Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hosea was thinking silly thoughts when the wagon pulled into Shady Belle. You wouldn’t have thought it to look at him. You would have thought he was sitting in front of the big house reading the newspaper. Really, though, deep in the back of his mind, for no particular reason, he was thinking about love. The love that had been put there long ago and that he held onto still. The love that, try as he might, he just couldn’t seem to get the others to see. That was the curse of it, he supposed. None of them would believe it until they figured it out for themselves.

The old fool he was, he thought, sitting on a crate, staring over the newspaper in his hands, and thinking about something as silly as love, especially now. But he was still alive, wasn’t he? Maybe, just maybe it was possible...

The sound of the wagon approaching roused him. He looked up to see Lenny in the driver’s seat parking the wagon with the others, and Dutch beside him. He folded the newspaper and made his way over to them.

“Well?” he asked expectantly.

“Well,” Dutch replied from atop the wagon. “We’re alive, thanks to young Lenny here.”

Hosea’s eyebrows raised. “Really?” He looked up and gave a nod to Lenny. “Well done.”

Lenny grinned. “S’nothing.”

Dutch was swinging a leg over to climb out of the seat. “Won’t be able to say the same about Bronte when I-” He seemed to stumble when he dropped to the ground, and a hand flew to his head and he groaned. 

“You okay?” asked Hosea.

“I’m fine. ”

Hosea looked to Lenny, who was climbing down from the wagon himself. “He okay?”

“Took a bash on the head,” said Lenny. “We - sort of crashed a trolley.”

Hosea laughed. “Now how’d you go and do something like that?”

“Hey, Arthur was drivin’,” said Dutch, taking off his hat to wipe the sweat off his brow and smooth a hand over his dark hair. 

Hosea peered at his forehead. “You’re bleeding, friend,” he said.

Dutch gingerly touched his forehead and his fingertips came away red. “So I am.”

“Why don’t we get that looked at.”

Dutch shrugged. “Ain’t in much position to decline, I guess,” he said. He waved at Lenny. “Good day, Mr. Summers.”

“Take care of yourself,” Lenny replied.

At Strauss’ wagon, Dutch sat on a wooden crate while Hosea wiped away the blood on Dutch’s forehead with a damp cloth. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “You got a nice goose egg going here.”

“You should have seen the other guy,” said Dutch.

“What - the trolley?”

“Out of the two of us, only one walked away - and it weren’t him.”

Hosea shrugged. “Well at least you can win a fight against a hunk of metal.”

“Oh, don’t you start, I’m wounded already.”

Hosea chuckled. “What were you even doing on a trolley in the first place?” he asked.

“Things went south,” Dutch said. “Had to get outta there, quick.”

“How south?”

“I’ll show you,” said Dutch digging into his pocket. “Here.” He gestured for Hosea to hold out his hand and slapped some dollar bills into it. “Payday.”

Hosea examined the money. Two fives, a few ones. There was a ding as Dutch flipped him a coin and he caught it in midair. Fifteen dollars. And a quarter. Hosea looked up at Dutch. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” replied Dutch. “Turns out our friend Mr. Bronte would like to see us all get shot over chump change.”

Hosea opened a small bottle of iodine and poured a few drops on the cloth. “Somehow, that don’t surprise me. This might sting a little.”

“It does more than that,” Dutch griped. “Played me for a fool. It sounded like a good lead to me. God forbid I assume the man who supposedly owns St. Denis knows what he’s talking about when he-” He interrupted himself by sucking his breath in through his teeth as Hosea pressed the iodine-soaked cloth to the cut on his forehead.

“I told you it would sting.” He replaced the cork on the iodine bottle and cut off a length of gauze. “We got what we wanted from Bronte, we don’t need to deal with him anymore. We do just fine finding leads for ourselves. That riverboat job of Trelawny’s brought in a pretty good take. And don’t tell me you’ve forgotten about the bank.”

“I haven’t,” said Dutch. “But something tells me it won’t be quite that easy.”

“Of course it won’t be easy,” said Hosea. “None of us expect it to be easy.” Dutch sighed and his head drooped slightly. “Hold still.” Hosea lifted Dutch’s chin with his free hand and held him still as he secured the gauze bandage onto his forehead with surgical tape. “But if we make the plan and work the plan, it is possible.” 

“I - I know,” said Dutch. His head sagged again and he rubbed his temple. “I just… really don’t…” 

Hosea’s brow furrowed in concern. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, I just - just-” He stood up, somewhat unsteadily. “Excuse me.” He turned, took a few steps, then doubled over and vomited onto the dirt.

Hosea came up behind Dutch as he braced his hands on his knees, and he rubbed a hand back and forth on his back. “That looked fun.”

Dutch spat. “Yeah. My brain’s bein’ squeezed out my ears. Real fun.”

“Better plug ‘em up with cotton then,” said Hosea. “We need what little brains you have inside your head.”

“Very funny,” Dutch replied. He sank back down onto the crate. 

Hosea sat on the crate next to him. “So, you gonna actually tell me about what happened at that trolley station?”

Dutch shrugged. “Ain’t much to tell,” he said. “Started out like any old job. Shoulda gone off without a hitch.” He scowled. “But first the piddly amount of cash and then the number of cops - don’t need more proof than that that Bronte set us up.”

Hosea would have liked a little more proof, actually. Sure, he would never have put Angelo Bronte on the top of his list of trustworthy people. You could just never be completely sure of what anyone was actually thinking in this town. But once Dutch got an idea in his head, that was all the proof he needed. “And you’re sure about this?”

“Hosea, he said stacks of cash. You saw how much we got, unless “stacks” means something different in Italian, that was a bald-faced lie. And the cops - you should’ve seen it - way too many cops way too quickly to be a coincidence.” He sighed in frustration. “Why does he feel the need,” he said, “to come after us?”

Hosea shook his head. “I couldn’t tell you.”

“Arthur reckons he thinks he’s the king around here,” said Dutch. “That he feels threatened by us. And I’m inclined to agree.”

Hosea considered this for a moment. “I guess that could be it.”

“You guess? ”

Hosea had never had the pleasure (if you could call it that) of meeting Angelo Bronte personally. But even from secondhand accounts of his demeanor and character, his contempt for Americans, his intolerance of what he deemed disrespectful, and his disdain toward those of a lower social (or economic) station were abundantly clear. “I just wonder if it ain’t more likely that he just - don’t like us.”

“And why should he not like us?” asked Dutch indignantly. “What did I ever do to him?”

“What, you want him to like you?” Hosea laughed. “You want to turn into one of his tuxedo-wearing, high-society pinheads, rubbing elbows with the mayor and drinking cheap champagne at social functions?”

Dutch chuckled. “No, I suppose not. But even so…” His face turned serious again. “It’s the principle of the thing, Hosea. He thinks he can pull a fast one on us, nearly get us killed, just for the hell of it. And I’ll be damned if I let that stand.”

“Yes,” said Hosea, remembering all the other things Dutch apparently couldn’t bear to let stand. “I suppose you will.”

Dutch smirked, leaning his forearms on his knees. “And just what, exactly, is that supposed to mean?”

Hosea returned Dutch’s smile, almost involuntarily, reflexively. “Oh, nothing,” he said. “Just that that’s exactly what I expected you to say.” He laughed. “We spend too much time together.”

“Do we?” asked Dutch. “Feels like it’s been ages.”

“You’re not wrong,” replied Hosea. Their fishing trip with Arthur back in Rhodes seemed years in the past. He looked up to find that Dutch’s eyes were already on him. The two shared a nostalgic look they both knew all too well.

Hosea sighed. “What are we doin’ down here, Dutch?”

“Leavin’,” Dutch replied. “As quickly as possible.”

“Don’t feel like we’re leavin’,” said Hosea. “Feels like we’re stuck.”

“Hey.” Dutch leaned forward and laid a hand on Hosea’s knee. “We are almost there, Hosea. Don’t you give up on me now.”

“Right.” Hosea swallowed and looked down. “Of course not.”

Dutch gave Hosea’s knee a pat. “Hang in there.”

“Speak for yourself,” Hosea cracked. 

Dutch laughed as he stood up. “Right.” He felt at the bandage on his forehead, then nodded down at Hosea. “Thanks.”

“Sure,” said Hosea. “You good now?”

Dutch grunted and straightened his back. “I will be.”

Hosea smiled. “I know.”

Dutch smiled back and, with a half-wave, almost a salute, he turned and headed toward the house, and Hosea watched him go. 

They could do it. They could make it. They had made it this far. They could make it over this next hurdle, and the next, and they could keep going, on and on until…

At Sean’s party, Dutch had said something. He had laid his hand on top of Hosea’s, looked him in the eyes, and said: “We did it.” Like it was over. They had won.

But it hadn’t been over then. It wasn’t over now. They hadn’t stopped running. They hadn’t stopped fighting. They hadn’t stopped killing.

And they hadn’t stopped dying.

Now Dutch was saying they were “almost there.” Almost where? Where would they end up? And what would they do when they got there?

When they finally got their “one more decent take,” and “disappeared,” would that really be the end?

Hosea blinked. Here he was, thinking silly thoughts again. He shook them from his mind, like a dog after rain, and watched Dutch’s receding back as he opened the big double doors of Shady Belle.

They were almost there. He would choose to focus on that.

Chapter Text

Hosea was sitting in a chair on the balcony reading a book when Dutch pushed open the balcony doors. He looked more upbeat than he had in days. “Hosea.”

“Hey,” he greeted him. “How’s the ol’ noggin?”

“Oh, the goose egg’s more of a swallow’s egg these days,” said Dutch. “But that is not what’s important right now.” He rested his hands on the balcony railing. “It’s time.”

Trust Dutch to lead with the dramatic. He was setting up his pitch. “Time for what?”

“Time to get rid of the one thing standing between us and freedom.”

Hosea cocked an eyebrow. "One thing?”

Dutch looked at Hosea, his brow low and set. “I’m talking about Bronte.”

“Bronte?” Hosea replied in surprise. “What’s he got to do with us anymore?”

“Everything,” said Dutch. “He has everything to do with us. Because the bank that is going to provide us with the means of getting out of here is located in his town.”

Hosea closed his book and set it on the barrel beside him. “What are you saying, then?”

“What do you think I’m saying?” asked Dutch exasperatedly. “He needs to be dealt with. We need to get him out of the way. Permanently, if at all possible.”

“And how do you expect to do that?”

“I know a guy.”

Hosea sighed. “You always ‘know a guy.’”

“He can get us a boat. On the swamp. Give us the element of surprise. We come in from the swamp, under cover of darkness, get the jump on ‘em, they’ll have no idea we’re coming-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” said Hosea. “Slow down.” Hosea paused for a moment as he tried to wrap his mind around what Dutch was saying. “You’re not seriously suggesting… seeking out the most powerful crimelord in St. Denis, who has it out for you specifically and will be well aware by now that the feeling is mutual, breaking into his heavily guarded mansion, and murdering him?”

“I do not appreciate what you are implying,” said Dutch darkly.

“Oh, what? What am I implying?”

“That Angelo Bronte is some high and mighty lord, leagues above the rest of us,” said Dutch. “Angelo Bronte is just a man. A ruthless, conniving, perfidious man who threatens our future. ”

“I ain’t disagreeing with that,” said Hosea. “But none of that changes the fact that there must be two dozen armed guards patrolling that place day and night, at the very least.”

“Hence - boat,” said Dutch. “Element of surprise.”

“Yeah, I got that part.” Hosea rubbed his temple. “Why is this necessary, exactly?”

Dutch furrowed his brow. “I don’t understand. Like you said, his mansion will be heavily guarded-”

“No, I mean the whole operation.”

Dutch stopped short and looked at Hosea incredulously. “Why is getting rid of Bronte necessary?”

Hosea gestured expectantly. “That’s what I’m askin’.”

“It’s necessary if we want to hit that bank, Hosea!” said Dutch, pointing in the vague direction of St. Denis. “That bank is under his protection. We want it, we need to take him out first.”

“I really just don’t see that doin’ us any favors,” said Hosea. “I believe we’d be wise to steer clear of anything having to do with him.”

“Everything in St. Denis has got something to do with him,” said Dutch. “The gracious Angelo Bronte was letting us rob the trolley station as his guest. The bank is a different story. Especially now that we ain’t his ‘guests’ no more. He finds out that we, for whom, as you have established, he already has it out, robbed his bank, there’s no tellin’ what he’ll do.”

“I thought we planned to be outta here by then.”

“We won’t be able to get outta here if Bronte sends all his men after us.”

“Oh, right,” said Hosea sarcastically. “And killing their boss will definitely make all those gangsters leave us alone.” 

Dutch pinched the bridge of his nose. “For Christ’s sake, Hosea.”

“Drawing more attention to ourselves is the last thing we want to do right now, Dutch,” Hosea persisted. “Setting aside the stupid amount of risk involved. Bronte may be a creep, but he’s an extremely high-profile creep. He turns up dead, every lawman in St. Denis will know about it. And you can bet it won’t take them long to figure out that if he’s dead, someone must be planning something big in town.”

“Will you think past the immediate goal for one minute?” asked Dutch irritably. 

“‘Past the immediate goal’ won’t matter too much if we all die trying to achieve it.”

“That is the problem with you, Hosea,” Dutch snapped. “You refuse to think about the future.”

This made Hosea sit up and look sharply at Dutch. “That ain’t fair and you know it.”

“I-” Dutch exhaled and collected himself. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He continued slowly, choosing each word very carefully. “I am just trying to ensure that our next moves go as smoothly as possible,” he said. “And the best way to do that is to identify those variables that could cause difficulties for us down the line, isolate them…” He pinched his fingers together, as if snuffing out an imaginary candle. “And remove them from the equation.” He placed a hand on the back of Hosea’s chair and leaned in closer to him. “We can remove Angelo Bronte from the equation.”

“Ain’t a question of ‘can,’ it’s a question of ‘should,’” replied Hosea. “It’s a trade-off I don’t think we wanna make.”

“Why the hell not?” Dutch asked defensively. “Trade Bronte for our freedom? Sounds like a pretty good trade to me.”

“It ain’t that simple, Dutch, it’s never that simple. You know that.” 

“What I know is that we simply cannot just sit idly by and expect everything to fall perfectly into place.”

“And I know that it is a mistake to take an unnecessary risk for an uncertain gain.”

Hosea sat back in his chair and looked up at Dutch. Dutch looked back, his lips tightly pursed. In the courtyard below, Pearson banged on a pan with a spoon, shouting that stew was on and to get it while it was hot.

The sound of a horse approaching camp came from below them, and a familiar voice announced its presence to Javier on guard duty. Dutch peered out over the railing. “It’s Arthur. He’ll settle this.” 

Hosea turned to see Arthur hitching up his horse alongside the others. “Fine.”

Dutch shouted down to him. “Arthur! Come up here.” They both waited in tense silence for Arthur to enter the house and climb the stairs to the second floor. 

Arthur had a good head on his shoulders (however much he tried to convince others of the contrary) but, like Dutch, once he was decided on something, there was very little that could change his mind. The issue would be decided, one way or the other, in a matter of a minute or two.

Shortly, Hosea could hear the sound of Arthur’s boots on the wooden floor. “So, Arthur, you get the deciding vote,” he said as Arthur stepped out onto the balcony.

Arthur leaned on the outside wall by the door. “About what?”

“We take an insult and scurry off like cockroaches,” said Dutch, looking pointedly at Hosea, “or deal with business the right way.”

“We don’t need to take revenge, we hardly know the guy,” Hosea insisted. 

“This ain’t about revenge, Hosea,” said Dutch. “Angelo Bronte don’t mean shit to me. This is about the fact that we are planning to rob a bank in his town. A bank that he no doubt protects, a town where his men are gunnin’ for us. Before we do that, we need to put him out of commission.”

Hosea shook his head. “I disagree. There’s always an easier way-” 

“There ain’t no easier way.” Dutch was getting riled up now, gesticulating wildly as he spoke. “Now, I know his type. He is a vindictive little power broker who rules by fear.” Hosea rolled his eyes. “Now, we pull that stunt in his cesspit of a town, we’re doomed. You wanna leave this place? Leave this country? We need that money.”

Arthur was still leaning against the wall, taking in every word. Hosea raised his gaze from the floor to look at Dutch. “It just don’t feel good, Dutch.”

“This is it,” said Dutch, and Hosea frowned. Here we go , he thought. Here it comes, the big sell. This is the part where he convinces us that the risk is always worth it, that his plan is always the way to go, that this will be the thing that guarantees us everything we’ve been working toward. 

“This is the last job we are ever gonna pull,” Dutch went on. “Before the year is out, we are gonna be harvesting mangoes in Tahiti.” Hosea scoffed. Dutch continued as if he hadn’t reacted. Likely because he didn’t notice. “Farmers. But we need seed capital. And we need to leave.” He pointed sharply from Hosea to himself. “You know it. I know it.”

Hosea stood up. “Forgive me if I can’t think too much about the mango harvest, I’m-”

“This is it,” Dutch repeated. “Trust me.” He turned to Arthur. “Arthur…” 

Hosea reached out a hand to Arthur, about to say something to him, but he saw in Arthur’s face that he was already convinced. “If it’s business, well…” Arthur said. Hosea dropped his hand. “...Business is business.” 

It had been a long shot. Dutch’s patter worked on just about everyone, and that most certainly included Arthur. And of course he couldn’t blame Arthur all that much for it, for trusting in what Dutch told him. Still, when Hosea couldn’t do it himself, Arthur was usually the one to talk some sense into Dutch. But not this time. Hosea looked away in disappointment. 

Dutch nodded at Arthur and turned back to him. “Angelo Bronte stands between us and our future,” he said, sweeping an arm over the land before them, the great metaphor of freedom and destiny .

Hosea looked up and met his eyes. “You’ll damn us all.”

Dutch dropped his arm and looked at Hosea for a moment. “Arthur, come on,” he said. He turned his back and stalked through the balcony doors.

Arthur followed close behind him, casting a quick glance back at Hosea. “You better be right about this one,” he said.

“I am.”

They left Hosea standing there on the balcony.

Hosea rarely came away from arguments with Dutch feeling angry. They had butted heads far too often over the years for either of them to take their disagreements personally. More often, their arguments left Hosea feeling disappointed, frustrated, and worried, and this one was no different. It wasn’t that Dutch never listened to him; as much as Hosea said it in exasperation, to himself and others, he knew it to be untrue. Dutch had asked him for advice and been receptive to his ideas more times than he could count. It was that it had to be Dutch’s idea to listen to anyone. It was nearly impossible to convince him to even consider ideas he had decided he disliked or viewpoints he had vowed to ignore. Not that that had ever stopped Hosea from trying.

Once a thing had been decided on and put into action, especially by Dutch, there was no point in ruminating on it, stewing over what could or should be. Hosea knew that better than most, he reckoned. What was done was done. Or, rather, what would be done would be done. 

He thought about going back to his book but he knew he wouldn’t be able to concentrate. Instead, he went back inside, through Dutch’s room and down the stairs to the room that had once been a dining room, back when Shady Belle had been a plantation house. 

The map of St. Denis was spread out over the big table, and he sat down to pore over it yet again, even though he had the thing all but memorized by now. His eyes traced over the streets and buildings, going through the plan yet again in his mind. He and Abigail would enter town via Victory Street, make a right on Courtney Street, and park on Saint Nicholas Street near the saloon. The Lemoyne National Bank was at the edge of the Commercial District, on the corner of Frontier and Lamarque Streets. The police patrols would be heading north on Frontier Street, so when Dutch, Arthur, John, Micah, and Bill heard the distraction, they would cross the street-

“You alright, Hosea?” Lenny’s voice snapped him back to where he was. “You look like something’s troublin’ you.”

“Ah - no more than usual,” Hosea cracked, giving him a smile. “How are you?”

“Fine.” Lenny sat down at the table across from Hosea. “I saw Dutch ridin’ off with Arthur. He feelin’ better?”

“Seems to be,” replied Hosea. 

“Where’re they goin’? Do you know?”

“Oh… I’m sure you’ll know soon enough,” said Hosea. He looked back down at the map, hoping that would put an end to this line of discussion. Fortunately, it seemed to work, and Lenny followed suit, examining the map closely.

“Goin’ over the plan again?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Why? You must’ve run it all through fifty times by now.”

“Well, you know me,” said Hosea. “I’ll have run it through at least another fifty times by the time we actually execute it.” Lenny laughed. “At least one of us has to have it practically engraved on the inside of his skull,” Hosea continued. “Preferably more.” He looked meaningfully at Lenny, who, still looking at the map, didn’t notice.

“Seems easy enough to grasp,” he said. “Not much different than other bank jobs we’ve done in the past, just bigger.”

Hosea shook his head. “No, Mr. Summers, it’s much more than that,” he said. “Cities are dangerous beasts, and complicated ones. We’re out of our element on this one. Which is why it’s imperative to know everything we possibly can before we move.”

Lenny was looking at the various marks Hosea had made on the map as if they were ancient Greek letters. Hosea nudged him. “How about this,” he said. “Ten minutes after the distraction, where will you be?”

“Ten minutes?” Lenny asked. “Uh… I dunno… They’ll… probably be getting’ the cash out of the vault, so, standin’ guard in front of the door?”

“Wrong,” said Hosea. “Ten minutes after the distraction, a police patrol will be approaching the bank from the east, coming down Lamarque Street. By that time the money will have been collected and you will be on your horse making your way back to camp.” He nodded. “You see? Can’t leave anything up to chance.”

Lenny seemed startled. “How much time will we have?”

Hosea smiled. “That’s it, now you’re gettin’ it. Askin’ the right questions. Eight minutes.”

Lenny sat back in his chair. “Eight minutes…” he said. “All that in eight minutes?”

“That’s right.”

Lenny’s eyes were round. “Man.”

“I didn’t mean to make you nervous.”

Lenny blinked. “You didn’t,” he said, with an edge of defensiveness.

Hosea chuckled and touched his arm. “Don’t get in your head about it,” he said. “We know what we’re doin’. Keep your eyes sharp and your mind sharper. You’ll do just fine. We’ve all seen how well you work.”

Lenny’s face broke into a grin. “Thanks.” He glanced off in the direction Dutch had ridden. “Dutch keeps sayin’ this bank job’ll be our last job – ever,” he said. He looked back at Hosea. “Has he ever said that about any other job before?”

Hosea shook his head. “No, he has not.”

Lenny’s already bright face grew even brighter. “Then it’s gotta be true,” he said. “Don’t you think?”

Hosea sighed. While it was true that Dutch had never claimed that any previous job would be their last and been wrong, there was still that lurking matter of him always claiming they were close to some proverbial “there,” the unknown, golden destination that they had apparently been chasing all these years. He had been claiming that for years, maybe even decades. The fact that they were now, supposedly, closer than they had ever been before didn’t mean a whole lot, at least not to Hosea.

He had to say something to Lenny, though, and it couldn’t be that. “It might be,” he said. “It might not. We’re just takin’ it one step at a time.”

Lenny stood up from the table. “That’s good enough for me,” he said. “Take care, Hosea.”

“Wait, hang - hang on, Lenny.” Lenny stopped and looked back at him. “Sit down. I got a question for you.”

“Okay,” said Lenny with a confused smile. “What about?”

“Humor me.” Hosea gestured and Lenny sat back down.

“Alright,” he said. “What’s on your mind?”

Hosea looked at Lenny sitting across from him. “How you feelin’... about the way we’re goin’?”

Lenny thought for a moment. “Well…” he began. “Of course, things in Rhodes… didn’t turn out the way anybody hoped.”

“No,” Hosea agreed with a sigh. “No, they did not.” He noted that Lenny did not seem to blame him or Dutch or indeed any of them for what had happened. Neither did Arthur seem to, although it was possible he was only trying to save face in front of the others. John, on the other hand, did, and rightfully so, especially since the whole ordeal had ended with the kidnapping of his son. It had been a mistake, all of it, but the guilt he felt for it would pass, Hosea knew, and no doubt more quickly than it should. 

“And we’re in a bit of a tight spot now, no doubt about it,” Lenny continued. “But we seem to be doin’ alright. I mean - hey, we got Jack back. We’re bringin’ in decent money-” He caught himself and laughed. “Okay, aside from the trolley station.” He tapped the map on the table. “And this bank job, well – that goes well, we’re out of here, we’re set.” He shrugged. “I dunno, I’m – feelin’ optimistic. Never know how long it’ll last, but… right now, the way I see it, things’re lookin’ up.”

Hosea gave a small smile. “I’m glad to hear you say that,” he said. “That’s not… exactly what I meant by my question, but-”

“What did you mean?” 

Hosea sighed. “I meant more along the lines of… do you still worry we’ve lost our way?”

Hosea was referring to a conversation they’d had back at Horseshoe Overlook, about worries and beliefs, redemption and doomedness. “It seems awful…” Lenny had said back then. “Then it seems the same as always, and then it seems like there’s just no other way.” Hosea had known exactly what he meant.

Lenny furrowed his brow in surprise and alarm. “Do you think we have?”

Hosea shook his head. “Doesn’t matter what I think. Just want to see where your mind’s at.”

Lenny was quiet for a long moment. “I guess…” he said finally, “the answer is, no, I don’t worry about it, because I haven’t really had the time these days.”

Hosea shrugged. “That’s fair enough.”

“But,” Lenny continued, “in regards to where my mind’s at, I think, right now… it's ‘the same as always.’” He looked up at Hosea. “Does that make sense?”

“Perfectly,” said Hosea. 

“I keep thinking about what you said, though,” said Lenny. “That we’ve done plenty of bad things we’ve all forgotten about.”

“Oh, I - wasn’t talking about you, son,” said Hosea. “I mostly meant the rest of us, older fools who’ve been with Dutch longer. You-”

“No, that’s what I been thinking about,” Lenny interrupted. “I think - it is me.” He scratched his head. “You know I - killed the men who killed my pa?”

Hosea nodded.

“I was thinkin’ about it the other day and I realized I… don’t even remember their names.” He scowled. “Not that those sons of bitches deserve to be remembered, but…”

“You’re thinking if you forgot that, what else could you forget,” Hosea volunteered. 

Lenny nodded. “Still, I mean…” he continued. “It’s better than the alternative, isn’t it?”

“Now that’s a question for the philosophers,” said Hosea. 

“Ain’t none of us philosophers, that’s for sure,” said Lenny. He smiled. “Too busy survivin’.”

“That’s true,” said Hosea. “With the way our lives are, it’s the best we can hope for to live to forget many more things.”

That somber thought hung in the air for a moment.

Finally, Lenny spoke. “Why do you ask?”

“No particular reason,” Hosea replied. “I just wanted to know.”

“Okay then,” said Lenny. He leaned his arms on the table. “In that case, can I ask you a question, just because I want to know?”

“Sure.”

Lenny  hesitated for a second before saying: “How do you know… what the best thing is? How do you know where to go, what to do, when to… stop?”

“How do I know, or how will you know?” Hosea asked. Lenny seemed about to answer when Hosea cut him off. “It doesn’t matter, it’s the same answer either way. You don’t. You won’t. You can’t.”

Lenny blinked, taken aback. “I didn’t expect there to be a - a magic formula or anything, but…” He shook his head. “Really?”

Hosea shrugged. “Yep. Sorry.”

“Then - what do you do?”

“What do I do, or what should you do?” Hosea chuckled.

“What does anyone do?” Lenny asked. He was getting a little annoyed now. Hosea decided to sober up. 

“What they can,” he said. “That’s really all anyone can do. You can’t know for sure what the best thing is. You’ll screw it up, many, many times by the time you’re as old as I am. And when you look back on it, it’ll be obvious what the best thing would’ve been. But - until the scientists invent a looking-glass into the future - you will never be able to fault yourself for doing what you truly believe is the right thing to do.”

Lenny sat back in his chair, taking in what Hosea had said. “So… when do you need to ask yourself what you think the right thing to do is?”

Hosea smiled. “Well, if you’re asking me that, then I’ve failed miserably.”

The amusement was back on Lenny’s face. “What’s that say about me, then?”

“That you still got stuff to learn,” said Hosea. “And someday soon you’ll need to learn it from someone other than me.” He nudged Lenny lightly, goading him from his seat. “So get on with you, that’s enough pontification for one day.”

Lenny laughed. “Okay, Hosea.” He put a hand on Hosea’s shoulder. “Thanks for this.”

“Sure.” With a nod and a smile he sent Lenny off, and he headed outside leaving Hosea sitting at the big table.

Hosea was trying, really trying. At least Lenny was one of the ones who actually seemed to listen to his advice. He really was so young. A lot of life in him, with a lot of potential to go either one way or the other. If only Hosea could be around to see where he’d end up.

He looked out the large windows of Shady Belle, into the courtyard where the shadows of the trees were growing longer. Were Dutch and Arthur on a boat by now? There’s no way  either of them would be reckless enough to attack the mansion with just the two of them. Soon, if not today, then tomorrow, one or both of them would return to camp, gather some more men, and then… they’d keep going.

It occurred to Hosea then that the sentiments behind the question Lenny had asked him were not unlike what had been going through Hosea’s own head lately. He was wondering what would be enough to make them stop. To make Dutch stop. And it was possible, Hosea realized, that Lenny’s real question might have been: “Has the thing happened yet that’ll tell us to do different? To do better? To stop?” 

And in this realization Hosea knew that he would have to take his own advice. Because he had no way of knowing for sure.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t until the next afternoon that Dutch came riding back into camp. Hosea set the bale of hay he was carrying down by the hitching posts as Dutch approached. He was alone, and there was a spring in his step as he dismounted. Hosea didn’t say anything, just raised his eyebrows.

All Dutch did was smile, wink, and continue toward the main camp without stopping. Hosea watched as he reached the fountain in the center courtyard. Molly O’Shea sat on its edge. She jumped up at his approach. 

“There you are,” Hosea heard her say. “Can we please have a conversation now?”

“Yes, yes, Miss O’Shea,” said Dutch. “I’m all ears.” They went inside the house.

Molly, Hosea knew, had done little but sit in various locations waiting for the opportunity to speak with Dutch since they had arrived at Shady Belle. Of late, she had taken to sitting sullenly in corners or standing on the dock talking to nobody in particular. She had been sitting at that fountain, where she would not be missed by anyone entering camp, since that morning, her hands folded in her lap in resolute patience. 

Now, as Hosea retired to the front porch to pick up a newspaper, he could see their two forms through the window, standing several stiff feet apart, their voices inaudible, for now. 

Now and again someone would make a passing remark, that she’d been crying in the parlor again or seeming especially quiet and distant, but even so, the subject of Molly was not one that often crossed the minds of most of the members of the gang. Especially not Dutch’s. Hosea could recall a brief argument at the party after Jack’s rescue - an obviously drunk Molly had claimed Dutch had ruined her life, a claim Dutch himself hadn’t seemed to take too seriously - but in the days following it seemed to Hosea he had barely even looked at her. And each such passing day left her more agitated than the last.

By the look and sound of it, though, the two of them actually speaking didn’t seem to be solving much either. 

“You can’t treat me this way!” Molly was shouting. “I’ll be damned if I let you!”

“You are in no position to let me do anything, Miss O’Shea,” came Dutch’s loud, irritated voice.

“You’re a bastard! A goddamned bastard!”

“And now the childish insults again,” said Dutch. “I should have known that anything you had to say to me would be a waste of my time. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have lives on the line here. Including yours, mind you!” A few heavy footsteps, and then the front door opened, Dutch storming out.

“You don’t fool me, Dutch van der Linde! ” Molly screamed after him. “If you gave a tinker’s cuss about my life, you wouldn’t be leaving me here to rot!” Quick receding steps, and then the side door slammed.

Dutch was now across camp, shouting something Hosea couldn’t hear to the boys. Within a minute he was gone again, taking Bill, Lenny, and John with him. Hosea watched them as they left, keeping his eyes on them until they were out of view.

When he went around to the side of the house, she was facing away from him, muttering under her breath as she pried the cap off a bottle. “Are you alright, Miss O’Shea?” Hosea asked. Molly jumped in surprise and looked back at him like a cornered animal. 

Hosea stepped back. “Forgive me,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” Molly rolled her eyes and turned away from him, taking a swig from the bottle.

“...Is everything alright?” Hosea repeated cautiously.

Molly slammed the bottle down with a thunk. “Yes, Mr. Matthews, everything’s perfectly alright,” she said, her intentionally affected smile contorting her face. “There, was that convincing enough? Will you leave me alone now?”

“If that’s really what you want.”

“Well it is,” Molly snapped defensively. “Why wouldn’t it be, the lot of you lookin’ down your noses at me and sniggering behind my back. Don’t think I can’t tell.”

Hosea opened his mouth to say something but Molly kept right on talking. “‘Oh, poor Molly O’Shea,’” she said mockingly. “‘Such a simple, naïve girl. Foolish enough to let herself be carried off and-’” She was shouting now. “‘-believe a single word out of that man’s mouth!’” 

“Miss O’Shea, I assure you-”

“Oh, you don’t ‘assure me’ of nothin’!” She grabbed up the bottle again. “Liars! Every one o’you! All liars!” She looked into Hosea’s face for just a second before her own broke into tears and she dashed away sobbing. “Just leave me alone!”

Hosea had no doubt that Molly would get what she said she wanted. He could see her now, retreating to the dock to nurse her beer in isolation. 

“Poor girl.” Abigail stood a few feet away, she too following Molly with her eyes, shaking her head with more disappointment than sympathy.

Hosea sighed. “I couldn’t tell you the first thing to be done here.”

“Oh, I could,” Abigail said matter-of-factly. “But it won’t be done. Not by her, or him, or anyone else.” She shrugged resignedly and returned to her washing.

It seemed cruel to abandon Molly O’Shea as a lost cause. But to do otherwise would require convincing her herself that she wasn’t one.

Hosea went back inside, back to the map of St. Denis.

The boys started trickling back in the next day. Hosea had half expected some sort of triumphant return, a raucous celebration of the previous night’s accomplishment. He was instead surprised to see those who had gone off on the mission returning one by one, with no acknowledgment of the grim task they had just completed. 

Hosea did catch John upon his return. “Well?” he asked as he dismounted.

“Well.” John’s mouth was a hard line. “He’s dead.”

Hosea waited, expecting him to elaborate, but John merely retreated to his room without another word, apparently disinclined to say anything else about it.

Dutch returned later that evening. Hosea was on guard duty when he heard the sound of an approaching horse and saw the vague silhouette of a rider in the dim light of the setting sun. “Who’s there?” he called out.

“Only me, you old billy goat,” returned a familiar voice, and the silhouette became Dutch atop his white Arabian. He drew him up to the hitching posts and dismounted. “It’s done,” he said. He turned to find Hosea again and smiled. “It’s done.”

“So I heard. How did it go?”

“It went exactly how I planned,” Dutch said. “Exactly, Hosea. All his men, his friends the Pinkertons…” Dutch’s voice trailed off and he shook his head in satisfaction, looking at some point beyond Hosea’s head. Then he chuckled. “What did I tell you?” He mimed licking his thumb and forefinger and extinguishing an imaginary flame. “Removed from the equation. Now the real work can begin.”

They started off toward the house.

“Were there as many guards as you had expected?” Hosea asked.

“Oh, yes,” said Dutch. 

“And the law?”

“Plenty of them too. But-”

Hosea raised his eyebrows. “The law got involved?” he asked in alarm. “If the Pinkertons-”

“Cops, Hosea,” Dutch interjected. “Just cops. It weren’t no problem.”

“If you say so.”

They went inside. Hosea lit the lamp on the dining room table as Dutch sat down in front of the map of St. Denis. “So,” he said. “Walk me through this plan of yours.”

“Right.” Hosea leaned over Dutch’s shoulder to look at the map. “We all ride out, ‘bout ten in the morning.”

“In the morning?”

“That’s right. We want as few people there to get in the way as possible. Abigail and I will ride ahead, while you and the boys wait here-” He poked a spot on the map in front of the courthouse, down the street from Lemoyne National Bank. “-for the distraction. Once that happens, then you move.”

“This distraction,” said Dutch. “Ain’t you going to tell me what it is we’ll be waiting for?”

Hosea winked. “Now, where’s the fun in that?” 

Dutch laughed, somewhat uneasily, then bit his lip and looked down at the map again.

“What’s wrong?” asked Hosea.

Dutch sucked in his breath. “I just…” He let it out again. “Shouldn’t we be doin’ this at night? You said it yourself, the less people around, the better.”

“We cause any kind of a ruckus at night, the cops’ll be on us like flies on a horse’s back,” said Hosea. “The bank’s the prime target, we’ll bring ‘em all right to us.”

“Worked fine in Richmond.”

“Richmond hadn’t seen a bank robbery since Jesse James.”

“But…” Dutch furrowed his brow, staring harder at the map like he was trying to burn a hole in it. 

“I’m telling you, Dutch, this is the way to do this job. The distraction’ll buy you all the time you need.”

Dutch took a long, slow breath in. “I…  don’t like it.” 

“It’s the right plan,” said Hosea. “We’ve done the work. I’ve been in town, looking, watching, and waiting. I’ve tested it as well as I can. It’s the right plan.”

“I know!” Dutch relented. “I just…” He faltered, trying to find the words. “Well - between you and me, I’m… nervous, I suppose. I suppose that’s it.”

Hosea smiled. “You’re never nervous, that’s been my job all these years.”

“I know,” said Dutch. They both chuckled. There was silence for another moment as Dutch examined the map. “You’re sure?” he asked.

“Certain,” replied Hosea, then corrected himself. “Well, not certain it will be done, but certain it can be done. And certain this is the only way I see we can do it. I’ve timed it out more than once.”

“Well, you’re the expert,” said Dutch, somewhat reluctantly.

Just then, Arthur appeared in the doorway. “Gentlemen.”

“Look,” said Hosea, pointing at the map. “The bank. Karen, Tilly, Abigail, I sent them all, they all say the same thing. There’s no more than one armed guard. And the police…” He shrugged. “It’s a city, there are police, but as far as we can tell, the patrols will all be going this way-” Hosea traced a finger along one of the St. Denis streets on the map as Arthur moved behind Dutch to look over his shoulder. “-when Abigail and I cause the diversion, and that’s the opportunity.”

Dutch leaned back in his chair. “What do you think, Arthur?”

“Well, I don’t see we have a lot of choice,” said Arthur. “We linger around here, we know we’re dead.”

“But the plan?”

“We got a decent bunch,” said Arthur. “We know how to fight. The city cops don’t seem so tough. As long as we move fast. I reckon, doin’ it in the day.” He tapped the map. “With a distraction. If that’s what Hosea’s sayin’. It’s as good a plan as any.” 

“I-I think I agree,” said Dutch.

“And we do it at night, there’s the drama of just getting into the bank,” Hosea pointed out. “Can’t do that silently. They’ll pick us off far easier-”

Dutch raised his hands defensively. “I know. I’m-” he interrupted Hosea. “I’m just makin’ sure.” 

Dutch’s hand rested on the table, and Hosea put both of his hands on top of Dutch’s. “Every plan is a good plan if we execute it properly. Every problem we had was because we did not execute properly. Even Blackwater, from my understanding.”

There was a long pause, Dutch staring at the map. “You’re right,” he said quietly. He stood up slowly and thumped the map in front of him decisively. “Let’s rob this bastard. Everyone get some rest. We ride out in the morning. Look smart. Travel light.” He marched determinedly out of the room, undoubtedly to share these instructions with the others, leaving Arthur and Hosea alone. 

Hosea waited until he heard the front door slam. “So, how was business ?” he said pointedly.

“Oh, that.” Arthur shrugged one shoulder reluctantly. “Well, it went how Dutch wanted it to.”

Hosea tutted. “That bad, huh?”

Arthur sighed, taking a seat in Dutch’s chair. “Bronte got under his skin.”

“I thought Angelo Bronte ‘don’t mean shit’ to Dutch,” said Hosea sarcastically.

Arthur shook his head. “Maybe I could’ve believed that, if I hadn’t been there. But I was. I heard Bronte say folk like him were what this country was tryin’ to run from. And I saw a sort of darkness come over Dutch’s face.”

Hosea said nothing. Although he hadn’t been there, he knew exactly the dark look Arthur was talking about. He’d seen it before, many times.

Arthur looked back up at him. “He drowned the man, Hosea. Shoved his face in the water, darin’ him to call for the Pinkertons. And when he was done, he threw him in the water for the alligators.”

Hosea dragged his hand down his face and rubbed his neck. “Jesus.”

Arthur forced a smile. “If I say you might’ve been right, will you say ‘I told you so’?” he cracked.

“I’m glad you’re in the mood for jokes.”

“Only ‘cause I got no idea what else to do.”

Hosea nodded, his mouth a thin, tight line. 

“I don’t pretend to know whether the bastard really deserved what he got,” continued Arthur, “but…”

“...But?”

Arthur sighed. “I dunno. He… said something that… rattled Dutch, I think.”

“What was that?”

Arthur looked up at Hosea. “‘You stand for nothing.’” 

Hosea clicked his tongue. “Yeah, that’ll do it.”

“Now, I know that ain’t true. Dutch stands for somethin’, alright.” Arthur looked away, out the window. He didn’t say anything else.

“I know,” said Hosea. “I know he does.” He followed Arthur’s gaze, to the trees in the surrounding marshlands, the hills beyond, and he thought about Dutch. He thought about Dutch taking their first real victory and sharing it with those even less fortunate than themselves. He thought about Dutch dissevering an already tenuous truce with a bullet in the skull of Aodhán O’Driscoll. He thought about Dutch finding a starving man in a chicken coop, a young girl who’d already seen too much, a little boy about to be killed, a teenager all alone in the world, taking them in, giving them the belonging they craved. He thought about Dutch returning from Blackwater leaving fire in his wake, a family in chaos, and with the blood of an innocent on his hands, not for the first time. 

He thought about Dutch in the light of a campfire on the road to Chicago, a young man’s spark in his eyes as he made him a promise.

“Hey.” Hosea said, looking down at Arthur. “One thing at a time, right? Now there’s the thing we plan to do next. Just how it’s always been done.”

Arthur nodded. “Yeah. We’ve come this far.”

Hosea chuckled. “I haven’t the faintest how we’ve come this far for this long, but if I had to guess?” He placed a hand on the table, leaning closer to Arthur’s eye level. “It’s by holdin’ on. Holdin’ onto what brought us together.”

Arthur flicked his downcast eyes up at Hosea. “I’m tryin’.”

“I know.” Hosea gave him a small smile. “We try our best to improve what we can, and we try our best to live with what we can’t.” He put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “And no matter what, we hold on tight to those things that are most important.” He squeezed Arthur’s shoulder, who looked up into his eyes. “And we never let go.”

Arthur let out a deep, contented breath. He didn’t need to say anything else.

With a final pat, Hosea let his hand slip from Arthur’s shoulder. “Get some rest,” he said. “You had a long night.”

He was just about to turn away when Arthur spoke again.

“So who was right then?” he asked. “About Bronte? You or Dutch?”

Hosea sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe I was, maybe he was, maybe you were.”

“But - really?”

“Well,” said Hosea. “I guess we’ll see.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

“When’s the last time we busted out these numbers, huh?”

Hosea turned around from the parlor mirror to see Dutch standing there in his finest black coat and trousers, the collar of his white shirt stiffly starched, gold watch chain hanging from the pocket of his blood red waistcoat. Hosea recognized it, of course. It was the outfit Dutch had worn to Hosea’s wedding, and it caused a brief pang to sting Hosea’s heart. Oh, how he missed her!

“Look at that,” he smiled. “He cleans up alright.”

Dutch shrugged assuredly. “Gotta make sure your plan goes off without a hitch.” He crossed the floor to Hosea and straightened his bow tie. “You don’t look too shabby yourself.”

Hosea only ever wore this blue suit for robberies of upscale establishments. It likely wasn’t the best option for the Lemoyne heat, however. Hosea could already feel beads of sweat starting to form under his collar. Maybe he was already getting nervous.

Dutch could see it. He slipped his hand behind Hosea’s neck, firmly, reassuringly. “Now, what have you been telling me this whole time?” he said. “This plan is the right plan. If it’ll be done, it’ll be done this way. And it will be done.”

Hosea wanted to say “I know,” but he couldn’t make himself do it. Instead he just nodded, looking vaguely downward as he felt the warmth of Dutch’s hand leave his neck. “The hardest parts’ll be up to you,” he said. He brushed a bit of dust off of Dutch’s lapels. “You’re gonna have seven boys out there all lookin’ to you for what to do next.”

“I know.”

“I know you know. Just…” Hosea sighed and rested his hands on Dutch’s shoulders. No matter how much time passed, it would always be there. There was still that small, heavy bit of fear in his chest that something important was about to be lost. It would never go away, because it could come to reality at any moment, as it had before. “We’re doing this to keep our family safe,” he said. “Please… remember that.”

“Of course,” said Dutch. “I promise.” He reached up and touched Hosea’s face, a brief, simple gesture. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Each let his hands fall to his sides. Dutch pulled out his pocket watch. “Still got some time,” he said. “Everyone getting ready?”

“Think so,” said Hosea. “They should be.”

“Better make sure,” Dutch smirked. He started for the door. “You find Arthur, I ain’t seen him this morning. I’ll check on the boys outside.” 

Hosea nodded.

“And - Hosea?”

“What?”

“Relax.”

It was hard to tell if Dutch’s unease from the previous night had dissipated or if he was just as nervous as Hosea. He always was such a good actor.

Arthur wasn’t in his room. He wasn’t by the campfire or at Pearson’s wagon either.

Hosea found him sitting on the edge of the dock with Charles sitting beside him. Charles held a small block of wood and his knife, whittling something, while Arthur sat with his journal open on his lap, one leg tucked up and the other dangling over the side, the tip of his boot just breaking the surface of the water as he swung it gently back and forth.

It was clear to Hosea what they were doing. After all, he’d just done it himself. Under the pretense of washing some dishes at Pearson’s wagon, Hosea lingered, keeping one eye on them.

As far as he was ever aware, there were only two people whom Arthur had ever deliberately sought out so often for no other reason than the pleasure of their company: Mary Gillis and Charles Smith. Hosea could even recall a time, nearly ten years ago now, when Arthur had shared with Mary a similar moment to the one he was now sharing with Charles. They had found some solitary spot away from the bustle of camp (beneath a large tree, if Hosea remembered correctly, large enough to hide them from anyone who wasn’t specifically looking for them) to sit and talk hours away together, almost unaware of the passage of time. 

Now unfortunately Arthur rarely had hours to spare, as did Charles, and when they did the passage of time was painfully insistent. But Hosea had still noticed small moments here and there when little escapes such as the one happening now were not possible - a few extra minutes around the campfire after a meal, a cup of coffee shared in the morning, a request or volunteer to accompany the other on an errand that might have been a one-person job if Hosea had asked Arthur to take Bill with him.

What was interesting now, though, was that as the two of them sat there, little wood shavings falling from Charles’ knife into the water, Arthur’s pencil scratching across the pages of his journal, they weren’t speaking at all. They were sitting in perfect, complete silence. And yet, by Arthur’s relaxed shoulders and Charles’ easy posture it was clear neither of them felt any discomfort about this.

That was one major difference between Mary and Charles when it came to Arthur. One of his largest sources of anxiety concerning Mary had been that he “never knew what to say.” He had lamented that fact to Hosea often enough. But now something had lifted that pressure off of him, allowed him to sit quietly with that man beside him, sharing time and space and company. Yes, Mary had made Arthur feel happy, no doubt about it, but Charles made Arthur feel safe .

Alright, that was enough time.

Hosea spent the remaining time after shooing Arthur and Charles away to get ready by helping hitch the horses to the two wagons they would be using, the stolen stagecoach he and Abigail would ride into town on, and the plain covered wagon that would hold the money that was sitting in the vault at that moment. As he walked through the main camp he passed Abigail in her long dark dress, kneeling down to be at eye level with her son, her hands on his shoulders.

“You be good to Miss Mary-Beth, now, you hear?” she was saying. 

“Can’t I come with you, Mama?” Jack asked.

“No, you can’t,” she said firmly. “Your father and I will be back soon. Your job is to stay here and be good. Can you do that?”

Jack nodded solemnly, but Hosea could see his bottom lip starting to tremble.

Hosea found John sitting at a table, cleaning his pistol. “You ready?” he asked him.

John glanced up at him. “Just about.” He continued cleaning his gun, then looked back up at Hosea when he realized he was still there. “What?”

“You should say goodbye to your son,” Hosea intimated.

“Huh?”

Hosea sat down next to John and indicated Jack sitting in the dirt some distance away, playing with rocks and sticks. “That little boy has no idea what we’re about to set off to do, and he doesn’t need to,” he said. “But what he does need to know is why we’re doing it.” He gave John a meaningful look. “Why you’re doing it.”

John’s face turned serious, and he holstered his gun. He looked across the way and watched the little boy play. Hosea could see his eyes moving across him. He was doing what he always did whenever he laid eyes on Jack, searching the child for pieces of himself, half afraid of what he would find.

The fear was unwarranted. Young Jack was the best of both his parents combined. He had his mother’s freckles sprinkled across his nose and his father’s deep brown eyes, Abigail’s kindness and curiosity and John’s bravery and loyalty. Abigail, he knew, was trying her hardest to keep him from inheriting something else of theirs, though - their poor childhoods. At this she was succeeding tremendously so far, given the circumstances. But the way John looked at his son made his worries all too clear - that, due to no fault of her own, she would fail.

John sighed. “I don’t know.”

“I do,” said Hosea. 

“What difference would it make?”

“For you? That I don’t know. But for him?” He pointed at Jack, who was staring up at the sky, watching the clouds. “All of it.”

John watched him for a moment longer, then nodded. “Yeah, alright.” He stood up, slowly, and Hosea did the same. John turned back to him. “I am trying, you know.”

Hosea nodded. “Well.” He patted John on the shoulder, gave it a squeeze. “Don’t stop.”

John gave him one single tight nod, then started toward where Jack was playing. His shoulders rose and fell in a deep breath and, as he approached, Jack lifted his head, and his round eyes lit up. 

Charles and Bill were seated in the driver’s seat of the covered wagon, Javier, Lenny, Micah, and John were mounting up, and Dutch was giving The Count a last once-over with a brush by the time Arthur came pushing through the double doors of Shady Belle.

“You got everything, Arthur?” Dutch called to him.

“Sure.”

“So,” said Hosea, climbing into his spot on the seat of the stagecoach with Abigail beside him. “We rob ourselves a bank and within six weeks we’re living life anew in a tropical idyll spending the last of our days as banana farmers?” When no one laughed at his joke he changed his tone. “Let’s get out of this godforsaken place and go rob ourselves a bank!” With whoops and shouts and flicks of reins, they sped off down the dirt road, Hosea and Abigail in the lead, Charles and Bill behind them, and the others on horseback bringing up the rear.

That far in front of them, Hosea could only barely hear Dutch’s voice over the pounding of hooves and the rattling of wagon wheels, saying something about how someone, probably John, was “devoid of imagination” and how they would “take it from the people who take it from us.” When he said “The plan, one last time,” he raised his voice even louder.

“Hosea and Abigail draw out the police, we go in calm and fast. John and Lenny secure the front doors, Javier takes the side exit. Bill, Micah, and Charles control the crowd. Me and Arthur deal with the bank manager and vault. Got it?”

Replies of “got it.”

“Gentlemen, let us go ahead,” Hosea shouted back.

“How long do you need?” asked Dutch.

“Not long. Fifteen minutes or less,” Hosea replied. “You’ll know by the noise.” He turned and gave a wink to Abigail. “Any problems, we’ll see you in camp.”

“Good luck, gentlemen,” Abigail called over her shoulder.

“Ride on!” came Dutch’s voice, and with a hi-yah! Hosea flicked the reins and the carriage pulled away from the rest of the group. 

“Do you really believe that in six weeks’ time we’ll all be lounging on a tropical beach somewhere?” Abigail asked.

“Well, we can’t stay here, that much is obvious,” said Hosea. “But Tahiti…” 

“So you don’t believe it.”

Hosea chuckled. He didn’t believe it, of course. He doubted anyone really believed it, even Dutch himself. The idea of shipping off all twenty members of the gang out of the country to be deposited on a remote island that no one knew much about with absolutely no plan except a vague “become mango farmers” idea was positively absurd to him. That night, when the way for the gang had been paved financially, he would bring out the big map of the United States and he and Dutch would roll it out on the dining room table at Shady Belle and they’d decide where the coming weeks would take them. Montana, perhaps, or maybe even as far west as California or Oregon. Arthur would like that, he thought. To be back where those flowers he liked grew.

“To be honest, I don’t think I’ll believe any of us are making it out of this mess until we actually have,” Hosea said. “We have to go somewhere, and we need money to go anywhere. And to keep us alive once we get there.” He looked over at Abigail next to him, dark hair tied back in a neat bun underneath her best hat. “So how about let’s you and me worry about making something blow up first, and we’ll figure out what comes next later. Okay?”

Abigail shrugged, unconvinced. “If you say so.”

At this point Hosea was driving the carriage under the large metal sign designating the St. Denis city limits. He reined in the horses and they slowed to a trot as the cobblestones of the city streets rumbled under the carriage wheels. “Now remember, just like we practiced,” he said. “Shouldn’t be any trouble, but keep your eyes out just in case.”

“Relax, I know what I’m doin’,” said Abigail. 

“I know you do,” said Hosea. “Now just-” He raised his voice conspicuously. “Just calm down, dear, let’s - let’s keep our heads on straight.”

Abigail got the hint and began to play along. She raised her voice to match Hosea’s. “Don’t you tell me to calm down, Daddy, I swear to god-”

Hosea pulled the stagecoach over to the side of the road and parked it next to the Bastille saloon. The horses had barely stopped before Abigail was clambering out of the seat and heading for the saloon. “Now hold on just a minute-” Hosea began, climbing down the side, but Abigail had beaten him to it.

She burst through the double doors of the saloon, a look of pure murderous rage on her face. “Where is he?” she screamed, much to the surprise of the patrons of the saloon sitting at the bar and tables. “Where is that no-good, two-timing, numbskull of a man of mine?”

Hosea pushed through the doors behind her and stopped, wide-eyed, when he saw every single person in the saloon looking at them. He waved a hand and gave an awkward laugh. “Hi there, folks,” he said nervously. “Don’t mind us, we’re just -” He grabbed Abigail’s arm. “Lizzie, honey, let’s just leave. We don’t want to disturb these fine folks, now, do we?”

Abigail wrenched her arm from Hosea’s grip. “I ain’t leaving unless I’m dragging that worthless bastard out with me by his ear!” With that, she flounced through the saloon, skirts swishing, toward the stairs. 

Hosea chuckled uneasily, his gaze flitting between the discomfited looks of the saloon patrons. “I am so sorry, ladies and gentlemen, just mortified, I am,” he said, placing a hand on his heart contritely. “You’ll have to excuse my hot-headed daughter and her, ah - poor taste in men, she gets that from her dear departed mother - Lizzie!” He started for the stairs after Abigail, who ignored his cries.

“I know you’re up there!” she shouted up the stairs as she climbed them. “When I catch you, John Marlowe-”

“Lizzie!” Hosea pleaded, following close behind her. A quick glance behind them was proof enough that their ruse had been successful - the various looks of disgust and discomfort confirmed that nobody was going to be coming up those stairs anytime soon.

Abigail continued the commotion upstairs (“I oughta take this two-dollar ring off my finger and shove it right down your lying throat - don’t you touch me, Daddy-”) until she and Hosea reached and climbed the stairs to the roof.

Hosea shut the door behind Abigail. “Nicely done.”

“Easy as pie,” she replied. She scanned the area, left to right, before reaching behind a crate, finding the small device just where they had left it some days prior. It was a short, thick length of pipe, sealed on both ends with metal caps, with a thin piece of string sticking out from a small hole drilled in the top. Hosea had gotten the pieces from Seamus and spent a careful afternoon assembling them while Dutch had been in his room. He had taken great pleasure in imagining the surprise on his face when he learned just what this “distraction” he had been planning entailed. He checked his pocket watch. Right on time. Standing on the roof of the saloon and shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand, Hosea could just barely see the roof of the bank and, across the street, the forms of five men, standing, waiting. He smiled to himself.

Abigail had placed the device upright on the roof floor, the string standing straight up. Hosea reached into his pocket and pulled out a box of matches. He held it out to Abigail, bowing magnanimously. “Care to do the honors?”

“With pleasure.” Abigail took the box and struck a match. She lit the string and the two of them ran back to the door, ducking inside as the fuse burned down, the spark disappearing inside the pipe. 

Hosea was holding the door open between them and the device, and Abigail peeked around it. “Is it goin’?”

“Just give it a minute.” 

Right on cue, the bomb exploded with a tremendous bang that echoed through the streets. Abigail quickly took cover behind the door again, holding her hat firmly to her head. When the debris had settled, Hosea moved the door out of the way for them to see the thick plume of black smoke billowing into the air and the clamour that was already forming on the streets below. Hosea grinned from ear to ear. “How’s that for a distraction?”

“Damn right,” said Abigail, still holding her hat on her head with one hand. 

Hosea allowed himself one more moment to admire the smoke dissipating in the sky. “Beautiful,” he said to himself. “Alright, we better get movin’. C’mon.” 

They hurried back down the stairs to find veritable pandemonium in the saloon. Patrons were rushing out of their rooms and down the stairs, the front doors bottlenecking them as they poured out onto the street. Hosea went with the crowd to the stairs, Abigail close behind. He had only taken a few steps downstairs when he noticed, against all the people trying to get out of the building, two men trying to get in. Two men in red vests, grey coats, and black bowler hats. Two men Hosea instantly recognized as agents Milton and Ross. 

A pit opened in the bottom of his stomach. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind in an instant. The Pinkertons weren’t supposed to know they were even in St. Denis. Had the St. Denis police tipped them off? Did they know they were going for the bank?

Had Hosea been right? 

It was at that moment that Milton, in pushing through the people streaming out of the saloon, looked up through the glass doors and made direct eye contact with Hosea on the landing.

Hosea abruptly turned on a dime and all but pushed Abigail back up the stairs. “What’s the matter?” she asked in confusion. Hosea took her arm and hurried her to the back of the building. 

“Out the window. Now.”

His sudden severity surprised Abigail. “What?”

Hosea pushed open the window at the end of the hall. “Don’t be seen. Get out of here. Steal a horse. Get back to camp, quick as you can.”

Abigail’s brows knit together. “Hosea, what’s goin’ on?”

Hosea put a hand on her back, ushering her to the window to sit in the window jamb. “Do what I tell you. Go. Now.” He helped her get herself through the window and watched as she carefully lowered herself down and dropped to the alleyway below. She brushed the dust off her skirt and looked up at him expectantly, but he waved her away. “Git!” he hissed. Abigail complied and, with a quick glance back up at Hosea, darted through the alley and out of sight. 

Only now did Hosea carefully sit on the edge of the window, lifting a leg over to exit himself. He was waiting, though, in the back of his mind. He knew he wouldn’t get far. So it wasn’t a surprise at all when he heard the familiar voice behind him.

“Making your escape, Matthews? Or are you planning on doing society a favor?”

Slowly, Hosea stood and turned around. Milton stood at the top of the stairs, Ross behind him, two other Pinkertons behind both. Milton had his pistol raised, pointed at Hosea’s face.

“Put your hands up.”

“I’m unarmed. As you can see.”

“Put. Your hands. Up.”

Hosea slowly raised his hands, showing Milton his palms.

“Where are the others?”

Hosea shook his head. “No others. It’s just me.”

Milton tsked. “And there went your one chance.”

“Are you arresting me?”

“No.” Keeping his gun trained to Hosea’s head, Milton crossed the floor and grabbed Hosea by the back of his shirt collar. 

Hosea’s mind was still racing. The bank robbery would be well underway at this point. Maybe if he could just buy some time…

“How did you know to come here?” he asked Milton.

Milton chuckled callously. “Oh, Mr. Matthews,” he said. “You have much more pressing matters to be concerned about.”

Milton dragged Hosea down the stairs and out the front doors, Ross and the other Pinkertons trailing behind them. A wagon was parked outside. The two Pinkertons climbed into the driver’s seat and Ross and Milton got into the back, forcing Hosea along with them.

“Drive,” commanded Milton, and the horses started, turning a corner and taking them around the block to the street the bank stood on. Pinkertons lined the street, positioned behind several large crates that had been placed there. Looking up, Hosea could see more Pinkertons standing on the balconies and roofs of the buildings across the street from the bank, and his heart sank. This was no stroke of luck or pure coincidence. This had been anticipated and planned for long in advance. They had known they were coming.

“I’m sure I don’t need to tell you,” Milton growled, “that if you speak one single word or step one toe out of line, I will kill you.”

Lips drawn tight against his teeth in vexation, Hosea could only nod. 

As the wagon pulled in, Hosea caught a glimpse of two men pushing through the doors of the bank. John and Lenny, who had been standing guard outside. They shouted indistinctly to the others inside, and, as Milton pulled Hosea out of the wagon, he could see the hurried shapes of men inside approaching the windows.

“Come out, it’s over!” Milton was yelling. He shoved Hosea in front of him, into the street, the barrel of his pistol pressed to the back of his head. “Dutch, get out here! Get out here now!”

Through the large front window of the bank, Hosea could clearly see Micah, Arthur, and Dutch, peeking out from behind cover and into the street. For a fraction of a second, he caught a glimpse of Dutch’s face, contorted in anger behind his bandanna, before Dutch pressed himself against the inner wall again.

“Mr. Milton…” came Dutch’s voice from inside, shouting across the street. “Let my friend go, or folks… they are going to get shot unnecessarily.” 

“Your friend?” Milton laughed scornfully. “Why would I do that?”

“Come on, Milton!” Dutch persisted. 

“It’s over,” said Milton. “No more bargains. No more deals.”

Even from across the street, Hosea could tell Dutch’s mind was going a million miles an hour. “Mr. Milton…” he said. “This is America. You can always cut a deal.”

What would it take for Dutch to stop trying to bargain his way out? What would have to be on the line? His face to the road, Hosea looked up. He could see Arthur’s eyes darting from Milton to Dutch to him, his brow low and set, and back to Dutch. 

Milton’s voice was full of contempt. “I’ve given you enough chances.” He cocked the gun, and Hosea felt himself flinch.

“Alright!” Dutch blurted, a hint of desperation betraying itself in his voice. “Alright… Mr. Milton, I will come out there. Give me one minute… and I will come out there.”

Hosea hadn’t been expecting that. He tried to raise his head to get a better look at what was going on in the bank, but the barrel of Milton’s gun pushed it back down again.

“You get ten seconds,” said Milton. “Ten… nine…”

Hosea could glimpse movement from inside the bank. Bill rushing to the back of the room. Dutch handing the saddlebag over his shoulder off to Micah.

“Eight… seven… six…”

For as long as he had known him, Hosea had known Dutch’s greatest strength and his greatest failing to be one and the same. He was willing to do anything.

“Five… four…”

What would be the consequence this time? What new direction would Dutch send the gang spinning off in? Hosea couldn’t predict it. He never could.

“Three… two…”

When it came down to the wire, when all other options were exhausted, when lives were on the line, what would Dutch van der Linde do?

“One.”

Chapter Text

Dutch stepped through the open doors of the bank and Hosea’s breath caught in his lungs. He was pushing a young brunette woman, no older than Mary-Beth, in front of him, carefully positioning himself behind her so no part of him was exposed. She must have been one of the people in the bank when the robbery started. From the terrified expression on her face, it was obvious Dutch’s gun was pressed to her back. He inched them forward into the street. “Here I am, Mr. Milton,” he said. “Just like I said.”

Hosea wanted to scream. What the hell do you think you’re doing. What on earth are you thinking. What has happened. He felt Milton raise his gun from his own head and point it at Dutch, though he kept Hosea’s shirt collar securely in his grasp. “Let the woman go, Dutch,” he said.

“Oh, you know I can’t do that, Mr. Milton,” said Dutch.

“She has nothing to do with this.”

“You’re absolutely right,” Dutch replied. “She’s completely innocent. Just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. She’s nothing to me.” A bit of his face was revealed from behind the woman, and one dark eye rested on Hosea. “It’s him… He’s what matters to me. So I know you’ll believe me when I say that if you do not release him, this poor girl will be the one who pays the price.” The woman screwed her eyes shut. Hosea could see her trembling with fright.

With Milton’s attention on Dutch, Hosea was able to raise his head slightly and look at Dutch. He shook his head subtly, minisculely. No. Don’t. Dutch didn’t appear to notice.

“You’re a coward, Dutch,” said Milton.

“You may think that, if it brings you peace,” replied Dutch. “I, however, can rest easy knowing a coward would not risk his life and liberty for one man as I am doing.”

“That is enough!” Milton shouted. “Let the woman go!”

“Now, you don’t care about my friend, do you?” Dutch continued. “Like this girl to me, he’s nothing to you. It’s me you want.”

As he spoke, Dutch slowly began to emerge from behind the woman, though keeping a firm grip on her upper arm. “So, if your earlier deal still stands…” By this point Dutch was completely exposed, holding his gun out to his side. “All you have to do is just let him go.”

Milton took the words right out of Hosea’s mouth. “Do you think I am that stupid, van der Linde?”

Dutch shrugged slightly. “I am a man of my word, Mr. Milton,” he said. “Are you?”

It was a deadlock. Unstoppable force versus immovable object. Hosea could imagine them all standing there until the sun went down and came up the next morning and went down again, frozen in time as the world spun and changed around them. Someone had to move.

Milton was distracted. There would be no other chance. Hosea moved sharply forward, breaking free from Milton’s grip and taking a few quick steps into the street. He straightened up and met Dutch’s eyes. Underneath his determined brow, the corner of Dutch’s mouth turned up almost imperceptibly, a calm, capable smile indistinguishable to the naked eye but that Hosea had seen many times before.

Slowly, cautiously, he turned around to face Milton, almost in anticipation. Milton’s gun was still trained on Dutch, frustration and indignation dawning on his face. He grimaced at Hosea, but nodded reluctantly in the direction of the bank. With a few furtive glances back at Milton and Dutch, Hosea hurried across the street and slipped through the doorway of the bank. He was met by John and Lenny, who quickly ushered him inside.

“Abigail?” John asked quietly.

“She’s fine,” said Hosea. “She’s gettin’ back to camp. They only got me.” They made it inside and Hosea leaned against the wall just inside the bank, next to the large window.

Arthur drew his other pistol from his hip and handed it to Hosea. “You ain’t hurt?” he asked.

“No.” Hosea took the pistol. “But the sooner that idiot gets back in here, the better. I’ve got a bad feeling.”

“See, Mr. Milton?” Dutch was saying. “I told you we could cut a deal.”

“You got what you wanted, Dutch,” said Milton. “Now let her go.”

“Oh, I will,” said Dutch. “I certainly will.” Behind the woman, out of view of the Pinkertons, Hosea could see Dutch’s feet shifting ever so slightly.

In one swift motion, Dutch shoved the woman away from him and stepped backwards toward the bank. The gunshot shattered the still air and Dutch was running back through the bank doors before the woman hit the ground, face down in a pool of her own blood.

“Dutch!” Hosea’s cry of surprise was drowned out by the sound of gunfire erupting from the street, shattering the windows of the bank.

Dutch entered the bank and quickly ducked behind cover. “Brace yourselves, boys, this is gonna be rough!”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Hosea yelled.

Dutch fired a shot out the window. “Is now really the time for arguing?” he responded. “We’re no worse off than we were before! In fact, we’re a lot better, if you ask me!”

“Well, Milton sure ain’t gonna thank us for making him look like a damn fool!” Arthur replied, drawing his rifle from his back.

“I’ll take questions and comments at a later time! Now shut up and help me kill these bastards!”

Lenny ducked away from the window as another bullet crashed through the glass. “There’s so many of them!” he shouted. “They must’ve known we were coming!”

“Goddamnit!” John swore. “I said this was a bad idea!”

“Hold them back!” Dutch shouted. “I got an idea!”

“Another one?” Arthur yelled back.

“Just keep shooting, wiseass!” Dutch responded. “Hosea, with me!” He fell back and vaulted over the bank counters in the middle of the large room, Hosea close behind, both taking cover as the bullets whizzed through the air above them.

Hosea’s voice was unusually low. “Are you gonna tell me what in the name of god that was?”

Dutch, scanning the walls, the doors, the windows of the room, didn’t even pretend not to know what Hosea was talking about. “That was me saving your life, is what it was.”

“At what cost, Dutch?”

“You’re saying I should have just stood by and watched you die?”

“You murdered that woman in cold blood.”

“I’m perfectly aware,” said Dutch. “But you know what?” He turned to look Hosea in the eyes, took his hand in his own, and squeezed it. “I’d do it again.” Ignoring, or perhaps not noticing the fact that Hosea wasn’t smiling back, he returned to examining the walls and windows. “Now look,” he said, pointing at a gilded wall. “I reckon our best way out is through that wall.”

“Through the wall?” Hosea asked. He looked at Dutch in confusion, but he already had a bundle of dynamite in his hand. “Where the hell did that come from?”

“You know me, always prepared.” He raised his voice to yell over the sound of bullets. “Arthur, are you alive?”

“Just about!” came Arthur’s reply.

“Get over here!” Arthur holstered his gun and hurried over to them, and Dutch tossed him the dynamite. “There’s no way that we’re gettin’ out that door,” he said. “Take this and blow a hole through that wall.” With a nod, Arthur planted the dynamite on the wall, then returned and took cover behind the counter. “Dynamite!” he yelled. “Stay down!” As Dutch and Hosea covered their heads, he shot the dynamite, causing an explosion to ripple through the bank. The wall crumbled into fire-edged pieces.

“Arthur, climb up to the roof and cover us,” Dutch instructed. Arthur nodded and hurried to the opening, climbing through the hole in the wall and clambering up the ladder to the roof. “The rest of you,” Dutch shouted. “On my signal, we move!”

Hosea came out from behind the counter and hugged the wall where he could clearly see everyone in the room. Dutch stood by the hole in the wall.

The air was thick with bullets. There was barely room for Hosea to think, and almost too much noise for him to hear the thoughts in his head anyway. He still held Arthur’s pistol.

“How the hell did they know?” yelled Micah. “There’s gotta be a rat!”

Charles was pinned into a corner, barely able to move for the two Pinkertons with their guns trained on him. Hosea found them and, with two shots, took them out.

“You really wanna talk about this now?” said Javier, in response to Micah. “We’re getting killed here!”

A third man across the street traced the path of Hosea’s bullets back to him and began firing. Hosea ducked around the corner, then leaned around and dispatched his attacker.

A shout came from across the street. “They’re on the roof!” On the opposite balcony, Hosea could see a Pinkerton sniper aiming his rifle at someone on the roof, undoubtedly Arthur. Hosea aimed and fired. The first bullet clipped him in the shoulder, the second was the headshot needed to bring him down.

“If you’re gonna move, move now!” Arthur shouted down from the rooftop.

“Go go go!” Dutch yelled, beckoning them to move. “Everyone with me! Now! Let’s go!”

The boys closest to the windows began to move back. Dutch waved Javier through the hole in the wall, Bill close behind him. “Hosea, we gotta move!” he shouted.

Arthur’s pistol had one bullet left, he knew. He turned and dashed for the hole in the wall. He paused just outside it and ushered Charles up the ladder before him before climbing up himself.

When he was about three or four feet off the ground, a commotion from inside the bank caught his attention. A splintering crash, a loud thud, and a cry of pain in a voice that sounded like John’s. He stopped climbing and turned his head, trying to see what was happening when - a sharp crack and an explosion of pain caused him to lose his grip on the ladder. He’d been shot in the thigh. He fell the short distance to the ground and landed on his back, knocking the air out of his lungs and leaving him gasping for breath.

Lenny was climbing out of the hole in the wall. He yelped when he saw Hosea on the ground. “Hosea, are you alive?”

“Somehow.”

Lenny grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet. “They get you?”

“Leg, I’m fine, keep goin’.”

Dutch came tumbling out of the hole in the wall. “They got John,” he said as he passed them.

“He’s dead?” Hosea asked in alarm.

“Arrested. I couldn’t help. C’mon.”

He started up the ladder, Lenny behind him, Hosea, slow as a turtle, bringing up the rear.

Dutch reached the roof first and was conferring with the others before Hosea was halfway up. “You doin’ alright?” Lenny called down to him.

“Fine, don’t stop!”

“What’s the holdup down there?” Dutch yelled down from the roof.

“Hosea’s been shot,” Lenny yelled back.

“I’m fine!” Hosea shouted. “Go, we’re right behind you!”

By the time Hosea finally reached the roof, the others had jumped across to the next rooftop, making a path to escape, except for Lenny, who stood at the top of the ladder. “What are you doin’?”

“Waiting for you, of course.” Lenny reached down a hand and pulled Hosea up to the roof.

Hosea moved to follow the others, but his leg gave way underneath him the second he put weight on it. Lenny caught him before he hit the ground. “Don’t you dare,” said Hosea. “Go on, I’ll catch up.”

“I ain’t leavin’ you behind.” Lenny draped Hosea’s arm over his shoulders and supported him around the waist. “C’mon, let’s go.”

They didn’t even have time to take two steps. The roof access door flew open and two Pinkertons emerged, guns drawn, right in front of them. There was nowhere to go.

“Throw down your weapons!” one of them commanded. The other stood silently. Both guns were trained on Lenny, obviously the bigger threat at the moment.

Hosea felt Lenny start with surprise, then casually hold both his hands out to his sides, his right still holding his pistol. “Whoa, easy there, fellas,” he said.

“Drop the weapon and put your hands up!” the Pinkerton barked.

“Oh, I don’t think we’ll be doin’ that,” said Lenny calmly. “That wouldn’t do anybody any good, now, would it?”

“What on earth are you doing?” Hosea hissed at him.

“Don’t worry,” Lenny whispered back. “I got a plan.”

The second Pinkerton shook his head. “Don’t play games with us,” he warned.

“I ain’t playin’ no games,” said Lenny. “None at all. I’ll tell you what, I’ll make you boys a deal. I let you two just - walk away, and you forget you ever saw us. Deal?”

The easiness of his voice and the smooth smile on his face seemed uncomfortably familiar to Hosea, and with a sinking feeling in his stomach he realized what Lenny was doing.

He was emulating Dutch.

“This is your last warning!” shouted the first Pinkerton. “Drop the gun now!”

“Alright,” said Lenny casually. “Alright.” He moved slowly as if to raise his hands. Then, in one quick, sharp motion, he raised his gun and fired at the first Pinkerton. He fell with a shot to the chest, but almost instantly the second Pinkerton shot back, hitting Lenny just below his heart.

“No!” Hosea cried. He drew his own gun and quickly shot the second Pinkerton, then knelt to the ground where Lenny had fallen. Blood gushed from his wound, but he was alive, at least for now.

“Go,” he strained. “Catch up with the others.”

Hosea shook his head, taking off his jacket. “Now I’m the one who ain’t leavin’ you.” His heart pounding in his ears, he folded up his jacket, placed it over Lenny’s wound, and buttoned his own jacket around it to hold it tightly in place, the best makeshift bandage he could come up with. He stood up and glanced over in the direction the others had gone. They were already several rooftops away. They hadn’t even seen what had happened. He stooped again and lifted Lenny onto his shoulder. “C’mon, let’s go.”

His leg screamed in pain, but Hosea managed to stand up. Through the roof access door they went and down the stairs, as quickly as Hosea could go with the extra weight and his own injury. On the second landing Hosea had to duck into a doorway as several Pinkertons raced up the stairs to the roof. Once they were gone, Hosea continued down the stairs to the ground floor.

Lenny groaned in pain. “Stay with me, son,” said Hosea.

He found the back door of the building and carefully peaked out. By now it was obvious to all the Pinkertons that the van der Linde bank robbers had escaped across the rooftops. Whistles were blowing and people and horses were running every which way, through alleys and down streets to figure out which way they had gone.

Around a corner, Hosea could see one horse, tied to a hitch outside a shop, rearing and nickering in distress at the chaos around it. With another quick glance to each side, Hosea mustered up every bit of his strength and ran.

He reached the horse and carefully laid Lenny across its back, then untied the reins and climbed on himself. He kicked his heels into the horse’s sides and took off as fast as he could possibly go without looking back.

There were a lot of things Hosea could have been thinking about as he spurred the horse faster and faster towards Shady Belle. He could have been thinking about the remark Micah had made, that there had to have been a rat in the gang. He could have been thinking about Agent Milton, who had made it clear that his capture was not an arrest but an execution. He could have been thinking about the calm, capable, and easygoing look Dutch had had on his face before putting a bullet in an innocent skull. But, truth be told, he wasn’t thinking about any of these things, as he raced down the dirt road leading to Shady Belle. All he was thinking about were the lives that were in his hands, and how to prevent any more of them from being lost.

“Help!” Hosea started calling out before he even stopped the horse. “We need help, now! Help!”

His shouting attracted a sizable number as he passed the hitching posts and rode right up to the center courtyard. “Oh, Mr. Summers!” Miss Grimshaw cried out as she saw him, draped over the back of the horse.

“Get him to Strauss’ wagon, now,” Hosea commanded. “He’s been hurt, bad.”

Miss Grimshaw and Pearson took Lenny, still groaning, off the back of the horse, and began to carry him in the direction of Strauss’ wagon. “Hosea!” Hosea looked down and was relieved to see that Abigail had made it back safely. “What happened?”

“Nothing good.” He swung a leg off the horse and dropped to the ground, only to grimace through his teeth in pain when he landed.

Abigail gasped when she noticed the blood trickling from Hosea’s wound. “You’re hurt,” she said. “Let me help you.” She supported him in the same way Lenny had and helped him toward Strauss’ wagon.

A considerable crowd had gathered now. “What in the world happened?” asked Tilly. “All Abigail said was you made her climb out the window.”

“They knew we were comin’,” said Hosea as Abigail sat him down on a crate. Concerned gasps and murmurs from the others. “Not sure how, but they knew. Milton and Ross, they got a whole army of them lined up outside. It was an all-out bloodbath.”

Abigail stopped examining Hosea’s wound and quickly grabbed his arm. “John?”

“He’s alright,” he assured her. “They arrested him, but he’s alive, and lucky to be.”

“What happened to the others?” asked Mary-Beth.

“Escapin’ across the roofs,” said Hosea. “I got shot and was too slow, and Lenny was too stubborn. We told ‘em to go on without us.”

Abigail was cleaning Hosea’s wound. “The bullet didn’t hit bone,” she said. “You should be just fine.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about.” All eyes drifted over to the wooden table Lenny was stretched out on.

Abigail nodded grimly. “Let me get you wrapped up.”

After Abigail had bandaged Hosea’s leg and helped him to stand, he carefully made his way to where Pearson and Miss Grimshaw worked on Lenny. Miss Grimshaw turned at his approach. Her face said it all. “He’s lost a lot of blood,” she said. “It… it ain’t good.”

“We think he has internal bleeding,” said Pearson. “We ain’t got a proper surgeon, there’s…”

Hosea nodded. He looked down at Lenny. His skin was ashy and pale. Bloody gauze was packed tightly in his wound. His eyes were closed, screwed tightly shut, and his bloody lips were moving like he was trying to say something.

Hosea laid a hand on his forehead. It was cold and clammy. “It’s alright, son,” he said. “You’re safe now. You can rest.” Lenny’s eyes relaxed and his lips stopped moving, his chest rising and falling slowly, weakly.

A sharp pain twinged in Hosea’s heart. It was the preview, he knew, of the full pain he would come to feel later.

But there wasn’t time for that now. “Alright, listen up, everybody,” he said, turning to the group still gathered around him. “There ain’t no doubt that the Pinkertons are coming here, soon. We are leaving now.”

“What about Dutch, and the others?” asked Reverend Swanson. “Shouldn’t we wait for them?”

“Ain’t no time for that,” said Sadie. “I reckon them Pinkertons’re on their way here right now.”

“Mrs. Adler is right,” said Hosea. “With any luck the others’ll get back before we leave. If not, we leave word for them and they will find us. Right now we need to move.” Everyone started moving and talking all at once. Hosea raised his voice above the clamor. “Start packing. Do not wait for someone to tell you what to do. We need everything on those wagons.”

Miss Grimshaw had already started off toward the girls’ tents. Hosea caught Pearson as he started to head for his wagon. “Someone stay with him,” he said, nodding to Lenny on the table. “I don’t care who, I will if no one else can. He ain’t being left alone.” Pearson nodded and sat down beside Lenny.

For what felt like the first time in hours, Hosea exhaled. His leg hurt him and his head was spinning. He sat down on a nearby table and wasn’t sure if he could ever get up again. The camp was in chaos, people packing boxes and trunks and tearing down tents. Lenny lay dying on a table five feet away. John was in chains, undoubtedly in a St. Denis jail cell by now. The others, alive, dead, captured, who knew. Micah, Bill, Javier, Charles. Arthur. Dutch. Hosea’s hands went to his head, where he now felt the sudden crushing weight of all that had just happened and all that was yet to come.

“Dear God,” he said aloud. “What has happened to us?”

Chapter Text

Lenny died late that afternoon. Hosea wasn’t there. He was striking a tent on the other side of camp when Tilly came up to him, silent tears streaming down her face. She opened her mouth, but couldn’t seem to say anything. She didn’t need to. Hosea just opened his arms and she went into them.

The camp’s hurried work was put on pause for Lenny’s burial. He was buried as the sun went down in the small graveyard on the edge of the Shady Belle property, with a plantation owner and a murder-suicide. He would not get his wish after all. He was buried where he had shared his last happy moments with those who cared for him. Hosea hoped that would be enough.

After the brief service the camp was expected to get back to work. Hosea had every intention of joining them, but found he could barely walk, and not just from the pain in his leg. He had been hobbling around on an old cane Mary-Beth had found in the house, but now he seemed almost rooted to the spot, unable even to sit or fall down.

“Hosea?” came a voice. It was Abigail. She too was lingering by the graveyard, and she touched his arm in concern. “You alright?”

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “Just - gimme a minute.”

“You need more than a minute,” Abigail disagreed. “Here.” She took his hand that wasn’t holding the cane and, with her other hand gently on Hosea’s back, she carefully helped him to the nearest sittable object, which happened to be the hull of an overturned rowboat near the abandoned boathouse. “There,” she said as she eased him down slowly. “Rest a minute, it’ll do you good.”

“Thank you,” Hosea said absently. He tried to look at her, but his eyes wouldn’t raise much farther than the ground.

Abigail sat down beside him. He could feel her sharp eyes on him, trying to catch his. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Well,” said Hosea. “We haven’t had a very good day.”

Abigail shook her head. “That ain’t it. There’s something else, something you ain’t telling me. What is it?”

Hosea was about to deny it, or even just reassure Abigail that whatever it was had nothing to do with her, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t lie to her, and she would be able to tell if he did anyway. The truth was that, even with Dutch wherever he was at that moment, as long as they were all together, their lives were in his hands. This had once been reassuring.

But still, he couldn’t tell her. Not now. What good would it do? Everything was up in the air. So much uncertainty. Once everything was back on solid ground, then, maybe. The only person who needed to be this worried right now was himself.

The person he really needed to talk to was Dutch. His heart quickened its pace, and he had to stop himself from actually looking in the direction of St. Denis, as if he could see across miles and through trees and buildings. Oh, where was he? What had happened?

“Later,” he promised Abigail. “Now ain’t the time.”

Abigail frowned. “If you’re keepin’ something that-”

“I know,” Hosea interrupted. “But we got bigger fish to fry. We’ll talk, I promise. Just not today.”

“Okay,” said Abigail reluctantly. “I trust you.”

Hosea smiled. “Thank you, my dear.”

The sun had now dipped below the horizon and the stars were coming out one by one. In other circumstances, looking up at those pinpricks of light in the inky blackness might have comforted Hosea, but tonight all he could think about was how they all must be long gone by the time they saw them again.

A vague commotion caught both of their attentions. There was the sound of a horse - or maybe it was many? - people talking and several pairs of running feet.

Hosea’s heart stopped. He struggled to his feet with the help of the cane and peered out through the darkness. Nothing but the vague shapes of human forms.

“What’s goin’ on?” asked Abigail.

“Can’t tell.” He started toward the disturbance, which had come from the main road. “What is it?” he called out as he got closer.

“It’s Charles!” came the reply from Karen.

Hosea let out his breath and felt the blood beginning to return to his face. He continued toward the hitching posts where, he gathered, Charles must be hitching his horse. Abigail had heard Karen’s shout and, faster than Hosea, she hurried ahead of him.

Charles was making his way to the main camp and, as Hosea had expected, he was being mobbed, hemmed in by people on all sides and not looking very happy about it. Hosea tapped the legs of the nearest person, being Reverend Swanson, with his cane. “Give the man some air, will you?” he instructed, and the crowd reluctantly spread out.

“Hosea.” Charles’ eyebrows raised in surprise and relief. “Thank goodness. When you never caught up with us… we feared the worst.”

Hosea tapped his bad leg with his cane. “Still standing, despite fate’s best efforts,” he said. “I…” He swallowed. “…can’t say the same for Lenny, I’m afraid.”

Charles’ face fell. “What happened?”

“I should be asking you the same,” said Hosea. “What did you do? Where are the others?”

They had reached one of the few tables that hadn’t yet been carried away, and Charles sat down with a heavy exhale. “They’re on a boat.”

Hosea had to pause for a moment to make certain he had heard Charles correctly. “What?”

Mary-Beth furrowed her brow. “What do you mean, they’re on a boat?”

“The police were patrolling the streets, we knew they’d be watching the roads,” Charles explained. “Dutch decided that the best way to get out of there was to sneak down to the docks after nightfall and… get on a boat.”

“What boat?” asked Abigail agitatedly. “To where?”

“Any boat,” said Charles. “Anywhere. They’re probably on it now.”

“Why aren’t you?” Karen asked.

“There were some Pinkertons in our way,” said Charles. “I drew them out, let them chase me so the others could get by.”

Reverend Swanson touched his shoulder. “That was very brave of you, Mr. Smith.”

The rest of the group murmured their agreement, but Hosea was still reeling. They were alive, thank God, but-

“So,” he said, counting on his fingers. “Arthur, Dutch, Bill, Javier, and Micah are-“

“Sailing to God-knows-where,” Charles confirmed.

“To be back God-knows-when.” Hosea pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can’t believe he thought this was a good idea.”

Charles gave a sort of half-hearted shrug in response.

“And you went along with it? Of all people I’d thought you’d be able to keep some sense.”

“We didn’t exactly have much choice. None of the rest of us could come up with any better ideas. And even if we had, you know how he is.”

“Don’t I ever.” He sighed. “Well, the plan still stands, I guess. We’ll leave word to let them know where we’ve gone.”

“We movin’?” asked Charles.

“Yep,” replied Hosea. “As soon as we can. Dawn, if possible.”

Miss Grimshaw clapped her hands together sharply. “You heard Mr. Matthews,” she said. “Everybody back to work! I want this place packed up by sunrise.” She turned to Charles as everyone else began to move. “Mr. Smith, if you would-“

“Miss Grimshaw,” Hosea interrupted. “If you please. Let him sit down for a few minutes together.”

Hosea could tell Miss Grimshaw wanted to argue with him but decided against it. “Well, alright,” she acquiesced. “Just a few minutes, mind.” She hurried off importantly in the direction of the house.

“Thank you,” said Charles once she was out of earshot.

“Don’t mention it.”

Charles pulled the knot of his necktie through, letting it fall limply against his chest. “So,” he said. “What… happened with Lenny?”

With an uneasy grimace and a glance around, Hosea sat down next to Charles. “Pinkertons had us cornered on the roof,” he said. “He… tried to trade them their lives for our freedom and when they didn’t take it, he… tried to make good on his promise.”

Charles sighed heavily. “What made him think he could pull that off?”

“I don’t blame him,” Hosea said. “After all, he watched something very similar play out in our favor just minutes prior.”

There was a long pause as both replayed this event in their heads. An involuntary shudder escaped Hosea as it reached its conclusion.

“So you blame Dutch?” Charles asked.

Hosea opened his mouth, but nothing would come out for a moment. “I don’t think I can, not entirely,” he said.

“But you do blame him a little.” This wasn’t a question.

This time Hosea really couldn’t make anything come out of his mouth.

“He did that to save your life,” said Charles - perfectly neutrally, Hosea noticed. Neither defending nor condemning, simply stating the fact, as if reminding himself of it.

“Yes, I know.” Hosea couldn’t decide if that made it better or worse.

“What do you wish had happened instead?”

“Almost anything else.”

Charles nodded solemnly. “What-“

Hosea cut him off. “Don’t ask me nothing. Don’t ask me what he was thinking, don’t ask me what I want, don’t ask me what we’re gonna do, I don’t know.” He rested his forehead in his hand. “We’re just gonna survive until Dutch gets back, and then I’ll talk to him.”

“Alright,” said Charles. “And…” Hosea couldn’t look at him, just heard his voice as he stopped mid-sentence, then started again. “And if they-“

“I said don’t ask me nothing.”

“Mr. Matthews.” Hosea raised his eyes to see Sadie striding towards them.

With great difficulty, he pulled himself to his feet, leaning heavily on his cane. “Yes, Mrs. Adler?”

“Where we moving to?” she asked. “Someone needs to go scout it out.”

“You’re quite right. Let’s go take a look.” He turned to Charles. “Charles, I’d like you to come as well.”

“Sure.”

Charles and Sadie followed him to the house, walking slowly to match Hosea’s impaired gait. The map of St. Denis and the surrounding area was still spread out on the dining room table. “Here’s us,” said Hosea, tapping Shady Belle on the map, just southwest of St. Denis. “Now obviously we can’t stick too close to here, but we also can’t go too far while we wait for the others to get back. I reckon we’re best off staying in Lemoyne for the time being.”

“What about this?” Sadie pointed at a spot in Southfield Flats. “Robard Farm. Pretty sure that place is abandoned.”

Hosea shook his head. “Too out in the open,” he said. “We’d be sitting ducks out on the flats like that. How about here? Canebreak Manor.”

“Oh, I think Arthur told me about that place,” said Charles. “I believe it’s very occupied, by someone we do not want to mess with.”

Sadie sighed. “Well, it ain’t ideal, but there is one spot that might work.” She indicated a spot on the map, in the heart of Bayou Nwa, immediately south of Lagras. “It’s called Lakay. It’s in the middle of the bayou, so it’s pretty well hidden. But more importantly, the locals say it’s haunted. Won’t go near it. What do you say?”

“Anything in the manner of shelter?” Hosea asked.

Sadie shrugged. “Couple shacks, I think. Tiny, but standing.”

“What do you think, Charles?”

“I think it might be the best we’re gonna get.”

Hosea rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Sadie was right, all of them putting up in a couple of tiny shacks in the middle of the bayou certainly wasn’t ideal. But even from just a quick look at the map it was obvious that they would be hard pressed to find another spot that was unoccupied, well-hidden, an appropriate size, and within a reasonable distance of St. Denis. “I think you’re right.” He rolled up the map. “Why don’t the two of you ride ahead and check it out, make sure the coast is clear.”

Charles nodded. “Sure.” He turned to Sadie. “We’ll head out as soon as I’ve packed my things.”

“Okay. I’ll be waiting.”

A short time later, Hosea noticed that Charles’ belongings had been packed away, but Sadie still waited for him by the hitching posts. After a few minutes’ searching he glanced in the doorway of Arthur’s room and saw him there, carefully packing Arthur’s things, the photograph of his mother, the jar containing his favorite flower, the picture of a decades-younger Arthur, Hosea, and Dutch, handling each object as gently and tenderly as if it would turn to dust.

My dear Tacitus,

                    I do hope your holiday was a restful and restorative one. It was certainly a surprise to all of us when you decided to depart so suddenly with your cousins in tow, but we are nonetheless envious of all the fun you must have had. Next time, you must take us along too! We will be sure to have an even more enjoyable time if we are all together. Until that time, we have decided to take a page out of your book, as you have inspired us to take a trip of our own. I confess that this grand house, which once seemed so secure and comfortable, has become a tad confining and I find us in great need of the invigorating effects of nature. We have gone to stay with some relatives (from my mother’s side, so, naturally, you are not acquainted with them) in Lakay, a small village north of St. Denis.

                    Please come to see us as soon as you can. I miss you, my dear Tacitus.

Yours very truly,

Penelope

Approximately 36 hours after Hosea left the letter on the dining room table and arrived at Lakay a few hours after sunrise, one wagon at a time so a large caravan would not attract unwanted attention, having now set up a rudimentary camp in record time and gotten a few fitful hours of sleep, Hosea sat at a table with what little of his collection of herbs and plants he was able to take with him from Shady Belle. He was attempting to make a poultice for his leg, and not faring very well. Nothing he needed grew anywhere near here.

His concentration was broken by a folded newspaper landing in front of his face. “There,” said Karen, already starting to walk away.

Hosea had asked her a few hours prior if she and Mary-Beth would be so good as to take the wagon into town to buy some supplies. “Why do I gotta do it?” Karen had griped.

“Well, let’s see here,” Hosea had replied. “Pearson and Miss Grimshaw are busy makin’ sure the camp don’t fall apart, Tilly don’t feel safe in St. Denis and I don’t blame her, Charles and Sadie deserve a rest after nearly gettin’ killed by the lunatics they had to drive outta here, and even if I had the physical capability, I couldn’t set one foot into St. Denis without getting shot.” He had smiled a smile as thin as his patience. “That leaves you and Mary-Beth. Get me a newspaper while you’re out too, please.”

Now he picked up the copy of the Saint Denis Times that Karen had just unceremoniously dumped in front of him. “Thank you, Miss Jones.” She grunted in reply.

As he had expected, the headline “LEMOYNE NATIONAL BANK ROBBED” was splashed across the front page, accompanied by an illustration of what must have been the aftermath of the robbery - bodies of Pinkertons lying in the street and the glass from the broken windows of the bank littering the ground. The subheadlines read “THOUSANDS STOLEN, ONE CRIMINAL CAPTURED, EIGHT REMAIN AT LARGE.”

“Anything interesting?” came Abigail’s voice. Hosea hadn’t been reading long, but her offhand comment caught him by surprise.

“I should say so,” he said, turning the front page around to show her. “I’d say we’re the biggest news St. Denis’ seen in years.”

Abigail’s eyes widened and she quickly took a seat beside him. “What does it say?”

This was a common practice for the two of them - Hosea reading the paper to Abigail, her peering over his shoulder despite her inability to read the words on the page, but it had a different air to it this time. Hosea cleared his throat and began.

“’In a shocking event that many are calling the culmination of the weeks-long crime wave Saint Denis has suffered from of late, the Lemoyne National Bank was robbed by a group of masked gunmen later identified as the notorious van der Linde criminal gang. Residents will recall the large explosion that took place on the roof of the Bastille Saloon around 10:30 that morning. The explosion, caused by a homemade bomb, was a diversion intended to draw the attention of law enforcement as the outlaws entered the bank, forced the bank manager at gunpoint to open the vault, and stole several thousand dollars in banknotes.’” Hosea opened the paper to find the continued article. “Through the quick actions of the Pinkerton Detective Agency as well as the Saint Denis police department, the bank was quickly surrounded. Negotiations for the gang’s surrender proved unfruitful,’ - you can say that again - ‘and the situation quickly devolved into an intense shootout in which many members of law enforcement lost their lives in their valiant pursuit of justice. One member of the gang, John Marston, was arrested and is to be imprisoned in Sisika Penitentiary to await trial.’”

“Sisika, that’s no joke.” Hosea’s reading had drawn the attention of two other pairs of eyes, belonging to Charles and Sadie, who had been resting together a short distance away and had now ventured within earshot. Sadie was leaning on the table and reading the front page facing her. “Ain’t it on an island? That’s gonna make it difficult to work a prison break-“

Charles nudged Sadie’s arm. “Yes, but we’ll manage.” He nodded discreetly at Abigail, who was staring at her hands in her lap, kneading them together. “We’ve pulled off more difficult stunts.”

Sadie shot an apologetic glance at Charles, then Abigail, though she didn’t see it. “You’re right, of course.” She fell silent and glanced at Hosea, a silent plea to keep reading, which he obliged.

“The remaining members of the gang, Bill Williamson, Charles Smith, Lenny Summers, Javier Escuella, Micah Bell, Arthur Morgan, Hosea Matthews, and gang leader himself Dutch van der Linde escaped and are still at large. A city-wide manhunt has begun, led by Pinkerton agent Andrew Milton, to track down the robbers as well as the stolen money.”

“They don’t know Lenny’s dead,” Abigail noticed.

“That’s a good thing,” Hosea replied. “They’ll spread themselves thin looking for an eighth man who ain’t to be found.”

Hosea opened his mouth to begin reading the next paragraph, but stopped. For the second time in two days, he considered lying to Abigail. Stopping reading there. Closing the paper. Pretending the last section of the article didn’t exist. It would be very easy. This time she would not be able to tell the difference.

No, he couldn’t do that. He took a deep breath and read: “’In addition to the large number of police officers and Pinkerton agents who were killed in the bloodbath, one civilian casualty also occurred. Twenty-year-old Katherine Wright accompanied her father, Mr. Abraham Wright, on his business to the bank that fateful day unaware that her life would soon come to a violent end.’”

Abigail eyed him gravely. “Is this what you wouldn’t tell me before?”

“Yes, it is.”

Abigail’s mouth was drawn into a hard, thin line. She was hurt, but choosing not to say anything. Hosea winced inwardly and kept reading.

“’She was… taken hostage by gang leader Dutch van der Linde, who… shot and killed her before the very eyes of Saint Denis. “It…”’” Hosea’s voice broke here and he had to clear his throat again. “’”It feels as if I’m living in a nightmare,” said Mr. Wright of his daughter’s death. “She knew nothing but love and gentleness since the day she was born. The sweet little child I held in my arms that day is gone, and I shall never see her smile again.”’”

Hosea had to stop reading there, at least for a moment. Nobody paid any notice. Deep, unspeakable loss the likes of which Mr. Wright described was well known to this small group - parents in the case of Abigail, spouses in the cases of Sadie and himself. By the way Charles stared vacantly at the ground Hosea could tell he was no stranger to loss either. Once Hosea had found his voice again he continued.

“’Readers will no doubt recognize the similarity to the infamous Blackwater Massacre which took place earlier this year, in which another young woman, Heidi McCourt, met a similar fate at the hands of the bloodthirsty maniac Dutch van der Linde. “The brazen attack on the Lemoyne National Bank and the senseless murder of Katherine Wright are symptoms of the savagery that is allowed to perpetuate in this country,” Agent Andrew Milton told the Saint Denis Times. “It will not be long now before the degenerates that plague our society learn that the only thing left for them in this world is the justice they so richly deserve.”’” The article concluded, Hosea closed the paper.

“He seems mighty sure of himself,” Sadie remarked with a distasteful sniff.

“That ain’t all of what happened,” Charles pointed out. “They didn’t write the whole truth.”

“Of course they didn’t,” said Hosea. “If they wrote what really happened it would make the Pinkerton Detective Agency - and especially Milton himself - look like complete fools. He would never allow that.”

“What is all of what happened?” Abigail asked. “You still haven’t told me why you had me climb out the window.”

“I had you climb out the window because Milton and Ross were coming in,” said Hosea. “They caught me, brought me in front of the bank. Milton wanted to get Dutch to come out with a gun to my head.”

“And - it worked?”

Hosea sighed ruefully. “It did, but not in the way either of us had expected.” He tried to continue, but nothing happened. Try as he might, he could not find the words.

“Dutch got Bill to bring him out a young woman from the manager’s office where we’d put everybody,” Charles spoke up.

“Katherine Wright,” said Hosea. “He wanted to trade her life for mine.”

“And that worked too?” Sadie asked.

“Sort of,” Hosea replied. “Well enough. But it doesn’t matter. As soon as he got what he wanted - he shot her anyway.”

Abigail shook her head. “Lord.”

“Well what should he have done?” asked Sadie.

“For once, nothing.”

“He coulda just given himself up.”

“No,” Hosea answered immediately. “No, he - he wouldn’t even make it to trial. Milton would see to that.”

“He could’ve-“

“None of that matters,” Hosea snapped. “All that matters is that Katherine Wright should be alive right now and I shouldn’t.” He stood and threw the paper down on the table. “Excuse me.” He walked away with three pairs of eyes following him as he went.

The van der Linde gang, and especially Dutch himself, had always been accused of having delusions of grandeur. Fancying themselves a group of modern day Robin Hoods or rebellious nonconformists when in reality they were nothing more than heartless, violent criminals. It was easier to ignore them back when they were distributing stolen money among the poor and pulling off robberies without a single shot fired. Maybe it was getting to the point where if Hosea couldn’t see what they were becoming, he was becoming deluded himself.

How could it be that the same man who tenderly touched Hosea’s face and promised him that he would keep their family safe because he loved him was murdering someone’s daughter in cold blood not two hours later? The answer came to him as soon as he asked the question. Because he loved him.

Yes, they had love. That love would keep them from being doomed.         

That was what he would continue to hold onto. The alternative was something he couldn’t bear.

Chapter Text

Slow, endless days. Long, relentless nights. The bayou heat was stifling and oppressive, the air itself almost suffocating. And every day the only thing to be done was wait for it to be over.

Hosea was losing count of how many days it had been. The only measure of the time passing was the pain in his leg gradually lessening little by little. The cane was still required for Hosea to get around, but it was not the permanently disabling injury he had feared it might be. It had been a small bullet from a Pinkerton’s pistol, not a shot from a long-range sniper or - worse - the Gatling gun. Hosea had been among the luckiest there that day.

On the day Abigail carefully changed the gauze packed into his wound, Hosea sat down for a cup of coffee with Josiah Trelawny, who had spontaneously returned from one of his periodical disappearances.

“I thought to stop by Shady Belle after all of the commotion in Saint Denis,” he said. “I can’t say I was surprised to find that you all had flown the coop.”

“We would have been fools not to,” said Hosea.

“Indeed,” agreed Trelawny. “Last I saw the whole city was still swarming with police like an anthill. I daresay you should count yourselves lucky to have made it out.”

“We certainly do.”

Trelawny sipped his coffee. “I understand that our friend Mr. Marston was not so lucky.”

Hosea nodded. “Read as much in the papers, did you?”

“Well, yes, but moreover I’ve seen him with my own eyes,” Trelawny replied. “On my very way here I happened to pass a chain gang at work. Imagine my surprise when I glance to the side and find my eyes have landed on John Marston in prison stripes. They had the lot of them hard at work breaking up rocks. He looked up and made eye contact with me as I rode past.” He leaned on the table. “I assume you boys are planning a prison break?”

Hosea shook his head. “Planning’s about all we can do at the moment,” he said. “He’s locked up in Sisika, as you likely know.” Trelawny nodded. “That place is a veritable fortress. Only took one look to be able to tell that we just don’t have the manpower for any kind of breakout attempt right now. We’ll just have to wait.”

Trelawny’s brows shot up in surprise. “No manpower?” he asked. “Why, your number includes some of the best fighters I’ve ever seen. Why the wait?”

Hosea sighed.

“’Here’s Cap’n Flint - I calls my parrot Cap’n Flint after the famous buccaneer - here’s Cap’n Flint predicting success to our v’yage. Wasn’t you, cap’n?’” Hosea’s voice snarled and curled in imitating the legendary pirate Long John Silver. He sat on the front porch of one of the crumbling shacks of Lakay. One hand held one cover of the book he read from, the other supported the small back of little Jack, who sat on his knee, in turn holding the other cover of the book.

Katherine Wright was this small once.

“’And the parrot would say, with great rapidity: “Pieces of eight! pieces of eight! pieces of eight!”’” Here Hosea’s voice squawked and crowed in a successful attempt to make the child laugh, and Jack burst into peals of giggles.

Maybe she too once sat on the knee of some adult who loved her and learned to read from a book like this one.

“’”Ah, she’s a handsome craft, she is,’ the cook would say,’” Hosea read on, “’and give her sugar from his pocket, and then the bird would peck at the bars and swear straight on, passing belief for wickedness. “There,” John would add, “you can’t touch pitch and not be mucked, lad. Here’s this poor old innocent bird o’mine swearing blue fire, and none the wiser, you may lay to that. She would swear the same, in a manner of speaking, before chaplain.”’”

What if next time it was him, this little boy sitting on his lap?

“Now here,” Hosea said to Jack in his normal voice. “Why don’t you give this next sentence a try yourself.”

“I guess I can try…” said Jack warily. He put his small finger under the first word and began to read very slowly. “’And John would touch his… f… for…’”

“Forelock.”

Abigail would cry and scream like the world was ending, because it would be.

“’…forelock with a…’ solem-nuh?”

“Solemn,” said Hosea. “It’s a silent ‘n.’”

 John wouldn’t, not right away, but he would never be the same.

“’… a solemn way he had, that made me think he was the best of men.’” Jack finished the sentence and looked up at Hosea with a beaming grin on his face. “Did I do it?”

And Arthur… well, Arthur already knew what it was like.

“You did indeed,” said Hosea, smiling back. “Very well done.”

Hosea was always happy to keep an eye on Jack to give Abigail a break, and to teach him how to read since she was unable to do it herself. But he was finding it hard to concentrate today.

“Uncle Hosea, look!” Jack pointed, interrupting a paragraph. “There’s a man.”

“What?” Hosea’s head snapped up.

“Look, over there.” Hosea looked in the direction of Jack’s pointing finger. Sure enough, the image of a man was becoming visible through the mist. He was walking along the shore of the bayou, toward the camp, leading a horse behind him. Hosea glanced to the other side of camp where he could just make out Sadie’s back from where she stood standing guard. The stranger had approached from outside her view, and she was too far away to call over.

“I see him,” he said, handing the book to Jack and scooting him off his lap. “Go run inside to your momma and stay there for a little while.”

“Okay.” Jack took the book and went scampering off into the shack, closing the door behind him. Taking up his cane, Hosea stood and slowly made his way over to the stranger.

He was walking in a peculiar way, stopping and starting and staring out into the water, and he seemed to be muttering to himself. “Yes… And now if I approach from this side, it should…”

Having gotten a bit closer, Hosea could see the man better now. He was a younger man of average height and build, with a short brown beard, and dressed like a city man’s idea of an outdoorsman - shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbows, a green waistcoat, pants tucked into tall boots, and a straw boater hat. He carried a leather bag in one hand and led his horse by the other. Hosea didn’t recognize him, but that meant next to nothing. Whether he was a plainclothes Pinkerton or just a man who’d wandered in the wrong direction, this needed to be dealt with.

“Can I help you?”

The man jumped with great surprise, noticing Hosea for what was very obviously the first time. “Hello!” he blurted. He exhaled, recovering from his startle. “Goodness. I didn’t expect to come across anyone else out here.”

“Nor did I, sir.”

The man breathed in deeply, tipping his face to the sky. “Fine day, don’t you agree?”

Hosea looked around at the muggy, gloomy air, the inches of mud they both stood in, the sun heating it all up like a lobster pot. “I can’t say I do, no.” He eyed the man more closely.

The man’s eyes seemed to land on Hosea’s right hand, which hung by his side right next to his pistol at his hip. He chuckled awkwardly. “Well, to each his own, I suppose, sir,” he said amiably, if a bit uneasily. “I myself-“

“What business brings you out here?”

The man put on a tight smile. “Alligators,” he said with affected brightness.

“…Alligators.”

“Yes!” He punctuated the remark with a laugh. “Yes, alligators, one of the apex predators of the American South, not accounting for the fellows with guns who’d like to make shoes out of them all. It’s my aim to - well, shoot them first, in a manner of speaking-“

“Allow me to be clearer, then,” said Hosea, his patience running thin. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

The man paled. “I - oh - um - pardon my manners, I’m - uh - a wildlife photographer, that’s right. My name is-” He hurriedly and clumsily passed his bag from his right hand to his left, evidently intending to free it and extend it for Hosea to shake, but instead dropping the bag. “Oh, bother!”

 The bag fell open as it hit the ground, spilling its contents across the mud. A handful of assorted sheets of paper and photo prints - but one that caught Hosea’s eye and made him tense. It was a photograph of Arthur. He was facing the camera, but his face was in profile, looking at something off in the distance to his right. The photograph had clearly been taken without his knowledge. The man must be a Pinkerton after all, likely a scout sent on reconnaissance. True, he wouldn’t find Arthur anywhere around here, but the fact that he had gotten this close was certainly cause for alarm.

The man followed Hosea’s gaze and realized what he was looking at. With a brief look of panic he scrambled for the photograph. “Just a - a friend of mine,” he said quickly.

“And you make a habit of carrying photographs of your friends around with you, do you?”

“Oh, goodness, no, of course not, I-“ He appeared to realize what he was saying and stopped. “Oh dear, that makes it sound worse, doesn’t it?” He cleared his throat nervously and, seemingly not knowing what else to do, handed the photograph to Hosea. “This is - well, my friend Arthur Morgan.”

Hosea’s eyebrows raised in mock surprise. “You can’t mean Arthur Morgan the outlaw, can you?”

The man smiled, his nervousness dissipating for a moment. “Oh, indeed I can, sir. I mean, he hasn’t told me as such himself, but my goodness, does the man not think I read the newspaper?”

Hosea looked at the photograph in his hand. Upon closer inspection, Arthur, in the full-body shot, was holding something under his left arm - a large leather bag. A quick glance confirmed it was the man’s own bag, the very one from which the photo had fallen.

“Now, I know what you must be thinking,” the man was saying. “But the first time we met he saved my stolen property and the second he saved my life at great risk to his own. Anyone who’d do something like that for a fool like me can’t be all bad, as much as he may try to seem otherwise. I’m of the opinion that he’s a gentleman at heart.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” said Hosea. He was starting to relax a bit now. The man was describing Arthur quite accurately, with details specific enough to suggest the truth, and the picture was compelling evidence that Arthur did, in fact, know him. He handed the photo back to the man. “How did you get this picture?”

An unmistakable pink flush colored the man’s cheeks. “I took it without telling him,” he confessed. “He was coming down the hill and the lighting was perfect and he looked so - I just had to take the shot.” He gazed down at the photograph for a moment, a small smile on his face. “I swore I’d never take another portrait after I left the world of upper crust bigwigs dying to get as much of themselves and their mansions in front of the lens as possible, but - well-“ He placed the photo back in his bag. “To let a subject like that pass me by would defy every instinct I have of beauty in this world, don’t you think?”

Ah. Hosea smiled. This man was no Pinkerton, no police officer. There was little doubt that he was who he said he was, even less that he meant them no harm. "Outlaws and alligators, eh?” he said. “You have unique tastes, don’t you?”

The man’s face fell sharply. “Some may say I do, sir, but-“

“Well, that’s something we have in common, then,” Hosea interrupted gently.

The relief on the man’s face couldn’t have been more obvious if he had tried. “Ah, well-“ he said. “Always a pleasure to meet a - a like-minded individual.”

“Indeed, sir.” Hosea stuck his hands into his pockets, the most appropriate way he felt he could apologize for insinuating that he might draw his gun on him. “Have you had much luck?” he asked. “With the alligators, I mean,” he added with a wink, eliciting a laugh from the other man.

“None so far, I’m afraid,” he said, shaking his head. “For being so large, how they keep eluding me is a wonder, or perhaps just proof of my own ineptitude. Still, I press on!”

“I don’t doubt it,” said Hosea. “But, if you wouldn’t mind, my family is, ah, vacationing nearby, and-“ He gestured in the direction of the camp.

The man held up his hands affably. “Say no more. A fellow getting torn apart by alligators would certainly put a damper on the relaxing atmosphere you’d hoped for, wouldn’t it?”

“Well, I’d hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“You and me both, sir.” He looked around again at the surrounding bayou. “Well, I must be getting on with it, then.” He hefted the bag in his hand and secured it to his horse’s saddle. “It really was very nice to meet you, Mr…”

“Kilgore.”

“Mr. Kilgore.” He extended his hand to Hosea. “Albert Mason.”

Hosea shook it. “Pleasure.”

“Likewise.” Mason mounted his horse. “I hope you enjoy your vacation, Mr. Kilgore.”

“Best of luck with your photography.”

“Thank you very much, sir.” With a tip of his straw hat, Mason was gone, taking his horse in a trot off along the shore of the bayou. After a moment of watching him leave, Hosea turned around and headed back toward Lakay.

It was funny, wasn’t it? For a moment there, both he and Mr. Mason had been equally scared of each other. They’d both had reason to be, considering who each of them were in the world they lived in. Thank goodness Hosea had not acted like the cornered animal he half felt like. They were people, not animals. And not everyone was out to get them.

Was that all Katherine Wright had been, the unfortunate person who had happened to be standing in the path of a cornered animal?

Jack came bounding up to him as soon as he set foot in the door. “Uncle Hosea!” he chirped. “Did you talk to the man?”

“I did.”

“Who was he?”

“Just a man. He was looking for alligators.”

“Alligators?” Jack’s face turned worried. “Are there alligators around here? Will they eat me?”

Hosea eased himself down into a nearby chair. “No, no,” he said. “You, little prince, are smarter than any alligator.” He ruffled Jack’s hair. “So long as you use the brains in that head of yours, you will never need to be frightened of a creature you’re smarter than.”

They were people, not animals.

“Okay,” said Jack. “If I see that alligator, I’ll say to him: ‘My name is Jack Marston, and my Uncle Hosea says I’m smarter than you!’” He stuck out his tongue for effect.

Hosea laughed. “And you’ll say it from a safe distance, I hope. Shall we continue our reading?”

An alligator was one thing, he thought as he sat the young boy back on his knee, but he ought to have a serious talk with Arthur about giving out his real name to strangers, when he came back.

If he came back.

When he came back.

Chapter Text

Hosea was beginning to wonder if, by the time he saw any of the absent members of the gang again, he would have no need of a cane, one way or the other. His wound no longer needed to be tightly bound, and walking was becoming easier by the day. But every such day that passed with no sight or sound of any of them only added to his unease.

For indeed, there was nothing. Supplies had been restocked twice more now, with their remaining, diminishing funds, and each time a newspaper had been purchased as well, bearing no news at all except for the manhunt that continued in St. Denis. Sadie had even been back to Shady Belle once, in search of any hint or sign of life at all, but had found little, only what they had left behind and a handful of Pinkertons sent back to search the place again.

Lacking much else to do, Hosea had taken to walking laps around Lakay several times a day, partly for the exercise, and partly for the mere act of putting one foot in front of the other, which was what little Hosea could do at the moment to keep himself from feeling rooted in place. The feeling had never really gone away after Lenny’s burial.

On his fourth lap in one morning he passed Charles brushing Taima. “How are you holding up, Mr. Smith?” he called out to him.

About a week prior, Charles had shaved off much of his hair into a long Mohawk style. The only one who had asked him why was Jack. Charles had replied that it was something his people did when they lost something important to them. Hosea was afraid to ask.

Charles looked up when he heard Hosea calling to him and shrugged. “Can’t complain,” he said.

Hosea gave him a sympathetic look. “Now, we both know that ain’t true.”

Charles chuckled joylessly. “I hate just sittin’ here.”

“I know,” Hosea replied. “Me too.”

“Feels like… we’re stuck in limbo, waiting for something that…” Charles swallowed.

Might not happen were the unspoken words. Hosea nodded in understanding. “At the risk of sounding like Dutch,” he said, “we just gotta have faith.”

“…For how long?” Charles asked reluctantly. “Really.”

Hosea had a brief, fleeting vision of himself years from now, still holed up in a crumbling shack on the edge of the bayou, the rest of his family long gone, still staying, waiting for men who would never come home. He shook the image from his mind, or tried to at least. “At least a little bit longer.”

There continued to be nothing.

Each day was passed in near silence.

Karen was drunk nearly every day now.

Molly hadn’t been seen since they’d arrived.

Hope dwindled.

And then, one day, sputtered to life again once more.

It was yet another muggy, drizzly day in Bayou Nwa. Although the sun wasn’t yet very high in the sky, its heat was already starting to bake the earth, and most of them were finding it more pleasant to shelter inside, reading, sleeping, or doing what little else they had devised to keep themselves occupied. Hosea was reading the same book for the third time. Jack sat on the floor, playing with a carved wooden horse Charles had made him. Tilly leaned against a wall, staring off at nothing in particular.

A sudden raucous eruption of shouts and whoops and the clattering of horses’ hooves jolted everyone to attention. The sound of hooves skidding to a stop, then of someone dismounting and dropping to the ground. “Hello in there!” a loud, rough voice shouted. “Where’s the welcoming committee?”

Several people had already jumped to their feet. Before Hosea had time to speak, or even think of speaking, Miss Grimshaw had opened the door.

Hosea had never thought he could ever be so glad to see Micah Bell.

He looked in rough shape, covered with dirt and angry red sunburns, still wearing the clothes he wore the day of the bank robbery, though they were now torn and stained beyond all recognition, but the grin on his face blatantly betraying his satisfaction at the commotion he had raised. Despite the fact that Micah could never have been accurately described as “well-liked,” he had everyone there crowded around him, asking a million questions all at once. Where have you been, how did you get back, what happened. Hosea stood, his heart already pounding. Micah was alive. If Micah was alive, then-

Micah glanced around the room, clearly taking great pleasure in not answering any questions yet. “Well, ain’t you folks gloomy,” he said. “Us fellers go away on business for a little while and this is how y’all end up?”

“We’ve been worried about you for weeks!” Mary-Beth retorted sharply.

Micah touched his heart in faux tenderness. “Worried?” he asked. “For me? Aw, sweetheart, I never knew you cared.”

“Mr. Bell, please,” Hosea said. “We’re all very glad to see you, I’m sure, but please, won’t you tell us everything?”

Micah looked over at him. “Hosea,” he said. “I see you’re still kickin’. What about young Lenny?”

Hosea tightened. “I’m afraid he didn’t make it.”

Micah tsked. “Such a shame. Such a young boy, so much life ahead of him. Almost makes one wish it could have been… someone else.”

“Alright, we get it, Micah,” Sadie snapped. “Are you gonna tell us what happened or not?”

Micah raised an eyebrow, looking around at his captive audience. “Any of you folks ever heard of a place called Guarma?”

“To hell with Guarma, whatever it is,” said Pearson. “Are the others alive?”

Micah sighed exasperatedly. “Yeah, yeah, they’re fine. They’re right behind me. They’ll figure out where we are soon enough.”

The entire room breathed a collective sigh of relief. Hosea sat heavily back down in his chair. They were alive, or at least they were very recently.

“And the money?” asked Karen. “From the bank?”

Micah shrugged. “At the bottom of the ocean.”

“What?” asked Abigail in dismay. “How?”

“Got on a boat. Boat sank,” said Micah. “It’s an occupational hazard.”

Hosea sighed, covering his eyes with his hand. So, everything about that whole day, John, Lenny, Katherine Wright, all of it, had all been for nothing. Every bit of it. All that death and all that destruction, and they had absolutely nothing to show for it. Nothing to even pretend that they had done it for.

“Money’s money,” said Micah, waving a hand dismissively. “There’s plenty of it floating around this country, ours for the taking. We got our own whole stash of it back in Blackwater-“

“Absolutely not,” Hosea interrupted.

Micah rolled his eyes. “Not you too.”

Abigail crossed her arms. “So what happened when the boat sank?”

“Well,” said Micah. “Just our luck, we happened to wash up on the shores of beautiful Guarma.”

“Where is this Guarma?” asked Strauss.

“Someplace tropical, I’d wager,” said Hosea. “Judging by the state of you.”

“You got that right,” Tilly giggled. “You look like a boiled lobster.”

The rain continued as the day wore on. But despite the oppressive stickiness, a fog was slowly lifting from the little camp. Every one of them was on edge, in cautiously optimistic anticipation.

A handful of them had ventured outside to do some laundry. Hosea was still reading, but kept losing concentration halfway through a page and having to start over.

Finally, the door burst open and Abigail’s voice rang out. “Hey everybody, look who’s here!”

Hosea had never seen so many faces light up at the exact same time. It was Arthur. His beard was two inches longer, his clothes were soaked through with rain and stained with dirt and sweat, and his skin was burnt and peeling, but there he was, alive and smiling. “How y’all doin’?”

Hosea stood up. “Arthur.”

Arthur saw him, and the crinkles around his eyes grew deeper with his smile. All he said was “You’re alive,” as he went straight into Hosea’s open arms.

“Oh, my dear boy.” He cradled Arthur’s head in his hand and for one second he was holding a fifteen-year-old Arthur again, a scared, skinny teenager frightened to death of being left behind. He drew back and kissed his sunburned forehead. “Welcome back, son.”

“Glad to be here.” As he gave Hosea a final pat on the back, someone across the room caught his eye, someone standing patiently by with a small smile on his face, waiting his turn. Arthur visibly brightened. “Charles.” His name came out in a sigh of relief, and when he reached him they fell into each other’s arms. Hosea smiled.

"You alright?" he heard Charles ask.

"Never better," Arthur replied. He touched Charles' face, just briefly.

Pearson, Abigail, and Sadie had come trailing in after Arthur. "Hey, Arthur, they got John…" Abigail said.

"He ain't hung yet?" Arthur asked.

"Not yet," said Sadie. "They moved him to Sisika. He's been workin' on a chain gang."

Arthur sat down on the bench by the window. Hosea sat next to him. "We've been waitin' for you boys to get back before tryin' anything," he said.

Tilly handed Arthur a plate of food, and he took it with a warm smile. "Thanks." He turned back to Hosea. "Anyone else make it back yet?"

"Just you and Micah." He nodded to Micah sitting on the other side of the room, who nodded back.

"They'll figure it out soon," said Arthur. "I'm just glad you folks stuck together."

"Well, of course," said Sadie. "What else would we have done?"

After Arthur had finished his meal, stories had been swapped, and the commotion had died down a bit, Hosea and Arthur still remained on the bench. "Ain't you get shot?" Arthur asked him.

"I did. It's not so bad these days," he replied. "Though I'll still need this thing for a while yet." He tapped his cane on the ground.

"Javier got messed up pretty bad," Arthur confessed. "He might need it once you don't."

Hosea sighed. "And the rest of you?" he asked. "You all fine?"

"Yeah, more or less. You seen Micah. Bill managed not to get himself killed. And Dutch is…"

"What?" asked Hosea, suddenly on edge. "He's what?"

"He's fine, he's fine," said Arthur hurriedly. "He ain't hurt or nothing. He just…" Arthur paused with a look Hosea recognized. The familiar sinking feeling in his chest caused Hosea to grit his teeth.

Hosea nodded grimly. "We'll talk later," he said. "The rest of today is for being glad you're alive."

Arthur smiled. "What about you? You been holding up okay?"

"Barely." Hosea stared at his shoes. "I ain't gonna lie, it's been… rough."

Arthur looked around the room. Tilly and Mary-Beth were engaged in a spirited conversation, Miss Grimshaw read while Reverend Swanson did the dishes, and Abigail hummed to herself as she mended a pair of Jack's pants. "You folks seem to be doin' okay to me."

Hosea chuckled. "Believe it or not, that's your doin'. Just by you walkin' in that door, morale's gone way up. Take Charles, for instance."

"Charles?"

"Oh, yes. When he saw you, that was the first smile I’ve seen on his face in weeks.”

"Huh," Arthur said, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Really?"

"Really."

By the evening, the rain still hadn't let up. Javier had arrived and been similarly warmly welcomed, fed, and clothed, as well as had his injuries looked at by Miss Grimshaw, who determined that with another week or so of rest he would be "right as rain."

The hubbub had once again subsided, and the optimism was becoming less and less cautious. Hosea was sitting in a chair by the back door, reading, when he heard the sound of footsteps, boots on the wood porch, and a voice coming from the other side of the door.

“Hey.” It was Arthur.

Another, deeper voice responded. “Hey.” This was Charles.

“You alright?” asked Arthur.

“I’m alright,” replied Charles. “You?”

“Fine.” Hosea heard Arthur’s spurs jingle and the boards of the porch creak as he, presumably, sat down on the porch steps next to Charles.

“You, uh, need me for somethin’?” came Charles’ voice.

“Not exactly, just…” Arthur’s voice trailed off. “Ah, I dunno. Just don’t feel like bein’ where I can’t see you right now, I guess. I’ll leave if you want me to.”

“No,” said Charles hurriedly. “No, it’s okay. It’s… more than okay.”

“Okay.”

Hosea turned a page. The rain still dripped from the eaves, making tiny drip drop sounds outside. A few rooms away, Jack’s bare feet pounded the floor as he ran, making the whole place shake.

Arthur’s voice came again from outside. “Seein’ you today…” he began. “I could prob’ly count on one hand the number of times I’ve been more glad to see anyone in my life.”

“I could say the same,” said Charles. “I… couldn’t help but be worried.”

“Me neither,” said Arthur.

“I thought of you every day.”

“So did I. Every single day.” A pause, a breath, then Arthur continued. “What you did in St. Denis… that was a brave thing.” He laughed. “And you did it without waitin’ for Dutch’s permission. Now that took guts.”

“I was glad to do it,” said Charles. Hosea could hear a welcome smile in his voice. “Givin’ the rest of you a chance to escape - that ended up working - it was worth the risk.”

As Charles spoke, Hosea spotted Miss Grimshaw walking purposefully toward him, toward the door. Shifting slightly in his chair, Hosea casually stretched out his legs, just so happening to block the door with them just as Miss Grimshaw approached. He glanced up from his book at her. “Evening, Miss Grimshaw.”

“Hello, Mr. Matthews,” said Miss Grimshaw, a slight air of surprise in her voice, before turning hesitantly and moving toward the front door instead.

“I woulda had to disagree, if you’d asked me,” Arthur was saying from outside.

“That’s why I didn’t,” said Charles. They both laughed.

“Prob’ly for the best,” Arthur chuckled. “Still, it… it killed me not knowing what had happened to you. If you made it back safe or ended up behind bars, or… worse. I don’t even wanna think-” A heavy sigh. “Everything we’ve lost these past few months…” Arthur paused in a way Hosea recognized, the way he did when he was searching for the right way to say the thing he wanted to say. Finally, he said it. “God, I just can’t lose you.”

“I feel the same.”

Hosea smiled at his book.

The wind picked up then, muffling the voices outside. Charles spoke, then Arthur, then Charles again, and the wind died down again in the middle of Arthur’s sentence. “-ain’t never been good at sayin’... how I feel.”

“It’s okay,” replied Charles.

“It ain’t ‘cause I don’t know,” Arthur said quickly. “What I feel, for you, I know… exactly what it is. And I ain’t afraid of it, neither.”

“Arthur…”

“It’s just - there ain’t words, you know?”

“I know,” Charles said softly. “I know.” He exhaled. “You… are so important to me, so precious. …I can’t even begin to tell you. But… I’d like to try. Would you let me?”

“Only if you let me return the favor.”

Charles’ voice was gentle and low. “Deal.”

“Char-“

Hosea didn’t know why Arthur had stopped talking. He had a guess. But it was their business, not his. So he just smiled, and kept reading.

He kept reading until the sound of heavy footsteps at the front door made everyone's heads snap up. Everyone seemed to hold their breath for half a second and then - the door opened and there, exhausted, bedraggled, burnt to a crisp, soaking wet, but triumphant, stood Dutch, like the hero in a book. The relief that instantly flooded the whole room was palpable, and everyone started chattering at once.

“There he is, old Dutch,” said Uncle, rousing himself from where he lay.

“Hey, he’s back!” crowed Pearson.

Abigail was the first to reach him. “Dutch, Dutch, they got John,” she said hurriedly.

Dutch held up a hand to placate her. “Okay, okay.”

It was at that moment that he saw Hosea sitting in his chair, and his ruddy face softened with relief. “Hosea.”

Despite himself, Hosea couldn’t help but return the smile as he stood and crossed the floor towards him. “Sure took your time, didn’t you?”

Dutch laughed, his loud, rough laugh. “You ain’t gettin’ rid of me that easy,” he said. “C’mere, old girl.”

He wrapped his arms around Hosea, his laugh reverberating through him, his head knocking against Hosea’s like it always did, and for that one instant, everything was alright. They were both alive. Everything else was solvable. The others were crowding around, patting Dutch on the back and all talking at once, but Dutch didn’t even seem to notice. “Thank God,” Hosea heard him whisper. “Thank God you’re alright.” Hosea held the man in his arms tighter, allowed himself to cling to him for just a moment longer.

When Dutch finally pulled away, he kept one arm around Hosea’s waist. “How’d you folks find each other?” he asked. “What happened? Can-” He was laughing again now, at the absurdity. “Can somebody get me a cup of coffee or something?”

Tilly hurried off for the cup of coffee as the excitement brought Arthur and Charles in from outside. "After the robbery in St. Denis, Mr. Matthews got us moving away from the camp before the Pinkertons turned up," said Strauss. "Mrs. Adler had discovered this place, and she and Mr. Smith drove away the degenerates who were living here."

"Well, well," said Dutch. "Excellent work, everyone." He turned to Sadie. "Especially on your part, Mrs. Adler."

"Been with us only a few months and already saving our hides," agreed Hosea.

Tilly returned with Dutch's coffee, and he took it. "Indeed," he said. "We owe you."

The others cheered and raised their various cups and bottles while Sadie shook her head modestly, but from the smile on her face Hosea could tell she relished the acknowledgement.

"It's been real hard, Dutch," said Tilly. "We… we been surviving, but only just. What we gonna do?"

"Things have been tough… there ain't no doubt about that," said Dutch. "Trust me. I am gonna get us out of here. This ain't over."

The thought had just finished forming in Hosea's mind that Dutch had not actually answered Tilly's question when Micah cut in from behind Dutch. "Ain't none of you folks interested in our adventures?"

"Guess we're more interested in escapin' the hangmen on our tail," said Abigail.

"Cheerful nymph of the prairie, wasn't you, Abigail?" Micah shot back.

"Oh, sure," Abigail replied sarcastically, pouring herself a cup of coffee. "My fair heart jumps for joy when I set eyes on you, Micah." She returned, coffee in hand. "Ain't sure if you know, Dutch, but… we lost Lenny," she said gently. "In the bank robbery. But Hosea brought him home, and we gave him a proper burial. It was real nice."

Nods and murmurs of agreement from the others. Dutch's face looked solemn and he seemed about to say something when the front door suddenly burst open and Bill stormed in, looking just as unkempt and sunburned as the rest.

"Well here you is!" he said angrily. "Well, I asked everyone I could find and eventually someone knew. Said you fools were out here." He looked around agitatedly. "Shit… Get me a drink or something!" he barked at Sadie.

"Get your own damn drink!" Sadie retorted.

"Oh, can it, you loudmouthed buffoon," Hosea snapped.

"In our absence, Mrs. Adler here has been helping look after things," said Dutch severely. He handed Bill a cup. "Now sit down."

Bill, chastened, had no sooner sat down than a shouting voice was heard from outside over the sound of the rain, a voice that drew Hosea's hand instinctively to his holster. "This is Agent Milton with the Pinkerton Detective Agency!"

"Already?" Dutch asked.

Arthur edged to the window to get a look. "Aw, shit…"

People were standing, moving. Sadie waved Tilly and Uncle into the back room. Milton was still shouting outside. "On behalf of Cornwall Kerosene and Tar, the United States Government, and the Commonwealth of West Elizabeth…"

"Here we go," said Dutch. He drew his pistols from their holsters. Arthur, his back still to the wall, shot Dutch an expectant look. What do we do? Dutch returned it with a shrug. What else can we do? Hosea drew his pistol.

"…we are here to arrest you. Come out with your hands up!"

Milton lowered his voice, but was still loud enough to be heard inside the house. "Give them to a count of five, then give 'em everything," Hosea heard him say. Then, "Actually, let 'em have it."

"Everyone get down!" Dutch and Hosea shouted simultaneously. Everyone hit the floor as gunfire rocked the house, bullets coming in in a steady stream through the wood walls. A Gatling gun, no doubt about it. The Pinkerton Detective Agency had brought a Gatling gun to raze the camp and everyone in it to the ground.

"Asked everyone you could find, did you, Bill?" asked Micah exasperatedly. Army crawling on his stomach, Hosea made his way into the back room. Tilly lay flat on the floor, covering her head with her hands. Abigail sheltered in a corner, holding Jack tightly in her arms, shielding him with her body and covering his ears tightly.

"Arthur, follow me!" he heard Sadie hiss. He looked up to see them both crawling toward the side exit. Good thinking, Hosea thought. They can get around to the side and flank them. "Stay down, all of you!" Arthur instructed the others.

A bullet came whizzing through the wall and hit an oil lamp on a table just as Arthur passed it, setting the table and the wall behind it on fire. "Goddamn it!" Arthur cried out.

"You go, I'll take care of this," Hosea directed. He threw a blanket over the flames and managed to stamp them out with his bad leg as Sadie exited, followed closely by Arthur.

Hosea glanced back around to the main room. Dutch and Micah were encamped by the window, taking chance shots at the men outside when they could. "Need a hand?" he shouted to them.

"They got us pinned!" Dutch shouted back. Hosea tried to move himself, but the air was thick with bullets. He could feel the wind of them as they went by, wood fragments from their wake stinging his cheeks.

"They'll bring the whole building down on top of us!" Javier shouted.

"Not if we kill the bastards first!" said Bill. But that was proving to be easier said than done. Ears ringing, hand shaking, and still with a yet-unhealed injury, Hosea was finding few opportunities to do anything other than protect the vital organs of himself and those around him.

And then the bullets stopped.

"What's he doin'?" Hosea heard Dutch ask. Quickly, while he still had time, Hosea scrambled back to the main room and took up a position near the front door.

Peering out, he could see Milton standing there, illuminated by lanternlight. "You fools weren't listening to me, were you?" he was yelling. "I showed you mercy… you mistook it for weakness. Now I will show strength, and you may mistake it for brutality."

"They've stopped shooting," said Charles. "Why have they stopped?"

"Stay down," said Hosea.

"There is no escape for any of you," Milton continued. "I shall hunt you to the ends of the earth and the end of time!"

"Does he hear himself?" asked Dutch. "He sounds like the villain in a book."

"We're the villains in his book," Hosea reminded him.

"Don't think I've forgotten that little stunt you pulled at the bank," said Milton in a voice dripping with venom. "If you think you've played me for a fool, you'll find yourselves sorely mistaken. All you've done is taught me that every second a single one of you reprobates draw breath is one too many!"

With those words came a loud crash from some distance away. Arthur had kicked in the front doors of the other house, ambushing the Pinkertons with Sadie right behind him.

The man on the Gatling gun cried out and fell to the ground. "He got the gunner!" Dutch shouted. "Boys, let's move!" He vaulted through the window, followed by Micah, as Hosea, Bill, and Charles rushed out the front door.

"We need to push 'em back!" Arthur shouted.

"Okay, let's go!" came Sadie's reply.

More men seemed to be appearing out of thin air. Milton had disappeared somewhere in the darkness. Hosea took up a position behind a tree, taking shots at the Pinkertons when he could. Dutch stood in front of the house, firing off both his pistols, stopping only to reload.

"They're comin' from the side!" Sadie yelled. "Come on, let's push 'em back!"

She, Arthur, and Bill took off toward the direction of the incoming Pinkertons. His injury still impacting his mobility, Hosea was forced to remain where he was. Gunfire erupted from the trees, and Hosea could hear Sadie and Bill shouting insults between shots.

They were doing well to begin cutting off the Pinkertons' approach, but it seemed they had split into multiple groups, More Pinkertons began approaching the house from the front, more than the four who were left could deal with on their own.

"We can't hold 'em off on our own," Hosea called over to Dutch.

"You're right," Dutch agreed, then raised his voice so the advance party could hear. "We need someone back here!" he shouted. "They're coming down the main path!"

Within moments, Arthur and Sadie were back near the main camp. At Sadie's direction, Arthur clambered on top of the wheeled structure which housed the Gatling gun the Pinkertons had brought with them. "Keep your head down, I'm swingin' this around!"

Swing it around he did, sending a spray of bullets into the advancing force of Pinkertons. Still, even though he had felled a dozen men and counting, more approached. It seemed that for every one man that fell from one of their bullets, two more popped up from behind a tree.

"More coming this way, Arthur! To your right!" Sadie shouted.

"There's more of them moving in!" yelled Dutch as he and Micah were forced to retreat back into the house. Hosea, still behind his tree, was pinned in place by at least two Pinkertons now, and couldn't move even if he wanted to. Arthur was keeping up with the advancing force of Pinkertons, but only just.

A cluster of men charged forward, heading for the Gatling gun in a clear attempt to regain control of it. Thinking quickly, Hosea ducked out from behind the tree, but Arthur beat him to what he had been about to do. As he swept the Gatling gun to the right, he shot one of the bright red crates of explosives the Pinkertons had brought with them just as the group was rushing past it. It exploded with a loud bang and a flash of gunpowder, taking the whole group of them with it.

The noise and force seemed to shake the very ground and everyone standing on it. The Pinkertons seemed to falter and then - Hosea saw one turn and run.

"That's right!" Bill shouted gleefully. "Run, you spineless sons of bitches!"

Hosea was hesitant to believe it at first. But yes, he saw more and more of them making for the trees until it was evident that the entire group of them was in full retreat. He saw Arthur and Sadie fire a few more warning shots at their heels as they fled.

After so much noise and chaos, Hosea's ears rang in the silence.

Dutch pushed open the door of the house and he and Micah emerged. "You saved us, Arthur."

Arthur had climbed down from the Gatling gun and was coughing from all the dust and gun smoke in the air. "Well, me and Bill and Sadie," he said before beginning to cough again.

"You okay, son?" Dutch asked.

"Sure."

"Well, we ain't been back for more than a few days," remarked Bill.

"Yeah, they sure picked up on us awful fast," said Hosea.

Arthur leaned back against the Gatling gun, catching his breath, and Micah and Sadie drew in to listen. "What… what do we do, Dutch?"

"Clearly we need to leave," said Dutch. "It'll take them some time to regroup." He shouted back to the house. "Mr. Pearson, Miss Grimshaw, start packing up. Javier-" He caught Javier as he walked by, surveying the scene. "-you and Bill, get outta here. Go scare off any scum still loitering about. We need a couple days." He blinked when no one moved immediately. "Now! Please, gentlemen."

Bill and Javier started off. Behind them, the ones who had taken cover inside were slowly starting to reappear. Dutch leaned on the Gatling gun next to Arthur and sighed.

"Well, what comes next, Dutch?" Hosea asked.

"We just need some time." Dutch's voice faltered uncharacteristically. "I just - I - I need some time. Now we can't go east, 'cause then we'll be in the ocean, so we're gonna have to… go north, I guess?"

"What about west?" Hosea suggested.

"No, no, we came from the west, they'll be expecting that. I just need somebody to buy me some…" He pounded his hand frustratedly on the wooden structure. "…goddamn time, one of you."

"Time for what?" Hosea asked. Dutch didn't answer.

"You'll figure it out, boss," Micah wheedled. "You always do."

Dutch was shaken. They all were. Once they had gotten some rest, then they would talk. About a number of things.

Abigail had come outside and approached them now. "What are you gonna do about John, Dutch?"

"John?" Dutch asked, as if the name meant nothing to him.

"…He's in jail," Abigail reminded him.

"We ain't had the manpower to get him out while you've been away," Hosea explained. "Now that you boys are back, we can-"

"W-we'll get him," said Dutch weakly. "Abigail. Just not… not yet."

"Why the hell not?" Hosea asked indignantly.

"There's talk of hanging him!" Abigail protested at the same time.

Dutch waved a hand dismissively. "It's not gonna come to that." He moved to walk away, but Hosea grabbed his arm.

"Dutch!" He pulled him back in. "He robbed a national bank," he said severely. "You and I both know men who've swung for less."

Dutch shook Hosea off of him. "I said it's not gonna come to that." He began to walk away.

"Of course it won't," said Micah, spreading his arms relaxedly. "We got all the time in the world."

"Dutch!" Abigail called after him.

"Not now, Miss, I… not now." And with that, he was gone back into the house with Micah at his heels.

Hosea had rarely seen Abigail look so distraught. Once Dutch was cleanly out of earshot, she drew the three of them who were left closer to herself. "Please, I-" She looked from Arthur to Sadie to Hosea. "I'm begging you. He's - they're gonna hang him. It would break my-" Her voice broke and she raised a hand to her temple. "…the boy's heart. Please, do something."

"Of course," Hosea promised. Sadie gave her a resolute nod.

Without another word, Abigail stumbled away, looking dazed.

"Okay," said Sadie determinedly. "I'm gonna go figure out how we rescue this bastard."

"Now?" Arthur asked in surprise.

"Yes, now," Sadie insisted.

"Thank you, Mrs. Adler," said Hosea. "I'll talk to Dutch. Later, once we've all calmed down."

"You sure he'll come around?" Arthur asked warily.

"No," Hosea replied. "But I don't think even he's sure of anything right now either. I'll talk to him."

"And if he don't wanna listen?"

"I'll talk to him anyway." He placed a hand on Arthur's shoulder, who looked back at him with tired eyes. "We'll get him back."

Chapter Text

"White pieces or black?"

Hosea stopped walking when he heard Dutch's voice from the chair where he sat on the porch, facing out to the bayou, his feet up on a crate. The sun was rising golden through the trees after a night of bloodshed. "What?"

"White pieces or black?" Dutch repeated.

Hosea blinked at him. "Are you serious?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Now hardly seems the time-"

"It helps me think. You know it does. Humor me."

"No."

"Well then, help me. I'm tryin' to work something out." He uncrossed and re-crossed his feet on the crate. "Please."

Hosea sighed and leaned his cane against the railing before doing so himself. "White to D4." He always played the white pieces. Dutch always asked anyway.

"Black to F5."

Hosea snorted.

"What?"

Hosea smirked in amused skepticism. "Really?"

"I told you. I'm workin' something out. Make your move."

He had played the Dutch Defense, which was why Hosea had laughed. And they shared more than a name. Bold. Aggressive. Counting on the game to go a certain way.

"White to G3."

"Knight to F6."

"Bishop to G2." Hosea propped his elbows up on the railing. "What exactly are you tryin' to work out?"

Dutch was still staring out at nothing. "You know our game, Hosea," he said. "It's moves and countermoves. Black to E6."

"Is it now?" Hosea asked. "White to C4."

"Of course it is," Dutch answered. "Predicting your opponent's next moves. Always staying one step ahead of him. Black to D5."

"To what end? Knight to H3."

"Bishop to E7. The only end. You force your opponent to make the moves you want him to make until all the moves are spent and you have him exactly where you want him."

There was little Dutch aimed for other than that, Hosea knew. To have the right people exactly under his thumb. "Kingside castle."

"Kingside castle."

"Knight to D2." Hosea scratched his chin. "You know, your opponent's tryin' to do the exact same thing to you."

"Obviously," said Dutch irritably. "That's why you have to be willing to do the things they ain't. To take the risks they won't. Knight C6."

The sound of boots on the porch approached them. "What you two up to?" Arthur asked.

"Helpin' Dutch 'work somethin' out,' apparently," said Hosea. "White to E3."

"By playin' chess?" Arthur asked.

"It helps me think," Dutch repeated sharply. "Plannin' my final move. Black E5."

"Sure," said Arthur sarcastically. "And John would be just delighted to know that you're plannin' that move before the one that gets him out of the noose."

Hosea raised his eyebrows at Arthur, half gratitude, half warning. "White takes E5," he said to Dutch, threatening his knight at F6.

Dutch's eyes were closed now. After they had lost their chessboard and pieces in a fire almost twenty years ago, both he and Hosea had learned how to carry out a chess game on an imaginary board. It was impossible to tell, though, if Dutch was trying to see the chessboard or to not see something else. "It's all part of the same game," he said calmly. "Knight takes E5."

Sending one knight to the defense of the other. These two could easily do all the work for him. "White takes D5." And Dutch could be baited.

"Everything all leads up to the one move that matters," Dutch was saying. "The final move. Knight takes D5."

"Guess I'm more interested in savin' lives than…" Arthur waved a hand at their imaginary game. "Winnin' at chess."

"Then maybe life ain't such a thing to cling onto so tightly," said Dutch, his fists clenched.

"Whose life?" Hosea interjected. "Knight C4."

Dutch, startled, opened his eyes and looked up at Hosea for the first time. Both of his knights were trapped, by Hosea's knight, queen, and bishop. No matter what he did, he would lose at least one of them. He glanced at Arthur, then back to Hosea. "Everyone knows the risks of the game," he said. He exhaled as his gaze fell to the floor. "Knight takes C4."

Hosea tsked. "Bishop takes D5." One knight fallen. "Check."

"Everyone, huh?" said Arthur severely. There was a cold look in his eyes as he looked at Dutch, a look that Dutch clearly recognized.

"King H8," Dutch said immediately. The king had retreated to the corner, leaving the last knight defenseless against Hosea's bishop.

Hosea looked from Arthur to Dutch and back again in mounting wariness. "What's that mean?"

"Ask him," said Arthur scornfully. "He knows." With that, Arthur turned on his heel and walked away.

Hosea turned back to Dutch. "Dutch, what is he talking about?"

Dutch seemed to have recovered from whatever surprise Arthur had given him. "Just a situation that needed to be dealt with back on Guarma," he said dismissively. "I did what needed to be done and Arthur took offense to it, for some reason."

"Hm." Hosea crossed his arms. "Say more."

"Ain't you gonna make your move?"

"I want to talk to you, Dutch," Hosea said. "Some things been on my mind."

Dutch sighed. "I'd really rather wait until we get settled," he said. "I was just about to ask Arthur if he and Charles would scope out some land in Roanoke Ridge, but now I'm going to have to go find him again."

"Roanoke Ridge?" Hosea asked in surprise. "Ain't that Murfree Brood country?"

"All the more reason why it would make a good spot," said Dutch. "Ain't nobody setting foot in there, not even the law."

Hosea winced. "I don't like it. It's too close to… everything. Too close to civilization. It's practically in Annesburg's backyard."

"Civilization is catchin' up to us, Hosea," said Dutch impatiently. "Ain't no point in tryin' to outrun it."

"So you'd have us run face-first into it?" Hosea protested.

"Hosea, please." Dutch rubbed his eyes tiredly. "I ain't got… " He glanced over his shoulder, as if making sure no one else was listening in. "I ain't got a plan, yet," he confessed. "I am trying as best I can, but… I just need time. We can hold that land in Roanoke Ridge, buy ourselves some time."

"Time for what?" Hosea asked, for the second time in twelve hours.

"I told you," said Dutch. "Time to plan my final move. Look-" He sat up in his chair and looked up at Hosea. "We all need time to regroup. So does the law. We move, now, get ourselves organized again, and then I promise you we will figure it all out."

"Fine." Hosea straightened and took up his cane.

"Hey," said Dutch. "Ain't we in the middle of a game?"

Hosea scoffed. "A losing one. Bishop takes C4, what did you expect?"

Dutch scowled and looked away.

"Did you even get close to workin' out what you wanted to work out?"

"I would've if you'd let me set it up the way I planned it," Dutch complained. "You took both my knights."

"You practically threw them at me."

"I didn't have a choice."

"Well." Hosea dropped a hand onto Dutch's shoulder as he walked away. "You're lucky life ain't chess, then." He went after Arthur, leaving Dutch alone in the chair.

He found Arthur leaning up against the outside wall of the next house, smoking a cigarette. He nodded back in Dutch's direction.

"What now?" Arthur asked around the cigarette.

"He wants you to scope out some land in Roanoke Ridge."

Arthur's brow furrowed. "Ain't that-"

"Yeah. Yeah, it is. He thinks it's a good idea."

Arthur sighed, exhaling a cloud of grey smoke. "Okay." His response turned into a cough, and he threw down his cigarette, stamping it out with the heel of his boot. He started to head back to the porch where Dutch still sat, but Hosea stopped him.

"Hold up just a second." He glanced quickly over his shoulder, then drew back in close to Arthur. "Just what did you mean back there?"

"There was an old woman, on Guarma," Arthur said. "Gloria. Dutch paid her to take us through the caves. She did, then pulled a knife, demanded more money. Dutch strangled her."

What was even more horrifying than the news itself was that it did not surprise Hosea at all. Somehow, from first hearing that remark of Arthur's earlier, he had just known that something like this had happened.

He could only nod to Arthur. "Go on," he said. "The sooner we get out of here, the better."

Arthur seemed to understand. He nodded back, then headed off in the direction of the porch.

Dutch seemed in a worse mood after speaking to Arthur. Hosea had overheard only a few words of their conversation. "Time, and no traitors," Dutch had said to Arthur. Arthur had walked away without another word.

Shortly after Arthur and Charles had left for Roanoke Ridge, Dutch approached Hosea on his way to the hitching posts. "Micah and I need to do some reconnaissance," he informed him without stopping.

"Micah?" Hosea asked.

"Yes, Micah," Dutch retorted. "Unlike some people, he doesn't waste my time with needless questions."

And like that, he was gone.

Charles returned early the next morning. Before the sun had cleared the tallest pine trees, they were unloading the wagons in the small clearing of Beaver Hollow. Hosea was able to be much more help this time than last, even though his leg still hurt him. Anything to pass the time just a little bit faster.

Dutch and Micah had spent the night in Annesburg. As soon as they appeared through the trees, Hosea heard Miss Grimshaw whisper to Pearson to get started right away on pitching Dutch's tent.

He stood just inside the mouth of the cave, staring into its gaping maw. Hosea came up behind him. "It's time," he said.

"Time for what?"

"Time for you and I to talk."

He sighed. "Please, Hosea, not right now. I got too much on my mind."

"No."

Dutch turned and looked at him. One eyebrow raised. "No?"

"No." Hosea took a step closer to him. It was still raw, the almost painful shock and relief of seeing him alive only a little over twenty-four hours prior. "I thought you might have been dead for weeks. That whole time, the only thing I ever wanted to do was talk to you. I'm done waiting."

Dutch's brow softened, and he smiled, his cheeks still ruddy and burned. "How can I argue with that?" he said. Hosea had reached him, and Dutch placed his hands on his shoulders and looked into his face. "I missed you too."

Hosea placed his hand on top of Dutch's and exhaled deeply. "We need to talk about what happened at the bank," he said, without breaking Dutch's gaze.

Dutch's hands slid off Hosea's shoulders. "What is there to talk about?"

"If you don't think there's anything to talk about," said Hosea, appalled, "then you really have lost your mind."

Dutch shrugged. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"What were you thinking, Dutch?" Hosea practically pleaded.

"I did what I had to do to get us all out of there safe."

"Oh, right," said Hosea. "Just like with Heidi McCourt?"

"Wh-" The name seemed to take Dutch off guard. "Yes, exactly like that," he said irritably. He crossed his arms. "You act like I did something wrong."

"Yes, I call shooting innocent women in the street 'wrong,' what is wrong with you?"

"Look, I-"

"Her name was Katherine Wright."

"Hosea…"

"She had a father who loved her. She was only twenty years old. And she didn't do nothing to you."

Dutch sighed. "I know it ain't ideal-"

"Ideal?" Hosea repeated incredulously. Dutch ignored him.

"But I can't regret doing something that keeps us safe. It's messy, but it's necessary. You and I both know as much after all these years."

"I-"

"Look," Dutch interrupted. His voice was softer now. “What I do, it ain’t easy. Makin’ difficult decisions is part of the job, it’s why all these folks rely on me." He gestured to the budding camp with people busily working. "They trust that, when those difficult decisions come up, I’ll make the choice that protects them.” He touched Hosea's arm. "That's the choice I made that day at the bank. I made the choice that protects you."

"And you couldn't have made any other choice, could you?"

“What - did you expect me to give myself up?”

“No, of course not, but-“

“Oh, so I’m just supposed to let you die, is that it?”

“Yes!” Hosea shouted, almost blurted out. “If that really is the choice - if somebody’s gotta die and the choices are an innocent person and me, then yes, you let me die, Dutch. That should be obvious.”

Dutch’s face turned dark and he took Hosea's face in his hands, almost aggressively. “I could never do that,” he said, his voice low and quiet. “You mean far, far too much to me for me to ever do that.”

“I’ve more than earned a death like that, many times over,” Hosea insisted. “Katherine Wright - she hadn’t.”

“I don’t care.” Dutch shook his head. “When have we ever given a damn about what ‘they,’ those arbitrary arbiters of justice, think we deserve? I say I deserve to keep you here with me, at any cost.”

"Do you think you deserve that more than Katherine Wright deserved to live?"

Dutch's hands fell to his sides. "I can't say," he admitted. "But… look at it this way. Put yourself in my shoes. What if it was between an innocent person… and me?”

Hosea thought about it. He seriously thought about it.

Dutch smiled softly. “See? Ain’t so easy, is it? Now do you understand?”

“I…” Hosea swallowed. “I’d find another way.”

Dutch shook his head. “Ain’t no other way.”

“There’s always another way.”

"This time there wasn't," Dutch said firmly. "If there were a better way, I would have taken it, believe me. Hosea, I need you to believe that every choice I make is the best possible one, the one that saves the most people."

"What about Lenny?"

Dutch blinked. "Lenny?"

"Yes, Lenny."

"What about him?"

"Since your little stunt worked out so well he decided to try and pull one himself. And where do you think that got him?"

"I…"

Hosea stepped closer to Dutch. “That boy died trying to be like you.”

"I - I am sorry, but…"

"But what?"

"But that is not my fault," Dutch asserted. "He made his decision, and I wish I had been there to stop him, but-"

"And then the boat - for Christ's sake, Dutch, getting on a boat-"

"Oh, and what about it?" Dutch asked indignantly. "Worked pretty well if you ask me."

"You could have died, all of you, and if Charles hadn’t been lucky enough to be able to come back to us, we would have all thought you did." Hosea tried very hard to keep his voice from rising. "Not to mention that the money we all risked our lives for is now at the bottom of the ocean."

"I can't control everything, Hosea!" Dutch shouted. "Do you think I planned for the boat to sink? No, of course not! A boat was the next step of our plan anyway. It might have even taken us straight to Tahiti."

Hosea pinched the bridge of his nose. "Not the time, Dutch."

"For what?"

Hosea looked back up at him and his face, so utterly serious, made Hosea's fall in disbelief. "You're serious."

"Of course I'm serious," said Dutch in confusion. "Serious about what?"

Hosea's efforts to keep his voice down failed him. "You were goddamn serious?" he shouted. "Tahiti? That was your great plan?"

"And why the hell not?" Dutch shouted back. "You think this is some joke?"

"Has anyone here been to Tahiti?" Hosea asked. "Do we know anyone in Tahiti? What would we have done when we got there? Do you even know anything about Tahiti?"

"I do not have to explain myself to you!" Dutch roared. "I am the one in charge here! I am the one who makes the plans, because no one else can or will!"

Dutch had yelled at him like this before, many times. Often, it was Hosea's natural inclination to yell back. This time, all the vitriol came out of his lungs in one exhale. "Your plans kill people, Dutch," he said. "And they are going to get us all killed if we do not change something."

“We ain’t dead yet,” said Dutch through gritted teeth.

“You’re gonna be saying that right up until the moment they put the nooses around our necks.”

"I am telling you, Hosea-"

"No, I'm telling you," Hosea interrupted, leveling a finger at Dutch. "This needs to change now. You need to wake up and pull yourself together. Figure out what matters most to you."

"This is pointless," Dutch groaned. "I do not have time for this right now."

"You're exactly right," said Hosea, crossing his arms over his chest. "Finally, he talks sense. Yes, there's no time for us to be arguing while John is in prison. Now, I think-"

"No."

Hosea turned slowly back to Dutch. "What?"

"Not yet, Hosea."

"What could you possibly be waiting for?"

"I need to be sure."

"Sure of what?"

Dutch sighed. "Think about it," he said. "How did the Pinkertons know about the St. Denis bank job?"

Hosea felt his face fall. "Because Angelo Bronte turned up dead two nights earlier," he said firmly.

"Maybe," said Dutch. "Maybe. And what about this - why was John the only one they took alive?"

"How should I know?"

"They killed Lenny. They would've killed you. They would've killed us all if they could. But they took him alive."

"What in God's name are you saying, Dutch?"

"I'm sayin'-" Dutch glanced back at the camp and lowered his voice. "I need to be sure that we ain't lettin' a rat out of the trap."

Hosea's mouth hung open, and he looked at Dutch's face. He was perfectly serious, as serious as he had ever been. He looked the same, he seemed the same as he had always been, but what had just come out of his mouth was-

"Insane. You've finally gone insane."

"Hosea-"

"How can you say that?" Hosea grabbed Dutch's shoulders. "That is our boy! We raised him, together, as our own son!"

"I know that!" Dutch gripped Hosea's wrists firmly and yanked his hands off of him. "I know that, you think I don't know that?"

"We promised to protect him!" His wrists still in Dutch's grasp, he balled his hands into fists. "We promised him, we promised each other, no matter what!"

"I can't afford to think like that right now, Hosea!" Dutch shouted. "It breaks my heart, believe me, it does, but I have a whole gang to think about. I have to keep them safe too!"

"Safe?" Hosea cried, appalled. "Safe from who?"

"I just need to be sure," said Dutch. "All I need is some proof first, that he hasn't done anything, then-"

"He is sitting in there all alone, and if we don't do something soon he is going to die thinking his family abandoned him!"

"I said not yet!" Dutch roared. "We will get him, once I am sure that doing so is not a mistake." His voice became almost a growl. "That is my burden to bear, and my decision to make."

Hosea wrenched his hands free from Dutch's grip and the two flew apart, staring bitterly at one another.

The sound of approaching boots caught their attentions, and both turned to see Arthur walking through the camp toward them.

"How you get on?" Dutch asked him.

"Okay," Arthur replied. "Found a girl, took her home."

"Oh."

Arthur reached them and glanced warily between the two of them. "Everything okay?"

"Fine," Dutch said grimly before Hosea could open his mouth. Arthur's eyes met Hosea's, and they exchanged a silent, understanding look.

"Okay," said Arthur uneasily. "You and Micah find anything?" he asked Dutch.

"Maybe…" he replied. "I think maybe I found our old friend Mr. Cornwall."

"You did?"

"Yeah, he's buyin' a stake in the mine in Annesburg."

"Relentlessly ambitious feller, isn't he?" Arthur said dryly.

"Micah and I'll sniff about, see if he knows we're here and exactly what his plans are," Dutch continued.

"Don't-" Hosea was about to tell Dutch not to do nothing stupid, but he was interrupted by a shouting voice coming into camp.

"So, Dutch," it began. "Did you miss me?"

The three of them turned to see an obviously intoxicated Molly stumbling into camp, Uncle following close behind her. "I found her, drunk in St. Denis," he said.

"You're back," said Dutch derisively. "How jolly, Miss O'Shea."

"It's Molly, you sack of shit!" Molly spat out.

"Back and drunk," said Dutch. Molly continued as if she hadn't heard him.

"Who made you the master, the Lord God Almighty?" she slurred, throwing up her hands in mock reverence.

"Molly, calm down."

The spectacle was drawing a crowd. People stopped their work and stepped cautiously nearer, forming a circle around Molly, almost as if to pen her in.

"I won't be ignored, Dutch van der Linde," Molly was saying. "I aren't him-" She pointed wildly at Bill. "-I ain't her-" Mary-Beth. "-or any of your stooges!"

Dutch raised his hands and stepped toward her. "Calm yourself, miss."

"You don't owe me nothin', I don't owe you nothin'." She was getting up in his face now. "Nothing!"

"Okay," Dutch assured her.

"I'll spit in your eye…" she mumbled, then raised her voice at him again. "I told them!"

Dutch's brow lowered and his face turned dark. "I'm sorry?" he asked severely.

"Yeah, I told 'em, and I'd tell 'em again. Now I've got God's ear," Molly crowed, pacing in a circle before ending up back in Dutch's face again.

"You told who what?" Dutch insisted.

Hosea reached out a hand to him. "Dutch-"

"Mr. Milton and Mr. Ross about the bank robbery." There were murmurs of surprise from the others, and Hosea saw Dutch's face flood with rage. "And I wanted them to kill you!"

"You did what?" Dutch's hand flew to his holster and before Hosea could blink he had his pistol drawn and pointed at Molly.

"Whoa, whoa!" Hosea quickly moved himself in front of Dutch to stand between him and Molly, holding a hand palm out to each of them. "Dutch, calm down."

"I loved you, you goddamn bastard!" Molly cried over Hosea's shoulder. "Go on, shoot me!"

Dutch lowered his gun. "Hosea!" he said sharply.

"Listen to her, she's drunk, she's not in her right mind," said Hosea.

"Get out of the way, you old coot!" Molly slurred at Hosea, slapping his hand away from her.

Arthur put a hand on Dutch's shoulder. "He's right, Dutch," he said. "She's not worth it."

"You know the rules!" Dutch snapped. "Both of you!"

"Yes, I do, I helped write them," Hosea reminded him as Molly laughed maniacally behind him. "But something don't add up here."

"Not so high and mighty now, are we!" Molly shouted at Dutch. "C'mon, what you gonna do now?"

"She betrayed me!" said Dutch through gritted teeth.

"If she wanted you dead, she could have done it herself anytime she wanted," Hosea reasoned. "Come on, let's all just calm down and think this through. Ain't no point in doin' anything rash."

"Hosea…"

"I'll take responsibility for her for now," said Hosea. "I'll sort this out. Just please…" He nodded at Dutch's gun. "Stand down." Glancing into the crowd of people standing still, too afraid of - something - to move, Hosea spotted Miss Grimshaw with her shotgun at her side. "Stand down," he repeated.

Dutch eyed Hosea sternly for a moment longer. "Fine," he said finally, and holstered his gun.

Behind Hosea, Molly screeched with fury and he turned around just in time to catch her as she hurled herself toward Dutch. "I betrayed you!" she shrieked as she strained against Hosea. "I loved you! Come on, do it! I know you want to! I know you've always wanted to…"

With a shake of his head, Dutch turned his back and left the group, retreating back into the mouth of the cave. "No!" Molly howled. "Don't walk away from me, Dutch…" With that, she burst into tears, going limp in Hosea's arms.

"Alright, now," he said, patting her back rhythmically. He looked back up at the surrounding crowd, looking on in stunned silence. "Show's over," he said. "Everybody get back to work." He helped Molly get her balance back on her feet. "Come with me, my dear," he said. "Let's get you someplace quiet."

Supporting her with one arm around her waist, he led her to the small clearing in the trees where Pearson had already set up the stew pot. He eased her down gently to sit on a rock, and she stayed where he put her, still sobbing.

He fetched a glass of water from Pearson's wagon and offered it to her. "Drink," he said. "It'll sober you up."

She scowled at him, but took the glass anyway and sipped at it miserably.

Sitting down beside her, Hosea took a closer look at her. She had dark circles under her eyes, and her usually vibrant red hair was dirty and tangled. Her stained clothing hung somewhat loosely on her slender frame.

"Forgive me for saying so," said Hosea, "but you look like you've been through the wringer. When was the last time you had a decent meal?"

"What do you care?" Molly snapped.

Hosea silently stood and moved to the stew pot, helped himself to a bowl, then returned and handed it to Molly. She took it wordlessly and began eating.

“Tell me the truth, my dear," Hosea said gently. "You didn’t really tell the Pinkertons about the bank job, did you?”

Molly shook her head sadly, tears still falling from her eyes.

“Surely you had to know you would be killed for-”

“I wanted him to kill me,” Molly interrupted him. “If it - if it was the only way to get him to look at me, touch me - I wanted him to kill me and look me in the eye when he did it.” She looked up at Hosea for the first time since sitting down. "I've got nothing left," she said. "I gave it all to him."

Hosea looked at her, and he understood. He understood what it was like to look into the deep brown eyes of Dutch van der Linde as a young person hungry for change, excitement, freedom. Dutch had wild passion, infectious idealism, and a charisma that rendered him almost irresistably attractive. It could have a person willing to hand over everything they had in exchange for even the tiniest piece of him, feeling like the sun was shining upon them when he looked at them, and, when he turned his back on them, like they could just die. Hosea knew this, and not just from looking at Molly.

He empathized with her. He had to. He looked at her and saw himself, twenty years ago. Young, insecure, and desperately in love with the most dangerous man he would ever know.

"I'm sorry," he said to her. "I truly am."

Fresh tears spilled down her face, and she wiped despondently at her eyes with balled fists. “I’m a fool, Mr. Matthews," she said. "A hopeless fool.”

“We are all fools in love, Miss O’Shea.”

“He loves you,” said Molly bitterly. “You might be the only one he ever really loved.”

Hosea opened his mouth to object, to instinctively contradict the idea, but then he stopped. Because he realized he couldn’t do it and be absolutely positive he wasn’t lying.

Chapter Text

The first night's sleep in the new camp was fitful and uneasy. Though no shot had been fired that day, the whole camp seemed on edge, perpetually bracing for the moment they knew was coming, the ear-splitting crack that would be the last thing one of them would hear.

Abigail was sitting by her tent, not paying attention to the sock she was darning. Arthur was in St. Denis meeting Sadie. Hosea was sitting by the campfire with his cup of coffee when Dutch walked by, smoking a cigar.

There was a moment of silent eye contact before either of them spoke.

"What you do with Molly?" Dutch asked.

"She's gone," Hosea replied. "I gave her something to keep her afloat and sent her on her way. I think she went to St. Denis."

"Good riddance."

Hosea shook his head. "She didn't do it, Dutch. She didn't say anything."

"Mm." Dutch chewed on his cigar. "Someone did."

"You'd let your paranoia get John killed?"

"This ain't paranoia, Hosea," said Dutch. "This is years and years of seein' things, seein' people, and knowing what even those we trust are capable of."

"Mr. Matthews!" came Miss Grimshaw's voice as Dutch retreated back in the direction of his tent. "Mr. Matthews!" With a swishing of skirts, she reached Hosea, and he sat up in his seat.

"Mr. Matthews, I really must ask you to explain yourself," she said. "What was all that business yesterday, with Molly O'Shea?"

"I can't say I know what you mean, Miss Grimshaw," Hosea said calmly.

"Oh, you know perfectly well what I mean!" said Miss Grimshaw irritably. "What business did you have interfering with all of that?"

"The life of one of our own was at stake, I call that my business."

"She ain't been 'one of our own' for a long time yet," scoffed Miss Grimshaw. "She signed that away the moment she opened her mouth to them Pinkertons." She spat on the ground. "I wish I'd fired quicker."

Hosea stood, slowly, with the help of his cane. "You'd have shot an innocent woman, Susan," he said. "She said nothing."

"Well, Mr. Matthews," she said indignantly. "I didn't take you for one to swallow a lie so easily. If Dutch had had any sense, he would have shot her himself, right then and there, the moment she said the words 'I told them.' Them's the rules, and she knew 'em."

"Yes, she did," Hosea agreed. "That is why she said it."

Miss Grimshaw threw up her hands in frustration. "Oh, now you're just talking nonsense." She turned away and began to hurry off. "Mark my words," she said over her shoulder, pointing a finger at Hosea, "if I see that girl again, she is dead! Dead!"

Miss Grimshaw had never been one to take having her toes stepped on lightly. Hosea pitied the other girls, who would have to deal with her increased domineering for the next couple of days.

The sound of subdued laughter caught Hosea's ear, and he turned his head toward its source. The camp had been fully set up by now, tents pitched around the perimeter of the clearing, the campfire in the middle. Dutch's wooden-floored tent was positioned nearest to the cave, the large square table a few feet away, the table at which, Hosea saw, two men now sat. Dutch and Micah sat at the table's corner, their heads together.

Hosea approached the table, and the murmurs of the men's voices became louder. Dutch rested one arm on the table nonchalantly, while Micah braced one hand on his knee, leaning in close to Dutch's ear.

With a furtive glance to the side, Micah spied Hosea as he reached the table. The conversation died.

"Gentlemen." Hosea took a seat across from Micah. "What's going on here?"

They both looked at him with an air of impatient expectation. "Just tryin' to make some plans, that's all," said Micah. He moved to turn back to Dutch.

"What kind of plans?"

"Slow your roll there, old fella," Micah said coolly. "We ain't got anything specific nailed down yet."

Hosea tilted his head, expecting one of them to elaborate. They didn't. They just kept looking at him like he was reading the book over their shoulders.

"But?" he asked. "What have you got?"

Micah exhaled heavily through his nose and eyed Dutch. Dutch returned his glance for just a second before turning to Hosea. "Nothing worth sharing yet," he said. "But when we do, you'll be the first to know."

"Oh." Hosea leaned back and looked at Dutch. "So that's it, then? I just - leave you to it and go off on my merry way?"

"Yes," said Dutch through gritted teeth. "I need time, how many more goddamn times do I need to say it? I need time to think!"

"Think out loud!" Hosea entreated. "I want to know what's going through your head. I want to know what you're thinking of getting us all into." His hand on the table balled into a fist. "Just give me something, damn it."

Dutch opened his mouth, but before he could answer, Micah leaned across to him, his hand cupped around his lips, and whispered in his ear. Hosea's mouth dropped open as Dutch's closed. He stood. "When I have something for you," he said to Hosea, "you will know." With that, Dutch stalked off, into the open mouth of the cave, disappearing inside until the blackness swallowed him whole.

"What the hell did you say to him?" Hosea asked Micah sharply.

Micah sat up slowly, a self-satisfied smirk on his face as he chuckled, low and drawn-out. "Face it, old man," he said. "Your time has passed. He don't need you no more."

"Is that right," said Hosea dryly.

Micah looked down his nose disparagingly at him. "Oh, maybe you were useful, once upon a time, but now…" He clicked his tongue. "Don't know why he don't just cut you loose already. Likes of you still hangin' on… All you do is slow him down." He stood up. "Who knows?" he said. "Maybe one day, with a little help, he'll realize all the things he can do… once he sheds all the dead weight." He walked away, still chuckling to himself, leaving Hosea alone at the big table.

Arthur returned that afternoon, later than Hosea had expected. Usually, upon returning to camp after a job or an errand, Arthur would get something to eat or drink, check in with the people he saw, or take care of a chore or two, but this time Hosea didn't even realize he was back until he happened to pass by his tent and find him there, sitting on his cot, his elbows on his knees, staring vacantly at the dirt.

"Hey," Hosea said.

Arthur looked up at him, the dark circles under his eyes even more apparent from this angle. "Hey."

"You alright?" Hosea asked. "You seem…"

"Just…" Arthur lowered his gaze from Hosea's face and sighed. "Got a lot on my mind, that's all."

"Don't we all." Hosea leaned against Arthur's bedside table. "How'd you and Mrs. Adler get on?"

"Uh," said Arthur. "Well enough, I guess. She wanted to make sure John was still even at Sisika before we go chargin' in there to rescue him."

Hosea nodded. "And?"

"He's there alright. Sadie figures we'll have the most luck springin' him from the fields, while he's workin'. She's gonna get us a boat."

"She's a smart one."

"That she is." Arthur cleared his throat harshly. "What about you? You, uh…" He threw a glance in the direction of Dutch's tent. "You get a chance to talk to Dutch yet?"

This time it was Hosea's turn to sigh and look at the floor. "Yes, I did."

Arthur's mouth was a line, pulled tight against his teeth. "We on our own?"

"Yes, we are."

Arthur scowled. "He still have some fool notion that John ratted on us?"

Hosea looked up at him in surprise. "Did he speak to you about that too?"

"Back on Guarma," Arthur confirmed. He shook his head. "He's seein' things that ain't there," he said. "And not seein' what's right in front of him. I ain't never seen him so paranoid. It's makin' him… well, I dunno if it's makin' him…" He sighed. "He weren't ever always honest, but - I always thought - he was always true." Arthur looked up at Hosea. "More fool me, I guess," he said, and Hosea's heart broke.

He sat down on the bed next to Arthur. "I don't think you're a fool," he said gently.

"That's kind of you to say."

"Arthur…" Hosea tried to admonish him but didn't have it in him. Instead he said, "You remember what I told you back in St. Denis? We hold onto what's important."

"I don't think I know what's important no more."

"I do." Hosea's voice was firm. "I think, out of all of us, you're one of the only ones who always has."

Though his blue-green eyes were looking into Hosea's, he could tell that Arthur's mind was a thousand miles away, combing through all the what-ifs, what-nows, and what-thens that lay in their past, present, and future.

"I insist!" Even though Abigail was at the edge of the dock at Copperhead Landing, several yards away from where Hosea was dismounting, her voice was crystal clear.

"Insist all you like, ain't happenin'," said the other woman sitting at the dock. It was Sadie, loading her pistol, her rifle slung across her back. She stood and turned to Hosea as he approached. "Hosea, tell her."

"Tell her what?"

"She ain't comin' with us to collect her husband."

"I-" Abigail began to speak her case but Hosea cut her off.

"Nope," he said shaking his head. "You're stayin' right here."

"See, there, you heard him," Sadie said matter-of-factly.

Abigail grabbed both of Hosea's arms. "Hosea, please," she pleaded. "Please, I have to, he's-"

"I know, I know he is," he said gently. "The three of us'll be plenty. And your little boy needs you."

Hosea could practically see Abigail's brain working behind her eyes as she realized she couldn't argue with that. "Fine," she relented.

"Besides," Sadie chimed in. "John'll be calmer without worryin' about you."

"Exactly."

Abigail didn't reply, just fidgeted at the end of the dock. She may have been done arguing, but that didn't mean she wasn't still restless.

Sadie eyed Hosea. "You sure you good on that there leg?"

For the first time since the bank robbery, Hosea had left his cane behind. "Ain't gonna make it any worse." He shook out his slightly-worse-than-normal leg and stomped it on the ground a few times for good measure.

"Well," said Sadie, "if you've got any doubts, you know me and Arthur'll be alright on our own."

"I believe it. But…" Hosea shook his head. "No. My mind's made up. Maybe if Dutch was with us, I'd think differently, but…" No. It was bad enough that Dutch wouldn't be happy to see John when they got back. John needed to see for himself that he hadn't forgotten him, hadn't abandoned him, especially after so long.

Sadie shrugged. "If you say so."

Another horse drew up, and two boots landed heavily on the dock. "Hey," said Arthur.

"Hey yourself," said Sadie. "You ready to go?"

"Yep." Arthur climbed into the small rowboat at the end of the dock as Hosea bent to untie the rope that secured it to the dock.

"Arthur?" Abigail ventured. "Arthur, can't I-"

"No!" said Hosea and Sadie in unison.

Arthur was holding out a hand to Sadie climbing into the boat, who ignored it. He dropped it and looked up at Abigail. "No."

Hosea handed her the now loose mooring rope. "It'll be alright," he said. "Trust me."

"Well…" said Abigail, worrying with the end of the rope in her hands. "Well, I ain't the cryin' sort, but… I'm real grateful." She tossed the rope into the water.

Hosea climbed into the boat as Sadie pushed it away from the dock, Arthur seated at the rowing bench. "Yeah, we know y'are," said Sadie amiably. "We'll bring him back to ya."

"Better be gettin' back to camp," Hosea called to Abigail. "There's 'bout to be some real trouble around here real soon."

Abigail nodded. "Thank you!" she shouted after them as the boat drifted away from the dock. "All of you, thank you!"

"Alright." Arthur pulled on the oars. "Here goes nothin'. The place is surrounded by marshland. Should hopefully give us a bit of cover to move in close enough to find a spot to look for John. This time of day, the prisoners will probably be workin' the fields."

"Then all we gotta do is take out all the guards and row our way outta there," said Sadie. "Seems simple enough."

"That's right." Hosea might have called Sadie's confidence naïveté if he hadn't seen how she had handled herself during the assaults on Shady Belle and Lakay. Still, he knew how quickly self-assurance could turn into recklessness. "So let's not go makin' it any less simple than it has to be."

"Yep," Arthur grunted with a stroke of the oars. "How many times, Marston?" he muttered to himself.

They fell silent as they approached the island, the gentle sounds of the oars in the water the only noise. As Arthur had described, thick marshes lined the shore. Looking over them they could just see the tops of the trees - and the watchtowers.

"Okay, bring us over," Sadie directed Arthur in a whisper. Arthur directed the boat toward a dense clump of vegetation. The crunch as the boat ran aground felt several times louder than it was. Arthur quickly cleared the side of the boat, pulling it higher onto the shore. Sadie and Hosea followed suit, pushing along the sides until the craft was sufficiently hidden.

"We good?" Sadie asked.

"Should be," Hosea replied.

Crouched behind the ridge where the shore met the field, the three surveyed their surroundings. The closest watchtower stood a few hundred feet away. Hosea nodded at it. "Let's go."

"Better stay low," Sadie warned.

Keeping their bodies low to the ground, they made their way closer, hugging the ridge and following a small stream that took them just behind the tower.

"There's a guard up there," Sadie whispered.

"I'll deal with him," Arthur volunteered.

Hosea nodded. "We'll watch your back."

Arthur was big, but he had a talent of moving quietly when he needed to. He noiselessly scaled the ladder and disappeared into the tower. A few seconds of silence, then the sharp, unmistakable sound of bone cracking. "Okay," came Arthur's voice. "C'mon up."

Hosea followed Sadie up the ladder, his leg protesting at the exertion. They pulled themselves up and joined Arthur on the tower's platform. A man in a blue uniform lay lifeless at Arthur's feet. Sadie stepped over his outstretched arm.

"Alright." She pulled her binoculars from her bag. "Where's John?"

The nearest structure to them was a large red barn at the edge of a field of crops. Between them and the barn, Hosea could just make out the shapes of about half a dozen men, plus another on horseback. He pointed. "There's a group over there."

Arthur took up his own binoculars and looked in the direction of Hosea's pointing finger. "I think I see him." He handed the binoculars to Hosea. "There's two guards."

Hosea raised the binoculars to his eyes, zooming in on the group of men. Yes, there was a man there, among the several prisoners working in the dirt with shovels and pickaxes, about John's height and with black hair down to his shoulders, but at this distance it was impossible to make out his face, even with the binoculars. Hosea squinted through the glasses, straining for any more details he could see.

"I see 'em," said Sadie. "Okay, let's take 'em out."

"Hold on," Hosea cautioned. He was still watching the man in the field. He was facing Hosea, swinging his pickaxe over his head and into the ground. He certainly looked like John at a glance, but upon closer inspection - it couldn't be him, Hosea realized. This man had slightly broader shoulders and a stockier build than John, and the way he moved, the way he carried himself, Hosea didn't recognize him at all.

He handed the binoculars back to Arthur. "It's not him."

"What?" Arthur took the binoculars and peered through them again.

"It's not him. I'm sure of it."

"Sure looks like him to me," said Sadie.

"Nope, he's right," said Arthur. "It ain't him." He lowered the binoculars and sighed. "It could take hours to comb through all these fields lookin' for him."

"That's a long time to be out in the open like this," Sadie pointed out.

"Or," said Hosea, noticing something over Arthur's shoulder. "We could get a little help."

Arthur cocked an eyebrow curiously and looked back through the binoculars. A third guard that none of them had noticed before had appeared from near the barn and was walking in their direction, away from the prisoners and other guards, toward a clump of trees and bushes about halfway between the group and the tower.

"You see him?" asked Hosea.

"Yep." Arthur shoved his binoculars back into his bag and started toward the ladder.

"Better move fast, this might be our only chance."

Arthur nodded. "C'mon, Sadie."

"You got it."

Arthur clambered through the hole in the platform and down the ladder, Sadie following close behind him, Hosea behind her. She and Arthur reached the ground before Hosea was halfway down and took off, running as fast as they could while still keeping their bodies low to the ground.

Hosea hit the ground and ran after them. Peeking over the tall grass and bushes he hid himself in, he saw the guard enter the clump of trees. Arthur and Sadie reached its edge a few seconds later.

Hosea himself reached the trees and hid himself behind one of the larger bushes. The guard had his back to him, facing a tree. He was urinating. The camouflaged forms of Arthur and Sadie crouched a few feet behind him. They - graciously - waited for the man to finish his business, and the second he had buttoned his fly Arthur emerged from the bushes and clamped a hand firmly over the guard's mouth, dragging him down back into the bushes. Hosea moved over to where they were, still keeping his head low.

"You yell, you die," Arthur was saying to the guard. The barrel of his pistol was pressed to the man's temple. "You understand me?"

The guard nodded vigorously behind Arthur's hand.

Sadie was relieving the guard of his rifle and pistol as Hosea reached them. "Bad time to take a bathroom break," he said. "Nice work." The ghost of a smile on Sadie's face was gone as quickly as it had appeared as she turned to the guard, right at his eye level, crouched in front of him.

"Where's John Marston?"

Arthur removed his hand from the guard's mouth. "H-He ain't in the - the work detail today," he stammered.

"He ain't, huh?" said Hosea. "Well…" He nodded at Arthur. "Let's go get him then."

"C'mon." Arthur hauled the guard to his feet, one arm locked around his neck, his pistol still trained on his head. "You and me're gonna take a little walk."

Arthur, flanked by Hosea and Sadie on either side of him, tramped through the brush and out the other side of the cluster of trees, pushing the guard in front of him as he went. "Try anything, and I'll blow your damn head off," he said. "You clear on that?"

"Yes," the man whimpered. "Very clear."

By this time they were in full view of the group of guards and prisoners. The guard on horseback shouted in surprise, and both moved to draw their guns, but Hosea and Sadie had beaten them to it.

"Oh no you don't," Sadie warned them.

With a gun at their colleague's head, and two more aimed at their own besides, the guards had no choice but to comply. They slowly raised their hands.

"Guns on the ground," Sadie commanded. "And get down from there!" she ordered the man on the horse. They both did as she said, and she thanked them each with a strike to the head from the butt of her gun.

"C'mon, partner." Arthur continued pushing their hostage in front of him, heading for the prison building.

The prisoners had stopped swinging their shovels and pickaxes and were standing around bewilderedly. Hosea looked at them. "Well, what're you waiting for?" he asked. "Scram."

They scrammed. The little party continued up the path, Sadie leading the way, Arthur and the guard behind her, and Hosea bringing up the rear.

"So," said Arthur. "Where do we go?"

"Towards the entrance, I guess," said the guard reluctantly.

Two more guards had appeared on the path in front of them, but raised their hands when they saw the situation. "And who's in charge of this fine establishment?"

"Jameson, sir," the guard replied.

Hosea's eyebrows raised. "Heston Jameson?" he asked.

Sadie had run ahead to the two other guards, and she removed their weapons and dispatched them in the same way she had the others. The hostage winced. "That's right," he said.

"You know the guy?" Arthur asked Hosea.

"Not exactly," Hosea replied. "We exchanged a few words at the mayor's soiree in St. Denis." It seemed like a lifetime ago.

"What kind of feller is he?"

"The man makes a business out of beating folks into submission in the name of 'law and order,'" said Hosea derisively. "I bet you can wager a guess."

"Yes," said the guard. "He's been quite an… exacting boss at times."

"I look forward to meetin' him," said Arthur.

"They're-" The guard swallowed. "They're not gonna let you do this."

"Well, that's gonna be up to you, my friend," Arthur replied.

They had reached the bridge that spanned the river in front of the main gate of the prison. "So," Arthur said. "You a popular employee, my friend?"

"Not exactly," said the man sheepishly.

"For all our sakes, I hope you're wrong," said Hosea.

"C'mon," Sadie called. "March him straight up to the front gate."

"We better hope someone in there actually gives a damn about this fool," said Arthur.

"Guess we'll see," said Sadie cheerfully. "We're gonna have to shoot our way outta here regardless."

Hosea looked up at the high walls of Sisika as they stepped off the bridge. Several guards stood atop them, aiming their rifles down at them. Cannons stood at the ready.

"Don't shoot!" their hostage shouted. The guards standing on the ground near the bridge raised their hands - and were taken care of by Sadie.

"Nobody move!" Hosea shouted, he and Sadie aiming their pistols up at the guards on the wall. They kept their guns raised, even though everyone knew no one was going to shoot - yet.

"Mr. Jameson!" Hosea yelled. "Heston Jameson, are you in there?"

A surprisingly nonchalant guard approached the railing of the wall and answered: "He's in St. Denis."

"They got Milliken!" another guard shouted.

"Got him and going to kill him," Arthur responded, "unless you bring me John Marston! Right now! You got one minute." When no one moved, Arthur barked: "I'm counting! One… two… three…" He paused and addressed the guard, whose shoulder he had a firm grip on. "Uh, Milliken, is it?"

"Yes, sir," Milliken replied promptly.

"Will you count for me?" Arthur asked. "I got talkin' to do."

"Yes, sir," Milliken nodded. "Of course, sir." He cleared his throat nervously. "From one or four, sir?"

"Oh, very funny, no, we must be at eleven by now."

Milliken swallowed. "Eleven… twelve…" His voice was shaking, then began to sob. "Thirteen…"

"Faster!" Arthur commanded.

Milliken choked out the numbers between sobs. "Fourteenfifteensixteenseventeen-"

It might have been the pure fear in Milliken's eyes, or the unwavering way Arthur held the pistol to his head, or maybe the knowledge that John was just behind those walls and making everyone fear for this man's life might be the way to get him out, but something made the familiarity of the scene before him hit Hosea all at once. Of course he hadn't recognized it sooner - the last time, he had been on the other side. Milliken was no civilian, no innocent bystander, but Hosea's heart began to quicken its rhythm regardless, already wondering if history was about to repeat itself.

He looked over at Arthur and his stone cold gaze. "Now hurry up," he was shouting up to the guards on the wall, "or this poor fool is going to get his brains shot out, and over what? For nothing." He turned back to Milliken, who was openly weeping now. "Milliken, don't stop countin', I can't hear you."

"Hurry up and bring that asshole out here, you bastards!" Milliken cried in anguish. "Come on!" He broke down in sobs again.

"Don't cry, buddy," said Arthur.

"I don't wanna die!" blubbered Milliken.

Arthur patted his shoulder with genuine sympathy. "Yeah, I know, I know…" He looked up. "Hey." He directed Hosea's attention to the gate, and a small breath escaped Hosea's lungs.

"John."

Hobbling with a pair of manacles around his ankles, clad in prison stripes, and escorted by a guard, John exited the prison through the tall iron gate that the guard held open for him. "Hello, you three," he said. Sadie spread his bare feet apart and quickly shot the chain that restricted his legs.

"Now, no funny business," Arthur said as the others fell back behind him, "or Mr. Milliken here will stop cryin' once and for all."

He glanced over his shoulders, seeing that John, Sadie, and Hosea were safely behind the cover of a few boxes and barrels near the bridge. "Okay," he said to Milliken, "today's your lucky day!" With a shove to Milliken's back and a strong push with his foot to Milliken's rear, Arthur sent him stumbling away from him and sprawling face-down into the dirt. "Let's go!"

Almost instantly, bullets began ripping through the air as the guards opened fire. "John, take my pistol!" Sadie said, handing him her spare. "Let's clear these, then make a run for it!"

Arthur had already dived behind cover and was picking off the guards on the wall with his rifle. Hosea did the same, keeping an especial eye on the cannons, making sure no one got near them.

The front gates opened and three guards charged out, but were quickly felled by John and Sadie. "Arthur, Hosea, cover us!" she shouted. "John, let's move!"

"Okay, let's go!" John cried as he and Sadie turned, running back across the bridge the way they had come.

More guards were pouring out of the gates, just as Hosea fired the last shot from his pistol. Arthur fired headshot after headshot as Hosea reloaded, almost too fast for Hosea to see. The men fell lifeless onto the dirt.

"We got you covered!" Sadie yelled back to them over the noise of the gunshots. "Come on!"

"Go, go!" Arthur said to Hosea, nodding in the direction of the bridge. Hosea turned and ran, Arthur following behind him as the bullets whizzed past them.

"Get down!" Sadie commanded as they reached the other side. Arthur ducked behind a stack of crates as Hosea took cover around the corner of a nearby building.

"Good to see you, son," he called to John on the other side of the path taking shots at the guards from behind a few barrels.

"Yeah, you too," John replied between gunshots.

"Been a while, ain't it?" Arthur asked.

"You're telling me," said John. "What took you so long?"

"We'll explain later."

"Was that you in the balloon?"

Hosea took his eyes off his surroundings for just a second to look at Arthur in confusion and incredulosity. "Balloon?"

"Yeah," he deadpanned. "Believe me, that was my one and only time flying."

"Now that's a story I look forward to hearing."

"Okay, fellers," Sadie shouted. "Time to go!"

The four of them took off running through the fields, pausing only occasionally and briefly to fire off a shot or two over their shoulders. Hosea's wound was aching, objecting to what was now undeniably too much exercise, but he forced his legs to keep moving. There was simply no time to stop.

"Let's get to the boat, come on!" Arthur yelled. Over the ridge they went and onto the beach where the boat still sat.

"C'mon, in you get," said Hosea, helping John over the edge of the boat before climbing in himself.

"You always seem to need rescuing, Marston," Arthur complained.

"It's nice to see you, Arthur," said John sincerely, between panting breaths.

"Ah, there's some fellers comin' here don't look too friendly, we best get outta here." Sadie was already seated on the rowing bench, Hosea and John on the seat in the back. With a great shove, Arthur pushed the boat toward the water.

"Come on, boys, let's move," said Sadie, taking up the oars. "I'll row, you shoot," she said to Arthur.

Arthur was coughing after hopping into the boat. "Seriously?" he asked in exasperation.

"Let me, you-" Sadie began. "You're a better shot."

"Listen to her, Arthur!" Hosea barked.

"Right, fine," Arthur grumbled, removing his rifle from his back. "You just relax and enjoy yourself, John," he said. "Leave the real work to them as can still handle it."

"Thanks," John said with a chuckle in spite of himself.

The guards had caught up to them on the shore and were sending a volley of bullets after them. Arthur stood at the front of the boat returning their fire, occasionally bringing his rifle down to shoot from the hip as Sadie rowed them away from the island. Gunshots were exploding from all directions, the prison's alarm bell was still clanging in the distance, and men were shouting orders and cries of pain, but Hosea barely heard any of it. John was alive, they had gotten him back, he was back with them, where he belonged. Milliken was alive, Hosea had seen him scurry back into the safety of the prison, still sobbing. They were all alive, they were getting out of there, safely and successfully. One thought followed that, the one thought that was playing in his mind, louder than all the chaos around them. There was no excuse for the murder of Katherine Wright.

"Thanks for the hospitality, boys!" John crowed as the boat drifted out into the open water, away from Sisika Penitentiary.

Before long, Sadie was giving one last pull on the oars to bring the boat sidling up to the dock they had launched it from. Arthur braced himself on the dock to stop the boat as Sadie jumped out, taking the mooring rope with her to tie up the boat. "You know," said Arthur as Hosea stepped out of the boat, then offered a hand to help John out, "I think I liked you better when you was all trussed up like a prize chicken."

"No doubt," John shot back.

"Boys," Hosea chided. "That's enough." He hadn't yet let go of John's hand, and he didn't until he had helped John up onto the back of his horse.

Sadie had already mounted up, and Arthur was quick to do the same. "Hey," said John as Hosea pulled himself up into his horse's saddle. John was looking from Sadie to Hosea, and then a long look at Arthur. "Thank you."

Arthur couldn't hide the small smile at the corner of his mouth. "Don't mention it."

"Let's go," said Sadie. "We should get outta here quick before the law gets wind of this."

Each dug their heels into their horse's sides, and they were off, John holding on with his arms around Hosea's waist.

"So what the hell happened in St. Denis?" he asked. "How'd Milton grab you?"

"They must've figured out what was goin' on when we set off the explosion on the roof of the saloon," Hosea explained. "I sent Abigail outta there before me, and they caught me not long after. And then…" He sighed. "Well, you saw what happened next."

"Yeah," John said regretfully. "I mean - that was a pretty tough spot and I'm glad it got you outta it, but… Jesus, I can still see that girl, dead in the street."

"So can I," Hosea agreed solemnly.

"We lost young Lenny, too," said Arthur.

"No…" said John in dismay. "What a goddamn mess." They were riding along the train tracks now, toward Van Horn. "And did we…" John paused, trying to figure out the right way to word it. "What about… the - the money?"

"Lost somewhere at the bottom of the ocean," said Arthur straight-faced.

"What?" John cried. "How the hell did that happen?"

"We hid on a boat," said Arthur. "It was our only way out of there. The boat went down in a storm and we ended up stranded on an island somewhere near Cuba."

"Cuba?" John's head must have been swimming by now. "Wait, you're gonna have to tell me all this again."

"Yes, we have a lot to catch you up on," said Hosea. They had turned off from the tracks now and onto the path, riding over the hills. "And not much of it good."

"You're telling me."

"We're holed up now in the mountains to the north, near Roanoke Ridge in some caves there," Arthur said. "The Pinkertons caught up with us again and we had to move."

"Yeah, for a minute there it seemed like Molly ratted us out," said Sadie. "But…?" She threw a questioning look back at Hosea.

"But she didn't," Hosea said firmly. "In any case, she's gone now. On her own. Probably for the best."

"Jesus," said John. "Maybe you shoulda left me in there, it'd be less complicated."

"And… I should warn you…" Arthur began uncertainly. "Dutch… didn't want us breakin' you out. Said it wasn't the right time, so… it might not be the hero's welcome you're imaginin'."

John scoffed. "So much for 'no man left behind.'" Hosea supposed that was the end of his thought, but then he continued. "I can't stop thinking about this…" he said. "In the bank… when they grabbed me, he saw it. Felt almost like he had a… a moment to do something and didn't."

A heaviness settled in Hosea's chest as he thought back to that day, to Dutch's words as he emerged from the bank. "They got John," he had said. "Arrested. I couldn't help." And he had taken his word for it. Of course he had.

Hosea shook his head. "Yeah," he said darkly. "We told you things weren't good."

"Dutch ain't himself right now," Arthur said. "Or… maybe he just ain't who we thought he was."

"Guess we don't need to worry about who's his favorite no more," John cracked.

Arthur laughed flatly. "Guess not."

By now they were in the thick of the trees of Roanoke Ridge, riding along the path that was starting to become familiar, recognizable as the one that led to their current home. The tension in the air was almost palpable, and only grew stronger as they approached Beaver Hollow. An uncomfortable conversation was impending, and everyone knew it.

The clearing of Beaver Hollow opened up before them. Hosea reached it first and brought his horse to a stop near the hitching posts.

Abigail was next to them before he could blink. "You brought him back to me."

"We told you we would," said Sadie, drawing up behind Hosea as he dismounted. John slid off the horse's back, Abigail reaching for him, but their tender embrace was interrupted by a sharp, angry voice.

"John!" Dutch was walking rapidly towards them, closely followed by Micah. "What are you doing here?"

John met him, Abigail glued to his side. "It's good to see you too, partner."

"I meant I hadn't sent for you yet."

"I did," said Hosea.

Dutch turned to him, slowly. "What?"

Hosea approached him. "I went."

"But I said that-"

Hosea reached him, placing himself between Dutch and John. He looked up, into Dutch's eyes. "I know what you said."

Dutch's eyes were hard and cold as he stared at him for several seconds in complete silence. "And when springing John brings the law down on all of us, what then, Hosea?"

"Well…" Arthur had come up behind Hosea and was now standing beside him. "I guess we'll have another fight on our hands."

Dutch looked from Hosea to Arthur and back again, the surprise on his face morphing into frustration, then rage. "Loyalty-" he said. "You two, of all people." He shook his head bitterly, gritting his teeth. "I had a goddamn plan!" He exploded on this last word, then composed himself. "John…" He turned back to him. "John… You are my brother. You are my son. I was coming for you."

"They-" John's voice faltered. "They was talking of hangin' me, Dutch." Abigail attempted to step up in indignation, but John halted her with an arm.

"They was talking…" said Dutch in exasperation as Micah shook his head at them disapprovingly. "They was talking." Dutch spread his arms, already heading back for his tent. "And now they may come and hang us all."

Abigail had John by the arm and was pulling him toward their tent. Arthur coughed and kicked despondently at the dirt. "You didn't have to do that," Hosea said to him.

"Yeah, I know."

Hosea looked at Arthur, taking in all the years of growth he'd seen in him. He'd adored Dutch just as much, if not more than any of them, and now he was standing up to him, for John's sake and Hosea's. He may have wanted to be at some point, but Arthur was not like Dutch. That much had been shown by his actions at the prison. He'd seen what Dutch had done at the bank, seen that it had won them a great deal with no immediate consequences. Yet today, with almost the exact same situation presenting itself to him, he had, almost defiantly, chosen to spare a life. It had proven, among other things, that Hosea could no longer even attempt to convince himself that Dutch's justifications for his actions at the bank had any merit.

It was undeniable. Dutch had not needed to kill Katherine Wright. So why did he? was Hosea's next question. It was a question that scared him.

Sadie, who had been standing off to the side, edged closer to watch Dutch walk off. "Funny," she said. "He reacted even worse than I thought he would."

Hosea shook his head, his eyes on Dutch's receding back. "We did the important thing," he said. "It don't matter what he thinks of it."

"I'm surprised you'd say that," she remarked.

Hosea exhaled. "So am I."

A short time later, Hosea found himself passing Dutch's tent and noticing him standing at the mouth of the cave, his back to the rest of the camp. Micah stood beside him, and they were conversing. As he passed by, Hosea had half a notion to approach, to say something to Dutch. But what he heard made him change his mind.

"They were outta line, boss," Micah was saying. "It weren't their place."

"I never imagined they would go behind my back like that," Dutch said.

"I know, I know," Micah said bitterly. "It gets you thinkin'… is that all they've been sneakin' behind your back to do?"

Hosea kept moving. Anything he tried to say would fall on deaf ears.

Hosea had not expected there to be a raucous celebration of John's return like there had been for Sean and for Jack, but he had hoped his rescue from prison would improve the mood of the camp at least a little bit, despite the depressing atmosphere that had hung in the air since they arrived. It surprised him, though perhaps it shouldn't have, that, with the exception of Abigail and Jack, morale had actually decreased since they had brought John back. He gathered that for some, Dutch's less than ideal reaction had further dampened hopes of a change in him, while for others it was John's presence itself that set them further on edge.

John himself was in good spirits however, at least for now. He had somehow managed to remove the iron shackles from his ankles and had traded his prison stripes for his own clothes. Now he sat on a crate nearby his tent, talking animatedly with Jack who was, of course, overjoyed to have his father back, though he had never quite grasped the severity of the situation. He was holding up a piece of paper to John as Hosea approached.

"Wow," John was saying. "Did you draw that? All by yourself?"

"Yep!" Jack beamed. "Well, I had to borrow Uncle Arthur's pencil. But I did the drawing all myself."

Getting closer, Hosea could see that the drawing showed a rudimentarily drawn family, a woman in a dress, a man with a hat, and a small boy, standing in front of a house with a few sheep, a tree, a cheerful sun shining down on them. John took the drawing and looked at it more closely. "Now, who's this tall, handsome feller?" he asked, indicating the man in the drawing. "Is that you?"

"No!" Jack laughed. "Silly Pa, that's you!"

John peered at the drawing again. "Is it?" he asked. Reaching up a hand, he took off his hat and placed it on Jack's head, who giggled as it fell down over his eyes. "Looks like you to me."

"Jack!" Abigail's voice called out. She emerged from the tent, her hands on her hips, and smiled when she saw the scene in front of her. "Come on, Jack," she said. "You need a bath."

"Aww, Mama." Jack's shoulders slumped, but he nodded reluctantly. He took off John's hat and handed it back to him.

"Attaboy." John patted his small back. "After your bath, you can show me that readin' you've been workin' on."

Jack brightened. "Okay!"

With an appreciative glance at John, Abigail took Jack's hand and they left together.

"Well," said Hosea once they had gone. "I see you listened to me for once."

"Huh?" John looked up at him.

"You haven't stopped trying."

John smiled and shook his head at the ground. "Yeah." He raised his head again and gazed off in the direction Abigail and Jack had gone. "Might be worth it after all."

Hosea sat down beside him and wrapped an arm snugly around John's shoulders. "It's good to have you back, son."

John leaned into Hosea's side. "It's good to be back," he said. There was a small, peaceful gap of silence, in which Hosea and John inhaled and exhaled deeply, at almost the exact same time.

"Thank you again," said John, "for coming to get me. Part of me was… startin' to worry."

"I don't blame you," Hosea assured him. "Believe me, we came as soon as we possibly could."

"Too soon for Dutch," John grumbled.

Hosea sighed. "Have you been told?" he asked. "About what's been goin' on with him?"

"A little," John replied. "But honestly, I got the gist of it on my own already." He glanced over toward Dutch's tent, then back to Hosea. "What happened to him?"

The question pained Hosea almost as much as the answer did. "I wish I knew."

"Sittin' in there for all them weeks…" John said, "I kinda forgot how bad a direction we were headin' in. Started thinkin' that… once I got outta there, it'd all be back to normal. I keep lookin' for it around here, but I can't find it." He shrugged halfheartedly. "Guess we gotta let go of 'normal' at some point, huh?"

Hosea held John closer to him. He didn't say anything. He didn't want to agree. Not yet. Not until he had to.

Chapter Text

That night, Hosea couldn't sleep. He tried, tossing and turning on his bedroll. For hours.

Eventually, he got up, careful not to disturb Charles asleep on the bedroll next to his.

Most of the camp was asleep. Arthur lay on his side in his cot, and the sound of snoring was emanating from John's tent.

It was a cold, dark night. Clouds had rolled in after the sun had set, blotting out the moon and stars. Hosea buttoned his jacket against the chilly mountain air.

There was a light burning inside Dutch's tent. Every so often he could see the blurry shadow of a man, sitting, standing, walking.

Hosea found himself wandering toward the campfire, like a moth drawn to the light. Javier, Uncle, and Reverend Swanson were already there. Other insomniacs who couldn't sleep either, Hosea supposed. He sat down on a log by the fire and stretched out his feet, warming them by the flame.

Javier was smoking a cigarette, staring into the fire. He looked up and gave a slight nod as Hosea sat down, but said nothing. Reverend Swanson was reading his bible by the light of the campfire. Upon closer inspection, Uncle may have actually been asleep sitting up, with his arms folded across his chest, but Hosea couldn't tell for sure.

It was a feeling Hosea knew all too well, being exhausted in the middle of the night after a long, hard day, but being unable to relax, or to even close his eyes for more than a few seconds. His restless eyes followed the sparks from the campfire, little orange pinpricks that drifted into the air, carried upward by the smoke until they disappeared, leaving his eyes looking for the next brightest thing to rest on, which was the light from Dutch's tent. The shadow was pacing back and forth against the canvas. Hosea could almost hear him muttering to himself.

"Everything alright, Hosea?" Javier's voice broke the silence.

Hosea glanced at him. "Ha," he said. "I know you got eyes. Things ain't been 'alright' for anyone here for a long time." He turned back to Dutch's tent.

"I suppose you're right," said Javier. "But we've made it this far. We'll keep going."

"That's exactly what I'm afraid of."

"Afraid?" Javier sat up in his seat. "How could you be afraid? You been livin' this life longer than some of us been alive."

Hosea chuckled in spite of himself, but the campfire smoke mixed with the cold air irritated his sensitive lungs and he coughed, roughly and harshly, squeezing all the air out of him. "No need to remind me how old I am." He took a wheezing inhale and shook his head. "There ain't no time limit on fear."

Javier followed his gaze and saw where his eyes were still glued. "You're not… afraid of Dutch?" he asked warily.

"No," Hosea said truthfully. "I ain't. I've known him too well for too long to be afraid of him."

Javier waited expectantly. "…But?"

Hosea sighed. "I ain't afraid of who Dutch is. I'm afraid of what he'll do."

Javier's curious expression fell, and he shook his head in disapproval. "That's the same thing."

"For some people, maybe."

"No," said Javier unwaveringly. "People are what they do. I mean - I won't pretend I can see into who a person is, especially a person like Dutch, but that don't matter to me. What matters to me is - has always been - a person's actions."

He leaned in, closer to the fire, his elbows on his knees. "You know," he said, "I seen a lot of men who say one thing and do the other thing. Who promise you the world while they rob the bread off your plate." He moved forward, onto the edge of his seat. "Listen. I know Dutch been a little erratic recently. I-I know what went on in Blackwater…" Reverend Swanson looked up from his bible. Javier grimaced. "Well, none of us is pretending that was something nice. But I guess… the way I see it, we're still here. And he's still right."

Javier stood up suddenly then, holding out his hands defensively. "I mean, look, you're all free to think what you want to think, but for me, I still believe in him. Because… well…" He paused, trying to piece together the words. "He did what he did. But he did it for love. For all of us."

Javier was echoing Hosea's own thoughts, that he'd had not too long ago. He was glad, in a way, that Javier could still think them. But hearing them repeated back to him, he knew his own belief in what he was saying was waning.

"Yes," Javier continued, "I feel bad, they didn't deserve that-" Several names flashed through Hosea's mind in an instant; Jenny, Mac, Davey, Sean, Lenny, Heidi McCourt, Gloria, Katherine Wright. "-But listen, I just think - and I've been thinking about this a lot - I just think… Dutch loves us. And being loved, well… we're gonna be okay. We're gonna make it." His last resolute word spoken, Javier left the campfire, walking off toward his tent.

"Spoken like a true disciple." Uncle surprised Hosea by suddenly speaking, in a voice thick with sarcasm.

Hosea wanted to laugh or at least smile at Uncle's crack, but he couldn't. He had been thinking just the same. I believe, I think… Why did he need to say it that way? Why did he feel like he had to speak like that about someone who paced in his tent not twenty-five feet away?

If it was so true that it was keeping hope in his heart throughout all they'd been through, couldn't he hear this from Dutch himself?

Why did he need to rely on faith?

By the time Hosea woke, after finally falling asleep in the small hours of the morning, the sun had already fully risen. He ate his breakfast seated by Pearson's wagon, trying to counteract the several hours he'd lain awake the night before with an extra cup of coffee. It wasn't entirely working.

"Hosea!" A voice called for Hosea's attention, and he turned as it drew closer.

"Mary-Beth," he greeted her. "Good morning."

"Dutch said to tell you that he and Micah have gone to Annesburg," she said. "Something about Mr. Cornwall."

Hosea put his coffee cup down on the table. "What about Mr. Cornwall?"

Mary-Beth shrugged. "I haven't the faintest. But he wants you and Arthur to meet him there - he said 'when you can,' but…"

Hosea sighed. "Yeah." He stood up. "Thank you, Mary-Beth."

She nodded, her small hopeful smile on her face, and continued on to her own tent as Hosea scanned the camp, looking for Arthur.

He found him sitting under a tree by his tent, his head tilted back to rest against the trunk, his hat on his knee.

"Arthur?"

His eyes were open, but he was staring off into the distance, and Hosea could tell he wasn't seeing anything that was in front of him.

“Arthur.”

“Huh?” Arthur blinked and looked up at Hosea. “Oh, sorry.” He stood up with a grunt. “I was miles away. Thinkin’ of, er… I dunno.”

"Sorry to interrupt your thinkin'," Hosea said sincerely, "but we're wanted elsewhere."

"Where?"

"Annesburg. Dutch and Micah apparently got business with Mr. Cornwall."

"Cornwall?" He sighed, a sigh worth a thousand words. "Okay." He put his hat back on his head. "Let's go."

The town of Annesburg could be best described in one word: dirty. In addition to the typical mud and horse mess in the road, nearly every visible surface seemed dusted with a layer of fine black coal dust, the waters of the river were shiny slick with the rainbow sheen of oil, and the tall chimneys pumping clouds of black smoke made even the air look, smell, and feel unclean. Its residents fared no better. Several men had arms in slings or walked with canes or crutches. Many coughed, loudly and dangerously. And nearly all, men, women, and children, shared the same coating of dust that seemed to blanket the whole town.

At the top of the hill stood the mine itself, labeled proudly as the "Jameson Mining and Oil Company." Even from here Hosea could hear the clanging of pickaxes, the clatter of minecarts, and even the odd explosion or two. "So there it is." He nodded at it as he and Arthur walked the wooden platform along the rows of uniform wooden huts. "The swart Cyclops' ever-clanging forge," he quoted.

"You can say that again," said Arthur, a finger in his ear for effect. "How does anyone get anything done around here with all this racket?" He looked around, over each shoulder. "Now where are those two?"

He turned into an alleyway between two columns of houses, but had barely disappeared from Hosea's sight before he heard the sound of a door crashing open and the thump of a body. And Micah's voice.

"Was you followed?" he demanded.

"No!" came Arthur's indignant voice.

Hosea hurriedly rounded the corner to see that Micah had emerged through a door and slammed Arthur against the opposite wall, getting right up in his face.

"Was you followed?" he repeated.

"Not unless you count me." Hosea grabbed the shoulders of Micah's jacket and yanked him away from Arthur.

"Okay," said Micah, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Aw, Daddy to the rescue, huh, Morgan?" he said to Arthur.

Arthur was too busy coughing to answer.

Hosea let go of Micah. "What the hell's the matter with you?"

Micah made a show of readjusting his jacket. "I think the real question is, what's the matter with you, partner?" he said, peering at Arthur from under the brim of his hat. "You don't, uh…" A smile was creeping onto his face. "You don't look so good."

Hosea hated to admit it, but Micah was right. Arthur's sunburns from his time in the tropics had faded, but now his face was paler than was normal for him. His eyes had a dark, sunken look to them, and if Hosea didn't know better he'd guess that Arthur had lost weight.

There was a time and a place to point something like that out, though, and neither of those were in front of Micah. He just shot Arthur a concerned look as his coughing fit subsided.

"What is wrong with you?" Arthur snapped at Micah.

"Nothing wrong with me," said Micah cheerfully. "I'm fit as a fiddle." He eyed the both of them significantly. "At least one of us here is."

"Have you quite finished acting like a child?" Hosea retorted.

Micah raised his hands in faux affability. "I'm just a realist, friend."

"Oh, is that what you call it."

Dutch arrived then, putting up one foot on the wooden steps. "Micah reckons there's a rat," he announced.

"Huh." Hosea narrowed his eyes. "Sure he does."

"Oh, for Christ's sake." Arthur rolled his eyes. "On what evidence?"

"We's only back a minute, Pinkertons show up," said Micah.

Arthur scoffed. "We been on the run since you two fools went crazy in Blackwater."

"And might I remind you that said Pinkertons are only after us in the first place because of a certain train?" Hosea put in. "Can't blame that on no rat."

"We barely escaped with our lives in St. Denis, now we got a rat?" Arthur continued.

"Well Molly may not have talked," said Dutch. "But someone is."

"Maybe we pushed things too hard," said Arthur. Micah let out an exaggerated snore of boredom and clomped down the stairs to Dutch. Arthur ignored him. "Maybe time for folks like us is passed. We don't need a rat. We got sloppier than the town drunk, and they know who we are and where we are and what we're doin'."

"And unless we change at least one of those things," Hosea continued, "they're gonna continue to know how they can get us exactly where they want us, rat or no rat."

Micah leaned in beside Dutch. "Way I see it, best thing we can do is let the weak go," he said, putting a hand on Dutch's shoulder, "move on, get our money…" He gave Dutch's shoulder a pat. "And start over."

"That ain't happenin'," said Dutch sharply. A small glimmer of hope beat in Hosea's chest, that he almost laughed at himself for. How low his expectations were! Micah removed his hand and backed off sycophantically.

"Well, something's gotta happen," said Arthur. "And fast. Otherwise, Cornwall, them Pinkertons, they got us pinned in here, and ain't none of 'em stoppin'."

Micah was wagging a finger thoughtfully. "Well, Cornwall's why we're here," he said. "Shall we, Dutch?"

"Yeah, it's time to go," said Dutch confidently, spreading his arms. "Let's head to the river."

"Ain't Cornwall the last person we wanna be tanglin' with right now?" Hosea asked.

"In case you haven't noticed," Micah sneered, "we need money. And old Cornwall has plenty of it to spare."

"Come on, Hosea." Dutch looked hurt, or like he was trying to look hurt. "Of course it's for money."

Hosea and Arthur shared a distrustful look. "This better not be no stupid revenge mission, Dutch," said Arthur darkly. "It ain't worth it."

"Don't be ridiculous," jeered Micah.

"Oh, Arthur…" Dutch placed a hand on his shoulder, a roguish smile on his lips. "It's just a simple social call." He sauntered off down the wooden path, Micah following behind, the two of them chuckling conspiratorially.

Hosea watched them, reluctant to follow. "This is a bad idea."

"When's that ever stopped us?" said Arthur sullenly.

Neither of them able to come up with an answer to that, they started after Dutch and Micah.

With Dutch leading the way, Hosea to his right, and Arthur to his left, the scene was almost reminiscent of the "old guard" of decades gone by. It would have made Hosea feel terribly nostalgic if it hadn't been for what they were about to get into and, of course, the hovering figure of Micah at Dutch's side.

"So what are we going to say to him, that needs to be said?" Arthur asked as they crossed the dirt road.

"He has been huntin' us since Valentine," said Dutch. "He is the one that sent them Pinkertons after us. His sugar business is destroyin' the people of Guarma." Dutch was getting more and more worked up by the second. "This town, Arthur, is his town. He bought it just to destroy these folks. His sugar. His oil. His law."

"These problems're too big for us, Dutch," said Hosea. "We gotta pick our battles, especially now."

"What with us bein' wanted men and all," Arthur chimed in.

Dutch snorted. "So why did you two go for John against my wishes?"

"You know why," Hosea replied shortly.

"We're gonna cut a deal," said Micah, changing the subject.

"A deal?" Hosea asked suspiciously. "With Cornwall?"

"We want out," said Dutch. "And Cornwall wants us to stop robbing him. And we all know his money is what's keepin' the Pinkertons on our tail." They were walking along the dock now, towards the river. "He's America, Hosea," said Dutch. "And I want out. And he won't let us go."

"And you think he's gonna?"

"Maybe," said Dutch. "Maybe not. You'll see. A deal… some noise… and then we're gone."

They approached the end of the dock. A roofed wooden structure to their left housed several crates and barrels. "Cornwall's boat is due in soon," said Dutch. "Let's get down here behind these crates." They each took up a spot behind cover, Dutch near the edge of the structure, Micah to the side, and Hosea and Arthur behind one large crate near the middle.

There they waited for several minutes until a large boat came steaming up the river, a yacht named Malvina that must have been fifty feet long. A few armed men strode up the dock to meet it as the deckhands moored the boat and set the gangplank. A familiar voice was coming from inside the boat, a voice that Hosea recognized before its owner even walked through the door.

"I want to thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Cornwall," said Agent Milton, following Agent Ross down the gangplank and off the boat.

"This was a business meeting, Mr. Milton, we are not friends," said a large, grey-haired man dressed in a fine suit with a gold watch chain, obviously Leviticus Cornwall himself. "I have spent a considerable fortune with your agency and still, nothing. This van der Linde robs me and laughs at me." Dutch threw a smirk over his shoulder at Arthur and Hosea behind him. "I asked for the best, I paid for the best-"

"We are very close, Mr. Cornwall," Milton assured him, half amusing and half unnerving Hosea. If only he knew just how close they were! "I know you've heard this before-"

"Janson!" Cornwall barked.

An employee of Cornwall's in a dark coat approached. "Sir."

"Send a telegram to Goldberg in New York," said Cornwall, handing Janson a piece of paper. "Tell him I won't borrow at more than three point two percent." Janson nodded and went past him into the boat. "Sorry, no, I have heard it before-" Cornwall said to Milton, then interrupted himself to shout back to Janson. "And get that army man to pay his portage charge."

"Yes, sir," Janson called back.

"We are doing all we can within the confines of the law," Milton told him.

"The law?" said Cornwall contemptuously. "I think we both know what you can do with your laws! Find me Dutch van der Linde!" He was shouting now. "Bring him here, and leave the laws to them as need them! Good day, sir!"

His law had been even more true than Hosea had thought. A heavy exhale escaped his nose as Milton and Ross made their exit and a man in shirtsleeves and bowler hat appeared and crossed the gangplank onto the boat.

"Mr. Didsbury, Mr. Cornwall." Janson introduced him before disembarking and walking down the dock, carrying a file of papers.

"Now listen up, Didsbury," said Cornwall severely. "What's all this about strikes?"

Dutch caught Micah's eye and gestured to him, indicating the retreating Janson and the file he carried. Micah gave him a short nod and set off to follow him at a safe distance.

"I bought into this mine because of mismanagement," Cornwall was saying, "and I intend to make it a success, no matter what the cost."

"It's the wages," explained Didsbury. "Folk feel-"

"Folk feel?" Cornwall repeated callously. "Business doesn't give two figs about feelings, sir. Not two figs. It's a nonsense that will bring a plague on both our houses-"

"Perhaps there is a plague on your house already, Mr. Cornwall." Hosea's head snapped to Dutch. To his horror, he had stood and announced their presence to Cornwall and his several armed guards.

"What the hell are you doing?" he hissed at him, and was met only with a gesture that was meant to be reassuring as Dutch walked out into the middle of the dock. Arthur and Hosea had no choice but to follow him out.

"What do you want, sir?" Cornwall growled.

"I'm not… quite sure just yet," said Dutch.

"Your impudence will be your undoing, sir."

"I'm undone already," Dutch shrugged. "Even my partner, my best friend-" he indicated Hosea and Arthur, standing by with their hands resting on their pistols, "-they think I'm crazy. And like this poor fellow you are talking to, my feelings are hurt."

"You robbed me, sir."

"And you robbed him. Funny world."

Cornwall lifted his head smugly. "You show a criminal's grasp of sophistry, sir. I did no such thing."

"You kill, I kill," said Dutch. "You rob, I rob. Only difference I see is I choose whom I kill and rob and you destroy everything in your path."

A darkness colored Cornwall's expression. "I've heard just about enough." Hosea saw Arthur stiffen. He knew why. It was because he recognized it. Hosea did too. It was the same darkness that had come over Dutch when Bronte had told him that he was what this country was trying to run from. Hosea's fingers curled around the grip of his pistol, his heart involuntarily quickening its pace.

"I'll tell you what," Dutch said. "You give me this ship, ten thousand dollars, and safe passage outta here, I'll let you live."

Hosea stared at Dutch in disbelief and dread. Had he gotten carried away? Had he let his anger, his idealism run away with him? Or was this ridiculous "deal" the same one he had intended to pose all along?

Cornwall looked blankly at Dutch for a moment, then turned to catch the eyes of his guards behind him. He began to laugh, and the guards joined him, relaxing their weapons slightly. "I'll do no such thing," Cornwall chuckled.

Dutch tilted his head, looking closely at him. "You sure?" He nodded in satisfaction. "Good. I prefer it this way."

It happened so fast. Hosea barely had time to blink. Within one second, Dutch had drawn his gun, aimed, and fired, shooting Cornwall directly through the heart.

Arthur and Hosea dove for cover behind a nearby crate as Dutch ducked behind a wall and Cornwall's guards opened fire. Cornwall's body fell to its knees and slipped off the gangplank and into the river. "What have you done?" Hosea cried.

"You've lost your mind!" Arthur yelled.

"Noise, you two!" Dutch shouted back. "Noise!"

They had certainly caused plenty of that. The familiar chaos of gunshots, shouts and cries, and splintering wood filled Hosea's ears, but through this the sound of pounding feet on the dock behind them still reached him.

"Oh, shit, Pinkertons!" Dutch exclaimed.

"No shit, Pinkertons!" Hosea corrected. "What the hell did you expect, you lunatic?"

They hurried down the dock, clearing a path through the swarm of men that closed in on them. "Come on!" Dutch shouted. "Micah's gone after those papers. Let's find him and get outta here!"

The town was in veritable pandemonium. A woman shrieked and clutched for her children. A man fell headlong off the watertower he had been standing on to shoot as the three of them crossed the bridge spanning the smaller stream. A train came steaming in under the big red building, nearly running over two or three Pinkertons.

"They're shooting from that building!" Dutch called. He ran across the dirt, aiming up at the overpass over the tracks. Hosea followed close behind while Arthur walked more slowly, his rifle pressed to his cheek as he took out Pinkertons one by one.

Up on top of the building's wooden stairs, Hosea could see the blur of a white hat struggling with a darker form that, with a slam and a shove, was sent toppling over the railing and down to the ground below. Micah straightened and cupped a hand around his mouth, waving a piece of paper over his head. "I found something interesting!"

At the sound of his voice Arthur lowered his rifle, looked up to its source, and took his eyes off the wrong Pinkerton. Crack. Arthur let out a sharp cry of pain, and his hand flew to his right arm where a red stain was already blossoming across the fabric of his shirt.

"Arthur!" Hosea dispatched the man who had shot him and glanced back to Arthur.

"I'm okay," he said through his grimace. "I'll be fine."

"Come on, we gotta move!" called Dutch, running up the stairs.

"Cornwall's men are all over the place," Micah said once they had reached the top. "Follow me, and stay close."

Inside and up the next flight of stairs, the men and bullets didn't stop coming. They streamed down either side of the coal falling down the chute in the center of the large room. Arthur shot first one, then another, wincing at the recoil of his rifle against his wounded arm. "We got enough heat on us before, now we're gonna be torched, Dutch!"

"This is the only way," Dutch replied. "Trust me. You'll see."

"Oh, right." Hosea fired the last bullet from his pistol and reloaded. "And when killing Cornwall brings the law down on all of us, what then, Dutch?"

"Very funny," Dutch shot back.

The now four of them ran through the long wooden building and up a few more flights of stairs. "You sure you got the lungs for this, Morgan?" Micah jabbed at Arthur.

"Shut the hell up."

They reached the other side, exiting out into the bright sunlight like they were coming out of a cave. Pinkertons and Cornwall's men were there waiting for them. "You said this wasn't a revenge mission!" Arthur shouted.

"It wasn't!" Dutch felled the man kneeling behind a barrel in the middle of the road with a single shot. "We got what we came for. Those papers!"

"Sure is a lot of folks gettin' shot over some papers," said Hosea.

"Ain't you read the news?" Dutch replied. "Folk get shot over papers every day. Come on, we can take the horses from that coach!"

A stagecoach stood at the ready, perhaps waiting to take Cornwall away from Annesburg, a job they would never fulfill.

"Let's go," said Dutch. Each drew his knife and cut the harness securing his respective horse to the coach.

"Well, at least we tried talking it out," said Micah, a hint of a laugh in his voice.

"You call that 'talking it out?'" Hosea asked incredulously. "You are goddamn insane, both of you."

"Oh, I felt a lot of guilt in this life, Hosea," said Dutch with a grunt, lifting the hames over his horse's head. "I've killed too often, and poorly. But not this time, my friend." The others had freed their horses and mounted up, and Dutch threw a leg over the back of his own mount. "Come on, let's head for the hills, boys!"

As they rode off through the trees, chased by Pinkertons on horseback, Hosea was still trying to answer the question he had asked when that first bullet exploded from Dutch's pistol, to be buried in the chest of Leviticus Cornwall. It was a very simple question, one word at its core. Why?

There had been no real reason to kill Cornwall, no reason worth putting all their lives and the safety of the gang at large in such risk as this. Anyone with as much knowledge, experience, or common sense as Dutch should know that. He hadn't needed to do it. So why did he?

With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Hosea realized that this was the same question he had asked just a day earlier about Dutch's murder of Katherine Wright. And with mounting horror it dawned on him that the answer to this question, in both cases, was one and the same.

Why had he killed them, when there had been no discernable reason to?

Because he could.

Hosea glanced to his left. Dutch was right there, riding alongside him, shooting at the Pinkertons who chased after them, but the man he knew and loved had never seemed further away.

A merciful few minutes later they had managed to lose their pursuers through a river and drew up to a tree-lined path to catch their breath. "We all okay?" Dutch asked as he dropped to the ground.

"Arthur." Hosea yanked his horse's reins to a stop beside Arthur's and reached out a hand to him. "Arthur, talk to me."

"I'm fine," Arthur insisted, his hand clamped firmly over the spot near his shoulder as he dismounted. "Just clipped me in the arm. Went right through me."

Hosea slid off his mount, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and began to tie it around Arthur's arm for a bandage. As he did so, he recalled the words he had said to Dutch a few days prior. He had meant them as a warning, then, but his cautionary words were now coming to fruition right in front of Hosea's eyes. Dutch's plans killed people. And they were currently in the process of getting them all killed.

To Dutch he said, "You wanna tell me I didn't hear you right?"

“About what?”

“You ‘prefer it this way’?”

“Leviticus Cornwall was our very antithesis, Hosea, and we just put him in the ground. Don’t you prefer that?”

Hosea tied off the bandage in a secure knot. “To a peaceful escape with our freedom and ten thousand dollars? I most certainly do not.”

Dutch groaned exasperatedly. “Not this again. That man was anything but ‘innocent.’ You can’t tell me he didn’t deserve what he got, with all he’s stolen and all the harm he’s done.”

"That is not the point," Hosea said severely. "The point is that when you said those words, you told me that you valued killing that man over the safety of your family, in more ways than one."

"Oh, don't play the wise old man, Matthews," Micah complained from atop his horse. "We all knew, sooner or later, Cornwall had to go."

"Let me see them papers," Dutch said. Micah drew them from his jacket pocket and handed them to him.

"It's more attention we don't need," Arthur protested. "Feels like the whole world's closin' in on us. Dutch-" He glanced helplessly at Hosea, who stepped up to Dutch as he examined the papers.

"Arthur's right," he said. "They are comin' for us, and there ain't no stoppin' them. Where are we gonna be when they get here?"

"We just need a distraction," said Dutch calmly. "Buy us some time." He turned back to the papers. "It looks like Mr. Cornwall's company has signed a railroad contract with the army…" He flipped to the next page. "And they're also movin' dynamite down from… well, the Annesburg mines to St. Denis to resell." Something else on the page caught his eye. "…And there's bonds at his oil factory. Maybe there's a way to get them off our back and get the money that we need."

He started off back to his horse. "Micah, you look into this dynamite," he directed. "Take Bill, I guess. Arthur, you go too. We are gonna need a lot of it. And Micah…" He slung a leg over his horse's back. "We need to talk. Figure out some things."

"'Course, boss," said Micah.

"Figure out what?" Hosea asked. From atop their horses, Dutch and Micah looked silently down on him, Arthur standing beside him, for several seconds.

"The plan," said Dutch matter-of-factly. "Gettin' outta here. Nothing's changed."

"Bullshit."

"You are welcome to join in the discussions, Hosea," Dutch said coolly. "You just haven't seemed interested in doing so lately."

Micah looked over his shoulder to Arthur. "There's an old house west of Van Horn," he said. "Meet me there when you can, Black Lung."

"Let's split up," Dutch ordered. "We'll meet up back at camp." He and Micah spurred their horses and - they were gone.

Arthur slapped his horse's rear, sending it running off into the woods. "This is crazy."

"Crazy," Hosea echoed, "and crazy dangerous." He looked off in the direction Dutch had ridden. "I'll…"

"You gonna talk to him?" There was a hint of sarcasm in Arthur's voice, but just a hint.

"I am," Hosea said. He pulled himself up onto his horse. "And one way or another, things are going to change. I promise you." He dug his heels into his horse's sides.

Hosea took the long way back to camp, for several reasons. When he arrived at Beaver Hollow, he discovered that he was the last of the party to return. Micah and Arthur sat at the large table, and Hosea could see that Dutch was standing on the wooden platform of his tent, facing the rest of the camp. He was gesticulating with his hands, the same way he did whenever he was making one of his speeches. But this time, practically nobody was listening.

"…keep faith." Hosea caught the end of Dutch's sentence as he approached. "You've got to. Now believe me…" He held up his hands, almost defensively. "I miss every man… and every woman… who fell. I do. And I would die in their place gladly, if I could."

Hosea reached the table and stood beside Arthur. His head was down, staring at the table, but he was listening.

"This world…" Dutch's lip was curled scornfully. "…is unkind. But it won't break me. Not while I have you by my side." He inhaled and exhaled, slowly. "We…" he announced. "We get some money, and we can still-"

His voice cut off there. His hands hung in the air for a moment, then dropped to his sides in dejection. And then something changed in Dutch's face. His brow lowered over his dark eyes, and his mouth turned down, tight and hard. "They won't catch me," he growled. He raised a hand and pointed, somewhere, at them, at the world. "They won't catch me!" he repeated. He pointed his jabbing finger at his own chest at his last word. "And I promise, whosoever stands by my side… They won't catch you neither. They won't."

And with that he turned and disappeared back into his tent.

"You heard the man," Micah shouted to nobody in particular. "Faith! Long as we stick together, you all're gonna be just fine."

Arthur shook his head sadly, not lifting his head. Hosea put a hand on his shoulder, gave it a pat, then walked toward Dutch's tent.

Dutch was sitting on the chair by his bed, his elbows resting on his knees. He looked up when Hosea entered and groaned. "Am I in for another lecture?"

"Maybe," said Hosea. "It depends."

"On what?"

"Do you think you need a lecture?"

"No."

Hosea sighed. "Then, yes, you are."

Dutch rolled his eyes. "You know, Micah's crack at you back there was one thing, but now I'm startin' to see where he's comin' from."

Hosea took a step closer to Dutch. The wooden boards creaked under his feet. "I ain't beatin' about the bush no more," he said. "I ain't takin' any bullshit, and I ain't pretendin' I ain't seein' what's right in front of me." He stopped right in front of him. "What is going on with you?"

Dutch stood up and faced him, crossing his arms over his chest. "What do you think is goin' on with me?"

"I think you're losing it," said Hosea without hesitation. "You're reckless, you're erratic, you're self-aggrandizing, and you're paranoid. And you're killing people."

Dutch tsked. "If you got a problem with killin' people, you're in the wrong line of work, my friend."

"Don't play dumb," Hosea snapped. "You know exactly what I'm talkin' about. Their names are Heidi McCourt, Katherine Wright, and, yes, Leviticus Cornwall." Hosea had almost included Gloria's name in the list, but caught himself. Letting on that he knew about her would almost certainly get Arthur in trouble.

"Now hold on," Dutch said reproachfully. "The women I can understand, but-"

Hosea's mouth fell open. "Oh, you can?" he asked. "Then why did you do it?" He covered his eyes with one hand. "Jesus Christ, Dutch, what are you doing?"

Dutch took a deep, slow inhale, the way he did when he was trying to keep his composure. "What I'm doing is fighting every day to save everyone in this god-forsaken camp while you keep turnin' your back on me."

"I am trying to stop people gettin' killed," Hosea said calmly.

"Well, when that looks like goin' against my express orders," Dutch said sternly, "then as far as I'm concerned, that is turnin' your back." His voice softened a bit. "You need to trust me, Hosea," he said. "Without trust, without faith, it all falls apart." He smiled, with a bit of humor. "Believe it or not, I do, in fact, know what I'm doing."

"Do you really?" Hosea asked. "Know what you're doing? To all of us?"

The smile disappeared from Dutch's face. "I-"

Hosea didn't let him finish. "Arthur nearly got killed this morning because of that stunt you pulled with Cornwall. And John you would've left to rot in prison and be hanged - he's got a child, for God's sake. Not to mention the fact that every day we stay here is another day for the law to close their trap around us. Hell, some of them'd be willing to follow you right into it - Javier - that boy would follow you into hell itself, he's so convinced of the love he believes you're doin' this all in."

Dutch's face fell, his mouth dropping open slightly. "And you don't?" he asked. This time he seemed genuinely hurt, which meant either he was putting on a better act or Hosea really had touched a nerve. "You don't believe that everything I do is done out of love?"

Hosea took a deep breath. "I find it hard to," he replied firmly, "when your 'love' leaves people wondering if they ever even knew you at all."

Dutch's shoulders sagged. "What more do you want from me?" It was barely even a question.

“I need proof,” said Hosea. “You say you act out of love, then prove it to me. Give me proof that you love your family.”

"Hosea." Dutch put both his hands on Hosea's shoulders, gripping them tightly, almost desperately. "I love you. I love our boys. I love our family, the family that we created, together.”

“That proves nothing. Any idiot can lie.”

Dutch sighed and let his hands slip from Hosea's shoulders. "I don't know what else to say."

"Here's something you can say." Hosea pointed in the direction of John's tent. "You can go apologize to John for leaving him in prison."

Dutch straightened. "I will do no such thing."

"Oh, why?" Hosea scoffed. "Because it'd mean admitting you were wrong?"

"No," Dutch retorted. "Because it'd mean I'd be lying."

Hosea's mouth dropped open in nothing less than pure disbelief.

"What," Dutch snapped. "You want me to lie now?"

"You…" Hosea said, still aghast.

"What?" Dutch demanded. "Go on, tell me. What the hell do you want me to do?"

"I want you to stop, Dutch," Hosea pleaded. "You need to stop keepin' us here where we're cornered like a dog, you need to stop wasting what little time we have on things that ain't gettin' us the money we need, you need to stop hurtin' people who don't need hurtin', and for the love of God, you need to stop actin' like you don't trust any of us except for Micah."

Dutch regarded Hosea with a look approaching disgust. "What has happened to you, Hosea?" he asked. "The old Hosea would never have told me to stop. That word was not in his vocabulary."

It was true. Hosea wondered, if he had told him no, to stop, back then, would they be where they were today?

"I want him back," Dutch was saying. "I need my partner with me, not against me."

Hosea shook his head. "You don't understand," he said, as much to himself as to Dutch. He exhaled. “I’m an old man, Dutch," he said. "One foot in the grave already, you know it, I know it. If it was just the two of us, like it was back then, there’d be nothing else in this world for me. I would see this thing of ours through to the end, whatever end that may be. But it ain’t just us anymore. We got people who depend on us, people who love us, and you're putting them in even more danger than they are already."

Dutch stepped back. "So you don't like the way I'm runnin' things."

"No," said Hosea. "I do not."

"You think you'd all be better off without me."

"I didn't say-"

"I guess I shoulda just died in your place, then, in St. Denis," Dutch said angrily. "Or drowned in the ocean off Guarma. Or handed myself over on a platter to Leviticus Cornwall. Left it all in your capable hands. Maybe I still will. Maybe, when I die for this gang, then you'll finally see what it's like. To be me. You'll be sorry in an instant." His voice had gradually raised to a shout that practically made the wooden floor vibrate. "Who has run this gang for over twenty years?" he roared. He was advancing toward Hosea, backing him up against the canvas wall of the tent. "Who has led us through and out of more tight spots than you or I could even count? Who has not once allowed himself to be bullied by anybody, law or outlaw? And who is every last man, woman, and child in this camp's only hope of surviving to see the twentieth century?"

"I-"

"Me," Dutch snarled in Hosea's ear. "It is all me. You would do well to remember that."

Hosea stared at him. He shook his head slightly. "Something's happened," he said. "What's happened to you?"

"It seems to me you've already decided what's 'happened' to me," said Dutch coldly.

"Maybe I have," Hosea agreed. "But you haven't done anything to prove me wrong."

Hosea turned and marched through the tent flap, but Dutch followed him out and grabbed his wrist, stopping him in his tracks. “You need to see, Hosea. I need to make you see.”

“Let go of me, Dutch.”

“There is nothing I have not sacrificed for our family. Nothing I will not do.”

“Let go of me.”

“Hosea.” Dutch’s face was mere inches away from Hosea’s, and his teeth were clenched. “I am doing this for us,” he hissed.

Hosea shook his head. “No,” he said bitterly. “You’re doing it for you and expecting me to just fall in line.”

Dutch’s hand on Hosea’s wrist tightened. “You did not say that to me,” he growled.

“Dutch, you are hurting me,” said Hosea. “Let me go, now.”

He tried to wrench himself free, but Dutch’s grip held fast and he twisted Hosea’s arm, eliciting a cry of pain. “I am done taking disrespect. Especially from you.”

With that, he released Hosea. He drew back quickly, instinctively. He stared at Dutch, his eyes round and his jaw firmly set, and Dutch stared back through his thick eyebrows. “Get some rest,” he commanded. “We still have important work to do.” He turned his back on Hosea and went into his tent, and Hosea’s eyes remained fixed on the spot as if his gaze could pierce through the canvas.

This was not the first time Dutch had hurt Hosea, not even the first time he had done so physically. They had been young hotheaded men once, squabbling and scuffling over anything and everything.

But this was different. Dutch had hurt Hosea in cold blood.

He had hurt him and meant it.

Hosea had always known Dutch was dangerous, of course. It was one of the first things he had learned about him after they'd met by that campfire all those years ago. He had even known that he was just as dangerous to those close to him as he was to his enemies. But through the decades they had spent together, Hosea had always, rather selfishly, he knew, thought himself the exception. Before Javier and Bill, before Sean, Lenny, and Mac and Davey Callander, before Miss Grimshaw and Mr. Pearson, even before John and Arthur, there had been them. Two young men who'd looked each other in the eye and promised to face life together, no matter what it threw at them.

Their bond was one of the most real things Hosea had ever known. If Dutch was willing to break that, there was nothing he would not stoop to. Nothing that was beneath him. No hope left for him.

There would be no more hiding or running from the truth. It was devastatingly simple.

Dutch would get them all killed, sooner or later, one way or another.

Hosea and the people he cared about were no longer safe.

They had to leave.