In the end, what has a man but his thoughts? What has a man to stand for but his thoughts? His actions, perhaps? Lions, donkeys, hyenas. They all act. So is that what we are? No. We are more—and less—than the beasts. We are thoughts. We are actions and the reflections upon those actions. Yet we are also not merely reflections. We are not mirrors...

Dutch took in a deep, relaxing breath as the words of Evelyn Miller washed over him, providing their usual quelling effect. Luckily, this morning hadn't started as badly as last night had nearly ended.

Dutch had originally left their newfound camp horseless and unsure on their next steps for his Blackwater plan. But he'd returned a new man with a steed worthy of his status and a few dollars in his pocket from a small, successful thieving.

He'd thought, when he came back into camp and found it a little more populated than when he'd left, that it was good news to see a few more faces.

But he'd had to have an impromptu battle of wills against Arthur to keep him and the rest of them in line. Dutch had a private chat with Arthur and finally got him to see things his way, but Dutch suspected Charlotte's influence behind this new reluctance. Ever since she'd come around, things had started changing for the worse.

As for the others who'd joined up again, John and Sadie were supposedly around, though they had yet to reappear in his presence. But since Old Boy and Bob were still hitched in camp, it had to be true.

They'd lost Charles to the Wapiti tribe, a people Dutch had been curious to speak with, but too late to act upon his introduction.

Thankfully, Lenny was back among their ranks. As for the women, besides the suspicious Mrs. Balfour and the unpredictable Mrs. Adler, Karen was here too and he wasn't yet sure what to make of it as she wasn't keeping herself perpetually drunk. Lastly, he'd known Pearson and Uncle had been in attendance until Bill woke him this morning to inform him of their desertion.

They'd suffered the abandonment of their friends on a near daily basis as of late, but of all of them, Dutch was reeling most from the loss of his partner in crime.

Hosea was gone and he was alone, with a crater in his chest that he had no idea of how to start filling. His instinct had been revenge. Despite the dozens of Pinkerton agents they'd killed at Beaver Hollow, there was no one to get angry at, no villain, no enemy with a gun. The old man had left him without remorse. Dutch remembered quite clearly the subtle smile lifting as he passed away in his arms.

The burdens he bore had already started a weighty drop on his shoulders. Dutch hadn't slept. He didn't know the last time he'd had a good rest. Weeks? Months? At times, his thoughts were clear, he knew what he was doing. He knew himself. But lately, things had started to muddle. He'd fought the uncertainty by focusing on his enemies.

Colm was dead. Cornwall was dead. As soon as Milton was struck by lightning, all his enemies will have fallen.

"Dutch!"

Dutch startled out of his musings and looked up at Arthur's steadfast approach. He stood, stepping down from the cabin's small porch. "What can I do for you, son?"

Arthur stopped, his breathing uncomfortably wheezy. Dutch tried not to grimace at the sound, but his mind drew a sharp comparison between it and Hosea's last, dying breath.

"Dutch, Charlotte's found out that Abigail's been taken in by Milton."

"Is that so?"

His eyes scanned for Charlotte's whereabouts. She sat with Karen at the campfire, the two of them attempting to persuade Jack to eat. Always interfering, that one. It shouldn't have surprised him that Pearson had left. She'd been tending Pearson, spent time alone with him, and what was the result of that? Pearson was gone like so many others.

Unaware of Dutch's inner animosity, Arthur went on, "Yeah. Pearson heard Milton's taking Abigail to Van Horn. What are we gonna do about it?"

"I'll have to give it some thought."

"Okay. Sure. Whatever you think is best."

"It's a damn shame, but it may be beyond our capabilities to get Abigail back."

Arthur frowned quizzically. "What are you gettin' at? You're...you're not just gonna leave her?"

"Now, I don't wanna, son. Truly, I don't. But just look around. We can't lose nobody else."

"John ain't gonna let that fly, I can tell you that much."

"John?" His lip curled with disgust. "John isn't here anyway." He couldn't resist adding snarkily, "It seems he never is when the going gets tough."

"What? What are you talkin' about now?"

"He somehow managed to escape the pleasure of Guarma's delights, avoid the attack in Lakay upon our return, and miss the raid on Beaver Hollow."

Arthur reasoned, "For two of those times, he was stuck in a jail cell. He wasn't plannin' some grand scheme of evasion. As for Beaver Hollow, he was away on a job."

"Conveniently."

"You're talkin' nonsense."

Dutch resented the accusation. "It's obvious, Arthur."

"It ain't and Pearson said—"

"Pearson," Dutch spat out with disgust. "Pearson left us, and with him old Uncle. Both gone at dawn. The traitors. Running to save themselves."

Arthur did not know the half of it. Bill had come to him early this morning upset. Not because two of their own had left, but because one of them had taken Brown Jack. Now, Bill was moping around camp, mourning his horse's theft.

Arthur's brow furrowed, indicating it was the first he'd heard of their abandonment. He said with regret, "So it goes."

Dutch's voice raised with his anger, "They're goddamn cowards, Arthur. Cowards. Of all the time we spent? And they run off?"

"Well, I guess they don't wanna die, Dutch."

"Ain't nobody gonna—" Dutch stopped speaking, noticing the attention they were garnering from the ones around the campfire at his heightened tone. He pushed Arthur closer to the building and spoke quieter, "This is a tough time and you ain't doing so well, but we, our community, we will survive. Me and you, Arthur. They will not crush us."

"I hope so."

Dutch nodded, satisfied at the response, that he still had Arthur on his side.

"But...if we let Jack and the women free—"

"There ain't freedom for no one in this country no more, Arthur," he insisted, quashing anymore talk of leaving before anyone else got any ideas. "One more big score and we'll have enough money to leave and I've got just the plan. We've got Milton spinning, confused. And when he's not looking, when he least expects us to make our move, that's when we'll escape. We take a little boat and slip away."

Arthur shook his head slowly. "I don't know what you're sayin', Dutch, but it seems like I've heard it all before."

"Just one more score—"

"There's always a goddamn score!"

"Arthur!" Dutch scolded, shocked at the outburst. He continued, steel in his voice, "This is different. I know how to get this cash. I guarantee we can get it."

Arthur's mouth was set in a firm line and Dutch saw he'd have to clear his way again for Arthur's approval.

"I'm trying, Arthur. I'm trying with everything I have. And I'll keep trying and you'll keep doubting me and we'll keep failing."

"Alright, enough of the lecture. Why you think I'm here?" He asked warily, "What's this big score then?"

Dutch held a dramatic pause before spreading his hands and revealing, "Blackwater."

"Blackwater?" His mouth dropped open. "You are out of your goddamn mind."

"Hosea backed it," Dutch retorted.

"Then he was out of his mind too. You're crazy if you think we should go back there." Arthur shook his head. "Ain't no way. No way. We'd be dead on sight."

"There is a way, Arthur. But you can't yet see it. If you'd trust me, you'd see."

Dutch's words alone weren't working any longer, weren't persuading him. Arthur was pulling away more and more from a willing participant to their freedom, and he didn't know how to counter it anymore.

Arthur argued, "I ain't got much to lose no more, but if we stick around a minute longer, Milton will have us, and that's a fact. He gets closer every time. We ain't gonna be able to escape him again."

"Faith, Arthur," Dutch said. "One. More. Time. We'll get to Blackwater and grab the money, easy as can be. We'll be in and out so fast, we won't even see Milton or his men."

"I don't know. There's a reason we left that money behind, Dutch."

He was growing impatient at this resistance. "Why is Micah is the only one standing by my side?"

Arthur visibly recoiled. "Micah?"

"Yes, Micah. I'm tired of the constant dissent from everyone but him."

Arthur urged, "It ain't my intention, but we got to think this through."

"I've done all the thinking, Arthur. I just need you to do as I say."

"I guess I'd be a little less concerned if you ain't done all that thinkin' with Micah. You know, we gotta have a real conversation about what he's been up to."

"Not this again."

"He's using you, Dutch," Arthur insisted. "I don't know why you can't see it. And it ain't only that. Trelawny said—"

"Trelawny said, Tilly said. Pearson said,"Dutch blew up, tired of it. "All I hear lately is everything secondhand. There ain't a single one of them who's made it a priority to say anything to my face."

"Does that makes it less true?"

"I hate to say it, but yes, Arthur, I believe it does." Because Arthur needed to hear it, he added, "I also find it interesting that every person who's spent a little time with Mrs. Balfour ends up abandoning us."

"That ain't even close to true. I'm still here, ain't I?"

"Sure...for now. But, best believe it, son, she's working on you too."

"You've really lost it."

"Don't believe me?" Dutch saw Arthur's jaw set so he questioned, "She's never suggested to you of leaving this life behind?"

He saw the truth in Arthur's expression as the other man retorted, "She's got her reasons for doing it."

"Charles is gone...Pearson...Uncle, half the girls. Are you next to abandon this family, Arthur?"

Arthur's brow furrowed, stricken. "It ain't like that."

Before he could hammer home his point and sway Arthur fully in seeing the truth, John shouted from across camp, "Dutch!"

Dutch simmered, hiding his expression with a welcoming smile John's way. Would his name be continuously yelled from afar? Beckoned as if he were a dog being called to attention?

"John," he greeted without enthusiasm. Of all of them, he'd wished the Great Dissenter had made himself scarce.

"You hear about Abigail?" he demanded. John's outburst had drawn the rest of the camp in, erasing any possibility of a private conversation.

"I heard," Dutch answered calmly.

"Then what's the plan of action?"

Arthur opened his mouth before Dutch could formulate a response. "Apparently, he's got Blackwater in his sights."

"Blackwater?" John balked, momentarily distracted. "That ain't nothing but a fool's errand."

"Only fool around here is you, Marston," Micah said, joining the conversation. "No reason not to go for it."

"Shut up, Micah," John said without looking his direction. Dutch didn't blame him on that, himself not yet having gotten used to the scabbed line spidering out the top and bottom of Micah's eye patch.

Sadie threw in her two cents, "The way I hear it, you go down there and you're walking right into the Pinkertons' hands."

"You don't know what you'll talking about," Micah snapped at Sadie, and then turned to him, "I'll go with you, Dutch."

Arthur stepped between them. "If we go through with this, that is where I draw the damn line. Everywhere you been has ended in bloodshed and chaos."

"I'm the best option you got, Dutch," Micah said with a sneer as he pointed at John. "Too dumb." Then, at Lenny, "Too dark," and back at Arthur, "Too sick."

Lenny stood from his seat on the log with clenched fists while John took a threatening step forward. Arthur snapped, "I'm fine."

"Alright, settle down," Dutch said, raising his hands in an attempt to make peace. He needed to mediate this conversation before a fight broke out and they got nowhere. "To get it right, we'll all be doing this. I have a foolproof plan. Hosea and I worked it out before he...left us."

Micah's one exposed eye gleamed hungrily. "We gotta confuse them all one last time. That'll be your side of it, Morgan. Then, Dutch and I will head to Blackwater, collect the money and..." he paused and glanced at those in camp, "...help everyone leave."

Arthur asked, "Why is this Blackwater money so important all of the sudden, Dutch? Couple days ago, you were still convinced it couldn't be retrieved."

Arthur wasn't wrong in this instance. Dutch hadn't been making plans for Blackwater until Hosea had brought it up. It hadn't been a priority. In all truths, he never intended on going back to Blackwater at all.

He hadn't realized, until the trudge through the snow to Colter when keeping his mind busy was the only way to stave off the cold, that if they'd gotten that money out, there would be no need for the gang to stay together. There would be no need for anyone to follow him anymore. Dutch couldn't so easily relinquish the command he had on everyone.

To Dutch, the money didn't matter. It never really had mattered. Letting go of the Blackwater money was about keeping control. Just as going back for it now was Dutch holding on to that same control. He had to show the others that he was still their leader.

"Ain't you got a reserve somewhere?" asked Arthur now. "We can make do from there. There ain't too many of us left."

Dutch wasn't about to tell Arthur and the whole rest of the camp listening that the chest he had hidden might as well be lost. The $42,000 in the bottom of the cave at Beaver Hollow hadn't been moved far enough away for an easy pickup.

Instead of answering Arthur, Dutch said, "The time to get that money out of Blackwater is now, before we lose anyone else."

John narrowed his eyes. "If it's just an in and out job, I'll do it. After we're done up in Van Horn."

"Done with what in Van Horn?" Dutch asked.

John stared at him in disbelief. "Saving Abigail."

Dutch felt a facial twitch and told him, "Abigail's a fine woman, but we'd be risking our necks if we tried to get her back. She's gone, son. I thought we established that."

John's eyes went wild. "We ain't established nothing. She ain't gone yet. She's taken."

"She's bait, which is worse," put in Micah.

Arthur made his appeal next, almost admonishing, "Dutch..."

Dutch shook his head sadly. "It pains me to say it, Arthur, but Micah is right."

John accused, "You...you never intended to go after her, did you?"

Dutch admitted, "Like I said, she's a fine woman, but we can't afford to lose nobody else."

A flash of betrayal overtook John's expression. John always had been the hardest to convince of anything when he got stubborn. But this was for the good of everyone.

John said slowly, "Then maybe...you'll be going your way, and I'll be going mine. For good."

"Oh, don't be like that." Why should Dutch feel bad about this? His word was law and John didn't get to decide on a whim what this gang did. It was John who was betraying them.

"Come on, Dutch..." Arthur pleaded, "you want that boy to grow up without a momma?"

Dutch spared a glance at Jack, watching him with an unblinking stare. Charlotte's hands rested protectively on his shoulders, like a snake with her grips on the apple. He averted his gaze. "It ain't like that."

"Then what is it like?" Arthur demanded.

"Dutch, it's just a girl," Micah complained. "They won't do nothing to her. We gotta let her go."

John stated staunchly, "I ain't going nowhere without Abigail."

"'Course you wouldn't," Micah said. "Not with how excited Miss Roberts was, before the Pinkertons came in. So excited, she had started packing. Almost like she knew what was coming."

John growled, "Don't talk to me, you son of a bitch."

"You have got that look about you lately," Dutch said, raising his chin in challenge. "Like you're itching to be anywhere else."

"Me?" John swung his attention back to Dutch and accused, "Micah's the one always slinking out of camp to who the hell knows where."

Micah snarled, "I've been working, unlike you."

John said snidely, "Working with Milton."

"You take that back, bastard." Micah raised his fists, stepping towards John.

John held his ground. "I don't think I will."

"And you shouldn't." Karen jumped in. "John ain't the only one noticing Micah's odd behavior."

"I wouldn't put it past him," seconded Sadie. "He sure found us easy in Lakay."

"I heard some things too, from Trelawny," Arthur added. "Someone among us has been talkin' and I know who my money's on."

"You don't got proof of nothing," Micah shot back.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "It all makes sense now."

"No, it damn well doesn't."

In the blink of an eye, guns were drawn. Arthur and John had their aim trained on Micah. Micah and Joe returned the favor and John shifted his line of sight on Joe.

"Oh be quiet, cowpoke," Micah spat at Arthur. "Be quiet. You live in the clouds."

Lenny lifted his rifle. "You be quiet, Micah, and put down your gun."

Arthur kept his eye trained on Micah, but appealed to him. "Dutch, think."

"Dutch..." Micah said. "Be practical now."

This was getting out of hand. Dutch ordered, "Put your guns away."

John didn't move. "I can't do that."

"Neither can I," Arthur said. For once, and inconveniently, the two boys were in agreement with each other. "Too long this bastard's been a thorn in our side. Too many of us have been killed. Some of it, I know was 'cause of him."

Lenny nodded and Dutch saw the tides turning, of his control slipping and the others being convinced of the wrong point of view, of the wrong mindset.

"I ain't going nowhere else with the likes of him," John stated. "Abigail's my family. We go after her together or you all go on a suicide mission to Blackwater and get yourselves killed for no reason. It's time to make your choice, Dutch."

Dutch didn't know what to say, seeing all he'd built up crumbling before his eyes. Lines were being drawn now and sides were being chosen without his input. Micah and Joe slid closer to him. The rest waited, and Dutch eyed them, studying the indecision in their expression.

Arthur pushed them further. "All the rest of you, pick your side now, 'cause this is over."

Dutch knew he had to get the others to see it his way, to get them to chose his side. "Who amongst you is with me, and who is betraying me?"

Arthur shook his head. "All them years, Dutch? For this snake?"

Dutch ignored the accusation, watching the others. Sadie shifted closer to John, which he expected, but when Lenny moved, Dutch said with disappointment, "Lenny, I thought you were better."

Yet, he wasn't without his own loyal men. Bill and, after a lengthy hesitancy, Javier moved to Dutch's side of camp.

"Bill, Javier, think for yourselves," Arthur said, a pained expression on his face, as if he hadn't caused this.

"He's lying," Micah responded in his defense. "He's ly-ing."

When Karen followed Lenny, Dutch burst out, "What's wrong with you all? I got this." He ground his teeth together, incensed at their silence and unwillingness for unerring loyalty. "Trust me!"

Charlotte grabbed Jack's hand and started to make her way to Arthur's side when Micah snatched her wrist and pulled her their way. Her eyes widened with fear, but she made not a peep. Micah held her back against his chest, using one dirty hand to clutch her jaw and pressing his gun to her temple with the other.

John grabbed Jack and pushed his son behind him. Arthur's finger twitched over his trigger. "Let her go, Micah!"

"Don't move." Micah pulled Charlotte backwards, making his way towards the horses. Everyone who'd chosen Dutch's side, the right side: Joe, Bill and Javier.

"We're gonna ride off now. Don't follow us or I'll have to hurt her," Micah told the others, who had chosen to betray them: Arthur, John, Sadie, Karen, and Lenny. There was a terrible gleam in his eye. He meant to kill Charlotte anyway.

There was an eternal moment where Dutch wanted to let him. This woman was the one who had disrupted the way the gang ran. She was the one who had twisted Arthur's loyalty against him.

He despised her interference, despised her, but Dutch knew the folly in her death here and now. This standoff would devolve quickly into a full blown shootout among brothers. Frankly, Dutch wasn't ready to die today, not on this hill. Not because of her.

"Micah," Dutch called him off sharply. "Let her go."

Micah sneered, taking his time to obey, as if he intended to go through with it. Then he threw Charlotte to the ground and mounted Baylock.

Arthur went to her, helped her up and snapped at Dutch, "So much for us all being a goddamned family!"

Dutch flinched while Bill retorted, "You've gone soft, Morgan."

"Let's ride," Micah announced to the rest.

"With me," Dutch repeated louder, so they knew who they were following.

As they traveled down the hill, he refused to glance back, to observe those who had stood against him in defiance. They were all making a big mistake, but he would only look forward and those without faith could deal with the consequences for not trusting him.

Once away from Moonstone, Micah dropped back to allow Dutch to pass and take the lead again. "Where to, boss?"

"Blackwater," he said decisively, ignoring the alarm in the back of his mind that warned him he didn't have enough people for his plan.

Dutch sent Joe and Bill to collect the wagon of explosives they'd hidden over a week ago for the bridge that had never been blown. Dutch sent Javier by himself to Blackwater to scope out the city. Micah he kept by his side, the only one loyal enough to stick up for the gang.

Hosea would not have approved of this strife and Dutch knew who they needed to be successful. He pushed aside the doubts of his own mind and chose to distract himself by deciding on a name for his new steed. He'd been mulling over it since he had acquired it and knew what would be the most fitting name for such a majestic horse.

The King.

Dutch's decisive choice in that moment surpassed his doubts and drowned out Arthur's words of family that had struck him to his core. Family was important to him. Always had been. There was no time to be disheartened by the let down of his friends. Once they got the money back and left this area, he could mourn those he lost in life and in loyalty.

Before they rode for Blackwater, Dutch made a detour on the outskirts of Saint Denis, to secure the boatman for their final getaway. His boatman was once again Thomas, the one who had taken them to Bronte's house. It was an easy enough sell to Thomas the second time around, with the promise of a hefty payout for his transport. Dutch even visited with Jules for awhile, commenting on the leg he'd nearly lost that night in the bayou.

That night he'd nearly lost Arthur too by a damn gator as big a house. But they'd prevailed and Arthur had done everything he'd asked that night. The doubts arose now. How was Dutch supposed to be successful without his best man on the job? Maybe he should have lent more weight on what Arthur was saying. Maybe...he should reconsider going into Blackwater.

Dutch left Thomas' shack, riddled with sudden indecision as he rejoined Micah by the horses. Micah looked up from a newspaper he had in hand. He turned the Saint Denis Times so the headline faced Dutch. "Check this out, boss."

The front page was dedicated to an article regarding Mayor Henri Lemieux's political downfall. Accompanying the words was a picture of his successor, Jean Marc Mercier, but what really snatched Dutch's interest was the woman on the politician's arm.

Even the printed letters identifying her as Miss Margaret O'Clery and the black and white colors, Molly's red hair was striking, her unmatched beauty more than recognizable.

For a moment, Dutch didn't comprehend the importance of what he was seeing. Then, his fury awakened.

He'd asked Arthur directly if he'd seen Molly. There was no way Arthur had missed this development, especially when Dutch knew he'd been taking grunt jobs from the mayor—now former mayor apparently.

Dutch smacked the newspaper out of Micah's hands and to the ground, angrily mounting The King. He had to deal with one issue at a time. But deal with it he shall.

After Blackwater, he'd be stopping by for a little visit to the devious Miss O'Shea and he'd give her a message she wouldn't forget. Nobody was allowed to pull one over on him.

But first, Dutch's next plan would not be delayed.

XXXXXXXXXX

He and Micah reached Blackwater by nightfall, meeting up with Javier on a hill overlooking the town. The spot he'd chosen was full of enough foliage to shield their arrival, including the wagon Bill and Joe rolled up in a few minutes after, their timing impeccable.

Javier lowered his binoculars, his expression grim as he informed them, "There's law down there."

"Pinkertons?" Dutch asked.

"Maybe. I didn't get too close. If they're here, they don't want us to know."

Dutch dismissed Javier's concern, "We can handle them."

"Dutch..." Javier said with hesitancy, "is this crazy?"

"Too crazy for them to expect," Micah chimed in.

Javier questioned, "Will we go back for the others?"

Dutch's face pinched at the idea. Go back? "They made their choice, Javier. Just as you've made yours. I hope you're not having regrets."

"Of course not," Javier said quickly.

"Then saddle up. We have work to do." Dutch instructed, "You and Bill are to approach the south side of town. Light that wagon, wait for them to investigate and then give them hell. Shoot as many as those bastards as you can. Micah and I will head for the stash. Joe, you're our back-up if either group needs it. Stay alert and jump in if you see the signal."

Javier side-eyed Micah. "Dutch, are you sure—"

"You heard the man, Escuella," Micah snarled. "You defying him?"

"No."

Dutch nodded. "We'll meet up again under Bard's Crossing. River boat will be near there ready to take us to New York or Chicago. Then we'll get a real boat from there, out to the tropics."

Javier commented, "So long as it isn't Guarma."

"It'll be paradise, son, but first, we need that money." Dutch tried to exude confidence, to hype his men up. "One last time, gentlemen. Next time we see each other, we'll be $150,000 richer and sailing to sweet freedom."

"You got it, Dutch!" Bill at least hadn't lost his enthusiasm.

Yet for the rest of them, the excitement wasn't there, not like it usually was when it was their full group of men. But all Dutch could do was ignore the unsettled knot in his stomach and listen to his own instruction. After Javier, Bill and Joe left, he led Micah down the road towards Blackwater. It was a path Dutch remembered clearly from months ago, when he'd had to make a decision on where to hide the money. Because it was Blackwater, there was one place he was familiar with.

Truthfully, Dutch didn't want to bring anyone to where he'd hid the money. He'd been the only one who'd known the location for so long. But, he needed at least one other to haul away the cash and gold. There were multiple large sacks, which was why he, Mac, and Davey had had to dump it in the first place.

Months ago, Dutch had had a bigger crew, with more men to distribute. They'd been caught in the aftermath of the robbery, shockingly and unexpectedly ambushed by Pinkertons. An entity they'd never had to deal with before and who were more irritatingly persistent than all the local law they'd ever faced combined.

Escaping the ferry after a hostage situation, yet still laden with cash and gold, Dutch had had to think quickly. When they'd reached their horses, there was so much chaos and shooting in town, they'd had to split up. That night had been infinitely darker than tonight. One could hardly tell friend from foe. He found out later Hosea and Arthur had joined the big shootout in the middle of Blackwater eventually, but all he'd known at the time was they had to get out as soon as possible.

Micah, Javier and John had gone down one street. Lenny, Bill and Charles had gone down another. Sean jumped into the middle of it all, throwing caution to the wind so recklessly, Dutch had truly believed he would die that night.

Dutch had ended up with the Callendar brothers on either side of him as they raced up the north side of Blackwater, dodging bullets and capture. They miraculously managed to clear out of the worst of it, briefly getting out of range of their attackers, but Dutch knew they wouldn't get far.

The amount of their take was both a blessing and a curse. The weight of gold and cash they'd managed to rob was life-changing, but it was also burdensome to carry, even divided between two horses.

"Wait," he'd said to Davey and Mac before they'd fully gotten out of Blackwater.

He led Davey and Mac off the trail and into the town's cemetery. His idea was they could bury the money and come back for it later, when the law had cooled off.

They were in luck that night when they found two shovels leaned against the big oak standing watch over the graves of the common folk. Dutch led the brothers to a particular headstone and ordered, "Dig."

Them boys had known how to follow orders. They didn't question what he needed done. He just pointed and they took care of it.

After only a few minutes, Mac had warned shortly, "Law."

"Go," Dutch told him and Mac took off. He watched Mac throw a leg over his horse and rush to lead the authorities off in the other direction. It was the last they ever saw of him.

He and Davey didn't have time to dig deeply. They shoveled until there was just enough room to throw the sacks in, and then scrambled to replace the dirt. Once they were finished, it appeared undisturbed by the faint glow of the moonlight. The only thing he could do was hope it would look the same by day.

Dutch and Davey rushed to their horses and then raced back to camp, with no time to find Mac. On the edge of town, they were spotted again, and they'd had to lead the law in a merry chase that resulted in Davey sustaining a fatal wound.

Their camp near Blackwater had already been abandoned so one of the others must have got a warning to them. Davey struggled to remain conscious, but he stayed upright in the saddle up until the moment they caught up with the caravan. Then he collapsed, and Swanson and Grimshaw did their best to tend to him.

Davey never recovered from his gunshot wound, and with his brother killed by Milton, Dutch had been left alone with the secret of the Blackwater money's location.

Instead of back west, the gang followed the roads north, into the mountains and into a worsening snowstorm. As treacherous as the going was, it had been their only chance at a clean getaway.

Now, months later, Dutch had returned to reclaim what had been rightfully stolen, more than half of his crew gone and hardly closer to making his final escape from the law.

Dutch only allowed one lantern between him and Micah, the flame set low so they wouldn't be as easy to spot. The cemetery, of course, was unchanged. Without law directly on their heels to distract him, this time around Dutch felt an unnatural aura that permeated the air, unsettling him as he and Micah stepped over the graves of loved ones lost. It was as if the ghosts of all those people were looking on from the great beyond, judging their actions on this night.

Dutch strode towards the tree in the center of the lot, using it as his guide in the dark to locate the large headstone he'd never forget. Dutch searched for the shovels they'd used originally to dig up the dirt, but there were no tools handy. Despite it being months ago, Dutch hadn't taken into consideration the possibility the shovels wouldn't be in the same spot he and Davey had left them. They didn't have time to search for any in the dark.

Micah asked, "You sure it's this one?"

"Yes," Dutch snapped, lifting the lantern to reveal the name.

Micah grinned in response. "Smart, boss."

Without a shovel, Micah dropped to his knees and started digging with his hands. Dutch set the lantern down and joined him, keeping one ear sharp for any noise.

As they dug, Dutch started feeling as if something was off. It only took another few moments for him to realize what it was. He'd been so focused on their goal to recover the money, he hadn't waited for Bill and Javier's signal.

Dutch stood, breaking from the digging, though Micah didn't bother to stop. "Something's wrong."

The explosion that was supposed to happen in the middle of town had never come. As Dutch looked to the south, towards town, he realized there was no gunfire ripping through the air either. The town was quiet as can be. As the seconds ticked by, there was still no detonated distraction.

"They're here!" Micah exclaimed behind him. "I can feel the bags."

Irritated, Dutch turned back, about to respond, Of course, they're here. Had there been some doubt? But as he shifted, he heard a crack and following it, a searing pain in his shoulder. It was a bullet that had struck him above his heart, just missing it.

"Shit!" Dutch clutched the wound and scrambled behind the large headstone while Micah took out his guns and made a dash for the nearby tree. Pinkertons were suddenly pouring from the church, and lining up behind the cemetery's waist-level fence.

"Van der Linde!" It wasn't Milton. It was the other one. "Surrender this instant!"

Goddamnit! Dutch hit a fist against the disturbed dirt. "It's an ambush."

"I'll signal to Joe," Micah whispered loudly from the tree as he stayed low and slowly backed away so as not to draw attention. "Keep him talking."

"Will do." All Dutch had to do was talk until back up arrived. That was his specialty. Micah disappeared into the darkness and Dutch did what he did best. He started a conversation, as if sitting on a grave with lawmen aiming guns his direction was how he normally conducted business.

His back was against the headstone and he turned his head slightly and called out, "Ross, was it? Milton not want to face me himself?"

"Agent Milton is attending his own business in Van Horn," answered Ross. "He entrusted me to catch any stragglers trying to return to the scene of the crime."

Dutch said in a reasonable tone, "Surely, we can come to an agreement?"

"My partner is the one for deals, not me."

Maybe it peeved him just a little that the big man himself hadn't been the one he could face off against, but he wouldn't let that deter him. "And that's your problem, Mr. Ross. You live your life by the doctrine of the divine right of kings. You cling to it and you suffer day by day because you need some soulless figure to tell you what to do."

Ross said sourly, "You're wasting my time, Van der Linde."

Dutch drew back the hand that he'd pressed against his shoulder, noting the blood now coating it. He continued talking, "Men like you will never stop attempting to gain power. Men like you, who want nothing but power sicken me."

"And you believe men like yourself, a common thief, are better than the law-abiding citizens of this good country?"

Ross had been drawn into the conversation, despite himself. Dutch declared, "We are betterbecause we know what we want. We want to live. We aren't mindless, docile sheep marching ourselves to the slaughter day by day for an entity that doesn't care a whit about us."

There was silence from the other side of the tombstone, but Dutch didn't dare look to see the effect of his words.

"Just a lovely speech," Ross said eventually. "Wasn't it, boys? Long enough to maybe, I don't know, get some back up while we're distracted?"

Dutch stilled and held silent, refusing to believe his plan had been so transparent.

"You seem to be short on friends tonight, Van der Linde."

"I can do enough damage with just a few men, Mr. Ross. Believe me."

"Your men in town?" There was a nasty chuckle that echoed in the night. "Oh, they've been dealt with. Your means of escape is severed."

Impossible! "I don't believe you."

"Escuella? Williamson?" Ross paused, clearly enjoying the suspense. "We caught them by the lumberyard as soon as they entered the city. Lotta dynamite you boys found. Looks like it came all the way down from Annesburg."

Dutch dropped his head against the tombstone, the cold matching the dread in the pit of his stomach. "What did you do?"

"We took care of them. Williamson fought back when he should have stood down. He was killed in action so unfortunately there won't be any kind of justice for his misdeeds."

Dutch sat frozen in shock. Bill was as dumb as a dog, but as consistently loyal as one too. To imagine him gone from this world when he'd seen him less than an hour ago, was unthinkable. "You lie!"

"Escuella was captured," Ross continued in the same passive tone. "He'll be deported to Mexico and face the crimes he thought he'd escaped." Ross paused again and then informed him with a bit of glee, "So, you see, no one and nothing can help you now."

This was bad. Dutch had been counting on his men. Speaking of, where was Micah?

As he wished for a miracle, of the appearance of a cavalry he was beginning to believe wouldn't come, realization crashed down on him like a ton of bricks. After this long of time passed, he knew. Micah...wasn't coming back. Dutch was alone. If he'd had Arthur, John, Javier or Bill at this cemetery tonight, they wouldn't have cowered. They wouldn't have run unless it was together.

"This is the end for you." Ross filled the silence with his gloating. "You have every right to be afraid, Van der Linde."

"Afraid?" The worst aspect one could hold to is continual fear and danger of violent death. "Mr. Ross, I don't fear you."

Ross said impatiently, "Last chance to surrender without a fight, Van der Linde."

Dutch had changed lives. He'd sacrificed so much. How was this where he'd ended up?

The whole point of America is freedom. Freedom of thought, freedom of deed, freedom of action. We are actions and the thoughts upon actions. We must embrace both the animal and the god within us...

Once more, in his time of desperation, Miller's words revived him. From his tombstone cover, Dutch called to Ross, "Are you familiar at all with the Law of Survival, agent?"

Ross answered, "I'm familiar with the laws of this great country and seeing justice served for those who suffered to scum like you."

Dutch couldn't be baited into anger anymore. Not in this moment. "It's all about self-preservation and the determination of who is the hunter and who is the hunted."

If one wishes for man truly to be free, then we must teach ourselves and then our fellows to see the glory. The glory is in death. Yes, of course, in life, but also in death. Better to die free than in the cage of authority...

Dutch settled into a calm demeanor. He checked his guns, the tombstone a comforting cold against his back as he kept on, "My whole life, all I ever did was fight. I've tried to fight change..."

"This is your final warning to surrender, Van der Linde."

Dutch tilted his head, eyes taking in the starry night, the beauty in it, in its consistency. "I see now it was a waste. You can't fight change. And we can't change who we are, Mr. Ross."

Dutch stood slowly, so as not to appear a threat. He faced those who meant to set him back and stared every Pinkerton lined up against him in the eye. His gaze landed lastly on Ross, whose smirk failed to anger him.

"That's it, Van der Linde," Ross goaded. "Give in and you'll be just as good at obeying orders as Mr. Bell."

Micah. So. It was true then. Micah had been talking. It hardly mattered now. Dutch was too numb with the inevitable to feel betrayed.

Dutch tightened his grip on his revolvers, still lowered at his side. He said, "When I'm gone, you'll just find another monster to blame. You have to, to justify your wages."

"And I'll do it with pleasure." Ross gestured to his agents. "Men, he's not gonna go quietly."

" I can't give up..." Dutch raised his guns, aiming for Ross. "And I can't fight nature."

Bullets sparked the night as they left their chambers, cutting through the air and into Dutch's body. He pulled his own triggers, but he wasn't certain it was in time to cause any damage. His attempt at retribution was feeble in the wake of the Pinkertons' onslaught.

In short order, Dutch fell, his knees sinking into the partially dug soil. He collapsed to the ground, landing on his shoulder and jarring every new wound he'd just acquired. The lantern's flicker revealed the words on the tombstone where he'd hid all the money that was supposed to have made him rich beyond his wildest imaginings and break him free of the system.

He read, Greta Van der Linde, Loving Mother To Her Son.

Dutch closed his eyes a free man.