And in your heart
You know it to be true
You know what you got to do
They all depend on you

And you already know
Yeah, you already know how this will end

There is no escape from the slave catcher's songs
For all of the loved ones gone
Forever's not so long

And in your soul
They poked a million holes
But you never let them show
Come on, it's time to go

And you already know
Yeah, you already know how this will end

DeVotchka

"Where're Abigail and Jack?"

John, Rane and Arthur were hurrying through the twilit forest, the rain still pattering down around them and striking the boughs over head. The wind had started to pick up, tossing the stale leaves on the forest floor about their boots. The sound of the trees above them was rustling, loud in the silence, cut through with the slowly burgeoning warble of crickets as the dusk began to grow, casting its reddish orange glow through the trees, sending out long shadows even as the rainclouds hung overhead. Rane was striding ahead of both of them, her hair wafting out behind her, damp and stringy, lean hips switching. She was whistling between her fingers, the sound loud and piercing, and shouting something - it sounded like govano'ven - that neither Arthur nor John could understand.

Arthur grabbed John's arm, slowing him to a stop, and bent over his knee, panting. "Hang on a tick. Hang on."

"Okay, Arthur. You alright?"

Arthur waved a hand, shaking his head. "Never mind me. Abigail's safe, John. So's Jack."

John sighed roughly with clear relief, running both hands over his face and tipping his head up toward the skies. Arthur had the impression that he had put this query off for as long as he could, probably anticipating bad news. He sympathized. Lord above knew they'd received enough bad news in the past few days to last them the next decade or so.

"So where are they?"

"They're with Sadie. At Copperhead Landing." Arthur shook his head. "Abigail was taken by Milton -"

John started. " Milton? The hell you say, Milton? The hell's he want with her?"

"Tryin' to get at Dutch, is all. He took her to Rhodes, but John, Rane laid him low for us. Saved Abigail, got her out and on the run. It's fine, she's alright and he's dead."

Rane wasn't listening to either of them - she was still whistling between her fingers, staring around, a little ahead of them - but Arthur and John watched her back for a moment, both introspective.

"You wanna take her and get outta here, don't ya?" said John at last. "That why we're runnin'?"

"We're runnin' because Pinkertons are gunnin' for us, John, but if you wanna get down to brass tacks, yeah, that's what I want. And for you and your family to get lost, too."

"So what's stoppin' ya?" John looked at him frankly, his dark eyes clear and honest in the light rain. "Seems like she don't need cash to make her way."

Artur looked surprised. "Because," he said, "you're my brother. And I gotta make sure you get outta here okay."

John looked at Arthur a long moment, chewing his lip, his brow knitted. Rane interrupted them.

"Put shank's pony away, y'all."

Eli, Old Boy and Arthur's palomino were trotting toward them, tossing their heads. Eli approached Rane, his mane clinging to his muscular neck, ears pinned, and she took his nose and kissed it gently.

"What's our course, captain?" Rane asked, glancing at Arthur.

Arthur was climbing laboriously onto his palomino, not looking at her, his breath shearing through his teeth.

"Follow me," he said roughly, spurring his horse onward through the rain.

THEY weren't on the trail thirty seconds before the sound of hoofbeats began to grow behind them. Both Arthur and John cast uneasy glances over their shoulders.

"It's not the Pinkertons," said Rane without looking back. She was a little ways ahead astride Eli. "It's Dutch and Micah."

"Like hell," murmured Arthur. "They wouldn't."

"Wouldn't what?"

"Wouldn't come after us instead of lighting out. Not with Pinkertons on their tails."

"Hey, Caesar," said Rane, a trifle impatiently, "Brutus and Cassius back there? Not our friends right now."

"Now see, that there is a fucked up thing to say right now, all things considered," said John reproachfully, frowning over at her, a little shocked.

"Well, if by saying it out loud I've offended your delicate fucking sensibilities, then I apologize."

"Always glib," John muttered, rolling his eyes and scowling. "Always so fuckin' glib."

"Glib? You mean realistic?"

"I mean what I said, Rane. Sometimes I wonder about you."

"Me? You guys should be worrying about yourselves, I'm the only one out of the whole mess of you who can look at Dutch pragmatically, the rest of you have still got your rose-fucking-colored glasses on, thinking he's just misunderstood or confused or some damn thing -!"

"You don't know nothin' about nothin', all you do is make jokes about -!"

"Oh, will y'all shut up?" snapped Arthur, glancing between them irritably. "Christ almighty, you two sound like a couple of little kids. They're gettin' close, come on, focus on your damned horses and not bickering."

The sound of bellowing voices and horses was indeed rising at their heels, echoing across the empty forests. They rode on, clods of mud flying up at the horses' hooves. They were moving upwards, the elevation rising gently beneath them, and the horses were laboring a bit more beneath their legs, their ears pinned and their nostrils flaring. It was colder now, much colder, and the rain falling around them had grown denser, half water and half snow. Rane couldn't see where they were headed through the thickness of the trees, but she thought she knew well enough what they'd come upon eventually; the piedmont. The hills were rolling and relatively low, but they were getting higher, and soon the peaks would be covered in white, if the growing chill was anything to go by. They were heading upwards, where the snow would already lay thicker. Already there was a scrim of it beneath them, accumulating with astounding rapidity. The horses' manes were damp with it.

"Are you taking us up to the top?" Rane asked, her hair flying about her face.

"That I am," said Arthur from up ahead.

"Hey, maybe that ain't a good idea, huh?" John remarked as Old Boy skidded unsteadily beneath him, making him grasp for his hat. "The horses can't handle that incline in this shit."

"They handled it okay when me and Javier came after you on that mountain in Ambarino!" said Arthur, a little sharply. "I didn't hear you complainin' about the incline then!"

"Yeah, well even then you went on foot half the goddamned way!"

"Goddammit, that's enough." Arthur was coughing again. "They won't follow us if we get up where the horses can't go. Even Micah ain't that dumb."

"Sounds like they're doing their damndest," Rane muttered, glancing back. The hoofbeats of their pursuers were growing, loud in the silence.

"Well, what do you propose we do, Miss Roth? Since you're clearly the damn military strategist among us?" John asked, sounding derisive.

"I think we should turn the horses loose."

"No, we ain't turnin' the damn horses loose!" Arthur looked back at her, breathing hard. She saw a glimmer of red at the corner of his mouth. "What are you, crazy? And get stuck up there with our backs against the wall? No. Absolutely not."

"Arthur, hang on, hear me out," said Rane sharply, and when Arthur continued to spur his palomino on: "Daro! Daro, an gil'nin!"

All three horses stopped at once, and Arthur and John both clutched the reigns at this sudden halt to keep from falling off.

"Rane, quit it!" said Arthur sharply, still coughing. "Let 'em up, we don't have time for this shit right now!"

"If we're going that way, we should go on foot, otherwise one of the horses is gonna lame up anyways," said Rane, reeling Eli back as he pranced in an anxious circle in the growing snow, snorting anxiously. She gestured ahead, meeting Arthur's eyes. "That's too narrow a trail, Arthur, look at it. Look at it. You're smarter than that."

Arthur did, irritated and reluctant. She was right, of course; if they ascended horseback it would have to be single file, and even then they'd be risking life and limb. Though they couldn't see it from this angle, the drop off the side of this swell was a quarter of a mile in some places. An icy path up the side of a mountain was no place for three burdened horses.

"You really gonna do this shit right now?" John was saying tetchily. "We get off these horses and we ain't never gonna get away from those boys."

"If we keep riding horseback we're all gonna end up at the bottom of that ravine. All six of us. And I actually kinda like Eli." Rane was climbing off the saddle, her boots sliding a little in the snowy mud. "Come on, trust me for once. I'll keep you guys safe, I always do."

Arthur jerked his head at John. "She's right, go on."

John dismounted, looking uncertain. Rane waved her hands at once towards the horses, palms out, shouting.

"GO ON! EGO!"

The palomino and Old Boy both bolted at once, hooves flying in the snow. Eli hesitated, ears pinned against his skull, eyeing Rane with his dark eyes from beneath the tendrils of his long mane. Rane waved her hand again, brow furrowed.

"Go on, Eli! Ego, I said"

He tossed his head, clearly reluctant, then turned and galloped off, tail held aloft, mud flying up at his heels. Rane watched him go with a feeling of sinking dread. The sight of his shining hindquarters retreating in the falling snow seemed strangely portentous.

"Now we are fucked," said John grimly, hands on his hips, watching Old Boy's vanishing form.

"Oh, were we not fucked before?" said Rane sardonically. "I thought we were fucked like four days ago, to be honest."

"You know what, you sure seem to like makin' jokes when shit isn't funny!" said John loudly, suddenly angry, shoving at Rane's shoulder with the flat of his hand. She stumbled back in the snow, surprised. "You think this is funny , what's happening to us?"

"Don't push me -!"

"Hey, John, quit it!"

"No, she needs to quit makin' fuckin' jokes!" John said sharply, still glaring at Rane. "This ain't funny, none of it is! This is our lives, Rane! This is my family! And you over there just sayin' stupid shit tryin' to make light of it! Fuck, ain't I tired of hearin' it!"

Rane stood where she was for a moment, looking at him, her damp hair clinging to her face, her brows low over her eyes. Arthur was looking back at them both, his guns held loosely in each hand.

"Why you gotta be glib?" said John roughly, looking at her, his expression a little desperate. "Huh?"

"Because I'm scared shitless," Rane admitted, glaring at him. "I can't help it. I do it when I'm scared, and right now I'm scared. Okay? So can I keep walking up the fucking mountain now, or do you have anything else you'd like to add, John?"

John fell back, looking chastened. Rane stared at him a moment longer, then yanked a sleeve down and swiped at her eyes roughly, turning from him and starting back towards the peak of the foothill. As she passed him, Arthur grasped her hand briefly.

"Rane -"

"We should keep moving," she said softly, her voice rough, devoid now of its former bluster and sanctimony.

Arthur glanced back at John, who was standing in the snow, legs staggered, looking uncertain and unhappy, and jerked his chin.

"Come on, pard. Let's make it up this big snowy bastard for starters. We'll fucker the rest out once we -"

"Watch it!" Rane shouted abruptly, and there was a sound like breaking glass as several bullets were deflected from the spell she'd just cast before them. The shots sailed away into the brush, ruffling the undergrowth and spraying snow. Both Arthur and John fumbled for their guns at once. Half a dozen Pinkertons had appeared on the shallow swell before them, outlined in the growing night, their boots sliding in the growing snow, aiming for them.

"God dammit!" Arthur bellowed, ducking behind a tree truck and aiming his gun. "Rane, they got us broadside -!"

"On it." Rane was already twirling her wand at their assailants. "INCENDIO MAXiMA!"

A massive jet of roaring fire emerged from her wand, blowing her hair back and casting a wave of heat that washed over Arthur and John. The growing dusk of the forest around them was eliminated for a moment in its bright light. The loud rumble of the flames was drowned out at once by screams of the Pinkertons who were now enveloped. Rane wasted no time admiring her work; she stowed her wand at once, beckoning to Arthur and John.

"Let's go, they're not worried about us."

"I'd say so, yeah," said John, watching a little sickly as the flaming Pinkertons shrieked and clawed and rolled in the snow. "Come on, Arthur, we gotta go."

They moved away from the foothill, hugging the rock wall, making their way up the side of the mountain until the sounds of their assailants had faded away, replaced with the whistling wind and the crunch of their boots in the snow. At length, Arthur grasped John's shoulder, pulling to a stop, his hat in his hand.

"Hang on, hang on, what about the money?"

"What money? Dutch's money?"

"Our money!" Arthur was wavering on his feet, glaring at John, his mouth turned down. "Why ain't you wantin' to try for it, Marston?"

"Try for it?" John was gaping at Arthur. "Arthur, if I head down there, I'm dead in five minutes! That's a fool's errand! I got a family, that's more important!"

"Ah, maybe you're right, but -"

"You want the money? You head down!" said John, his voice a little wild. "I gotta go to my family."

Rane watched this exchange silently, her wand still held loosely in one hand. After a moment Arthur smashed his hat back onto his head, nodding.

"I don't want that goddamn money. I'm gonna get you outta this bullshit if it's the last goddamn thing I do."

John nodded, meeting his eyes. "Thank you, brother."

Arthur nodded back, gesturing behind him. "Come on, Rane."

"I'm here," said Rane, stowing her wand and striding forward at Arthur's side.

"We're gonna get up alongside this mountain where they can't get us," said Arthur roughly, glancing at her. "And once we shake 'em, we're gonna get the hell away from here, all of us. You good with that?"

"Yeah, I am."

"John?"

"Yep."

Arthur nodded, satisfied, then started up the incline, his breath shearing. Rane and John followed.

THE three of the had reached the base of the foothill when the Pinkertons had attacked and then dispersed, and now as they climbed it was no uncertain thing; they were ascending to a much higher plane, and they weren't alone. Pinkertons had invaded the nearby piedmonts and were firing at them with impunity, some of them a quarter of a mile away. These men were clearly no strangers to guns; they were hellishly accurate, militant in their pursuits.

John glanced back over his shoulder. "Rane, can you do somethin' about the ones over there?"

"I've got a shielding spell up," said Rane, panting a little. "Just return fire and stay down, okay?"

"Okay. Let's go, come on, Arthur!"

Arthur was lagging notably behind now, bent over his knees, coughing hoarsely and gasping for breath. Rane fell back, taking his arm and slinging it over her shoulder.

"Darlin', you gotta stick close," she admonished, and yanked on his wrist when he tried to pull away. "Nope. Come here."

"I don't need your goddamn -"

"Humor me." Rane yanked him closer to her with a fistful of his shirt, feeling the frantic thumping of his heart against her shoulder. "Humor me, Arthur."

He did, probably because he was too weak to do otherwise. The three of them strode up the mountainside, their boots sliding against the thin sheen of snow underfoot. The wind was cold and whipping up here, flinging their clothes about, sending drifts of powder wild.

"They're goddamned everywhere!" John remarked. The gunfire from the surrounding peaks were striking Rane's shielding spell with impunity, and the smoke from the pistols was beginning to accumulate, clouding their sight. The sound was constant and ear-splitting.

"How long does that thing hold?" Arthur asked Rane, laboring against her shoulder.

"Four, maybe five minutes." Rane stashed her wand into her jeans. "Long enough to get away."

"Keep pushin'!" John shouted. He was a ways ahead, his gun held loosely in one hand. "Keep pushin', Arthur!"

Bullets were flying past them now, some of them striking the spell Rane had cast, wheeling away with a sound like breaking glass. The snowy scrabble beneath them was tough to navigate, rolling beneath their bootheels, slippery and uneven. The three of them came to a clearing among the rock, Rane bringing up the rear, and there Arthur finally stopped, leaning over his knees, putting one hand up. John stopped, looking back, realizing Arthur wasn't on his heels any longer.

"Alright, Arthur, come on, let's go."

"No." Arthur was shaking his head, still bent over his knee. "You go."

"Keep pushin', Arthur."

"No." Arthur straightened, coughing into a curled fist. "No. I think I've pushed all I can."

Rane, who was skidding up to a halt beside them, froze, looking between Arthur and John, her breath coming quick, her damp hair in her face. John was watching Arthur with a curious, almost frightened expression that struck Rane as oddly childlike.

"Come on, Arthur."

"No. You go." Arthur was still bent over his knees, coughing. John had drawn near him, his gun held across his chest, his brows knitted.

"We ain't got time for this, not now." John was staring Arthur, his eyes bright, his mouth turned down. "Arthur, we ain't got time."

Arthur shook his head, drawing near to John, and then he pulled his hat from his head, placing it briefly against his chest. He met John's eyes frankly.

"We ain't both gonna make it," he said gently. "We ain't. That's all there is to it."

"Arthur -"

"No, John, hush."

"It's horseshit, we got Rane! She can -"

"She can't always do everything for us. You gotta go." Arthur took his hat and placed it on John's head, his eyes hard. When he spoke, his voice was rife with emotion. "It would mean a lot to me. Please."

John stared at him a moment longer. Rane had never seen him close to tears but she saw it now as he bowed his head, his mouth downturned, his brows drawn together beneath the rim of Arthur's hat. He looked not twenty-six but twelve in that moment, unhappy and frightened and cut open by the decision Arthur was placing before him. The wind was sharp around them, the snow falling gently and lighting on the cotton fibers of his vest. Still he held his gun across his chest like a boon, as if it could somehow protect him from this anguish. When he spoke, his voice cracked a little.

"Arthur -"

"Go. Go to your family." Arthur was turning from him, spinning the chamber of his revolver and peering down at it, his brow furrowed. "I'll hold 'em off."

"Arthur!"

"Get the hell outta here and be a goddamned MAN!" Arthur shouted.

John hesitated a moment longer, looking between them, then nodded, his mouth thin. Rane stood to one side, watching this, still and uncertain.

"You're my brother."

Arthur turned and met John's eyes.

"I know," he said gently, and nodded. "I know. Now go."

Arthur turned from him for the last time then, continuing up the rock path towards the summit. John glanced at Rane, who was looking at him, her brow furrowed and her eyes overbright.

"Bye, John," she said softly.

John nodded, chewing his lip, his eyes on hers. In the dusk, he looked young and handsome and grief-stricken. After a moment he pulled the rim of Arthur's hat down a little further over his eyes, the way he always did when he wanted to hide himself away. It was a little thing, a touch of steel, but it heartened Rane to see it nevertheless. He was going to get away just fine.

"Goodbye," he said.

With this, he turned and fled through the snow, his dark hair trailing behind him.