Uncle dreamt of sandy beaches, of the sun warming his face, of dancing girls swaying their hips his way and handing him a bottle of rum; before kissing his face and settling down beside him.

It had Uncle excited for the tropics, Dutch's vision gleaming in his mind's eye. The picture had been painted so vividly, of eating fruits and sleeping the day away, that Uncle was ready to make it home and retire once and for all.

In all truths, Uncle didn't need much to be content. With a bottle of rum in his hand, a food banquet that never ended, beautiful women clinging on his every word, and his friends surrounding him on an island far away from the troubles of harsh reality, he'd finally have everything he'd ever need all in one place.

Except them friends of his could be noisier than all hell when they wanted to be. Their raised voices roused him now, waking him from the floating wonder that was dozing beneath the endless summer sun within his dreams. The best part of his island fantasies was laid to rest before he could watch it play out.

"Calm down, Marston. He got the boy here, didn't he?"

A graveled voice came back with frustration, "I knew something weren't right. I knew it."

Uncle peeped one eye open. He'd fallen asleep next to the fire when the camp had been dang near peaceful. Now, John was pacing back and forth in front of Arthur, who seemed to be trying to talk him down. Sadie, Lenny and Javier stood next to the fire, backs to Uncle and watching the boys go at it.

"'Course somethin' weren't right," Arthur retorted. "Milton raided the goddamned camp. He and everyone else have been on our asses for months."

Uncle sat up and let out a low whistle to Lenny, who was standing closest. "Hey, kid."

Lenny slid a glance his way. "What is it?"

Uncle beckoned with a head movement for Lenny to come closer. Lenny sighed, uncrossed his arms and obliged. "Yeah?"

As John and Arthur continued their disagreement, Uncle asked in hushed tones, "What's got these two bickering like old women?"

Lenny frowned. "Did you sleep through all the commotion from just a few minutes ago?"

"Maybe," Uncle said, feeling defensive. "I need my rest or I won't get nothing done in the morning."

Lenny quipped, "You weren't going to get nothing done anyway,"

Lord, this boy was getting just as bad as the rest of them when it came to picking on old Uncle. "Come on. What's going on?"

Lenny told him, "Pearson rode in about ten minutes ago. He had Jack with him, but we ain't sure what happened to Abigail."

"Shit," Uncle remarked. Abigail was one woman he sure did have a soft spot for. Tough, she was, and there weren't too many things in this world that could stop her. It'd be a tragedy if something had happened to her. "What did Mr. Pearson say?"

"Pearson's passed out cold in that tent," Lenny explained, pointing to the one Arthur had set up for himself next to the cabin. "And Charlotte's taking care of him."

Arthur and John went at it again until Arthur snapped, "We can't do nothing until we know something for certain."

John passed him a look of disgust, fed up. Instead of furthering their argument, he stomped away. Despite that show of temper, Uncle was impressed with his restraint to not get into a physical fight. 'Course, it was Morgan he was arguing with, one of the few 'round here who could clobber a man with one hit.

Arthur sighed. "Lenny, you wanna take after John so he don't do nothin' reckless?"

"I'll go," Sadie volunteered, leaving the company to follow John striding towards the cliff side of camp.

Since the show was over, Lenny and Javier settled back down next to the campfire. Arthur turned around and headed in the direction of the tent Lenny said currently housed Pearson. Uncle decided not to lay back down, but to follow Arthur. As they reached the tent, Charlotte stepped out, a deep frown stamped on her brow. It cleared when she noticed Arthur coming towards her.

Arthur stopped and asked, "How's Mr. Pearson?"

Uncle settled his back against the dilapidated house, sliding down until he reached the ground and stretched out his legs over the grass.

"Still unconscious, but I'm certain he'll wake soon," Charlotte answered wearily, "He's sunburnt and a little delirious, but miraculously not wounded in any capacity. He and Jack must have been traveling the whole day under the sun without any food or water, the poor dears."

"Seems like."

"How is Jack?"

"Kid's fine," said Arthur with a small smile. "Bit of food and he's regained all his energy. Karen's playin' a card game with him to settle him down, but he ain't talkin' much."

"And John?" Charlotte asked worriedly. "I heard raised voices."

Arthur rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, that's something else entirely. Got him to calm down and not ride off tonight. I hope. I told him not to do anything stupid until we hear from Pearson. Sadie's keeping an eye on him."

"Well, then. I hope when Mr. Pearson wakes, he can provide us with an optimistic explanation of what happened."

"It seems all we can do right now."

In all truths, it was all they could do. Yet, neither one spoke aloud the dire meaning of Abigail allowing herself to be separated from Jack, and how in no way could that action be looked upon as an 'optimistic' outcome.

"What happens now?" asked Charlotte quietly.

"I reckon, we wait for Dutch. Once Pearson comes to, we'll know what happened to Abigail and can pick her up. Then make plans to get the hell out of here for good."

"Mmm..." Charlotte lifted a brow. "To where?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Arthur admitted.

"If everything turns out..." Charlotte said slowly, "...where do you see yourself settling, Arthur?"

"Frankly, Charlotte, I don't think I got to be too concerned about where I'll soon end up. You heard the doctor yourself. There ain't much time for me."

"I did hear the doctor," Charlotte replied. "But I'm beginning to believe we've interpreted her recommendation in differing ways."

"How's that?"

"You seem only to have heard that your time is limited."

"And it is."

Uncle's eyebrows raised at that. What was wrong with the boy that he thought his days were numbered? Dysentery?

"Yet," Charlotte continued, "she also stated your symptoms could be lessened if you found someplace to rest."

"And where do you think I can rest right now?" Arthur asked, his tone sharpening. "Besides in the ground."

"I just thought, that with all the traveling you seem to have done, you'd know of a place that can bring you peace."

Arthur flipped from impatient to downright bearish. "Look, Charlotte, I know you're tryin' to help, but what you want to happen, it just ain't in the cards."

"There are plenty of sanatoriums that could—"

"The last goddamned thing I want is to die in some bed, surrounded by others just as sick as me."

"Won't you consider—"

"No. It just ain't for me and that's that."

They stared at one another, Arthur's jaw jutted out in challenge. The silence between them crackled like lightening on a humid summer night.

Charlotte tilted her head slightly, and eventually conceded. "Alright. Fair enough. I can see how that sort of environment may not appeal to you. But, that isn't to say there aren't alternatives better suited."

"And they ain't my concern at the moment. Right now, I got to do what's best for the gang."

"For how long?" she prompted.

"Until I deem it done."

"Over what's best for yourself?"

"Yes."

"Over your own well-being?"

"Goddamnit, I said yes."

"Why?"

"Because that's how it's always been!" he erupted. "And you stayin' on, tryin' to change the course of things is a waste of time."

She watched him with a steady and unflinching gaze. "I promised to help in any way I can, and I meant it. I'm not going anywhere."

"You also said you'd leave if I said so, but you ain't done it."

"My apologies for breaking that particular vow, but I can't stand aside and watch you push yourself past your limit."

"That's my business."

"I've made it mine," Charlotte countered with matching stubbornness.

Arthur opened his mouth to bungle his way through the disagreement some more, but Charlotte spoke again first.

"If you'll excuse me now, Mr. Morgan, I must check on Mr. Pearson."

Arthur stared after her, all kinds of flabbergasted, frustrated and hopeless. He must not recognize a woman chasing him for once. Boy howdy, he had let this one burrow deep under his skin. Arthur was in need of Uncle's words of wisdom if he wanted any sort of resolution between the two.

With the creaks and groans of his bones, Uncle stood, selflessly fighting the pains of his long suffering lumbago in order to serve up some powerful insight. "You know, I could have married a captain's daughter."

Arthur rolled his eyes and started walking away. Uncle followed.

"She was a fine woman, alright," Uncle continued, the vision warming him from the top of his head to the bottom of his toes. "Buxom, she was, with legs stretching as far as the day is long. They call women of that caliber Amazons, you know."

"Sure."

"I was in love with her and she with me. We were gonna sail off together, but I—"

"Got drunk and missed the boat? Yeah, yeah, I've heard it before," Arthur interrupted. "And it's just as pointless a lie as the first hundred times you told it."

Ruffled, Uncle replied, "I never lie, Arthur."

"Your tall tales then."

"Tall tales ain't so tall when you've lived them."

"I'll keep that in mind," he said wryly.

Uncle eyed him up. "You know, Arthur, the worst thing a man can be is bitter about accepting freely given love."

"What the hell are you on about?"

"You'd understand it better if you'd let me tell my story, but I'll give you the gist of it, since it's you, and you're too slow to read between the lines anyway."

"Careful, old man..."

Uncle continued on, "Life's too short to be a sour puss all of the time."

Arthur retorted curtly, "Your life ain't been short enough."

"Seems there's a dispute between you and Miss Charlotte."

Arthur stopped fully and swung around to face him. "I knew you weren't sleeping, you goddamned eavesdropper."

Uncle raised his hands. "Now, now, no offense meant, Arthur. I was just making an observation."

"How's about you keep your damn observations to yourself."

"Your spat ain't all I heard. Seems, you ain't seein' a way for us to get out of this."

Arthur sighed in resignation and rubbed his temple. "If what y'all said is true about Dutch not listening to reason, then I fear it is."

"You don't say?"

"I'm gonna have myself a talk with Dutch. But, truth is, I've seen enough that I don't see it doin' much good."

"That's it then?"

Arthur looked around the camp, at the few who had stuck around. "Guess folks gotta make a choice now. Whether they live or die."

Uncle asked curiously, "And you?"

"I don't have that choice no more. Just trying to help others see clearly. That's my choice."

"You're a good man, Arthur Morgan," Uncle said agreeably, adding, "But you're as blind as a day old pup if you can't see Miss Charlotte is doing the same damn thing."

Arthur snapped his gaze and barked out, "I see clear enough."

Uncle chuckled. "Oh, to be young and stupid again."

"You ain't never left stupid behind."

Arthur strode away from him and Uncle wandered the opposite direction, to find someone else and provide them with the pleasure of his company.

Unfortunately, most of the rest had gone to bed, as best they could under a few makeshift tents and shoddy bedrolls on the forest floor. Lenny had taken up guard duty in Bill's place, after Williamson found a bed and scared away every critter in the surrounding woods with his snoring. Karen held Jack close under the blankets, curling him against her in a mama bear hug.

Joe had returned, but had separated himself from the rest of them. He, too, was asleep, but sitting upright with his back against a tree. Javier stuck close to the fire, his expression dour ever since that verbal whipping Dutch had given him earlier in the day after he'd attacked Micah.

Uncle returned to his spot using a log as a pillow and fell asleep for awhile, awakening again at another commotion. He lifted his heavy eyelids and thought he was still dreaming.

Dawn had risen and with it, Dutch was making his triumphant return. The proof of his spoils evidenced by the steed he so victoriously rode in on. It was a thoroughbred, brushed so diligently, his red coat shined like a mirror. Dutch weren't kidding when he said he'd find himself a new horse.

Uncle noted out loud, "Mighty fine stallion, Dutch."

Dutch patted the horse's neck. "Mighty, indeed, my friend, and worth more than a few dollars."

"Dutch!" Arthur marched his way over, already fired up. "We gotta talk."

"Black lung," commented Micah Bell, riding in behind Dutch. He sat upon Baylock, casually leaning over the horn. "You're back. Hooray."

Arthur's attention swung sharply from Dutch to Micah. "What did you say to me?"

Dutch dismounted from his thoroughbred, eyes flicking around the group starting to form. Pleased, he said, "I see a few more of you have wisely chosen to come back."

At his comment, Arthur returned his attention to Dutch and recognized the high quality horseflesh. "Where the hell you pick him up?"

"You like him? Found an estate west of Emerald Station with an accommodating stable hand." Dutch laughed. "When he figured out I wasn't someone to be reckoned with, he handed the horse over easy enough."

"You got recognized?"

Dutch lifted one shoulder with nonchalance. Irritation replaced his gleeful tone. "It's gonna happen on occasion, Arthur. Best take advantage of it when it does."

"I thought we was lying low."

"We are."

Arthur shook head in disbelief. "What is going on, Dutch? What is happening to us? What is happening to you?"

Micah dropped from Baylock and stepped up to Dutch's side, sneering at Arthur. "You show him some respect."

"Excuse me?" Arthur said, his expression darkening. "You know who you're talkin' to?"

"I ain't sure," Micah answered in a mocking manner. "I ain't sure about much anymore. All I know, is there's law whenever you're around."

"Is that so?" Arthur's jaw clenched. "'Cause it seems to me, since you've been riding with us, there ain't been nothing but trouble. You're always stirring things up and wherever you is, there's Pinkertons and vice versa. So you better watch yourself, boy, or..." Arthur took a gasping breath and coughed, cutting himself off.

"Take it easy, cowpoke," Micah needled. "You're gonna do yourself a mischief where you're headed."

"What is wrong with you?" Arthur questioned as he gained control of his voice again.

"Nothing. I'm fit as a fiddle."

"Not inside you ain't."

"Oh, okay, cowpoke."

Arthur faced Dutch again. "We need to have a chat." He pointed an accusing finger at Micah. "He's been goin' behind our backs."

"That's a goddamn lie," Micah snarled, his hands lowering dangerously close to his gunbelt. "I ain't the one going behind Dutch's back."

"The hell you' ain't!"

"It wasn't me they found up in them hills, black lung, hiding behind a woman, was it?"

"Dutch," Arthur made his plea again as Dutch glanced between the two.

"Dutch..." Micah appealed in a leisurely manner. "Think of the plans we got in motion."

Distracted, Arthur asked, "Plans?"

"While you boys have been scurrying around the country like mice in the dark, me and Dutch have been making plans to get us out of here."

"You've been gettin' too comfortable and I've had my suspicions about you from the start." Arthur turned to Dutch and said firmly, "He's been talking, Dutch, I know it."

"You're no different from Escuella here," Micah gestured at Javier looking on with the others gathered around. "Throwing around wild accusations about me to cover up your own missteps."

Dutch stepped in. "If this is the same thing Javier brought to my attention, then we've already settled it."

"Micah talkin'?" Arthur asked in surprise.

"That ain't never been an issue," Dutch said dismissively.

Arthur stared. "What about him killing Susan in cold blood? You gonna let that slide?"

Dutch's jaw clenched. "I ain't sure he did."

"You serious?" Arthur said, incredulous. "It's right up his alley."

Dutch shook his head. "It saddens me that you boys can't get along, but it can't stay like this."

"It ain't a matter of—"

"Listen, Arthur, listen." Dutch paused, waiting for Arthur's compliance. The argument had attracted the attention of everyone else too and Dutch noticed. "Listen, all of you. We have our squabbles, our disagreements. You all know that even through the best of times, we don't always get along with one another."

"We've lost people, I know. Good people, people who kept us together." There was another pause, as if Dutch meant to leave a symbolic silence for the men and women who weren't with them anymore. "But these same people wouldn't want us fighting each other, blaming one another. Abandoning one another."

Dutch raised a fist. "We are gonna leave this place and we are gonna find our own paradise, our own heaven. It may not be obvious to all of you, but we still have options open to us. Tahiti, Fiji, Australia, New York... These places are the real New World."

"So, don't give up. The dreams we have had for so long are about to flourish. We are gonna be free."

Bill threw his own fist in the air in agreement. "Yes, we are, Dutch!"

"That's right, boss," Micah added.

There was a half-hearted agreement from Javier too, when Dutch looked his direction. The rest who remained, were silent and unsure, looking away rather than at Dutch. Karen and Lenny seemed unsure of how to respond and Joe, indifferent. Maybe if John had been here, there would have been more vocal push back, but he and Sadie hadn't returned yet.

"We've been through worse before," Dutch continued with intensity. "We survived, and we will continue to do so. And you know what's kept us together? What's kept us strong?"

Another pause as he swept his gaze down the group. "We had faith. Faith in each other. Faith in me. We are gonna make it. We have a plan, my friends, my loved ones. What we need to do is to keep pushing forward. Keep fighting. We'll win this, I swear to you."

Dutch finished passionately, "Don't lose faith. It's the one thing I can't bear."

"Just listen to the man," Micah put in. "We're getting out of here soon."

While Dutch's speech had sounded like it'd come from the heart, if nothing else, Micah had laid on his enthusiasm a little too thick, emphasizing exactly what was wrong, why that faith had been challenged so much lately.

"We'll take the rest of the morning to prepare, but the rest of today?" said Dutch with confidence. "Today is gonna be a big day."

Satisfied at his given speech, Dutch turned to Arthur. "Arthur, let's have a talk. Just you and me, son." He slung an arm around Arthur's shoulders and led him away from the group.

Uncle noticed Micah glaring after Dutch and Arthur with his one exposed eye. The other, the eye Javier had cut open, had been covered with a dark patch.

Micah caught him staring. "What's with you, old man?"

"Oh, nothing." Uncle shrugged. "Just ain't sure if I need to greet you with a hello or an ahoy."

"Shut it."

"What's with the attitude, Bell?" Uncle asked. "You drink cow's piss instead of milk again?"

Micah clenched his teeth. "You say another damn word, old man, and I'll give you a bullet in both your eyes."

He meant it alright. And if Susie's demise was caused by him, it seemed Micah could kill any one of them and get away with it these days.

Uncle told him with a little shake of his head, "There's something not right with you."

"Are you still talking to me, old man? Mind your goddamn manners."

"Oh, I've minded them long enough."

"None of our problems is my fault. None at all. So you watch your damn tongue."

"Uncle!" Dutch called out, not quite out of earshot, "Don't you start."

Micah released a shit-eating grin and strutted away, all cocky and dauntless of any consequences. And why shouldn't he be? With Dutch steamrolling over Arthur's arguments as easily as he had Javier's, Micah was getting his way more and more.

Dutch was on the other side of camp, his arm around the Arthur shoulders as he worked at convincing another not to abandon ship. Now, the rest of them may be eating up Dutch's bull like flies on shit, but Uncle saw behind the curtain now. This place had turned into a madhouse and Dutch was the lead crazy.

As loyal as he was, and as far back his and Dutch's friendship went, Uncle knew when things had gone too wrong to fix.

As Uncle pondered what he should take with him for a lonely upcoming journey, he saw Charlotte hurry out of the tent, the entrance flapping behind her in her haste.

Uncle asked her, "What's the rush?"

"Pardon me, Uncle," she said as she passed him, "Mr. Pearson is awake! I have to tell Arthur."

"Huh," Uncle said and he stepped into the tent to see for himself.

"What are you doing, old man?" Pearson asked hoarsely from the cot.

Uncle slid his thumbs down his suspender straps. He chuckled. "Well, well, well. Look who's decided to stay with the living."

"What are you up to?"

"I've just decided on doing the wisest thing a man can do in a difficult predicament."

"Oh yeah?" Pearson raised a brow. "And what's that?"

"Cut his losses."

"So, it's bad here still?" Pearson's gaze slid to the opening of the tent and then back to Uncle. "You want some company?"

Uncle eyed him up and down. "Can you walk?"

Pearson sat up, winced and commented, "I can ride a horse."

"Then, sure," Uncle said agreeably. "But, it won't be on that skinny pony you came in on. She's beat to death."

"I made do with what I found," Pearson said defensively. He leaned forward and grabbed his boots. He started to tie them and asked, "How's the kid?"

"Right as rain."

Pearson nodded with relief and stood, groaning as he stretched. "Where we headed, old man?"

It didn't matter really. All Uncle knew was, it was time to get some space from whatever Dutch had planned next.

All of Dutch's wondrous vision, of sunny weather and cushioned lives was a dream dashed. They wouldn't be going to Tahiti, Fiji or Australia. It was all an illusion to keep them on, and cloak the hopeless situation they'd found themselves in.

Nevertheless, it sure was a shame. Uncle had been so looking forward to them dancing girls.