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westerndreamin · 2 months ago

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Okay y'all. Been working on this Red Dead Redemption fic since the summer. Finally feel like I have this first part ready to post. I've not come up with a title I like. Suggestions a welcome.

Word count: 12,790

CW: brief mentions of animal death, injuries inflicted by wolf mauling, minor character death, mentions of the Donner Party and Franklin Expedition, probably more that are escaping me right now.

Colter

The wind howled, snow coming down in sheets. Three days of this peculiar weather. It was May, if it snowed at all it shouldn’t be sticking like it was; then again we was far up in the Eastern Grizzlies and late snowstorms weren't unheard of; even in mid May. I was riding behind the lead wagon, my horse, like me, exhausted from the flight from Blackwater. At least behind the wagon we were sheltered from the worst of the wind. Someone stepped down from the wagon…the Reverend.

“How is he, Reverend?” I asked.

“Abigail says he's dyin',” came the Reverend's response before moving to tell the driver of the wagon.

I knew Davey was dying. Had known since helping Abigail tend to the wound. Just didn’t have the heart to voice anything other than reassurances that he'd be alright. Being gut shot was a death sentence, it was just a matter of one's will to live and how much internal bleeding was happening. Periodically, the dying man's moans of pain could be heard over the din of the blizzard.

“Miss Heyes.” It was the Reverend again.

I nodded in acknowledgment so he would go on.

“Dutch wants to see you for a moment.”

“Thanks, Reverend.” I allowed him to step back up onto the back of the wagon before urging my horse out around and to the front of the wagon to speak to our leader.

“…Just hope the law got as lost and turned around as we have,” I heard Mr. Matthews say as I came up even with the front of the wagon.

“Mr. Matthews, Mr. Van Der Linde,” I greeted.

“Ah, Miss Heyes,” Dutch returned. “I sent Arthur out ahead to scout for shelter. Should have met back up by now. Take a lantern and see if you can find him.”

“And lead him back?” I asked. All I got in response was a nod and was handed a lit lantern. Again, I nodded. “See you soon,” I said before riding off, alone into the storm.

Even with the light of the lantern, visibility wasn’t ideal. Calling out was nigh on useless because of the wind, which I was now feeling full force without the wagon blocking most of it. I pulled my horse up to let her rest for a moment before continuing on. If we kept going like this she wouldn’t last much longer; I probably wouldn’t last much longer without her. “It’s okay, girl,” I murmured, patting her neck. “Just hang in there a little bit longer. Hopefully, Mr. Morgan has found a place for all of us to rest up for a while.” Guilt-ridden, I gave her a gentle kick and on we went.

“Arthur!” I called, though it seemed to be drowned out by the wind. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t have used his first name as we weren’t all that well acquainted. I’d only been riding with this group for four or five months…less time then even the newest full members. I was little more than a camp follower.

“Who goes there?” I could just hear the question over the wind. The voice was unmistakably that of Mr. Morgan.

“Me, Emma,” I called back, hoping he'd be able to hear.

“Miss Heyes?” I could see him in the light of the lantern now. “Wha'chu doin’ away from the caravan?”

“Was sent to look for your sorry ass.” It was a jest to try and keep the mood light. This weather had brought everyone’s spirits down. “Mr. Van Der Linde seemed to be under the impression you'd gone and ridden off the side of a cliff or something.”

I could just hear his light chuckle. I was glad this man I had come to know as fairly serious had found the humor in what I had said. “Found a place on up the trail for us to get out of this weather.” There was a slight pause and I saw his features grow more serious. “How's Davey?”

“It’s not good, Mr. Morgan. Be lucky if he survives the night,” Be lucky if Davey survives long enough to enjoy a little of being out of the cold… I answered somberly, leaving the thought unsaid. “Abigail and I done the best we could…” Seems like it won’t be enough.

“Did your best, s'all that matters.”

I nodded, but still felt guilty about not being able to do more.

“There. Miss Heyes. Arthur, any luck?” It was Mr. Van Der Linde. All the wagons had come to a stop in a line in front of us.

“Found a place up ahead where we can get some shelter; let Davey rest while he…y’know.” All seriousness had remained in Mr. Morgan's voice. A moment of silence…minus the wind passed. “Old mining town, long abandoned, ain’t too far. Let's go.”

I stayed up in front with Mr. Morgan as we got underway again. Seemed useless to resume my spot behind one of the wagons. I felt my horse stumble under me. Exhaustion was starting to catch up to her. “Just a little further, girl. You'll be able to rest soon, I promise,” I murmured, patting her shoulder.

“You good?” I was surprised by the concern in Mr. Morgan’s voice. It felt like he was concerned both for me and for my horse. It was unexpected, though greatly appreciated.

“Fine and dandy, Mr. Morgan.” I didn’t for one second believe what I said though. My horse was dying. I had raised her from a little filly. Her momma had been my Daddy's trusty sorrel mare. She stumbled again, this time losing her footing and going down. Luckily, I wasn’t pinned under her. The lantern broke and was quickly extinguished by the snow and wind.

“Miss Heyes, you okay?” Mr. Morgan asked.

I nodded as I got to my feet. “I am.” I knew my horse, my dear Rosa Clay, was not. I knelt back down by her head and gently stroked her forehead as she panted for breath. Grabbing her reins I tried to get her to stand up. To her credit, she tried…twice before giving a low wicker and looking at me with sad brown eyes. She was played out. I knew what I had to do, but dreaded it. “Can I see your revolver for a moment? Be kinder to put her out of her misery now than to let her slowly freeze….” My voice cracked.

The outlaw nodded and dismounted his own horse. “Say your goodbyes and gather your saddlebags and your rifle. I'll take care of this part.” He rested his right hand on the butt of the Colt on his hip to make his point. I was surprised by how sympathetic his tone was; like he was speaking from experience, and that experience had been fairly recent.

I was glad we were a bit ahead of the wagons. I was sure they would be able to hear the gunshot over the wind when it rang out and would come running expecting trouble. I stroked Rosa's forehead and kissed her cheek. “I’m sorry, girl. Wish I could have done better by you in this moment. You were a good girl…the best. Thank you...” With that I got up and gathered my saddlebags and gun off the saddle. I then took the knife from the scabbard at my hip and cut a bit of hair from Rosa's tail, so I’d have a bit of her with me. I then turned to Mr. Morgan and nodded.

“Turn around, you don’t want this to be your last memory of her.” Again, his voice was gentle and full of sympathy. It was a stark contrast to the gruff and imposing man I had come to be somewhat acquainted with.

I turned away. A heartbeat later, a single shot rang out. It was over and she was no longer suffering.

***

True to his word the little town of Colter, or what was left of it, hadn't been too much farther ahead. I had opted to walk the rest of the way, not wanting to over burden Mr. Morgan's own horse. Though he had insisted that he take my saddlebags at least. I had wanted to protest, but I just nodded, too tired to argue.

Most of the buildings still looked suitable for habitation. What had been a little general store, the saloon, the livery, the schoolhouse, which was the closest building as we came into town, and a couple odd houses would be the best to suit our uses. The blacksmith’s forge would do for Mr. Pearson to set up an outdoor kitchen with what little food we had been able to gather before…all that mess. Other buildings, such as the church, had lost most of their roofs or were completely caved in and little more than piles of rubble. The latter was the case for a privy and what might have at one time been an ice storage house.

We all gathered in what had been the schoolhouse. Davey was brought in and laid across two desks that Mr. Matthews had pushed together. He didn’t look to be conscious, which wasn’t surprising; he had been in and out of wakefulness since pulling the bullet out; he'd only lost the strength to keep his eyes open during wakefulness within the last day. If he was fully unconscious, it had just happened within the last hour or so. It was a blessing he had lived this long after losing so much blood…blood that had just three days ago stained my hands and shirt as Abigail and I removed the lead slug. Davey didn’t even seem to be breathing now as he lay on the table in front of us. I didn’t have the heart to speak up, nor did I have the courage to check for a pulse.

“Davey's dead.” Abigail's announcement brought a hush to the room.

“There's nothing more you could have done,” Reverend Swanson said, then glanced at me.

All eyes seemed to find me in that moment. I then met Mr. Morgan's gaze. His face was serious, but his blue-green eyes held a softer look. He gave me a small nod as if to say the same words he had said nearly an hour ago; Did your best, s'all that matters.

Someone placed two coins over Davey's eyes. All the while Ms. Grimshaw was ordering a fire to be lit and blankets to be brought in. I retreated into a corner, looking for a hint of solitude.

“Everyone, your attention please; just for a moment,” Mr. Van Der Linde said from in front of the door flanked by Mr. Matthews and Mr. Morgan. All eyes seemed to fall on him. “It’s been a rough few days. I loved Davey, Jenny; Sean and Mac might be okay, we don’t know. We've lost some folks. And if I could throw myself in the ground in their stead, I’d do it gladly…”

I stopped paying attention there for a moment. Now was not the time to make a speech. Now was the time to bury our lost friend, then hunker down and survive until the weather broke.

“…Ms. Grimshaw, Mr. Pearson turn this place into a camp. We may be here for a few days.” With that, Mr. Van Der Linde and Mr. Morgan stepped out into the night.

I spent the next couple of hours lighting fire places and setting up sleeping spaces in the buildings that were suitable for habitation. I also helped Pearson get his kitchen set up in the blacksmith’s forge. Eventually, Ms. Grimshaw came to me with a trunk and pointed over to the house by the general store. “Here, get yourself and Mr. Morgan set up in that house.”

I took the trunk and nodded then turned to go. And then it dawned on me what the camp matron had said. “Am I not bunking with the other women?” I asked turning back toward Grimshaw.

“Thought you'd want a room to yourself tonight. Only way to accomplish that is to have you in the same building as Mr. Morgan,” she replied. “It hasn’t escaped my notice that you are taking Davey's death pretty hard, coupled with the fact you walked in here on foot leads me to believe you also lost your horse at some point tonight.” They all would have seen the body of my horse. I was surprised no one else had asked about it.

I nodded. Her observations were indeed right, though I hadn't been all that close to Davey. His brother Mac, on the other hand, I had been exceptionally close to. Though the man was a little over fourteen years my senior, Mac had taken a special interest in me from the moment I had stumbled my way into the camp. To the point that a few days before the ill-fated ferry job I had given Mac the small pewter pentacle I had been wearing around my neck as a good luck charm of sorts. Something that I now deeply regretted as it seems to have jinxed the job for all who were directly involved. I didn’t know how I would be able to break the news to Mac that his older brother was dead and that it had been partly my fault. Then there was Sean Macguire. Yeah he was a loud mouthed drunken idiot most of the time, but I found it somewhat endearing. I truly hoped they both were still alive and would find their way back into the fold. “Yeah, I appreciate that. Thanks, Ms. Grimshaw.”

“You’re welcome, Dearie,” Ms. Grimshaw replied. Her face then took on a serious look. “Don’t get used to the special treatment.”

“Yes ma'am, I mean, no ma'am… I’ll just go and make a comfortable space for however long we're stuck here.” The last bit of her statement caught me off guard to the point of confusing what yes and no mean.

After getting the two bedrooms set up I set to work on setting up the main room to be a little sitting area…like we were going to get any company other than our other gang members coming in and out.

I assumed it was near midnight when I heard the muffled sound of horses walking up. Like everyone else, I came out of the relative warmth of the building I was in to see what was going on.

Mr. Morgan and Mr. Van Der Linde had returned with one of the men, Bell I thought, who had been sent ahead to look for game, which wasn’t going to be caught out in this weather, or other supplies we needed. There was also a woman with them. She was hardly dressed for this weather in just a night shift and a wool blanket draped over her shoulders.

Apparently, the woman had been made a widow by members of a rival gang, the O'Driscolls. I couldn’t help but shudder, from the cold and from the venom in which Mr. Van Der Linde spoke the name. Reminded me of how Daddy spoke of his run-ins with the Doughty Brothers in the years before I was born…the last nearly costing him his life.

I'd heard a little of why there was a feud between Van Der Linde and the O’Driscolls. Something about Mr. Van Der Linde killing one of the O'Driscoll brothers and the living brother taking revenge by killing the girl Mr. Van Der Linde was seeing at the time.

“I haven’t slept in three days.” I could hear the exhaustion in our leader's voice with that statement.

“Mr. Van Der Linde, you’re set up over there in that house; Miss O'Shea will show you the way,” Ms. Grimshaw said. “Mr. Morgan you’re set up over there. And I hope you don’t mind sharing the space with Miss Heyes.”

“Not at all. Thanks, Ms. Grimshaw,” Mr. Morgan replied. “After you, Miss Heyes.”

As I lead the way back to the house I heard Ms. Grimshaw tell Mr. Bell where he would be staying.

“Why does Arthur get a room, with a gal, while I have to share a bunk bed next to Bill Williamson and a bunch of…” the last word was cut off by the door slamming against the wind. Given how Micah seemed to talk to those in our party who had darker complexions, I figured it was probably, most likely, a slur.

“Don’t pay no mind to him,” Mr. Morgan said. “But don’t trust him as far as you can spit either. Trouble seems to follow in his wake.”

I nodded. “Hopefully John will be alright tonight. I don’t envy him having to sleep outside in this.”

“He'll be fine, prob’bly be back by morning.”

“For Abigail’s sake I hope you’re right.”

“You know, Miss Heyes, you've been running with us for around five months or so now; think it's ‘bout time I get to know you a little better.” He sure had a way of quickly changing the subject.

“Not much to get to know, Mr. Morgan,” I said sitting down at the table wishing there was a pot of coffee to be drank over this conversation.

“First things first; drop the mister and call me Arthur. I know I’m old, but I ain’t that old yet.”

“Fine, so long as you call me Emma.” I motioned to the chair across from me. “What would you like to know?”

Arthur sat down, then took a pack of cigarettes and matches out of his satchel. He took one cigarette out of the pack and put it between his lips before lighting it. He took a drag then offered me the pack. I took one out and to my surprise he was quick to light it. “Well, that answers one question about you.” He said as I took a drag, instantly feeling the effects of the tobacco.

“I enjoy whiskey every now and again too, if you was wondering anymore about my chosen vices in life.”

“Woman after my own heart,” he replied with a chuckle, taking another drag off his cigarette. “I’ve over heard you talking about your Daddy and Momma a few times with Mary-Beth and Karen. They leave you alone in this ol’ world?”

“No, they’re still living. Have a ranch out near Salt River,” I answered. “They raise horses.”

“Sounds like you had a good life. Why leave it and join a bunch of degenerate outlaws?”

“Much to my parents' dismay, I am the only one of their four children that has fully inherited my father's sense of wanderlust…well my older brother, Joshua, has it too, but he has followed his to gainful employment as an officer in the Navy. I, on the other hand, left home looking for adventure and found you all's camp by pure accident.” I took another pull from my cigarette.

“I believe that. We try to stick to being off the beaten path as much as possible…most of us ain’t much on civilization.” A slight grin graced his lips, the first I’d seen in three days. “Wanderlust is a mighty powerful thing. You keep in touch with your folks?”

I nodded. “I generally send them a telegraph every time I’m in a town. Last one I sent was before…all that mess in Blackwater. I was in camp…what all went down on that ferry, other than the obvious?”

“Not shoah ‘bout all that myself. Hosea and I were working on our own thing. Micah was the one pushing to do that job on that boat.” His tone held a slight edge when mentioning Mr. Bell.

“Bad business. Part of the reason Daddy and his cousin quit the outlaw life. Safes were nigh on impossible to crack by hand, lawmen were already starting to become more organized…” I trailed off, memories of Daddy's stories during his outlaw days flooding my mind.

“Your Daddy was an outlaw? That there explains a whole hell of a lot more. Couldn’t figure why you fell into our ways here in camp so easily; now it makes sense. Might have to test you out on a few jobs now,” Arthur said. He finished his cigarette and crushed it out on the table. “Now the question is, just who is your Daddy?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Aww, c’mon now. I’m not expecting Billy the Kid or John Wesley Hardin."

“Think on it a moment, Arthur. My last name is Heyes.”

Those blue-green eyes widened as I finished off my cigarette and crushed it out. “No…ain’t no way Hannibal Heyes is your daddy.” He chuckled and shook his head. “Yeah, we need to get you on a job with a safe. Bet you got your Daddy's safe cracking abilities. If you do, that will save us a bunch of dynamite.”

“I can assure you he is.” I ignored the quip about safe cracking. Wasn’t a safe around these days that could be opened by manipulating the tumblers.

Arthur looked dumbfounded for a few moments, smiled the first true smile I’d seen from anyone in three days, then said, “You got grit, I’ll give you that much.”

I had no idea what he meant by that, but it meant a lot coming from a seasoned outlaw. “Thank you,” I managed.

“’bout time we call it a night. Trip's been hard on us all, ‘specially for you ladies.”

I couldn’t have agreed more with that statement. I got up from the table and headed for the room I was sleeping in for the night. “Good night, Arthur.”

“Night, Emma.”

Try as I might I just couldn’t get to sleep. Even with both the fire place in the one bedroom and the old cook-stove lit, the house Arthur and I were sharing was still drafty. I suppose my horse was still on my mind as well. Hated having to leave my saddle behind. It had been special ordered for me by Daddy for my 16th birthday. I was dreading sending that bit of news home…if Momma and Daddy still wanted to have me send correspondence. No doubt they had heard about what happened in Blackwater in the papers. My name likely wouldn’t have appeared in print as I hadn’t been in the center of the action.

When dawn broke I was back to sitting at the table. Looking out the cracked, dusty window I saw the weather was still bad. My mind went to John Marston who was still out on this godforsaken mountain. Though I’d never been religious I prayed to whatever higher power was listening that he was alright.

I got up from the table and opened the door as quietly as possible to let Arthur have just a few more minutes of good sleep and went out into the blowing snow; and made my way over to the blacksmith’s forge to see if Pearson had anything made for breakfast, even if it was just a thin broth and weak coffee.

“Morning, Mr. Pearson,” I said as I walked up to where the fire was blazing in the old forge hearth.

“Miss Heyes, how you doing this fine morning?” the camp cook replied.

“Fine, be better if this weather would break so we could get out of here and back down into the flatlands,” I answered. “Got some coffee ready?”

“Coffee’s about the only thing we got round here for to sustain ourselves…and a few bottles of this.” I watched as Pearson pulled a bottle out of a crate.

“Is that…rum?” I asked, not expecting fermented cane sugar to be on the bill of fair.

“Yes ma'am. Authentic, standard issue Navy Rum. It’s the only thing that'll keep you sane.”

“I'll have to take your word on that, Pearson. Never much cared for rum…my brother Joshua on the other hand might’ve taken you up on that as he is a Navy man himself." I chuckled at the thought of my straight laced older brother bonding with Pearson over a few bottles of rum. “I'll just take two cups of coffee, neat. Don’t think getting drunk will do any of us any favors.”

“It'll keep you warm,” the cook replied, filling two tin mugs with the steaming hot brew. “Tell Mr. Morgan that I’ll need someone to go kill us some game before too long or we’ll be the next Franklin Expedition or Donner Party.”

“I'll mention something to him, but if it’s alright with you, I’ll leave out the part about becoming the next Donner Party,” I said as I took the two mugs. “Might need to consider sending a search party for John when this snowfall breaks. Starting to worry about him a little.”

Pearson nodded and I made my way back to the house. As I entered I saw Arthur at the table, smoking the last drags off a cigarette. I sat down across from him, close to the cook-stove to try and warm up my bones after being out in the cold, even though I had spent the time near a blazing fire.

“Oh good, you’re up,” Arthur greeted with a small grin gracing his lips. A few days of scruff covered his face, making him look the picture of ruggedness. “And you brought coffee.”

“Its about the only thing Pearson has for us to live on…soon as the weather breaks someone, or a few people need to go hunting; else we're liable to end up like the Franklin Expedition,” I said passing him one of the mugs.

“The what?” Arthur asked taking the mug.

“Pearson mentioned it while I was getting the coffee. Must be some old Navy legend or something,” I answered, a light yawn escaping my lips.

Arthur made a noncommittal sound, then looked up. “Did you get any sleep?”

“I dozed off for a little while before dawn.”

“That’s not sleep, Emma. Drink your coffee then go lay down there in the room with the fireplace,” he replied, standing and taking a pull from the coffee mug. “Won’t be any good to us if you die of exhaustion. And I’d prefer not to have to put you down out of your misery.” A slight smile graced his lips.

I assumed he was trying to keep the mood light. But it just made me think of the night before and losing Rosa. That single shot rang through my memory again.

“Hey…Emma, you okay?”

“Huh…?” It took me a moment to come back to the present. “Yeah, fine…just more tired than I thought.”

“Go on, finish your coffee then get in bed; I’ll see to it Ms. Grimshaw leaves you alone.”

“Thanks,” I said as I finished my coffee. “Whatever you get into today, just be careful; can’t lose a good gunman like you.”

“Get yourself to bed, woman.”

***

John returned to us the next day, with a little help from Arthur and Javier. The man had it rough for the past two days. A couple long gashes to what was a handsome face when it wasn’t bruised and bloodied, his left eye red and swollen; and likely not to have the same amount of vision as the right after healing, and a long deep gash to his right thigh. Only two possibilities could account for those injuries: a bear or a wolf. Had it been a bear, John probably would have been just a lifeless body on that ledge where he was found, and since they had to fight off wolves on the way back, I figured they were the culprits.

John was damned lucky infection hadn’t set into his wounds. One saving grace of this late blizzard I supposed. He was also lucky I had salve to dress his wounds with to stave off infection as well. I would be glad when we got out of the mountains, I was running short on the herbs I had picked and dried for teas the summer before, and the tonics and tinctures I had made with some as well. I was the closest thing this camp had to a trained doctor…next to Herr Strauss ….

“Emma, thank you,” Abigail said, pulling me from my thoughts.

“Don’t thank me yet,” I replied. “Davey did the same thing after regaining consciousness right after we recovered that bullet from him, and now he's…gone. You and John can thank me proper when he's back on his feet.”

“I ain’t plannin' on dyin', Emma. ‘m too stubborn for that.” John’s voice sounded like it had more gravel to it. In all honesty, it suited him.

“John, you shut up and get some rest. I'll be back to change those bandages in a few hours, till then, Abigail, make sure he stays in bed.”

I turned and made my way back to the house Arthur and I were sharing. I’d barely made it out the schoolhouse when I saw Mr. Van Der Linde coming in my direction.

“Miss Heyes, just the woman I wanted to see,” he said, falling into step beside me.

“Mr. Van Der Linde,” I returned. “Keeping warm, I hope.”

“Yes, ma'am, trying to, at least.” His jovial tone turned serious. “How's John?”

I stopped walking and turned to face him. “He'll live. Can’t promise he'll have full vision in that left eye or he won’t have a few scars on his face when he's healed up, but I can promise he won’t be joining Jenny or Davey any time soon if I have anything to say about it.”

“And if he should take a turn for the worse and pass on?”

“Then you can dole out justice as you see fit…by putting me in the ground yourself should it come down to that,” I replied. “My soul is prepared, whenever the good Lord see fit to call me on.”

“I doubt I would have to resort to such…extremely drastic measures, Miss Heyes; but it is comforting and refreshing to know that you are willing to put your life on the line like that.” Mr. Van Der Linde gave a slight smile. “And please, you've been running with us long enough, call me Dutch.”

“Only if you call me Emma,” I countered.

“Emma, that short for something?”

“Emmeline is my given name, though no one has ever really called me that.”

“Well then, would you permit me to do so?”

“As you wish, Mr. Van…er…I mean, Dutch.” I waved my hand dismissively.

“Well Emmeline, go on and inside somewhere warm, don’t need you catching your death of cold.”

I nodded, then continued on my way once more, hoping not to be stopped again. I needed to be alone, or at least in comfortable silence; something I had grown used to while bunking with Arthur. I could feel my heart racing as I entered the house. My thoughts now drifted once more to Sean and Mac. I hoped they both had escaped Blackwater and the law. Guilt for both Jenny and Davey's deaths weighing heavy on my mind and heart. I glanced at Arthur; he was sitting at the table writing in his journal. The door shut harder than I had anticipated as the wind caught it and slammed it in its weathered frame.

“Emma, how's John?”

I hardly heard Arthur’s voice over my heart's pounding.

“Hey, Emma, you okay?”

I couldn’t find the words to respond. I felt like I was being pulled under water and my vision was going black at the edges. All sound was muffled. I blinked a couple of times trying to clear my head. Next thing I knew I was at the table and helped to sit down.

“Emma. Hey, you with me?” A calloused hand lightly pat my cheek as my vision cleared.

“Arthur? What…how did I get over here?” I asked.

“Looked like you was about to black out so I helped you over here to sit down. You feeling alright?” Arthur countered as he sat down across from me.

I sighed. “I'm alright, just tired and stressed. I know we all are tired and stressed by this whole situation…”

Arthur nodded. “Fair enough, but you also have taken on the responsibility of trying to keep us all alive before all this blew up. Now you have more limited supplies to do that.”

We sat in silence for a few minutes, my mind drifting back to Mac, hoping he was somewhere else, much warmer than where we were.

“He'll be alright. Mac's a tough sonuvabitch, and if he don’t find us, we'll find him. Sean too for that matter,” Arthur said, breaking the silence. “Now, I'm gonna see if Pearson has any more of that thin stew we've been living on and bring us some to eat. You stay here and keep warm.”

I nodded as he left the house. Getting up I went to the cook-stove and placed another log in the fire, same with the fireplace in the master bedroom while I waited for Arthur to return, hopefully with a meager meal.

***

A couple of days later I found myself following Arthur over to the old saloon where the rest of the boys were sleeping.

“Guess folks just miss them… who fell,” I heard Bill say as we entered.

“Yeah, well, when I fall I don’t want there to be no fuss,” Micah retorted.

“When you fall, there'll be a party,” Lenny returned after taking a drag off his cigarette.

We all got a chuckle out of that.

I'll dance on your grave, Micah. I thought to myself. In all honesty, after running with Dutch's Boys for the last five months, the only person who would shed any tears for the slimy blond outlaw would be Dutch.

Of course Micah took offense to what Lenny had said and lunged at Bill, surprisingly; saying he didn’t want to be laughed at by the likes of the ex Calvary-man. Thankfully he was held back by Charles and Arthur before a fight could start. And of course that’s when Dutch decided to grace us with his presence.

“That’s enough, all of you,” he said in a commanding voice. “Punching each other when Colm O’Driscoll’s need punching, hard? C'mon.”

We all exited and each man made his way to his mount. Dutch and Arthur had a short conversation where the younger man received a rifle and a rope from our leader and was chastised for “doubting". After mounting, Dutch turned to me.

“Emmeline, you any good with that old Henry you pack?” he asked.

I nodded. “I can hold my own.”

“Come see me when we get back, then. Might need you on the train job,” Dutch replied. “Until then, you, Mr. Matthews, Mr. Pearson, and Mr. Smith keep an eye on the place, there are O'Driscolls about.”

I caught Arthur's eye as they left and gave him a slight nod. When they had gone I turned to the others. “Shall we take shifts, gentlemen?” I asked.

“You go give Abigail a break from sitting at John's side, I think the three of us can handle any O’Driscolls that come sniffing about,” Hosea replied.

I nodded, then headed over to schoolhouse and made my way to the back of the room. John seemed to be resting comfortably on the cot. I couldn’t tell if the man was actually asleep or just resting his eyes. Abigail sitting steadfastly by his side. I lightly cleared my throat as not to startle her, or wake John.

“Oh, Emma,” Abigail said turning to face me. “Didn’t see you there."

“It's alright. Why don’t you go get some rest, I’ll sit with him here for a while,” I said.

“I should check on Jack…he's been complaining of having a sore throat,” Abigail replied. “Do you have anything that might help?”

“I'll have to check what I have, Abigail….most of my apothecary supplies had to be left behind in Blackwater…if I have nothing I'll ask Herr Strauss if he has anything for the boy,” I said.

The young mother got up and handed me the blanket that had covered her lap. I sat down in the chair and settled in. I gently laid the back of my hand against John's cheek. He was warm, but not feverish. That was a good sign. I moved my fingers to the hollow of his neck just under his jaw; the pulse I found there was steady and strong; another good sign.

“’m I on Death's door, Doc?” John asked, thick and gravely from sleep.

“Just the opposite, John. Should be back on your feet in a week or two doing light work around the camp. Be back to outlawing a week or so after that,” I replied, chuckling a bit about being called Doc.

“Overheard Dutch and Hosea talking about hitting a train, think I’ll be back on my feet when it’s time to pull the job?” He asked.

“As much as I want to say yes, I don’t think it would be a good idea for you to be on horse back any time soon. Might reopen that wound on your leg,” I answered. “I’m supposed to talk with Dutch when he gets back…he was asking if I was any good with that Henry rifle I carry.”

“He'll need the extra gun, for sure.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I said. “But I’ve never fired that old rifle at anything with two legs, only deer.”

John nodded. “First time is always the hardest Emma. But remember, it’s them or you. And always fire on empty lungs.”

“I’m not a kid just learning how to shoot. Hell, I had the best teacher to teach me,” I replied with a shake of my head.

“Couldn’t have been Dutch or Hosea, you only just met them just a few months ago, ‘nd I don’t know anyone whose better shots than them, ‘cept for Arthur.”

“You ever hear of a man named Kid Curry?” I asked.

“What'd you do, threaten to turn him in for the bounty if he didn’t teach you how to shoot?”

“No, you idiot. He's family, first cousin once removed or something like that. He's my Daddy's first cousin by blood.” I just rolled my eyes. “Ain’t no bounty on him now anyway. He was pardoned some 20 years back now.”

“That would mean that your daddy is…. Why Emma Heyes, you've been holding out on us. Daughter of Hannibal Heyes hisself. Dutch would be a fool not to start including you on jobs now.” John was smiling ear to ear, putting undue strain on the stitches in his right cheek.

There were some gasps from around the fireplace. The eyes of Tilly, Mary-Beth, Karen, Miss O'Shea, and Ms. Grimshaw all found their way over to me and the wounded man. I just rolled my eyes and shook my head. It was only a matter of time till the cat was well and truly out of the bag. I didn’t count on it being Marston who spilled my secret.

“John, you better stop smiling before you bust those stitches and make those scars worse. And would you speak up, I don’t think the whole camp heard you.” The last bit was dripping in sarcasm. I had done a great job up till now of keeping who I was under wraps. Not that I was ashamed of who I was, I just didn’t want any special treatment because my daddy had once been the most famous outlaw west of the Lannahatchee river.

The men came back in a jovial mood. The raid on the O’Driscoll’s camp just down the way had been successful. Dynamite, detonators, blasting caps, the works to blow a hole in the side of a mountain, or…in our case railroad tracks. The name Leviticus Cornwall had been mentioned. I had heard the name before, but said nothing as I didn’t feel it was my place. What little I knew about the man boiled down to Rich Bastard, a man deserving of being robbed. Back in the day my Daddy would have robbed him blind…several times.

I had left John's side about an hour before the men returned at Ms. Grimshaw’s insistence. When the men returned I had been cleaning my rifle in preparation for after whatever it was that Dutch wanted to talk to me about, after all I didn’t expect the man to just take me at my word on my skill with a shooting iron. I was just getting up from cleaning and reloading my gun when Arthur came in.

“Nothing scares me more than a woman with a recently cleaned and loaded gun,” he said. I knew it was a jest. I didn’t think there was much that could scare the hardened outlaw before me. “Where you going with that? It'll be dark soon, so you can’t be going hunting.”

“Gonna go see Dutch. He was asking if I was any good with this Henry before y'all left; I assume he wants to see me in action,” I replied. “Go on and get some rest.”

“Nope, we gonna go find Dutch, you gonna show him your skill, then I got a little surprise for you over in the stable…just don’t pay no mind to the O’Driscoll tied up in the corner,” he replied. “You’re also gonna need to show Dutch how well you can handle a pistol.”

I nodded. “Well c'mon then.”

It didn’t take long to find Dutch. He was setting up various cans and bottles on the split rail fence surrounding the small cemetery behind the church.

I sighed. “I figured you'd want to see my skill first hand, Dutch, but this is a might disrespectful to the resting dead, is it not?” I asked.

“The dead aren’t gonna care, that’s the nature of being dead; Emmeline,” Dutch responded. “Now, Arthur, hand her your revolver so she can show us what she's got.”

Arthur did as he was told and handed me his colt. I, of course, took it and familiarized myself with the weight and balance for a few moments before looking to Dutch.

“Guess this is a hell of a time to tell ya I ain’t never shot at a person before,” I said nervously.

“With any luck you won’t have to. And I know, shooting at cans ain’t the same as shooting at someone shooting back at you,” Arthur reassured.

I nodded. That was all the encouragement I needed. Quick as lightning I cocked the hammer back and fired the chamber empty. Six shots found their marks in the cans and bottles. I heard a low whistle from Dutch. Arthur wore a crooked little grin as I handed the empty revolver back to him.

“Well now, Emmeline, who taught you how to shoot like that?” Dutch asked, his tone conveyed just how impressed he was.

“I’ll tell ya, after I’ve unloaded this here rifle,” I answered.

Dutch was all smiles as he set up more cans. When he was done he stepped back and nodded. I shouldered the Henry, cocked the hammer, and fired her empty. And again both men looked impressed at my speed and accuracy. And now it was time to let the cat the whole way out of the bag. Knowing Arthur's skill with firearms, I was sure I could give him a run for his money.

“My cousin, Jed “Kid" Curry, taught me how to shoot. Though…I’m not the fastest draw, he down right refused to teach me how to quick draw,” I said.

“Well, I'll be damned, Emmeline. And you’re a Heyes…hmmm…that means ol' Hannibal himself is your daddy. Outlaw Princess of the first water, in my camp…” Dutch went on like that for a good minute.

“No offense, Dutch, but don’t build me up like that in your mind when the only crime I’ve committed in my life is aiding and abetting y'all in this camp,” I said.

“None taken, you two go on and get a good night's rest. I got a train robbery to plan out.”

Arthur nodded then motioned for me to walk out first. We then made our way over to the stable. Like he said there was a young man hogtied in a far stall. He couldn’t have been more than ten years older than me. Our eyes met for a few moments, his wild with fear.

“Emma, over here,” Arthur said waving me over to another stall.

I walked down to see what this surprise was. In the stall was a liver chestnut colored gelding with gentle eyes. He had a bold white blaze on his nose. “Arthur, he's beautiful,” I said, holding out my hand for him to sniff and nuzzle.

“He's yours if you want him. Took him from that O’Driscoll camp today; Javier brought him back while I brought that O’Driscoll boy back here,” Arthur replied. “And the morning after we got here I back tracked and got your saddle and bridle. Bill's getting it all cleaned and oiled up right now.”

“I ain’t no O’Driscoll, mister. My name is Duffy, Kieran Duffy,” the kid in the stall said.

“That's 11 more bones, kid. Only takes a single broke rib to kill a man,” Arthur retorted, silencing the boy.

It was the first time I had witnessed Arthur acting as gang enforcer, and even I was scared to say anything more for fear of drawing his ire on me. The dirty blond outlaw seemed to sense my apprehension to speak.

“How ‘bout you stay here and get to know this boy for awhile,” Arthur suggested.

I nodded. I knew he meant the horse, but I also took it to apply to Kieran as well. Figured I might as well, should he be killed by my compatriots he deserved to have at least one person say some kind words as he is laid low.

Arthur gave me a light pat on the shoulder before moving to the stable doors. He turned and gave a pointed look at Kieran. “I better not hear that you were bothering the lady, O’Driscoll.” And he stepped out into the quickly falling dusk.

I slowly entered the gelding’s stall. “Easy, boy,” I soothed as I gently ran my hand along his top line. He still carried his winter coat. Shaggy as it made him look, the hair itself was shiny and soft under my un-gloved hands. Though the stable had no fire to keep it warm, it was fairly comfortable inside due to the amount of horses. There was a slight draft, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as the draft in the saloon or the schoolhouse. The gelding gave a soft wicker and started to nuzzle around my coat pockets. “You’re just as bad as Rosa was,” I said as I pulled a sugar cube from one of my pockets and held it out for him in the flat of my palm. I sighed, knowing I would have to come up with a name for him, but I would have rather called him by the name he was use to hearing.

“If you’re wondering, his name is Ranger,” Kieran said.

“Ranger…it suits him,” I murmured.

“He'll be a good horse for you, ma'am.”

While in the stable I saw to the needs if the other horses. One horse I gave particular attention to was a blue roan gelding with a coal-black head, mane and tail.

“Good boy, Thunder…” I murmured to him. I sighed, we were soon going to be out of food, both fresh and canned. If we couldn’t get someone out to hunt soon, we'd probably have to sacrifice one or two of the horses. And with Mac being missing, his mount was probably going to be the first butchered if it came to that. Having grown up on a horse ranch, I'd rather starve before considering eating and animal that gave such loyalty to their rider.

Thunder snorted softly, lowering his head and resting his forehead against my shoulder. I ran a hand down his neck, his hide soft and silky under my fingertips. “I miss him, Thunder…you are all I have left of him…”

Thunder nickered softly as if to agree. He lifted his head a little and bent his neck over my shoulder as if to give me a hug.

I moved to the side and ran a hand over his flank and rested my head on his shoulder. The strong, steady beat of Thunder's heart brought me a small measure of comfort.

***

I made my way to the cook shack in what was once the blacksmith’s forge. I wasn’t even halfway there when I heard Pearson remark about only having a few canned goods and a skinny rabbit to feed all of us…numbering about 12 minus Duffy who was only being given a half cup of coffee, if that.

“’sides we can eat you, you’re the fattest; if it comes to that,” Arthur said as I stepped up to the open fire to warm my hands.

I let out a light chuckle. “Think I’d rather eat a mule deer that self marinated on sagebrush a little too long.”

“Look I sent Lenny and Bill out hunting yesterday and they came back with nothing,” Pearson said.

“Well, Lenny's more into book learning than hunting and Bill's a fool, ain’t no wonder they came back with nothing. Unless there's game out there that wants to read…” Arthur retorted.

“If there's game out there, I'll find it,” Charles said this. The man didn’t talk much, but when he did, it was right to the point.

“You need to rest, Charles,” I said. “You can’t pull a bow or shoot a gun for that matter right now with your hand like it is.”

“If there's game, I’ll find it and Arthur can kill it.”

“Maybe I should come with you boys. If you get something, you might need help keeping the scavengers away. The smell of fresh blood will call them all in for miles,” I replied.

“She makes a good point, Charles.”

“Well, here. Y'all will need something to eat out there,” Pearson said, tossing a can in Arthur’s direction.

Arthur caught it and read the label. “Assorted Salted Offal…starving would be preferable…”

Charles shook his head and made a motion for us to follow him to the stable to collect our horses.

I entered Ranger's stall and gave him a quick brush before putting my saddle on him. He pranced a little, seemingly excited to get out for a little while. “Okay, calm down a little, boy. You act like this while we're out you'll scare the game away.” Ranger seemed to understand and calmed down as I put his bridle on.

I glanced over at Thunder and felt guilty for not taking him. He looked at me with sad, dark eyes. I got the feeling he was resigned to his fate, whatever that might be. As I led Ranger out of the stable, I gave the blue roan an affectionate pat. “You'll be alright, Thunder. I'll make sure nothing happens to you,” I murmured as I closed the stable door and mounted Ranger.

I met up with the boys on the edge of camp. I was kind of excited about hunting with Charles and Arthur as it had been a while since I had gone hunting with anyone. Since joining the camp I had been stuck doing more domestic chores like doing laundry or helping Pearson with meal preparation. I didn’t mind doing these chores, but I had more skills to offer than just what one would call housekeeping. Before fleeing from Blackwater I had been darning socks wishing I had been out foraging for wild herbs and roots.

Surprisingly, the hunt went well, even with Arthur's limited experience with a bow. With Charles' instruction he had downed two deer; and I was able to bag three rabbits. It would be enough food to see us through at least another week or two if the weather didn’t break here soon. The days were sunny and clear, melting a little bit of the snow, only for a new inch or so to fall over night.

The way back to camp was peaceful and uneventful, minus coming across a large bear. We rode a wide berth around him, but he seemed to just be curious about us and still a little groggy from waking up from his long winter's nap. Charles had remarked that late snowfalls like this were the worst for animals that sleep though the winter and I had to agree. That bear could have easily killed us and our horses if he had caught wind of the dead meat. In that respect we were lucky.

When we returned with our kills, Pearson seemed pleased when we brought the meat back.

“This will do nicely to keep us fed for the next few days,” he said as he and Arthur dragged the deer into the forge, and I brought the brace of rabbits in and set them on the table next to one of the deer. “We'll be eating good tonight for the first time in a while.”

Of course, both Arthur and I practically had to drag Charles back to the saloon so he could rest that hand of his; I had to redress the burn anyway. Arthur returned to the cook shack to help Pearson to dress the kills.

“I'm fine, Emma, really,” Charles muttered.

“I’m sure you are, but…humor me,” I replied, taking the small jar of salve out of my coat pocket along with some clean bandage cloth.

“Fine.”

I gently removed the bandage from his hand and inspected the burn. “This is healing up nicely. Should be good as new in just a few more days,” I said as I applied more salve and re-bandaged the burn.

“That salve you use, it’s made with pine, isn’t it?” Charles asked.

“And a few other ingredients,” I answered.

Charles nodded, then walked off toward the stables to tend the horses. I just shook my head. The man was stubborn. Eventually, that trait would serve him well.

***

A few days later, I found my way back in the schoolhouse looking after John with Reverend Swanson. Graciously, the reverend was sober, but was administering some morphine to the wolf-bit man.

“I thought you'd be reading him his last rites, Reverend,” Arthur said as he walked up to us. “Now I see you're introducing him to your other passion in life.”

“I'll mind you to pay me some respect, Mr. Morgan,” Swanson replied, getting up to leave.

“Mind away, Reverend,” Arthur said as the fallen man of the cloth walked off.

“You know Last Rites is a Catholic thing, right?” I asked. “Given his vestments, I’d say Swanson was of the Presbyterian persuasion at one time or another.”

“And here I thought you wasn’t the religious type,” Arthur answered.

“I'm not, though I did attend services often growing up.” I sighed. “I also keep ways that most church folk look down their noses at…”

“You mean, like…witchcraft?”

“I prefer spiritual, but most God fearing, Christian folk will and do call it witchcraft.” I sighed. “The herbal salves, tonics, and tinctures I make would certainly fall under the umbrella of ‘witchcraft’ to those people.”

“Will you two shut up, and let me rest?” John asked.

“Sorry, John…” I answered.

John nodded and looked slightly behind me. “Thanks, Arthur. I'll owe you one.”

“And you'll pay me,” Arthur replied. “But for now, just rest and get back on your feet.”

John chuckled. “I owe you, Javier, and Emma here in equal measure.”

“You staying alive is payment enough for me, John; no need for monetary repayment or some other grand gesture of gratitude,” I said. “I'm here for the long haul boys. To the bullet or the noose.”

“Well, Emmeline, it’s good to know where your loyalties lie,” said Dutch as he walked up to the three of us. “Anyway, I think it's time we hit that train.”

“Want me to come?” John asked.”

“Of course I do…but look at you,” Dutch replied.

I rolled my eyes. John didn’t need to be up on that leg yet.

“I've always been ugly Dutch,” John returned, trying to get up.

“Just lay still, son,” Dutch said, gently pushing him back down onto the cot.

At that moment Abigail and little Jack came in. I hardly paid attention to her exchange with the father of her child. In all of this, Jack was the one I felt most sorry for. The poor kid was under five and had known more death in the last few weeks with the loss of Jenny and Davey; Lord, I hoped beyond hope that Mac and Sean had gotten out of Blackwater and were laying low somewhere, hopefully it was someplace much warmer than here. I could see the worry written over his small features, though he was braver than I for not voicing it. Had to give the boy credit, he would grow up to be a pretty tough nut to crack.

“Emmeline,” Dutch's voice pulled me from my thoughts, “I do hope you will be joining us on this job.”

I was stunned speechless for a moment. “I…I think I am needed more here in camp…” I stammered.

“S'alright, I think we can pull this job off with just the six of us. There'll be other jobs Emma can help us on, Dutch. ‘sides, someone has to stay back and look after the invalids.” Arthur chuckled dryly.

“Alright,” Dutch relented. “C'mon Arthur.”

While the men were off robbing the Cornwall train, the rest of us set to work packing up the camp. The last few days had warmed to the point that the wagons were no longer snowed in and the nights no longer brought fresh snowfall. I took it upon myself to pack myself and Arthur's belongings up and get them onto a wagon, granted most of my belongings were able to be packed in my saddlebags. I had packed light when I left home…it felt like a lifetime ago now; though had in reality only been just over two years ago.

Spring 1897: Heyes Ranch, Salt River, Wyoming

I sighed. I knew it was late, nearly dark out. I had hoped I would be able to slip away to see the world before either of my parents noticed. "For a ride,” I answered vaguely.

I was in the stable saddling my horse, Rosa Clay. I couldn’t take it anymore, ranch life was the same thing every day…boring. I wanted more form life than just living comfortably, and domestic bliss after getting married. As I checked that the cinch was tight I heard the stable door open.

“Emma?” it was my father, the former outlaw, Hannibal Heyes.

“Down here,” I called, leading my horse out of her stall.

“Where are you off to at this hour?” Daddy asked.

I nodded. It wasn’t a lie, not really, I just wasn’t sure when I would be, or if I would be, returning home.

“A ride. With a bedroll and full saddlebags; and your mother's old henry rifle in the saddle scabbard?”

I sighed. “I know. I…I just want to see the world, like you and Cousin Jed, before I settle down and put down roots.”

A small smile formed on my father's lips as a soft chuckle escaped him. “My darling girl, my youngest daughter. I know what running away looks like, I was just a few years younger than you when I ran from that awful orphanage in Amberino.”

“MISS HEYES!” Ms. Grimshaw's shrill voice pulled me out of the memory. “I’ve seen shit with more common sense than you. Unpack that wagon, and repack it properly this time.”

“Seems reasonable, though you can’t blame your old man and your mother for the worrying we will do while you’re out traveling…so we have some conditions.”

I was stunned. They were letting me go. “What conditions?” I asked.

“We only ask that you find respectable work for yourself and write as often as you are able.”

I was regretting not going out with the men...probably would have died, but that was preferable at the moment. Being a child of the west, I had absolutely no idea how to “properly" pack a wagon for long distance travel. Packing a wagon with goods recently bought at the general store for the journey back to the ranch on the other hand, that I could do blindfolded and hogtied. Luckily for me, Herr Strauss was willing to lend a hand.

“Fraulein, might I offer some assistance?” Strauss asked.

“Yes, please. Thank you, Herr Strauss,” I replied.

Together we packed the wagon to Grimshaw's standards. We worked in silence for the most part, except for the occasional muttered Austrian and German curses coming from the man helping me. I did my best not to laugh or even betray the fact that I knew exactly what he was saying. Thanks to my father's insistence I had learned Spanish, as he felt I would need to know it; and then of my own volition had learned French and German as well as a just in case.

“Fraulein, I believe we are ready to hitch the horses now.” Strauss' voice startled me from my thoughts.

I nodded. “Looks like there is some room, go ask Ms. Grimshaw how we plan to transport the captured O'Driscoll gang member down the mountain. I cant imagine we would allow him to ride horseback.”

Strauss nodded and trotted off to ask the camp matron. While he was off doing that I busied myself with getting the draft horses harnessed and hitched to the wagon. While focusing on that task I found my mind wandering back to the men out on the robbery. Hopefully everything was going according to Dutch's plan…even though that plan had only seemed to be half planned in my opinion. It had seemed to me that the O’Driscolls had specifically taken on more men to pull this job off. I wasn’t exactly sure what was of such great value on this train, but since Leviticus Cornwall was the owner I could imagine there was either a large payroll being shipped to one of his businesses, or some valuable commodity he had a vested interest in being transported to its final destination. Naturally, this would mean the train would be heavily guarded by both riders along the track and armed guards on the train itself. No doubt a gun fight would have been nearly inevitable. Then there was both the private car for Cornwall and the car containing whatever cargo; both likely would need to be blasted open, guards dealt with…more than a six man job. Hell, more than a seven man job if I had gone along. Hosea was right, a fool's errand.

By the time the men had returned it was starting to get dark. This would be our last night in this frozen hellhole, and for that I was glad. It had warmed and thawed enough that we would have little to no trouble descending the mountains and fording the little streams and creeks. We had survived, and the law was nowhere in sight…for now.

After a light breakfast the next morning we packed the rest of our supplies into the wagons and made ready to leave. I was standing near the rear wagon with Ranger making sure the saddle was secure.

“Arthur you're with this one. Take Hosea. I know you two like to talk about the good ol’ days and what happened to ol' Dutch,” Dutch said, mounting the Count. “Emmeline, you mind riding drag?”

“Been swallowing trail dust since I was old enough to ride, Dutch,” I said, mounting up. “I got our back.”

Dutch gave a nod and gave the order to move out. The ride down the mountain was pretty enough. After a few hours the snow that was left gradually faded into the tender greens of fresh spring growth. As we went I hummed to myself and kept a few yards back from the wagon in front of me. Periodically, I looked over my shoulder to make sure we weren’t being followed. We probably weren’t, but I figured I should check anyway as it was my job.

Around noon, Arthur stopped the wagon and signaled me with a whistle and a wave. I jogged Ranger up to the front of the wagon and reined him in.

“What's up, Arthur?” I asked.

“Tie your horse to the back of the wagon and hop up here with me and Hosea,” Arthur replied.

“We thought you could use some conversation,” Hosea added.

“Will Dutch be alright with this?” I asked, not wanting to abandon my post. Unlike everyone else here, I was untested; I had yet to prove myself to the senior leadership.

“Emma I’m going to clue you into a little secret. I’m the real leader of this gang. Dutch is my right hand man,” Hosea answered.

I nodded, but didn’t believe the older man. If Arthur's smirk was anything to go by, then I knew Hosea was pulling my leg. “Hosea, my Daddy was also a con man. Do you really think you can con a con man's daughter?”

The older man let out a hearty “Ha!” and shook his head. “Do like Arthur says and climb aboard. If Dutch has a problem with it, I’ll smooth it over with him.”

I did as I was told and tied Ranger to the back of the wagon before climbing aboard, sitting in the back just behind the jockey box.

“Get up here with us. Might be a little tight, but it'll be a little more comfortable than you sitting atop whatever we got packed back there,” Arthur said.

“I ain’t some delicate flower, Arthur. I’m fine back here...unless you want to take a break and let me drive for a bit,” I replied.

Arthur just let out a chuckle as he got us going again. I settled in and again started humming. It wasn’t necessarily a particular song, just a light melody if found myself coming back to time and again. I knew I had heard it somewhere at one time or another; where though was the question. Might have been at a theatre show I attended before I left home; could have been in the saloon in Blackwater before all the recent…unpleasantness that happened there. Either way the tune was firmly stuck in my mind.

“How about you sing us a song there, Emma?” Hosea asked.

“Oh no. Of my many talents, singing is most definitely not one of them,” I replied. Truth was I could sing, quite well, in my own opinion; the problem was singing for groups and not as a part of one. I had done my share of singing in camp when Javier played his guitar, but I was easily able to blend into the group of rough shot harmony then. Solos were not my speed, nor was public speaking, but that's a story of another time…just not right now.

“Aw, now come on, Emma. You sound pretty good when we all sing around the fire,” Arthur pressed.

“It's easier for me to sing as part of a group rather than alone for some reason,” I admitted. “I’m sure there's a term for it, but it's escaping me right now.”

Arthur and Hosea nodded seemingly satisfied with my answer. We talked about this and that for a good while. Hosea even took the time to make a paste with some yarrow and ginseng root, claiming it was good for the health when Arthur inquired as to what he was doing; a fact I was quick to confirm. I even listed off some of the medicinal properties of each of the plants.

“I'll be glad that I’ll be able to forage for herbs here now,” I said. “Be more cost effective for me to make most of the tonics and tinctures we need rather than buy them in a general store or an apothecary.”

Hosea nodded in agreement. “Do you have medical training? I do know you have done a good job with Charles and John, and did your best with Davey.”

I hung my head a little. Davey's death, though not my fault, still weighed heavily on my mind. I don’t know how many times I had whispered apologies to the dead man over the last week or so. “No, at least not any form of formal training. Most of what I know comes from helping my mother and older sister when they would help out the midwife in Salt River. Mamma did get her education as a nurse from the Women's Medical Collage in Philadelphia, though. Ol' Doc Harris actually covered her tuition. I know she would have preferred me pursuing nursing rather than giving into my wanderlust like I have.”

“That would be a good job for you to go into in the future.” Arthur looked over his shoulder and smiled. “The way you've been taking care of John and little Jack tells me all I need to know."

I could only dip my head to hide my blush from the two men on the seat in front of me. Most of the men in camp viewed me with indifference like the other women, except Grimshaw. Until the flight from Blackwater and our time in Colter, Arthur had been much the same way until seeing my skill with a firearm. “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I murmured.

There was a short lull in the conversation as we continued over a small stream. There was now a noticeable difference in the temperature now. I undid the buttons on my coat for the first time in a few weeks, or at least it felt that way. The cool breeze felt nice.

An hour or so later we came up on the bank of the last creek we would have to cross. The wagons in front of us were able to ford it with relative ease. Hosea gave a nod and gave Arthur the go ahead to cross the river and advised me to hold on. Not needing to be told twice, I took hold of the back of the jockey box as we started to cross. It was a fairly smooth crossing, the problems occurred coming up the other bank. The back left wheel came off, nearly sending me flying off the wagon.

“Son of a bitch,” Arthur muttered as he and Hosea got off the wagon to see how bad our situation was.

I hopped down and untied Ranger so he wouldn’t be in the way. The wagon in front of us stopped.

“Everything alright?” Bill called.

“Does everything look alright?” Arthur retorted.

“What happened?” Javier pressed.

“Broke the Goddamn wheel,” Arthur replied, somewhat annoyed.

“Need a hand fixing it?” Charles asked.

“I reckon we can handle it,” Hosea said. “You help me lift this up and Arthur can put the wheel back on.”

Of course, Arthur made a comment on Hosea's age and still being strong enough to lift a wagon. If I hadn’t known any better I would have sworn the two were actually blood kin. I ground tied Ranger and made my way over, figuring I should attempt to make myself useful in some way. The men of course said they had the wagon well in hand, so I started gathering up what supplies fell when the wheel came off. Hosea and Charles then gave me a hand as Arthur finished re-securing the wheel to the axle.

While Arthur got the wheel secured and the other two men and I repacked whet fell off the wagon, three men on horseback appeared on the bluff above us.

“What do you think?” Arthur asked, quietly.

“If they wanted trouble, we wouldn’t have seen them,” Charles replied.

“C'mon you three, let's not press our luck,” Hosea said.

I mounted Ranger as the other three got on the wagon, Hosea saying something about how bad the government had screwed over the Natives that once called this area home. I stayed close to the wagon as we continued on our way to a place Hosea had called Horseshoe Overlook, named for a bend in the Dakota River. Every now and again I’d look back over my shoulder to be sure the three men we encountered weren’t following. At one point I jogged up next to the front of the wagon.

“Think Dutch will need to hear about what happened?” I asked.

“Three men on horseback just watching us from a bluff isn’t something too concerning. Charles thinks it might have been a small hunting party from a nearby reservation,” Hosea answered.

I nodded. If the older man wasn’t too concerned then I had nothing to worry about, though I had a gut feeling we would encounter them again in the future. I made a mental note to consult the cards when I had a moment, maybe even do readings for the rest of the gang one night. I could already make a few guesses at some of the possible cards that would come up for some people and if I did a reading for the gang as a whole.

Though Grandma Margaret had died before I was a shimmer in Mamma's eye, Mamma had seen to it that I knew all the mystical things she and my grandmother had known. We were “gifted women" as Mamma had said. She wasn’t specific as to who had given us this “gift", though. Sometimes she said it was a gift from God, other times she said it was from “The Green" meaning Mother Nature and the Earth itself. My great grandmother had been from Eastern Tennessee, and as I understood it still had distance relatives there, Walker was their family name. Most of the women in that family practiced what I came to know as “Granny Magic", practitioners of the old ways from Ireland and Scotland before Christianity became the norm.

***

It was late afternoon by the time the four of us made it to the new campsite. Most of the tents had already been set up, a fire in the center was already merrily blazing away and being tended by Uncle. Grimshaw caught my eye and immediately made her way over as I dismounted Ranger.

“Miss Heyes, you are late. We needed you to help set things up here,”

“We had some issues with the wagon that held us up after crossing that last creek. Let me see to my horse, then I will be at your disposal,” I replied.

The camp matron seemed to accept the reasons for why we were late getting to camp and walked off to dole out orders to one of the other girls. I led Ranger over to where the other horses were and removed my saddle from his back after retrieving his brush from my saddlebags. As I brushed my horse I hummed a tune my father was fond of. I was most at ease around horses. After a few moments I heard footsteps approaching, looking up I saw it was Bill. I groaned internally and gave an anemic wave, but wasn’t really up to talking to him at the moment.

“Hey, Heyes,” he called.

I tried not to roll my eyes at that. I didn’t mind being called by my last name, but preferred to be called by my first. “Yes, Bill?”

“How'd y'all make out?” he asked.

“We all got back alive, didn’t we?” I countered.

“How serious was the break?” Bill pressed.

“The wheel just came loose and off the axle, nothing too serious. Won't need a blacksmith or anything,” I replied.

The ex-cavalryman nodded and walked off, seemingly satisfied by my answer. I quickly finished brushing Ranger and gave him a sugar cube before returning to the camp proper to find Ms. Grimshaw and get a list of chores and other tasks I was to complete. Of course, Dutch made a speech. This one about how it was time to prosper and make more money so we could head back out into the far reaches of the west. Of course, anything we made, or found, or more accurately stole the camp would get it's cut of it.

I stopped paying attention there. I knew I would probably be stuck doing house chores around camp most of the time, but that was fine by me. At least if I now had a bounty on my head it would only be for aiding and abetting wanted criminals rather than robbery and murder.

As evening fell, I found myself sitting around the fire with a few others. Glad to be out of the mountains, glad to be away from Blackwater, and most importantly glad to be alive.

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