That little rat.

After all Malcolm had done for him, Dante had still opted to betray the Velvet Rangers. Even after all those years of joint effort by the gang.

As Malcolm laid on the ground, blood pooling around his legs from the wound, he felt rage course through his veins. His thoughts, muddied by the pain and blood loss, came back into focus as he got ahold of himself and let the anger take over.

First order of business was to stop the bleeding.

Malcolm forced himself to his feet through sheer force of will, leaning on the wall to keep the pressure off his left leg. He staggered forward, shoulder dragging against the adobe.

When Malcolm got his hands on Dante, he’d be sorry he ever backstabbed him.

The corpse of two of the gang members came into his view, blood staining the walls behind them and smearing downwards. Despite that and more importantly, their sleeves were relatively clean. Malcolm roughly fell to his knees in front of the closest corpse, tearing at the clean cloth.

The fabric was rough against his hands, but it’d do. He did his best to tear in strips, needing a flat surface to cover the wound and just the wound. The rest could be more a rope made of intertwined strips of cloth.

After tying the make-shift bandage, Malcolm managed to secure it around the wound. It seemed to work for now, the blood loss going from torrential to leakage. He got back to his feet, using the wall as a crutch once more.

He stumbled through the now empty halls, his heart pounding in his ears as he did his best to ignore the white-hot pain surging through his leg. Malcolm could only stagger his way into the courtyard, spotting a few more corpses, before his leg gave out, making him crumple to the floor.

The man gave a low groan of pain through grit teeth as he rolled onto his back, grimacing at the blue sky. The azure blue contrasting fluffy white clouds with an orange hue from the setting sun were idyllic.

It was mocking him.

It felt almost insultingly ideal, like the sky was smiling back down at him with a sardonic grin. All because of that little rat of a boy.

After that, Malcolm lost track of time. He drifted in and out of consciousness, his eyes oftentimes refusing to stay open. The man might’ve laid on the adobe floor for hours or even days; it was anyone’s guess.

All he knew was that he snapped wide awake when he heard the gates open.

Instantly, adrenaline jolted through his system as Malcolm forced himself to his feet. The man bit back a grunt of pain as he hurried over to one of the bodies of a gang member, wrenching a sawed-off shotgun from the man’s hand before moving to the vacant wagons, kneeling behind them.

He heard a voice shouting out orders, though it was far away to clearly make it out. Malcolm felt a growl rise in his throat as a he saw a single man on a horse entire the second half of the courtyard, curiously eyeing what was left of the Velvet Rangers; the disarray of the base and the few corpses strewn about.

Several men carrying rifles followed the horse. Thankfully, it didn’t seem to be the military. They wore no uniforms, and their firearms were as far from standardized as they could get. Some used lever-actions, others break, Malcolm even saw some breech-action rifles.

They were obviously some sort of gang or paramilitary group. Probably a new one too, judging by the man on horseback’s air haughtiness. Not at all the confident body language of an experienced leader, but of an arrogant newcomer. His prim look only further steeled this idea in Malcolm’s eyes; the true hardasses barely had time to groom properly, instead just shaving everything.

He glanced at his own weapon; if he was lucky, he’d have two shots. If he wasn’t, none at all. No extra shells, either. Malcolm felt beads of sweat beginning to form on his forehead as he wrenched the barrels open.

Of course, a loud click rang out in the dead quiet courtyard. Malcolm could almost feel the alarm go off in the invading group’s heads.

Oddly enough, he didn’t hear any sort of abrupt scrambling. Instead, the man on horseback steadily spoke, “We know you’re here. Whoever you are… show yourself.”

Like hell Malcolm would. His eyes glanced downwards; two shells, though there was no guarantee they were fresh.

“You have ‘till the count of one to step out. If you don’t, we’ll find you and we will do what we want with you.”

Malcolm grit his teeth, knowing he didn’t stand a chance against nearly seven fully armed men with two shots in the best case scenario.

“Five.”

Maybe he could take out the man on horseback and send the rest of the group in a disarray? On second though, Malcolm doubted that’d work. They didn’t need any orders to put a bullet in him.

“Four.”

He could throw a rock or something out of their view and then distract them with the noise?

“Three.”

Malcolm wasn’t seeing a way out of this.

“Two.”

Goddamn it all. Before the man could finish the count, Malcolm steeled himself and swaggered out from behind the wagon, ignoring the flashes of pain shooting up from his leg, “‘Ello.”

All the men instinctively aimed their rifles at Malcolm, though he managed to ignore that.

The man on horseback quirked an eyebrow, holding an arm out to the seven men to prevent them from shooting, “Greetings. Who may you be?”

A half-truth would be enough, Malcolm hoped, “Part of the Velvet Rangers, but we were slaughtered by a militia. I’m one of the few to survive.”

“The gang that kidnapped that Swede?” the man hummed, “And what of the others?”

Malcolm let a very real grimace make its way onto his face, “I only know about the traitor. Ran off with the attackers.”

The man on horseback thoughtfully scratched his bearded chin, “Interesting… now, you know what we do with stragglers we find?”

“Ransom, most likely,” Malcolm scoffed, already knowing the drill well despite never having been on this end, “Though that’d be a gross waste of my talents.”

“Oh?”

“I was the best shot in the gang; that’s how I survived,” Malcolm leaned on one leg, trying to lessen the pressure on the other, “I’d be much more useful on your team.”

The man neatly slid off the horse, “And what reason might I have for accepting a stranger I just found onto my team?”

Malcom internally grinned; all was going according to his improvised plan, “Easy. Money. The traitor went with the Swede. Our goals line up here; I want nothing more than to have the pleasure of stabbing the traitor, and you get to do whatever you want with the Swede.”

The courtyard was filled with a pregnant silence as the man on horseback crossed his arms in thought.

“I like how you think,” the leader finally grinned, walking over and sticking out a hand, “Name’s Donald Kidd. Leader of the Sonora Vultures.”

Malcolm holstered the shotgun, taking Kidd’s hand, “Sonora Vultures? I’m afraid I haven’t heard of that group.”

Kidd shrugged, “Not too big a surprise; we only formed a few months ago and our heists have been pretty small scale across the border, hence the Sonora part of the name.

Malcom eyed him over, “You don’t look like a Greaser.”

“‘Cause I’m not,” Kidd grinned, “I’m a Tejano.”

“That explains it.”

“So, you said you just want to kill the traitor?” Donald hummed, cocking his hips.

Malcolm nodded, “Yes. Your group can do whatever you want with the girl.”

The man hummed for a bit, staring at the former leader of the Velvet Rangers with his eyes narrowed.

“You’ve got yourself a deal then, my friend,” Kidd abruptly smirked, “Though you may want to rest a bit to let that leg heal up.”

X-X-X

After a lifetime spent on the desert and plains, Dante should’ve known how to navigate them better. Despite that, the landscape seemed all the same to his tired eyes. They’d been on the road for a few hours now, Eva surely having fallen asleep a while ago.

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Even with that, the sun seemed just as relentless as it had been earlier that afternoon. Pair that with Dante not having drank any water in the last day and he was just about ready to pass out.

His gaze fell to the stoic man who hadn’t so much as glanced at him since they’d gotten on the road, eyes glued ahead as if they’d be attacked at any moment. Surely he must’ve been getting thirsty too.

“Hey, señor?” Dante spoke up, his voice sounding scratchier than he’d expected.

The man didn’t verbally respond, the only sign he’d even heard him being his gaze shifting towards the Mestizo.

“Shouldn’t we drink some water?” Dante grunted, “My mouth feels drier than this desert.”

“Wait another hour; we’re comin’ up on the first stop,” the man grunted, his eyes returning to the road.

Dante internally groaned, “Well, can I get into the back of the carriage?”

“Absolutely not,” Red’s response was instantaneous.

“It’s no bother,” Eva’s monotone voice surprised the two from behind, though Dante was the only one to externally react.

Red let out a low sigh, “Weren’t ya meant to be sleepin’?”

“Rather difficult to rest when the road has more pits than a quarry. Either way, Santiago sitting in the back with me is no trouble.”

The man quirked an eyebrow at the Mestizo, “Santiago?”

“Was my alternate name that I gave when I couldn’t give my real one,” Dante replied sheepishly.

Eva hummed from the back, “Huh. Dante. It suits you.”

“Well anyways, can I get in the back?”

“No.”

“And I’m saying it’s no bother, Revolver. Do you really want to argue over this?”

The man narrowed his eyes before giving a long sigh, “Fine. Too much fightin’ with you women. Ain’t stoppin’ the coach, though.”

Dante glanced down at the ground, “I mean, you don’t really have to.”

The stagecoach was moving slightly faster than jogging pace, so not exactly hard to catch up with. Dante neatly slid off the seat, taking a moment to steady himself on the ground. While the speed wasn’t too fast, it was still enough to cause him to stumble when he hit the dirt.

He quickly caught up, though. In that moment, he got a more decent view of the stagecoach than he had before. It was surprisingly ordinary, to be honest. It was a wooden box, not even painted, with a small storage compartment in the back. It did have black curtains though, most of which were pulled over the windows.

Dante would’ve expected something more from a such a supposedly wealthy family.

Either way, it was easy enough and hop in. The inside was about as practical as the outside. Unpainted wood made the walls, with black cushions serving as the seats on either side. Dante was infinitely thankful to be out of the sun either way, though.

He sat on one of the cushions, and immediately felt fatigue flow through his body. It was so much more comfortable than the wooden box of the carriage, for sure.

Dante simply sat there for a bit, trying to stay awake before noticing Eva intently staring at him. He returned her gaze for a moment, slightly confused. When she didn’t say anything, he asked, “Is something wrong?”

Her response was quick, “No.”

She seemed to begrudgingly tear her gaze from him and stare out the window. Dante merely shrugged, leaning on the wall of the coach in his seat as he tried to fend off the exhaustion. Time seemed to pass by more smoothly in his tired state, presumably due to him falling asleep for a few minutes at time.

It wasn’t like there was any sort of signifier of time passing to grab onto, either. The view out the window was just the arid desert of the southwestern United States.

“Dante?” Eva’s voice caused him to perk up, head sluggishly raising from its dipped position.

The Mestizo could only muster a groggy, “Hmm?”

“Isn’t it bothering you?”

Dante woke up a bit at that. Eva wasn’t staring at him, but instead still looking out the window, “Isn’t what bothering me?”

“What we saw.”

He stayed silent for a moment, staring at the floor while trying to figure out what she was talking about. And then Dante realized, “You mean the bodies?”

Her wince was all he needed to confirm it.

The Mestizo opened his mouth to reply, but the noise died in his throat. He didn’t have a proper response to that. Or at least one that wasn’t a lie. He settled for the simplest answer, “I don’t think about it.”

“I’ve been trying, but I can’t. I keep remembering all the blood. How it sounded on my shoes,” her voice cracked at the end, with her lower lip trembling slightly.

Dante simply kept quiet. He wasn’t used to consoling people. And how was he even supposed to respond to something like that? Not only did he just lack general people skills, but it was over an issue he’d never had. Corpses of all sorts were just part of life on the frontier.

Horses, game, and sometimes even people.

The best way to help her feel better he could come up with was a hug, but he doubted she’d be okay with it. His gaze fell to his work boots and the coach floor, hoping that the awkward atmosphere would somehow dispel itself if enough time passed.

God seemed to be on his side at that moment, as he felt the coach abruptly stop.

“A’ight then. We’re stopping here for a moment to get some supplies,” Revolver’s voice came through the coach as he walked around the side to open the door.

Dante let Eva step out first before getting out himself. As his eyes adjusted to the brightness of the outside, he took it all in. They were at a small town, with the man having parked the coach next to the post office.

He could see a general store, bar, and hotel from where he stood.

“What supplies do we need?” Dante asked, turning to see the Revolver clambering out of the coach with several dollar bills in his hands.

The Mestizo blinked at the sudden appearance of cash, “Where’d you get that?”

“I ain’t ever tellin’,” Revolver huffed, lowering his bandana. His lower face was covered in a layer of stubble with a utilitarian mustache on his upper lip. Despite that, Dante could see several scars; the most noticeable of them being the one running vertically on his chin.

The man continued, “Both of ya follow me. Just need to buy some food at the general store. Maybe some cigars too.”

The two followed the man’s orders, staying on his heel as he made his way over to the general store. For Dante, the whole experience was surreal. He’d never gone into a town, spending his entire life on the plains and deserts of the west.

The activity coming in and out of permanent structures felt almost unnatural to the boy, used to wide open, abandoned forts and plains as places for temporary camps.

And then they entered the general store, the Mestizo’s eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets. Never before had he seen so much produce and foodstuffs in one place, even if most were canned. The gang had to hunt and scrounge around for food on a near daily basis most of the time, with canned veggies being rarity.

But now, there were crates full of canned peaches and beans and peas if the images were anything to go by. He even saw biscuits, a few alcoholic drinks, and even some candies. The boy had to physically stop himself from rushing over to check everything out. There was even a guitar, for Christ’s sake.

Dante had been able to play one, but the single guitar that gang had broke a few years back. He wondered if he still knew how to play as he idly plucked the strings.

He forced his gaze back to Revolver, who was handing over several canned items to the cashier. Dante couldn’t catch a glance at the images on the front, though, so he was completely lost as to what those items were. He did catch a few bottles of beer, though.

“So, are those two yer children?” the cashier tried to make small talk as he flitted through the purchases, mentally adding up the prices.

The man gave an absentminded, “Mhmm.”

“Bet it’s hectic, raising a family on the frontier,” the cashier grinned, “I would know myself. Got two daughters back home; loves of my life.”

“Hectic’s underselling it,” Dante murmured to himself.

The man quickly paid the $3.78 for the food, with the trio leaving the general store and Eva lagging behind them both. Dante glanced at the sky, only to realize that the sun was starting to hang low on the horizon. He glanced back at Revolver, who had his bandana pulled up again, “We’re going to be riding during the night?”

“Yep,” the man grunted back.

Dante glanced back at the building with the large bed sign, though there seemed to be a conspicuous amount of women in front, “Why don’t we just spend the night at the hotel?”

The man paused, staring where Dante was looking before he let out a short bark of laughter, “That ain’t a hotel, son.”

The Mestizo couldn’t imagine what else it would be but dropped it, not bothering to ask.

Within fifteen minutes, they were back on the rapidly darkening road, both with a light beer in their hands to solve the thirst issue.

Eva had managed to produce a lantern out of somewhere when Dante hadn’t been looking.

She set it on the floor, the small flame giving off a dim orange light in the interior. Revolver had also ordered them to keep the curtains drawn. The reason he’d given was to keep animals off their tail, but Dante knew better. They’d have better luck at keeping animals at bay with as much light as possible. Instead, the man was trying to keep them out of the sights of another gang.

Despite him not being able to see the sky or the nervous edge thanks to Revolver’s orders, the Mestizo found himself enjoying the cozy atmosphere that had settled in the stagecoach. Eva seemed to have lightened up a little too, her gaze no longer so troubled.

“It’s weird,” Dante murmured, eyes fixated on the warm glow of the lantern as he took a small sip of the liquid, trying to ignore the bitter taste, “Being under a roof during the night, that is.”

Eva hummed in response, “Is it?”

“Yeah…” Dante trailed off as he recalled the thousands of times he’d slept under the stars.

In a life where things seemed to change at the drop of a hat, where gangmembers could be killed on any outing, where he never called an area home for longer than a year, the cosmos had been a saving grace of his.

The stars may disappear with the seasons, but they’d always come back. It was a promise that nobody short of God himself could force broken.

No matter what man did, the diamonds sparkling on the celestial tapestry would remain unyielding.

Dante let the ghost of a smile make its way onto his face, “I always had a bit of an obsession with the night sky. Sometimes—when I was a niñito—I’d forget to sleep at night. Instead, I’d climb up the highest rock I could find and sit there ‘till dawn, trying to count the stars.”

“I had my own moonlit hobbies as well, now that you mention them,” Eva’s mouth curled in a small smile as she sipped from the beer bottle.

“When my parents would bid me goodnight, I’d scramble out of bed and grab a book off my shelf. I’d then spend hours upon hours reading at my windowsill, illuminated only by moonlight. When it was cloudy, I’d use a… what do you call them? Ljus.”

Dante quirked his head mid-drink, “Hmm?”

“Those cylindrical white things that you light on fire for light.”

“You mean a vela? Candle?” Dante offered, letting the bottle rest on the cushion next to him.

“Yes. That,” Eva nodded, taking another sip, “They’d oftentimes get extinguished by the breeze entering my room. Didn’t deter me, though.”

A nostalgic silence filled the air, the pair’s eyes fixated on the tiny flame of the lantern. For the first time in a long while, Dante felt truly safe. He could rest easy now. He wouldn’t have to constantly worry that one day he’d outlive his usefulness and be booted from the gang, left to drift in the sandy ocean that was New Mexico on his own. He wouldn’t have to sleep with one eye open, constantly on the look-out for anything shady from Malcolm.

And then his thoughts drifted to that snake in human skin. His last words echoed in his mind, almost as if they’d been singed into his brain itself. Malcolm always got what he wanted. With his track record, Dante was unsure if even the man’s death was going to do much to prevent Malcolm from getting the last laugh.

“That reminds me,” Eva’s soft voice made him perk up, glancing at her. He felt his heart and thoughts whiplash.

The warm glow of the lantern seemed to give the girl an otherworldly element, almost like a halo. The soft light reflected in her eyes only seemed to accentuate it. Her mouth, still curled in a small smile, made him almost want to melt on the spot.

“Didn’t I say I’d teach you how to read?” she hummed, drinking from the beer bottle.

Dante tried responding with a sentence, but his still-recovering brain could only manage a, “Mhmm.”

And then the carriage stopped. The Mestizo finally felt his mind starting to get unstuck with the movement, jolting him back to reality.

The carriage door opened, revealing Revolver holding a lantern. For a moment, his eyes switched between the two of them, narrowing in seeming suspicion. He then cleared his throat, “We’re stoppin’ here to set up camp. Sheltered, too, so don’t worry ‘bout wind or stray coyotes.”

“Camp?” Eva echoed.

“Yeah,” the man grunted, “Thought I could get through the rocky terrain at night but I underestimated it. Plus, it’s a cloudy night. I know you hate sleepin’ outside, but we’re safer settin’ up for the night and movin’ out in the morning.”

“If you say so…” Eva gave Dante a nervous smile before shuffling out of the coach, taking the lantern and her bottle with her.

It’d take the boy another ten minutes to un-puddy himself.