Beaver Hollow was an improvement on Lakay and Shady Belle, but that wasn't saying much. The sheltered nook cut into the hillside, overlooking the river on the west and the trails of the east. But, best of all, they were treading on dirt and green grass again. Uncle nearly kissed the ground.

Them boys did a good job securing the place, except Bill Williamson greeted all of 'em with a bunch of desperate wailing.

His moaning weren't over nothing neither. The kid Lenny weren't lying about the gash Bill had lovingly received by one of them wild men. Pale and sweating, Bill waited for them on a tree stump, a rifle at his side rather than his hand, preferring to cover the blood leaking from his arm. Susan set to work fixing him up.

Uncle noticed it was Bill's favorable side that had been affected. That meant, they were down another gunman. At this rate, Uncle would have to dig up the old gals and begin slinging again. Dutch must have made the same connection 'cause he stared at Bill's arm before stomping off into the cave entrance in a snit.

With Dutch out of earshot, Micah took the opportunity to start making orders. "Alright, you lot. Let's whip this area into a camp. Grimshaw, once you're done with Williamson, get Dutch's tent set up—"

"I know how to get my camp running, Mr. Bell," Grimshaw snapped, moving around to the back of the wagon. "And it don't involve you opening your mouth."

"Oh ho," Uncle laughed. "Susie's got the comebacks today."

"Shut up, old man," bit out Micah. "You should've done us the favor of dying off while we were away to rid us the goddamn burden."

Uncle patted his belly without concern. "This place would fall apart without me."

"Just make this place livable," Micah growled to no one in particular and strode away.

Uncle shook his head after him. There was something wrong with that feller. He'd known it since the moment he'd set eyes on him. Always running his mouth and nothing but piss and vitriol raining out every time.

Uncle knew the real problem with Micah. The man ain't got no values. He didn't believe in love and friendship and family. Only thought about himself above all else. Hell, each night that bastard picked a fight with someone. Like he couldn't go to sleep without needling one of 'em for his pleasure.

Really, the bastard would have fit in better with Colm and his boys. Them O'Driscoll's was always about the bottom dollar, not the quality of life. They didn't care about no one but themselves as the individual.

Micah didn't understand the reason Dutch's Boys ran as oiled as a greased goose. It was because this gang accepted all kinds into the fold. That's what made it special. That's what made it home.

But Micah kept putting his selfish ideas out there and pushing them into a different direction.

Uncle didn't waste energy on hate. It weren't good for the soul. Once you let hate in, it took over the heart and rotted everything else in you, sure as shit.

But when it came to Micah Bell, Uncle's heart had made up its own mind on that loathsome bastard.

While Susan worked her magic making this place homey, Pearson opened up the food wagon and the rest of 'em spread to stake out their own corner of their new home, Uncle made it his business to...wander away from the campsite some. The ride over had done nothing to ease the pain in his body. Sitting next to Pearson on that damn, hard-seated food wagon had flared up his lumbago something fierce.

Uncle knew his friends would understand if he took a little moment to rest his bones.

Hours later, Uncle opened his eyes to dusk. The smell of meat picked him up by the nostrils, carried him through the trees, the parked wagons and released him over the stew pot.

"There he is." Susan stood beside Pearson, both of them hanging by the meal he sought.

Uncle reached the pot and used a hand to waft more of the aroma into his nose. "Food's smelling mighty fine tonight, Mr. Pearson."

Pearson handed a bowl over. "Told ya as soon as supper was on, he'd come drifting back."

"My lumbago was acting up," he replied, wounded. "Spare an old man his aches."

"Yeah, yeah. Take your bowl and get to eatin'." Pearson pointed at him. "And don't come back for more 'til the rest has had their own fill."

Ruffled, Uncle said loudly, "Hey, now. It ain't my fault them folks is too slow on the draw."

Before he stepped out of their company, Micah was returning his bowl to the bin of dirty dishes, the sourest of expressions plastered on his face.

"Havin' some indigestion there, Mr. Bell?"

Micah immediately snapped, "Shut up, old man, and mind your own damn business."

"Shit," said Uncle as the angry bastard strode past him. "Who's gone and pissed in his stew?"

"You start watching yourself 'round Micah, old man," Pearson warned. "He's got Dutch's ear now."

"Piece of shit," Susan spat. "Rather have the Adler girl running things than his marching around telling us what to do."

Uncle lifted his shoulders. "That boy thinks he's got bigger britches than he does, but he's nothing more than a...a fly in a soup. One flick ought to straighten him out."

"And who's gonna do the flicking?" Pearson shook his head gravely. "Anyone he's ever backed down from ain't here right now."

"He don't scare me." The bastard strutted around like was a big bad, but Uncle had lived long enough to have crossed paths with worse men than him.

Uncle abandoned Susan and Pearson to their solemness before they sucked all the joy from the living. He gazed around the fully set-up, yet bare camp, knowing something was missing.

Around the fire, sat Lenny and Sadie quietly with each other. Uncle joined them and had a seat with a smile.

"Cheer up now, folks!" Uncle swung a hand around. "Sure, we got death, despair and disaster all around us, but it ain't here."

Sadie shook her head, dragging a cigarette. "What's got you in such a jolly mood?"

"I'll tell you what." Uncle paused long enough to capture Sadie and Lenny's attention. "I gots a philosophy."

"I'm sure you do," Lenny said dryly.

"Shush. Listen up to this bit of wisdom, kid, and you might learn a thing or two."

"You just say what you wanna say and I'll decide if it's actually anything worthwhile."

"Oh, it is." Uncle tapped his head. "Now, I may not have much to my name, but I still got my smarts."

Sadie told him, "You can call it what you want, old man, but it don't mean it's true."

"There's no sense in having a sharp tongue all the time, Mrs. Adler." He scratched his chest. "You girls s'posed to be the nice ones 'round here."

"Please. If we was all nice to you, you'd get bored of our company."

"Maybe you're right. When you was in charge, I kinda liked taking orders from a lady." He wriggled his eyebrows. "Reminded me of some fine times with my first wife."

"Oh, shut up, you old perv." She rolled her eyes, but her tone wasn't angry. She wasn't delicate like some of the others, getting offended over small jokes for nothing.

Bill joined them when Uncle was nearly done with his stew, throwing a leg over the log near the fire. "Say, I noticed Miss Grimshaw set up Morgan's sleeping area."

Lenny raised a brow. "So?"

"So..." Bill leaned in, one elbow on his knee. "...how long 'til he's gone before we start divvying up his shit?"

Sadie scowled. "That why you were over there snooping all afternoon?"

Bill leaned back. "What? He ain't here and he ain't coming back, far as I can tell."

"Leave it alone, Bill," Lenny warned. "It ain't yours."

"Fine, fine." Bill tried to cross his arms, winced at the bandaged one and rested his arms on his legs instead. He muttered, "Just sayin'. It's wasteful."

Uncle stood and stretched. "I don't know about you folks, but I'm gonna find a pissing spot."

"Take your dirty bowl," Sadie ordered.

Uncle opened his mouth to protest but Lenny piled on, "We don't got enough hands around here for you to leave it for someone else."

Uncle snatched his bowl up from the ground, muttering, "Bunch of goddamn washerwomen, I swear."

He dumped his plate in the tub and plodded on down to the river to do his business. When he turned around, he grimaced at what awaited him. He shouldn't have gone so far, as now he had to climb a damn hill. He took his time, huffing in air. Near the top, he leaned on a tree to catch his breath. He found himself on the other side of the Marstons arguing.

"...and you wanna stay here?" Abigail hissed. "This place ain't safe."

"It ain't my first choice neither," John came back at her in undertones.

"The last thing I want is Jack in another goddamn shootout. I'm sick of it, John!"

"It ain't ideal, but do you got anything saved up? 'Cause I ain't got shit."

"No." Abigail paused and picked up steam again. "We survived on scraps while you had yourself caught."

"I was trying to get back to you all," John argued, gesturing away. "You could've left then and you could've left by now too. You said Charles was asking. You shoulda just done it if you're so eager to get out of here."

"I..."

"What?"

Abigail snapped out, "I didn't want you thinkin' we was turning our backs on you, you big idiot! Dutch sent you off and you didn't exactly leave in a good temper."

"All the more reason for you to be gone by now."

Abigail looked away and said quietly, "I thought you said we was stickin' together here on out."

John's brow furrowed like it wasn't exactly the answer he expected. He blew out a breath. "You're right. I've been a fool."

"You're always a fool, John Marston." Abigail's gaze softened. "But that don't mean we don't want you around."

"It'll be okay, ya hear?" His hands stroked her arms. "We'll figure this out."

"How?"

"It's the same story it always is. We need money to do anything." John shook his head. "Unless you got gold bars hidden somewhere, we ain't going nowhere right now."

"John," Abigail said fretfully, "Charles claimed the Pinkertons are close. They could be on us any moment."

His soothing arm strokes moved to hold her hands. "If Pinkertons were gonna pick us off today, they woulda done it already. Dutch has been wrong about a lot lately, but he's right in saying it'll take at least a few days for them to regroup. Plus, they got to find us again first. We're safe for now."

"If you say so."

"But you ain't wrong to worry," John added. "If it should happen and things go wrong, head up to Owanjila Dam. We'll meet there. Alright?"

Abigail nodded. "Alright."

Uncle never thought he'd see the day they'd both go soft on one another. They was real fools for each other.

"What the hell you doing over there, old man?"

Oop. Caught out. "Oh, don't mind me. I'm comin' back from a gander down by the river."

"Doin' what?" John demanded.

"For once, pissing in a place where there ain't a chance for a gator to come up and rip my pecker off."

John scowled. "You're disgusting, you know that?"

"I'm no such thing. It's a natural bodily occupation."

"The way you say it don't make it sound natural."

Uncle peered around a moment and asked, "You folks headin' somewhere?"

They both straightened, wariness in their eyes and it hurt that they thought they couldn't trust him.

John said, "Depends on what you think all of this looks like."

Uncle tried to play off any concern. "We ain't at our best, but we're been in worse scrapes, John."

"I ain't too sure about that, old man. You're dreamin'."

The last thing he wanted was to be left behind. "Don't think you're going anywhere without me."

"If you want in, Uncle, then keep your goddamn mouth shut about what you heard." John walked off without waiting for a promise of his discretion.

Uncle joked to Abigail, "More sour than old milk, he is."

"Every right to be, as I see it."

Abigail always been tough as iron. That's why Uncle brought her into the gang in the first place. She'd been a match for Susan right off the bat, proving her mettle and managing to keep the taskmaster off her back.

"It can't be bad forever," Uncle reassured her.

But Abigail didn't meet his eyes as she hugged herself. "I don't know if that's true anymore, Uncle."

Shit. There weren't no cheer from anyone tonight. People were in low spirits alright. John and Abigail were ready to jump ship. Bill was already staking claim on Arthur's property and Lenny was his less than cheerful self. Only Sadie seemed unaffected, her mind on her own thing, as she sharpened those knives of hers and stared into the fire with murder in her eyes.

Uncle didn't know who else to keep company with. He left Abigail with an itch for some fire in his belly. He hoped Susan already had a few bottles of whiskey out and ready for consumption. He started for the food wagon when he was distracted by the sight of Jack making his way up the hill to the right side of the camp.

Uncle wouldn't have been too concerned—boys should be exploring after all—but the last thing this place needed was him tumbling down the hill and getting Abigail rabid.

He huffed his way up the hill until he had to call out, "Slow down, Jackie. Let me join you."

The boy thankfully stopped and let an old man catch up to him. Uncle was grateful his momma had taught him manners. While Uncle climbed the hill to Jack, he wondered if he'd yet told the boy about the talking horses of Canada.

Jack stared down the valley, his attention caught on some action below.

Uncle squinted, but his old eyes weren't as good as they used to be. "Whatchu see, boy?"

"Horses."

"Not so odd."

"Are they knights?"

His brow furrowed. "Where'd you get such a fool notion as that?"

"In a book me and Momma read."

Uncle scowled. "Books. Those will rot your brain, Jackie."

Jack looked up. "Uncle Hosea says books are good."

"Hosea's smart, but he don't know everything." Uncle tapped the side of his head. "Some things just gotta come natural."

"Oh." Jack looked down again.

"They headed this way, Jackie?"

"Yeah."

Uncle turned halfway, ready to scramble back down the hill to warn Dutch when Jack spoke again.

"Wait. No. Now they're going that way." Jack pointed and scrunched up his face. "North, right?"

Uncle nodded, despite not being able to see the figures below himself. However, he did hear yapping even from this distance. "They got dogs, boy?"

"Uh-huh."

Men on horseback with dogs? Dogs weren't a good sign for bastards on the run. Those were bounty hunters, sure as shit.

Jack brightened and turned up a smile his way. "You think one of them is Cain and he joined the knights?"

"No."

Jack's face fell and Uncle didn't mean to break the boy's silly idea. 'Course the boy was excited 'bout that as a prospect. Somehow, between their ride over from Lakay, the pup Cain had wandered off.

"They ain't knights," Uncle explained. "They're bad men who want us dead."

Suddenly, little hands clung to his leg. "They coming for us, Uncle?"

"Nah." Uncle patted his head. "They don't know we're here."

He turned the boy around and prodded him to move. "Come on, Jack. Best we stay close to camp now."

Uncle dropped Jack off with his mother and then meandered his way over to Dutch's tent. Before he even reached it, he already heard Micah flapping his gums.

"...all the papers are reporting it. Word is, Cornwall's making a little stop in Annesburg. Seems he's got his eyes on owning part of the mine."

"Sounds promising. We can finally get these Pinkertons out of our hair, if we can somehow get rid of the man slipping them their paychecks." Dutch rubbed his chin. "But without Arthur and Charles on board, we're down two guns for the job. That ain't even mentioning Bill out of commission."

"What about that Mexican bastard? He run out on us too?"

Dutch waved a hand. "You don't need to worry about Javier. He's loyal through and through. He's out doing a...special mission for me."

"Sure." Micah's eye twitched, clearly disliking the discovery. "But Arthur and Charles...we don't need those two deserters, Dutch. I know a couple of guns around this area to replace them easy."

"Hmm," Dutch said noncommittally. "I'll think on it." His eyes strayed across the camp. "I reckon, either way we'll need at least one of them with Bill laid up."

"Sure, boss." Micah caught sight of Uncle and glared. "What do you want, old man?"

Uncle didn't waste breath when it was a serious matter he'd come here for. "We got bounty hunters coming up, boss."

Startled, Dutch demanded, "Heading here?"

"North of us."

Dutch's eyes cleared. "Then we're still safe."

"You know where they're going, don'tcha?"

Dutch said nothing.

It was obvious, but Uncle said it out loud anyway. "They're headed for Arthur."

Dutch scoffed. "You don't know that."

"Only reason a posse that big is headed out together this far north is to catch themselves a real prize."

Agitated, Dutch turned his back and started shifting through his books. "Arthur made his choice when he left us."

"That ain't no way to think," Uncle argued. "Now, you and I both know he's practically your son."

Dutch set down a book and refused to answer him.

Uncle wasn't no pushover so he persisted, "What should we do about it, Dutch?"

When Dutch faced him again, Uncle wasn't too sure who was looking at him. The man...or the king.

"Back off, old man," Micah cut in front of him, between him and Dutch. "Like Dutch said, Arthur made his goddamn choice. Ain't no one coddling that bastard anymore."

Micah pushed him out of the tent and Uncle got a good look at the place before him, at the stragglers still left at camp. There was no chatter or laughter or ruckus at all. The general sense of camaraderie was gone. If Dutch turned his back now, then they all really was lost and Uncle was the last to know.

Uncle confronted Dutch one more time. He wasn't much for begging, but there was a lack of good men in this world and Arthur was one of the decent ones.

He appealed to the man he'd known for over a decade, through thick and thin. "You gonna abandon your son, Dutch?"

Dutch glanced at Micah and then back to Uncle. Then he made his choice.