A cloth bandanna covered his eyes but it likely wouldn't have made any difference since they had taken far to many turns for Isaac to have any idea of where they were.

He simply clung to Charles as he blindly bounced along like a saddlebag. His only comfort was the occasional mouthing at his shirt as Harlin trotted beside him.

As Charles helped him dismount he took off the blindfold and cast his eyes around to find the camp was tucked back in the hollow of a cave. Perhaps somewhere in the grizzlies or dense part of Roanoke Ridge.

It reminded him of the cabin he and his mother lived in. Hidden away in seclusion by the tall trees of the forest, like a secret never to be told.

When they arrived, Isaac was curious to see not only elderly men but women and even a child were apart of the Van Der Linde crew. Isaac found the idea strangely appealing.

"Come on," Charles said softly. "I'll show you around."

Charles seemed to have infinite patience for Isaac's nervous tendencies. Tendencies even he didn't know he possessed to such a degree. Tho he was always defensive, his short time with the Bell gang had left him jumpy at any fast movement and suspicious of any kindness.

A free bowl of soup was pushed into his hands but despite how hungry he was, he was too skeptical and paranoia to eat. That is until Charles dipped his own spoon into Isaac's bowl to demonstrated it was edible.

Isaac stuck to him like glue after that.

No one beside Charles really paid him any mind. It didn't seem like people knew what to make of him and he couldn't really blame them.

At night he lay awake staring up at the stars, wondering if he'd ever see his father again. The thought that Arthur may not have a safe return stewed just under his skin and worried his stomach into knots. It was almost dawn when Charles got up.

"You sleep at all?" he asked casually as they carried the bags of meal over to the food wagon.

"Yeah." he lied simply but poignantly ignored Charles studying him.

"You're a lot like him." He said eventually and Isaac perked up. did Charles believe him?

"You both lie the same."

Isaac didn't know what that meant but it made him cheer up a bit as he continued with the other camp chores.

"Mr. Killgor." an elderly woman, Mis Grimshaw, called out to him. "It may well be that you remain with us for quite some time and I'll not have you stinking up my camp." She groused marching over to where he stood helping Charles gather the freshly chopped wood. "When was the last time you bathed? Or have you ever?" She challenged.

"Um, I." he stuttered.

"No matter. You're filthy enough that nothing but the river will do. I've already talked to Mr. Van Der Linde and Mr. Mathues and they've agreed it would be alright for you to go bath in the river, provided you're accompanied by Mr. Smith that is."

Isaac shivered as he sunk into the steady water of a wide river. He didn't know how to swim but the current wasn't strong or deep enough to make him worry. He was about to climb back into his dirty close when Charles handed him a fresh pair of clean pants and a shirt.

"They may be a bit big but you'll grow into them."

Isaac dressed quickly to find Charles leaning against a tree, a journal open on his lap.

"Thank you Mr. Smith." he offered politely.

"You'll have to thank the girls when we get back, They're the ones who made them for you."

Made them, for him? He couldn't help but look down at the clean linens again. The cream shirt billowed out around him but fit him nicely at the arms. The pants gathered at his waist, begging for a belt, but didn't have any patches or frayed edges. He smoothed the sleeve of one arm and looked back up at Charles to see the man already looking at him.

"Why are you all being so nice to me? You don't have any proof I am who I say I am." He pointed out. Regretting his words immediately. The last thing he wanted was to make Charles suspicious. "It's just," he tried to recover.

"You're right," Charles spoke up. "We don't know who you are, just as you don't really know who we are but I saw how you risked your life to save us, to save those at camp. You were brave enough to stand between Dutch and Micah and even saved your horse by sending him away. That was one of the most heroic things I've ever witnessed."

Isaac blushed under the compliment, "Except, you were prepared for the ambush. Even had time to set up a decoy camp, I tried to, but I didn't save anybody."

Charles paused for a moment, considering his words or perhaps just considering Isaac. "Yes you did." he continued in all seriousness. "you saved yourself. Don't ever look on that as if it was nothing."

For some reason his words hit someplace raw within Isaac and he bit back on his lip so it didn't wabble. His thoughts drifted to what had transpired to get him to where he was. He'd tried his best to save his mother, the Van Der Linde camp, his father. But not once had he even believed it was really possible for him to be saved, so he didn't even try. Now even more so, he was a lost cause, a murder. He visibly cringed as he thought the words.

"I don't wanna kill ever again." he blurted, his mouth working without permission.

Charles didn't appear disappointed or shocked by the honest reveal. He patted the ground beside him and Isaac sat down in its place.

"That is admirable." Charles consoled. "but we all need to pay our own way, especially in a gange. Do you have any dreams, Isaac? If you don't want to be an outlaw, what do you want to do with your life?" the words were gentle as a lullaby.

Isaac thought over his abilities and tho he didn't have many, there was one thing that lit a passion in him. "I, I love horses. I like being around them. I wanna be a trainer." He watched as Charles nodded along.

Tilting his head back Charles sighed. "Horses will always be necessary in this world. The well trained will always be sought after and paid well for." He closed his journal before continuing. "Perhaps it would be good for everyone to have an honest and steady income for a change?" He pondered rhetorically. After a heartbeat he glanced at Isaac and smiled approvingly. "Arthur is good with horses as well."

Isaac looked away as a giddy hopefull feeling took root in his soul. What if he didn't have to kill? That he could be apart of the gang and still be with his father.?

He rested his head against the steady tree at his back as Charles pulled out an old beat up Harmonica and began playing. The low melody assended, threaded itself into the tapestry of branches of the tree limbs overhead. Isaac relaxed in the shade and basked in the tune till finally, he drifted off into a pleasant sleep.