To TeiyusTeki: Thank you, dear. He's a grouchy old mutt sometimes.

To my guest reviewers: Thank you thank you for your reviews. They keep me going.

Chapter 33

Up on the mountain ridge, Butch's gang gazed out over the burning town down in the valley. Smoke rose till it reached the snowy peaks, and it was certain this inferno could be seen from miles away. The six men stood silently, not knowing what to say or think about the disaster taking place down below. Their attention was drawn toward the path leading up to the cabin. A horse whinnied, and Frank stepped forward.

"That's Bobby!" he called out happily. "I'd know his voice everywhere! Come ere' Bobby boy!" Before he had a chance to slip onto the wet rocks due to the little stream running down the mountain, Barret had pulled him back. The tired horse emerged from among the trees, foam around its mouth, as it pulled itself up onto the steep ridge, halting only in front of Frank who immediately wrapped his arms around his animal. "Hi Bobby! See, ah told ye all it was Bobby! Good boy, Bobby!" The other men gave eachother more serious glances, and it was Skinny who decided to be the first to break the heavy silence.

"Where's miss Eleanor?" He peeped, ruining Frank's happiness within a second. "Where's Annabel?" He continued. "Where's Butch?"

They all watched in dismay how Frank tried to interrogate the horse about their leader's whereabouts. "Where's Butch, Bobby?" He spoke to the animal, close to its face. "What happened?" He then placed his ear against the animal's snout, indicating he expected it to provide an answer. The horse let out a content huff, just happy to be with his owner. "Ye gotta speak English, Bobby. Yer speakin' horse and ah don't"

"Oh brother." Ray complained, rubbing his tired eyes. "That's just great." He turned toward Barret, who was still peering into the direction of where the horse came from, expecting more to appear out of the dark. "He aint comin' back, Jack." The army surgeon said nothing. "And ah aint waitin' a minute longer out ere'. We're sittin' ducks for anythin' comin' out of that hell hole down there!" Barret raised his hand, telling Ray to be quiet as he picked up a sound from below. Ray, being much older and his hearing a lot less reliant, just huffed at being rudely silenced. "Have fun standin' ere' freezin' te death, Frenchie." He growled. The sound turned out to be a fearless raccoon, scurrying the stream's water front in search for food. Ray chuckled bitterly at the disappointed look on the Frenchman's face. "Why don't go ask him te be yer new leader, eh? If he don't pay ye enough ye can always turn him into a hat." He then turned away to go saddle his horse.

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The brown horse Eleanor had taken from the stables turned out to be an old farm animal, and its stamina wasn't anything to write home about. Then again, it was forced to carry two adults up a steep ridge, so it made sense the horse refused to speed up after two miles of running. The slow pace made her restless, and she could feel Butch slipping in and out of consciousness behind her. Sometimes he leaned his head against her shoulder, breathing heavily into her ear. They had changed position earlier, when it turned out Butch could hardly see, and was unable to steer the horse properly. The adrenaline coursing through her body made her unaware of the wound in her upper arm, and she only noticed it when Butch touched it.

"Ye got hit." He slurred.

She looked down at her arm, her sleeve a bloodied mess. A bullet had grazed her skin, and had past right by her. The cut was deep, but it was nothing compared to the outlaw's own injuries.

"I'm fine." She told him, wondering why she couldn't feel the pain, and blaming the cold for it eventually. She shivered in the saddle, but Butch was on fire, and his feverish body was the only thing keeping her from freezing up. "Don't pass out." She said. "Don't pass out, you'll fall off."

"Doin' all ah can back ere', Sharky." He mumbled. "But in case ah can't help it.. It aint far now. Just keep followin' that stream and ye'll get there." She spurred up the horse as much as she could, but it refused to increase its speed, and just laid its ears in its neck indicating its agitation.

"Come on!" she cried at the animal desperately. "Walk, damn you! Walk!" she could hear Butch let out a half conscious chuckle at her cursing, but the horse remained unimpressed. In their torturously slow pace, they continued climbing up the mountain ridge, following the stream in search of the cabin. The snow had started falling again, and she felt the horse slip now and then, unable to get a grip on the ground. Up on the hill, covered in darkness, a small light appeared. She squinted her eyes trying to decide if it was the moon, or the light of a fire. Smoke rose from a chimney and she let out a relieved whimper knowing she had found the cabin. "We made it." she said. "Fire a shot, they'll hear us." Getting no answer, she peered over her shoulder at the outlaw. Leaning his head against her back, his eyes closed, she realized he had finally passed out. In a daring move, trying to avoid him sliding off, she reached back to pull his revolver from its holster, praying the thing had a bullet or two left. She cocked back the hammer, pointed the barrel at the dark sky, and fired with both her hands. The loud bang carried off into the distance, scaring the birds from the trees and making coyotes yelp in fright miles away. The deafening silence returned, and all she could do now, was wait.

It didn't take long before voices emerged from up stream. And she felt herself grow weaker now she knew she was safe. Her breathing loud in her ears, she stayed in position to give the outlaw leader leaning on her a moment of repose. She hardly noticed when Barret, Skinny and Frank came running down the ridge to lend their aid. She was helped off the animal gently, and felt how her frozen legs refused to support her weight. But they didn't have to. Frank held her tightly, frantically asking her if she was alright. She could do nothing more than hold on to him for dear life, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face in his scarf. She was led away from the horse, up the mountain range toward the warmth and safety of the small trapper's cabin.

On their way, Jesus and Ray rushed by them to assist Barret and Skinny in carrying Butch, who was still passed out and giving no sign he was coming back around any time soon. Inside the cabin, Frank led her sink down in a comfortable, high chair made out of deer hides, close by the fire so she could warm up. She gazed into the flames as if in trance, and it took her a while to drag her eyes away from its brightness and look around. Deer heads covered in dust and cobwebs decorated the walls. There was a cart wheel on the ceiling, and various pieces of horse related equipment. All from a different time and age. With great fondness, Frank started tending to her injury. Soaking strips of cotton in whiskey and wrapping them around her wound while shooting her quick, worried glances. She knew he was concerned about his leader too, but he probably realized those injuries were beyond his knowhow, and he was better off making himself useful somewhere else.

"hey Frank." She managed to utter affectionately, searching for the young man's eyes. Coming back to life now she was gradually warming up. He looked up at her like a deer in headlights, surprised to hear her speak so soon.

"howdy, miss Eleanor." He said with a big goofy smile. "How ya feelin'?" Before she could answer, Skinny appeared from behind her chair, offering her a huge steaming mug of hot coffee, which she accepted gratefully.

"Ah put some laudanum in it." Skinny explained, pointing at the cup in her hands. "Barret said ye needed some for yer wound and all." Now a little worried about her drugged drink, she took a careful sip, tasting the bitter medicine through the fresh brewed coffee. "Ah hope ah didn't put too much in it though." The bearded young man said, frowning as he watched the girl consume his concoction.

Frank huffed. "Well hells, Skinny, whut did ye do?! How much did ye put in there?! Ah don't want er te git sick!" startled by Frank's angry tone, Skinny took a step back. "How much is in it?!"

"Like.. like a spoonful." Skinny stammered. "Ah mean, Jack didn't tell me how much I ha-"

"HEY!" Barret's voice rendered them both silent and they looked up at the army surgeon tending to their unconscious leader placed on the large iron framed bed. "You boys keep it down." Unable to see what was taking place behind her big chair, Eleanor could only gaze into the fire and hope Butch would be alright. The two youngest members of the gang shot eachother one last foul look before Skinny decided to go mope in another corner, leaving Frank with the girl.

"Moron.." Frank huffed in anger, to which Eleanor could only chuckle tiredly.

"It's alright." She said. "I've had the stuff before. I won't get sick." She reached out to grab Frank's hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. The gesture made him sit down on the wooden floor next to her chair, crossing his legs to make himself more comfortable, intending to not leave her side for a while to come. "How's he doing?" she asked softly, worried about the answer when Frank peeked around her chair with a fearful expression.

"He ain't movin' right now." The young outlaw concluded. "Ah thinks Barret is tryin' te figure out if his heart does what it has to, cuz he's holdin' Butch's wrist and lookin' at his watch." She grimaced at his words. "Ye want me to go and ask Jack about it?" He asked, making a move to get up. She shook her head quickly.

"No, no. Stay here. He would throw us both out." She whispered, tightening her hold on Frank's arm to keep him where he was. Nodding in agreement, the young man settled back down. She let her eyes roam around the room again, noticing things she hadn't noticed before now the coffee mixed with the laudanum was starting to kick in. "So what is this place?" Frank followed her gaze to the walls and ceiling above the fireplace, of which the mantle was decorated in dusty taxidermy from a long, long time ago.

"It's a trapper's cabin." He explained. "Ye know. Fer hunters and all. That's why all these animals are ere'" He didn't seem to agree with the collection, and she smiled at his offended expression when he gazed at the decomposing hunting trophies. "Ah don't like hunters. Just don't seem fair te me te go out and shoot at ferrets and stuff with a rifle. Ah mean.. the ferrets can't help bein' ferrets, can they?"

She giggled, realizing she had missed Frank's innocent blabbering immensely. "No, I don't think they can."

"Ah like ferrets." Frank nodded, agreeing with himself. "Ye name one more animal that can be brown in the summer tahm and turn all white as snow when winter comes around. Go on, ye name one."

She thought about it for a moment, giving him her most serious, and dramatic, thinking expression. "Bunnies." She concluded. "Bunnies do that too." He looked at her wide eyed, like she had just revealed the greatest secret to him and him alone.

"Ah thoughts there were just white bunnies and brown bunnies." He whispered in awe.

"And deer." She continued, poking his chest in victory now it seemed she was winning this game. "Deer turn white in winter. Oh, and owls. Foxes." While their banter continued, Ray sat on a crate in another corner of the small cabin, carving a sharp point on a wooden stick with his knife. Jesus sat next to him, gnawing on his dirty fingernails. And Skinny had decided to pull out a book about setting animal traps from the cupboard, and attempted to read it upside down. For now all they could do was wait for their leader to wake up.

The storm hit the trapper's shelter when morning arrived. The cold winds creeped through every crack of the old cabin, playing with the young woman's hair as she hadn't moved from her spot in front of the roaring fireplace, kept at full blaze by the outlaws to hopefully increase their leader's condition. She gazed into the fire, watching the flames dance with every gust of wind that entered the room. Some of the men were sleeping, she could hear them snore behind her chair. Frank hadn't strayed from her side. But he had lost the battle with his exhaustion eventually, and sat on the faded bear rug next to her chair, leaning his head against her deer hide armrest, his mouth askew. She didn't know what Barret was doing behind her. She couldn't see the bed from she was sat, and somehow she hadn't dared peering over her shoulder yet. But she knew he would do everything he could to help Butch, and wondered why he hadn't stayed with her and her mother when the gang had brought their leader to their home in search for a place for him to rest his sick body. But from what she had seen from the French army surgeon, he only lend his aid when things turned grim. And things had turned grim overnight it seemed.

She listened to the wind howl as the storm hit her strongest point, and huddled deeper into the horse blanket Frank had given her earlier. The little cabin sounded and moved like the wind was about to claim it, but this thing had seen storms much fiercer than this, and she tried to convince herself it would hold through this one too.

She didn't know how long she had been staring into the fire, drifting in and out of sleep, when she was stirred from her absentmindedness by Butch's voice talking quietly to Barret, still at his leader's side. Deciding she wanted to see for herself how he was doing, she managed to push herself up out of the chair, mindful not to wake the sleeping young outlaw next to her, and made her way over to the big bed, stepping carefully over Skinny and Jesus, both asleep on the floor on their cots. She rubbed her arm shyly when Barret looked up at her, up and down, as if he expected her to hide a knife behind her back. Without waiting for permission, she gently sat down on Butch's other side, giving Barret an almost apologizing look. Butch was awake, and blinked slowly at the ceiling, but he seemed uninterested at her presence, for he must have noticed. They had rid him off his shirt, and had hung it over one of the low hanging beams for it to dry. It was Barret who broke the awkward silence that followed.

"How's your arm?" He asked.

Looking down at her bandaged wound, stinging from the alcohol, she nodded. "It's alright." She said, biting her bottom lip in uneasiness. "I think Frank did a good job on it. Doesn't hurt as much anymore." The army surgeon said nothing. He knew everything he needed to know, and he wasn't one to keep conversation to make someone else feel more at ease. "How.. how is he doing?" she continued, looking down at Butch, who had decided to close his eyes in exhaustion. She didn't know if he had fallen asleep, his breathing seemed too laboured for that, but he had surprised her before.

"He's had worse." Barret said. "Looked worse too." Butch let out a tired chuckle, a grin forming on his face.

"Ye got the worst bedside manners west o' the Missouri, Jack." The outlaw leader grumbled, still smiling ear to ear with his eyes closed. "Makes me wonder how many men ye send off to the next world just by talkin' down on them while they lay dyin'" He chuckled.

Fed up with Butch's sour comments, Barret got up from the bed with a tired sigh. "You'll live." He stated. "So I guess I won't add to my list tonight." He gave the girl stifling a grin a warning look. "Don't exhaust him too much." He mumbled before turning away from the bed to find himself a spot to sleep.

"She really don't do much else." The ailing outlaw complained, placing his unwounded arm over his eyes dramatically. Eleanor shifted where she sat, swallowing thickly at the criminal's biting words. "Well, we're back te where we started, aint we, Sharky?" He continued, expecting her to still be there. "Me all beer and skittles, and you sittin' there waiting fer the next lynchin'" He let out a deep, impatient sigh. She said nothing, and just watched him closely while listening to the wind beat against the little cabin, trying to find a way to enter. "Ye should probably try te rest up a bit. Didn't get much of a chance te do any of that, ah figure."

"Can't I just sit here for a while longer?"

Her timid question made him remove his arm to look at her weary form, shivering slightly from exhaustion and finally no longer sedated by alcohol. The girl he had no idea what to do with. Dragged halfway across the country on a wild goose chase to stay out of the hands of a bunch of mercenaries. No home to return to. Her remaining family's whereabouts and wellbeing unknown. Her future as blurry as the dirty, dust covered panelled windows of the trapper's cabin they ended up in.

"I won't sleep next to you, I promise." She continued, chuckling nervously. "I know you hated that. Just let me sit here for a bit, and then I'll go. You have my word." He just gazed at her impassively. "The wind makes me anxious." She explained, wringing her hands in her lap. It was only when she mentioned it that he became aware of the howling storm outside, and he looked up at the ceiling to listen to it for a minute, perhaps pondering on whether or not her concerns were justified.

"Ye only ever sleep soundly when te weather is cooperating?" He asked, closing his eyes in sound exhaustion. He was supposed to rest, and he couldn't do much else anyway.

"Well, I'm not at home." She whispered, a little embarrassed.

"Ye aint gonna be home fer a while te come neither, miss Hartley." He sighed tiredly. "One way er te other, yer gonna have te make do with this fer now." Carefully, he turned himself onto his right side, facing her despite not wanting to, and moaned in pain when he involuntarily moved his mangled shoulder. "Ah can't make te rain stop, and ah can't make it stop snowin' either.." He mumbled half asleep. "Ah don't care what those damn injuns say about mah spiritual powers and all that bull. Ah could jump outta this bed and dance circles around a fire in mah bare ass, wind is still goin' te blow all she wants."

She said nothing, and drew her knees up onto the bed, tucking strands of her dirtied hair behind her ears. He made no comment about wanting her to get off his bed, so she remained in this position, afraid to move in fear of him changing his mind about it. She watched him dose off, his form relaxing by the depths of sleep, and wondered if he would notice her break her promise and decide to sleep right next to him. The bed was big enough. Bigger than the one they had shared at Rosa's. But somehow he had been more compliant that night. Perhaps the presence of the Spanish woman soothed the more vicious parts of his nature. Whatever the reason was, he had never been in such a mood again, and she didn't expect to see it return. Deciding she had done enough to test his patience in the past few days, she reached out to pull the covers of the bed up to his chin, covering his wounded shoulder. Barret had bandaged it in clean, linen wrappings. He had removed the stitches too, disapproving of Standing Faith's doctor's cruel work, but she couldn't see if he had stitched the wound again.

She felt horrible for causing Butch to get hurt like this. It had been the last thing she had wanted to happen. She didn't wish anyone to get hurt for that matter, her mother had raised her better than that, but to have it happen to someone who tried to help her, had saved her life more than once, was almost unbearable. Without realizing, caught in her tired mind's introspection, she had started to brush strands of hair out of Butch's face, smoothing them back with one trembling finger. He didn't notice. His breathing deep and slow.

"I'm so sorry." She whispered to his sleeping form. "Please get better. Get better and forgive me." Against her own better judgement, she gently let her finger go down the bridge of his battered looking nose, just for the sake of touching him. Her mother had done just that when she was a little girl. She sat at her young daughter's bedside for hours doing the same thing over and over again, until the child's fears of the storm outside had passed. She wouldn't bother him tonight with her childish fears. She would be brave like he wanted her to be. Gathering her courage, she sat up, sliding off the bed without causing it to move too much. Next to him was the only place she felt safe in this dangerous world, and she hoped she could overcome her fears for his sake. He didn't want anyone near him, atleast not her, and certainly not now.

She retreated back to her chair, back to Frank still leaning against the armrest, and sat down gingerly, drawing the horse blanket over her shivering form. She snuggled into its itchy, warm material, finally giving in to her own exhaustion. For now, all was quiet, all was still.