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Dutch's tent sat like a royal throne room at the center of camp, lantern lit, flap slightly open, shadows moving inside. Bill stood nearby, arms crossed protectively, like a guard dog watching over his master. But as Hosea and Arthur approached, Bill instinctively stepped aside. Even in his loyalty, even in his eagerness to please Dutch, Bill respected these two men more than he'd ever admit.
Arthur stopped just outside the tent and called, "Dutch. We need a word."
Dutch's voice drifted out, smooth, irritated. "What now?"
Hosea didn't wait for an invitation. He stepped inside with Arthur right behind him.
Dutch stood near his small table, the map spread across it, lines drawn in thick black ink showing routes and notes scribbled down hastily. It looked frantic, rushed. Nothing like Dutch's usual careful planning.
He didn't look up.
"So," Dutch said lightly, but with venom beneath, "you two got somethin' to say?"
Hosea didn't dance around it. "Yes. This plan is too rushed, too dangerous, and too convenient."
Dutch slowly lifted his head.
A smile stretched across his face.
It wasn't a real smile.
It was the one he used when he was seconds away from snapping.
"Oh?" he said softly. "And why is that, Hosea? Why don't you trust me now? After everything?"
Arthur stepped forward, tone calm but firm. "Dutch, the timing ain't right. You know it. You go alone into Saint Denis? Why? That ain't like you. And now all of a sudden these coaches are carryin' enough money to set us all up for life? That ain't somethin' you just stumble on."
Dutch's smile faded.
He looked between them slowly, eyes narrowing like a predator evaluating prey.
"You think I'm stupid?" Dutch asked, voice low. "You think I can't tell a good opportunity when it presents itself?"
"That's not what we're sayin' Dutch," Arthur said.
Hosea raised his hand. "Dutch… listen to us. Please. You know the Pinkertons are watching. You said yourself they're involved in this transport. If they're involved, then they'll have eyes everywhere. Why would you believe this information so easily?"
Dutch slammed his hand down on the table.
Arthur tensed.
Hosea didn't flinch, but his breathing changed, slower, deeper.
Dutch growled, "Because I checked it myself! I don't need to rely on anyone else anymore. Not the Pinkertons, not some damn informant, not even you two!"
Hosea's heart cracked right there.
Arthur shook his head in disbelief. "Dutch… we are just worried about you and the gang. That's all this is."
"Worried?" Dutch barked a sharp laugh. "Is that all? Or you two are trying to control me?"
Hosea stiffened. "Dutch, no one here is trying to control you."
"Then why," Dutch snarled, "do you keep questioning me? Doubting me? Huh? Ever since Blackwater, the two of you been hoverin' over me like I'm a child!"
Arthur stepped forward. "Dutch—"
"Shut up!" Dutch snapped.
Arthur's jaw locked.
Hosea calmly stepped between them. "Dutch… please. Breathe. We are not here to fight with you. We are here because we care. Because we don't want another Blackwater to happen."
Something flickered in Dutch's eyes when he heard that.
Sadness
Pain.
Rage.
Guilt.
All twisted together so tightly he couldn't untangle them anymore.
Dutch leaned forward until his face was inches from Hosea's. "This. Is. Our. Chance. The world is closin' in on us. And you… you want me to stop? To do nothin'? To rot here in this swamp and wait for the Pinkertons to walk in and gun us all down when we have the oppurtunity right in front of us to do something?!"
Hosea whispered, "I want you to think."
Dutch's voice dropped to a whisper, trembling with fury. "I am thinking. I am always thinking. You two just don't like what I'm thinkin' anymore."
Arthur stepped up again. "Dutch, please—"
Dutch whirled on him.
"You don't trust me either," Dutch hissed. "I see it in your face. I hear it in your voice. You think I'm losin' it."
Arthur didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
His silence said enough.
Dutch let out a sharp breath, turning away from both men.
"No," he said quietly. "No. You won't stop this. Not this time."
He pointed at the map sharply, jabbing it with his finger.
"We ride at dawn. Four coaches. Four teams. Four takings. And you two…"
He turned slowly, eyes cold as winter.
"If you don't want to help… then stay out of my way."
Arthur's heart broke at the words.
Hosea looked like someone had stabbed him.
Dutch waved a dismissive hand. "Get out."
Neither man moved.
Dutch roared, "GET. OUT!"
Arthur grabbed Hosea's arm gently and guided the older man out of the tent before Dutch lost control completely.
Bill turned to stare as Arthur and Hosea stepped out, their faces a mix of dread, confusion, and fear.
Bill whispered, "What'd y'all say?"
Arthur didn't answer.
Hosea couldn't speak.
The camp turned cold around them.
Caleb saw the two men emerge from Dutch's tent. Their expressions told him everything before they even reached him.
Hosea looked like he'd aged ten years in ten minutes.
Arthur's anger radiated off his skin in waves so strong Caleb could feel them from several paces away.
Caleb stepped forward. "Didn't go well?"
Arthur shook his head tightly. "Dutch ain't listenin'. Not to us. Not to anyone."
Hosea rubbed his forehead. "He thinks we're undermining him. He's convinced this plan is the way out, and that we're the ones tryin' to hold him back."
Caleb felt the weight settle deeper in his chest. "Then he won't back down."
"No," Arthur said. "He won't."
Hosea sighed. "This is bad. This is… the worst I've seen him. We need to be careful tomorrow. Very careful."
Arthur nodded grimly. "We'll keep folks alive. One way or another."
Caleb crossed his arms. "Then we plan our own way. Quietly."
Arthur looked at him sharply. "What do you mean?"
Caleb said, "I mean we prepare for the worst. We stick to the people we trust. We don't split up with those who are blindly followin' Dutch into whatever this is. And if there's Pinkertons or traps or ambushes…"
Arthur completed the sentence grimly. "We fight our way out."
Hosea exhaled slowly. "God help us."
The camp was restless.
Tense.
Uneasy.
Bill, Sean, Javier, and Lenny gathered close to Dutch's tent, discussing the plan with excitement.
Charles sharpened his knife alone, gaze distant.
Sadie checked her shotgun, jaw tight and troubled.
John paced behind the wagons, muttering curses under his breath.
And Dutch?
Dutch walked around camp like a king preparing for coronation, ignoring Caleb entirely, smiling widely, rallying those who supported him with dramatic speeches about liberty, destiny, and the future.
Caleb didn't engage.
He spoke quietly with Mary-Beth, who sensed something was wrong the moment she saw his eyes.
He didn't let one shred of tension break the atmosphere of the camp. He remained steady, helpful, calm, the person everyone could count on.
Night fell heavy.
Lanterns glowed like small dying stars.
And Caleb finally retreated to sit near a smaller fire, watching the swamp shimmer in the moonlight, thinking, planning, anticipating what dawn might bring.
Arthur joined him quietly.
"Big day tomorrow," Arthur murmured.
"Yeah," Caleb replied softly. "One way or another."
"You scared?"
Caleb chuckled, no humor in it. "More than I want to be."
Arthur nodded. "Yeah. Me too."
Beneath the crackling fire, beneath the hum of crickets and the distant croak of alligators, beneath the tension woven into the very air of Shady Belle…
They both knew one thing.
Tomorrow might be the day everything changed.
For better.
Or for worse.
And Caleb, with all his foreknowledge, all his hard earned instincts, all his quiet plans, had never felt the weight of the future press this heavily on his shoulders.
The moon had long dipped behind the treeline by the time Caleb finally pushed himself away from the campfire and began the quiet walk toward the mansion.
The uneasy glow of lanterns flickered across the swamp, catching the drifting fog as if the night itself were breathing. Crickets hummed, unseen things sloshed in the water, but none of it eased the tension that clung to his shoulders.
Inside Shady Belle, the wooden floors creaked under his boots as he made his way down the hallway. Everyone else was settling in for what little rest they could steal before dawn broke.
Caleb passed Hosea's door, cracked slightly open, he could see the older man hunched on his bed, elbows on knees, staring at the floor like he was trying to summon a future he could believe in.
Caleb didn't disturb him.
He moved on, entering his own room. It was dim, dust floating lazily in the air, but familiar enough to relax him. He removed his gunbelt, set it carefully on the small dresser, and sat on the edge of the bed. His thoughts churned, Dutch's outburst, the anger in his eyes, the way Bill had reacted, Arthur's expression when he walked out of the tent… everything felt like it was teetering on the edge of a cliff.
Caleb lay down slowly, boots still on, staring at the ceiling above him. He forced his eyes shut.
Tomorrow would be a storm.
He needed every ounce of strength he could muster.
And sleep, for once, came quickly.
The moment the first sliver of pale blue broke across the horizon, Caleb's eyes opened.
He sat up immediately, the aftertaste of adrenaline already blooming in his chest. He strapped on his holster, slid his revolver into place, and slung both his Litchfield Repeater and Pump-Action Shotgun across his torso. The weight grounded him—familiar, reassuring.
When he stepped out of his room, the mansion's lower hallway was dim except for a few lanterns left burning through the night.
Right as he headed toward the stairs, another door opened.
John stepped out, Carbine Repeater over his shoulder, hair still slightly mussed from sleep. The two men stared for a moment—long enough to understand each other without speaking.
John dipped his head once in acknowledgement.
Caleb returned the nod.
No words needed.
They descended the stairs side by side, boots thudding quietly on the old wood, moving with the steady determination of men who already knew they were walking into danger.
Outside, the morning air was thick with humidity, carrying the scent of dew, swamp, and the lingering smoke of the campfires.
The gang was already gathering.
Dutch stood on the crumbling rim of the old stone fountain like a preacher before his flock. The boys and Sadie were arrayed before him. Javier checked his revolvers.
Bill stood tall beside Dutch, chest puffed proudly, ready to leap into the fray to prove himself. Sean hopped from foot to foot in excitement. Lenny stood quietly, wiping nervous sweat from his hands. Charles maintained a calm expression but his shoulders were tense. Sadie rested her hand on her rifle, eyes sharp as ever.
When Dutch spotted Caleb and John join the group, he did not greet them.
He didn't even look their way.
Instead, he lifted his chin and began to speak.
"Everyone," Dutch began, voice loud and booming against the still quiet morning, "right now, at this dawn of the morning, we go on a very important mission. One that will change our situation for the better by many, many times."
"The future that all of us, including myself, .have been dreamin' of is just ahead. Because once this succeeds, once we take what is rightfully ours, we will finally… finally move on from this swamp and find a new home. A perfect spot. A place where we can start again!"
Some mutters of agreement rose in the crowd.
Then Dutch hit them with it.
"And after that is done," Dutch continued, pacing along the fountain rim, "I will take several of you with me back to Blackwater. To secure the money we left behind."
That stopped everyone cold.
Silence rippled through the group like a shockwave.
Even Bill, who would've followed Dutch into a burning volcano, blinked at that.
Sean's head jerked up. Lenny's eyes widened. Charles froze mid breath. Hosea's face drained of color. Arthur looked like someone had punched him in the gut.
John muttered, "You're kiddin' me…"
But Dutch didn't slow down. "Combined with the money we're gonna take today," Dutch said, spreading his arms dramatically again, "that will secure all of us for the rest of our lives! We'll grow old together, free and rich, far from the law!"
...
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: -