Dinner was good. Martha made roast chicken and potatoes. Charley and Jesse were chatting and laughing the whole time, talking about their little trip to town. Martha and Wilbur smiled at their story, while Bob, who remained stone-silent, was having a hard time keeping his food in his stomach.

"What did you do this afternoon, Bob?" Jesse asked suddenly.

Bob flinched and looked up at his name. He hadn't been listening. His face was pale.

"Pardon?" He asked shyly.

"I said, what did you do this afternoon?" Jesse repeated.

Everyone turned to stare at Bob. Bob figdeted uncomfortably.

"Nothin', really." He muttered.

"He was sleepin' like a baby when we got back. I had to wake him up for supper!" Charley burst out, laughing.

Jesse James gazed at Bob. Bob avoided his eyes by picking up his glass and drinking some water. His hand was shaking.

"Feeling a bit sick, Bobby?" Jesse's voice was deep and suspecting.

Suddenly Bob's stomach twisted into knots.

"Excuse me," He stood up quickly and left the room.

Everyone stared after him as they heard the front door bang shut. Charley started to get up, but Jesse waved at him to sit.

"Leave him. He's alright." Jesse sniffed.

Charley sat back down. Slowly, they started eating again.

Outside, the sun was setting, painting the skies with streaks of gold and violet. The air was warm and humid, but a cold front was coming in. Bob didn't notice any of this. He rushed out of the house and clutched at his stomach, gritting his teeth in pain. His eyes bulged and he dropped to his knees and threw up off the porch. Shaking, sweating, Bob leaned back and sat on his knees, breathing heavily. His eyes filled with tears, and he balled his hands into fists. His stomach still churned, his head began to spin. He threw up again, then a third time, before he finally felt better. He sat there for a long time. His body trembled, his head ached, and sweat ran down his back. The sun sank beneath the earth, and stars began to light up the sky, following the moon's example. He shivered and realized he was cold, but he wasn't about to go back inside. Bob just knew they would laugh at him, make fun of the baby that couldn't eat his dinner. He took a deep, shakey breath and stood up, grasping onto the post to steady himself. Standing up made him dizzy, so he held onto the post even tighter. Crickets, frogs and owls became the song of the night. Their shrill voices blocked out all other thoughts in Robert's head, and he closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing.

Martha came outside and talked to Bob for a few minutes, then she gave him some hot tea and sent him to bed.

Bob collapsed into bed. Charley helped Bob take his boots off, then he covered him up with a blanket. Bob fell asleep right away. Charley gazed down at his brother, feeling sorry for him, before tossing another blanket over him and going back downstairs.

When Bob woke up, he thought he was dreaming. He felt like he was floating and spinning at the same time, and his eyes couldn't seem to focus. Jesse had grabbed him by the mouth and shook him until he woke up. Bob merely opened his blood-shot eyes and stared up at Jesse in a daze.

"Shh. Come outside with me, kid." Jesse whispered.

Bob got up and followed Jesse down the stairs and out the front door. The hour was late. The sky was black with pin-pricks of white. Jesse motioned for Bob to sit in a chair, so he did. Jesse took the other chair.

Robert didn't speak. His head was killing him, and he felt like he was freezing. He shivered constantly and gazed over at Jesse with helpless eyes.

"What happened to Wood Hite?" Jesse asked. He knew that Bob was ill, and he also knew he would get straight answers out of him now.

"I killed him, Jesse." Bob answered, his voice weak. He crossed his arms over his chest in an attempt to keep warm.

"What did you do with the body?"

"Threw it in a ditch." Bob said, squinting and grabbing at his stomach. He curled his toes into the porch, obviously in pain.

"Where's Dick Liddil?" Jesse sat up and stared at Bob, his face like stone.

"I..." Robert winced and gasped, slumping back into his chair. "I don't know." He lied. He had figured out Jesse's game, and he was determined to beat him.

Jesse stared at him for a long time. "You think I oughta' kill you?" He asked darkly.

Robert raised his head, his eyes glossing over. His lip quivered as he gazed at Jesse.

"I'd...I'd rather you didn't." He answered helplessly.

Jesse said nothing for awhile. The sound of frogs and insects filled the night air.

"Wood didn't have a say in it," He said at last.

Bob looked away. "He made his choice when he came in shooting."

"I suppose he did." Jesse agreed.

Silence.

Jesse started to hum an old hymn, tapping his boot with the beat.

A million thoughts raced into Robert's head, but his head was pounding so hard he couldn't concentrate on any one of them. Dizziness made him feel detatched from his body. Bob rubbed his face and sighed heavily.

"Am I dreaming?" He whispered.

Jesse peered over at him with an amused expression. "Sure you are, kid." He replied.

"I feel like I can fly," Bob said, looking at Jesse. "This is very strange. Usually when I dream of you, we're just riding horses together."

"Fascinating."

"I'm sorry I killed Wood," Robert said at last. "No, that was a lie. I'm sorry it upset you when I killed him. But he never had anything good to say about you, except when he was rubbing in the fact that you were his cousin. Nobody else seemed to mind that I shot him... I guess they were just glad it wasn't Dick." Bob picked at his fingernails, blinking against his emotions. "They wouldn't have cared if I had died in the cross-fire," He added weakly.

"Yeah, you're a good-for-nothin'." Jesse agreed, striking a match and lighting up a cigar.

Bob whirled on him. "Wh-what?" He asked, dumb-struck.

Jesse blew out a stream of smoke. "You're right. No one woulda' cared if you died, except your own mother. But she's dead, isn't she?" He grinned wickedly before continuing. "Yep, nobody cares about poor little Bob. He's just Charley Ford's baby brother, a pip-squeak cowboy wanna-be." He rocked in his chair, amusing himself.

Robert trembled. His head cleared enough for him to realize he wasn't dreaming. He was in a living nightmare. "That's probably true," He said after a minute. "But that's why I've been trying to join up with the James gang, so I can make somethin' of myself." He twisted his sweaty fingers together, staring into his lap.

"Aww, and here I thought you just wanted to get close to me." Jesse frowned in mock disappointment.

Bob turned to him. "I don't appreciate you makin' fun of me," He said bitterly. "Especially since I think so highly of you." Suddenly, he stood up.

Jesse sucked at his cigar, watching Robert.

"I'm going back to bed now," Bob said, shifting his bare feet.

"Why don't you stay with me a little longer?" Jesse gazed at him.

"I'm awfully tired, Jesse." Bob answered softly.

"Go on, then." Jesse turned away dismissively.

Robert Ford went back inside.

He laid awake for hours, staring into the darkness. His stomach was in knots and his head felt like it was on fire, but he no longer felt sick. The moon let in a soft, pale light, casting strange shadows throughout the bedroom. Bob watched the moon light slowly fade as morning approached. Then, minutes before the sun was to rise, he, at last, fell asleep.