After siding with Dutch in 1899, Javier had left the country, fled even. He hadn't seen Arthur since then, or Dutch, or anyone else since then. He didn't know how they were, if they were even alive at this point, and was too focused on his own survival 11 years later to really ever spare them a second thought. Being in Mexico was a much safer bet, even 11 years after breaking up with the gang. Javier was sure nobody would be hunting him down for his crimes years later, he was sure. Positive.

Javier had his back turned towards the road, he had paused on his trip into town on his horse to stop by a little creek for a break, his horse hitched nearby to a tree branch. Javier stretched a little, looking down at the creek, about to bend over to wash his face before he heard a trigger cocking, making him freeze. He was used to being at gun point, but only when he knew about it, not being snuck up on.