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Untitled Joe Byrne Drabble

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Sometimes he prayed. When the sky was still grey and Ned was busy with the horses. Dan and Steve were kicking around ashes of a dead fire. He'd excuse himself to take a leak and stumble into the woods, gingerly pulling rosary beads out of his pocket. Stopping at the first break of light through the trees, he'd close his eyes and whisper to himself. About his loved ones, redemption, and bright holidays to come. Then, he'd press the cold metal of the small crucifix to his lips before slipping the beads back into his pocket and strolling back into the makeshift camp. He'd walk up to the horses, lift his weightiest pistol with a faint smile and say to Ned, "I told you I'd be right back."