Chapter Text
The tail end of a faded, brown duster coat flapped wildly in the wind. Didn’t keep much dust off that way but it was a sweltering day and Robert really couldn’t be bothered to fasten a button or two. The air that rushed past him as he was jostled on horseback was well enough to do away with his sweat. Not even the shade of his hat was helping as much as he had hoped, though.
It had been months since he’d been that far west. A bout of lung fever took him off the map for a good while. Was so bad he thought it was consumption. The doctor called it Pneumonia, rattled off a bunch of mumbo-jumbo that Robert can’t ever seem to remember. He just knew that it ate up a lot of his time and he had to sell his horse and his better rifle just to afford the nights he spent coughing up a storm in paid lodging. He was lucky enough that nobody minded the noise. Robert wondered if the little lady in the kitchen was attentive enough to make him stew for every meal or if every guest at the inn was just forced to eat stew because it was all she knew how to make.
Anyway, he’d taken the train to escape that damned boomtown and got his hands on a horse. He felt a little stupid though. He had nearly too many coins on him. Usually, he’d be able to fend off anybody who’d want to take it from him but having been bedridden for so long left him fragile. He needed rest. And food. He needed… a drink.
Herman, on the other hand, sat on the back of a wagon. His hands scrambled for purchase on the rotting wood with each bump. Water damage, he’d figured. The splinters dug into his fingertips. Some group of people were heading west, and he was so sure that’s where his family was. Where his family left him for. They’d wanted gold and a homestead. He wasn’t good enough to help with all of that. He was lanky, needed so much food, and struggled to mine for more than an hour. It made him sick, all the tough work and the debris climbing down his throat. He would be dry-heaving before he’d gotten anything done. Herman shook, head jerking and eyes blinking. He didn’t like thinking about it. It was too hot and he was too sweaty and he hadn’t even noticed there was a gun to his head ‘til he looked up.
“Not again…” He whimpered, already resigned. He shut his eyes tight as he could and sighed. “If I haah- had money I wouldn’t hhh- have asked for.. for a ride.”
Herman had hoped, because there were women and children in the wagons, that the party of people who took him up would be nice people. It turns out that they would probably kill a man in front of those women and children. Well, at least they feigned it. Herm ended up walking far behind the wagons without what would be the clothes on his back and the boots on his feet. They let him keep his stockings and the long-sleeved underclothes from beneath the vest and coat they took. His hat had already gotten stolen miles back with his supplies. He knew for sure that he would get a nasty burn on the back of his neck the longer he walked. His thin, sweatslicked hair wouldn’t be enough cover.
It took Herman only a small march before he started to miss his jeans. Long johns weren’t enough to shelter him from the harsh wind sending pebbles to pummel his ankles. He also missed his flannel overshirt. It was a beautiful green and yellow pattern. It made him feel a little better to think that those clothes were going to the little boys that bounded along the insides of the wagons, but it wasn’t enough. His feet hurt and he was miserable. He pressed his hand to the back of his neck and it stung.
A couple miles out from Manteca Falls, Robert caught a glimpse of something just at the edge of the San Luis River. He nearly pulled out his rifle but there was no way it was a stag or nothin’ so he kept it on his back. He knew because he’d already strung a couple of large fish over the back of his horse. There’s not a lot of animals in places where there’s no grass, just buffalo and buffalo weren’t that small or white. The closer he got, the easier it was to see.
Some fair-skinned carrot top was drinking desperately from the river with dirty, cupped hands. In his underwear too. Robert knew better than to get close to someone like that. Maybe the guy was sick. He was glad he chose to fish earlier else he fished from those waters.
But the reason he’d rode along the river was to let his horse take a drink. He decided to stop upstream as to not get any of that guy’s sick down his horse’s gullet.
“There you go, girl. That’s right.” Robert muttered as he rode slow to the water and patted the horses neck as it bowed to meet the surface.
He felt a little off but climbed down from the saddle anyway. He needed to give the horse some feed. Bad idea. The moment Robert nudged his bag of grain toward the horses mouth, that hophead from downstream was already bumbling toward him all long-limbed. Of course a tall one like that walks so fast. Robert’s fast too, just with tugging his revolver from its holster instead of moving around.
“Hold it!” He barked from his horse’s side, shoving the oats into the empty holster. He needed a place to put it so he could stroke the horse’s hair, calm her down before she bolted at the commotion.
“Wh- Wait…” The lanky fellow slowed his stride, hands coming to meet each other over his stomach. He wrung his fingers and frowned. He was hardly audible from this far out. “I just- I was just- Have- Do you have any food?!”
Of course. A beggar. What, was he going to ask for a coin or two next? And then a bit of laudanum? Robert grit his teeth.
A split second passed with Robert’s revolver pointed out. If he was being honest, the guy did look desperate. And there was no way he could be hiding a gun. He was so skinny it would jut right out.
“Fine! Walk slow!” Robert called out before huffing and shaking his head, mostly at himself. Always with the charity. It’s not like the stuff he got was his, let alone his to share.
When the man walked up Robert could finally get a look at his face. God, he looked… young. Maybe five years younger than Robert, give or take. His eyes were large and round and so, so pale. His eyebrows were worried into a polite shape and his face was all flushed.
Robert didn’t want anything to do with it. Silently, with his gun still in his hand, he tugged free one of the fish on the back of his steed. He didn’t keep his eyes off of the boy, wary. Herman thought he looked so serious, like he would rather kill him than help. It was a surprise when the serious man tossed a fish his way. It was gross and slimy but dead. To catch it, Herman had to hold the fish to his chest. Whatever fishy liquid on its scales seeped into his clothes.
“Aw, hell…” Herman whined as he looked down at the fish. Actually, being happy was the better choice. Food! Finally! It wasn’t until Robert was already fixing to get back on his horse, boot in the stirrup, that Herman realized he couldn’t just eat it raw. That would probably kill him, right? “Oh… Oh! No- Ah. Wait, suh- Mister!”
Robert grunted, pulling himself onto the horse. He was scowling almost, expression clearly unamused.
“What is it you want, boy?” He said from the horse’s back. He felt better like that. Taller.
“It’s just- How- I can’t c- cook it. Should I… eat it raw?”
Robert nearly laughed. Why was the kid asking him questions? Stupid questions, no less. Instead, his mouth opened a tad in disbelief.
“Christ. No. You shouldn’t eat it raw. What, are you dim?”
Herman couldn’t argue with that. He’d thought so but he’d never caught a fish before. He didn’t have any matches. He didn’t have a single damn thing. He didn’t even know where the nearest town was. He couldn’t cook the fish. He was probably dim.
It didn’t take long for Robert to realize that the guy in front of him was blinking away tears. A single one fell but he couldn’t wipe it away because he had a massive, nasty fucking fish in his hands.
“Son of a… Shit, kid. Didn’t mean to call you that. There’s no need to cry.”
This only worsened the situation for Herman. He was so hungry, had no idea where he was, and now he couldn’t even eat the only food he had which was given to him by some wandering stranger! It took a single broken sob for Robert to climb back down from his horse and tear that fish out from Herman’s hands, who protested by trying to grab it back. Robert had to hold an arm out while he put it back onto his horse. It was comically boyish, a lanky young man bawling in front of him while wiping his hands on his clothes, trying to get the scent of fish off himself and only making it worse.
“I’ll cook the damn fish for you. Just stop crying. Please, stop crying.”
Herman eventually controlled his heaving breaths. By that point, Robert took a look out onto the horizon and knew that the sun would be setting within the next hour or two. He would have to start setting up camp. Now he had to take this… weeping mess with him.
He glanced out across the water and grunted, then groaned. This was met by slight alarm from the young man in front of him, which he ignored. The guy also frowned when Robert got onto the horse once again. He was so tired already, but held out a hand and helped a timid Herman onto the horse with him, who promptly stomped Robert’s foot to get up onto the horse.
The saddle wasn’t really meant to carry two people. Luckily they were both thin. Robert had to sit with his crotch uncomfortably close to the pommel and the cantle dug into Herman’s ass but it was good enough.
They only rode a short ways out. Robert knew about a small cabin by Lake Don Julio that he would spend a couple nights in every now and then. He was worried though. There was a shaking leaf of a man wrapping their arms so tight around his torso that he was thought they’d squeeze the air out of his lungs. If there was any sort of action by the cabin then the kid would probably get caught in the crossfire. Stupid, stupid Robert. Innocent lives are not to be meddled with.
This made Robert circle the cabin multiple times, hushing Herman the moment he started announcing the obvious.
“A- Th- There’s a-! House! Your house?”
“Pipe down, rascal. Need to take a look-see.”
That he did. He peered into the windows from every angle he could. It was a very convenient cabin, generally hidden by some tall, stripy rock mountains. Plateaus. There was nobody in the cabin nor was there anybody in the shed and probably not in the outhouse either, seeing as there was no horses.
It was a quaint little place, Herman thought. Patterned curtains peeked through the windows. The door was a real one, paneled and everything. There were about three, rickety wooden steps leading up to the porch of that front door. It had been more than a few days since Herman slept anywhere that wasn’t a train car or the desert dirt.
Robert tied his horse’s lead to a post that held up the roof to the banistered porch and took a lantern off a hook near the stairs. He didn’t wait for Herman, who practically fell off the horse and stumbled behind him.
There was a good amount of stuff inside the wooden building. Chairs, tables, a bed, some cabinets. There was a brick fireplace on one wall and even a writing desk. Robert was quick to set his shit down, including a bed roll, some pouches, and one gross fish.
“Know how to use these?” Robert spoke, startling Herman who was stood in the middle of the place just looking around. It was a box of matches. Herman nodded with zeal that would be alarming if Robert hadn’t already known about his eager nature so far. Robert took a seat by the fire.
It was sweet, watching the kid frantically turn his head in search of the firewood that was sitting right next to the brick. It took him just a bit longer than it should’ve to create a flame and then to push around the fire. It was enough time for Robert to gut the fish into a bucket, which he left outside, and ready a small iron pan he’d pulled from a hook above the fireplace.
“We’re halfway to Armadillo. I’ll take you there in the morning.”