Marlowe

The sun was just peeking out over the east horizon when Marlowe entered the camp of the Van der Linde gang for the first time. Every muscle in her body groaned from riding in such a stiff position all night. Initially she had tried to stay as upright as possible to avoid touching her captor behind her, but as the ride went on, she was forced to lean back into him to give her back a break.

It had been a mostly silent ride. Arthur had awkwardly attempted to ask if she was comfortable a few times, to which Marlowe responded by craning her neck to give him a wordless dirty look. Eventually he gave up on trying to make conversation. She didn't want to speak to him anyway.

She supposed she couldn't blame the man for what happened. Really, it was her fault for trusting Washbourne's 'research' and not doing more digging into the Van der Linde gang herself. How could she have been so stupid?

Still, it was hard not to resent Arthur. She had saved his life and given up a large profit in the process, not to mention most likely incurring the wrath of the O'Driscolls. And now here she was, his prisoner.

The trees lining the path became more tight-knit, underbrush whipping at Marlowe's pant legs. Arthur tugged the reins to slow his horse and looked around the thick woods expectantly. lm

"Who's there?" a rough, raspy voice called out, almost on cue.

"It's me, moron," Arthur responded irritably.

From the shadows of the trees strode a man holding a shotgun. Deep scars marred his face, framed by long dark hair. "Bout time you got back! Everyone else got here an hour ago."

"I was trying to make sure this one didn't fall off!" Arthur nudged Marlowe, who flinched.

The man moved up closer to the side of Arthur's horse and lowered his voice. "Arthur, what the hell is going on? We kidnapping girls now?"

"The plan didn't exactly pan out," said Arthur.

The man snorted derisively. "What else is new?"

Marlowe shivered. She had foolishly left her coat in the wagon and had been fighting off the chill all ride long. The scarred man took notice. "You best be gettin her back to camp. Get her next to a fire or somethin." He stalked back to his post in the shadows of the trees. It was eery how he melted into the darkness, seemingly invisible.

Arthur sighed heavily and nudged the spotted horse forward. Marlowe hesitated, then spoke, surprising herself with how even her voice seemed. "What's going to happen now?"

Her captor was silent for a long moment. When he did speak, it seemed unsure. "Dutch is a fair man. He'll figure something out."

"What happens if I can't get that money back?" Marlowe hardly dared to ask. When Arthur didn't respond, a wave of nausea nearly made her puke.

They rode into a clearing. Tents and wagons were arranged in a half moon on the edge of a rocky dropoff that overlooked the main road. Both men and women milled about despite the early hour, busy on chores for the day. Marlowe was surprised to see a small boy tailing a dark-haired woman as she put a kettle over the fire to boil. It didn't look like a gang of dangerous outlaws, more like a caravan of settlers. If anything, that made her more uneasy.

Arthur hitched his horse and lifted Marlowe to the ground. Her knees were jelly after riding in such an uncomfortable position and she collapsed. Pulling her back to her feet, Arthur half dragged, half carried her across the camp to where Dutch Van der Linde stood imperiously on the platform of what had to be his tent. She could feel the eyes of every gang member on her, but refused to make eye contact back. "Now, just tell Dutch what he wants to know," Arthur muttered in her ear. "Don't try and hide anything. It'll go much better for you. Understand?"

Marlowe refused to respond, instead focusing on the figure in front of her.

"Ah, Arthur, so glad you made it," said Dutch with an easygoing smile under his black mustache. "And you, Miss Edaline. How was your ride?"

Marlowe found herself tongue-tied. As a grifter, she was normally quick with a witty word, but now, in the most desperate of situations, she had nothing. She felt Arthur's hand tighten on her arm, encouraging her. Swallowing hard, she forced herself to form words. "It's Marlowe, sir. Marlowe Reid."

"Look at me, Miss Reid." She obeyed quickly. Dutch's face was unreadable. "Are you in a more cooperative mood now?"

"Yes sir, " she whispered.

Dutch grinned widely. "Well now, that's more like it! You gonna tell me where that money is?"

The gravity of her situation fully weighed on her chest. Tears stung her eyes and she looked at her feet hastily. A rough hand gripped her chin and forced her to look back up into Dutch's face. "Did I say you could look away?" he growled dangerously.

"Dutch," Arthur warned.

"Be quiet for a goddamn second," he snapped. "Miss Reid, where is our money?"

There was no point in hiding it. "I don't have it anymore, Mr. Van der Linde." The words finally came tumbling out of her mouth before she could think straight as she told Dutch everything she had told Arthur, about the grifting, her payments to Walter Smythe.

By the time she had finished, Dutch had released her face and was stroking his chin thoughtfully. "That's quite a tale, Miss Reid. Quite a tale indeed. Tell me, what sort of debt are you in with this Walter Smythe?"

Marlowe swallowed. "I-I can't say, sir. I'm sorry."

"And why not?"

"Miss Reid, it is in your best interest to tell us everything," Arthur murmured in her ear. He sounded genuinely concerned.

She looked at Dutch pleadingly. Arthur had better be right about Dutch being a good man. "I...I have people I need to protect. I really cannot say more than that."

Dutch regarded her intensively. Finally he spoke. "If that's the truth, I suppose I can respect that. As you can see, I too have people I need to protect. And $600 would have protected my people for a long time."

Marlowe couldn't help but laugh. "Perhaps you should have told that to your man who gave me the money. I never asked for that much. That fool got greedy.

Duch chuckled darkly. "I can't argue with you there. Mr. Bell will be dealt with accordingly."

"Why did you give her money at all?" Arthur asked incredulously.

"There were...promises...of future investments," Dutch responded cagily. "Your friend here is a most adept little con artist. It doesn't need to be discussed further. Mr. Morgan, take Miss Reid over to Kieran's old post. Unfortunately, miss, you stole from my family. Whatever your intentions were, I can't simply forgive that. I'll need time to think of how to deal with you."

Behind her, she felt Arthur shift uneasily. "Dutch-
"Oh for the love of god, Arthur, just do it." And with that, he turned on his heel and entered his tent, drawing the flap closed behind him.

For a long moment, neither Arthur or Marlowe moved. "Come on." Arthur resignedly pulled her away and marched her away from the main part of the camp toward a smaller scout fire at the base of a tall old tree stump.

That man that had initially thwarted Marlowe's getaway, the Mexican, was lounging against the base of the trunk, plucking a few chords on an ornate guitar. He scooted over to sit on a log next to the fire as Arthur approached. "I see this old tree is getting a new resident," he commented casually.

Arthur didn't reply. He drew his knife and sliced Marlowe's bonds, allowing her to finally move her arms freely. Her wrists tingled painfully from lack of blood flow. She briefly considered trying to land a punch on Arthur and taking off, but the Mexican was watching her like a hawk, and from experience she knew he could strike fast.

Marlowe stretched her arms above her head and twisted until her back popped. It felt so wonderful to be able to move after being cramped for so long.

The relief was short-lived, however. "Alright, I gotta tie you back up again," said Arthur gruffly.

She had figured as much, though it still didn't make it any better.

Once again he bound her wrists together and tied the other end of the rope to a protruding branch at the top of the trunk, giving her about a very short radius around the tree. Moving further away from the tree pulled her hands above her head, but it was still more comfortable than before.

"Javier," Arthur addressed the Mexican man, "Keep an eye on her during your watch, will you?" His crystal blue eyes flicked to where Micah was sitting at a table near the chuckwagon, fiddling with a knife. Marlowe caught this look and shuddered. It seemed like every time she was near him, Micah's eyes were always on her, gazing at her like he was undressing her in his mind. "Make sure no one gets too comfortable around her."

Javier nodded. "I understand. Get some sleep, friend. You look unwell."

With a nod, Arthur stalked off, leaving Marlowe tethered.

"May as well get comfortable, senorita." Javier set his guitar aside and drew a knife from his satchel to absently whittle a loose stick from the ground. He looked at her and raised his eyebrow teasingly. "My thanks for the new knife."

Marlowe scowled deeply. The blade in the outlaw's hand was the one she had attempted to stab him with only hours prior. She carried very few personal items with her, and out of those, the knife was the only thing she could never bring herself to abandon.

He held the blade up and studied it, seeming to admire the fine craftsmanship and ornate engraved hilt. "I don't think I've ever seen steel like this before. Who did you steal this from?"

"I didn't steal it," Marlowe snapped.

He shrugged. "I ain't judging. Just curious."

Marlowe sat down and slouched against the trunk, studying the knots of her bonds. She didn't doubt she could get out of them with some work, but what then? She decided to play it cordial. "I suppose I did steal it, now that I think of it," she said softly. "It belonged to my uncle."
Javier flipped the blade and tested the balance of the blade and hilt on his finger. Perfect. "He has fine taste."

She forced herself to look away from the man, gritting her teeth in frustration. That knife was meant to kill her uncle one day, though it didn't look like that would happen.

The rocky ground was at least more comfortable than the back of the Appaloosa, though not by much. She closed her eyes and forced herself to relax. She hadn't slept in over two days, and was starting to feel it. Javier began to strum on his guitar again, and despite the anxiety mounting in her stomach, the soothing melody lulled her off to sleep.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Arthur

Arthur finished splashing water on his face, removing the last bit of shaving soap. He normally liked having a little bit of a bushy beard, but it felt good to have a clean face.

He cast a glance across the camp to Marlowe. She appeared to still be asleep, curled at the base of the tree stump. Earlier he had watched Javier put his jacket over the girl's shoulders in an uncharacteristically gentle gesture as she slept. Perhaps he felt sorry for her too. She was quite young, probably not more than twenty-one, though the constant weariness in those striking eyes seemed to age her.

With a heavy sigh, he trudged his way toward Dutch's tent. When he thought about it, half of the other gang members were there because they had been caught trying to steal something from the gang. Sean, Javier, Bill, Lenny, Karen, all of them in one way or another. Marlowe just happened to have been successful at it. Perhaps he could talk Dutch into letting the young woman work off the money she stole.

"Arthur!" an imposing female voice hailed. A tall, iron-haired woman marched toward him, steely gray eyes flashing.

"Miss Grimshaw." He tilted his hat, earning himself an eye roll from the woman.

"Cut the 'Miss Grimshaw' shit. What is going on? Who is she?"

He glanced around with trepidation. "Not here."

Miss Grimshaw sighed and pulled him behind the medicine wagon, lowering her voice. "Bringing in the O'Driscoll boy is one thing. But why her? What'd she do?"

"She's a grifter," Arthur replied. "And a damn good one at that. She swindled Dutch and Micah-well, mostly Micah-" he spat his name out angrily- "out of six hundred dollars."

"What?!"

Arthur double checked no one was listening. The only person he could see was Jack, who was reading an Otis Miller novel with his back against a boulder. "Keep your voice down, woman," he muttered. "It was gonna be a whole hell of a lot more. She was fixin to have us rob a stage and swipe all the spoils."

Miss Grimshaw whistled. "Impressive."

"She could charm the devil into going to church, alright," Arthur acknowledged with a half smile. "When I met her, she was comin' off of conning Colm O'Driscoll himself. She had been running a scheme to get the bonds from a robbery they pulled a while back. I got too close to one of their hideouts and was taken in." Arthur rubbed the back of his neck frustratedly. "They was gonna skin me alive. Miss Reid was meeting with Colm that day to discuss those bonds. Instead, she took pity on me and scammed the bastards into handing over me."

It was a long, silent moment before Miss Grimshaw spoke. "So what happened after that?"

"You can probably guess. We parted ways. She tried to grift her way through Dutch and was foiled because I recognized her." Arthur peeked around the corner. Marlowe was still asleep. Javier was getting up from his post as his watch was ending, and Lenny was heading to replace him. He turned back to Miss Grimshaw. "She doesn't have the money anymore and Dutch ain't gonna let her off the hook."

"And you believe her?" Miss Grimshaw looked unconvinced.

Arthur took a step closer. "Susan, do you think I'd be in this big of a fit if I didn't?"

Miss Grimshaw raised an eyebrow. "And this would have nothing to do with those big eyes and-"

"You know it doesn't!" Arthur felt warmth creeping up his neck.

Linking her arm in his, the matron of camp guided him out from behind the wagon. "Whatever you say, Mr. Morgan. Whatever you say."

"Arthur!" Lenny raced up to the pair, looking panicked. "Arthur! You gotta stop Micah, I think he's gonna kill her!"

"What are you blathering about, boy?" Arthur snapped.

Lenny gestured wildly toward the scout fire. "Micah told me to scram. Said he wanted a word with the girl."

Arthur whipped around to look at the scout fire. The slouched form of Micah had the girl pressed up against the tree trunk, yanking the rope binding her to force her hands above her head with one hand and holding a knife to her throat with the other. He drew his volcanic pistol and lurched forward. Miss Grimshaw stopped him. "Stand down, Arthur. Prisoner or not, all the women in this camp are under my watch."

Holstering his pistol, Arthur couldn't help but allow a slow smile to spread across his face as Miss Grimshaw marched off toward Micah and Marlowe. Lenny gave Arthur a weird look. "What are you so happy about?"

Arthur lit a cigarette and leaned against the side of the wagon. "You know, I despise that worm more than just about anyone." He blew a ring of smoke out. "But for the first time, I almost pity the fool."

The thick underbrush of the woods whipped at her bare legs and sharp rocks and twigs stabbed into her feet, but she couldn't stop. If they could just make it to Riggs Station, they would be free.

Beside her, Josefina stumbled and fell hard. Elena and Lus each took an arm and yanked the young woman to her feet. "I can't...keep...going," Josefina wheezed, clutching her swollen belly. "Just...leave me."

"Don't be stupid," Marlowe told her in Spanish. "We can't stop." The sound of barking dogs was getting closer. Normally, they were happy to see her, but Marlowe had the horrible suspicion that wouldn't be the case should they catch up. "Lus, Elena, take her across the stream. Once you make it to the road, go north along it until you find the Trapper's stall. Tell him my name, and he will guide you to the train station. You'll meet a bald, bearded priest named Dorkins. He'll get you to safety."

Elena grabbed Marlowe's hand. "What will you do?"

"I'll slow them down." She tried to pull away, but Josefina and Lus also grabbed at her hand.

"You can't! They'll kill you!" Lus pleaded, her dark eyes shining with tears. "We can all make it together."

Marlowe yanked her hand free, fighting back tears herself. "It doesn't matter. He'll hunt me to the ends of the earth. There's nowhere I can run that he won't find me." She reached into her satchel and pulled out a money clip and handed it to Lus. "I'll be okay. I promise."

The four girls embraced in a tight huddle. Marlowe broke free before she was ready. "Go! Now!"

With a final look over their shoulders, the three girls took off, supporting Josefina in the middle. Marlowe turned on her heel and headed back the way she came, toward the barking dogs. The booming voices of shouting men were now audible. She burst into a clearing, and found herself face to face with four or five armed men, clutching snarling hounds on leashes. "Uncle! I want to make a deal!"

"Hold!" a shrewd voice commanded. The clearing was bathed in torchlight, which made the tall man striding toward her appear wreathed in fire. A shudder ran up Marlowe's neck. It was like looking into the face of the devil himself, a devil with sterling silver hair and mustache. "Hello, Marlowe," he said delicately. "Late for you to be out in the woods, isn't it?"

Marlowe took a deep, shuddering breath and forced herself to look him in the eye. The icy blue eyes glowed red from the flickering fires. "You have to let them go, Uncle Walter," she pleaded. "They have families. Josefina is pregnant. Please, sir."
"How dare you interfere with my business," he said icily. "I took you into my home, sheltered you, out of the generosity of my own heart. I educated you, and this is how you repay me? Stealing my business assets? You stupid girl!"

It took everything she had to keep looking into his cold eyes. "They aren't assets, they are people. You can't do this to them."

"I will do as I please, and you will learn respect!" He raised his hand to strike her.

Rather than a stinging pain on her face her uncle's slap, Marlowe jolted away from a sharp kick to her ribs. She gasped in pain and automatically curled up in a defense position. "Get up, girl!" Rough hands seized her and yanked her to her feet. She attempted to shove her assailant off of her, but he seized the rope binding her wrists and yanked them above her head. She was blasted by the foul breath of Micah Bell.

"You think you can make a fool out of me, girl?" he snarled, manic eyes bloodshot. "Where is the money?"

Marlowe attempted to knee him in the crotch, but he pulled the rope binding her hands higher, forcing her onto her tiptoes. "Nice try, you bitch," said Micah. "Now, you tell me where that money is, or that pretty face of yours won't be so pretty." He flipped a long knife out from its sheath on his side and stroked her face with it.

"I-I don't have it," she said quickly, hoping the fear she felt was not evident in her voice. This was the kind of man that would pounce on any sign of terror. "I already told-"

The knife moved against her throat, cutting her off. "I don't give a shit what you told anyone else. I want our money back, and I want it now." He pinned her body more tightly with his, and with a queasy feeling, she realized that she could feel a growing bulge pressing into her lower stomach. "Tell me w-"

"Mr. Bell!" The furious female voice seemed to literally rip Micah off of Marlowe. She collapsed to her knees, gasping. She hadn't realized she was holding her breath the entire time the knife was to her throat. "If I catch you touching that girl again, I will skin you alive myself and that's a promise!"

An imposing woman was striding toward him, steely gray eyes flashing angrily. She was tall, wearing a red dress that pushed her ample cleavage up. Hair streaked with silver was piled high on her head. She had the presence of a terrifying, vengeful goddess, and Marlowe was instantly in awe.

Clearly, Micah didn't share the sentiment. "Don't you have some chores to do, Susan?" he drawled condescendingly.

The jab didn't stop the woman. She got in his face, deep scowl etched across every line. "It's Miss Grimshaw to you. And you seem to have forgotten that all the women in this camp are under my protection."

Micah rolled his eyes. "You know that don't mean noth-"

"Meaning that if you or any of these other vultures touch one of these girls in the camp, I will kill you."

"Shut up, you old ba-" a resounding crack echoed through the camp, drawing the stare of everyone nearby. Micah reeled backward from the force of Miss Grimshaw's slap, ugly face in shock. He recovered quickly, hand flying to his holstered gun. "You bi-"

He was cut off once more by the barrel of a revolver pointed directly between his eyes. At the other end, Miss Grimshaw clicked the hammer down. "Take your hand off your gun, now."

Micah obeyed reluctantly and raised his hands.

"Good boy," Miss Grimshaw said sweetly. "Now pick back up that knife and cut the young lady free."

"But Dutch-" The barrel made contact with the bridge of Micah's nose. He swallowed. "Fine."

Miss Grimshaw cocked an eyebrow. "Fine, what?"

"Fine...ma'am." Micah spat contemptuously. He scooped the fallen knife and roughly cut the ropes off of Marlowe's wrists. She gasped in pain and realized that in the process, MIcah had left a thin cut on her left hand. "Oops," he said with a dangerous flash in his beady eyes.

"Thank you, Mr. Bell," said Miss Grimshaw. "That will be all."
Micah slouched away without another word. The woman turned her attention on Marlowe. "Alright, missy. Let's get you cleaned up." She took the startled girl by the arm and led her toward a tent where several other women were milling about.

A piercing voice cut across the camp. "Miss Grimshaw!" Dutch strode toward them, his eyebrows furrowed. Miss Grimshaw moved Marlowe behind her and crossed her arms. "I don't believe I had come to a decision about what to do with our...guest."

"I don't give a damn what you decided," Miss Grimshaw snapped. "She's going to get herself cleaned up and fed." Dutch opened his mouth to argue, but she cut him off. She seemed quite adept at doing that. "We may be outlaws, Mr. Van der Linde, but we are not animals."

Dutch sighed and waved them away. "Don't get any ideas about running off, Miss Reid, unless you can make six hundred dollars materialize."

"Yes, sir."

"Come along now, girl," said Miss Grimshaw gruffly. "Me and the other girls are going down to the creek to wash up."

As the older woman marched Marlowe through the camp, they passed by Arthur, who was leaning languidly against the side of a wagon, a cigarette dangling loosely in his hand. He gave her slight half-smile, to which Marlowe responded with a glare before pointedly looking ahead of her. The way she saw it, she currently owed her life to this terrifying, awe-inspiring woman tugging her along, and Arthur, like most other men she had met, was a coward.