So, turns out we're holed up outside a town called Rhodes, deep in old cotton country. The place has not recovered from the war and those folks that is sober enough to think are still angry.

The drunk, which is most of them, are angrier still but perhaps for other reasons.

Finally, we have achieved a state of true insanity. For the first time in my life, I'm a deputized lawman. Dutch is convinced this will somehow lead to riches beyond compare. Seems the one powerful local family, The Grays, ex-Scots, is warring with another proud English family, the Braithwaites, like some long running dispute from the border country.


After assisting the Rhodes deputy, Archibald MacGregor, along with Dutch and Bill in destroying a moonshine operation, and racing Dutch back to camp (and winning), Arthur sat on a log near the inlet to relax. He had just finished jotting down the day's events in his journal when something caught his eye. Someone was rowing out to the little islands with a horse swimming behind. He smiled to himself, put his journal away, and hurried to the camp boat while trying to look casual.

"Mr. Morgan, if you're heading out, mind catching some more fish?" Pearson called out to him, "That last batch was perfect."

"I'll see what I can do," Arthur said as he rowed out to the island. He rowed towards the south end where he saw Grace's canoe up on the shore. He guided his boat next to hers and followed her footprints around to the west side. She was sitting in the sand wearing a light pink dress and a straw sunhat. Her horse was grazing among the trees.

"Not swimming naked today?" he asked as he approached.

"Oh!" she whirled around, "Jesus, you startled me."

"Now you know how it feels," he said with a laugh.

"Looks like my guard horse doesn't care today," Grace looked back at Tuula who wasn't paying attention to either of them. "You're fired, Tuula!" she called. Her horse continued to graze and ignore them.

"Heh, well good thing it's just me, huh," Arthur sat next to her. "So what brings you out here?"

"Just wanted to sit a while," she shrugged, hugging her knees up to her chest, "It's nice here."

"Not spying on us?"

"Nah. Well, I've had a peek through my binoculars a few times," she said quietly. "You have a lot more people than I thought."

"Yeah."

"Who's the large man with the appaloosa? The one you were with when you found the German family?"

"Oh, that's Charles. Good man. Don't know why he runs with us no-good bandits," he turned to her, "He said he saw you confronting some men who were killing bison."

"Assholes," she spat, "I saw the bison carcasses and found the men who were killing them. Someone in Saint Denis was paying them to needlessly kill bison to make it look like the Indians were doing it." She smirked a little. "Too bad those morons didn't realise that if Indians were killing the bison, they'd've taken all the meat and hide. Not to mention they may have used arrows for the kill instead of a gun."

"Why would someone even set up the Indians like that?"

"To make them seem like horrible people," her jaw tensed up, "To make imprisoning them and moving them all over the place seem like the better option."

"Bad business." He paused. "So did you go find this guy in Saint Denis? The one who was paying to have those bison killed?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"And what?"

"Well, what happened?"

"He suddenly decided to take a vacation."

Arthur's eyes widened. "You killed him?"

"What? No!" she protested. "I may have insinuated I'd do so if he didn't leave town and then he remembered he had an old aunt up in Chicago he suddenly had to visit."

"Jesus, you really are something," he shook his head. He watched as she pushed her sleeves up to her elbows and leaned back on her hands. She stretched out her legs, revealing she was barefoot and dug her toes into the sand.

"So what are you doing out here?" she asked.

"Dunno. Saw you row out here," he shrugged.

"Heh, hoping I'd be swimming again? Or hoping I'd have more fish for you?" she smiled at him.

"I guess more the latter. Pearson, our cook, was asking for fish as I was heading out."

Grace nodded then stood and walked back to where Tuula was grazing. Arthur stood and watched as she picked up a fishing pole and a small pouch and returned. She stood where the water lapped up to her ankles, baited the hook, and cast out.

"How much will you need?" she asked, slowly reeling in the line.

"A few, I suppose. He thought the last batch was perfect."

"Everyone's going to think you're good at fishing now," she smiled as she reeled in a bass. She unhooked it and handed it to Arthur.

"Well, so long as I keep meeting you to go fishing," he joked.

"So when do you want to find those fish for that awful Mr. Gill?" she cast out again.

"I'm not sure, I have a few things going right now."

"I can see that, Deputy," she smirked as she reeled in another bass.

"Oh, yeah," Arthur rolled his eyes at the deputy badge attached to his vest and accepted the second fish, "It was Dutch's idea. Hiding in plain sight and all that."

"I guess it's not too bad of a plan, that is, until you start getting yourselves into trouble again."

"I suppose. It just," he paused, "It's just it feels like we ain't ever gonna find a place to settle down. We were supposed to head west after Blackwater, but we had to go east and now we're heading south. Don't think we'll ever find anywhere to call home."

"I know the feeling," she said, reeling in a third fish, trout this time, "I mean, I don't really have a place to call home either."

"You said you lived up near Moonstone Pond."

"I've lived there for almost a year now but I expect I'll be moving on in a year or two. Probably longer than you've spent in one place, but not long enough to really call somewhere home."

Arthur frowned. "Why would you move? You ain't got anyone chasing you."

Grace shrugged. "Don't like staying in one place too long." She reeled in another bass. He took the fish from her and hooked it with the others.

"I think this'll do."

She nodded and lowered her rod. "So you're going to tell them you caught the fish yourself?"

"Heh, I suppose I will."

"Without a fishing pole?" she tittered.

"Ah. Yes. Well, maybe they won't notice."

"As long as they can eat it, huh?" She walked back to put her pole and bait in the shade. "So what exactly is the plan with being deputized? Apart from simply hiding in plain sight."

Arthur paused for a moment, not sure if he should tell her. But what the hell. "Well, we heard there's these two families -"

"The Grays and the Braithwaites," she interrupted.

"Yeah, and there may be some old money we could get our hands on."

Grace thought for a moment. "Well, there's no doubt they both have money. I don't know much about the families myself, other than what I've heard in town."

"Which is?"

"Which is that they both hate each other. Grays are in tobacco and the Braithwaites have a clandestine moonshine business."

"Yeah, we destroyed one of their stills."

"Wasting no time in gaining enemies down here, I see," she smiled. "But be careful. The Grays and Braithwaites can be very nasty."

"I always am careful."

"Your recent actions speak otherwise, but if you say so." She sat back down in the sand in the sunshine, removed her hat, and looked up at him when he followed. "You should probably head back with the fish so it looks like you just caught them."

"What are you going to do?"

"Sit here, enjoy the sun for a while."

"Don't know why you just stay closer to land. Lots of sand there."

"Yeah, well, I'm less likely to be interrupted on these islets. Usually."

"Heh, well, I'll leave you to it."

"See you around, Arthur."

He nodded at her and returned to his boat with the fish. He never really noticed before how blue her eyes were, especially in the sunlight. They were bright and sparkling with warmth and vitality, yet with a hint of sadness which he thought odd. After handing the fish over to Pearson, he returned to his cot and looked at his reflection in the mirror. He never paid much attention to his own eyes, blue-green, old and melancholic. They certainly didn't have the same shine Grace's did. Maybe when he was younger.


I've met some charming women in my time. Catherine Braithwaite ain't one of them. Even Hosea's charms were lost upon her. She refused our offer of selling her back her shine and instead got us to give it away to annoy the saloon owners in town.

Hosea put on quite a show until we got interrupted by the bastards we robbed when grabbing the stuff. We just about escaped, but not without a bit of help...


Arthur watched as Hosea announced to the Rhodes saloon patrons that they were giving away free moonshine. Hosea had Arthur wear a large brimmed hat and stuck a pipe in his mouth so no one would recognise him. As much as he hated it, Arthur did admire Hosea's ingenuity. Even if he did have to pose as brainless idiot called Fenton.

He was pouring out shots of moonshine when he heard a familiar voice.

"Fenton, is it? I'll take one."

Arthur bit hard on the pipe in his mouth to keep from smiling and carefully poured one out for Grace, hoping she wouldn't give him away. She gulped down the moonshine in one go.

"I'll have another." He poured another one for her. "Cheers," she toasted and winked at him before walking away, getting lost in the crowd of patrons clamboring for their free booze.

The saloon was full of drunken idiots, being edged to drink more by Hosea. Arthur kept pouring the shine until the saloon doors burst open and a group of uniformed men walked in.

"It's the Lemoyne Raiders," he heard someone hiss nearby.

"You!" One of Raiders, presumably their leader, yelled at Hosea.

"Me?" Hosea replied, pretending to look baffled.

"You're the bastards who stole the liquor we was going to buy!"

"Gentlemen! We're in advertising," Hosea said, trying to defuse the sitation, "Why don't you come in and have a drink?"

"That's our goddamn liquor!" the Raider turned to the others, "Boys, get 'em!"

The saloon patrons scattered out as Arthur took cover and the Lemoyne Raiders started shooting. Hosea had ran up the stairs and was shooting the ones that had come up the outdoor stairs. Arthur shot the ones downstairs before heading up to help Hosea.

"Arthur! Help!" Hosea shouted. Arthur ran to try to get the Raider off him, but more had shot their way through the door. As he was fighting them off, Hosea shouted louder. Just as Arthur had shot the last Raider, he turned to see Grace smashing the Raider attacking Hosea with a bottle. The Raider fell to the floor and she ran past before Arthur could say anything.

"Dammit, let's go!" Arthur shouted as more Raiders arrived. He and Hosea ran the opposite way out to the balcony, shooting more Raiders before jumping over the side into the wagon. Arthur looked back, but Grace was nowhere to be seen. But he couldn't worry about her now, they had to get out of there.

They drove out of Rhodes, taking out more Lemoyne Raiders (how many of those bastards were there?), until finally it was quiet.

"Jesus, all this for a few bottles of booze?" Arthur said.

"I reckon it's more they don't want another gang on their patch."

"Remind me not to take up a career in, what was it?"

"Advertising. But never mind that, who was that girl in the saloon? She seemed to know you," Hosea said.

"You figured that out when she smashed a bottle over that Lemoyne Raider's head?"

"Nah, I saw it when she went up to the bar. You may have tried to hide it, but I saw your face light up a bit when she asked for a drink."

"How the hell did you even notice when you were putting on your performance?"

"An old man knows," Hosea tapped the side of his nose, "Well, I hope she got out alright."

"I'm sure she has," Arthur replied, but feeling a bit worried that she may not have gotten out.

"Anyway, I'm going to visit ol' Ma Braithwaite, bring some of this moonshine as, say, a peace offering," Hosea stopped the wagon near the entrance to Clemens Point and looked in the back at the leftover bottles. Arthur jumped off and started heading in. "That was fun, Fenton!" Hosea called after him, "We'll make an actor of you yet!"

Arthur rolled his eyes and hurried down the path. He retrieved his horse and quickly rode back into town. The lawmen had descended on the saloon, but Arthur kept his distance. He watched them bring out the bodies of the Lemoyne Raiders they had killed, but saw no bodies of any women. Relieved, he rode back to camp.

The next day, Arthur headed into town again. He had intended on seeing if he could find Grace, but instead found Jeremiah Compson.


Stumbled into this old drunk on the streets of Rhodes. I don't know quite why he made an impression. The world is full of self-pitying drunks. Hell, I hope to grow into one myself. But something about this fella, Jeremiah Compson. Blamed everyone else for his plight. Lost his career and his home. Wanted me to go find a few trinkets at his home just north of Scarlett Meadows.


Arthur mounted his horse just as he spotted Grace riding in. She waved and rode over.

"Hello, Arthur," she greeted him, "Or is it Fenton today?"

"Heh, it's Arthur."

"Deputy Arthur," she smirked and pointed at the badge attached to his shirt. "Too bad you weren't on duty last night, heard there was a bit of a ruckus at the saloon."

"Thanks, for, well, you know."

"Any time. Is the other man alright?"

"Hosea? Oh yeah. He's going to keep on keeping on for a while yet."

"Oh, good. I remember seeing him in Blackwater. Quite the charmer."

"Yep, sounds like him. So how did you get out last night?"

"I walked out the door. The Lemoyne Raiders seemed more concerned over killing you and Hosea." She paused. "I saw you coming back to Rhodes afterward to watch them clear out the bodies."

"Just making sure one of them weren't you."

"Aw, you really do care," she joked, "So what kind of trouble are you getting into today?"

"Heh, well actually I'm about to break into some old house to get some mementos back for some old drunk."

"And you keep saying you're not a nice man."

"Shut up," he said with a smile. "Want to come along? I mean, if you're not busy."

"I'd love to. Where are we headed?"

"Place called Compson's Stead."

"So what happened to this house?" Grace asked as they rode up to it.

"Apparently the bank took it," Arthur dismounted and went up to the front door. "Letter here says it's now property of the bank, court order."

"Shame. Looks like it was a nice house." Grace dismounted. "Maybe there's a way in through the back."

They went round the back and entered through the kitchen door which wasn't boarded over.

"So what are we looking for?" she asked, opening a cupboard to find it empty.

"An old watch, an old pistol, and a ledger."

"A ledger? Strange thing to want to keep."

"Must be important to him."

"Guess so. Is this him?" She took down a photo from the wall of a couple and their child.

"Looks like it," Arthur stood next to her as she turned it over and read the back.

June 7, 1855

Dear Sir,

Please accept this likeness of your family as a small token of appreciation for your assistance in the recovery of my Property. Like your ol' Pa, you're a cunning old dog and a credit to this community.

Yours,

Col. Joshua Nixon,

The Ascension Plantation

"I really hope by 'returning property' meant he returned a horse or a wagon or something," said Grace, returning the photo to the wall.

"Somehow I don't think so."

They moved into the next room.

"Found the watch," she said, picking up a broken, dusty pocket watch from the mantle. She handed it to Arthur who put it in his satchel.

"Just the pistol and the ledger now."

"Maybe they're upstairs," she said, looking at the broken staircase. "Here, give me a boost. I'll have a look."

Arthur helped her up to the second floor then continued searching the main floor. He could hear her walking above, the floor creaking from the footsteps. He went into the next room and saw a photo of a younger Jeremiah standing next to an open trapdoor.

"Well, looky here," a voice from behind said. He turned around and saw two men entering, one holding a very old flintlock.

"That your gun?" Arthur asked.

"What business is it of yours?" the armed man asked. "This place is ours."

"I'm just looking for some things," said Arthur.

"Too bad, you ain't leaving," the armed man tried firing the gun but it was too rusted. They both attacked Arthur with knives while he fought back. He finally stabbed one dead, and the other was about to stab him but Grace hit him over the head with a broken piece of wood.

"Thanks," Arthur said, picking up the old rusted gun. "Well there's the gun."

"There's nothing upstairs," she said, checking the man she just knocked out. "This one's still alive, but he'll have a hell of a headache when he wakes up."

"There's a trapdoor over here," he led her to it and opened the door.

"After you," she said. Arthur lit a lantern and headed downstairs.

"Oh, shit," he said.

"What is it?" Grace asked as she followed. Then she saw the manacles and chains against the walls. "Jesus..."

"Rotten bastard," Arthur said to himself. He found a book at the back of the room and opened it. It was a diary of a slave who had been lashed more than a hundred times over just two days. He read it out loud but stopped as Grace looked increasingly upset. He put it back down and picked up another book. "This is his damn ledger?" he said angrily as he read it. "A list of damn slaves?"

"Goddamn it," Grace said. "You still going to give it to him?"

"I think we owe him a visit," he said, putting the ledger in his satchel and storming up the stairs and out of the house. Grace followed and they mounted their horses to confront Jeremiah Compson.

"Old man!" Arthur called out when they reached Compson's camp.

"Old man?" Compson stumbled out of his tent, "You- you show some respect."

"Respect? You?" Grace scoffed as she dismounted and approached him with Arthur.

"You keep your damn woman quiet," Compson said angrily to Arthur.

"Heh, fat chance," Arthur replied, "So you asked me to get you something."

"There's no bringing back what I want," Compson started pacing, "I want my job, my pride. The respect accorded to a gentleman."

"Too bad there aren't any gentlemen around," Grace said, crossing her arms.

"See? Not even your own damn woman shows respect!" Compson glared, "The world... it ain't like it's supposed to be. If my woman talked like that, she'd have been taught a lesson."

Grace was about to say something, but Arthur stopped her. "Well, what about all this old crap, huh?" He threw the pocket watch and the flintlock to the ground at Compson's feet.

"Don't you understand? They took my job away! I took pride in my work! And they pissed on my legacy!" Compson picked up the watch and pistol.

"Old man, some jobs ain't for saving," Arthur then took the ledger out, "And some legacies are for pissing on." He threw the ledger into the fire.

"No! What are you doing?" Compson tried to grab at the ledger, but the fire was too hot. They watched the book go up in flames. "That's my history!" He picked up his pistol and tried to fire it at Arthur, but it wouldn't work. "Damn you! Damn you, I still exist."

"I oughta just shoot you right now," Arthur said angrily, aiming his own gun at the old man who cowered.

"No, Arthur," Grace pushed his arm down. "Let the asshole suffer the rest of his life. Death right now is too good for him." She then approached Compson, the fire burning in her eyes. "If there is any justice in the next life, you will suffer like you made those poor people suffer." She strode away quickly, mounted her horse and sped off.

Arthur followed, trying to keep up. "Grace!" he shouted, "Hold up!" She finally slowed at some crossroads, moving off the road to let a wagon pass.

"Sorry," she said as he caught up.

"If I had known we were going to find all that, I wouldn't have asked you to come along," he said. "You okay?"

"Yeah, it's just... it makes me so angry! All those people, tortured and treated worse than dogs at the hands of men like Jeremiah Compson." She wiped her eyes.

"I know. Bastards, all of them," said Arthur, "Well, at least it's in the past now."

"That's the thing, Arthur," she looked over at him. "It isn't. And if you don't believe me, ask Lenny. Or the other coloured girl in your camp."

"Tilly."

"Yes, Tilly. Ask them." She sighed. "Anyway, I think I need to be alone now. See you around."

Arthur rode back to camp, thinking about what had happened. He didn't say much to anyone else, but watched Lenny and Tilly happily converse with the others, like they didn't have a care in the world. And for that moment, perhaps they didn't. Perhaps they were the lucky ones.


Dutch had asked Arthur to look into the Gray family at their residence at Caliga Hall, see if there was any leads they could exploit. Instead Arthur found Beau, a young man with dreams and a forbidden love for Penelope Braithwaite. He ended up delivering a letter to Penelope from Beau, and in return a letter to Beau from Penelope.


Suddenly, I'm marching as a suffragette. The looks of loathing on the faces of the locals delighted me while their leader - a Mrs Calhoun amused me. I don't know much about good causes, nor the joys of democracy, but I enjoyed my little experience riding alongside them.

World is certainly changing fast.


As Arthur drove the wagon of suffragettes into Rhodes, he saw Grace and Tuula near the train station. He waved and she joined him as he jumped off the wagon.

"What is happening here?" she asked.

"Women's rights or something," he replied, "I kinda got roped into driving their wagon in."

"That's awfully nice of you. How much they paying?" she grinned.

"Very funny," he said. Mrs. Calhoun was on the steps of the bank and began her speech. As she did, a couple of large men pushed past Arthur and Grace and over to Beau Gray. Penelope watched for a moment, then turned to Arthur.

"Go help Beau!" she begged, "His cousin is a moron, and stop them from ruining the speech!"

Arthur nodded and led Beau away from his cousins without incident. They rode out to the old war battlefield where Beau paid him for delivering the letters to and from Penelope.

"Thank you!" Beau said once again before riding away.

Arthur shook his head at the ridiculousness of the boy and mounted his horse.

"There you are," Grace trotted up on Tuula.

"You didn't want to stay for the speeches?" he asked.

"Oh, it's nothing I haven't heard before," she said, "Equal rights for all, women are just as good as men, blah, blah, blah."

"So you don't believe in it?"

"Of course I do, it just gets tiresome after so long," she shrugged, "I suppose something will get done if there's enough commotion made, but I think we're a while off from that still."

"Sounds like a waste of time to me," said Arthur.

"To you, maybe, but I think the world could be a better place if men would stop being such pigs and let women have their say."

"Ha, you may be on to something there," he gestured to the battlefield remains, "Maybe all this wouldn't have happened."

"Gosh, I haven't seen anything like this in a long time," Grace said sadly, "I remember when you couldn't see the ground for all the bodies. So many young men, too."

"What do you mean you remember? The war was over thirty years ago," Arthur frowned.

"Oh, I meant I remember someone telling me," she said quickly, "This was only one in many, many battlegrounds of that war. The 1812 war was pretty nasty too."

"1812? You a history buff or something?"

"Or something." She looked around sadly, then squinted at something in the distance. She took out a pair of binoculars from her saddlebag and peered through them.

"What is it?" Arthur asked.

"Jesus christ," she said to herself, lowering the binoculars and replacing them into her saddlebag. She kicked her horse into a canter across the battlefield and Arthur followed. She dismounted at some trees and approached one which he saw had a skeleton of a soldier bayonetted to the trunk.

"Christ, what the hell happened here?"

Grace didn't reply right away, but pointed at the worn wooden sign around the skeleton's neck that read 'TRAITOR'. She then careully removed a letter from the jacket pocket and read it. "He was trying to go home. To get away from an unwinnable battle."

"So he deserted?"

"There's a statue of the general of the Confederate side in Saint Denis, Quincy T. Harris," she said, "He's revered for getting his men killed because he refused to retreat."

"They built him a statue for killing his own men?"

"Pretty much. He kept telling them to attack when they had no chance. Some say he's a hero for fighting bravely, but he didn't fight at all."

Arthur looked back at the battlefield, old broken cannons and trenches. He couldn't imagine being a part of something like that. Sure, he'd been in his fair share of gunfights, but they're nothing compared to going up against an entire army with cannons. Grace suddenly grabbed his hand.

"Do you hear that?" she asked, looking behind her. Arthur listened but didn't hear anything but birds chirping and singing. He shook his head. "All those men, and not all of them died quick enough." He watched her eyes flick around the battlefield as if she was watching the fight unfold before her.

"You okay?" he gently squeezed her hand.

"Oh, uh, yeah," she let go and returned to her horse, "Sorry, just get sentimental sometimes."

"About things you never saw?"

"Heh," she mounted up and looked around the battlefield once more. "It is nice to hear birds here again. Anyway, I'm sure you have more important things to do. See you around, Arthur."

Before he could say a word, she rode away quickly. He looked back at the soldier, still labelled a traitor and bayonetted to the tree after all these years, and shook his head. Damn waste.