For some reason, Miss Grimshaw was on the worst sort of rampage this morning.

Arthur heard her skirts whipping past his wagon more than once, but was soon distracted by the pleasant smell of coffee brewing from across the camp. He sat up and inhaled deeply, grateful that the action didn't pinch his lungs like it had the day before. As he stood from his cot, he stretched, his shoulders protesting painfully in response, likely from the tumble he'd taken during last night's gunfight.

He lumbered with unsteady steps to the coffee pot, greeting Pearson with a yawn and a nod. He'd hardly taken a sip from his steaming mug before Miss Grimshaw came storming up, all spiky and growling. Still took her three times of repeating herself for him to wake up a little more and understand what she was asking.

Finally, her question cut through. "You seen Miss Jones?"

He ain't even been up for five minutes. "Can't say that I—"

"Because if I find that girl drinking herself into a stupor today, I'm slapping her sober and that's a goddamn promise."

Shit. "Whoa. Settle down now. I'm sure she ain't gone too far since last night, Miss Grimshaw."

Miss Grimshaw finally seemed to realize he wasn't going to be much help in her search. She rested a hand on his shoulder and her tone leveled out. "It's good having you back with us, Mr. Morgan. We don't do too well all split apart."

Her echoing the sentiment of Dutch's little speech from last night had him shifting uncomfortably. "No, I reckon we don't. But I ain't meant to turn my absence into no big drama."

She patted him on the shoulder as if he were a child. "I know, Mr. Morgan, but listen to Dutch. All will be well and he'll get us out like he always does."

"I sure hope you're right," he replied as Miss Grimshaw smiled at him and returned to her hunt. He hoped she was right, but he weren't holding his breath.

Truthfully, Arthur didn't know where this sour mood was coming from. All in all, he should be overjoyed with the new day. The gang was nearly all together again. They'd slipped the clutches of bounty hunters without capture and Dutch had welcomed him back with open arms.

The problem was, Arthur couldn't get the memory of Micah's smug expression out of his head. That bastard's attitude rubbed him the wrong way on a normal day, but last night his satisfaction had been jarring in the middle of everyone else's jubilation.

Maybe it was because, with dawn came crashing down the realities of the situation that ain't been resolved yet. They hadn't got out of it totally unscathed as they'd lost another member of the gang. Leopold Strauss would never loan another dollar to any desperate takers.

Even then, Strauss' death didn't seem to have left behind the same dark undertones as Kieran's had or Sean's or Mac, Davey and Jenny's. Arthur would consider it callous of them all since Strauss had been with them longer, but Strauss hadn't ever made any efforts to relate to anyone else. Truth be told, most of 'em around here probably thought they was better off without him.

Despite how disagreeable he'd found Strauss, Arthur hadn't meant to get him killed. Just like he hadn't meant for them to all wind up in Beaver Hollow. Charles' distinct warning rang in his head like an alarm.

They're here, Arthur. In Van Horn. Pinkertons.

And here the gang was, still too damn close. They should have been packing up this morning, moving out and onward and putting more distance between them than only a few hundred trees.

But their return to Dutch seemed to tamp everyone's resolve to leave with any urgency. And with Hosea's safe return, even Arthur found himself slipping into a false sense of security.

Maybe that's why he couldn't muster any energy either to start pressuring everyone to leave just yet. Everyone that mattered to him was safe and, with Hosea back, Arthur had high hopes he could curtail the worst of Dutch's impulses. If anyone could get them all back on track, it was Hosea.

Wondering at his progress, Arthur poured another cup of coffee and made his way to the table near Dutch's tent. It cheered him to see Dutch and Hosea talking through their situation like they'd always done in times past. Best of all, Arthur was happy to see no sign of Micah anywhere near the discussions.

"He's buying a stake in the mine in Annesburg," Dutch was saying. "It'll be the perfect time to start our negotiations."

"And how did that strategy go in Valentine?"

Dutch argued, "We wasn't negotiating then, Hosea. It was an ambush."

"Which ended with you three shooting up the town and us forced into vacating the area." Hosea's bushy silver brows furrowed deeply. "How do you expect your next meeting as going any different?"

"You said you ain't wanting to stick around here for much longer anyway," Dutch shot back, almost petulantly.

"Because they're on to us. Closer than ever before. They're just waiting for us to make a mistake so they can capture and kill us all."

"That ain't gonna happen," Dutch responded with a dismissive gesture.

Hosea warned, "You poke more at Cornwall, he's only gonna come back harder and stronger. He ain't paying the Pinkertons to only keep us on our toes."

"All I need is one private conversation with him, Hosea." Dutch lifted a finger to emphasize his meaning. "One."

"He ain't gonna want to talk to an outlaw."

"There's no reason we can't make a deal. Then we'll be out of his hair, out of this mess, and living our best lives again."

"Dutch, the problem is he don't see us as equals to sit down with in the first place."

Dutch didn't like hearing that. His nostrils flared and he leaned forward. "It can't hurt nothing to stop in for a simple social call."

"Simple." A bitter laugh burst from Hosea. "As simple as talking to Bronte was?"

"Bronte was a crook out to get us from the start."

"And if Cornwall doesn't agree to any terms you offer, you just gonna kill him too?"

Dutch leaned back again, a dark gleam in his eyes as he lifted his chin and answered, "If I have to."

"Dutch, you can't go around..." Hosea trailed off and then started coughing, heaving in an unnatural way Arthur had never heard from him before. Gasping like he couldn't catch his breath.

Dutch visibly recoiled while Arthur reached his side and handed off the coffee. Hosea accepted it and thankfully it had cooled off enough by now for him to gulp it down.

As Hosea's coughing subsided, Dutch stood. "You rest up some more, Hosea. I will handle the logistics of this Cornwall situation."

The words themselves sounded like he had concern, but as Arthur watched him retreat to his tent, it unnerved him at the ease in which Dutch left their company without a backward glance.

Arthur turned to Hosea. "You okay, old man?"

Instead of reassurance, Hosea said in flat tones, "No."

Alarmed, Arthur said encouragingly, "Come on now. Don't give up on everything just yet."

"I'm old, Arthur." he said wearily, rubbing a hand down his face. "This isn't where I wanted to be at this point in my life."

He'd never heard Hosea so downtrodden, not even following the mess in Blackwater. He didn't like it so he commented instead, "Seems you've put the whole fiasco at the bank with Dutch behind you."

"It would seem so," Hosea replied with a hint of agitation. He stood. "Let's walk a little."

Arthur stayed at Hosea's side, quiet. They didn't walk too far, stopping near Arthur's own wagon. Seemed Hosea only wanted some distance from Dutch's tent to speak more freely.

"It's becoming clearer to me that my time would be better spent finding the next step for those who want to move on from this madness."

"From Beaver Hollow and the Pinkertons?" he asked and waited a beat before adding, "Or from Dutch?"

There was a lift of Hosea's eyebrow. "You've seen it too?"

Arthur rubbed the back of his head, not meeting his eyes as he admitted, "There were some things Dutch said and done in Guarma that weren't...right."

"Hmm." Hosea scratched his chin, but for some reason didn't pressure him to elaborate on what he meant. "These hills offer little protection against another Pinkerton raid and I'm not convinced those Murfree fellas won't come back to reclaim the territory we've so courteously taken from them."

Arthur offered, "I can ride with Charles and head further upstream. See if there's somewhere more promising we can settle."

A hint of a smile lifted the corner of Hosea's mouth. "Too slow on the draw today, Arthur. I've already sent him and Lenny out scouting."

Arthur glanced at the white tent where Dutch had closed himself off, withdrawn and separated from everyone else. "Dutch know about that?"

"He'll find out if anything comes of it. Otherwise, all it is is Charles taking Lenny out for lessons in tracking."

So even Hosea was tip-toeing around Dutch's authority now? He ain't been back a full day, nor seen them for weeks but somehow he'd caught on to Dutch's growing paranoia. Arthur really thought Hosea's reappearance would be the end of Dutch's insistence at reckless ambition. That having them partnered again would tamper Dutch's wilder ideas.

Now, it just seemed naive on Arthur's part that Hosea had any great sway over Dutch's bullheadedness in the first place. They'd been butting heads over ideas since Blackwater. As far as Arthur knew, there was only one person Dutch still lent an ear to.

Arthur asked abruptly, "Seen Micah around?"

"No." Hosea's expression darkened a moment. "He and Dutch were up late discussing important matters. Took me all morning to get out of him his want to confront Leviticus Cornwall in Annesburg with some hare-brained scheme."

"Yeah," Arthur admitted with resignation. "I heard that bit."

Hosea told him, "There's no making deals with a man who's hired folks to kill us."

Arthur nodded because to that point he fully agreed. Why Dutch wanted to talk rather than run baffled him. Ain't nothing good could come from 'a simple social call', as he put it. Since when did they make deals with bastards they'd robbed from? It had him wondering what poisonous words Micah had used to convince Dutch of it in the first place. For surely it was his fault.

"What are you doing for yourself these days, Arthur?" Hosea asked, drawing him from his mulling.

"What you mean?"

Hosea studied him sharply. "The last few weeks haven't seemed to have treated you any better than they have me. You look like you need rest, son."

Arthur returned gruffly, "Ain't got time for rest."

"No. None of us do." Hosea rubbed his chest. "Though we surely need it now more than ever."

Arthur thought for a moment of what he wanted to accomplish. What was most important to him after the bleak diagnosis he'd received. "I guess I...I want to help those I can before it's all said and done."

"It's what I want too, but Dutch...Dutch can't see what we see."

"And what's that?"

"Use your eyes, son. Do these people seem like the high-spirited rambunctious thieves of the old days, happily robbing folks blind?"

Arthur glanced around the camp, but it didn't tell him much. It was too early for most of them to be too lively so he parroted what Susan, what Dutch, had said to him, "I s'pose not, but we're nearly all back together again."

"Nearly being the keyword here."

"We'll get out of it," Arthur replied, not wanting the outlook to be all bad.

Hosea nodded, his eyes distant as if he were trying to see into the future. "Arthur, do you know what happens to large gangs like ours that have surpassed their heyday?"

Arthur answered half-joking, "Ain't sure we've reached ours just yet."

"Oh?" His answer broke through Hosea's gloom and some humor arose. "You thinking of keeping on with this same business when you're old and gray like me?"

The simple question was a punch to the gut and he sucked in a breath for a second. Quietly, he returned, "Hosea, I reckon I ain't got to worry about something like that no more."

Hosea turned his head, puzzled and clearly prepared to ask the obvious, but Tilly called out, "Arthur!"

Tilly stopped in front of them and said apologetically, "I hate to interrupt, Hosea, but I only got a second to talk before Miss Grimshaw snaps."

"No worries, Miss Jackson," Hosea assured. "Arthur and I were only brooding over the inevitability of all good things coming to an end."

"Maudlin fools," she said playfully and it lifted Arthur's spirit somewhat that there could still be playfulness here.

Hosea chuckled. "I fear so, miss." He sent Arthur a pointed look. "We'll talk more about this later, son."

For now, that particular discussion was postponed. Arthur exhaled, simultaneously grateful for Tilly's intrusion and disappointed he couldn't share his diagnosis with the one person who might understand the imminence of death.

Tilly handed over two envelopes. "Javier and I picked these up while we were in Saint Denis."

"Thanks, Tilly."

The first letter was from the mayor, which didn't leave him thrilled any. It weren't no mystery what Mr. Lemieux wanted of him. He'd already cornered an art critic and hunted down a journalist, threatening both until they did his bidding. He wasn't too excited to discover who would be the next hapless fool the mayor wanted him to rough handle, all to keep his name out of the ears of the authorities.

Last time, Jean-Marc hadn't been too pleased with him taking on the role of bully to Saint Denis' citizens. Arthur didn't look forward to it either, but there was some money in it. Besides, threatening a man weren't killing a man.

The second letter he could smell before he saw, the floral scent raising a hope in his chest. Mary?

Though the script addressing him was flowery and elegant, it wasn't Mary's handwriting and he didn't recognize whose it was until he opened the envelope. It confused him to find a plea for help from Penelope Braithwaite. What kind of mess were those two kids in now?

"Hey, Tilly," Arthur called before the girl had gone too far. He moved to catch up with her. "Say, this ain't all, is it?"

"Yes..." she said cautiously. "Were you expecting something else, Arthur?"

"Uh..."

He knew there weren't no reason for Mary to be contacting him again unless her daddy had got himself into another mess. It was a fool's hope to want to hear from her again. Yet here he stood, a fool.

"Arthur?"

"No, I wasn't expectin' nothin' else. Just makin' sure."

Tilly eyed him a moment, opened her mouth, but then closed it again and shook her head with regret. "I'm real sorry, Arthur."

Something about the way she done it made him suspicious. Seemed to him she did have something more to say.

Before he could press her, Trelawny strode up and intruded pleasantly, "Good morning, Arthur. A word, if I may?"

Tilly scurried away at the distraction and he lost his chance for now. Arthur turned to Trelawny. "If it's one word, I reckon I can handle it, but it never is just one with you."

Trelawny chortled. "There's hardly a situation where one word will suffice, dear boy."

Arthur attempted to rein in his irritation, only because he wasn't so sure Trelawny was the cause of it for once. "So, what you doin' back? Thought you'd cut and run again." Arthur frowned, remembering something John had said to him weeks ago when they'd still been at Shady Belle. "Or had some big job with Molly."

"Indeed," Trelawny replied, not confirming one way or another. "Our journey didn't go entirely to plan. Pinkertons picked us up outside of Saint Denis before anything came of it."

"It seems we're all hunted down so easily these days."

"It is curious how those bounty hunters knew where to find you in the first place, isn't it?"

Arthur eyed him suspiciously. "You say that like you got some idea for it."

"No. no," Trelawny denied. "I couldn't say. Though, as I said, it remains curious."

Before Arthur could comprehend what the hell was so 'curious', Trelawny continued, "I've had a little chat with Mrs. Balfour. A most terrible tragedy she's suffered. Yet, it's given me an idea. Granted, I'd have to get in touch with a fellow I haven't spoken to in years, but he does owe me a favor..."

As Trelawny rambled on about his contact who owed him, Arthur's eyes strayed to the one place in camp he'd avoided looking all morning but was fully aware as to who occupied the space between Tilly and Mary-Beth, where they all sat sewing together under the canopy of their wagon.

Charlotte.

Arthur's mind drifted back to that moment of respite under the waterfall, where time had inexplicably but mercifully slowed for him as Charlotte had hugged him tight.

Let's forget the rest of the world for a moment, she'd whispered in his ear and he had. He didn't worry about Dutch or Pinkertons or his illness. There was no one to intrude with another goddamn issue gone wrong and he'd finally had peace of mind, if only for a brief few minutes.

Then there was that change in Charlotte's lively green eyes when she reached her hand up as if to caress him...

He stopped himself right there. Shit. That was a stupid thought.

Charlotte didn't want nothing to do with him in that sense and he was foolish to think so. She'd been providing comfort to a dying man and that's all it'd been.

Besides, he thought belatedly, he ain't given up on Mary. He'd meant it when he'd said he'd leave once they pulled one last job, when they'd got the money they needed. Although his diagnosis may have complicated things, he wouldn't break another promise to her.

Arthur focused again on Trelawny, who hadn't stopped talking about some goddamn random story that had nothing to do with nothing.

He interrupted, "You gonna let me in on your idea or just keep flappin' your gums uselessly?"

"Yes, of course." Trelawny paused and Arthur knew for a fact it was for dramatic effect. "A lawyer."

Arthur forehead creased. "A lawyer? What the hell good is that gonna do?"

"If Mister Balfour had any sense, the cabin should be insured. With the proper solicitor, Mrs. Balfour could have some funds coming her way. It likely isn't anywhere close to the $50,000 you bunch mishandled, but she would no longer be as destitute as the rest of us."

Was that the answer? Was it possible for him to make up the money to Charlotte?

"It may take some time, if there even is money for her to claim. But, perhaps, at the end of it she'll cut us a portion for assisting her."

"No."

"No?" Surprise widened Trelawny's eyes and his mustache twitched.

"The idea's sound enough," Arthur said agreeably, "but we ain't acceptin' a penny more from her. If there's money in it, it's all going straight in her hands."

This time he wouldn't be persuaded otherwise, even if they were desperate for it. Trelawny's idea may actually have some logic and merit to it, but it didn't change the fact that Charlotte remained among outlaws. Arthur couldn't have her waiting around for any possible incoming insurance money while they was about to be caught and flayed by Milton.

His thoughts wandered back to Mary and a curious idea took form. Who better to help a lady of quality than another? Mary was sure to have connections that could help Charlotte get back on her feet or at the very least know where she could stay to be safe. Would she still be waiting at the Grand Hotel since their last meeting?

Arthur had to make a trip to Saint Denis anyway if he wanted to keep the mayor off his back. If he was lucky, Mary would still be in town. He could explain everything to her then. Tell her about the tentative plan he had going with Hosea to break free and reassure her of his commitment to her.

His days were numbered now, but if he could spend those days with Mary...If he could have the opportunity start righting all the wrongs between them and putting to bed all the regret, maybe he'd have a chance at dying peacefully in the arms of the woman he loved rather than at the end of a gun by men who hated him for just being alive. Maybe salvation was yet a goal he could reach.

But, first, he had to take care of Charlotte and get her out before she grew more entangled.

"What do you say, Arthur?"

"I say..." Arthur adjusted his hat and looked to the south. "...all roads lead to Saint Denis."