A/N: Thank you, Fritzen and Danielle, for your comments! I appreciate it! Here's the next chapter. Enjoy!

1822

The team decided to follow Jedediah Smith and his men carefully as they gathered their gear. It was obvious these men were planning to leave as soon as they were set.

"What's the plan here?" Rufus began. "Are we seriously thinking about traversing across the wild west on foot to keep tabs on Grizzly Adams and company?"

Lucy bobbed her head to the side for a moment. "I was thinking we'd hire horses?"

"Hire horses?" Rufus repeated.

"Or we could...you know…" her voice dropped low as she whispered, "Steal them?"

Rufus blinked at her, mouth falling open. "Sure, why not?" he muttered. "We steal every other mode of transportation that has horses under the hood, why not real ones?"

"They're leaving," Flynn announced, eyes locked onto the train of horses and their riders. Jedediah and his men headed for the edge of town while the team walked a decent distance behind them, debating how best to proceed.

Just as the team passed by the open door to the sheriff's office, Lucy heard the sheriff speaking to one of his deputies. "It's the strangest damned thing," the man stated. "In all my years, I've never seen anything like it."

Lucy stopped in her tracks, pretending to read the bulletin board hanging by the door outside.

"But no body?" the deputy asked.

"No," the sheriff replied. "Just the hands, feet, and heads…"

"How many does that make now?" the deputy inquired.

"Oh, uh," the sheriff paused to think, "today's findings put us at around five, I think."

"You think the Indians are behind this?" the deputy asked.

"I ain't never seen no Indian do anything like this before," the sheriff admitted. "It's always possible but why keep the body? Why not the damned scalp like they seem to want?"

"The scalp was still there?" the deputy asked, stunned.

Lucy felt a hand tug on her elbow. Quickly glancing over her shoulder, she saw Rowan gazing at her with worry. "What are ye doing?" he asked quietly.

Lucy swallowed hard, eyes darting around in thought. "I don't think we're here for Jedediah Smith…" she glanced briefly around the corner of the doorway into the sheriff's office, "I think we're here for whatever they're talking about."

Rowan asked, "Are ye sure?" When Lucy nodded, he stated, "I'll go get the others." He walked briskly to Flynn and Rufus, who had stopped just on the edge of town when they realized not everyone was together.

The moment Lucy turned back to the board, the sheriff and the deputy stepped out of the office, closing the door behind them. They spotted her, tipped their hats as they walked away. Lucy carefully followed, peering around the corner to see which way they were heading.

"What's going on?" Rufus asked as they neared her. "We're losing them." He motioned to the expedition as they grew smaller into the distance.

She said, "I don't think they were ever our mission." Turning to face them, she explained what she overheard just moments before. When she finished, she added, "It's not the Native Americans, whoever is doing this…"

"So, what should we do?" Rufus asked, glancing over his shoulder. He could barely see the figures of Jedediah and crew on the horizon. He knew there was no chance of catching up to them now.

Lucy glanced about the men before her. "I think we should talk to the sheriff and figure out what's happening."

It didn't take them long to track down the sheriff and the deputy. Both men had returned to the scene of the crime they spoke about and there was a gaggle of locals trying to steal a glance at what they were looking at behind the stables.

The deputy tried to clear the growing gawkers away as the team approached. As the locals filtered away slowly, the deputy held his hands up to stop them. "Sorry folks," he began. "You'll need to keep on moving."

"What happened here?" Flynn asked.

"Move along, sir," the man repeated.

Rowan stepped forward. "Forgive my friend for his lack of manners," he began, glancing at Flynn. "My name is Allan Pinkerton. I'm a detective from New York and these are my associates."

"New York?" the deputy repeated. "What on earth are you doing down in these uncivilized parts?"

"Tracking down a murderer," Rowan repeated.

The sheriff approached, repeating, "Murderer, you say? What murderer would that be?"

"Ye tell me," Rowan challenged. "We've been tracking this son of a bitch for a while now...but something tells me," he paused, glancing behind the two men, "ye've got something related to our situation."

"You talk funny," the deputy remarked. "You and your friend here. How do we even know you're from New York?"

Lucy cleared her throat, bringing the attention over to her. "Our office, the Pinkerton National Detective Agency, is located on 5th and Main."

The sheriff studied her for a moment before turning back to Rowan. He motioned over to Lucy and Rufus as he spoke, "Do you always travel with your help?"

Rowan tilted his head slightly. "Sometimes I have no choice in the matter," he replied with a small chuckle. He glanced over to Lucy and Rufus who seemed semi-offended by the remark.

The sheriff said, "Well, if you say you are tracking a murderer, then I have no reason to disbelieve you," he motioned for Flynn and Rowan to follow into the area behind the stables, "It's the strangest damned thing we've ever seen. We thought it was the Indians but this doesn't seem to fit with what they've done before."

"And what's that?" Rowan asked, following the man until he stopped behind the stables at a large hole in the ground. Glancing down into the open earth, Flynn and Rowan spotted a couple of pairs of feet, hands, and heads.

"Do you know who these men are?" Flynn asked, turning his gaze back to the sheriff.

The man shook his head. "Not really," he admitted, "though some remember them to be drifters making their way out west…"

Flynn knelt beside the hole. "Have you found the murder weapon?"

The sheriff chuckled. "Murder weapon?" he repeated. "Is it not obvious what did this?"

Flynn studied the remains for a moment. "How many of these have you found?" His eyes darted to the heads, noticing the blunt force trauma inflicted.

"These two would make it five," the sheriff stated. "We found a couple more holes like this across town."

Flynn's mind raced with ideas. He couldn't shake the feeling that this seemed very familiar to him.

Rowan's voice brought Flynn back to the present. "Have all of the victims been drifters?"

The sheriff nodded. "Think so," he admitted. "No women or children, thank the almighty God, but… " he shook his head, "seems strange to attack unsuspecting men and chop them into pieces like this."

Flynn stood, brows drawn together as he glanced over to Rowan. Rowan nodded, turning his attention to the sheriff. "We'll stick around and see if we can help ye track this monster down."

"You'd do that?" the sheriff asked, stunned.

Rowan nodded. "If this is our guy and we bring him in," he told him, "then we get to go home."

"And if he's not?"

"Then it's one less monster in the world."

1781

Quinn rejoined the others who were waiting at the back of the tavern. In his arms, he carried a bundle of clothes. He shook them out, passing them over to Jiya and Tenley. The two looked over the clothes, cringing slightly at the state of their wardrobe.

Wyatt held Quinn's gaze. "What did you find out?"

Quinn's eyes flicked over to him. "Well, if ye ever doubted me before about the pirate era we are in," he replied with a tilt of his head, "I can assure ye, that's exactly where we are."

"We're dealing with pirates?" Wyatt repeated. "So, Blackbeard and Long John Silver?"

"Blackbeard's been dead since 1718," Quinn explained. "And Long John Silver is nothing more than a fictional character."

"So," Wyatt began, pausing to think, "Who does that leave us?"

Quinn eyed the soldier for a moment. "Ye never studied pirates as a kid, did ye?"

Wyatt's eyes narrowed at the man, mouth opening to retort when Tenley asked, "So, if Blackbeard's dead," she glanced at the team as they turned to face her, "does that mean we're reaching the end of the piracy era?"

Quinn licked his lips. "That's the trouble with our current date," he pointed out. "Piracy - the age of the notorious pirates - has long since ended."

"How long ago?" Jiya asked.

"1730s," answered Quinn. "There were still a few who tried to become pirates and wanted that lifestyle to continue but … "

"Hard to do with the times," Tenley said. Quinn nodded.

Wyatt shrugged. "What does that mean?"

"Someone wasn't ready to let piracy go," Tenley explained. "Most retired or were hanged."

Quinn nodded as he motioned to the women. "Ye should change quickly," he informed them. "We should see what else we can uncover here."

As the two women found a hidden spot in the back of the tavern to change, Wyatt stepped up to Quinn. "What aren't you telling us?"

Quinn didn't falter. "I have no idea what ye mean, I'm sure."

"Why are we really here, Quinn?"

"Are ye always this paranoid or am I just special?"

"You're up to something."

Quinn scoffed. "Whatever ye say, soldier boy."

Wyatt's jaw tensed, hands balling at his side. "Don't make me-"

"Make ye what?" Quinn calmly repeated. "What do ye think ye can do to me?"

"What's going on here?" Tenley asked as the women returned. Her eyes darted between them suspiciously. When no one answered, she asked, "Wyatt?"

Wyatt never tore his heated gaze away from Quinn. "Nothing."

As the men stared each other down, panicked cries for help echoed with the wind, alerting them to a new danger. Wyatt glanced over his shoulder toward the island's shore. "Do you hear that?"

"Could be a trap," Quinn pointed out.

Wyatt scoffed. "A trap? Seriously?" he sighed. "Sounds like a woman is in trouble. We should check it out."

"What if she's not in trouble and it's a ruse?" Quinn countered.

"Oh for fu-," Wyatt muttered, catching himself. Glaring at Quinn, he spat, "Stay here then! I'll help her."

"Of course ye will," Quinn mumbled under his breath.

Jiya followed Wyatt as he rushed away from the tavern in the middle of the night while Tenley approached Quinn. Their eyes locked and Tenley asked, "What's going on with you two?"

Quinn shook his head slightly. "It doesn't matter."

"It does," she retorted. "You guys are going to end up killing each other before the mission is over."

Quinn blinked at her, expression growing serious. "No," he began. "It's not me who will kill him…" he turned his gaze back to the direction of the shore, "I'm pretty sure whoever is claiming to need help will."

"What?" Tenley gasped. "Why didn't you say something?"

He motioned in the place Wyatt stood moments before. "I tried."

Tenley sighed as she rushed after Wyatt and Jiya. "Let's catch up to them."

Quinn reached out and grabbed her wrist, stopping her. "Let's wait a moment first."

"What?" she asked, tugging her arm away from his grip. "You can't let Wyatt die!"

He chuckled. "He's not going to die - I was joking," he said, suppressing a smile. "Berated and embarrassed, maybe…" he saw the look on Tenley's face and cleared his throat. "They'll want to talk first but I'd rather we follow them back to their hideout instead of being tied up and dragged there."

Tenley's eyes narrowed at him. "You know why we're here, don't you?"

He nodded. "Aye, I do," he confirmed. "Wyatt and Jiya will be okay…" he took a step forward, towering over the doctor, "it's ye, I'm worried about."

Wyatt rushed down the uneven rocky path towards the shore. With every step forward, the louder the cries for help were. He heard footsteps a few feet behind him and glanced over his shoulder to see Jiya struggling to keep up.

Turning back to watch where he was running, Wyatt's eyes scanned the length of the shore. The jagged rocks stuck out of the water like claws as the water lapped up around them. With the moonlight glinting off the surfaces, he spotted a silhouette at the base of the rocks, waving their arms wildly in the air as they cried out for help.

The closer Wyatt got, he could see a young woman in her late teens or early 20s. Laying at her feet was a body of a man - not moving. He slowed his approach as he called out to her. "Are you all right?"

"No!" the woman cried. "We wrecked against the rocks over there!" she pointed off to the distant island. "Please! We need help! He's hurt!"

Jiya caught up to Wyatt, panting for air. "Wait," she started. "Are you sure we should do this? Maybe we should wait for-"

"He could die," Wyatt retorted. "We can't wait for Quinn."

Before Jiya could argue further, Wyatt slowly approached, eyes never leaving the two figures on the shore. The closer he got, the more he could see. He stopped a few feet shy of them, eyes scanning the ground for evidence of a shipwreck. He didn't see any.

"Please," the woman begged. "Help him!"

Wyatt's eyes drifted the length of the young woman before dropping his gaze to the man on the ground. Neither one was wet. He kicked himself internally - Quinn was right: it was a trap - and he fell right into it.

The woman blinked at him. "What are you doing? Why are you stopping?" she called for him, motioning at her companion. "Please, help me!"

Wyatt took a step back, motioning to Jiya to stop. "We'll send for help up at the tavern."

The woman pulled her pistol from her belt, aiming it at Wyatt. "I think not."

Wyatt raised his hands defensively, eyes dropping down to the man on the ground as he stood up, a pistol in his hand, also aimed at them. The man glanced at the young woman and said, "Nice work, Rachel."

"Thank you," she laughed. "What should we do with them?"

"Let's get them back home, shall we?" he stated, turning his gaze back to Wyatt and Jiya. "We've got much to discuss with our new friends."

Watching from the top of the hill, Quinn and Tenley saw it all unfold. They kept to the shadows, following the two strangers with their friends bound by rope toward the edge of the isle.