Chapter 37: Trelawny
Johnny couldn't care less about the commotion; right now he was lost in the system, checking his Western Ip Man progress bar.
After a bit of trial and error he'd discovered—to his delight—that knocking a man out, reviving him, and knocking him out again could rocket the quest forward.
Immoral, sure, but Johnny couldn't be bothered.
He'd never claimed to be a saint; ever since arriving in this world he'd only ever cared about doing exactly as he pleased.
Next time he ran into some scumbag who deserved to die, he'd farm the bar to full in one go.
Naturally he'd pick somewhere secluded—no need for a corpse to bring trouble knocking.
Meanwhile Arthur and the others had lost all taste for drink after the brawl.
They knew the sheriff might come nosing around after the racket they'd raised.
A quick huddle later, they decided to scram before things got worse.
Their worry was pointless. Even here in the east the folk were as tough as rawhide and none too fond of outsiders.
So when Johnny had the upper hand the onlookers shouted for restraint;
had the tables turned, not one would have wasted breath on fairness.
Just then a man in a razor-creased, tailored suit strolled up, every step elegant.
He carried himself with natural nobility, his crisp British aristocratic accent marking him as someone important.
'I see you're making new friends again, Arthur!'
The stranger's bright, ringing voice jerked the four of them around.
A few minutes earlier Dutch and Trelawny had been strolling when they spotted a knot of people outside the saloon and ambled over for a look.
Sure enough, Arthur's crew were the troublemakers.
Dutch and Trelawny took the sight in stride; it was nothing new.
Trelawny didn't rush in. He lingered, watching the drama unfold with amused eyes.
Only after the fists stopped flying did he amble forward and greet them.
Arthur turned, broke into a grin and answered:
'Well if it isn't Josiah! Thought you'd be in New York playing middle-man by now—what brings you here?'
Thanks to Johnny's heavy lifting Arthur had come through the fight without a scratch, nothing worse than a rumpled coat-tail, and he was in high spirits as he bantered.
'If I'd gone to New York I'd have missed this textbook adventure. Now who's the big fellow? Looks like he could wrestle a bear!'
Trelawny pointed excitedly at the newcomer, tone light and easy, as though no time had passed since their last meeting.
Arthur launched into Johnny's story, painting vivid pictures of his taste for wolf-meat.
Trelawny gaped; of all the eccentrics he'd met, Johnny was the first to relish something that tough and stringy.
When Trelawny offered his hand Johnny grabbed it eagerly—he'd been dying to meet the famous fixer.
'Enough chatter. I swung by Blackwater Town looking for you lot—you weren't exactly welcome. Found your man Sean about to be handed over to the Bounty Hunters; they're holding him for the highest-bidding sheriff who fancies playing hero.'
Everyone perked up at news of Sean, especially Arthur, who thought of him as a kid brother.
'Reliable word is they're really after Dutch,' Trelawny went on. 'Little Sean isn't worth much, but you, Dutch—your head's priced at fifteen thousand dollars. Bag you and they can retire in shameless comfort.'
Dutch took the news without blinking; he'd seen the trick before.
Still, he said no Gang member would be left behind—Sean would be rescued.
'Charles, Josiah, Javier—ride to Blackwater Town and scout where they're holding Sean. Keep your heads down. Arthur, young Johnny—go fetch the padre; he's been gone too long.'
Dutch rattled off orders, oblivious to Bill standing nearby with a swollen, purple face.
'Dutch! What about me?'
Memory struck Dutch like lightning; he winced, bees buzzing in his skull.
Rubbing his temples, he finally muttered that Bill should come back to camp with him—
the poor oaf was useless for anything else. Spying in Blackwater or tracking the priest was moon-talk for a man with a walnut-sized brain.
Johnny, ready to ride, opened his mouth to call Arthur—only to see the man bolt for the saloon like a startled hare.
Arthur had remembered he'd left his beloved hat inside.
Judging by the way he guarded that thing, prying it away would be harder than robbing a bank vault.
Johnny watched him go, shook his head and waited by the hitching post.
Minutes crawled past before Arthur re-emerged, hat firmly on head and looking pleased with himself.
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