"Arthur!" Uncle called as he rushed up to Arthur. "Arthur, I bring you a gift," he said theatrically, "The gift... of information."

"So you got some tip off, so I can risk my neck and make you some money while you lounge around?"

"I got a serious medical condition."

"Shame. Guess you'll have to find some other fool to run your errands."

"Bill! Charles!" Uncle called over the other two, "Will you be my other fool?"

"What are you talking about?" asked Bill.

"Oh, Arthur's above a little stick-up I heard about," Uncle gestured to Arthur.

"No, I'm not," Arthur protested.

"But you just said-"

"Hey, I'll do it if you ride with us." Arthur, Bill, and Charles looked at Uncle for an answer.

"Like I said, I have a medical condition. Very serious."

"Yeah, you're a compulsive liar," Arthur leaned against a tree.

"No, uh, Charles! Have I ever lied to you?"

"I hardly know you," Charles frowned.

"Exactly!" Uncle turned back to Arthur, "Now you boys should do this, it's easy. And I'll only take a small commission for my information, but it's now or never."

"Then it's never," Arthur started to walk away.

"Oh, God help me, Fine. I'll do it," Uncle relented.

"Well, what is it?" asked Arthur.

"It's a supply wagon carrying payroll, but very briefly unguarded apparently as it passes through a crossroads near here where there's an old ruined church before it connects with the rest of the wagon train. Very easy pickings."

"As long as we get paid or you get shot, I'm happy," Arthur said as they headed to their horses and rode out.


It was a goddamn Cornwall payroll. Just when we thought we might have shaken the man, we robbed one of his damn wagons. The guards rode up just as we finished taking the money and we rode to an old barn at that Compson place to hide. They still found us and we had to run into the woods. Killed the lot of them and split up. Already sent the horses out so it would've been a long walk back...


"Getting into trouble again, Mr. Morgan?"

Arthur spun around with his gun ready, but lowered it at the sight of Grace and Tuula. "Jesus, wish you'd stop doing that."

"Nah, where's the fun in that?" She smiled at him.

"I could've shot you!"

"Could've, but you didn't," she said. "So what happened?"

"Had a tip of some payroll moving through," he replied, "turns out it was goddamn Cornwall's payroll."

"You really have a thing for robbing the guy, don't you?"

"It wasn't supposed to happen!"

"Lots of things aren't supposed to happen."

"Yeah."

"Need a ride back?"

"They might still be looking for us."

"Well, hop on then," she patted Tuula's back behind the saddle. Arthur holstered his gun and jumped up behind her.

"Head north a bit, just to make sure we don't lead them back."

"Sure." She turned Tuula north and nudged her into a canter. "So why are you robbing a payroll coach when I said I'd look for your money?"

"It wasn't my idea! Uncle had a tip and thought it was good. Besides, I don't think it would look good if I refused, or if I said you were looking for the money."

"That's true. They wouldn't trust me." She paused. "I think I found it, though."

"You did? Where?"

"Churchyard."

"And you didn't bring it back?"

"Well, no. I'd have to dig up a grave and Pinkertons have set up camp all around there."

"Wait, what?" That can't be right.

"Did you know Dutch's mother is buried in Blackwater?"

"Yeah, he mentioned it but he said he hadn't visited it."

"Well someone has. Looks like someone had dug in there recently."

Arthur frowned. Could she be right? He hated to ask. "So, is there a way you could find out if the money is in there?"

"I can see what I can do, but it won't be easy and I can't promise anything."

"Well, thanks for trying." Then he added under his breath, "Damn it."

"You know, it's getting a bit difficult misleading the Pinkertons with all of you constantly getting into trouble."

"Yeah, sorry."

"Are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Are you sorry?"

"I suppose I should be."

"But you're not." Grace turned Tuula down the dried up bed of Dewberry Creek where they had met the German family.

"Y'know, this was supposed to be our new spot until we went and found that German feller," he said.

"Here?" she slowed Tuula to a walk. "Whose dumb idea was that?"

"Micah's."

"And whose dumb idea was it to agree?"

"Dutch's."

"Why does Dutch like Micah so much? I'd've thought he preferred less hot-headed people."

"God knows, Micah's just been a liability ever since we picked him up."

"And yet Dutch seems to go with all of his stupid ideas."

"Yeah."

"Be careful."

"I am."

"Uh huh." She clearly didn't believe him. She urged Tuula back into a canter and up to the road. "So have you been to Face Rock yet?"

"Why?"

"For that treasure map you found."

"Oh, right. Uh, no, I haven't."

"Well it's just over here, we can stop if you like."

"Sure."

Grace slowed her horse when they reached a large hill with a rock formation in the shape of a face. Arthur took out the map and squinted at it in the moonlight. It showed a line going around to a tree stump. He looked, spotted it on the side of the hill, and hopped off Tuula. Grace waited as he inspected the tree stump and found a lockbox containing ten dollars, a necklace, and another map.

"So did you find the ultimate treasure trove?" Grace asked as he returned.

"Nah, just a few dollars and another map," he handed her the map, "I don't know what to make of that." He pointed to a strange serpentine shape drawn on it.

"Hmm, neither do I," she said, "Maybe there's a giant snake somewhere that guards the treasure."

"Ha, ridiculous."

"If you have any better ideas, let's hear them."

"I got nothing." He jumped back on behind her and they rode to the path leading into the camp.

"Well, here we are," Grace halted Tuula.

"Thanks," Arthur slid off and looked up at her, "I- well, thanks."

"You're welcome," she said. Neither moved. "You know, I tried paying off your bounty."

"You what?"

"I tried to pay it off. Even offered them double. But they refused. They must really want to see you all swing."

"Well, uh, thanks for trying, I guess," Arthur stammered. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. The price on his head alone was five thousand, Dutch and Hosea's even moreso. And she offered to pay double that?

"No problem. I'd tell you to keep out of trouble, but we both know you won't. See you around." Arthur watched as she trotted away then made his way into camp.

Arthur stayed where he was for a moment before heading down the path. She actually had that much money? And why on earth would she try to free a bunch of no-good outlaws such as themselves whom she barely knew?

"You're back!" Uncle greeted him, a bottle of beer in his hand, "Toldja it was good! Just a little hiccup. And we got out just fine!"

"Get away from me, you drunk, I'm going to bed," Arthur passed him.

"Oh, spoilsport!"

Arthur lay on his cot, wondering what he should do. He slowly drifted to sleep feeling strangely alone.


We went horse thieving, our greed getting the better of us. Believed a yarn spun us by one of that Gray gamily, had us believing that the Braithwaite woman owned some highly prized English thoroughbreds or Arab chargers or whatever they were supposed to be, and imagined we was going to be wonderfully rich. At the end of it, we felt like prize idiots.


Arthur told Javier and John to go back to camp without him. He was angry and he needed to calm down before he went back. He rode east for a while, before going off road into the woods. He dismounted in a small clearing.

"Goddamn it!" he punched a nearby tree, wincing at the pain in his knuckles.

"Trying to beat up trees for money now?"

"Jesus!"

"No, it's Grace, remember?" She smiled at him from the log she was sitting on, today wearing a white blouse and a blue skirt, and seemed to be writing in her own journal. He could've sworn he didn't see anyone here when he rode in.

"One day you're going to have to tell me how you manage to keep showing up everywhere I go," he flexed his hand gingerly and pacing.

"One day you're going to have to stop punching trees when they've done nothing to you," she closed and set aside her journal. "Come, sit."

"I'm fine," he said, still pacing.

"Your hand is bleeding. Let me take care of it."

"I said I'm fine."

"Please," she gestured for him to sit.

He sighed and sat next to her. She took out her embroidered handkerchief from a basket behind the log and gently wiped his scratched knuckles clean. She then took out the jar of the disinfectant he had used on her after the cougar attack.

"This is going to sting a little," she said. She smeared some of the odourous jelly on a clean edge of the handkerchief and dabbed it on the scratches. He winced a little, but his hand immediately started feeling better. "So did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, or did a robbery go wrong?"

He paused, wondering if he should tell her. Well, she was probably going to find out eventually anyway. "We got a tip that we could sell some of the Braithwaite horses for five thousand dollars."

"Five thousand dollars? Are they made of solid gold or something?" she finished cleaning some of the excess disinfectant from around his scratches.

"No, some prize studs," he shook his head as she put the handkerchief and jar back in the basket, "Shoulda known it sounded too good to be true."

"You're getting in too deep with this feud," she picked up her journal again.

"Yeah, well, we need the money," Arthur leaned forward on his knees, flexing his hand.

"How much? I have money."

"We don't need your money," he scoffed.

"I don't need it either."

He sat back and looked at her. She did say she tried to pay double their bounties, and with that kind of money, they could all get out of here. "I can't take it," he finally said, surprised that he was declining her offer.

"You can rob it off me, if it'll make you feel better about taking it," she shrugged.

"What? No!"

"You could earn it, but I don't really need anything out of you."

"Well, I don't need anything out of you either."

"Even if I give it to you?"

"We ain't a charity."

"Suit yourself," she opened up her journal to where she left off, "But I hope you change your mind so you can leave before it's too late."

Arthur looked over to see her write in a language he didn't understand among small watercolour sketches of flowers and birds.

"You should head back," she said without looking up, "I'm sure you'll have more opportunities waiting for disappointing pay."

"Heh, no doubt," he stood, mounted his horse, then turned back to her, "Where's Tuula?"

"Probably down by the river. She'll be fine."

"What about you?"

She looked up, raising her eyebrows slightly. "Why, you expecting me to ambushed the second you leave? I'll be fine. Now off you go, places to burgle, people to rob, I'm sure."

Arthur smiled to himself and headed back to camp. On the way he thought about her offer of the money. What if he did take it? What if it was enough to get them all somewhere safe? But would that mean also leaving Grace behind? Why did she offer the money in the first place? Why didn't he just take it?


The following day, Arthur headed into Rhodes to pick up a few things for Pearson before he was to head to the Braithwaite place to meet up with Hosea. He had just left the general store when he heard a commotion from the gunsmith's.

"Now, stay out!" the gunsmith pushed Grace out the door, "I don't want to see you 'round here again!" Grace tried to push her way back into gunsmith's, but he shoved her hard and she fell backwards onto the road. Arthur rushed over to help her up.

"Thank god," Grace said as she brushed some of the dirt off her skirt, "You can help."

"Why are you causing trouble? I thought that was my job."

"Shut up," she frowned, "That man has a boy locked up in his basement, chained to the wall."

"Does he now," Arthur stalked up to the gunsmith's with Grace following.

"Hello, sir, what can I- I told you to stay out!" the gunsmith said, getting angry when he saw Grace.

"Why don't you show us what's in your basement?" Arthur demanded.

"Th-the basement? There's nothing of no worth down there," the gunsmith stammered.

"Show us! Now!" Arthur aimed his pistol at him.

"Alright! Alright," the gunsmith led the way to a door, "It's only my boy sleeping down there, i-it'd be a shame to have to wake him up." Through the door, he opened the cellar door and headed downstairs. When they turned the corner, Arthur saw a teenage boy wearing a strange sailor suit standing by the bed. He was chained to the wall by a shackle on his ankle.

"What in the hell is going on here?" Arthur asked.

"Oh, thank god! Please, you have to get me out of here!" the boy cried.

"He can't see I only do it for his own good," the gunsmith said.

"Are you okay?" Grace hurried over to the boy.

"Please, just get me out of here," he said, "Get me away from this crazy maniac."

"Now that ain't no way to talk about your pa!" the gunsmith said.

"You ain't my pa!" the boy yelled, then turned to Arthur as Grace started picking the lock on the shackles, "Kidnapped he did! Locked me up down here! He thinks I'm his kid son! Do I look like a kid?"

"Always in such a rush to grow up these days, aren't they?" the gunsmith tried to sound cheerful.

"There," Grace removed the shackle.

"Don't take him away from me," the gunsmith begged, "He's all I got."

"Oh, thank you!" the boy quickly hugged Grace and rushed to the stairs.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, please forgive me," the gunsmith said, "I know it was wrong. I just couldn't face that he was gone." He removed a worn photograph from his pocket. "I was... I was teaching Sammy how to hold a rifle proper. Out by the river. The recoil... shot him backwards. He slipped into the river, and it was so quick. It all happened so fast. I searched up and down that river for days, but I couldn't find my boy," he sniffled as he fell to his knees. "I just miss him so much." He looked up at the boy. "And you look just like him. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me."

"It's too late for apologies," the boy said angrily, "You just count yourself lucky I don't kill you for what you did." He rushed up the stairs.

Grace crouched next to the gunsmith and put her hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry about your son, but you can't just kidnap someone else's."

"I know, I know," the gunsmith looked down at his photograph.

"When did it happen?" she asked gently.

"Fifteen years ago. He was my boy, my pride. He was all I got."

"Listen, I don't know if it will help, but I know someone you could talk or write to. She's in Saint Denis. I'll leave her information upstairs." The gunsmith nodded and Grace stood to head upstairs. Arthur looked down at the gunsmith, crying over his photo and followed her. The boy was waiting upstairs.

"Thank you so much, miss, but, um, can I ask another favour?" the boy said.

"Do you need help to get home?" she asked.

"Yes, I live in Saint Denis," he said, "Oh, Mother must be so worried."

"I can give you a ride there. Would you like a change of clothes too?"

"Yes! Yes, I can't stand wearing these."

"Of course," Grace led the way out of the gunsmith's, "What's your name?"

"Thomas. Thomas Carlisle."

"Okay, Thomas, here, go get yourself a change of clothes and we'll get you back to Saint Denis," she handed him some money then turned to Arthur. "Thank you."

"Don't know what you woulda done without me," he smirked slightly.

"Heh, I would've broken in and snuck him out if I needed to."

"You gonna be alright from here?"

"Yes. I'll make sure he gets home. His real home, that is."

"What should we do about him?" he gestured to the gunsmith's.

"Nothing. I think the guilt of losing his own son and kidnapping someone else's is punishment enough. I doubt he'll do it again."

"Thank you so much, miss," Thomas ran up to them, now sporting a dress shirt and trousers more suitable for his age.

"It's Grace, and this is Arthur," she said. "Now, let's get you home." She whistled loudly and a few moments later, Tuula trotted up the road to them. After she introduced Thomas to the big appaloosa, Grace mounted up. Arthur helped Thomas up behind her.

"Thanks, mister," Thomas said. Arthur nodded and watched as they headed down the road to Saint Denis. He turned to his horse, mounted up, and headed for the Braithwaite place.

It continued to baffle him how someone as good and kind as Grace would associate with a nasty piece of work such as himself. Perhaps that was a good thing, especially for that boy, Thomas. If it hadn't been for her, Thomas would've been stuck in that basement for God knows how long. And how often has she bailed him out of trouble? Perhaps he should stay out of it, give her a break.

Arthur laughed to himself at the thought as he trotted down the road to Braithwaite Manor. He could only imagine what Hosea has cooked up involving the Braithwaites, especially since he was told Sean would be there too.


Burned the Grays' tobacco fields with Sean. Used the Braithwaite moonshine and it went up quickly. That rain we had a while ago didn't do much for the dry fields. Hope Hosea's figured out where to get this gold we keep hearing about.


Arthur waited a couple days before heading out of camp, to let things settle in town as the Grays would no doubt be upset about the loss of their tobacco fields. He was sure no one knew he had anything to do about it, although he had a feeling a certain someone would figure it out. At least Grace wouldn't rat him out.

Javier had told him about a possible lead up north, a cabin just north of Strawberry. He would've joined Arthur, but Dutch had him working on something else. Arthur didn't mind riding back up there, it gave him some time away from the madness and worry about getting in the middle of the Braithwaite-Gray feud. He still wasn't sure what to think of it, but there better be something at the end of all this.

He stopped in Strawberry to have a quick meal and when he left, he spotted Tuula grazing off the road. Grace probably wasn't too far so he stopped and dismounted near her horse. Tuula raised her head and seemed to recognise him, nickering quietly before she returned to grazing.

"She likes you."

Arthur jumped slightly and turned to see Grace standing by his horse. "Heh, I think she just saw you."

"Well, she hasn't run off nor has she kicked you in the face, so she likes you," she smiled, "So what are you doing way out here? I see Strawberry is still in one piece."

"Got a lead on a place," he said, suddenly feeling unsure about it.

"Oh." She paused. "To rob, I assume?"

"Yeah."

"Where?"

"Cabin just up the road a bit," he took out his journal and opened it to where he had quickly sketched out the directions Javier had given him, "Not too far from the road up to that cougar den."

"Oh, I know the place," she pet his horse then approached Tuula.

"Okay, and?"

"And what?"

"Does it look like a good lead?"

"I don't know," she shrugged as she tightened the cinch on her saddle, "I just know which cabin you're talking about. Not that there's many cabins out here, that is."

"So, you don't mind me robbing it?"

She smirked as she mounted up. "What, you need my permission?" Grace looked down at him. "Look, I'm not going to sit here and tell you to not rob the place because it's wrong. But I will tell you to use your best judgement."

"Heh, and what is that exactly?"

"You're smart enough to figure that out."

"Come with me, then."

She raised an eyebrow as he mounted up. "You want me to come robbing with you?"

"Well, have you ever stolen anything before?"

"No."

"Let's go have a look, at least."

Grace thought for a moment. "Fine. But I would prefer to not start a life of crime."

"Hah, I've seen what you're capable of and you'd be good at it."

Grace shook her head as they trotted up the road towards the cabin. Arthur knew she didn't want any part in this, but somehow he felt better that she was there. Maybe this cabin didn't have much. Or maybe it did, but it was occupied by a family. At best, it would be empty with a decent stash inside.

When they arrived, a red-haired man with a large birthmark on his face, wearing a light-blue knit sweater and plaid slacks was sitting on the front step. Arthur was about to quickly turn back to the road when the man waved at them. Grace dismounted, followed by Arthur and they approached him.

"What's eating you, partners?" he asked in a strange accent.

"Eating me?" Arthur asked, confused, and looked over at Grace who shrugged.

"Well, I'm sorry, I'll dry up," the man said, "See, I'm a-" he stopped then stood up. "Hey, can I ask you a strange question?"

"I think you just did," Grace joked. The man seemed to ignore her.

"See, there's these funny rock carvings, they look a bit like this," he picked up a book and opened it to show some sketches of strange pictures.

"Okay," Arthur took the book as he and Grace looked closely at them.

"Thing is, I sort of, like, really badly have to find all of them. Now, it's sort of a puzzle thingimmy."

"Oh, I see," Grace nodded.

"You do?" the man asked, surprised.

"All these carvings fit together to make a bigger picture, right?"

The man looked delighted. "Yes! I know, it sounds ridiculous, but I'm on the up and up and it's really important."

"So is it like a scavenger hunt then? Are you competing to find all of them before other people do?"

The man thought for a moment, nodding his head from side to side. "In a way, yes. But not exactly. It's sort of more complicated and you'll think I'm jazzed if I tell you."

"You're what?" Arthur frowned as the man took back the book.

"Drunk," the man clarified.

"Are you?"

"No, ha! I wish. No, I'm, er, lost. It's a long story."

"Okay, hold on. You're lost, but you need to find a bunch of rock carvings for a puzzle before other people do?" Grace seemed to be trying to understand.

"Yes, if you want to simplify it that way. So can you find them?"

"I have no idea," Arthur said, then realised he had already found one of them. "Oh, actually, I think I found one of 'em." He took out his journal and turned to the page where he drew the rock carving he found a while back near Horseshoe Overlook. "You mean like this?" he showed it to the man.

"Yes!" the man cried, "Yes! But.. where's the rest of them?"

"I only found this one."

"Oh! Wait, I think I found a few too," Grace dashed to her horse to remove her own journal from her saddlebag. She returned, flipping through the pages. "Ah, here you go." She held it out.

"This is just swell, but I need all of them," the man sighed, "Let me sketch these down."

"How many are there?" Arthur asked.

"Just a moment," the man quickly drew the carvings into his own book, "There's two missing. I'll pay you handsomely. Here's my card." He handed Arthur a business card.

"What if we can't find the rest of 'em?"

"Oh, I'm sure you can, sport," the man turned back to the cabin before turning back to them. "Francis Sinclair."

"Arthur Morgan, Grace, uh," he paused, trying to remember her surname.

"Bellerose," she said.

"Pleasure," Francis nodded and opened the door to his cabin.

"But I still don't understand why do you need these things?" Arthur asked.

"Well, I told you, if I told you, you'd think I was on the hooch."

"What?"

"I'm gonna have a lie down, I don't feel very well, and neither would you if-" Francis stopped himself, "Ah, but hey, what harm could it do?" He entered his cabin and shut the door, leaving Arthur and Grace confused.

"What a lunatic," Arthur said after a moment.

"Well, you do get some strange ones out here sometimes," she said, "So you aren't going to rob him? He looks wealthy enough."

"Nah, he could be one of them eccentrics who dress the part," Arthur looked down at the business card then stowed it in his satchel. "So where did you find those carvings?"

"Mostly out east. There's one not too far from my cabin. Where did you find yours?"

"Near that burned up town by Horseshoe Overlook."

"Huh." She opened her journal again to look at her own sketches of the carvings. "Hm, I don't think there's any pattern to the locations. Would make it easier if there were."

"So no ideas where to find the last two?"

Grace shrugged. "I found these ones by chance, so I suppose we'll find the others the same way." They returned to their horses and mounted up again. "Well, I'm sorry you weren't able to rob the place."

"There'll be others."

"Oh, I'm sure. No shortage of people to rob around here," she smiled. "Well, I'll leave you to it."

"Hey, when you told me to use my best judgement, did you know we'd be meeting that Sinclair feller?"

"No."

"Oh."

"I'll see you around, Arthur, try to stay out of trouble." She winked at him then gently kicked her horse into a canter down the road.

Grace was just as strange as Francis Sinclair, he thought as he shook his head before riding back toward Strawberry. But at least he could understand her. Most of the time.