River

Mason

God damn it. I seem to keep drifting between unconsciousness and anger. I am so fucking aggravated. I wish that Little had just left the bullet in my leg, I think I was doing better before he tried to butcher me.

Every time I wake up, I am furious all over again. This whole situation leaves me livid. The foreigner and his whore wife have managed to bring me to this. Lying here in the swamp, my men complaining all around me, unable to find the strength to just get up and lead them out of here. Every time I try, I feel myself grow limp and everything goes dark again.

So I know that I just need some more time to recover, but my men are already impatient that it is taking too long. I hear them talking. I know the food is almost gone.

I’m going to have to make some decisions for them, they are obviously too stupid to figure it out by themselves. I’ve decided to send them off, back to the Trace to rustle up some more funds and supplies. By the time they get back, I should be recovered. I’ve decided to have Stu stay with me, and everyone else can go.

I spent the entire day yesterday forcing myself to eat the food that Stu brought me, drink the water, and do nothing but rest. I did not try to get up or exert myself, in the hopes that the rest would help me recover faster.

When I open my eyes, the morning sunlight is streaming into our soggy shelter. I actually think I might feel a little bit better today. I don’t seem to feel as much pain in my leg, and maybe the fever isn’t quite as high. I think my efforts yesterday helped.

I manage to prop myself up against the rock wall behind me, and reach over to the waterskin that has been left next to me. I feel even better after drinking a bit of water.

I am more encouraged than I have been in days.

This is going to work out fine.

“Hey,” I say loudly, “ya’ll come over here. I have a plan.”

The men are outside of the overhang, out of the mud here in the shelter. They glance over at me, seeming surprised to hear me speaking. I know I haven’t said much since I got here. This seems to be another sign that I am recovering. I see a couple of them look at each other and shrug, then head my way.

In a few minutes, they are all here, even Little. He leans against the outside wall. Stu stands in the sun just outside. The rest of them sit on their bedrolls.

“Okay,” I tell them. “I need just a bit more time to get well, but I know we’ll need more food before then. So I want you all to go on back to the Trace. Only straight robberies, don’t waste any time on anything else. No rapes or murders. Just gather up whatever you can. I figure in a week or two you’ll have whatever we need, and by the time you get back here we’ll be ready to move on to the next camp, before it starts raining too much.” I look over at Stu. “Except Stu. You stay here with me.”

“That’s the plan, huh?” Little says.

“It is.”

“Well, I have a better plan,” he goes on. The men look at him. “I know a way to get much more than we could ever make on the Trace.”

“Pfsh,” I scoff. “I doubt it.”

“I do,” he insists. “I know a way to get two thousand dollars.”

Stu for some reason looks over in alarm.

I roll my eyes. “In your dreams.”

He points in my direction. “There is two thousand dollars, just sitting right there, ripe for the picking.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Little?” I say, exasperated. He’s showing his crazy side again. The men look at him, perplexed. Stu is shaking his head.

“There’s a reward for Mason’s capture,” Little says.

“So?” I ask.

“So, I say we collect the reward.”

“What the fuck, Little? Shut up and get ready to go to the Trace, like I said.”

One of the men asks, as though this isn’t the craziest goddamn thing Little has ever said, “What do you mean collect the reward?”

Little smiles. It is not pretty. “I mean, we can turn him in. We can collect the reward.”

I am flabbergasted. The men’s heads all swivel in my direction, staring at me.

Stu says, “Don’t be stupid, Little. The reward is for his gang too, not just him. Don’t you think even if you did manage to haul Mason in, he would just tell them you are part of his gang too? There’s no way for any of us to collect the reward. We’d just be arrested too.”

“Besides,” says another man, “Mason can’t even walk. There’s no point in talking about this. Let’s get ready to go to the Trace, like he said.”

“I agree,” Little says, “he can’t walk. I agree with Stu, too. He can’t talk.”

“What?” more than one of the men say. Little is crazier than usual this morning, it seems.

He starts walking towards me from the entrance.

“I am collecting that two thousand dollars. He doesn’t need to walk. I’ll carry him. And he won’t talk, either. It’s the perfect plan. I’ll turn him in, collect the reward, and we can all retire.”

I’m staring at him in confusion and alarm. Everyone else just seems confused. Except Stu.

Stu grabs Little’s arm and yanks him back from me. “Get away from him. Are you crazy? He’s your leader. He has a good plan, just go to the Trace and when you get back he’ll be better.”

I hate listening to myself be talked about like this. I’m about to start issuing more commands, but Little pushes against Stu, who falls down into the mud. “Are you kidding yourself?” he demands. He points over at me. “Look at him! All of you. Look at him. He is no good to any of us.”

Stu is trying to get up and stop him, but Little is already standing right next to me. He kicks my injured leg, not too hard, but enough to make me gasp and almost pass out.

He looks around at the others. “See? He’s obviously never going to be able to walk right. He won’t be any use at all on the Trace, even if he does manage to limp his way up there. I doubt he’ll ever be able to get up at all.”

“You’re not making any sense,” one of the men says. “You couldn’t carry him all the way into town to turn him in.”

“I don’t have to.” He looks down at me, and I see the crazy glint in his eye that he gets right before he kills somebody. I back up in alarm. “I don’t have to carry all of him. Just enough for him to be recognized.”

Oh god. I think Stu realizes at the same time that I do what he means. He tries to lunge at Little, but a couple of the other men grab him before he can get close enough. I haven’t noticed them protesting - I’ll bet Little told them his plan in advance. One of them is James May, who has always chafed under my command.

I manage to scramble up, actually get on my feet for the first time in days, ready to fight him off, put him in his place, but my body betrays me. The wound that Gregor’s whore gave me makes me too weak, unable to remain standing, and I feel myself falling, my vision going black again.

The last thing I see is Little’s hand reaching for my throat.

Stu

It’s already too late. Mason passes out as soon as he tries to stand up, so he can’t even try to defend himself. I guess it’s a mercy that he is unconscious at the end. I can’t say that Mason is really a friend of mine. I’ve never really had any friends. But I have been loyal to him, put a lot of effort into getting him here, and it appalls me to see this.

Little keeps his hands against Mason’s throat for much longer than necessary to finish the job, I’m sure. The two men are still holding me back, but I’m not fighting them any more, not after the first few seconds. I knew it was already over.

When Little gets out his knife, and starts to work on sawing off Mason’s head, though, they let go of me, as soon as I start vomiting.

I stagger out of the little cave, and make my way up the hill, to sit on the rocks where I have been spending my nights. I have to think. Obviously I have to leave this crazy pack of lunatics. Where should I go?

I am looking out over the swamp surrounding the area, merging into the Bayou. The morning sun is shining beautifully over the scene, the water is glistening, some of the trees are starting to change into their fall colors. Wildlife is stirring, birds, reptiles. You would never know that a horrifying murder and beheading just took place, in the midst of all of this serenity.

I should probably just go immediately, before Little remembers about me, but I am too overwhelmed with the horror of what I just witnessed to be thinking clearly.

There is movement below me. Several of the men are carrying something out of the cave. They bring it over to the water at the edge of the Bayou, toss it in, then one of them kicks it with his foot to start it floating away. They go back into the shelter.

I realize with disgust that it is what is left of Mason. I feel sick again. The body doesn’t sink, probably not weighted enough without the head attached. It floats there, grotesquely, slowly spinning with the current, and I can’t stop looking at it.

Soon enough, there is motion along the sides of the swamp. I see two large gators detach themselves from the edge, and start to move towards Mason’s body. As soon as the first one arrives, I see it slip beneath the body, there is a churning in the water, and it is pulled underneath. The last thing I see is his hand above the surface before it, too, is submerged.

“That was quite a sight, eh?”

I start so hard I’m lucky I’m not right at the edge of the rock, I would have fallen off.

Shit. I knew I should have gone.

Little is standing right beside me. He’s pointing his pistol at me. “Get up. You’re coming to Natchez. Help us turn Mason in. You’ll show us the way. Don’t worry,” he grins, “we’ll split the reward with you. You can have your share just as soon as we get it, and be on your way. Nobody can say I’m not a fair man.”

Fuck.

When we climb down the hill, James May is standing in front of the shelter holding a large burlap sack, and I think I’m about to be sick again when I realize what is in it.

“Give him the sack to carry,” Little tells him.

I can’t think of any way not to take it. Little is keeping his pistol aimed straight at me. The weight of the bag is far more substantial than I would have guessed.

That is how I find myself, carrying a head in a bag, a pistol pointed at my back, leading Little Harpe and James May towards Natchez.