A/N: I can't apologise enough for my month of absence – I seemly gained something called 'a life' and by God that was terrifying! Nevertheless I have returned with another chapter of Highwayman for my readers to enjoy – I just hope it hasn't been too long and you've all moved on, but in which case have another read-through of the old chapters and enjoy the joys of Victorian Who once more!

Laying facing the sky, claiming his breath back, John considered what he had learned from his encounter with Harry. To the average mind one would consider something along the lines 'the man has an ego and a temper' but John had already known that. No, the real facts of the encounter were that Saxon was sensitive towards his father (whether deceased or living), that he also had himself something of a small-army, and he seemed rather intimidated of John. It was quite remarkable really; there was no need of feeling small around simple, average John.

Footsteps could be heard coming down the road from where the carriage had charged off, John looking down his body to see the figure – oddly distorted due to his angle – quickly walk towards him. Putting his head back upon the soft soil, John exclaimed loudly to the figure, "Why must it always end like this?"

"What's that? Saxon still has my handcuffs" the figure had reached John now and leaned down beside him, removing the cap and releasing her long blond curls.

"No… Me on the ground and you lording over me" Smith smiled, finally sitting up as Melody shook her head.

"Since when have I ever 'lorded' over you, Mr Smith?"

"That's 'Detective' Smith to you, misses!" John joked as he jumped to his feet, brushing himself off and looking both up and down the road, frowning.

"You intend to follow Saxon?" Melody asked immediately, having noticed John's concern and looked around herself, their joking already something of the past.

"No… not exactly, but Saxon has himself some murderous followers and they need a signal by which to know he's okay or else they're going to destroy all in their path. Starting with Leadworth…"

"Are you to believe his words?" doubt covered every syllable of Melody's tone as she now looked directly to John.

"I could choose not to and risk everyone in Leadworth being viciously slaughtered by a bunch of hillbillies…"

"Hillbillies?"

"American phrase…" John muttered.

"You've been to America?!" despite the growing situation, Melody sounded in awe at this new information.

"What – you haven't?" Smith shot back, suddenly grabbing Melody's forearm and leading her briskly back in the direction they had originated, "Never mind; since I really couldn't tell what the 'signal' would be, the risk of slaughter will have to be addressed. Be on the lookout Ms Pond, any movement and you run."

"Run? As if…" Melody muttered, freeing her arm from John's grip, looking towards him and noticing the weapon he now held. "When in hell did you get that?" she exclaimed at the pistol resting calmly in Smith's right hand.

"Saxon" Smith muttered, continuing his brisk pace, "I shoot to harm, not kill – not that I even want to do that but should we find one of Saxon's Gang then we can persuade him or her to let the other's know their leader is safe… unless of course Saxon's managed to free himself and gain control of the carriage by now and got a message ahead of us."

"And if he has?" Melody asked of Smith, the caution and slight fear now evident in her tone.

"Then may God himself have mercy upon us all…"

Rolling out the carriage, landing in long wild grass, Saxon lay catching his breath, anger flooding through his entire body as he waited for the sounds of the transportation vehicle to fade away – to which they did surprisingly quickly. Raising his head to look at his surroundings he knew instantly that he was entirely alone, but also that he had to get in contact with his army before they made the wrong choice – going in and attacking madly and without plan was a disaster waiting to happen. Who knew what Smith had in Leadworth…

Rolling over and jumping up, his hands still restricted by the handcuffs, Saxon raised his palms to his jaw before giving a long, loud, wolfish howl. Waiting a moment and receiving no reply, the highwayman repeated the action, this time receiving a shorter, lower howl in return. Noting the direction, he howled once more, this time three shorter syllables to which were quickly responded to in a code only he and his men understood.

Nodding to himself as he finally felt satisfied, knowing the five he sent with him were to return to his side, Saxon turned to look in the direction the carriage had gone, the tracks embedded within grass and soil easy to follow a short distance to a sudden, deadly drop. Grimacing to himself at the danger he had put himself in, the handcuffs a reminder, he could barely see the wreckage of the carriage below and cursed the loss of a useful horse now that his was lord knows where.

Sitting on a nearby log, overlooking the view beyond the wreckage, he had to wonder at what he had learned from his chance encounter with Detective Smith, how the man had changed over the years and yet how similar he still was. Take away the dress and handcuffs and the two could have been sitting having tea like in the old days. Rolling his eyes at this thought, Saxon hit his knees in frustration – the old days were long gone and so childish to even think of!

Standing suddenly, feeling itchy with the need to do something other than reflect (he hated reflection), Saxon turned and moved back towards the area he had signalled from, deciding to head back to his group instead of waiting around aimlessly. He was therefore surprised and secretly pleased to find His Second in Command waiting by a tree, arms folded and smoking a cigar – the image was laughable had Saxon been in a mood to laugh.

Without saying a word, the Highwayman raised his linked hands, his Second nodding and removing a gun from its holdall around his waist. Raising his arms above his head without a worry, Saxon simply gazed at his Second as the man raised his pistol and shot seemingly carelessly towards the handcuffs. Feeling his arms immediately free from their joint positions, Saxon smirked, holding out one of his hands so as to claim the gun.

"You owe me a shot and now you want my gun?" his Second asked with raised eyebrow.

"You work for me, Borusa so you do what I say. Give me the pistol!" Saxon snarled, not even bothering to work through his request as he moved forward and snatched the weapon from the man's hand.

"Whatever…" Borusa shrugged as reached down and removed another pistol from the holdall, checked it over then replaced it once more with a mutter of "It'll suffice."

"What are you orders?" Another voice commented as four others emerged from the wilderness, the speaker – a female with dark red raggedy hair and a permanent snarl upon her face – seemingly to lead the rest of the small pack.

"We're to all gather back at base" Saxon now addressed her, glancing back towards Borusa, "There I will inform you of information gathered from Detective Smith himself."

"Smith?" Borusa stood to attention, staring now wide-eyed at his commander, briefly glancing at the separated handcuffs upon Saxon's wrist before returning to his apparent laid-back persona, seemingly shrugging it off as he changed tact and addressed the other four, "You heard Saxon, gather everyone and regroup at base!"

As the other four turned back to leave, Saxon grabbed hold of Borusa's arm so as to address the man; "Don't you dare think for one moment that I'm I weak because I was involved in a situation; you may have the strength but by God you do not have the brains and should you ever defy me again you may find yourself facing the wrong end of an army of weapons. Got me?"

Glaring deeply into Saxon's eyes, the Leader was momentarily curious as to what the reply would be before the arm was snatched free and through clenched teeth the man indeed replied, "Yes… Boss." As the man stalked off after the others, Saxon followed moments later, noting to himself to keep part of his concentration alert upon Borusa once more for fear of betrayal.