Soon as the Pinkertons descended on Beaver Hollow, Micah knew his deal with Milton was over. Not that it was much of a deal in the first place. Bastard hadn't offered him immunity or to lower any charges, just to delay them.

Micah knew he'd been short on time with Milton, but he'd thought he'd be able to string those agents along with just enough information to keep Milton off his back, but not enough to ruin the good thing he had going on with the gang. He hadn't realized the bastard would prove the more impatient one.

Maybe Milton suspected from the start Micah had no intention of following through completely. He'd thought the bare minimum of his cooperation would be enough, when he'd signaled to them in Lakay at Dutch's arrival. Then again, even Milton wouldn't turn a blind eye when Micah hadn't held back from killing agents in Lakay or Annesburg.

In the end, it didn't matter. Milton wasn't about to cut him loose if he captured Dutch anyway. Micah would do what he always did: survive.

After the storm, in the morning, he, Dutch, Uncle and Bill still hadn't left Fort Brennard. Micah had resorted to prowling around the inside of the fort walls, unable to mask his impatience at having to wait for Dutch to make a decision at what they were gonna do next.

Bill had stationed himself stiffly near the front gate, standing guard as if he were a sentry still serving the army, his one arm heavily bandaged with soiled gauze. Uncle had actually bothered to feed the horses, but after that activity he'd sat down against the lone shack and started drinking from his newly found supply.

Dutch didn't emerge from the cellar below until nearly noon. Yet, when he did, his expression was clear, rejuvenated, and he strode with confidence. "Gather 'round, everyone. Gather 'round."

Since it was just the three of them for him to call to, it only took a moment for all of them to join Dutch outside the small house in the center of the fort.

Ever the obedient soldier, Bill informed him as he walked up, "No sign of any patrol, Dutch."

"Good job, Bill," Dutch complimented, his tone indicating he was in a better mood than yesterday. "This has been a minor setback in the grand scheme of things. Milton took our camp, some of our friends, my horse." Dutch grimaced. "But he will not take our dignity. We are tougher than them, smarter than them. Milton thinks he's trapped us, that he's got us on the run. He is wrong."

"You got any ideas for what we do next?" Bill asked.

"Indeed I do, son." Dutch paused before announcing to them all, "We'll head for Moonstone Pond."

Uncle and Bill stared at him blankly, not understanding. Unfortunately, Micah shared the sentiment and he was the one to ask, "Why there?"

"It's a camp location Hosea secured before he passed," Dutch explained. "We'll reconvene with the others and get ourselves back on track."

Uncle lifted his whiskey in acceptance, as if he was sober enough to comprehend what the hell was going on.

Williams jumped in with his ass-kissing. "Good idea, Dutch."

But Micah had things that needed to be done if he was going to get out of this alive, with money in hand. And building a new camp, waiting for the others to return, and getting caught by Milton again wasn't any of them.

"Bill, get the horses ready. Micah, keep an eye on the road to make sure it's still clear for us to get out of here. Uncle, fetch some of that brandy and anything else that could be a resource from that cellar."

While the other two went off to do Dutch's bidding, Micah approached their leader, taking on an innocuous expression so as not to come off irritating.

"Dutch, I know you want to get back with the others, but it ain't a guarantee they all made it out as easily as us. I hate to be the one to say it, boss, but we got to move on. With or without them."

"You underestimate them, Mr. Bell," Dutch said dismissively, checking and finding a cigar in his vest pocket.

Micah ignored that and continued, "I say, we focus on that payroll train coming in tomorrow and then get the hell out of the area while we still can."

Dutch didn't answer right away. He used a match, struck it against the pack of matches and lit his cigar. He took one puff, expelled the smoke and told him, "I ain't concerned with the train anymore."

Micah felt his eye twitch and his temper flicker. "What do you mean you ain't concerned for it no more?"

The payroll train was ripe for the taking. They hadn't blasted the bridge yet as they'd planned for a distraction, but it could still be done. Or, with just a few of them here, it might work out better if they used the explosives they'd recovered for the actual robbery, as long as Williamson wasn't the one in charge of lighting the fuse this time around.

But Micah was observant enough to see Dutch had a glimmer in his eye. He had something on his mind alright. Maybe he wasn't giving up on the train, or maybe he was crazy enough he'd sniffed out something bigger.

"What you thinking up, boss?"

As if hoping he'd ask, Dutch replied gleefully, "If we play our cards right, I think there just might be a way to get our money out of Blackwater."

Micah's jaw dropped, thinking he hadn't heard right. "Blackwater?"

Dutch replied with a canny smile, "Thought you'd be happy to hear that."

He'd been trying for weeks on end to get Dutch to go back. "You said it can't be done."

"Hosea made me see it was possible, with the right people, with the right plan."

Micah seethed. This is what Hosea and Dutch had their heads together and were plotting without him? He'd been working Dutch for months, sometimes pushing until Dutch's temper emerged. He hadn't seen any progress and only recently started getting Dutch's trust in what jobs to take. Then that wily old bastard says one word and changes Dutch's mind in an afternoon.

Hosea hadn't even done the ferry robbery in the first goddamn place. A fine way for him to get a cut without doing any of the real work, after the hell they'd been through to fight their way out.

And Dutch was right about the train after all. They really didn't need to bother with it if they shifted their focus to Blackwater. Just the two of them could retrieve that money, he'd bet.

"You and me can head down there tonight—"

"No. This operation needs a delicate touch. We need to be a unified group. We'll wait, and meet up with the others. The Blackwater money isn't going anywhere."

He said it so confidently that once again Micah itched to know where the hell that money had been hidden. He gritted his teeth, grinding them in frustration.

"And if the others left us behind?"

Dutch's expression faltered briefly, but resolve washed over his features. "They haven't."

Micah tried again, lightening his tone. "You and me is all we need, Dutch. Anyone else would just complicate things."

"I'm already decided," Dutch reiterated firmly. "So let it alone."

Micah wanted to argue the point, but he'd been down that road several times before with Dutch and he'd only managed to piss him off. He needed to stay on Dutch's good side so he bit his tongue and nodded like a good boy.

"Sure, boss. Whatever you say." Micah turned on his heel and strode away, his mind racing.

Goddamn. Blackwater. This changed everything. That was a whole lotta money that he didn't want to share with the more burdensome of the camp. Though he'd been lucky with some of the more useless who had made themselves scarce.

If he could convince Dutch to go to Blackwater, even with just the four of them, that would be a more than decent take.

"You got the look of a man 'bout to steal the last bit of honey out of the honeypot, Mr. Bell," Uncle commented as he passed him.

Micah snapped, "Don't talk to me."

"Whoa-ho. Touchy today, aren't we?"

Micah stopped in his tracks, spun around and stomped back to Uncle. "I said, don't talk to me, old man, or I'll put you down like a dog."

"You got some experience putting down dogs, do ya?" Suddenly, Uncle had a keen eye on him, as if Micah had slipped up with what he said.

Micah stepped forward, clenching his fists. "Maybe I do, maybe I don't. You wanna find out?"

Across the fort, saddling Brown Jack, Bill paused and looked back and forth between them.

Uncle had the audacity to chuckle loosely. "No, no. You're too big and bad for me."

In fifteen minutes, they were ready to depart. Micah straddled Baylock while Uncle climbed atop Nell II. Bill had a hold of his horse's reins when Dutch came up to them, Bill offering the ropes with a sullen silence.

Dutch took the reins and rested a hand on Bill's shoulder. "Cheer up, son. It's only temporary. We see any horses unattended on our trip, I'll be sure to take one for myself so you can have Brown Jack back."

Bill said insistently, "I don't mind really, Dutch."

"And I thank you for it, Bill." Dutch turned and mounted Brown Jack. At Dutch's back, Bill grimaced, his shoulders slumping as he trudged over to Uncle and Nell II.

Micah followed at the back as they left, for once forgoing the option to be at Dutch's side. He frowned at the company he had to deal with. Besides Dutch, he had a lazy elder and a crippled gunman. If he were the leader, neither one would be continuing on. Dutch wasted too much time and energy on weaklings.

Micah liked Dutch, but there were some things to his leadership that could use improvement. This idea of a family unit as a gang was ridiculous and one such ideal that should be laid to rest. In this business, connections like the ones Dutch preferred were detrimental to getting the right jobs. All the proof he needed was Dutch's weakness when it came to Arthur.

Now, Micah didn't have nothing personal against Arthur. He was a solid gun and Micah had tried repeatedly to get Arthur to see things his way. But the man had such a high opinion of himself. Like he could do no wrong. He was the better man because he 'spared lives' and had 'morals'. It was all a crock of shit.

Not helping matters, Dutch still held Arthur in high regard. Even with Micah pointing out Arthur's mistakes as subtly he could, Dutch brushed off his reasoning or ignored it.

Micah didn't know what else to do to make Dutch see. He'd been trying to keep driving a wedge a divide between Arthur and Dutch one small step at a time. But Arthur kept coming back on top.

Arthur avoided the confrontation with Cornwall, which had angered Dutch for his absence. But somehow he'd made it up by going after Colm with Dutch.

Micah knew the reason Arthur kept getting passes—the old man kept putting in a word. But Hosea had finally kicked the bucket. When Arthur broke from the group to stay at his precious widow's house, Micah had gotten an idea. Since Cleet had a face no one remembered, Micah sent him down to a house outside of Van Horn, where he'd learned it had become a bounty hunter's waypoint.

The message Cleet gave them involved a tip about a highly sought outlaw hiding in a tucked away little house north of Annesburg. It would have been the perfect way to get rid of Arthur without his involvement at being found out.

What he hadn't figured on was Dutch sending a crew to go up and save Arthur's sorry hide.

Every time Arthur or John made a misstep, Micah made sure to remind Dutch of their absences and disappearances.

Despite all Morgan's disobedience, arguing and pissing off Dutch, Dutch still let the bastard come back. Over and over, he got chances. Loyalty made some sense to Micah, but they should rely more on fear than love, or missteps would be made.

Down the paths they followed Dutch, sticking close to the trail, but remaining cautious at every bend in the road. Near Emerald Ranch, they were obscured by trees again. It was here they happened to cross paths with Joe, his bulky frame seeming much too large for the lean horse under him.

Dutch waved a hand in acknowledgment when he recognized the rider ahead. "Welcome back, friend."

Joe nodded and waited for the others to pass him by. He kept pace next to Micah as they continued on.

"Joe," Micah said, turning his head. "What happened to Cleet?"

"I got the horse," Joe said gruffly.

As short as his answer was, it reminded Micah the last time he'd seen Joe and Cleet. When they'd been trying to escape Beaver Hollow, a Pinkerton had come up the road, on horseback. Javier had shot him dead and the horse had skittered. The last he'd seen of them, Joe and Cleet had both taken off chasing the Pinkerton's horse. Guess Joe had been the one to get away and Cleet had been left behind.

After Joe joined their group, it wasn't long before they came upon the site the old man had planned for them to move and it was less impressive than Micah imagined.

Moonstone was as empty as it was useless. There was land enough all right, but that didn't mean shit without all their wagons, tents and horses. The lone building standing at the other end of the pond had been crushed by a tree, rendering it pointless should they need shelter.

Micah couldn't help remarking as they rode up. "You sure this dump is the place?"

"There is no room for pessimism today, Mr. Bell," Dutch reprimanded sharply. "We will look forward so we can rebuild."

Micah attempted to look contrite. "Of course, boss. Guess I'm not so much disappointed over the area so much as the men that ain't here to greet us."

Behind Uncle, Bill said, "He's right, Dutch. No one's around."

"We're the first to arrive is all," said Dutch.

"How many of the others do you think will show up?" Micah asked. "Half of them probably left the state already."

Dutch's resolve wavered, but then Uncle opened his mouth. "Dutch, we's family. No one's going nowhere without your say."

As if Uncle had summoned a loyalist, Javier came around from the other side of the decrepit shack. Javier's presence disproved Micah's presumption that everyone who hadn't arrived was a coward, but Javier showing up was better than any of the others.

Micah dismounted first, commenting as Javier approached, "Well, well, Mr. Escuella. I'm impressed. You made it out alive after all."

Javier hadn't slowed his stride and Micah looked over his shoulder, noting the man was alone. The last they'd seen of Javier he'd been risking his life going back for Tilly.

"I don't see the girl." Micah clicked his tongue. "Guess you were too late after all to—"

Javier wasn't interested in talking it seemed, as the moment he got in range, his fist connected to Micah's jaw without warning. Micah was knocked backward and spun in a brief daze.

"You piece of shit!" Javier cursed and went off in Spanish.

Micah shook off the stars overhead and rubbed his jaw, but chose not to rise to Javier's temper. Instead, he laughed. "Ain't never seen you so riled up, greaser. All this built up frustration must mean you were too late to save the girl."

Javier came at him again, clutched his coat and threw him to the ground. Micah rolled as he fell, not gracefully, but he regained his feet before Javier could pin him.

"Javier!" Dutch called belatedly, jumping from his horse. "What are you doing?"

Micah circled Javier, whose eyes were narrowed and locked on him. Micah glanced at Dutch assessingly and decided how he was going to play this to his benefit. He raised his hands as if he meant no harm. "I ain't done nothing to you, amigo."

Javier withdrew his knife from his belt, and Micah's demeanor immediately changed. He lowered his hands, hovering over his guns. "You don't want to do that."

"Admit it, you bastard! Admit you killed her!"

Micah snickered. "You're gonna have to be a lot more specific. I've killed a lot of women, all of them deserving of it."

"Susan," Javier spat out.

Micah raised a brow, enacting a look of innocence, but his focus didn't leave Javier or his tight grip on his knife. "I think all those heroics have gone to your head. Pinkertons killed that old broad."

"No, they didn't. It was you, you traitor."

Micah lifted his gun out of his holster at that insult. "Now, I don't take lightly being called a liar, boy."

"See, you so easily draw your gun." Javier glared. "You'd shoot me the same way Tilly said you did to Grimshaw."

"Tilly?" Dutch asked, surprised. "You reached her in time?"

"Sí, barely."

"Then why ain't she here?" Micah snarled. "To make accusations to my face?"

"I sent her to Saint Denis."

"You...what?" Dutch asked, his voice quiet.

Javier heard the change in Dutch's tone and his hand lowered as he glanced at Dutch. "It's getting dangerous, and what she saw would make her a threat to that cabrón!"

"Unless, " Micah put in, "she was lying."

"You take that back," Javier lifted his knife again.

"Settle down, Mr. Escuella, so we can get to the bottom of this," Dutch scolded Javier and turned to him. "What do you have to say on your own behalf, Mr. Bell?"

That he should have taken the extra few seconds to kill the girl too and saved himself this trouble.

Out loud, he told them, "Why the hell would I kill one of our own? Especially someone who was more capable than Bill in a gunfight right now. It serves no purpose."

"Susan was chewing you out about something just before the attack."

That she was, and he'd never have to hear her bitch again. "Grimshaw does that to everyone. I saw her myself get shot by Pinkertons."

There. Now he'd made it his word against Tilly's.

Javier said angrily, "Tilly wouldn't lie about this."

"Then why ain't she come back to make the accusation? I made it back to Dutch, to the family," Micah emphasized and paused a moment to let that sink in. "She's the one who ran off to Saint Denis, turning her back on us."

"That's not—"

"Listen, Dutch," Micah laid out the charm, only addressing Dutch. "Maybe she ain't lying. Maybe, she was just confused. Lotta gunfire going on at the time."

"That's not what happened," snapped Javier. "Dutch? You believe what I'm saying, yes?"

"I want to, son, I do." Dutch said. "But Micah makes a fair point. If she wanted to protect us from someone she perceived as a threat, she would have made the effort to be here."

Micah had to hold in a grin. "Seems to me, she's manipulated you into coming here and making trouble."

"Tilly's not like that," Javier protested.

"I never did trust that girl," Bill said unexpectedly, but to Micah's glee. "Too many years she lived with them Foremans. We took her in and this is how she repays us?"

"Bill," Javier shook his head with a certain disbelief. "No sabes nada."

Dutch cut in, "Javier, there's no need to go after Bill. He had nothing to do with it."

Micah put in, "I just think the shock of it all, of witnessing Susan's death may have confused her."

Javier shook his head, incredulous. "Dutch, she's clear-minded. You know Tilly."

Micah said smugly, "Put your little knife away, Escuella, and I won't take offense. I'm just surprised a woman fooled one such as yourself."

"Shut up, Micah!"

"I mean," Micah shrugged, walking a step away and turning his back. "I can't put too much blame on you. I've been distracted myself a time or two by a few of Miss Jackson's...qualities."

He turned his head to send another smirk Javier's way, but the bastard had moved. Too late, Javier rushed him before he could do anything, his blade swiping in an upward motion too quickly for Micah to defend himself in any way.

"Son of a bitch!" Micah swore as a stinging began across the left side of his face, from the top of his cheek, up across his eye and into his brow.

With his good eye, he caught a glimpse of Joe hauling Javier away when he went for another attack. It didn't matter. The damage was done.

Micah clutched his eye, blood coating his fingers in an instant and pooling in his palm. "Goddamn fucking shit! What the hell's wrong with you?"

"Javier!" Dutch said, in shock. "Why did you do that?"

Javier claimed, "You have to see it, Dutch. He killed one of our own. He's been working against us this whole time."

"Liar," Micah spat out, the pain searing as he tried to keep the injured eye still. If Micah could see clearly, he'd be shooting Javier dead.

Dutch hollered, "This is not how we settle things around here."

"It's what he deserves," Javier retorted, unrelenting.

"Enough!" Dutch said, exasperated. He turned and faced him directly. "Micah, did you kill Miss Grimshaw?"

Despite the burning of his eye, the blood sticking to his face, his hand and the pain that accompanied it, he had to react swiftly. "'Course not! I told you, I saw the Pinkertons do it."

Dutch stared into his one good eye, as if attempting to decipher his honesty. Micah gathered up all the earnestness he could muster and continued, "Ain't no reason for me to go after her and it don't make sense if you think about it a moment. Escuella's gotten distracted by his weakness for the weaker sex."

Dutch turned back to Javier. "Did you see Micah do this?"

"No, but I'm telling you, Tilly did."

"The thing is, son, there's not much to go on. I'm sorry, but unless the girl was here to speak for herself, I can't accuse Micah of something we don't know for certain is truth."

"Will you do nothing, Dutch?" Javier pleaded, desperate now in his attempt to get Dutch on his side.

"All I ask for, is a reason Micah would have done it."

"I don't know the reason." Javier pointed. "Ask him."

"And I have," Dutch said patiently. "He's told us clearly he wasn't involved."

Javier stared at Dutch, his brow furrowing in confusion. "I don't understand."

No, he wouldn't understand. None of them ever had, but Micah knew why Dutch was more willing to trust him. Unlike the rest of them that had been 'saved', Micah alone didn't owe any life debt to Dutch.

To this day, Micah wasn't sure why he'd stepped in to help Dutch get away from the locals at that bar in Crenshaw Hills eight months ago. Maybe he'd had an intuition as to what kind of money he could make if he made friends quick, or maybe he'd just been ready to shoot up the place. Either way, since then, Dutch had been grateful to him, indebted to him. It had allowed Micah a place in this gang and he wasn't giving up this way of life anytime soon.

Eventually, when it was obvious Dutch wasn't changing his mind, Javier looked away, resigned. He said quietly, "I brought supplies."

"Good job, son," Dutch praised, putting the disagreement behind him. "We can start setting up a camp and the others will get here soon."

Javier didn't look Micah's way, as if ignoring him would make him disappear. "I sent Lenny to find Sadie and Karen, but John's gone after Abigail."

"Oh? Has he now?" Dutch commented mildly, but anyone could tell he didn't like it. "Well. Arthur and Charles should be along anyway."

Javier nodded and shuffled out of Micah's limited view, Bill followed him to his horse to unload the supplies. Joe had disappeared or maybe he was in Micah's newly acquired blind spot.

Dutch announced then his intention to leave camp briefly to find himself a horse, as if that was a priority. But now that the scuffle was over, Micah wasn't distracted anymore and started feeling a sharp scratchiness in his eye. It was bad enough that he almost didn't care what Dutch did. Micah went to the pond to clean off some of the blood already drying.

It seemed the cut on his face wasn't deep, but he had a feeling he wouldn't be able to determine the depth of the scarring for a few more hours, maybe even days. Whenever it didn't hurt to move the eye anymore. It'd likely scar, and maybe he'd be lucky enough not to lose any sight in that eye.

Either way, Javier Escuella had just made himself an enemy. And Micah's enemies didn't live long.

Unlike his skill in poker, Javier had played his cards too early with his suspicions. Javier distrusted him now since the girl had ratted Micah out. And the way he talked about Micah working against them, it was possible Javier had some inkling of Micah's involvement with the Pinkertons.

Javier could prove an obstacle. But Micah was a survivor. And when the time came, he'd make sure no one stood in his way.