"Murder at Willard's Rest!

A newly wed couple's honeymoon has been cut short! Three nights ago, the Van der Linde gang struck again. The vile fiends are back and have targeted a family living in a cabin north of Annesburg. Formally, it was the location of a known gang hideout only a year ago, but real estate ace Henry Fischer had them removed and sold the property earlier this year to promising, upstanding homeowners. But, no longer is there peace in this area.

A nearby neighbor is quoted as having heard 'demon dogs' and 'gunfire for hours'. Pressure mounts on the Pinkerton agents in the area to put a stop to this madness so the good citizens of New Hanover can live without fear that outlaws will murder them in their own—"

"That is wholly inaccurate," Charlotte angrily interrupted Trelawny's reading of the newspaper article.

Across from her, Trelawny raised an eyebrow. They sat at a breakfast table in the lobby of La Marque Hotel, which was situated in the heart of Saint Denis. It was just the two of them this morning, as Arthur had yet to wake from last night.

Charlotte continued, "For starters, Cal and I were hardly newlyweds."

"Ah, well." Trelawny chuckled and folded the paper up. He set it on the table, inexplicably amused at her indignation. "It seems they chose to go with a more riveting description, accurate or not. The tragedy of a young couple's happy ending cut short will sell papers, Mrs. Balfour."

"The details of my life are not meant to buoy their business."

"That, my dear, is where you're wrong. Sensationalism in the news has become the entire purpose of the industry. Would the story be as compelling if it was kept true to fact and never strayed?"

"Perhaps not, but the publication of it doesn't make it right."

"If it's any consolation, this article proves the law doesn't consider you involved with the gang."

She argued, "All it proves is the newspaper is willing to print whatever they want. It doesn't necessarily thwart the Pinkerton Agency's search and erase what they possibly know."

"A fair point," Trelawny allowed and suddenly glanced behind her. He greeted cheerfully, "Good morning, Arthur."

"Mornin'," Arthur muttered.

"Sleep well?" Trelawny asked, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

Arthur turned his head sharply. "What?"

"Certainly better than the ground, wouldn't you say?" Trelawny's tone suggested there was an underlying meaning to his question, which Charlotte suspected she understood.

Arthur grunted his reply this time, not giving him another word.

"How are you feeling today, Arthur?" she asked him, concerned his sleep hadn't been fitful.

"Fine," he said curtly.

She offered, "Would you like to join us for breakfast?"

"Ain't too hungry," he replied in a less aggrieved tone as he took the chair to her right.

"How about a cup of joe?" Trelawny offered, already pouring from the pot that had been left at the table for them.

"Sure." Arthur accepted the cup and nodded at the paper. "Anything interestin'?"

Charlotte frowned. "The authorities mean to lay all blame of my house's destruction on the gang. Not to mention, peppering an incredible amount of inaccurate details to further ignite the situation to extremes."

Arthur shrugged. "I don't know how many times I gotta tell you, that's just how the world works."

"Well." She pursed her lips a moment, dissatisfied. "I may just write a strongly worded letter to the editor in order for a correction to be printed of a more accurate telling."

Arthur eyed her like she'd lost her mind. "What the hell purpose would that serve?"

Charlotte opened her mouth, but Trelawny tutted. "Now, now, dear boy. Mrs. Balfour seeks to preserve her good name and ours in the process. No need to bite the hand that tends you. Besides, we have other matters to discuss."

Arthur drank some of his coffee and then asked, "Like what?"

"What do you think should be done about Miss O'Shea?" Mr. Trelawny queried.

Arthur frowned. "I don't see why we got to do anythin'."

They went on speaking further of Molly's situation and whether Dutch should be informed of her current occupancy. Meanwhile, Charlotte studied Arthur across her coffee mug. Despite their conversation, he'd avoided meeting her eyes from the moment he'd entered the breakfast room. Perhaps she knew why that was, but she found his unspoken reasoning unnecessary.

It had happened last night. The room Mr. Trelawny had procured for them was rather larger than she expected, with two beds. But their company was three.

Arthur had selflessly insisted on her and Trelawny taking each of the beds. Josiah had acquiesced without question and without offering to share. Because of her knowledge of Arthur's condition, she attempted to argue, but Arthur had been impossibly stubborn.

No matter how much she protested and showed him there was plenty of room for the two of them to occupy one bed without touching, he ignored her ideas for a compromise. He crossed his arms and settled into an armchair near the window, stretching out his legs as if he could gain any sort of comfort from it. He'd given her no choice but to accept his decision.

Despite her discontent at Arthur's sacrifice of his own comfort, she'd found herself dozing off quite easily when she finally settled into bed herself.

In the middle of the night, a noise had disturbed her sleep. She lifted her head, thinking at first it had been Trelawny's light snoring from the other bed. But a second later, Arthur had coughed, dry and coarse, followed by a wheezy intake of breath.

At the sound, all her guilt came swarming over her at once. She should have stood firmer against his resolve. He was suffering for no reason other than some prude sense of propriety for her sake. However, she considered herself quite beyond the parameters necessary to act the proper lady.

After a moment of debate in her head, Charlotte had swept the covers from her body and approached Arthur's sleeping form. He'd taken off his coat and was using it as a blanket. His boots were set next to the chair and she was careful not to trip on them. She pried his arms apart gently, calling his name.

Arthur tensed and opened his worn eyes groggily. "Charlotte?"

She tugged his arm. "On your feet, dear."

His brows furrowed and he closed his eyes, but he obeyed her instruction and stood, enough for her to steady him.

"Come now," she said softly, clasping his hand.

She led him the few steps to the bed and he shuffled behind her. She lifted the blankets and lightly pushed him to sit. She pressed her palm against his shoulder to encourage him to lay down, murmuring in hushed tones. She drew the covers up over him, satisfied at her success and how she'd avoided an argument.

"Charlotte," Arthur had said unexpectedly and sleepily, catching hold of her hand. "Am I too late?"

She had no idea of what he spoke, but by the pinch in his brow, it was clear some gnawing demon had hold of his tired mind. She sat on the edge of the bed, squeezed his hand, and assured him, "No, Arthur. It's not too late. But it is time to rest."

He'd sighed, slipping once more into sleep. She'd watched him a moment to make sure no other issue tried to wake him. She moved to the other side of the bed and crawled in, judging the space between them would be enough that they wouldn't disturb one another.

In the morning, Mr. Trelawny had woken and left their room without disturbing her and Arthur. Because of this, Charlotte suspected she knew the meaning behind Trelawny's teasing tone. When Arthur awoke, he must have realized she'd coaxed him into sleeping in the bed in the middle of the night. Even though nothing untoward had occurred, the knowledge still seemed to bother him.

Arthur cleared his throat and asked her now, "How did you get on with that goody-two-shoes lawyer?"

"Mr. Pierre was wonderful." Despite Mr. Trelawny's warning beforehand of his inexperience, he'd been sharp and knowledgeable with the law. However, there hadn't been much Mr. Pierre could do for her predicament.

"What he spoke of was promising," Trelawny stated. "With the proper documentation, there is certainly a claim for a payout on the house."

Foolishly, she'd allowed Cal to handle all the particulars of their finances. It'd been at his insistence, neither of them dreaming of the dire consequences of that decision. And that's where the difficulty lay. Although she'd been Cal's wife, the law in this area wasn't particularly generous with its widows, no matter the circumstances.

"Unfortunately, that proper documentation was likely in the house when it..." Charlotte faltered a moment as the image surfaced in her mind of the devastating destruction she'd witnessed, of orange callous flames stretching high into the night sky. "...caught fire."

"Shit." Arthur rubbed his jaw. "Ain't there copies?"

She sighed, setting her unfinished coffee aside. "Cal and I hadn't thought that far ahead. It may be possible his parents kept some paperwork during the original purchase. I'm not certain it's worth it to contact them if it should prove in vain, and it doesn't help me in the meantime."

"Damn." Arthur lifted his chin in Trelawny's direction. "You got any more cockamamie ideas?"

"Indeed, I have several," Trelawny stated. "But I fear, dear boy, our collaborative adventures are at a close."

Charlotte looked to him in bewilderment as he hadn't said a word all morning of his intention to leave.

Arthur said stiffly, "Is that how it is?"

Trelawny gave him a rueful smile. "I must tie up some loose ends in Saint Denis with George, but then I shall be on my way out of this city for good."

Arthur nodded in acceptance. "Your family get out of town alright?"

Trelawny's expression changed to one of surprise. "Thank you for asking, Arthur. Yes, Lydia has taken the boys to New York. I assume their travels were uneventful and they've settled in nicely. However, I'd like to find out for myself before she forgets she has a husband and meets some dashing, fast-talking New Yorker chap attempting to sweep her off her feet."

"Versus the fast-talking whatever-you-are she's already got?"

"Indeed."

"Well, you were smart to get them out while you could. Especially, since them Pinkertons found the house."

Trelawny stood and paused to say in a serious tone, "You've been a fine friend to me. I'll miss you, Arthur."

Arthur stood too and offered him a hand to shake, patting his shoulder. "Let's not get over sentimental."

Trelawny tipped his hat at Charlotte. "Good luck on all your future endeavors, dear girl." He glanced pointedly at Arthur. "No matter where they may take you."

Arthur didn't seem to care for the insinuation. "You want a bruise to your jaw to take with you on your journey?"

Trelawny chuckled without fear. He winked at Charlotte. "And to think, he's nicer now than he used to be."

Arthur waved him off. "Yeah, yeah. Get on with you."

"Farewell, you two. And take care. May we meet again some day."

Trelawny gave them one last salute and then he was away, gone from their company and hopefully onto the life he wanted. Charlotte wished him all the best. She'd seen the photograph in the pocket watch he kept close to his heart.

Arthur turned to her. "I reckon it's time for me to get on the road too, and back to camp."

His exclusion of her in that announcement clearly indicated he meant to say his farewells as well. More than likely, he would want to see her on a train home. But that was the thing. Home wasn't anywhere for her right now.

If she went back to Chicago, to her family, without a husband, she'd be returning as a failure at living on her own. She'd regret that move for the rest of her life. Despite all the misfortunes that had befallen her path, she still hadn't given up on the dream to be independent.

"Arthur," she began, without addressing his dismissal. "Miss O'Shea gave me a piece of information you may find interesting."

"Yeah?" His easy reply seemed to mark he wanted to prolong their time also and it encouraged her to forge on with what Molly had told her.

"She mentioned sighting Reverend Swanson," she revealed

"Swanson?" Arthur's eyebrows shot high. "The way he made himself scarce, I woulda thought he was well clear of the city by now."

"According to Miss O'Shea, he's still in Saint Denis. At least, since this past week." Charlotte tilted her head. "What do you think? Shall we attempt to find him?"

Arthur rubbed his jaw, contemplating this development. "If it's a solid lead, I don't see no harm in spending a few more hours in town. It'll be worth it if it comes to anything. That's all your damn money he ran off with. I'd like to catch up with him and ask why the hell he ain't tried to find us."

She'd nearly forgotten that detail. Swanson had disappeared with the money she'd withdrawn from her bank account. She hadn't missed it for an instant because, from the moment her and Cal traveled to New Hanover, they'd intended on severing themselves from the wealth and their life of luxury in order to take pleasure in just living off the land, no matter the difficulty. It wasn't supposed to be that she would bear that difficulty alone.

She shook herself mentally to clear the melancholy. "Reverend Swanson should be working at the soup kitchen. Shall we, Arthur?"

XXXXXXXXX

Three hours later, Charlotte was rubbing her temple, weary, as her and Arthur stood on the sidewalk of Frontier Street.

She suggested to him, "I do believe it's time we found something to eat and take a break."

"We can sit down, but we might as well give up," Arthur told her in a surly tone. "'Cause we ain't gonna find him 'round here."

She wanted to counter that claim, but so far their efforts had proved fruitless. They'd searched the soup kitchen, to which no one knew of Reverend Swanson. It was suggested then that they try the church, so they went across town and that also turned up nothing. Arthur had said he knew a Brother Dorkins and a Sister Calderon, but neither of them were in attendance at the church today, as they were apparently out and about the city helping the unfortunate.

A groundskeeper had claimed he'd seen the reverend on Frontier Street at a clothing shop, but they'd traveled up and down the road and inside the stores with no luck.

Charlotte and Arthur stopped at the nearest restaurant, which happened to be the Bastille Saloon. They went to the bar and she ordered a stew. Beside her, Arthur asked only for a coffee.

Charlotte frowned at his choice as she'd noticed he hadn't eaten anything for breakfast either. She pointed out to him, "The doctor we saw suggested light meals, not to disregard eating entirely."

"I don't need it."

"You do," she countered, insistent, "if you mean to keep up your strength."

They stared at each other in challenge, but Charlotte didn't intend to be pushed around on this matter. Especially, as far as she knew, she was the only one who knew of Arthur's tuberculosis diagnosis and no one else seemed willing to push back against him.

"Fine." Arthur tossed another bill on the counter and told the bartender, "Add another stew to that, won't you?" He swept a hand. "Happy?"

"Entirely," she answered, indeed pleased.

As they turned to find a table, Arthur said with a shake of his head, "Since when you get the nerve to bully me, Mrs. Balfour?"

She smiled at him. "I wouldn't designate it as bullying, but encouragement to better your health."

"Oh sure," he chuckled lightly. "Is that what you're callin' it?"

They ended up having to sit at a table upstairs on one of the balconies, as the others on the main floor were filled with patrons for the lunch rush. Charlotte considered it fortunate rather than an inconvenience. The day was clear, the humidity low and the clouds partially covered the sun enough to not blind them. It was a pleasant afternoon and their spot upstairs provided a flattering view of the city.

Charlotte watched the people milling about the streets, wondering idly if any of their day-to-day resembled the hectic lifestyle she'd run away from in Chicago. After a few minutes, a server brought up their meals.

"Sure woulda been convenient to find that money," Arthur commented once the waiter had re-entered the building and left them to their own devices again.

She blew lightly on her soup and put in, "And Reverend Swanson."

"Swanson makes more problems than he solves," Arthur grumbled, before adding, "but yeah. I'd like to know what the hell happened to him. Knowin' his luck, he got robbed soon as he got himself separated from you and Lenny."

"I hope that isn't the case." Charlotte blamed herself every time her mind went back to that day. It still astonished her that she and Lenny had lost him so quickly and she hoped he hadn't run into any danger because of it.

Arthur continued regretfully, "And that money would put an end to a whole hell of a lot of your problems right now. But I'll find a way to make it right somehow."

That last statement was so unexpectedly self-deprecating and guilt-filled, she looked up from her stew. He spoke as if he owed her some sort of debt. Was that why he'd been acting so standoffish since they'd left Beaver Hollow?

"Arthur," she said firmly, "You're not at fault for what's happened to me."

"If we hadn't gone up to your house in the first place—"

"You couldn't have known the outcome of that day."

"Shouldn't have let it get that far. It'd been stupid to try and think we'd be safe at Willard's Rest. Like no one would find us up there."

"It was my choice to offer," she asserted calmly. "I knew there could be danger involved and I don't regret it. Even now."

Arthur fell silent and it seemed he wanted to believe her. She kept her gaze steady and without blame. It was true, after all. The bounty hunters who chose to attack her house had been men who shot first and asked questions later. In that situation, and in her eyes, Arthur and Charles had been in their rights to defend themselves and the people they wanted to protect, which they had.

"Just seems..." Arthur's eyes moved down the street, and lingered on the Hotel Grand. "...everything I touch lately goes to hell."

Charlotte stared at him, fighting off strong curiosity with expected propriety. It truly wasn't her business to ask. He'd surely snap at her if she did, but she didn't like that he was bottling up something that clearly bothered him.

When the curiosity inevitably won out, Charlotte asked as gently as she could, "Is that what happened with Mary yesterday?"

Arthur went quiet again and she feared she may have overstepped. Then he sighed deeply. "What happened with Mary was a whole lotta nothin'."

"What does that mean?" she pressed.

"It means," Arthur said with agitation, "That all them dreams of being with her, well, that was all they were: dreams. She made sure I knew I was too late to make something of it."

Am I too late? he'd asked so desperately last night, vulnerable and fearful. Was this what he'd been referring to? A lost life with the woman he loved?

"I'm terribly sorry, Arthur," she said honestly.

"Yeah, well, don't be. It don't matter no more," Arthur told her as if trying to brush it off as nothing. "It weren't never meant to be and it never really was anyway."

He'd been cut deeply during whatever had transpired in his meeting with Mary. It'd been Charlotte's fault he'd sought her out in the first place. Her involvement had seemed to be for more than one solution in Arthur's planning.

Arthur continued, unprompted, "I used to think I could juggle bein' two people at once, outlaw and maybe family man one day. But such a thing ain't possible. It's one or the other in this business and that's just the way it is."

"Is there no way for you two to reconcile?"

"I saw the look in her eyes. She sees what I am now." He said bitterly, "Or really, what I ain't no more. I can't say I blame her. Weren't right of me to try and stick her with a sick outlaw on his last leg."

Charlotte's brow furrowed at the description of himself. "Arthur, that's far from the truth."

"And I know what's comin' now," he continued as if he hadn't heard her, "I shoulda accepted it from the first without trying to drag Mary into it. I didn't think I had much heart left to break, but, in the end, it seems I did."

Charlotte's own heart lurched with empathy at his unconcealed suffering. If Arthur had laid bare his true feelings this openly to Mary, how had she resisted? What had held her back from embracing this man and wanting to do everything in her power to help him? Had she not seen the way he struggled? With himself most of all?

Charlotte swallowed and asked quietly, "What will you do now?"

"Now?" Arthur exhaled deeply. "Since this search for the good reverend was a bust, it's time I head back to camp and see who or what I'll be reckoning with next. I've got some money from the mayor. I'll get you on a train like I shoulda done hours ago. By morning, you'll be sippin' tea in Chicago and forgettin' all about what went wrong out here."

An impossibility, and for more than one reason. She couldn't just forget all that had happened to her or the people she'd come to know.

"It's where you belong, Charlotte," Arthur told her, catching her expression. "Not roughin' it with a bunch of lowlifes."

"I think I'm more than capable of making that decision for myself, Mr. Morgan."

When she was with Arthur, Charlotte felt as if she was managing to do some selfless good that actually mattered. Arthur worried for the others and, now that she'd grown to know them as well, she did too. No one else besides Charles and Hosea seemed alarmed at their current predicament, though they'd faced off with the Pinkertons multiple times.

The attack at Lakay had opened Charlotte's eyes to the further atrocities the Pinkertons were willing to commit. Never mind her own trembling fear when the Gatling gun had started up and began puncturing holes through the little shack that barely sheltered them. When she'd caught sight of little Jack huddled against his mother, eyes wide in terror and unshed tears, it'd shocked her.

What if Agent Milton had succeeded that evening? Would he have stopped his men from killing or capturing the men who weren't their most wanted quarry? Or would they have kept murdering the rest so there would be no witnesses to the horrific crimes they'd committed? She shuddered to think of an alternate outcome where Arthur, Sadie and Bill hadn't prevailed against them.

Charlotte leaned forward and placed a hand over Arthur's, startling him into looking up. "Arthur, you seek desperately to ensure your family stays safe. But I know you can see the true danger that could engulf all of you any day. I intend to stay and help you in any way I can."

Arthur met her gaze full on. "Charlotte, I can't have you out there again."

She tilted her head. "What do you imagine will happen?"

"I ain't wantin' to imagine it," he told her. "'Cause it ain't the life for someone like you."

"You keep trying to send me off somewhere else. Maybe...maybe all of this transpired because this is where I'm supposed to be."

"Now you're talkin' nothin' but nonsense."

"I don't see it that way and, rest assured, I've seen enough to know my own mind, Arthur." Charlotte squeezed the top of his hand and implored him, "Let me help you."

In his eyes, she saw him warring within himself over the decision. She waited patiently for his answer, unsure of what she would do next if he refused her help, stood up and left her company for the last time.

Perhaps, she'd withdraw what little money she had left and find a place in Saint Denis. She'd work on securing her insurance payout before finding another house out in the country and starting over. A bland and despondent prospect, it seemed to her.

"Alright," Arthur finally decided. "But if things get too dangerous, you won't argue with me when I tell you to get yourself out, ya hear?"

Charlotte smiled, unable to fully contain her relief at his acceptance. "Of course, Arthur. That sounds like an agreeable arrangement to me."

Arthur returned his own smile. "Thought I'd settle it before you took to bullyin' me again."

"Well, I..."

Charlotte was about to shoot back a clever retort, but she became distracted by the oddest thing. At some point during their conversation, Arthur had rotated his wrist so that he had hold of her hand now. Near her knuckles, he'd begun to brush his thumb over her fingers in slow, delicate strokes. It was an innocent and well-meaning gesture of a friend, not intimate in the slightest.

And yet...it was intimate. Her cheeks warmed and she sucked in a breath, impossibly mesmerized at the simple feel of Arthur's thumb gliding across her skin. His touch had surely advanced beyond one of a chaste connection, and she couldn't explain what prevented her from pulling away.

Charlotte lifted her eyes to meet Arthur's, he seemed to became aware at the same time as her the sight they made for an outsider. The two of them, at lunch together, clasping hands, leaning across the table and sharing an awed stare.

She wasn't sure which one of them removed their hand first, but they separated from one another, pulling apart in haste. Charlotte stared at the table, the heat on her cheeks burning hotter as she tried to get control of herself.

Arthur cleared his throat and stood abruptly, knocking his metal chair against the balcony railing with a loud clang. "'Spose we better get goin' before the day gets too long."

Charlotte didn't know how to respond so she nodded in agreement. In her lap, she cradled the hand Arthur had caressed, bewildered and in wonder at what had just happened.

XXXXXXXXXX

Because of the time spent on the hunt for the reverend, it was evening when her and Arthur reached the campsite at Beaver Hollow again. They passed Sadie on guard duty on their way in.

Before they'd slowed, Sadie started asking, "Hey, Arthur. You comin' back from Saint Denis?"

"Yeah."

"You hear anything about Colm O'Driscoll swinging?"

"No," Arthur replied. "He supposed to?"

Sadie nodded. "But that ain't stopping his boys from plotting to break him free."

"That so?"

"You comin' with when I decide to head into town and make sure they ain't successful?"

"I don't know," Arthur said doubtfully. "Let me see what Dutch says about it."

They finished their ride in, Arthur graciously assisting Charlotte when the horse under her wouldn't hold steady after her direction alone. But he was quick enough to leave her side once her feet hit the ground.

At camp, nothing seemed amiss. Hosea and John stood with Lenny at the main campfire, deep in a discussion they couldn't hear from this distance, but they were focused and serious. Uncle slumped against a log and Charlotte swore he hadn't moved an inch since they'd left yesterday morning. Miss Grimshaw sat at the round table smoking, while Bill and Pearson drank together. There was no sign of Charles.

Nearest to them, as her and Arthur walked in, Karen, Tilly and Abigail were at the wagon they always occupied. Jack sat on the ground, slurping at his soup.

At the sight of Tilly, Arthur picked up his pace and strode up to her as she sat sewing. She looked up and smiled. "Oh, hello, Arthur—"

"Tilly," Arthur interrupted roughly. "You still got that goddamned letter?"

"What letter?" Her brown skin paled visibly. "Did Mary-Beth—"

"The letter," he repeated, impatient.

Tilly scurried to the back of the nearest wagon, opened up a latched box on the back, and returned with a book. She flipped threw the pages until she came upon an envelope stuck in the binding.

Tilly handed it over. "I didn't mean—"

Arthur snatched it out of her hand and stalked away from them without another word. He left camp, heading down the hill towards the river.

It'd all been done in a fairly harsh manner, but Arthur had a right to some anger. Charlotte rested a hand on Tilly's arm since she looked shaken. "Once he's read it, I'm sure he'll calm down."

Tilly shook her head. "Where's Mary-Beth? She too scared to face Arthur's wrath and decided to lay all the blame on me?"

In front of the other women, Charlotte informed them of Trelawny's choice to move on and Mary-Beth's decision to stay in Saint Denis.

The girls didn't react to the news around Trelawny since apparently his disappearance wasn't an unusual occurrence. As for Mary-Beth, the women seemed disappointed, but not surprised.

"Good for her," said Abigail. "I know she wasn't doing so well after Strauss was killed."

The other women had their own adventures to share while Charlotte had been absent. Karen started detailing her and Sadie's ambushing of the O'Driscoll's and then her and Lenny's robbery of an army wagon, of which the circumstances Charlotte didn't fully understand.

When Charlotte asked how Abigail's trip with John went yesterday, she held a secret smile and only said, "Fine."

"She ain't said a word about it," Karen complained. "Just keeps sighing hopelessly."

"I do not do that."

"Yes, you do," Tilly backed up Karen.

"You're in looo-ve," Karen poked fun with a silly grin.

Abigail rolled her eyes. Tilly and Karen shared a laugh and Charlotte found herself joining in with their merriment.

Ever since meeting these women, their presences here had intrigued her. In another setting, in more intricate attire, they would be little different from the girl friends Charlotte had back home. They teased each other just as playfully, but with unexpected peril around every corner.

In the last few weeks, Charlotte had learned how the women of the gang had fallen in and it had been eye-opening. Tilly had escaped imprisonment, Mary-Beth had been saved from being arrested for pick-pocket, while Karen and Abigail ran away from a life of prostitution and lastly, Sadie a home robbery.

As for Miss Grimshaw, no one seemed to know the origin of her arrival, but from the snippets Charlotte had heard, she seemed to have a similar story as Molly, starting off as Dutch's love interest until he found another. Differing from Molly, when she'd been cast aside, Miss Grimshaw had stayed on and found her own place in the gang.

Charlotte had once wondered what could cause them to settle down with outlaws and now she knew. It seemed only one misstep or unlucky day was all it took for one's life to be turned upside down.

When they were finishing catching up, Arthur returned to camp, his walk no longer a stomp and his face cleared of the menacing scowl from before.

As he passed by, he slowed his step and stopped in front of Tilly. "Sorry I snapped at you, Miss Tilly."

The girl's eyes widened as if she hadn't expected the apology. "It's alright. I know what I done weren't fair to you. No harm on your end, I hope?"

Arthur shrugged. "Nothin' I ain't done to myself."

He left them to join Hosea, John and Lenny at the main campfire. As her eyes panned across the camp, Charlotte noticed Miss Grimshaw watching the men too, but her eyes were narrowed and she seemed ready to fight.

Charlotte asked, "Why does Miss Grimshaw look so furious?"

Tilly explained, "If Hosea has his way, we'll be moving soon. He and Charles are hell bent on getting it done."

Karen said, "It'll be a hassle, but it sure brightens my day seeing Miss Grimshaw all pissy when it ain't directed at me."

"Karen, why you always so nasty about her?" asked Abigail.

"Hey, she starts it. I'm more than willing to leave it alone if she'd shut the hell up and mind her own business."

"I'm just glad she sent those friends of Micah's off somewhere." Tilly shuddered. "They give me the creeps."

As the rest of them nodded, Charlotte meant to question them about it since this was the first time she'd heard of any friends of Micah's. However, thundering hoof beats distracted her attention and she turned to see who was coming in to camp.

It didn't take long for it to be revealed as Dutch returning, Sadie abandoning her post to trail him. Javier had dismounted, but remained at the hitching posts with his horse.

Dutch outstretched his arms, looking victorious as he strode by them. "Leviticus Cornwall is dead, folks. He's gone and we live on, as it should be."

"One down," John muttered, "Only about a dozen more to go."

Dutch glared John's direction, but addressed the rest of them, as they'd all gathered nearby at his announcement. "Of course, the work's not done yet. Bill, I need you to head over to Van Horn. Micah will meet you there for the next step in the plan."

"Really, boss?" Bill set aside his beer bottle and stood at attention, as if directed by an army officer.

"You'll be stealing a wagon of dynamite. I trust you can handle that, even with the one arm."

"Of course, Dutch," Bill said eagerly. He scrambled for his guns and made for his horse.

As Bill left, Hosea addressed Dutch, "I thought you were gonna wait for Arthur before you dealt with Cornwall."

"As it turns out, Micah, Javier and I didn't need him after all." Dutch's high mood seemed to dampen as he spotted Arthur. He said stiffly, "Arthur. So good of you to rejoin us finally."

The warnings Molly had given to Charlotte rang in her head suddenly.

"Dutch, he's dangerous. And more so today than when I met him."

Molly had spilled out all of her worries and fears during their first meeting back in Shady Belle, when Charlotte had been laid up with influenza. It was before she'd met the man, and even when she had, she hadn't seen what Molly spoke of at first. There was no denying the charisma he emitted and his welcoming and charming nature, before she had her only confrontation with him.

That day, before she'd left with the group for the bank, Dutch had exposed his true self for an instant. He didn't like her presence here, her friendship with Arthur or the others. But more than his dislike, he'd revealed his fear of her. What sort of threat she presented to him, she had no idea.

"I see Mrs. Balfour is still here," Dutch said pointedly, as if hearing the direction of her thoughts.

"Yes," Charlotte said without attempting to ask his permission. "I've decided to stay on permanently."

Arthur sent her a sharp look at that claim, but she kept her gaze leveled on Dutch.

"Hmm." Dutch rubbed his chin and looked across at the others, obviously not spotting Mary-Beth or Mr. Trelawny. "Why is it, Arthur, that every time you leave camp for an extended amount of time, one of our family goes missing, or is killed?"

"Now that ain't fair," Arthur returned, defensive. "This time, folk have just found somethin' better."

"Something better? What could be better than following the American dream?"

"I reckon," Arthur gritted his teeth a moment. "That's what they think they're doin'."

"No. Absolute freedom does not involve ingratiating ourselves into the modern world. To surrender to their rules." Dutch's eyes narrowed on Arthur. "You find Molly or Swanson while in town?"

Arthur hesitated for half a second. "No."

Dutch nodded, as if satisfied. "I don't see either of them as surviving on their own so they must be dead. Shame about the money and the reverend."

Charlotte had to physically bite on her tongue not to open her mouth. The withdrawal of her funds had been wholly sabotaged because of Dutch's interference. While losing the money didn't bother her, the manner in which it happened, did.

"But, have no fear," Dutch continued, lifting his hand to assure them. "I have other ways we can make up that money."

Lenny asked, "And what's that, boss?"

"There is a train—"

"Hold up, Dutch," interrupted Hosea. "I don't mean to disrupt your planning of another train heist, but we need to have a serious discussion about moving."

"Moving?" Dutch frowned. "We just settled in, Hosea. Ain't no reason to be talking of moving already."

Charlotte saw Miss Grimshaw nod once, in agreement with Dutch, a challenge in her eyes aimed at Hosea.

"I know that, but, even so, the time to pack again is here."

Dutch told him. "And, it'll have to wait. There's urgent business to be done. Why, Mrs. Adler's just informed me Colm will hang soon in Saint Denis."

"Yes, I heard," Hosea said sourly. "Let the law handle him. Right now—"

"Let the law handle him?" Dutch repeated, in disbelief. "Do you hear yourself, Hosea? Since when have they ever been competent to handle anything?"

"Point taken. But we have larger concerns than watching one of our adversaries finally get his comeuppance."

"That's where you're wrong. This needs to be done right."

"I agree," Sadie jumped in. "That bastard needs to die."

"Arthur?" Dutch prompted, intent on swaying the group.

Arthur straightened at his name, caught between the two of them. "I was about to go with John on this horse job for Hosea."

Dutch seethed. "You got time to wrangle horses, but none for making sure the man who killed Annabelle and nearly killed you suffers for his crimes against us?"

Charlotte's mouth parted at the reveal. Nearly killed Arthur? She'd have to get that story from him.

"It ain't like that," Arthur argued. "Besides, ain't it too risky for you to be in Saint Denis, Dutch? Since the trolley robbery and the bank? You'll be recognized."

"You've been in and out of the city without getting caught. Surely, I can manage." Dutch turned to Sadie. "Mrs. Adler? Saddle up. Seems we're seeing this thing through on our own." Dutch cut Arthur a glare.

They turned and started walking swiftly to the horses. The others returned to what they were doing before Dutch had dropped in. Charlotte stayed nearby, where Hosea and Arthur stood together.

Hosea's eyes followed Dutch. "I don't like this. As much as I want you here, Arthur, it might be best if you take off with those two. At least one of you in that group can be trusted to stay level-headed."

"Me, the level-headed one?" Arthur asked with doubt.

Hosea chuckled some. "Hard to believe it's the truth nowadays. But, when it comes to Colm, Dutch can't see past what happened to Annabelle. And Mrs. Adler? After what she's been through, I don't blame her for wanting to make sure Colm pays."

"True enough."

Hosea looked to Arthur. "It's your choice, Arthur, but, if you don't want to, you don't have to follow Dutch on this one."

Arthur sighed. "Yeah, I do. Hell, maybe I can talk some sense into him while Micah's out of the way."

"Good luck, son. I'll hold down the fort here."

Arthur started to leave, mounting his horse and joining up with Sadie and Dutch. Her and Arthur had only just returned from Saint Denis and now he was riding back? It was opposite of the rest he direly needed.

Charlotte wanted to call out to him, to prevent him from leaving, but she couldn't think up a reason that wouldn't reveal the extent of his diagnosis to all present. So, instead, she helplessly watched him ride off, already feeling as if she'd gone back on her personal declaration to help him.

"Something the matter, Mrs. Balfour?"

"Oh!" Charlotte startled, turning to Hosea. "Well...do you think Arthur has been pushing himself too hard lately?"

"Hmm." Hosea considered her in a serious manner. "Seems to me, he's been taking on about as much as usual."

Charlotte's brow furrowed deeply. The doctor in Van Horn had specifically said Arthur needed to slow down, rest, and take care of himself. He wasn't on his death bed, but he wasn't taking any precautions to not wind up there. That's what had her distressed.

There was something Charlotte hadn't said to Arthur when she'd been trying to convince him to allow her to come back here. A purpose she'd refrained from speaking aloud because she knew it would convince him otherwise.

Arthur was so busy being worried for everyone else, he didn't keep any concern for himself. If he stayed behind until every one of his friends could be convinced to safety, he would surely be caught himself, or worse, killed in the crossfire. She intended to prevent that from happening. When she'd said she wanted help him, she meant it.

Charlotte would never forget what he'd done for her. Despite his probable denial of it, Arthur had saved her life. She was here to stay and, maybe, in the process, she'd help save his.