Chapter Text
Kieran Duffy he was called, a scrawny man, came over from Ireland when he was just a baby. His father dreamt of farming somewhere nice out west in the vast fields of California. When they moved his parents were dirt poor, they barely scraped by so resorting to living on a run-down shack on the edge of a ranch to work off debts was their only choice. That's where he spent his younger years, learning to fish and track. That was untill he turned twelve. Both his mammy and pappy contracted cholera, leaving him to tend to them whilst working in the stables at the ranch to pay off debts that weren't even his. With his parents left unable to pay for medical care they succumbed to their illnesses only a few months after contracting the dammed disease. Kieran buried them in shallow graves a few feet from the house at the base of a vibrant wisteria tree, with no money to pay for headstones he resorted to looking along a riverbed that ran along the side of the shack for rocks. He spent hours looking for 'the perfect ones' only to be scolded by the master of the ranch for not working. For three years he lived by himself, living off of fish he had hooked in the small river beside where he stayed. He spent more time with the stable horses than he did with people. He learned about all the tack he could, being unable to read or write, and knew what each horse needed. Staying in the stables for hours on end, usually only leaving if he was asked of it. After a while of working, he could no longer keep up with the payments and was kicked off the ranch with nothing to his name apart from a scraggy horse he named Branwen, no money and no family.
He lived alone for a while, living off of fish he had caught whilst traveling or food from local stores nearby wherever his tent was set up with what little money he could muster. He had stolen a few horses and sold them, mostly taking them from drunkards who'd be too hammered to realise that their steed was gone. As soon as hair started to grow on his face he signed up for the army, which turned out fine until he got caught in the general's bed unwillingly. He was dishonorably discharged that very day whilst the general got no punishment whatsoever, if he was to be honest– Kieran hated the old bastard. The man wouldn't even glance at him in the day! But as soon as night fell and nobody was around... well that was a different story. He'd leave the General's tent limping and red-faced, covered in tears and sweat. Nobody questioned it until a sergeant walked a bit too close and heard everything. He was left yet again with nothing to call his own. he struggled to survive by himself for a few months before falling in with a small group of outlaws; Jeramiah, Cecil and Thomas, low-level scums who took part in measly sheep rustling or robbing innocent folk far away from towns in fear of getting hung. it was far from the best life but it felt almost like a small family, dirty and strange but still a family. they all got along for the most part of 6 years as they slowly saved up to buy a bit of land together, maybe even a ranch if they'd managed to get Kieran to stop buying horse care products or extra food because 'they deserved it'. They weren't nicest to him but they would still save him from the gallows if it were to come to it. They lay low for the most part, not getting involved in any big jobs until Jeremiah got caught pickpocketing one of Angelo Bronté's boys on the streets of Saint Denis. With how high up he was, word got out pretty quickly to him and soon enough Jeremiah was at the end of a rope in the center of the city. the boys disbanded almost immediately after, not even trying to save the man. Cecil and Thomas were caught shortly after, leaving Kieran with the camp they had set up just on the outskirts of Lemoyne.
The first thing he did was wait, for days hoping someone would come back. that was his weak spot— he couldn’t stand being alone. he waited for so long he had forgotten to eat, silently praying the boys would come back and embrace him. After a few days he realized nobody was coming to save him. he hadn’t fed the boys’ horses, or himself for that matter, so he gave them all scraps of what little food they had stolen since the last move and led them to a stable as he was incapable of caring for four horses by himself. He gave the boys’ horses to the stable hand. he walked away with a good hand of $75, after all they were well-trained horses and he wanted to get his money’s worth. He rode back to the camp on Branwen and collected anything he could find that had been left behind, food, ammunition, clothes. That was the richest Kieran been in years and yet he was the loneliest he’d even been since his parents’ death. So he packed his things and moved again, somewhere nicer; a small tourist town by the name of strawberry. The town was awfully scenic for how small it was, it had beautiful flowing bodies of water that ran throughout the town leading to the upper Montana river. the blistering sun of the west was blocked out by the surrounding woodland, which added to the whimsical feeling of the place. kieran liked it there, it felt safe. That night he booked a room at the hotel and a warm bath, god it had been a while since he’d bathed and it felt good— he could finally rest without the fear of his throat getting slit or one of the boys taking advantage of him, not that they had while they were alive, but it lingered in the back of his mind.
After a few awkward interactions with the townsfolk, Kieran had managed to get himself a job as a stable hand, tending to the horses was his specialty after all. he enjoyed it far more than sleeping off somewhere in the woods with men that could kill him or leave him at any moment. everything was peaceful, that was until the O’driscoll boys started showing up around town. Rough and rugged men who weren’t afraid to put up a fight if someone even such as looked at them and Kieran hated it. Every time they showed up he could feel his heart race and sweat start to drip down his face, he especially hated it when they’d start fighting. He almost pissed himself when he heard gunshots behind him, whipping around and reaching for his gun belt only to remember how he sold it for horse care products. Kieran was a gentle soul, that’s all he’d known himself as, even his mammy would tell him whilst tucking him into bed that he was too kind for this word and she was right. He hated how anxious he was, how emotional he got, it irked him. But as long as he kept his distance he was fine, that was until Colm’s boys held him at gunpoint to join the gang or get his brains blown out in the middle of the street. Being the coward he was he agreed to follow them, he didn’t even try and fight back as they hogtied him and threw him on the back of one of their horses. Kieran knew he was rather skinny as he frequently forgot to eat but he really felt his ribs digging into himself and how quickly his body temperature dropped as the horses scaled a rather rocky mountain. The further they went up, the more Kieran wished he had just accepted his fate back in strawberry, the cold was unbearable and he was losing feeling in most of his limbs. He silently begged for the cold to stop berating him as they went higher and higher.
when they reached Ewing Basin, an abandoned mining town he was thrown off the horse into the freezing snow, he curled in on himself, trying to absorb any heat he could from the already frozen solid ground. His skull pounded as he was cut free from his bindings and dragged to a tent; Colm’s tent. Dazed and confused he slowly opened his eyes to look around the tent, his eyes landed on the man sat before him, his face scrunched into one of disgust as he was hit with a strong stench of whiskey and cigarettes.
“and who might you be?” Colm questioned, his voice croaky and gruff as he flicked a cigarette butt at Kieran’s forehead. He flinched, wincing at the stinging sensation on his forehead.
“K-Kieran.. Kieran Duffy sir…”
“Ah, a fellow Irishman.” Colm groaned as he stood up, He was obviously an older man, maybe around his early forties’. Kieran was a bit confused to see a man of Colm’s age running a gang of that size. “Your father Irish son?”
Kieran’s tired eyes followed him, the pain from the cigarette started to subside and slowly turned into a migraine as he came to his senses, ”yes-.. yes sir..”
Colm sighed before responding, "I never did like them, always loud-mouthed and arrogant.”
Before Kieran could react, he got booted hard in the gut. He doubled over in pain, whimpering and writhing on the hard floor as he clutched his stomach, his face flushed red with embarrassment he hated how weak he was. Colm chuckled, obviously enjoying seeing him in pain and vulnerable. When he tried to sit up, Colm grabbed him by his long, greasy hair and pulled his head up towards his face. Kieran could smell alcohol on his breath with how close they were. He smiled before speaking, his teeth were almost as rotten as him, a few missing but the few remaining were a sickly yellow. Kieran wanted so much to pull away from him but he was frozen with fear.
“You good at anything boy? or should i just kill you here?” Colm pulled out his cattleman revolver and pressed it to Kieran’s head. He hesitated for a second until he heard the hammer cock back.
”horses! i-i’m good with horses it’s all i know i swear!” he felt tears run down his face, god it was humiliating. He couldn’t read, couldn’t write, couldn’t shoot a gun but of course, he had horses. but what good were horses in a run-down mine camp in a snowy mountain far too cold for them except from traveling from point A to point B if they weren’t in good condition? Colm let go of him, pulling his gun back and scoffing as Kieran fell to the ground.
”go on then, i ain’t paid much mind to them horses so you might as well.” He scowled at Kieran who was stood, dumbfounded by what just happened.
”well i-“
”You get outta here before I slit your throat!”
Before he could get another word out, Kieran thought it was best to leave and do as he was told; tend to the horses. He was still disorientated by the whole ordeal but he was conscious enough to figure out where the horses were kept. He dragged himself towards a nearly unrecognizable stable, he felt bad for the horses who’d been crammed into the almost fully burnt down remains. As he pushed forward he could see the absolute state the gang had left their companions in, their coats and hair matted with snow, tack left on them or discarded on the grimy floor to get trampled. The place stank to high heavens, it was confusing to Kieran how a space so open to the cold could reek so much of shit. He looked around for any grooming kit only to be met with a sad excuse of a comb on a nearby stool. He walked up to the closest horse with a sigh, it was an American paint with a beautiful cream and white coat, well he wasn’t sure if it was white or just the snow embedded into its fur.
“Hey boy..” Kieran reached out with a bony hand and gently stroked the horse's snout. He'd always had a way with horses, ever since he was little. The paint nuzzled his snout into him, Kieran thought he was just being friendly but after a few more seconds he realised the incessant nosing was because he was hungry.
“Oh.. you er- you hungry boy?”
He reached into his pockets only to pull out a scrap of pocket lint. All his things were in the saddle bags on Branwen, who he didn't know if he'd see again. After a while of sitting, gently combing through multiple horse's hair, a few of Colm's boys came out from their tents and called Kieran over.
"Hey you! new feller, you got our horses?" the biggest one of the group, who Kieran didn't yet know the name of paced over to him. He backed up as he came closer, he felt his heartbeat starting to rise.
"I- i dunno all the horses yet mister... you'd have to.. to show me what they-" He was cut off by a strong shove to the side as he fell to the floor. Thick, powdery snow covered his clothes yet again, somehow it hurt more than when he was let off the first horse. He groaned as he tried to push himself off of the freezing floor to no avail. The men strode past him, climbing onto what he could only assume was their own horses, muttering something about sodomites and weakness. He could tell they were talking about him, who else in Colm's gang could possibly be classed as weak? they were all hardened killers and he was a pathetic excuse for a man.
After a few weeks of being shoved around and tormented by the other men in the gang that things started turning around for Kieran. He would have a chance to get food at least once every day instead of only once a week, he had a place to sleep and slightly warmer clothes. In the time he had, Kieran also managed to convince some of the men in camp to help out with rebuilding the stables. It wasn’t the best job but they had draughty walls and a roof set up, at least he didn’t have to worry about getting frostbite every time he tended to the horses.
It wasn't until a month or two of riding with the O'driscolls that Colm started keeping an eye on Kieran, following him into the stables or inviting him into his tent more often than usual. He didn't see much of a problem with it, he would've gone as far as to say he enjoyed the extra company with Colm. That was until he started spending far too much time with the man to be considered normal, none of the men in camp said anything about it as they knew they did the same with any woman they could get their dirty hands on. Kieran knew it wasn't right. He knew it was a sin but when Colm had him bent over a saddle in the stables he couldn’t say no. He loved it when Kieran whined as he pressed into him. How he could do anything to him and no consequences would follow. He’d tell Kieran how he looked too much like a lady apart from the pitiful excuse between his legs for anyone to want him. Kieran hated it, he hated how he just let Colm walk in and his body just knew what to do. It went on for months, he’d gotten used to the unpredictable nature of Colm, how they could be pressed against each other one minute and the next he’s on the floor after being kicked or punched. Kieran wanted to prove himself to Colm, to prove that he wasn’t just something Colm could ignore in the day. He wanted to show him that he could kill a man with no remorse, the problem was— he couldn’t. He was too afraid to take a human life, His hands would start to shake before he could even pull his gun out of its holster.
He’d only ever fired the cattleman once, when he was 16, he was living by himself in a small set up on a hill in the Heartlands. A man who was drunk out of his mind had stumbled towards where he was staying, hollering old campfire songs with a bottle in one hand and a Colt single action in the other. He had gotten close enough for Kieran to grab his own gun out of paranoia, He stepped out of his tent and asked the man to leave but when he didn’t respond and instead lazily aimed his gun at him, Kieran couldn’t think of anything else to do. He shot the man right between his eyes and watched as he crumpled to the ground, blood pooling around his head from the point of impact, mixing with the downpour of rain.