“Go on, boy. I’ll take it from here,” Scotch rasped, leaning against the steel wall in an effort to alleviate his latest bout of barrel fever. The man was a perpetual drunk, and unless Tom believed no outlaw gang could carry on without a fellow who lost his senses to liquor each night, he only kept Scotch around for old times’ sake.
“In your hands,” Ned said and stepped out of the locomotive, into the picturesque landscape of the sun gradually hiding behind far-away hills. But as he landed and heard a shot closer to the back of the train, his stomach plummeted all the way down the ravine and plunged into cold water.
Junior members of the gang, who held watch outside the cars, all stiffened, grabbing their rifles a tad more tightly, but then a man tumbled outside with a cry, followed by Saul, who jumped off the train with the grace of a wild cat. Ned watched the poor stranger back away on his hands and buttocks, his throat uttering unintelligible sounds, but his fate was sealed the moment he spoke.
“You... none of you have to do this. I’m sure you still have God in your heart, even if demons have lured you off the righteous path. Nobody’s too bad for redemption. Not even you,” he whimpered, focusing on Saul, whom he rightfully singled out as a respected man.
Saul halted, the red sun turning his profile into a dark silhouette, with the long braid rocking with the wind like a scorpion’s tail. Ned’s lips dried, but he didn’t dare move as Saul approached his victim and scooted at his feet. Inside the cars, passengers cried and begged for mercy while familiar voices of the very people with whom Ned had shared food and shelter for the past two weeks barked orders and threats.
For the blink of an eye, he thought that maybe his revenge wasn’t worth staining his conscience in tar so hot and thick, but then Saul stung the fallen man with the stock of his rifle, and Ned found himself running their way.
Saul had been the one to murder the priest in the picture shown to Ned by the Pinkertons, and while gang members jokingly called him a heathen, he’d killed shamans too, and for all Ned knew he’d do the same to pastors and any other religious leader if given half the chance. His hate for all gods was equal, because, as he claimed, they have all forsaken him, his family, and his people. But this poor fellow who happened to be on the train when Heathen Saul boarded? For all Ned knew, he’d done nothing unsavory in his life and didn’t deserve to suffer for the crime of appealing to another man’s conscience.
“You’re a shepherd who leads people astray by making promises you cannot keep,” Saul roared and turned the rifle in his hand, pointing it straight at the fallen man’s head.
That was Ned’s cue. He’d gotten rid of the dynamite and had risked his life to stop the train so innocents wouldn’t have to die if the train’s brakes failed, and he wasn’t going back on his principles now. He stepped forward and pushed the muzzle of the rifle aside before Saul could have decided whether the man was worth his bullet.
“Are we not here to rob ‘em? Stop wasting time!” he raised his voice at the man, who was twice his age and way more experienced. His blood boiled with the heat of his own audacity. Saul’s lips parted in surprise, but Ned turned to the fallen man before Saul could have struck him. “Your fuckin’ valuables! All of them. Now!” Hot sweat covered his face, but he wouldn’t back down.
Saul shoved Ned with the barrel of his rifle, but Zeb of all people, appeared out of nowhere to save Ned’s hide. “He ain’t wrong, Saul. More robbin’, less smashing. You can slit some poor nun’s throat another time. Both of you get in there and help us relieve the good folks of their luggage.” He walked past them and entered the train, yelling to the frightened people inside.
The blood in Ned’s veins was so hot he wondered how it still flowed instead of coagulating. Saul huffed something that sounded like many swear words forged into one and ignored Ned, following Zeb’s lead.
Ned only remembered the pious passenger when the man sobbed, pushing a watch into his hand. This time, there was no euphoric taste of power on Ned’s tongue, just shame, but with the other members watching, he couldn’t refuse the loot and shoved it into his bag along with the poor stranger’s wallet. He walked off with a thick rock in his throat
If his parents had seen him take money off a man who’d been scared half to death, they’d have turned in their graves. But staining his own soul was a sacrifice he was willing to make to bring the Gotham Boys to justice.