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Blackwater BurningI wrote this chapter in a novelization of the game. I made it up. It takes place at night after John Marston, Edgar Ross, and Archer Fordham had tryed to stop Dutch van der Linde from robbing the bank and then chased him and his gang back up to Bearclaw Camp where a huge gunfight took place.
It was pitch black outside. The streets of Blackwater were empty. All of the citizens in town were laying in their beds, the men with their wives and their children near by. John Marston was the only one who wasn't having a peaceful night with his family. He couldn't sleep. He was thinking about the events that happened that day. He was thinking about that girl who Dutch shot at the bank, and of the gunfight at Bearclaw Camp afterwards. He felt guilty for not being able to kill Dutch and save his family sooner. Most of all, he felt sorry for that woman. She didn't deserve to die. She was just an innocent woman who was just doing her job. His thinking was interrupted by a pounding at the door. He drew his pistol, loaded the clip and cocked the gun, then, walked over to answer the door. "Who is it?!" he shouted. "Who do you think it is?" the person replied. "It's Ross and Fordham. Now open the door you damn fool." John opened the door. "What do you want?" John snapped. "Fordham and I need your help, Marston. There are several horseback riders heading right this way. I looked at them through my binocculars and saw Mr. van der Linde riding with them. They are coming to finish what they started today." John sighed. "I suggest you arm yourselves as heavily as possible. If we are gonna hold them off we are gonna need alot of fire power. Go get some shotguns and alot of shells because you're gonna need 'em." "What about you?" Ross asked quickly. "I'm gonna arm myself with as much guns, ammuntion, and explosives as possible," John replied.
Less than a minute later, John met up with Ross and Fordham, all three of them heavily armed. Van der Linde and his men charged into town with torches in their hands, making Blackwater literally look like hell. All of the citizens of Blackwater abandoned their homes and some of them even assisted Ross, Marston, and Fordham in their battle with Dutch's Gang. John killed a group of three of Dutch's men with his Browning Auto-5 shotgun and winged one man who was riding straight toward him on horseback. He stuffed the wounded man's clothing and the saddlebags on the horse with dynamite, then slapped the horse, sending it straight toward the oncoming men. John drew his pistol and shot straight at one of the saddlebags. The dynamite exploded and killed the men, but, made the already terrible fire even worse. John climed up on top of the hotel and prepared to pick off the ariving re-enforcements with his Carcano rifle. Two minutes passed and he had picked off a dozen men and was aiming to kill one more when suddenly, he felt a pain in his left arm. He looked at his shoulder and saw his own bright red blood oozing from it. He looked at a hill north of Blackwater through his binocculars and saw Dutch, on a horse, with a rifle in his hands, smoke rising from the barrel. John reached for his rifle which he had layed beside him. As he grabbed for it another bullet whizzed past his face. That one almost gave me a haircut, he thought to himself. He took careful aim at Dutch who was aiming back at him. Dutch fired first and John moved to the right to dodge the bullet. His gun went off and hit Dutch's horse. He looked through his binocculars and saw Dutch flag down one of his own men who was riding past him. The man turned to see what Dutch wanted and was knocked to the ground off of his horse. Dutch mounted the horse and as the man stood back up, Dutch shot him in the face. Dutch rode off leaving the man to rot.
There were gunshots coming from the south end of Blackwater. John turned and saw that the U.S. Army was riding in. It's about fucking time, he thought. The Army Captain drew one of those new Colt 1911 and dismounted his horse and single-handedly wiped out twenty-seven of Dutch's men. While Dutch's men were distracted fighting the Captain, Agent Ross was sneaking up behind them shooting a majority of them in the back. John looked at the coward in shame. Fordham climbed up the hotel and squatted down next to Marston. "What the hell are you doing?!" Fordham shouted. "Why aren't you helping?! Do you want your family back or not?!!" John reloaded his rifle and assisted the Captain.
One last man, who was on top of the Blackwater Saloon, disarmed the Captain with a Sharps Buffalo rifle. "Hey Fordham! Ross! Remember me you sons of bitches?" he hollered. Fordham sighed. "Oh damn," he said. John quickly turned his head and looked at Fordham. "What's wrong?" John asked. "Who is he?" Fordham shook his head. "Agent Ross and I had a run in with this guy while you were still in Mexico," Fordham replied. "He is known only as The Rifleman. He favors long range weapons and was a sharpshooter who took part in the Brimstone Battle Royal. He was wounded and somehow escaped the town of Brimstone without being killed." The Rifleman suddenly disappeared. "Where did he go?" John growled. Before Fordham could answer a voice yelled, "I'm down here, stupid ass!" It was the Rifleman. He had shimmied down the side of the wall and got down in the ally. John aimed and prepared to fire when The Rifleman threw his left arm in the air and fired at John with a sawed-off Henry rifle. John ducked. "Nice try," he chuckled firing this Sharps rifle with his right hand, shooting Fordham's hat off of his head. "Damn," John said. "That fella sure is a smartass." Blackwater was burning worse than hell by then. John and Fordham ran across the rooftops of Blackwater, chasing The Rifleman. Ross payed close attention to their movements and realized that they were moving around the city clockwise. He estimated that if he were to move around the city counter clockwise then he would be able to catch The Rifleman off guard and put him down once and for all. Marston climbed down and ducked behind a garbage can. The Rifleman fired his sawed-off Henry rifle rapidly from the hip at the garbage can, filling it full of holes. John had rolled behind a large crate that was next to the garbage can. He stood up and fired a shot at The Rifleman. The bullet grazed The Rifleman's cheek and scratched his ear. The Rifleman fired his Henry again and ran off. Fordham climbed down and chased The Rifleman with Marston all the way around the city to the gunsmith shop. Ross was across the street and saw The Rifleman go into the gunshop. He guessed that he would be going out the back door and snuck behind the gunshop. Fordham and John had went around back aswell and had their pistols pointed at the door. The Rifleman came out the backdoor with a Winchester in his hand. "Alright Mister," Fordham said. "Put down that rifle." The Rifleman payed no attention to Fordham's words and pointed the muzzle of his rifle at Fordham's chest. Before he could fire there was a gunshot and he fell to the ground. Edgar Ross stood over him with his pistol smoking. He had shot The Rifleman in the back. John shook his head in dissappointment. Ross was a real coward. A soldier boy who had came with the Army ran to the group. "Is he dead?" the boy asked. Ross nodded. John looked at the boy. He's no older than Jack, he thought. Why would they allow him in the military? He's too young. That could be Jack one day. Serving in the military at such a young age. The boy bent over to inspect the Rifleman's body. The Rifleman turned over in a flash and had drawn a Volcanic Pistol. He shot the boy in the gut before he could even react. "You son of a bitch!" John shouted. He jerked his gun out of his holster and shot The Rifleman in the forehead. John made eye contact with the boy. He felt sorry for him and guilty even though it wasn't his fault the boy was shot. Ross and Marston inspected The Rifleman's body and discovered that he was wearing armor under his clothes. John was walking out of that ally and back toward the hotel when he heard a single gun shot. He turned and saw Ross walk out of the ally holstering his gun, with Fordham following him. John was filled with rage. He walked back to his hotel room with his head hanging in sorrow and his hands balled up into fists.