Chapter Text
“Hello ladies and gentlemen! Y’all like to dance?” Butch flashed his brilliant smile as he stood tall with his hands resting easy on his hips. He asked the question as casually as someone would ask to be dealt into a friendly game of cards. What made people fall into a hush was the solemn man at Butch’s side that had his gun drawn. “Because what we’re gonna do here is just like a nice square dance! If we all know our positions and do the steps right, it’ll be short and sweet and just the right amount of excitin’.” Butch’s voice carried through the bank; you couldn’t argue that he was a natural performer. The Kid gestured with his pistol for the bystanders to line themselves up against the wall. Sure enough, they lined up as if they had rehearsed.
Butch strolled up to the tellers and lazily moved his gun around, almost like a wave. He set an empty canvas sack onto the counter and pushed it towards the tellers with the barrel of the gun. “Now we’ll be leavin’ shortly if we move right along.” He lowered his voice from the sideshow bark to a conversational tone, like Butch was in a friendly barter. The teller shot him a dirty look but Butch shrugged it off as he looked around the bank. “Beautiful building y’all got here. When was she built?”
There was no answer.
“Those pillars are a beaut’, ain’t they Sundance? Makes me think of Greece or somethin’. Something real old and… holy almost.” Butch stared dreamily at the large stone pillars that accented the corners of the room. He looked back to find the tellers staring at him quizzically. Sundance, satisfied with the participation from the citizens on the wall, walked up to the tellers and shot them a look back. One of the employees, a man around middle age with a sharp goatee, was staring the bandits down with intense concentration.
“C’mon now guys! We want to get outta your hair!” Butch said. He leaned toward the teller who looked like he was silently cursing him. “C'mon friend. You got your job, and I got mine. We're just both gettin’ by, right?” The teller avoided Butch's gaze that was made intense by his blue eyes. “Put the money in the bag. Don't make any trouble for these lovely people.” Butch was a little more firm now. The teller opened his drawer, still staring daggers at Butch and Sundance, and instructed the men behind the counter to start filling the bag.
Butch and Sundance’s eyes gleamed at the sack growing bulbous. As soon as they were satisfied with the haul, Butch snatched the bag up. “The Kid and I will be on our way. Thank you for doin’ your civic duty!” Butch called out behind him as he walked out of the bank with Sundance guarding his flank. Sundance made a small noise that sounded like an objection.
“What? You didn’t like that?”
“Needs work.” Sundance said, barely moving his mouth. As soon as they were outside, they broke into a run.
“Well, it’s not easy comin’ up with all these lines when I’m the only one doing the talkin’!” They bickered like a married couple as they attached the money securely onto the saddle and mounted their horses. These motions were clockwork to them; they were partners in a dance, certain that no one was better at this routine than they were.
“Who said you gotta talk? There ain't no rule about havin’ to be blabby.” Sundance huffed as they flicked their reins and steered their horses back to the outskirts of this unlucky town in Missouri. The horses galloped through the tall grass and pushed through the sticky, humid air.
The pair set up camp a ways from town. Once they found a stream where they could rinse off the sweat and grime from the humid day, they set up for the night. The two lived modestly, but dreamed big. To them, this was luxurious. The sandy ground, dimming fire, and damp clothes were meager annoyances when the full sack of cash laid between the two of them. And somehow, even on the nights where all they had was the sound of the other breathing in the night, it was never terrible.
***
The morning came and they resumed their routine, which always included a weather report. “Gon’ be hot today.” Butch said as he untied his horse.
“Mm.”
“One of those days you can already feel it creepin’ in.”
“Mhm.” Sundance tossed a rock into the water as he watched two squirrels fight.
“Horses can feel it too. See how they're already feelin’ antsy?... Yeaaah, it's gonna be a hot one. Humid, too.”
“Mmm.” The squirrel chased the other up into the tree. Sundance squinted as he tried to see the quarrel through the thick leaves.
“Makes me want a drink.” Butch walked up to Sundance. He slapped his hand on Sundance's shoulder. “You feel like a drink?” Sundance looked over at his friend to see Butch's bright blue eyes and the bag of stolen money resting in the crook of Butch’s arm.
“Mhm.” Sundance smiled and it said a thousand words to Butch.
“I say we continue the direction we were headin' yesterday. See if we can find a place to wet our whistle.” They could already feel the hot sun on their backs as they mounted their horses.
“You mean a saloon, or somethin’ else?” Sundance said, smirking.
“Well Kid, I think we'll wait and see what the day brings.” Butch raised his chin in a noble way, like he was a knight.
With a kick of the heel, their horses began to trot along. The humidity hung onto their faces and clothes like an extra member of the posse. They began to dream of cold beer out of frosted glasses as they made their way to a town that was only a little further down the way from their latest bank robbery.
The money moved from a sack jingling by Butch's boot to the outlaws’ pockets as a town began to appear. The tall, stiff trees parted and before them was a wide stretch of cleared land. It looked like a ghost town at first glance. Shadows in rocking chairs came into view as they drew closer; life seemed to slowly seep up from the ground. As they rode down the main street, no one paid much attention. They were used to nervous glances or a sudden hush, but this town didn't seem startled at the idea of visitors, let alone two men who didn't exactly look like upstanding citizens.
Although the saloon Butch found was not as glamorous as he had hoped, it was suitable. With horses tied up outside, the two undercover bandits found a table in the corner of the bar where they could be left alone and enjoy some semblance of a relief from the stifling heat. Butch sat with his back to the window while Sundance kept careful watch across from him.
“You can relax, Kid. This town’s actin’ like it's the Fourth of July.”
“Yeah, well I don’t wanna be here when the fireworks go off.” Sundance mumbled into his glass.
“What’s that mean?” Butch said and raised an eyebrow.
“... Y’know. The trouble.” He gestured with his hand and Butch still looked confused. “Whatever. Heat’s gettin’ to you.” Sundance said with a shrug and took a swig.
“I don’t think it’s the heat, I think your mouth just ain’t used to movin’ that fast!” Butch chuckled to himself and Sundance rolled his eyes. The Kid’s eyes flicked to the swinging saloon doors as a couple of men entered and sat at the bar.
“So, where are we goin’ next, Butch?” His gaze settled back onto his partner.
“Well, I was thinkin’ we could make our way out West. See what we can find there. I’ve heard a lotta talk about-” Butch leaned in and lowered his voice. “About how that railroad has really been movin’ faster than anyone expected. And soon they’re gonna have to transport everything from people, to materials, to riches, to the new frontier towns.” Sundance’s eyes lit up at this idea. “If we stop the trains, we get complete control. They’ll be out in the middle of nowhere. We just gotta get a system- a routine down!” Butch was smiling that crazy smile. To others he was too optimistic, but to Sundance, Butch was thinking ahead of everyone else (although he told Butch differently). “What do ya think?” Butch asked.
“Sounds just about wild enough to work.” Sundance smiled and they clinked near-empty glasses over their new plan. Sundance rose from the table with his mug in hand and gestured to Butch’s. “You want another?”
“To0 hot to be doin’ anything else.” Butch shrugged and passed it to him. Sundance walked over to the bar and glanced at the three men who sat there. One man stared at him while he took money out of his pocket. Sundance must’ve looked at him oddly, because the man quickly averted his gaze. The Kid took the two full glasses and walked back over to his corner. Butch’s eyes scanned the bar’s patrons as Sundance sat down.
“That man look familiar to you?” Butch asked, eyes still focused on the person who was staring at Sundance. “Kid, is that the teller from the bank yesterday?” Butch was whispering now. Sundance began to turn his head, but Butch kicked him under the table. “That's the man who was being stubborn. I know it. He's got that triangle on his face.” Butch said, placing his hand over his mouth in an effort to hide this realization from other patrons in the bar.
Butch weighed his options. Scenarios ran through his head. They won in most of them. He met Sundance's gaze and could feel the tension in the blonde man's every move. Butch put on a cool tone and made a decision.
“Let's finish our drinks.” Butch said matter-of-factly. Now it was up to Sundance.
“Yeah.” Sundance agreed. “We're alright.”
“Sure we are! What's he gonna do?” Butch winked and he saw Sundance relax into his seat. They shared a smile that faded fast as they heard the sound of boots coming over to them. Feigning a sense of nonchalance, Butch turned his head cooly while Sundance didn't even change his stare out the window.
A man in a large, white hat stood in front of them. He had a thick handlebar mustache and a steady look in his eyes. Sundance drummed his fingers on the table like a snake would rattle its tail; it was a warning that said “go away before things get hairy.”
“How are you fellas doing?” asked the man in the white hat. He smiled and Butch smiled back.
“Fine. We're doin’ fine. Wish we could find an escape from this heat!”
“Yeah, I know what you're sayin’.” The man chuckled. “Well, I came over to say that we have a funny coincidence.”
“Oh?” Butch raised his eyebrows, continuing to act like his conscience, and his criminal record, were sparkling clean.
“Yeah… It's funny. Gentlemen at the bar are sayin' that you two look awfully similar to the folks who robbed the bank a town over yesterday.”
“Haha! That is funny!” Butch laughed – too loud and too hard. “Did they say who it was? I gotta tell the missus that we look like some famous criminals!” Sundance took his eyes off the window to throw Butch a look. He thought Butch was playing with his food; he was drawing out this “innocent townsperson” character too much. Sundance briefly wondered if Butch was wanting to get caught, although it flew out of his mind.
The man in the white hat didn't show that he was catching on; he smiled and said, “They're saying you two look like these bandits… What were they called?” He kept his eyes glued to the two men in front of him.
The teller piped in. “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.”
“That's right… Butch Cassidy-” the man in the white hat pointed a finger at the blue-eyed man. “And the Kid.” He spat, swiveling his hand towards the jumpy mustached cowboy. Butch gulped; he had quickly lost interest in continuing this vaudeville act.
“Well, that's sure amusing. We'll keep an eye out for two fellas that look like us.” He said quickly and nodded in an effort to try to calm the air. “We better saddle up-” Butch and Sundance quickly stood and Sundance placed his hand on his belt, right next to his gun.
“Good idea. We wouldn't want trouble.” The man was arrogant. He puffed his chest out like some sort of prideful bird. Butch kept his head down and quickly walked out, but Sundance’s feet dragged and his skin began to prickle.
Sundance never figured out how to tolerate being put in his place. Even when he was a little boy, the only person he would listen to was his mama. But she wouldn’t be there when he would deal his version of “justice” towards someone saying the wrong thing to him or to someone else. That “justice” normally meant Sundance getting in trouble with authority, one way or another.
Sundance’s face began to redden, but not just from the rays of the hot sun, as he and Butch stepped outside. His body stiffened up and he looked at the worn dirt road as Butch quickly untied their horses across the street. Every eye in town seemed to be on them, and a different kind of stillness hung in the air. This was different than when they rode into town and the stillness seemed to be brought on by the heat; this was a sense of anticipation so strong it was like they were waiting for the sky to open up and rain to come pouring down. It reminded Sundance of a rodeo: the crowd would wait with bated breath as the bull charged at a clown while a brave cowboy rode in valiantly. Who was going to be the star of the show and who was going to be the rodeo clown now?
“Stay outta here, boys.” Sundance’s racing thoughts were interrupted as he and Butch turned to see the man in the white hat flash a glimmering sheriff’s badge in the saloon’s entryway. Butch had encountered law enforcement plenty of times before, but this made his mouth run dry. He swore he had grown out of feeling this way–that’s why he was able to leave his father’s house in the first place–but maybe he was still that little boy afraid of the big man. A bead of sweat ran down Butch’s forehead as he tried to conjure up something to say. His eyes, and the sheriff's, flicked toward Sundance’s movement. Sundance reached for his gun.
Butch's mouth flew open, but his words were made meaningless by the sound of a gunshot cutting through the thick, humid silence. His eyes widened in horror and his hand flew to his own gun. He watched Sundance recoil from the shot and heard his pistol fall to the ground. Butch immediately ran to step in front of the Kid as he fell to his knees. Butch faltered in a split-second decision. He raised his gun to the man, but his hand shook. The eyes of the townspeople bore into him, but worst of all was how the sheriff looked at him.
The sheriff didn't pay any mind to the man he just shot, he just looked at Butch Cassidy with a small smile. Butch could hear Sundance hyperventilating behind him and scrambling to get his bearings. Despite the sweat trailing down his back, Butch felt a chill run through him like he had just fallen through ice. He knew he couldn't win, not here, not now. Surely the sheriff had a posse somewhere; they must be hidden among the civilians. Butch's mouth turned sour as he held eye contact with him. He tried to be as still as possible as he stood with his gun aimed at the man, but every part of him shook. The sheriff knew that Butch would never shoot him. He knew, somehow, that Butch had never shot a soul: in some sick and twisted way, it showed on his face. It scared the hell out of Butch.
Still looking the man in the white hat in the eye, like he was the devil himself, Butch extended his hand backwards toward his fallen partner. “C'mon Sundance, let's go.” He urged quietly. Butch cast a look over his shoulder. This could have been a fatal mistake, but he needed to see the Kid.
Sundance was cradling his left hand as blood poured down his forearms. He had grabbed a hold of his gun, but he was in a state that Butch hadn’t seen before. He looked up at Butch with such a wild look that it startled him. Sundance’s eyes were wide and wild as his mouth was fixed in a sneer. It dawned on Butch that if he didn’t drag Sundance away, he would stay fighting until he became cemented into the dust and the dirt. Butch grabbed Sundance’s good arm and hoisted him upwards. They quickly fell into the natural formation of guarding one another while standing back to back: Butch facing the sheriff with his gun cocked while Sundance’s eyes darted as he mounted his horse with his injured hand. As Sundance faced forward and Butch got onto his horse, his stomach dropped as he saw the amount of blood flowing from a wound on Sundance’s left wrist.
Despite the injury, Sundance still looked tough as nails as he sent a look angry enough to set the Arctic on fire. Butch flicked his reins and Sundance’s horse followed as they began to rear into a gallop. Before they had gotten too far, both men heard the sheriff call to them and say, “Cowardly sons of bitches!”
As quick as a rattlesnake strike, Sundance turned back towards the town and a gunshot sounded. As quick as it happened, it happened again. The horses reared in fright as another gunshot rang out and Sundance nearly fell off the saddle. This time, Butch did cry out. It rang out through the trees and it could have been mistaken for a coyote's wounded howl. Instead of reaching for his gun, he reached for his partner. He grabbed Sundance’s shoulder and kept him balanced on his horse. As they galloped out of town, Butch couldn’t bear to look at the trail of blood behind them.