Chapter 25 – Dangerous Revelations

March 23, 1825

New York, NY

Wild Card Cass

Wild Card fell out of the blue portal and hit the ground hard. As he got to his feet and brushed off his pants the man next to him, wearing spectacles and a bowling hat, jested, "Still haven't gotten the hang of that thing?"

Wild Card rigidly replied, "No. I haven't" He looked down and noticed two things about himself. For one, he was unkempt. His beard was the longest he had ever grown it. And there was the other thing. Wild Card's beard was pure white from the constant time travel. Wild Card looked up. He had never been in New York City before. FreeLander relished Wild Card's child-like wonder as his wide eyes spanned across the thriving metropolis. FreeLander felt proud of the fact that this city was founded and built on blood and betrayal. In the next hundred years it would fall to his temptation and inevitable sin. But for now, they were here only to place another bet.

"Who is it this time?"

"Him," FreeLander pointed at a man walking across the street.

"How did he pledge?" Wild Card studied.

“With the raping a Wichita injun woman."

"His choice?"

"They always think so."

"And the deal?" Wild Card persisted.

"If he burns down the tribe, I push his papers for the railroad, making his company the wealthiest in the country," FreeLander laughed, "This one's a sure thing."

"What will you do to him?"

FreeLander played the fool briefly before answering him, "You've grown wise in your few years of servitude."

'Has it been years already?' Wild Card thought, as FreeLander continued, "Soon he will fall in love with a native Pawnee named Charlotte, which will inevitably lead him to sacrificing his soul for hers, much like you."

"And then?"

"What do you mean?"

"What does fate have waiting for him?"

"Only because you bet, shall I tell you. Its no fun when its no fair. You shall know what I know." His voice grew louder and echoed, "But no man can view fate!" he tried to control his gathering darkness, "Sicut potest Principi scilicet Tenebrarum."

"I'm beginning to think I've lost my humanity."

"Nobody likes a dramatic, Winfield," FreeLander said casually, once again in his human voice. "It seems that the birth of her second child will kill her anyway." That smirk that spun off his face made Wild Card’s stomach turn.

"What of the man? Troy..." Wild Card concluded in one final question.

"He will fall subject to my bidding until his death, worthy of no salvation."

"Everyone is worth saving."

"Are you, Winfield Cass?"

"I'll take the bet."

August 10, 1865

Dodge City, KS

Peyton swung his arm around with the gun cocked and loaded in his hand. Wild Card looked right at him, fearless. He closed his eyes, begging for relief. Peyton pulled the trigger and the bullet blasted but did not leave the gun. The backfire almost got Peyton's hand but he dropped the gun in time. Still, he was temporarily stunned. Wild Card got up and looked for another bottle behind the bar, disguising his disappointment. Peyton regained feeling and picked another gun up. He tried both handguns and rifles. The only damage he inflicted was on the liquor bottles lining the shelves of the barroom behind Wild Card. It was hopeless. Peyton threw all the guns away. Nothing was making sense anymore. All except one truth: they had failed and were going to die.

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"Take him!" Peyton passed Ira over to Marshall as he got to his feet. Marshall braced Ira. Wild Card saw Peyton and picked up a bottle, holding it by the neck. Peyton leapt at Wild Card as he came down on Peyton's head with the whiskey bottle. The bottle smashed and Peyton dropped. He fell to the ground and clawed at Wild Card, dragging him down too. Peyton tried to remain awake, his head heaving with pain in quick waves.

Wild Card got to his knees and Peyton kicked him in the ribs. Wild Card flew back into the amber bar. Peyton shook the sweat off his brow, still on the floor. He pressed his hands on the floor to get up and caught shards of glass in his palms. As they cut his skin open, he grabbed the biggest piece.

"Wait!" Wild Card tried to continue.

Peyton grabbed Wild Card over his shoulder, "She was-" and thrust the sharp shard of glass into him. It slid into his side, and Peyton pulled it out. Wild Card sighed and Peyton tried again.

Wild Card blocked the next strike with the blood-stained shard of glass and tossed Peyton off of him. Peyton slid back on the wet red floor and collided with Marshall and Ira. The piece of glass tumbled away. Wild Card felt his side. He could not believe it. The wound did not bleed. In a rage he walked over to them.

"That woman he raped!" parting Marshall and Ira, leaving Peyton in front of him trying to get to his feet. Marshall tossed him his buck knife. Peyton ducked Wild Card's punch and snatched Marshall's buck knife in mid air. He spun back around and Wild Card grabbed his arm just before getting stabbed again. They battled for control over the knife, back and forth, as Wild Card tried to finish what he was saying, "She's-" Marshall put Ira's head down softly. Peyton's grip was slipping. He threw the knife away at risk of being stabbed with it.

Wild Card let go of him and they turned around face to face. "She's-" Wild Card threw three jabs in Peyton's face, all with his left hand, breaking open his eyebrow. He followed with a hook and Peyton ducked it. He threw his shoulder into Wild Card. As Wild Card stumbled back by Peyton's momentum, they were stopped by Marshall wrapping his arms around Wild Card's neck.

"Yr..mthr!"

His hold tightened and Wild Card could no longer breathe. Peyton held his arms down. Wild Card squirmed to speak and choked. He gasped for relief, getting one last breath out, "He raped your mother."

They both let go of him, Wild Card fell to the ground, out cold. Marshall and Peyton looked at each other. Peyton racked his mind for a rational explanation to dispute the fact. But there was nothing. He never knew his father. Suddenly they seemed the same, a reflection of their father; Marshall the white and Peyton the red. They were brothers the whole time. Peyton knew something important was pulling him back to Dodge and keeping him with this group. Turns out it was Marshall all along, and the unspoken bond between them.

Marshall was just glad not to feel alone anymore. After losing his brother Ivy, a shell covered Marshall that he could not escape, until now. Peyton only let this new truth further define his determination for change. Marshall unknowingly proved to Peyton that there was good in his heart. Now all they needed was their shooter, their gun back, their ace. But Ira still lay bloody and shattered on the lifeless floor.

"Ira," Marshall examined him, as Peyton pieced together a double holster gun-belt around them. He took the dragoon Wild Card had from Kid Colt, and the other one on the floor and slid them comfortably into his holsters. The bandoleer was full of bullets; he took all of Wild Card's ammo belts, wrapping them on both his shoulders, leaving Cass with only one shimmering bullet too big to be a revolver round.

Marshall picked Ira up and put his modified in his hands, "Ira, come back to us." He pointed his finger up and put it in Ira's face. "Focus on my finger." Moving it side to side, up and down, he continued, "We need your help, Ira."

Ira tried to follow Marshall's finger with his eyes. He had to come back from the dark. He was too hurt and tired to go on. He forced his eyes back open. They shut themselves moments later. After a couple times they finally stayed open. Gradually, he got over his battered daze.

"Right," Ira said, looking over at Peyton rubbing his wounded brow, "I'm with you."

Together, Marshall, Ira, and Peyton wrapped their wounds and re-armed themselves. Marshall and Peyton, too distracted, neglected remembering the Winchester rifle on the littered floor. They walked up the stairs. Marshall looked up at Peyton's waist, at the shiny silver and white guns of the Kid Colt. It rekindled Marshall's spirit for the fight to come.

Ira got to the unlocked door at the top of the stairs. The door swung open. The bar was now empty. Gunshots echoed out in the streets over screams. Ira could see the hotel they had just come from. It was smoking from the windows.

Peyton pulled his dragoons out and kicked the front doors open. He fired one after another and disappeared outside. When Marshall brought Ira outside Peyton was waiting with a horse. They put Ira on it and he rode it back down the street to the hotel. Marshall and Peyton started running after him. As they got across the road they saw Black Pawnee pillaging the town and burning the buildings. The townsfolk ran around in the streets getting mugged and murdered.

Ira ran up the smoking stairs with relative ease. He couldn't see any flames but the smoke was getting thicker and thicker. Emma! He tried to yell out but couldn’t speak. He opened the door to the room and it was empty. He kept calling out for her. Her clothes were gone. There was no sign of her. All that remained in the room was his army jacket. He heard screaming coming from another room.

Ira looked around in the other rooms. In the last one before the stairs he found flames tearing the bed down. On the other side of the bed was a naked woman helplessly trapped. Ira put his coat in front of him and charged the flames. He broke through and grabbed her, covering her up and retreated back out through the flames. They got to the staircase and upon putting their weight on the first step, the entire thing collapsed. The girl fell onto Ira and grabbed a hold of him as they slid down the stairs. They barely escaped the burning hotel with their lives, and all Ira could think about was how he saved the wrong woman.

Marshall and Peyton were outside with the rest of the smoldering whores. They praised Ira for saving her life. He wasted no time getting back on the horse. Peyton and Marshall found two more rider-less horses to mount.

"Wait!" the girl said as Ira went to leave, "You forgot your coat!"

She took it off and threw it at him. She laughed and ran away, quickly getting picked up by a rebel on a horse and carried off.

"What the hell is going on?" Peyton wondered.

“This is madness.” Marshall said, distracted.

"We must get to the fort."

"Then we head east," Peyton advised.

They pulled their horses around and rode away.