Thick as Thieves: A Series of Red Dead Redemption Origin Story One-Shots

How to Rob a Stagecoach

Author's Note:

This is my first published piece in a while! I hope you enjoy the concepts of these one-shots, which is just to catch a glimpse of a younger (and happier) Dutch and Hosea before the events of the games. As I said, there's really no chronological order to any of these, but most will fall in the earlier years of their friendship and touch upon tidbits of canon backstories that were introduced in the game. No major spoilers!

If you have an idea for a scenario that you'd like to see feel free to comment of message me! I could use all the ideas I could get :) If I decide to write something based on your suggestion I will dedicate the chapter to you, of course!

Anyway, please enjoy!

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"Help us! Oh god, help us please-!"

It's of no trouble at all, a pretty lie falling from his lips with ease. He imitates the cries of a man in distress well, and even goes as far as to haphazardly stagger out onto the road.⠀
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Hosea's played this con far too many times now to have room for doubt, though he can't say he's ever pulled it off with his new friend, Dutch van der Linde, hanging off of his shoulder like a rag-doll.⠀

Their target, a fancy looking stagecoach straight out of the neighboring Illinois town, is rapidly approaching, and Hosea lacks no confidence. They had watched this coach in town, studied it carefully, knew that it was carrying enough supplies to make this whole thing worthwhile, and tracked it carefully upon its departure before cutting up and through the path in order to set the scene. Dutch had whined through the entire reconnaissance, obviously unhappy with doing things Hosea's way for a change, but Hosea had shushed him with a sharp look and quick slap.

Hosea veers even further into the worn path, dragging an uncertain Dutch (he can tell by the way his friend drags his heels into the dirt) along with him. Hosea purposefully goes to dig his fingers into Dutch's shoulder, pinching the clothed skin he finds there firmly. It's a silent cue, one that says 'this is no time to play it safe'; they both have a role to sell - Hosea, a panicked soul, and Dutch, his sickly brother - and they won't be fooling anyone if Dutch gets cold feet.

"Please-!" Hosea shouts, voice near hoarse. He begins to frantically wave his free hand, signaling for the attention of the drivers-- exactly two, as expected. Luckily, for Hosea, they see him. And even luckier, they stop, drawing back on the reins and easing the horses down until they've come to a complete standstill in the middle of the road. Perfect. So far, so good.

"Gentlemen," the self-proclaimed con artist wastes no time, dragging Dutch towards the stagecoach- he's noticed that his friend has only gotten easier to manipulate, and Hosea reminds himself to tease Dutch later about his lack of faith. "My brother- he's.. he's not well. I've been trying to get him into town for hours-"
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Carefully, Hosea's laying the bait. Besides him, Dutch erupts in a fit of convincing coughs and sputters. Hosea had had the man practicing in their small camp for hours in the days prior, knowing all too well that playing a part wasn't Dutch's fancy. He would've much rather robbed a bank, or used his quick fingers to nab someone's purse, but Dutch's ideas were no match for Hosea's favorable discretion.⠀
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They wished to skip town and move on, and as Hosea had pointed out, that would be much easier to accomplish without the law nipping at their heels. So, a simple con it was, executed in such a way that only idiots with a heart would fall for the hasty sob story that Hosea spun. He found that preying on the kindness of strangers was akin to stealing candy from a baby, easy and simple; the kind of con that even Dutch van der Linde could pull off. ⠀
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"Please, fellers," Hosea stares up at the stagecoach drivers, a near perfect execution of a worried brother conveyed through unwavering eye contact alone. "He couldn't bare the horse ride, and we haven't a wagon. Just a quick ride-"⠀
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"Alright, alright," the driver finally says, and Hosea thinks that he's nearly gotten them. But the driver's passenger, a young man, fidgets in place. He seems nervous and flighty, far more so than he had conveyed during Dutch and Hosea's recon. Hosea needs to time this just right. "Get him in the back there." ⠀
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"Oh, thank you!" Hosea expresses false gratitude, and makes a show of struggling to keep his 'brother' upright. Besides him, Dutch nearly chokes, shaking himself so violently under the pretenses of a false illness that if Hosea hadn't known that this was a set-up, he might've believed that Dutch was truly ill. Perhaps he'd be able to make a con-man out of him, yet. Dutch makes his own show of toppling to the dirt in a fit of wheezing, Hosea wasting no time kneeling besides him.⠀
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"Gentlemen, please, help me with him?" He beckons them over with a troubled wave, never once breaking the façade that he's created. The nervous man from earlier exchanges a concerned glance with the driver, and Hosea tries to pinpoint the origin of his unease. Does he not trust Hosea? Does he not trust the driver? Or is he simply afraid of contracting this fake disease? "Oh, he's not contagious, I promise you. Just a bit of.. something, I'm afraid. Please, he just needs a doctor."⠀
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Something in that slew of lies convinces the flighty man to finally descend from the stagecoach, following after the driver keenly. Hosea waits, his hand placed carefully on the back of Dutch's shoulder. His friend's facedown in the dirt, and can't see a damned thing, but Hosea's his eyes. ⠀
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The two stagecoach drivers approach slowly and Hosea nods his thanks. 'This is it', he thinks coyly. They have them; hook, line, and sinker. The two men lean down to make contact with Dutch's fallen form, and that's when Hosea removes his hand; their own silent cue.
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Dutch is up like a damn shot, quickly gunning for the more confident of the targeted pair. Hosea makes quick work of the previously flighty man, knocking him down and out before he has even the faintest idea of what's happening. And then, Dutch and Hosea are making eye contact, both as a way to check in and a silent signal to each other to make quick work of robbing both the men and the empty stagecoach. ⠀
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It's a successful hit, and leaves them both with enough money and supplies to be able to successfully ditch town-- without the intervention of the law. Dutch stuffs the men into the back of their own stage, and slaps the horses to send it on it's way before anyone can ride through the middle of their perfect robbery. Behind him, Hosea sorts the supplies and counts the recovered bills quickly, rambling off the numbers under his breath as he cards through them.⠀
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"That," Dutch starts, watching the stagecoach rattle and disappear over the ridge. He sounds excited, like a child who just stole a cookie from the cookie jar without so much as being heard. "That was pretty impressive, my friend! Maybe I was wrong about you- maybe there is something to this whole 'conning' thing, after all."
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His words are accompanied with that deep, throaty chuckle of his and Hosea allows himself the faintest of grins, his gaze traveling from the bills in his hand to his newest friend; they'd only met maybe a month or two ago by some campfire on the road to Chicago, but Hosea already finds himself trusting the man unconditionally. Dutch is dusted in dirt, his dark curls frayed and frazzled, but even Hosea can't deny their recent success.
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"Oh, that?" He starts, simply, stuffing their earnings into his satchel before collecting the more materialistic items into his arms. "That was nothing. Just wait until you start dealing with folks who know a thing or two, Dutch."⠀
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"Hah! Well, I think I'll leave the conning to you, thank you very much," Dutch laughs out loud, throws his head back with the motion. "You, Hosea Matthews, have a gift- the likes of which I'll probably never understand."
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"Speak for yourself, friend. You gave quite the performance back there. Why, I even believe that there's hope in you, yet." There was something about conning a man with nothing but pretty words and a little fictional flare that gave Hosea a sense of pride; it was a fun game to play, brought in easy money and less lawmen to boot. Dutch was good at picking a man's purse, sure, good enough to impress Hosea, who didn't often compliment his fellow outlaws, but Dutch was also bold and brash. It had been fun to reel him in a bit.
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"Please, Hosea," Dutch says the words in between a deep whistle for his horse. Hosea follows in suit, listening closely for the telltale sound of hoof prints coming up and over the ridge. "I'm just surprised you didn't try to poison me in my sleep, slip something into my food to give me some sort of illness to pull off this... act-"⠀
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Their horses emerge from over the ridge, two young things they'd bought for cheap from the last town they'd blew through. Hosea's steed is steely gray and gangly thin, but it's nothing he can't fix with a little tender love and care. Silver Dollar, he calls him.
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"Oh, I thought about it, alright," Hosea jokes hollowly. He takes care in stashing their gained supplies, fitting them into his saddlebags like puzzle pieces. He hands the remainder of items to Dutch, and carefully reaches for his reins before hoisting himself up and into his saddle (which is equally as cheap as the horse). "But, I gave you the benefit of the doubt, didn't I?"⠀
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"You sure did," Dutch replies, his answer is drawn out by him mounting up on his own young steed. Hosea watches as Dutch pats his horses neck, and Hosea takes the second to slip Silver Dollar an oatcake.
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They settle in on their mounts and cheap saddles alike, collecting themselves before catching each other's gazes.
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"You ready to get out of here, old man?" Dutch asks. The nickname, despite Hosea only being near thirty and Dutch a few years younger, falls from his mouth as a playful tease. Hosea makes a show of frowning, but rolls his eyes only seconds later as the corners of his lips ease upwards into an easy grin.

"Lead the way, son."⠀

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