Uncle Kurt's body sat bloody and battered. Blood dripped from his frame, dribbling against the floor. The green felt of the poker table was covered in red. The patrons sat at it hadn't moved, still as a statue as they waited for the next movements of the madman in black. Their expressions were horrified as they took in the sight of the limp body next to them, but no one dared to say a thing or even scream in fear of being the next victim.

Rosalie tremored, sick to her stomach as she took in the scene of her Uncle's head with a bullet hole. She had a white knuckle grip on the glass of whisky in her hand, the other wrapped around the handle of her revolver. She waited, watching the scene like a hawk as she waited for the madman's next move.

There was a click of a pistol.

Henry had his gun raised, glaring at the man dressed in black under the brim of his cowboy hat. "I suggest you put your weapons on the table and walk over here. Slowly."

Rosalie had no idea what her father was intending to do. This man was insane. Unhinged. It was even more apparent that he was not going to heed her father's instructions as an evil grin lifted to the man's face.

"Ah, know that guy, do ya?" The man's grin was eerie. He looked at Henry as though he were a toy, amusement at the situation dusting his features. "I think you're mistaken. My temper jus' got ahead of me… no need for violence, jus' like your friend said."

Men dressed similarly to him lingered in all corners of the room. Rosalie could see that now. She cursed herself for not being more observant when they picked this saloon for their scheme. Her father was right. They should have left the moment something seemed off.

Whoever this man was, she was certain he was the O'Driscoll that the group at the bar was talking about. It had to be—there was no one else who could warrant this kind of behavior. This O'Driscoll man was not someone to trifle with, she could see that from the mad glint in his eye and the various men positioned all around the Saloon.

Rosalie could see one man slowly creeping across the bar. One of his henchmen dressed in black. He was coming towards her. She wasn't looking at him, only noticing his movements out of her peripheral. Rosa needed to be careful. She couldn't alert him that she was aware of his prowling.

This man must have seen her come in with Kurt, or maybe been tipped off by one of the men from outside. Any one of them could have slithered inside and whispered what they saw.

Paired with Henry's strong reaction after the murder of her Uncle, Rosa walking into the bar with Kurt, and the scream she let out after he was shot, this O'Driscoll gang had to know they were a group of three and had arrived together.

Rosalie felt sick. She was doing everything in her power to not look at the body of her Uncle. She and her father were in a tight spot. She needed to focus, and couldn't let herself cave in to the emotions swirling in her gut. Her emotions knotting inside and pulling at the pit in her stomach, threatening to come up in the form of vomit at any moment.

The prowling man had slid himself next to Rosalie. He reached for her arm, his pistol in hand. Quick as a whip, Rosa let out a scream of rage and slammed the glass of whisky against his face. The man screamed as the glass shards and leftover drops of alcohol stung his skin.

Rosa pulled the revolver from her hip and fired at the man. He dropped to the ground as blood pooled around him.

Chaos ensued, men punching each other and smashing chairs against their opponents. It seemed other people in the bar also had their problems with the members of the O'Driscoll gang, as a full-blown bar fight had broken out. Bottles were smashed into faces, gunshots rang out, and Rosa could wear she could see the glint of a few knives.

O'Driscoll yanked his revolver out and fired at her father. Henry dodged the shot, rolling to the ground to take cover behind a table.

Rosa gasped as another man dressed in black came at her with a knife. It would be in her best interest to put distance between her and a physical attacker. She would be no match in a hand-to-hand fight.

Rosalie was not one for getting into fights. Sure, she had been taught to shoot by her father and uncle as they both served in the civil war, but a knife fight? Against a man twice her size? She was just a nineteen-year-old girl.

Rosa threw herself over the counter to evade him barreling for her, his knife swiping the open air.

She looked down in mild surprise as she felt her foot kick someone as she landed behind the bar. The bartender looked up at her, clutching his rag as he trembled, hidden behind the counter.

Rosalie made a face at him, but was quickly pulled back into action as the man lunged at her across the counter. She gasped as she tried to evade the swing, the knife slicing across her forearm. It tore open the sleeve of her shirt and she began to bleed.

She hissed, the slice painful, but she could tell it was nothing more than a surface cut.

Rosalie grabbed a bottle of clear alcohol from behind the counter and flung it at him. The bottle hit him in the face, the glass shattering and sending him stumbling back. With a flick of her wrist, she fired shots from her revolver into his chest.

She pressed a hand to the bleeding slice on her arm. While not deep, it was large and painful. Rosa breathed heavily as she looked around at the wild remnants of the bar fight that had destroyed the once nice, peaceful saloon.

There was a shout, and it looked as though the men dressed in black were fleeing from the scene. There was the smell of smoke, and she could see why, as from the corner of the bar something had caught fire. Most likely from the alcohol bottles being flung around by not only her but other patrons.

She ran to the other side of the bar and looked around frantically for her father as the fire began to spread, the patrons not even attempting to put it out as it spread quickly from the amount of liquor around the saloon. They fled the scene, leaving the bar almost empty as smoke filled the room.

"Daddy?!" Called Rosalie, looking around for any sign of her father.

She hadn't caught sight of him running out of the bar. He had to be in here still, possibly injured from a tussle with the O'Driscoll man.

She coughed and waved a hand in front of her face as the smoke thickened. The fire was roaring now, the room dyed a dark orange as the heat licked her face. She couldn't see much of anything. It was like wading through water as she fumbled through the room for any sign of her father.

"Daddy?!" She called again, tears pricking at her eyes as panic began to settle in.

Rosalie wasn't sure how much longer she could last in this building. It was hard to breathe. She couldn't find her father. But she would. She had to. She wouldn't leave him. Not after her Uncle was already gone… her father was all she had left. To hell would she let him burn in a saloon.

"R…Rosa…" Came a quiet voice, raspy and barely above a whisper.

Rosalie let out a gasp at the sight of her father on the ground, two bullet holes visible through his cream vest. She pushed the side of his black jacket away to look at the wounds, a pit growing in her stomach at how bloody his clothes were. It didn't look good.

"Rosa…" He whispered, his face clammy and eyes unfocused as he looked at her. "You gotta leave me here, baby girl. I'm—cough—too heavy for ya…"

Rosalie shook her head and sobbed, tears running down her face now. "No, that's not gonna happen. I won't leave you!"

She grabbed his arm and threw it over her shoulder. Her knees buckled under the weight. Her father was incredibly heavy. It would be a struggle, but she would push through. Rosa wouldn't leave her father. She wouldn't.

Henry's blood seeped through his clothes and onto her side. His blood streaked all over her shirt and pants as she trudged through the saloon, the smoke sweltering and the heat making her father feel even heavier over her shoulder. He groaned at the burning pain from the gunshot wounds in his side.

Rosa was beginning to feel weak, the fire roaring behind her. The saloon doors were visible. They were just within her reach. But her father was so heavy. It was painful. She was practically dragging her father against the floor as she pressed forward. Pure determination roared through her as she made it to the exit.

They made it outside the saloon, the steps not yet caught fire. Rosalie stumbled forward, she and her father tumbling down the stairs and landing on the rough dirt street outside the burning saloon.

Rosa breathed heavily, practically heaving as she took in the fresh air of the early evening. She coughed and hunched over, fingers digging into the dirt. Her eyes burned from the smoke, her face covered in soot and blood covering her clothes. Her arm burned as the cut continued to bleed, even more so now from the stress of lugging her father through the burning building.

Henry groaned from beside her. Rosalie gasped and darted over to him, a sob racking her body as she saw how much blood covered his clothes. A pool of blood began to gather underneath him. Even the dirt was a deep shade of red.

Her chest hurt. It burned. Tears ran down her face in hot streams. He was… there was so much blood. Everywhere.

"Oh," whimpered Rosalie pathetically, her voice, quiet, choked on her words. "Oh… oh Daddy, Daddy please…"

She sniffed, her hands shaky as they hovered over Henry as though she was fighting for anything she could do to help her father. Anything. Something. There had to be something she could do to save him. She couldn't just watch him die. He was in so much pain, his grunting and heavy breathing making her worry he didn't have much time left.

"H-Help!" She shrieked, looking around, but it seemed as though no one was watching her. "Someone help me, please!"

The people were running around with buckets of water to help put out the saloon fire. No one paid her any mind. The fire was more urgent than her begging for her father's life. People ran around her in a mad fury to put out the flames.

"Baby girl…" whispered Henry, his voice hoarse and raspy.

"Daddy… oh… Daddy… oh no…" Rosalie continued to cry, hot tears running down her face as she grabbed at the sides of his jacket. "Please, Daddy, you gotta hang on. We'll get someone to help you."

He coughed, blood dribbling down his chin. He squeezed his eyes shut from the pain, skin pale and clammy as he fought through the searing heat in his side. "No, it's… it's gonna… be alright… baby girl."

Rosalie knew her father would pull through. Her father was the strongest man she knew. He had to live. He had to. Henry was all she had now. Kurt was shot, his body burnt to a crisp inside the aflame saloon. If her father died, she would be all alone. She would have… she would have nothing

She cried over him, sobs racking her body as the hot tears slid down her face.

"Daddy… I… I can't lose you. Uncle Kurts dead, and if you die…" Rosalie let out a sob. "I don't know what I'll do! I can't live without you."

Henry heaved, his gaze unfocused as he looked up at her. There was a ghost of a smile on his face, even through all of the pain, as he looked up at his daughter.

He slowly raised a hand to her cheek, his palm covered in blood. He took a shaky breath, before he spoke softly, voice raspy and quiet. "You're a tough girl. My Rosalie. You… you'll do well."

Rosalie sobbed, shaking her head. Her cries were loud now. Her chest hurt. Her entire body shook. None of this made sense, and none of it was fair. Why did her dad have to die? Why did her family have to face this pain and suffering?

"You're not gonna die." She stated firmly through sniffles. "You won't."

Henry only smiled up at her. His eyes filled with pain, the gaze of someone afraid of death closing in on him, the ever-impending doom of a man who had made bad choices throughout his life, but lived his life for his daughter. Even with these fears, he still managed a smile. A smile for his daughter in his last moments. A small sign of comfort for the light of his life.

"You look so much like your mother in certain lights." He said softly, his hand cradling her cheek.

Rosalie could only cry in response, holding his bloodied hand against her face. His skin was rough and hot from the flames of the saloon. Her tears ran down her cheek and his wrist, mixing with his blood.

Henry's hand went slack, his gaze glossy as he took his last breaths.

Rosalie sobbed, the flames towering high from the burning building towering in front of them.

She buried her father a ways outside of the town. She dragged his body there herself. It was a hard task, but she felt almost nothing as she stole a shovel from a nearby farmer and got to work. Her insides were hollow as she carried out the task into the night.

Her Uncle wasn't blessed with a proper burial, so she would make sure her father would have a damn funeral, even if she was the only one present to honor his death. He at least deserved that.

The hardest part was covering her father's body with the dirt. She could barely manage to push the ground over him, tears running down her cheeks as she shoveled it over his body. Rosa couldn't bear to look at his face. Her poor, warm, loving father, who gave everything for her. He was buried in the cold ground now.

It was early morning when the job was done. The birds were chirping and the sun was just barely starting to come over the horizon. It was the sign of a beautiful day.

A rotten comparison to the despair Rosalie felt.

She sat before his grave, legs pulled into her chest and chin resting on her knees.

Rosa hadn't changed her clothes or bathed. Blood covered the side of her face in the shape of a smudged handprint from her father's bloody caress against her cheek before he died. Her clothes were bloody and covered in soot, the bright blue pinstripe of her shirt discolored. Her hair was flat, lifeless, dirty blonde curly with splotches of blood in random places. The cut on her arm was still hurting but had scabbed over now.

Her eyes were tired and sunken. There was no life to her gaze as she stared at the grave of her father, random wildflowers mostly consisting of lavender laid over the patch of dirt. She had gathered them from the nearby treeline in the valley. She wanted to make her father's grave look at least somewhat decent.

While there was no dirt patch for him, she did gather a second bundle as well for her Uncle Kurt. She wished she could give him the burial he deserved, instead of being burnt to ashes.

Her father's jacket and hat rested on the ground beside her, accompanied by his gun belt and revolver. A photograph of her mother and father was tucked into the pocket of the jacket, the edges of the old picture poking out.

Rosalie didn't know what she was supposed to do. Her father and Uncle had always made the plans. They decided where to go, what they were to do next, and how they were to get money. Now… now Rosa had nothing. She had no guidance, no company, and barely any money to her name.

Not that any of it mattered. Did she really care about where she was to go from here? She wasn't sure what she was supposed to be caring about. In fact, Rosalie would have been fine with rotting away in front of his grave.

She felt like a husk of herself sitting before his patch of dirt.

None of it felt real. She almost expected Henry to walk over with her Uncle in tow and pat her on the shoulder. Her father would give her a warm smile from under the brim of his hat, a twinkle in his eye. Uncle Kurt would laugh boisterously and rub a hand through her hair. He would then make some comment about a future job, only to be met with a shake of the head from her father.

Her heart ached. It didn't feel real.

Rosalie had no idea where she was to go.

All of this… happened because of that terrible O'Driscoll man. Sure, her Uncle had been caught cheating, but to put a bullet through his head for it? It was unwarranted. It was crazy and violent… that man was insane. Whoever he was, or what business he did, Rosa wanted nothing to do with it.

She sat there for what felt like hours, the sounds of passersby on the dirt road not enough to make her look up. The sound of horses trotting along, carriages full of traveling citizens for work or to visit friends. None of it mattered to her.

Did anything matter anymore?

Rosa wasn't sure.

Footsteps crept up behind her. Rosa snatched her father's revolver from the dirt beside her and whipped around, pointing it at whoever had approached her.

If it was that O'Driscoll man, she was gonna put a hundred bullets between that man's eyes. A thousand bullets, even. Empty both her guns on him.

Only, she didn't see the O'Driscoll from earlier. Instead, it was the man from the trio at the bar. The one they called 'Dutch', with the dark, slicked-back hair and the beginnings of a mustache.

"Oh, woah there, little lady." He said with a slight jump, hands held up and eyebrows raised to let her know he wasn't a threat.

While he wasn't the O'Driscoll, she kept her weapon pointed at him, eyes hard. She didn't say anything to him, her words lost in her throat. Her hands shook a bit from the lack of food, her adrenaline had worn off and left exhaustion in its wake.

"I'm not gonna hurt you…" he said gently, his hands still raised.

His eyes drifted to the grave behind her, before dropping to the pile of belongings in the dirt beside her. He took in her ragged frame, eyes straying on the blooded handprint on her face before they met her gaze again.

"I just wanna talk… is that okay?" He asked, still trying to keep his voice low.

Rosalie didn't say anything. She was still at a loss for words.

She didn't know what to make of this man. He didn't seem like a threat. He was making a point not to scare her, speaking to her like she was a spooked horse about to scamper off. Or worse, a rabid dog thinking about going in for a bite.

His group was talking about the O'Driscoll man in the bar. Something about making a move in on him. Did they also consider that man an enemy? This was just a guess, but Rosa couldn't drop her guard. He could be just as dangerous as him if they were enemies.

But if Dutch wanted to hurt her, he would have just walked up and shot her. It was the only thing proving his innocence in her mind.

So, Rosalie just nodded and lowered the gun just a bit, but still kept an iron grip on the weapon in case he tried anything. She refused to be taken by surprise and murdered at her father's gravesite.

"Good… well, alright then," Dutch said, slowly lowering himself to the grass so he was at the same level as her. He sighed, looking around at the open air, the trees towering high and the tall grass flowing with the wind.

He wasn't looking at her, and Rosalie almost felt insulted by how little of a threat she probably seemed to him. He appeared relaxed. For him to not pay attention to her and casually observe the scenery… how dangerous was he? Was he overly confident, or just stupid?

"I saw what that O'Driscoll man did to your father and the other you were traveling with. I heard you call him Uncle at the bar. He was your Uncle, right? The man at the poker table?" He asked, his voice light, but inquisitive, as though they were having a conversation over lunch.

The casualty of the conversation was confusing. She wasn't sure what to make of his tone.

Rosalie took in a sharp breath before she responded quietly. "...Yes."

Dutch's face was devoid of any emotion as he spoke. "O'Driscoll is a bad man. He does that to people. Kills 'em. Takes away the ones we love. The better part is that he's not the only one of them."

Rosalie must have looked confused, because Dutch continued his explanation without much delay.

"There's two of 'em. Brothers. Colm and Cormac O'Driscoll. The one you had the pleasure of meeting was Cormac O'Driscoll. Both brothers are horrible, but Cormac has a habit of letting his emotions fly off the handle." Dutch sighed wistfully. "Colm killed a woman I was sweet with a long time ago. Can't say I've forgiven him for it."

Dutch gave her a sideways look. "I think it's safe to say you won't be forgiving him anytime soon for the deaths of your family members either."

Rosalie pressed her lips into a firm line, her chest tight.

She didn't know why Dutch was out here talking to her. By the looks of it, she was alone. Where had those other two men at the saloon gone? Was she considered to be so harmless that he would approach her on his own, or were the other two waiting in hiding to put a bullet through her if she tried any funny business?

She wouldn't be surprised if it were the latter.

Dutch's story about his business with the O'Driscolls… was a terrible thing, really. These brothers seemed to make the lives of everyone they came in contact with a miserable hell. She was glad to know her Uncle's royal screw-up wasn't a one-off and they had to pay the price for it, but it was still disheartening to know that others were also terrorized by the actions of the O'Driscoll brothers.

"I'm sorry to hear that," She murmured, it being the first full sentence she had spoken the entire time.

Dutch grinned at her. "Ah, she speaks!"

Rosalie frowned, but the smile on Dutches face did not falter. It only contorted into one more sinister.

"I'm assuming you're not very happy with the way things turned out back there at the saloon." He added. "With Cormac O'Driscoll getting away, and all."

Rosalie didn't understand what he was getting at. Of course, she was not thrilled at what happened at the saloon. Cormac managed to gun down her father and kill him, right after he shot her Uncle in the face. If she were to see him again, she would make sure he wasn't so lucky again.

"No, I can't say I am. I wouldn't mind putting a bullet through his skull if given the chance." She stated plainly.

Dutch barked a laugh. "Well, I don't think I've ever heard a lady speak quite violent thoughts aloud like you do!"

Rosalie was not amused, and she probably showed that on her face.

His face turned somber again, sympathy radiating from him. "But, I will say, I'm not surprised. Terrible thing that he did to your Uncle and Father. I am truly sorry. I can understand your pain, and anger, as like I said, I too have dealt with the pain of loss."

There was silence. Rosalie didn't feel it was right to thank him, as she didn't want to give this random man her gratitude. She still didn't understand why he was speaking to her, having a heart-to-heart about the pains of loss from the actions of an outlaw.

Dutch could tell he wasn't fully getting through to her, so he changed the subject. He didn't fully expect an answer anyway, as her words were few, and her energy low.

"Do you have anywhere to go?" He asked softly.

Rosalie's chest tightened.

"No."

"Well then," Dutch slowly got to his feet. He took a testing step forward.

Rosalie did not retreat, so he felt it safe to come closer to her, just a foot away now. She looked up at him from the ground, the sun shining around him almost comically as he extended his hand.

"If you would like, you can come with me and my friends. And maybe we can talk about doing something about O'Driscoll." Dutch extended his hand to her, patiently waiting for her response as she contemplated.

Trusting a man she had only met a few minutes ago did not seem like a wise option. But he had bore his heart to her. Told him of how he too had someone he loved taken away by an O'Driscoll. Someone he loved was murdered in cold blood. He seemed kind enough, coming over to Rosalie without asking for much in return. Only offering her a place to be, since she now had nowhere else to go.

At least with Dutch, she maybe would have a chance at killing Cormac O'Driscoll. One she knew she wouldn't get otherwise.

Rosalie reached forward and took his hand.

She only hoped she was making the right choice.