The Enfield Gang Massacre #4: Amy’s Got a Gun

Mythology is an ever-present element of Western stories, as the time created a sense of folklore for the Americas. Due to the expansive, romanticized era where fact and fiction blended, western storytelling found itself in the place of serving as the often tragic or triumphant tales of America. That’s what makes That Texas Blood and its spinoff prequel, The Enfield Gang Massacre so compelling. From issue one, the two series have been interested in pushing against and investigating that mythic nature, picking it apart to underlying the human yet ethereal aspects of Texas and its role in the larger Western mythos. 

The Enfield Gang Massacre #4 – written by Chris Condon, drawn, colored, and lettered by Jacob Phillips, with color assists from Pip Martin – marks a further descent into the titular tragedy as Enfield and his gang are cornered at the cusp of a storm. The cavalry has arrived to pack up the Marshall and his men, pushing the outlaws into a barn to make their final stand. Further along, the rest of the outlaw group, led by Amy, find what they believe to be a safe spot to rest and weather the broaching storm, but instead find themselves ambushed. Both groups of outlaws are jumped and face slaughter, leaving heavily wounded in both camps. 

Condon weaves a dense tale of vicious carnage in this issue, showcasing the deep, chaotic nature of an old-west gunfight. There is nothing heroic or mythic in these shots and responses, and they just die by the end. Even the “heroic” deaths are ultimately just a loss of life, ending in the tragedy of a person being cut short. Danny is the closest thing to a mythic death in this issue, but there is nothing but heartbreaking sadness in his final moments, as he circles to the notion he bought his posse a chance to regroup in safety. It’s a harrowing moment of truth that clashes against the notions of Western storytelling, putting at odds the desire to mythologize the gunslinger lifestyle and humanize the people living in the moment. 

The art and coloring reinforce that dissonance, showcasing the heartbreak of Danny’s death. Told in a series of wide close-up panels, the audience is forced to watch the light go out in the outlaw’s eyes, putting them in Enfield’s perspective. It’s a smart choice that not only creates that extra layer of empathy but also creates a steady rhythm that reinforces the emotion. Everything is clearly blocked and composed for maximum effect, and Danny remains the subject of this series of panels. It locks the death into place and never lets us, with Phillips hammering on the human aspect of this death. 

Blue and reds intermingle in this sequence, to showcase the dichotomy of the natural world and Danny’s ebbing life. The crimson ichor spilling from his wounds stains what could be a beautiful sequence echoing the rain and coming storm, which bathes the scenery in a cool blue hue. Putting those two elements on the same page creates a contrast that highlights the emotion of life lost as it spills out and gives a reinforced sense of tragedy and carnage. That sense of violence is a refrain that occurs multiple times in the issue, whether it be in the sequence of Amy fighting back against her trapsters, or Enfield firing off shots against the cavalrymen. That moment is filled with a different style of composition, utilizing diagonal, sharper panels to indicate the vicious fighting between the outlaws and the arm of the law. 

Meanwhile, the Sheriff continues his investigation into the murder that Enfield and his posse are being accused of, as facts do not align. A trip back to the local watering hole leads to the realization that a bushy eyebrowed figure is thought to be involved, and there’s an implication that the criminal posse may have been framed for the crime, connecting to the notion these outlaws don’t have the stomach for the brutal crime committed. 

The investigation pages take a different sense of coloring, using rich yellows and warmer colors instead of cool blues, pinks, and grays. That second tone gives a very specific emotional sense, indicating an appreciation for the sheriff’s line of questioning. The backgrounds indicate not only a nice visual refresh but also imply that this figure could be trusted, as he seems more concerned with the truth instead of playing into the marshall’s narrative. It tips the reader to the next layer of the tragedy, as the truth has to be buried according to the established lore from That Texas Blood. 

Another fascinating element of this issue that starts to break form and crystallize the final tragedy of this story comes in the form of the lettering. Phillips takes that warmer coloring and also uses it in the contrasting hues of the violent SFX like guns firing and creaking of hopes for escape. These are cut short as they ultimately end in the loss of life and perversion of hope, contrasting the color palette while reinforcing the oppressive tone of the story.

The most interesting use of lettering in this issue, however, comes towards the end. As Amy wanders the hills after her own gunfight, she becomes ensnared in the haunting tunes of a folk song being sung. Like something from a Greek myth, she follows the music represented by winding waves of lyrics, beckoning her and the audience alike.