A few weeks later, Annabelle suddenly became ill. She was quarantined in a tent, put in bed and made comfortable, given soothing syrups, and watched closely. But to no avail. Within a couple days, she was retching every few minutes and her fever spiked.

Arthur stood in the corner of the tent as Hosea searched through a small medical book he kept for such occasions, trying to rule out certain diseases while Dutch hovered over her, his mouth covered with a cloth.

"No. No, no," Hosea said thumbs through the pages, taking his finger down each page as her looked at the known symptoms for each illness. "Good news is we can rule out tuberculosis and pneumonia. She doesn't have any pox, does she?"

"No pox," Dutch said.

"I think it's influenza," Hosea said looking up.

Dutch looked at him, his eyebrows gathering. He looked back at Annabelle as Hosea rose and came to her bed with his mouth covered.

Hosea placed a hand over Annabelle's forehead. "Her fever's getting too high. Needs willowbark or meadow-wort to bring it down. Real bad. Some opium might help for the pain, but it's secondary in importance to the herbs."

"Where can we find that?" Dutch asked.

"I'll send the boys to look for some," Hosea said and left the tent.

Dutch watched as every few minutes she would lean over and attempt to retch, but heave in vain.

Hosea drew a few quick copies of the herbs in question and sent the men of the gang, including Arthur, in every direction to search for them. Arthur immediately thought of Mary and left a note in their secret drop asking her to meet him that evening.

After a full day of scouring the area within several miles radius, the men came back that evening with nothing.

Arthur dipped his head as he entered the tent to look upon the dismal scene.

Dutch watched by flickering candlelight as Annabelle trembled, the drops of sweat collecting on her forehead and running down her temple. Her lips were getting lighter, and she clutched the blanket tight to her chin. Her strength had been completely sapped, so she no longer attempted to retch at all.

"She's gotten even worse," Dutch said in a strenuous tone.

"She won't eat or drink. And she's burning up," Hosea said.

Dutch took one of her pale, clammy hands in his as he kept a cloth over his mouth with the other. "Oh, Annabelle," he said in a husky voice.

Arthur could hardly bear to watch the scene. Dutch was not one for emotional fanfare, so Arthur could tell that Annabelle was on death's door just by the expression on his face.

"I'm not givin' up, Dutch," Arthur said. "Don't you worry. I'll be back." Arthur rushed out of the tent and was off to see Mary.

.

With the sun setting, Arthur approached Moffett Landing and saw a couple law men on horses at the mouth of the town's main street. He didn't let it unnerve him, but he chose to take back roads to Mary's. It looked like one of the gang's jobs must've had a bit of a snag recently.

As Arthur came up to Mary's family property, he slowed his horse to a quiet pace. The barn was Mary's favorite personal place to be alone, since it was never visited by anyone else and was a good distance from the homestead. It was also the perfect place for him to arrive to meet her or take her for a ride, since he could ride up on the opposite side from the homestead, and her father would be none the wiser.

Arthur saw her standing at the door of the barn in the dim light. He dismounted and ran to her, taking her inside the barn.

"I saw your note; what's going on?" she asked.

"It's Annabelle," he said out of breath. "She fell sick, real bad. Influenza. Her fever's real high, keeps going up."

"Oh, no," Mary whispered.

Arthur's head hung low. "It's horrible. They're watchin' her around the clock. Dutch is wretched. You oughta see him."

"Arthur…" she said putting hand on his cheek.

He went into his coat pocket and pulled out the slip of paper Hosea had given him. "Have you seen one of these? Either of 'em?" Mary took the paper, looking at the drawings and the names Hosea had labeled them with. "They're medicinal herbs," Arthur said. "I thought with your horticulture…maybe…"

"No, no," Mary said. "It has nothing to do with medicine."

Arthur sighed.

She shook her head. "I haven't seen either of these around here, but—"

"I've gotta find 'em," he said taking the paper. "I can't waste any time."

"Arthur—"

He mounted his horse. "Annabelle's hanging on by a thread, and it's not lookin' good."

Mary watched as he rode away. It was true, she hadn't seen any in the wild around town. But what she had been trying to say was that she knew the local doctor kept medicinal herbs in his office. She paced back and forth, wondering how she could get to them. If she didn't have the symptoms herself, it would be no use to wait until morning to see the doctor herself. He would demand to see the patient himself, so he knew he wasn't wasting valuable medicine. Or he'd have to know of the patient himself to entrust Mary with the medicine. She couldn't very well tell the doctor a member of a gang that had arrived and was camped outside of town was in dire need of the medicine. Especially not with the way the deputies had been acting for the past couple days, patrolling the main roads and outskirts of town at all hours of the day and night.

No, there was only one way to get that medicine. It had to be done quickly and quietly, and it had to be done tonight, while it was still dark.

And it would take all the courage she could muster.