet. “But first, let the girl go.”
“What guarantee do I have that you won’t simply kill me?” He looked at John. “Call off your dog first.”
John contemplated taking the shot just for that comment, but Graham waved for him to step down. “Get her out.” He said, and then nodded to the cannibal.
Lecter’s eyes shifted from John to Will, and then his arms unwound, like the jaw of a beast relaxing. Abigail ripped herself from him and ran to John. He hugged her as she sobbed into his chest and led her out of the cave and down the frigid mountain. John placed her onto his horse and put his revolver in her hands. “I’ll be right back, miss, alright?” He tapped his horse’s neck. “Anything goes wrong, spur him on and he’ll take you to safety.” He then pointed at the gun. “You know how to use that?”
Abigail sniffled into her scarf. “Yes… My Pa taught me…”
“Good. Anything goes wrong, you can use that as well.” John turned back towards the mountain, a dark tooth ripping into the gray night sky. “I gotta go save a fool from gettin’ himself killed.”
Climbing back up with a shotgun and in the even deeper darkness was harder than the first time, but John’s mind was sharp and clear from the exertion. He entered the cave with his finger on the trigger.
The situation had strangely shifted since he’d been gone. Though Will Graham was still pointing his gun at Dr. Lecter, the cannibal had somehow made it multiple feet closer to the man, nearly leaning against the pistol and speaking in a low voice. How can a man holding the gun allow that to happen? The guy really had no survival instincts.
Their sudden closeness, however, meant that John couldn’t go about firing instantly as he would definitely hit the investigator too.
“Get away from him, Graham!” John shouted.
Will Graham startled when he heard John’s voice, like he was breaking out of a trance. “No, John, wait–”
“Well, do you want me to shoot him or not?”
Graham swallowed hard. “I– wait just a little.”
John hesitated on the trigger. Has the investigator really lost his mind? Or had that happened long before John ever met him, the thought occurred to Marston.
As if to prove his point, Graham looked up at Lecter, the gun nearly limp in his hand. “Is it… true?” He said, face contorting strangely.
Lecter leaned closer, hands behind his back, and whispered something into Graham’s ear. The investigator seemingly didn’t mind having the cannibal’s teeth that close to his face. Instead, his whole body trembled at what he’d heard.
John suddenly got the feeling that he and his shotgun were very unwanted. He slowly backed out, letting the meek light of the lantern slip away behind a corner. Abigail needed to get back to her mother.
The last thing John heard was the metallic clatter of a gun falling to the ground, and then he climbed down the wind-whipped mountain and to his horse.
“Where’s the other mister?” Abigail asked after John mounted up behind her.
“Don’t worry. He’ll be just fine.” John didn’t know if he was lying or not.