Chapter Text
1908.
"Señorita Adler," greeted Sadie's quarry. A Rurales lieutenant with a sharp moustache and devilish grin to match it, he looked at her as if hungry, the effect not dulled by its delivery out of a single eye (the other obscured, as it was, by an eyepatch). They sat across from each other at a table in the dead-centre of a dusty saloon, right on the Tabasco border; the punishing humidity felt even inside, in the dim light.
"Señora," she corrected gruffly, fiddling with the band she still wore on her finger. Sadie was dressed more femininely than was typical for her, in a cotton blouse and long skirt, but still undercut by the other women who fringed the room, fanning themselves with lace fans that matched their lace collars, satin dresses, painted faces. The unfamiliar outfit, to say nothing of the lecherous stare from the man across from her, increased her discomfort.
As too did her questionable grasp of the Spanish language. Sadie had surprised herself by knowing the difference between Señorita and Señora, but couldn't say she knew much more than that. It added another layer of difficulty in her latest hunt, this time for Matthew "Greenie" Cornell, an unscrupulous mine owner who'd fled his debtors in all five states only to head south to do more of the same.
As if sensing Sadie's unease, the lieutenant launched into a rapid diatribe, occasionally gesturing towards her, or to the saloon's swinging doors. He punctuated his sentences with shotglass-sized gulps of a sweet corn liquor that he refilled invisibly, Sadie yet to see him do it, trying to keep up as she was. He leaned forward with a prolonged creak of his wooden chair and squinted at Sadie out of his good eye, waiting for a response.
"Uh," she said, inwardly cursing her bad Spanish. Several half-formed sentences bubbled up and were quickly abandoned, too many of the necessary nouns missing, and she continued instead: "Eng-lishe? English?"
The lieutenant grunted, rolling his eye. His hand left the shot glass - emptied, again - and beckoned one of the ladies forth with two curling fingers. He waited until the rustling satin stopped, his eyes fixed on Sadie, muttering out of the corner of his mouth, "La estadounidense."
The woman nodded, bunching up her skirt in her fists and leaving the room via the small door to the left of the bar. Sadie's hands, resting on her thighs, tensed at the knowledge of the hidden guns strapped to them, wishing she could just get to shooting already. But the woman reemerged, trailed by another, also in satin, her dark hair pinned and curled, a fashionable birthmark drawn on her cheek in black wax pencil.
"Teniente?" The woman said sweetly, offering a squeeze to the lieutenant's shoulder. The smile Isla Geddes gave to Sadie was tiny, just for her, and Sadie's confidence returned in force.
It had been Isla's idea to station herself with the Lieutenant in advance, in the hopes of getting more information on Greenie Cornell. She'd summoned Sadie via a two-word note - he's here - and now, all was in place.
Sadie hadn't intended on a long-term partner when she'd asked John Marston to help her on bounty hunts back in West Elizabeth, knowing any assistance the gunslinger and former gang-mate could provide would be temporary, on account of his wife's dogged insistence that they go straight. But while at the Marstons, she'd met Isla, the daughter of a ranch owner they'd once worked for. The young woman seemed so keen on Sadie's way of life that she'd felt it'd only be rude to dissuade her, and the fact that Isla had studied Spanish all but sealed the deal. When Sadie left for South America she found herself detouring north to pick Isla up, first. Isla's mother screamed from the ranch's fence and clutched at Mr. Geddes as Isla galloped out after Sadie, dark hair streaming in the wind.
It was a last-minute decision that Sadie found herself regretting, somewhat. Both she and Isla were of ranching stock but not the same, as she soon discovered. Isla could be profoundly lazy when she wasn't impulsive, and used to creature comforts that did not exist while living on the road.
It made things all the more difficult on their journey south, when their travels were repeatedly interrupted by Americans trying to escape the law; ones who needed to be hauled back states-side. The money was always too tempting to pass up, and, luckily for Sadie and Isla so far, the men were cowardly enough that they gave Isla a lot of opportunities to cut her teeth on bounty hunting. Tabasco was the furthest they'd made it before they'd caught wind of Greenie, a thousand-dollar price tag on his head, and they'd sighed, hitched their horses, and started planning.
Sadie spent a week alone while Isla learned all she could from the lieutenant, Greenie's bodyguard, but with a known weakness for women. Now faced with the man, she watched as Isla caressed his shoulder, posing as his helpful translator. She relayed Sadie's questions impassively, her school Spanish lacking the fevour and passion of the Mexicans in the room. Occasionally the lieutenant would summon Isla closer, murmuring something in her ear so that Isla's facade would break, a small titter would spill out of her painted lips, and Sadie's mood - even though she knew Isla was playing a part, that this was the whole point - would sour a little further.
She cleared her throat, drawing the attention of the two of them back to her. "So as you can gather," she concluded, pausing to let Isla relay the words. "I'm after Mr. Cornell, as is most of the law in the United States. It's in your best interest to surrender 'im to me."
At the conclusion of Isla's translation, the lieutenant barked a laugh. He spoke animatedly, hitting Isla's arm with the back of his hand as if to encourage her consensus.
"He says Greenie's gone away, further south," Isla addressed Sadie, "And that if the Americans sent a woman to find him, they obviously don't want him back that bad."
Sadie scowled, annoyed that Isla would deliver so faithful a translation. But Isla continued: "But keep your face that way when I tell you he's lying." Sadie felt her eyebrow begin to arch and forced herself to look angrier, instead. "Greenie's in the back room, why don't we pincer him out."
It was a question delivered as a statement, so as not to tip off the lieutenant, and Sadie, inwardly, thanked her reckless judgment that she'd brought Isla along. The two women traded the tiniest of smiles once again, as Sadie rose from the table and perched her hat back on her head, thanking the lieutenant for his time through faux-gritted teeth.
Once she cleared the swinging doors Sadie dashed for the rear of the saloon, fishing her guns from her thigh holsters and shouldering her way in through the back door. The weather-worn jamb gave way entirely, revealing Isla with a gun to Greenie's neck, a hank of his thinning red-blond hair in her fist. "So glad you were able to join us, Señora Adler," Isla chirped, moving to give Sadie more room to bind Greenie's wrists and ankles, the man whimpering where he sat.
"I trusted you, Miss Geddes," he mewled, and Isla wrinkled her nose, forcing his mouth open wider to push a handkerchief into it.
"First mistake," she said, jerking the ends of the handkerchief back to tie behind his head. Sadie made to stand him up and he belatedly became aware of his situation, starting to scream, as best he could, through Isla's makeshift gag.
"Shut up," Sadie said, hooking her hand around his elbow and pulling him forward. But the sound, even muffled, was enough to draw the lieutenant into the room, whose eye widened at the sight of the rich American under his protection bound and gagged. His hand found his gun and he fired without warning, the bullet whistling past Sadie's ear and smashing into the wooden wall behind her.
"Run!" She shouted, and Isla didn't hesitate, bounding out of the door Sadie'd broken and whistling for their horses, appearing again through the doorway to return fire on the lieutenant she'd had wrapped around her finger moments before. Sadie, the better shot, shoved Greenie at Isla to push up onto her horse while she held the lieutenant back.
The two mounted up and took off at full gallop, bullets from the lieutenant and his few soldiers skittering the dirt around their horses' hooves as they dashed for the nearby forest, which was thick, dense, and all but guaranteed their escape.
"Where are we going?" Isla yelled over the hoofbeats, "Back to Las Choapas?" They'd stayed in the town on their way, and Isla'd spent a lot more of their daily budget than Sadie would have liked, on fruit and cigarettes and several luxurious baths (and the satin dress she'd worn to convince the lieutenant to keep her, so Sadie supposed she couldn't be too angry about it).
But all the same, Sadie shook her head. "Can't stay in town where there'll be more men lookin' to protect that one for cash," she pointed behind her at a writhing Greenie on the back of Isla's Hungarian Halfbred, Captain. "We're camping."
Isla moaned, spurring Captain on so that they could ride side-by-side, their pursuers thankfully receding to small, army-grey specks on the horizon. "There'll be hardly anything left of him after a night in that jungle, Sadie, the mosquitoes are as big as my damned face."
"Nearest saloon's the one we just left," Sadie said lightly, trying not to laugh. "Be my guest." Isla scowled at her, and she did smirk, then, urging her Mustang, Hera, onward.
They rode into the trees, slowing their horses to a walk to allow them to carefully pick over the uneven ground. The canopy was so thick that the very sunlight was green, casting their faces and Sadie's hair into an eerie, otherworldly hue. Sadie led them onward for another hour before she was certain they weren't being followed, then called for them to halt, the small clearing they'd found as good as any to make camp.
*
Sadie dismounted and approached to listen at Greenie's mouth, long, slow breaths indicating he'd passed out. She hauled him off the back of Isla's horse and the man barely stirred, even as she guided him rather roughly to the ground. She checked his bindings to make sure they were still secure, then removed the skirt covering her riding pants, and only after that did she sit, resting her forearms over her knees and taking a deep drink of water from her canteen.
Just as Sadie and Greenie were still, Isla was frenetic, blowing the hair off of her forehead, fanning herself vigorously in the heat, the skirts of the satin dress piled all around her.
"You're only gonna make yourself hotter, like that," Sadie cautioned. Isla shot her a look.
"What else am I supposed to do?" She complained. There were only two modes to Isla, Sadie'd noticed: competent or callow, seldom anything in between.
"You could change outta that stupid dress."
Isla clutched at the skirts reflexively, as if Sadie were going to steal the garment from her. "Not until I get a wash in, there's no point."
Sadie gulped again from the canteen and pointed off through the trees. "River we crossed on our way in should be just back that way a quarter-mile, go ahead."
Isla wrinkled her nose. "I don't know why we can't just go back to Las Choapas-" and Sadie cut her off, annoyed.
"I told you why." Isla fell silent, chastised, crossing her arms over her chest only to uncross them and return to fanning herself.
Eventually she mumbled, "You need a wash more than me, anyway. I've been living with this one." Isla kicked out toward the sleeping Greenie. "He had a gorgeous bath."
Sadie watched as Isla skimmed her fingertips along her shins and knees, as if imagining herself back in the bathwater. She took a discreet sniff of her own armpit. For her, too, and as much as she hated to admit it, some of the veneer of bounty hunting life had worn off.
"We could both go," Isla said more loudly, as if testing Greenie's wakefulness. "Doesn't look like he's planning a big escape anytime soon."
Sadie frowned, looking at the sleeping man again. She did stink, and she wasn't sure when their next chance to wash up would be. But leaving a thousand dollars unattended was especially foolhardy.
A shadow fell over Sadie's eyes and she looked up to see Isla in front of her, grinning. She seized Sadie's free hand and tugged her in the direction she'd pointed toward. "We won't be more than a half hour. He's quite the heavy sleeper." Sadie felt a small thrum of guilt, not liking to know the particulars of what Isla contributed to their operation, and it was enough to propel her to standing and grab a clean outfit and bar of soap from her saddlebags.
Isla clapped her hands together in excitement, and Sadie shot her a stern look, pointing at the sleeping Greenie. But as Isla had said, he barely stirred, and she grinned at Sadie again. "Told you."
*
The walk to the river, as Sadie'd predicted, was short; but it didn't stop the rivulets of sweat from running down their backs, the humidity unrelenting. The river churned before them, a narrow way across but deep, its bottom obscured to them. Several water birds beat their large wings and took flight as they approached, leaving them alone.
Sadie glanced around for a tree or something else to hide behind and disrobe. Isla, much more uninhibited, sloughed off the rustling satin and stepped from it, dropping her clean clothes on top and executing a dive from the riverbank, her bare body a graceful arc that sliced into the water.
"Hoo!" She shouted gleefully, upon surfacing, her dark hair plastered around her forehead and cheeks. "It's marvellous, Sadie. Cool as anything." Sadie's cheeks reddened and she looked to her feet as Isla swam the backstroke for a few yards, revealing herself.
"We're out in the open," Sadie chastised, her search for a changing spot at odds with her sudden need to look at nothing, her face burning.
Isla snorted, and she returned to treading water. "You think those waterfowl got a real eyeful?" Sadie rolled her eyes, debating cutting her losses and heading back to their camp.
"Hey, Sadie?" Isla's voice was free of the cavalier tone it had moments before, and Sadie chanced a look back. The woman's face was concerned, too. "You think there're creatures in this river?"
"Creatures, like what? Why?"
"Something just brushed my leg."
"What did?"
Isla glanced back down at the water's surface and then up to Sadie to speak, but whatever she said was swallowed by the sudden, dramatic wrenching of her head and shoulders under the water, the ripples and bubbles that remained sloshing violently.
"Isla!" Sadie dropped her bundle of clothes and gunbelt, peeled off her shirt and pants lightning-quick. She jumped into the water and tried desperately to see through the murk, granules of rivermud sparkling in the afternoon sunlight.
Something slammed into her bare back, and she reeled underwater, righting herself to kick against the river's bottom and rocket to the surface.
Sadie opened her eyes to find herself face-to-face with Isla, laughing maniacally, her hand held over her mouth and barely able to stay afloat. She burned anew with embarrassment and anger, shoving at Isla's shoulders and swimming a few yards away from her, holding her arms over her breasts.
"Oh, come on, Sadie, don't be like that," Isla said, her laughter dying down. "Got you in the water, didn't I?"
"Got me closer to my grave," Sadie muttered, too furious to admit how nice the water felt, a welcome coolness.
"Don't know what you're so worried about," Isla's voice was both quieter and closer, as she paddled toward her. "It's just us girls."
Her face appeared before Sadie's, again, just the remnants of a smirk left on her lips, in her sparkling eyes. She'd retrieved the soap from the riverbank and held it forth, a peace offering. Sadie reached for it but Isla held it back, mumbling, "let me." She took Sadie's braid and picked the knot out of the ribbon that secured it, shaking her hair loose.
Isla lathered up her hands and pushed them into Sadie's scalp, each massaging fingertip heavenly. She washed behind Sadie's ears and at the base of her skull, then bundled her long, blonde hair - gone sandy-brown in the water - in her two fists. Sadie was vaguely aware of Isla's legs working to keep her afloat, but her hair in the woman's fingers, gently caressed and cared for, took much of her attentions away.
Her husband Jake had done this for her, in another time, before their ordered washtub had come in and the newlyweds took turns washing each other's hair at the ranch's kitchen table, a towel draped over each of their shoulders, the candlelight illuminating the little they had - and yet, so much.
She was so lost in her memories that it took her a moment to clue into Isla in front of her again, staring at her expectantly. Sadie shook away the tear forming at the corner of her eye, stammered out, "Wh-what?"
Isla smiled, proffering the bar of soap from where it'd been tucked under her arm. "You want to handle the rest?" Sadie felt a twinge low in her belly, the word no pushing against her lips, but she cleared her throat and took the soap, instead.
The women scrubbed themselves of dirt and sweat, their skin emerging ruddy and clear. Isla climbed out of the water, first, turning back to offer Sadie a hand out. Sadie took it, holding her gaze steadily forward, taking in Isla's dark, pert nipples, twin birthmarks on her right ribcage and more of them trailing haphazardly down her lower back, visible as Isla paused to wring out her hair.
They dressed silently in their clean clothes, blouses and pants, the satin dress bundled under Isla's arm as they meandered back to camp. The sun beat down on them, as before, but there was a renewed coolness under Sadie's skin, from the river, and below that, an ache, something she'd buried that throbbed anew.
She stared at Isla's back as she picked her way over roots and ferns, thinking of the birthmarks that lurked beneath. She was jarred from her thoughts only when Isla said, "Oh, shit."
Greenie Cornell was gone, a scuffed patch of dirt the only sign he'd wriggled his way to standing.
"Shit," Sadie echoed, striding forward with her hand on the grip of her revolver. "We took too long."
Isla dug her toe into the dirt, chewing on her lip. "I really thought he was out."
"Well, we thought wrong." Sadie tried keeping the annoyance from her voice, given that more than the lion's share of it was for herself. She knelt before the dirt, running her hand through the nearby plants, searching for any of Greenie's bindings. "No bindings," she reported, when she found none. "Means he's still wearing them."
Hera snorted and stamped his front hoof, demanding Sadie's attention. The reins were dangling loose, and the horse was a few paces away from where he'd been hitched. "And looks like he tried to take off on old Hera here, but he didn't like that too much, did you, boy?"
"So he's likely not too far," Isla said.
Sadie nodded, proud her novice had picked up that much. She pulled herself up into the saddle, took Hera in a quick circle to scan for where Greenie had left from. A crushed few ferns to the south were as good a sign as any.
"Let's go," she said, clicking Hera into a trot and listening for Isla's mounting up behind her. "He went this way." The women continued along the trail Greenie'd left them, hoping to find the man before it got dark, a thousand dollars on the line.
"Covered in horse sweat, already," Sadie heard Isla lament behind her. "How many baths can a person take in a day?"
Sadie smiled to herself, nudging Hera to the right at the sight of a man's footprint in some muck. "Reckon two wouldn't be the worst thing."