The entity wearing the skull mask made the decision to assist and guide the strangers as they called out recognizable names. With a torch in hand, they waved in patterns to attract the attention of the people while riding. After getting it, the stranger began to move in the direction of the cabin. They would go back to their main camp and rest when this was over. With travelers getting into trouble and having to clean up their messes, it had been a hectic day. The white-and-black horse sighed deeply, as if agreeing with those thoughts, and the stranger, who was still watching the lanterns, patted.

The challenges of the day didn't seem to be over just yet; the lights approached faster than the stranger wanted. The rider sighed this time, urging their horse to pick up more speed. They stopped at the cabin, threw the torch next to a horse that was tethered, and rode off. This idea was met with resistance by one of the chasers, who persisted in following. Furthermore, the stranger's heavy snow-riding steed appeared to be slower than the chaser's horse. However, speed isn't much of an advantage over familiarity with the terrain. The stranger with the mask guided the gelding higher into these mountains, towards the rough, rocky area where navigation is essential.

Micah urged his horse forward, barely catching sight of the fleeing person ahead in the darkness. He attempted shooting but seemed to miss them.
Or not, for after a few feet, the stranger fell off their mount like a bag of potatoes. Their steed also halted and turned to face its rider. Micah stopped beside them with a pleased grin. He was eager to drag this "monster" back to the camp. It was such a dumb thing that was worrying everyone. Furthermore, Arthur—the Golden Boy—had failed to deliver the stranger as Dutch had ordered. Micah approached the motionless figure on the snow, his gun still drawn. The stranger appeared as small and harmless as a dead rabbit in the light of the lantern. With a chuckle, the man with the moustaches kicked the body. It didn't move or tense up, thus it was dead.

He kneeled down beside the body, holstering his firearm. While attempting to remove the stupid mask to see its face, he was stabbed.

It took him a moment to realize that a blade stood out from his leg. He fell down on his ass, looking shocked, but didn't yell. With a grunt, he gripped the handle and drew the weapon out. He gasped, "Where-" as he confusedly stared at the bloody blade. Then the freak with the skull mask moved. Like an animal, it stood on all fours and gazed at him. He flung the knife at it as it growled like a wolf in anger. The layers of skin and fur were not penetrated by the blade.

When the monster attacked, Micah dropped his lantern and the two wrestled in the snow. The snarling creature was surprisingly strong for its size. The criminal may have been bigger, but his movements were restricted as he was forced deeper and deeper into the heavy snow. "Fucker!" He punched the skull, briefly breaking the freak's hold. He pulled them aside and rolled on top of them while clutching their throat. Hearing the stranger's labored breathing, he began to choke with both hands.

Excitement twisted his face as he continued. Imagining the intensity of despair concealed beneath that mask. His blood sang at the delightful image in his mind.
However, he soon began to lose focus and his hold became weakened. His grasp was broken with a fist to his jaw, and his hefty body was kicked off.

Gasping and a coughing, the stranger removed the mask in order to breathe easier. With their lungs on fire and their head feeling light, they gazed up at the pitch-black sky, their heart pounding in their ears. The long face of the Ardennes appeared to obstruct the vision, with the horse giving its rider a nervous whinny and sniffling their face. The stranger now gasped to hold back tears as they felt the warm breath on their face. Placing shaky hands on the animal's muzzle, they petted it while calming down.
After that, they stood up and picked up the mask. The thing was damaged, with blood on its left side.
Seeing the red, the stranger was reminded that they were wounded.

Through numbing adrenaline, the injuries angrily revealed themselves. Prickly and burning, causing a hiss to escape from the lips. The stranger cautiously felt for the wound with one hand. Fresh blood coated the fingers as well as the side of the head. The muscles on that side hurt to move, and the ear was especially painful.
The man moved, groaning, and the stranger snarled as they punched him. The man became silent and eventually passed out.

Putting the mask back on and finding their hunting knife, the stranger got to work.

At the abandoned cabin, Javier, Charles, and Arthur bided their time until Micah came back. If the person in question was anyone other than Mr. Bell, then perhaps they had gone after. The recent events had also made them wary of taking risks at night.

Despite his best efforts to hide it, Arthur was in bad shape. He was now dressed in new clothes that Javier had been told to bring by Miss Grimshaw. He tugged the collar of his jacket higher, missing the warmth of the barrow where Charles had taken him. He tried to hide his sniffling from the others.

"That idiot," Arthur muttered as he struggled to light a cigarette between his lips, his hands trembling uncontrollably until Charles took hold of the flaming match. Standing beside Javier, the gunslinger mumbled gratitude to the hunter who helped him. The Mexican was smoking as well and was focusing on the direction that Micah had followed the stranger in. They had heard the gunfire some time ago.
In all honesty, Javier wouldn't care if Micah didn't come back at all. He was aware that he was not the only member of the group, too. The blond gunslinger was not pleasant to be around, so nobody could understand why Dutch took Mr. Bell in. Even the Callander boys had been more preferable company. They might have been brutal murders, but they weren't nearly as arrogant as Micah.

"Hey," Javier said, gesturing to a dim light that was getting closer to them. The men threw away their cigs and took cover with their weapons out. They weren't sure if this was a trap, so they kept their eyes peeled and their ears open. They soon found out that it wasn't a trap. They were at first perplexed since it was Baylock, Micah's horse, who walked through the snow without a rider. The gelding approached Taima, and the two horses greeted each other, with the mare soothing her nervous friend. The men emerged from hiding, curious as to Micah's whereabouts. Then they saw that Baylock's saddle had a rope attached to it. Something was being hauled by the gelding.
At the end of the rope, they found Micah.

At first, they thought he was dead, but they found him still breathing. His left leg was wrapped in pieced of cloth, indicating that he was injured. They also noticed his... Hair.

"What- What happened to him?" Javier asked. Shock mingled with the bubbling sound that was attempting to escape him. The longer he watched the unconscious man, the more difficult it became to contain. The others were trying not to laugh too, so they didn't respond or say anything. Arthur snickered behind his fist. Charles was biting his lower lip. For a few minutes, they gazed and tried not to break into childish giggling. Arthur then cast a quick glance at Charles and something in the hunter's eyes broke him.
After the gunslinger broke down, Javier did too. The muffled laughing made Charles' wide shoulders tremble as he held his palm against his mouth.

They decided not to wake Mr. Bell. Instead, he was positioned on his horse's rear, and Arthur climbed onto the saddle. Charles and Javier mounted their horses.
Arthur was reminded by this of how quickly he had lost another horse. Unlike Boadicea, who was a faithful steed for many years, this latest one had only been his for a few days. Still, this one too had been a fine horse, even if easily spooked, and he had thought about keeping and training the stallion. He became more serious as he began to worry about how this failure of his was going to affect the gang. Bill was wounded; now Micah was too. Furthermore, they had not located the stranger who And they hadn't found the stranger who had ended up saving Arthur. He turned to the others and said, "Let's go."
They began their ride back to others.

Charles was also worrying; he couldn't help but think about the skull-mask wearing stranger. Micah had obviously found them. The hunter hoped the stranger hadn't been hurt or worse. Especially after they helped him and Arthur. He hadn't been able to thank them for it and wished to repay it back someday.

As dawn gradually approached the horizon, night was giving way for morning. There was silence throughout the camp. People who weren't on guard duty were huddled under layers of clothing and blankets, attempting to ward off the chill that seeped through gaps in the walls. Sleeping, with the exception of one, in the old guard's residence.

Dutch sat in front of the fireplace, watching as the fire consumed everything there was. He eventually tossed in a few logs and kept observing. The more you feed fire, the brighter it burns and more it consumes until there's nothing left. The gang boss recognized a connection between himself and the element. It resembles his burden. He needed others to burn brightly, much like fire, yet the brighter he blazed, the more he lost.

He had unintentionally destroyed all he had worked so hard to build. It is because of him that these folks are on this mountain. He was the reason they were suffering. With a promise that he was desperate to keep, he'd drawn them all together. Not only was it the dream of the group, but it was also his dream, as he was the first to share it with the rest. Deep down, these were decent, honest people. People who were unfairly rejected by the so-called modern society. He had offered to feed and shelter them, as well as welcome them into his family. He also meant to honor those promises. But now, how was he going to accomplish that?
What took place at Blackwater... The ones that they have lost... The money that they lost... Despite the risks involved, Dutch had decided to pursue the higher price by going after that riverboat. He never thought things would turn out the way they did, and now all this is his...

He needed a plan. He was the one everyone looked to provide the answer that would save them from this. Make their losses meaningful. And he had a good plan for their financial issue. The plan, the document they took from the O'Driscoll place. A train. One with riches. Because the law could not arrive in time due to the remoteness, simply blast the rails and rob the train. The plan was good, Dutch had to give that to Colm. The man wasn't stupid, even though he was as sick as a snake in a woman's womb.

However, that plan may not work anymore. There weren't enough able-bodied men. Bill could not move his injured arm. Micah had been stabbed, and his leg was limping. Charles had a burned hand. John, after the incident with the wolves, was in poor condition. And Arthur...
Last night, when he, Javier, Charles, and Micah got back, Arthur nearly fell into Dutch's arms. The son had a high fever and had been ordered to bedrest by Hosea. Now the gang had too many wounded and sick members to rob a train. Given how swiftly their luck has changed, Dutch might almost burst into tears. With all that cash back in the Blackwater, they could have...

He was stopped in his tracks by the familiar touch of a hand.

With his eyes closed, Dutch leaned back in his chair and rested his own hand on the one laying on his shoulder.
"Are you still considering that plan?" Hosea said gently. Because of who owned that train, the gray-haired man had opposed the idea of robbing it. Right now, the risk is too great. Seeing his beloved so depressed, nevertheless, upset the man. Hosea was aware of the burden Dutch carried as a result of everything that had happened. It revealed itself in a way that only a close friend and lover could see.
For the sake of others, Dutch continued to put on a brave front, but for how long?
Hosea knew it wouldn't last long. Soon, there would be cracks. Dutch could be inspiring, passionate and a big dreamer. Someone that people were drawn to. A man with a big shadow. Yet giants fall hard when they do.
When things didn't go as planned, Dutch could take it hard and begin to doubt and blame himself. Become... Moody, sometimes. That's when he needed someone to ground him, to reassure him without taking his feet off the ground.

That was something young O'Shea had not yet learned, but Hosea let Dutch have his fun with the pretty girl. Afterward, when the girl becomes too tedious, Hosea would clean up the mess. Provide comfort and ensure Molly's safe return home. Perhaps she will find someone else, or perhaps someone from her wealthy family will betrothal her to someone appropriate; all of this would be nothing more than a silly little adventure from youth.
Hosea had grown used to suffering through these scenarios—despite the pain—in order to stay by Dutch's side. A companion, a friend, a counselor, a lover—whatever was required. Because Hosea had been through everything with the man he had spent years with. Despite their ups and downs, it always seemed to come back to them.
Hosea, as previously said, had come to terms with that as a normal occurrence, regardless of how others might perceive the relationship. What he and Dutch were, was nothing wrong.

But Dutch being Dutch, needing to project a particular image, desired to keep them a secret. Hosea understood this, of course. It still amused him that, after all these years, nobody knew—not even John or Arthur.

Leaning against Hosea's touch, Dutch chuckled dryly and kept his eyes closed a little while longer.
"We ain't gonna get that train. Just sit here, hiding, till we all die fro-""Dutch," Hosea intervened gently but firmly, preventing the other from going too far in a direction that Dutch would later, with more clarity, regret.
The man with black hair merely nodded, too exhausted emotionally to open his box of fancy words and clever thoughts.

All he wanted to do was lean against his friend and let his troubles slip away for a little while. Retreat to a warm bed with Hosea and speak about something else than what a sorry sight the Van der Linde gang was at the moment. Of course Hosea was right, they've been through worse. What matters is that they were still alive. That gives them opportunity to try again! Grinning, Dutch got up and walked around the chair to face his companion. His dearest, his paramour, his beloved. They were like Nisus and Euryalus, Alexander the Great and Hephaestion and many other great, forbidden lovers of histories.
Except their love, his and Hosea's, would not end in tragedy.

"You are gone again," the older man teased, while still taking pleasure in the faraway expression on the other's face. Dutch put his hands on Hosea's shoulders and the two men touched foreheads.
"What can I say, dear friend," Dutch smirked, planting a kiss of gratitude on Hosea's lips. "You are an inspiration for-"
Heavy footsteps from outside acted as a warning for them to separate, behaving normally as Lenny pushed through the door.
"What is it, Lenny?" Dutch asked with assurance.
"Um, I-" the young man who loved to read, was having unusual difficulty finding words. Had the older men not been so concerned, it could have made them laugh. "I think it's better you see for yourself, boss. We think it's from the... That stranger."

Hosea and Dutch exchanged a quick look. Dutch chuckled with ease: "Oh? Well, let's see then, what our new friend has done. Exciting times, gentlemen!"