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But Dutch ignored him. "You think I don't see what's happenin' here? You think I don't notice the looks, the doubts, the little talks at night?" He pointed toward Caleb, his hand trembling with anger. "You, ever since you came along, many of them have been testin' me. You think I don't see it?"
Arthur took a step closer. "This ain't about Caleb. I think you're losin' sight of what matters, Dutch. We're supposed to look out for each other, not turn on one another."
"Arthur—" Hosea started, but it was too late.
Dutch's voice thundered across the camp. "I built this family! Everything you have, every mouth fed, every dollar earned, it's because of me! Don't you dare forget that!"
Silence followed. Only the soft wind and the distant chirp of cicadas dared to move.
Caleb stood silent, his mind racing. He looked around subtly. The entire camp had frozen. Pearson had stopped stirring his stew pot. Uncle was soberly silent on his crate. From across the yard, John, Abigail, and Sadie watched, their expressions a mixture of shock and grim validation.
This was it, the first open crack in the foundation, and it was happening over him. He decided to hold his tongue for now, to let this play out. Arthur was standing up for him, and that was a development more significant than he had ever anticipated.
Hosea in the end stepped forward, placing a calming hand on Dutch's arm. "Dutch, this is not the time or the place—"
"Stay out of this, Hosea!" Dutch snarled, shaking off his oldest friend's hand, his eyes never leaving Arthur. "I am still the leader of this gang! I decide who is loyal and who is not! I decide what is best for this family! And I will not have my authority questioned by my own son over some… some driftwood we picked up on the road!"
Caleb seeing this, decides to finally stepped forward carefully. "Dutch," he said softly, his voice steady and respectful, "no one's forgettin' that. You gave all of us a place. A family. That's somethin' none of us take for granted. But right now, maybe what this family needs is to stop pointin' guns inward and start lookin' outward again."
Dutch's glare lingered on Caleb for a long moment, long enough for Arthur to tense, his hand hovering near his revolver out of instinct.
Then, at last, Dutch exhaled and looked away. "You always were a talker, Caleb," he muttered. "But fine. Fine. We'll let this rest… for now." But even as he said it, his gaze flicked toward Caleb again, that same spark of mistrust still burning quietly beneath the surface.
Arthur tossed his cigarette to the ground and crushed it under his boot. "You oughta rest then. Clear your head."
Dutch said nothing more and walked away, Hosea following him with a weary sigh. The rest of the camp slowly resumed its normal rhythm, though the unease lingered like fog over the swamp.
When they were gone, the tension slowly unraveled. Arthur rubbed the bridge of his nose, letting out a sigh. "He's gettin' worse, Caleb. I can feel it."
Caleb nodded, his voice quiet. "Yeah. I know. And if it keeps up, it won't be long before talkin' ain't enough anymore."
Arthur looked at him, then at the path Dutch had taken. "You better keep your wits about you, Caleb. He's startin' to see ghosts where there ain't none."
Caleb smirked faintly. "Ain't that the truth."
The two men stood there for a moment longer before Arthur clapped him on the back. "Come on. Let's get some coffee in us before Miss Grimshaw starts hollerin' again."
As they walked back toward the fire pit, the camp began to come alive again, murmurs and movement returning. But beneath that familiar rhythm, an unease lingered. Dutch's words hung heavy in the air, like a storm on the horizon that everyone could feel but no one dared name.
Arthur briefly wandered off to get two cup coffee from Pearson's campfire, leaving Caleb to make his way toward the campfire. The flames burned low and steady, crackling softly, illuminating the three figures huddled around it, Uncle, Bill, and Pearson, each of them still wearing the sort of tense, unsettled expressions that always followed a Dutch outburst.
Caleb approached slowly, not wanting to intrude if they needed space, but before he could say a word, Uncle lifted his hand and waved him over.
"Come on, kid," he grumbled. "Sit your behind down next to me. Ain't no point standin' there lookin' like a lost chicken."
Caleb gave a short, tired chuckle and lowered himself onto the log beside Uncle. The warmth of the fire soaked into his boots and the back of his hands.
Uncle nudged him lightly with his elbow. "Now listen here, don't you start dwellin' on whatever nonsense Dutch just barked at ya. That man's been woundin' himself tighter 'n tighter these days. Ain't you worry none. The rest of us can see what you done for this gang. Hell, most of us saw it even before Dutch ever got a clue."
Caleb blinked, surprised by the sincerity cutting through Uncle's usual haze of cynicism and whiskey.
Uncle continued, waving his half empty bourbon bottle for emphasis. "You helped Arthur save Tilly and Karen when you barely even knew us. You helped catch that poor bastard in Valentine, the one who recognized Arthur's face, and managed to convince him to forget all about it instead o' throwin' him into a grave. And that saloon brawl? Lord, boy, form he story you jumped right in and help Arthur and the others from gettin' brained by that folks and the big fella. Then there was Sean. You helped bring him home even when there weren't no reward promised, no nothing. Don't pretend we didn't see all that."
Caleb couldn't help but laugh, shaking his head. "Well, thank you, Uncle. I don't think too much of Dutch's words. Just… surprised, is all. Didn't expect him to go off like that, especially not right after I went to help with Tilly alongside Arthur and Miss Grimshaw."
Uncle tipped the bottle back, swallowed deeply, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Hah! Dutch goin' off like that is exactly what I expected. That man's mind's spinnin' worse than a busted wagon wheel. I swear, he ain't listenin' to nobody no more. Not Hosea, not Arthur, not you, not anybody. He's losin' himself in that big head of his."
Before Caleb could respond, Bill shifted his weight and leaned forward, his brow furrowed.
"Maybe," Bill muttered, "maybe Caleb did somethin' wrong. That's all I'm sayin'. Dutch don't just blow up for no reason. He ain't like that. Maybe Caleb said somethin' or did somethin' to set him off."
Caleb opened his mouth, but Uncle came flying in like a drunken cannonball.
"You big buffoon!" Uncle barked, pointing the bottleneck straight at Bill. "Did you see this boy do a damn thing wrong since the day he rode in? Other than contributin' and savin' your hides? Hell no! You're just lookin' for excuses 'cause your brain can't handle more than one thought at a time!"
Bill's face flushed. "I... I'm just sayin'… Dutch must've had a reason. That's all."
"A reason?" Uncle scoffed so hard it nearly shook ash from the fire. "Bill, for once in your big, thick headed life, think for yourself. Stop followin' Dutch like some lost dog. You got eyes. Use 'em. You really think Dutch ain't been slippin'?"
Bill stuttered, "Ahhh... uhhh... well..."
Uncle snorted. "Exactly. You ain't got an answer 'cause you ain't thought about it. That's your trouble. You follow Dutch blindly without even askin' if the man's takin' you over a cliff."
Bill scowled, scratching the side of his head as if searching for words in his own skull. "We're supposed to follow Dutch's lead. He's the one who's been runnin' this gang longer than any of us. He's the one who's kept us alive this long."
At that moment Arthur returned, two cups in hand, overhearing the last of Bill's defensive tone.
Arthur handed one cup to Caleb. "It's true that Dutch has led us a long time," Arthur began carefully, "and a lot of us owe him more than we can ever pay. I do, more than any of you. Dutch took me in when I was just a kid. He taught me how to hunt, how to shoot, how to survive. I ain't forgotten that, not once."
Bill crossed his arms triumphantly, as if Arthur had just proven his point.
But Arthur wasn't done.
"But Dutch is… different now," Arthur continued, his voice low but firm. "And not in a good way. He ain't listenin'. He ain't thinkin' straight. And if we keep noddin' along to every bad call he makes, we're gonna get ourselves killed. I ain't sayin' turn against him. I'm sayin' help him. Guide him. Even if that means contradictin' him when he's wrong."
Bill jolted to his feet, nearly knocking the log backward. "What's happened to you, Morgan? You of all people! You're supposed to stand by Dutch. Support him. Believe in him. Trust him when nobody else does. You're his favorite out of all of us. He's always listened to you, cared about what you think, and now you're sayin' he's wrong?!"
Arthur lifted the cup to his lips, took a sip, then met Bill's furious glare with a steady, unshaken stare.
"I am sayin' he's wrong," Arthur answered. "Because I do believe in Dutch. Because I've supported him my whole life. Because I trust him enough to tell him when he's goin' off the rails instead of lettin' him destroy himself and everyone with him. If I didn't care? Hell, I'd leave. I'd walk away and let him do whatever he wanted. But I ain't gonna do that. Not to him. Not to any of you."
Bill's jaw tightened. "Easy for you to say, Arthur. You're the one he always listens to. You're the one he favors. You don't know what it's like for the rest of us."
And with that, Bill turned sharply and stormed off into the shadows between the tents, ignoring Pearson's attempt to call after him.
"Bill! Hold on, come back here, Bill!"
But Bill didn't stop.
Uncle sighed heavily, lifting his bottle again. "Let him go, Pearson. Let the big buffoon follow Dutch if that's all he can do. Man ain't got a mind of his own anyway."
Caleb shook his head, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "We can't just give up on him. Bill's part of this family. Someone like him… he needs people to guide him. To listen to him. Bill ain't bad. He just wants recognition. Wants to be needed. Not ignored or scorned."
Pearson nodded slowly. "Boy's right. Bill's… well, he's Bill. He ain't a thinker, but he ain't a traitor either. He just wants a place."
Arthur gave a faint hum of agreement. "Caleb's right. Bill needs us more than he lets on."
Uncle grumbled, "Bah, everybody needs somethin'. Doesn't mean they gotta drag the rest of us down with 'em."
Caleb smiled faintly at that, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. The fire crackled again, sparks floating upward into the deepening dusk. For a few moments none of them spoke. The weight of what had happened, Dutch's explosion, Arthur defending Caleb, Bill's reaction, hung thick in the air like smoke that refused to clear.
...
Name: Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 7/10
- Agility: 7/10
- Perception: 8/10
- Stamina: 7/10
- Charm: 7/10
- Luck: 8/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl 4)
- Rifle (Lvl 4)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl 4)
- Past Life Memory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl 3)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl 1)
- Sneaking (Lvl 4)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl 4)
- Poker (Lvl 4)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl 3)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl 1)
- Dead Eye (Lvl 3)
- Bow (Lvl 2)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl 3)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl 2)
- Crafting (Lvl 3)
- Persuasion (Lvl 3)
- Mental Fortitude (Lvl MAX)
- Cooking (Lvl 4)
- Teaching (Lvl 2)
- Trilingual Language Proficiency - G, I, & C (Lvl MAX)
- Inventory System (Permanent - 10x10x10)
- Acting (Lvl 4)
- Alcohol Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Treasure Hunter (Lvl MAX)
- Drugs Resistance (Lvl MAX)
Money: 3,655 dollars and 10 cents
Inventory: 104,669 dollars and 72 cents, 11 gold nuggets, 64 gold bars, 1 Double Action, 1 Schofield, 2 Colm's Schofields, land deed (Parcel), 1 Mauser, 1 Semi Auto Pistol, 1 Lancaster Repeater, 1 Old Wood Jewelry Box, 1 F.F Mausoleum small brass key, & 1 Ruby
Bank: -