Sam's eye twitched as he attempted to pull the bow's string back. Charles made it look so easy. He was upon him in no time, seeing how he was shaking.

"Don't strain yourself," said Charles. Sam sighed and loosened the bow string slowly, keeping the arrow from firing. He soon felt Charles' calloused hand on his, adjusting the position of his grip. "Here. Move your hand like this. This should help your aim. Now, try it again. Hold your breath until you release." This time, Charles was helping him pull the bow string back and decided to let him decide when to release it.

Once he did, they heard a tiny squeak and Sam exhaled sharply. He lowered his head. "Sorry…" he said, before trudging through the snow, stopping at a nearby tree to remove the arrow from a dead rabbit. Charles followed him, making sure he didn't damage the carcass. "Thanks for the lesson."

"No problem. Let's head back before we get spotted."

The mountains of Ambarino were as cold as Charles remembered. They had gone through so much to get down, but now they had been chased back up. At least they had prepared their warm gear for such an occasion. It was still early in the morning, and now that they had secured some breakfast, he hoped Sam could get at least a little bit of sleep.

They mounted their horses and rode back towards their refuge they had set up. They had found a small cabin north of Lake Isabella. It was abandoned, but still usable. There was only one bed, so Sam insisted on having Sadie rest on it.

After fleeing from the O'Driscolls on the previous night, Sam had a look and discovered that Sadie had been shot in the leg. He got the bullet out and sewed the wound shut. That woman was lucky that Sam constantly carried medical supplies around, and he forced her to drink medicine for the pain that would at least put her out for a while.

Once they returned, they saw Micah, thick leather jacket on, still guarding the cabin, while smoking a cigarette. Sam refused to even look at him while they hitched their horses and headed inside.

Sadie was still fast asleep on the one bed in the cabin. It was hard to get her to relax, and she still tried to get up. Luckily, the medicine put her out immediately.

"You should get some rest," Charles said.

"But-"

Charles closed the door. He crossed his arms and leaned back against it. Sam rubbed his eyes, and didn't realize he didn't do that until it was already done.

"We're on day two," said Sam. "Dutch only gave us three days. If we don't do anything, we'll have to go back empty handed."

"We might have to," said Charles. "Sadie can't walk on that leg."

Sam shook his head. "I can't give up."

Charles' eyes narrowed. "So, you would put vengeance over getting shot?"

"Sadie was shot by those bastards who shot my uncle," said Sam. "I can't give up the hunt! And I certainly won't give up because of someone else's actions." His eyes darted briefly to the sleeping form on the bed.

"I'm not telling you to give up. I'm saying we might have to turn back, but we may not. You, however, need to slow down. I know you still have nightmares, and you're determined, but that'll only get you so far. You need rest. If Sadie wakes up, leave her to me. We can keep searching once you've done so. And even if we don't, just because we go back doesn't mean we're giving up."

Sam looked at the door. Charles just stared straight at him, and didn't move an inch. Even if Sam tried to fight, he knew Charles would easily overpower him. So, he shrugged and put his gun belt and rifle down on the nearby table. He took off his winter coat that was long, and sewn with yellow edging, as well as his vest. The native man watched as Sam rolled out his bedroll and laid down slowly. His hat was set aside and as the young man stared at the ceiling, he once again registered how tired his muscles were. His fingers twitched as he adjusted to the heat radiating from the fireplace and a sigh escaped his lips as he felt a blanket being placed over him.

"Thank-you…" Sam murmured. His eyes had shut, and he couldn't open them.

"Of course," said Charles. "Now, go to sleep."

Sam just sighed in response. Charles was making this whole thing just a little easier. He fell asleep, wondering if he could find a way to repay him.

Charles remembered, as a child, when soldiers took his mother, he had nightmares for months. His father had shut down too much to really do much about it, let alone raise a son. Then, he remembered something his mother taught him, and it really helped. Maybe it could help Sam.

There was enough food to hold them over for at least another day, before they had to hunt again. Micah was too busy drinking and smoking, and only wanted to shoot people. Guarding their temporary space was as close as he was going to get to that, so Charles let Sam sleep a while longer and changed the bandages on Sadie's wound. The stitches were still holding her wound closed well, which Charles wouldn't expect less from Sam's experience.

Sadie had woken up a little, making sure no man tried anything, even if they were as kind and honest as Charles.

"So, he's finally asleep?" said Sadie. She sat up just enough, to see Sam sleeping like a log near the fireplace.

"That's more than I can say about you," Charles said, his voice quiet, but blunt.

Sadie scoffed, as Charles rewrapped the gunshot wound. "I didn't ask you to come."

"And Sam didn't ask you to run headfirst into the hideout. Now Colm ran off, and we were chased up here. If we didn't show up, you'd be dead."

Sadie crossed her arms. "Well, maybe that was what I wanted…"

"That's not true," said Charles.

"It is… Why else did I go by myself? Micah didn't have to follow me. He's the one who set the barn on fire, just like my house!"

"Oh, are you still on that?"

It was only then that Charles noticed the cold wafting in from the front door. Standing there was none other than Micah.

"That was everything I own, you bastard!" Sadie shouted.

"Well, maybe if you weren't throwing stuff at me I wouldn't have knocked the table over!"

"Do you have to shout so much?!" Charles then snapped, raising his voice. Sam must've really been tired, because not even yelling stirred him. "It's incessant!" After that, there was silence. Micah had been guarding outside long enough and came in for some warmth.

"I thought you was outside," said Sadie.

"Sam's asleep," said Micah. "And even if he weren't, I ain't taking orders from a kid."

Charles huffed. "He's twenty-seven."

"Then can he fucking act like it, instead of shooting at me? He needs to adapt to this outlaw life or die. That's how I see it."

The native man just ignored him and grabbed some stew he made from the rabbit he helped Sam hunt. "Here." He handed the bowl to Sadie who begrudgingly took it. "I helped Sam hunt it."

Sadie sighed. "Thanks." She didn't feel like eating, but she knew she needed all the energy she could get.

It wouldn't be until the late afternoon that Sam finally woke up. Sadie managed to finish at least half the stew she was offered before setting it aside. The young man rubbed his eyes reaching for his vest and coat to warm himself up. He stood to put on the winter coat. It was almost as long as his regular duster coat, except the sleeves and edges were cuffed in yellow. He frowned at the half eaten meal that had gone cold, sitting on the table. He heard soft snoring and saw Micah asleep in a chair, while Charles was whittling something near a corner by the door.

"So, on top of causing trouble, you're wasting food," Sam said, voice still riddled with sleep.

"He didn't have to give it to me," said Sadie. "And you didn't have to save me."

Sam sighed. "Is that what you wanted? Did you wanna die?"

"I think I already answered that…"

"Yeah, I said to stop talking like that."

"What do you care?"

"I already explained that myself," said Sam.

"Tch. No wonder you didn't become a doctor. You're terrible at bedside manners."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Well, I'm sorry, princess. Was there an insufficient amount of feathers in your pillow? Do you need me to read you a sonnet?"

"Oh, shut up."

"I never took no oath," said Sam. "And even if I wanted to, my uncle couldn't make enough money to send me to school anyway. A doctor heals people, not coddles them. And from the looks of it, any sort of kindness would make you angry anyway."

"Then why?" Sadie said.

"Why what?"

"Why did you help me?"

"Because I wasn't gonna let you die."

"Even though I want to?"

Sam shook his head. "That's not true."

"How the hell do you know?"

The young man's eyes narrowed. "Because you and I both know that there's strength in living. I can't die, until my uncle has been avenged… and my sister is safe… Well, she's playing house with Archie, so… maybe I've already accomplished that…"

Charles glanced over at him, but didn't say a word.

"But that only means the man who killed my uncle is still out there. And, maybe even the man who killed your husband. You say you don't have anyone, but if I didn't care, I would've left you in that barn, or the gang would've left in that burning house alone. And…" He suddenly remembered Arthur's words, and now, it felt a little better now that he was saying it. "You ain't alone anymore, either. So… stop being an idiot."

Sadie ran her hand over her wounded leg. The pain had been lessened, dulled by the medicine Sam forced her to drink. She remembered when the bed she was on was bigger, how she would wake up every morning with her husband beside her. Or, sometimes he would already be awake with breakfast and it would also happen vice-versa. Even when she got hurt, she remembered how comforting it was when he would run his hand gently over the wounds. Her hands, arms, her head, or her legs. It didn't matter. He loved every part of her, just as she did with him.

And then, in a blink of an eye, it was all taken from her.

She hadn't realized she was crying until the tears dropped from her coffee colored eyes and onto the bed.

"What time is it?" Sam said, as he shuffled to get his gun belt on. He quickly pulled out his pocket watch. "It's five?!" He quickly turned to Charles. "Why did you let me sleep that long?"

"I told you," Charles said, simply. "You needed to rest. You're not a machine, Sam."

Sam slammed his palms on the table. The noise was enough to wake Micah who nearly fell out of his chair. The young man grabbed his repeater and slung it over and onto his back. "I need to patrol the area… Anyone fit enough to scout with me?"

Micah cleared his throat, seeing a chance for some action. "Count me in."

Sadie was already trying to swing her feet over and off the bed. Sam's head snapped back around. "Hey! You get back in that bed, Mrs. Adler!"

Sadie glared, but held back a pained grunt as she hoisted her wounded leg back up. Micah took another swig of whiskey, before scrambling to find his weapons.

"Mr. Smith, would you mind guarding the place?" Sam said, his voice still kind despite his annoyance. He knew Charles meant well. "There are O'Driscolls about." Charles nodded, and Sam left him to his weaving.

Micah was almost ready, as Sam gave him a glance. He moved the old curtain, seeing that daylight was still out, so they had time. After buttoning up his jacket and putting on his leather gloves for the cold weather, Sam walked up and opened the door.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the pure white brightness of the snow that blanketed the landscape. The white clouds above them were heavy enough to drop flakes, despite the sun being out.

It was only once that Sam's eyes blinked away the brightness that he saw something. A figure. He didn't have time to react before the back end of a rifle smashed straight into his forehead.

"Shit!" It sounded like Micah.

Sam remembered his back hitting wooden floorboards of the cabin, while his legs remained outside hitting the snow. His hat flipped off of his head, landing on his face. There was cursing, footsteps and guns as everything went black.

The pain on his head.

It was familiar just like on that fateful night. Instead of the pounding of rain however, he heard the sound of snow hitting wood.

By accident, Sam let out a groan. Tonight was different. He didn't smell blood, he didn't hear Lily's voice calling for him, and thank God he didn't see his uncle's lifeless body sitting on the couch, but he was cold. He couldn't move his hands, but he could move his arms. In front of him, his hands had been bound together with rope, but his gloves and jacket were gone. He was left to shiver inside of a strange empty cabin. It wasn't the one he was staying in with Sadie and the others. It was way bigger.

Before he could even question where the others were, he saw the door open and close. A pair of boots walked up to Sam, still lying motionless on the ground and then kicked him in the ribs. If it weren't for his bound hands he would've been able to catch himself, but he didn't. The same foot pushed into his sore chest and knocked him onto his back, his arms landing over his head and then pinned down by another boot. Sam grit his teeth, trying to hold back a yelp as his fingers were stepped on.

"Not a great feeling, huh?" Sam's captor said, a foot on his chest keeping him pinned down. Sam blinked open his eyes and saw the man who was bitch slapped by Colm: Maclean Leander. He knelt down, grabbing Sam's darkened locks of hair and pulling his head back. Sam tried his best to not shake, but a tiny gasp escaped, as he felt the cold blade of a knife pressing against the skin of his neck. "I heard rumors, but didn't think for a second it was true."

"What… rumor?" Sam stuttered. He felt the blade pressed just a little more, before it was pulled away. The O'Driscoll stood.

"Don't play dumb with me. They're gonna hang Seth." Sam caught his breath, hearing the footsteps get further, but he was still nearby. "Taken down by some red or black bastard, a blonde bitch, another greasy blonde, and some pretty boy. They was led by a young man…" He turned back… "With dark hair, and pale eyes."

Sam tried his best to shrug. "Why does that apply to me? We're just hunters who got lost in the snowstorm."

"Then, the blonde bitch who attacked our barn?"

"She's just crazy…" Sam mumbled, trying to ignore how much he was sweating.

Maclean just laughed. "Well, I'll give you that one. Don't matter. Colm wants them all dead."

Sam kept his mouth shut, but he felt his heart drop. The "pretty boy" wasn't with them, but the others were.

"But not until they see their leader die first."

"I'm not-" Sam could only say before the other O'Driscoll on his hands stepped off of them and then dragged him onto his feet.

Sam struggled against his captors. He briefly saw his gunbelt and weapons on the table nearby before he was dragged outside, without a coat, or any of his warm gear. Even as the bitter cold froze Sam to the bone, he refused to submit. The sun had gone, and all he saw as he looked up were clouds in the night sky. He didn't want to sleep, but it appears Charles and these O'Driscolls gave him no choice.

Still trying to keep himself from being dragged, Maclean kicked him in the stomach, almost making Sam double over. He used the opportunity for him and his henchman to grab his aching hands, and hoist them over his head, tying them to a tall post outside of what looked like a barn.

"Seth's death will be instantaneous," said Maclean. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it. "You on the other hand, don't deserve that. I'll drag your friends out here in the morning. See how their friend died slowly in the night, before we make them join you. Maybe if you tell us where Pretty Boy is, we'll make it quick."

"That… 'Pretty Boy' is stronger than all of us…" Sam grunted. A cough escaped him from the pain in his ribs.

Maclean laughed, lifting the young man's chin. "Sure he is." Then he smacked him across the face with his fist. Sam's teeth tore the inside of his mouth slightly and he spat a bit of blood.

Sam breathed through his mouth from the pain. He saw the patrols of O'Driscolls around the area. The houses looked old and abandoned. Maclean finished his cigarette and threw the end of it at Sam. Then he turned to his henchman.

"Well? Back inside!" Maclean yelled. "Go check on the prisoners."

The henchman grumbled to himself and ran into another nearby house. Maclean walked away, but it didn't mean Sam was alone. There were patrols out at night. He could see it with the lanterns on the outskirts. However, he could hear voices on the inside of the house.

It was so cold. Sam was hurting all over and he felt so tired. His head hung low, adrenaline making him breathe heavy, able to see his own breath. He could barely feel his fingers, but he knew if he quit now, he'd be dead by the morning. Even as his body shivered and held back the tears that were building up in the corners of his eyes, his own words repeated in his head.

He couldn't die. Not until his uncle's killer was dead.

As much as his fingers cried out in pain, he willed them to move. He kept his head low, his breath heavy when O'Driscolls passed by. Their taunts and laughs at him only fueled his will. With every moment he was alone, every second the O'Driscolls no longer had him in their sights was another chance to move, to try to wiggle himself free from the bindings. No matter how tight the rope, binds, or chains were, there was always a way free.

Then finally, when it was completely dark, when O'Driscolls were too busy hollering inside, a final tug made one his hands slip out. Excitement made his heart pump faster, and he quickly twisted himself around to free the other hand. Then he fell to the ground, bottom first into snow, but he was quick and took cover by the cabin where he was dragged out from.

He was freed, but the fight wasn't over.

"N-Need my weapons…" Sam muttered to himself. Slowly, he crawled around the perimeter of the house. There, through one of the windows he saw two O'Driscolls rummaging through his stuff.

"What the hell did he need these for anyway?" one of them said, pulling out a vial. Sam's breath hitched. It was poison. Then, a third thug ran in.

"He's gone!" one of them said.

"What?!" the two dropped what they were doing and ran outside. Sam reached his hand in for a grip and hoisted himself inside through the window. As comforting the warm air was inside, he knew couldn't linger. He picked up the poison, packed his guns, and put on his hat, but still couldn't find his damn coat, but he couldn't make noise until he freed the others.

And he knew nothing more than a distraction to buy himself time.

The young man ran up to the door that he was previously dragged out from. When the door swung open, only one came in. Perfect.

The O'Driscoll didn't have time to react before a poisoned knife pierced his back. Just as he pulled out the blade, he was coughing up blood and spiralling to the ground, until he was unmoving.

Sam took the blade from the lifeless corpse and just before he exited from the back door, he feigned a bloodcurdling scream.

As he slipped away, more and more O'Driscolls were on the scene, shocked at what they saw. It wouldn't be long before they dispersed. So, he had to be quick.

There was another house that he saw the henchman run into. Maclean wasn't there. Sam, hunting knife in hand, entered through the side entrance, but to his dismay an O'Driscoll was right there. Sam just swung the door open, the element of surprise, disorienting the thug before the young man just jumped on him. He stabbed him once in the shoulder, making them both tumble to the ground, before Sam was still on him, pulling his hair, and holding the blade up to the bastard's throat.

"Where's Maclean…?"

"B-Barn…"

Sam sighed, wondering what to do next before he was met with the barrel end of a shotgun. Luckily, before anything could happen, a pair of strong arms grabbed the O'Driscoll with the shotgun and he shot upward into the ceiling. Sam bashed his hostage with the handle end of the knife, while the assailant, who turned out to be Charles, grabbed the gun out of the other enemy's hands and hit the back end of it against him, knocking him out.

"Charles…" Sam could only whisper.

"You alright?" said Charles.

Sam nodded. "Where's the others?"

Charles and Sam ran into the back room to untie the others. Sadie, of course, still couldn't walk well with the gunshot wound in her leg. Sam would have to inspect the stitches later.

"Didn't think you had it in ya, Hawkeson," said Micah.

"Me neither…" Sam muttered. He rubbed his sore hands over his arms, the tips of his fingers turning red from the cold. Micah was already up, walking over the dead O'Driscoll bodies to go get his guns in the living room. Nothing was more important to that outlaw than those things.

"Maclean's in the barn…" Sam grumbled.

"Then let's get him…" Micah boomed. He wasted no time, kicking the front door open and he started blasting. "Come and get some, you maggots!"

As much as Sam wanted to take the stealthy approach, Micah had already rendered that useless. He grabbed Sadie's Cattleman Revolver off the table and stormed into the back room where she still sat.

"If anyone comes in here that isn't us, you shoot them," said Sam. "Understand?"

Sadie nodded, taking the weapon. "You didn't have to tell me that."

Sam rolled his eyes, assuming it was just her way of saying "thank-you" and kept his head down as he ran back outside to join in the gun fire. Just as he did, the doors of the barn swung open, and he saw Maclean riding away from the fight on a horse. Charles managed to get a shot in.

Sam growled, sliding behind the doors, as gunshots zipped past him. "Damn it!"

"Get after him, greenhorne!" Micah yelled. "Go on!"

Sam nodded, ignoring the bitter cold that pierced through the cotton layers of his collared shirt. He fell onto the ground, bullets zipping past him, hands gripping the freezing snow as he stumbled and trudged through the icy powder and whistled for Aurora, who, despite the O'Driscolls by the entrance, trampled them and ran towards her master. Sam mounted his steed, riding into the wintery night and followed after Maclean like a predator that had found its prey.

Never in his life did Sam think he would be the one on the pursuing end of a chase. His frozen fingers clung to the reins as he pursued the O'Driscoll up the trail, heading northeast. He was following a trail, snow hitting his face, his hair, his fingers and soaking into his clothes. All he could think about at the moment was the target he refused to lose sight of.

Through the merciless cold, the dark, and the storm, his eyes caught on to the sight of an abandoned property. Whatever house used to be there was gone. It had fallen to pieces buried under burnt piles of wood and rubble and was mostly covered in snow.

The tracks led into the barn that still remained standing. His hands were numbed, he willed them to move, grabbing on his gun as he marched in, teeth chattering knees wanting to give in, but he kept going.

He stepped inside, the old barn doing little to keep out the cold. His hair was sprinkled with snow, along with the rest of his clothes. His ankles and hands were so red and cold they hurt, but he didn't care. As soon as Sam heard heavy breathing, he turned around and saw Maclean sitting on the second floor of the barn, back against the wall and standing by the window. The moon was out casting its light through it into the otherwise dark building. The O'Driscoll had a hand on his shoulder. It was oozing with blood.

"So, you gonna tell me who shot my uncle? Where's Colm? Any of them?"

"Sh… Fuck you…" Maclean mumbled. "This ain't g-gonna get you nowhere."

"Save the save speeches," said Sam. "'C-Cause I dont fucking care. I ain't gonna ask you again."

"Rode… southeast."

"Who?"

"Colm." Maclean sucked in a breath. "And I don't know who shot the bastard. You killed all those men for nothing."

"They died because of you!" Sam hissed.

Maclean sucked in a sharp breath. "You should've died with your family!" the O'Driscoll yelled. He reached for his gun, but Sam already raised his own at him.

"Sometimes…" Sam muttered. The tears left his eyes, but then he looked up, Maclean able to see the silver eyes through the shadow the young man's hat casted. "I wish I had!"

Quickly, Maclean raised his weapon just as Sam squeezed the trigger and a shot rang out.

A few other O'Driscoll grunts were on the scene before long. They rode towards the barn, just in time to watch a lifeless body drop to the ground from the second floor. The horses whined, leaning back on their hind legs. The grunts that were left looked up to see Sam, despite his freezing frame, standing tall, gun smoking and pale eyes, shining in the moonlight.

"Anyone else feel like joining him…?"

The men stared up, but issued no response. No one even pulled a gun.

"Then, run away…" Sam said, briskly. "And tell Colm O'Driscoll…" He exhaled, breath visible as he did so. "I'm coming for him. Well? Go!" Sam fired at the ground, the bullet hitting Maclean's corpse, urging the remaining few grunts to ride off into the storm.

Quickly, Sam closed the doors to the top window, then he climbed down, closed the sliding door to the entrance. It was dark, and he held his hands close. They were numb and red, his fingertips started to turn almost purple.

"Sh-Shit!" Sam cursed as his legs suddenly gave out. He managed to move himself near one of the empty stables, tucking his numb hands under his arms and pulled his knees close to himself. Occasionally, he tried to breathe on his unfeeling hands, but he could do little for his legs. He heard the sound of someone hitting the door, and when it slid open, Sam didn't have the strength to reach for his gun. His eyes were getting heavy and breathes were getting deep.

"Sam?! Sam!" He registered footsteps, and then the warmest gloved hands were on his face. "Shit! Damn it, kid! Wake up!"

Sam sucked in a breath, wanting something, but he didn't know. All that came out was a tiny yelp.

"Sam! Eyes! Open!"

The young man forced his eyelids to move. He wasn't sure if he was dreaming or sitting at Death's door, but somehow, when he pried them open, he saw no one other than Dutch van der Linde kneeling down, hands on his face, and a lantern near them.

"D-Dutch?"

"Stay with me, son. It's okay."

"He… He's dead…" Sam muttered. "F-Fuck…" His body continued to shake. "Ch-Charles and Sadie?"

"They're right behind us," said Dutch. "I never should've let you come out here alone."

"I'm f-fine…" said Sam.

"Yes, because freezing to death is fine." Sam flinched, feeling warmth on his back and felt it spreading throughout his body. Dutch had taken off his coat and put it around him. Suddenly, the simple jacket was enough to jolt a little bit of life back into Sam. His hands reached out, gripping the gang leader's shoulder.

"I'm scared…" he suddenly whimpered. His arms were shaking uncontrollably.

"I know, son," said Dutch. "It's gonna be okay. You did good. Let's get you out of here. Javier!"

Javier was on the scene, as well with Bill, who was guarding the entrance. Dutch was on one side of Sam while Javier was on the other.

"Come on, compadre," Javier said, as he helped Sam onto his feet. It hurt to use his legs, or move his fingers. He groaned loudly and managed to limp outside.

Meanwhile, Sadie, Charles and Micah had shown up with the gang leader following. Micah went off to talk to Dutch, but Charles was watching Sadie stumble over the ruins of her old home. She slumped onto her knees, which caused the native man concern, but upon walking over, he saw Sadie running her fingers over the rubble. Underneath the bits of plywood and ash, she saw the wedding photo of herself and her husband, and the tears flooded over her eyes as she picked it up and held the dilapidated picture and frame in her arms.

"C-Cold…" Sam said, as Javier hoisted him onto the back of the Count. Dutch was quick to mount up. Sam's grip onto the gang leader couldn't have been more tight.

"We'll get you warm," said Dutch. "You keep those eyes open and stay awake. Do you hear me? That's an order!"

"Y-Yes, s-sir," Sam stuttered. He whimpered, his head resting on his shoulder. Dutch swallowed. He had seen the bodies, the destruction around Colter and the ranch. It was the trail that led him this far, saw the O'Driscolls that were sent running, and saw Maclean's dead body. Sam had something to do with all of this, but even so, like Arthur, like every other member of his gang, he was human. And he was scared.

"We're leaving!" Dutch announced. "Now!"

Everyone rode away from the abandoned Adler Ranch. With Sam needing immediate attention they decided it would be best to hole up back in Colter until he was stable enough to make the rest of the journey. Turns out Colter was the small abandoned town the O'Driscolls were hiding out in. So, after clearing out some of the bodies, Charles quickly got work starting a fire in the main house, while Sadie got settled in a room.

It was a struggle to walk Sam inside. His legs and almost all his limbs had given up from the exhaustion of being in the cold, but once he was inside, he was set down by the fireplace. The horses were herded back into the stable, and they settled for a quiet night.

Dutch peeked for a moment, seeing Sam still shivering and putting all of his weight on Charles, who kept shaking him whenever it looked like he was dozing off. Sam had taken off his wet clothes and was wrapped in blankets and bed rolls while sitting in his union suit.

"Need anything else, boss?" said Bill.

"I think we'll be fine," said Dutch. "Bill, Javier, you can ride back. I'll deal with Charles and the others. We can't be drawing too much attention around here, if there is any."

"Are you sure?" said Javier.

"I'll be fine. I've got Micah and Charles."

Bill and Javier nodded. They both wanted nothing more than to be out of the cold as quickly as possible.

While Dutch saw the men off, Charles had gotten Sam some tea to drink to warm him up. Sam's hands were still cold and trembling, but he could feel them again, and the purple on the tips had faded away to just a dull red. He took the tin mug with shaky hands. He hissed as he bent one of his fingers.

"What's wrong?"

"F-Fingers…" Sam whispered, as he sipped the warm drink. He set the mug down and saw the purpling bruise on his middle and index. "O'Driscoll stepped on th-them…" He carefully felt them, seeing the middle finger on his left hand was just badly bruised, but his ring and pinky were knocked out of place. Slowly, he looked up at Charles. He didn't need to say a word before he got to work.

"I can set them," said Charles. "Just try to relax."

Sam huffed. "I'll t-try, but… FUCK!"

Charles wasted no time setting one of the bones back into place. The young man breathed deeply before nodding and letting Charles set the other one. Sam had unshed tears in his eyes once it was over.

Sadie watched patiently from her room, still holding the picture of her wedding photo. She stared as Charles wrapped Sam's cold fingers together to keep them still until the pain faded away. Then he tucked his sore hand back under the pile of blankets around him.

"Thank-you…" Sam mumbled. "I-" His words were muted when Charles picked up the cup and held it up to his lips. Sam smiled and started to drink.

The blonde looked around her lonely room. Micah was outside with Dutch, doing anything he can to be near him, which Sadie was too busy in her own thoughts to care about. Despite her aching leg, she stood, limping out of the room and into the living room.

"Is that why?" Sadie suddenly spoke up.

Sam turned his head slowly. "W-Why what?"

"Is that why you didn't want me to talk like I was back there," said Sadie. "Because… I heard you shout right before we got there."

The young man frowned, and he was catching a similar look from Charles. "S-So, y-you h-h-heard that…?"

Sam huddled just a little bit tighter, but he didn't avert his gaze. "E-Even… b-before Lily left… I sometimes f-felt… like… maybe I-I sh-should've d-died w-with my uncle. Thought it'd be… easier."

Sadie suddenly understood. He didn't want her to talk about it, because deep down, he was feeling the exact same way.

"How do you survive?" said Sadie. Her voice was quiet, still solemn, but for the first time in days, gentle.

"I r-remember… that I have people to protect." Sam's eye brows furrowed. "And the dead to avenge. Even with Lily gone, I… I still want to protect the gang… Arthur, you, Ch-Charles… You've all been more kind t-to me than my own h-home t-town. Th-Than my oldest friend…" He took another sip of tea, letting the warmth sooth his chest and sore muscles. Then he looked up at Sadie. Maclean's dead. Hopefully, the killer hears that I'm alive… and hunting."

And for the first time in days, Sadie cracked a smile. "I'll be with you."

Sam smiled briefly. "We'll have to be c-careful. You, Charles, and M-Micah are all a part of this n-now."

The door swung open and Dutch walked in. Like many times, all eyes were on him, and the situation was his. MIcah was right behind him.

"Evening," Dutch said, as he shook some of the snow off himself. "Mrs. Adler, you mind explaining how the hell Sam almost ended up dead?"

"Wha…" Sadie stammered. "I-"

"Oh, don't hide it, blondie," Micah sneered. "Dutch wanted to know. I had to be honest with him."

"I told him three days, Mrs. Adler."

"And it's only been-"

"And you went against his orders and charged headfirst into a horde of O'Driscolls! You endangered yourself, my gang members, and nearly cost Sam the mission. Do you understand?"

"You talked about how much you wanted to catch Colm!" Sadie spat. "I saw him there, and Sam didn't want to go after him."

"Is this true?"

Sam nodded. "I didn't want to risk it, and decided to only go after Maclean. I told her to w-wait until Colm left to attack. Sh-She… sn-snuck away in the middle of the night…" He didn't see the point in lying.

"I tried to stop her, boss," said Micah. Sam wasn't sure of that, but he also wasn't sure either way. Charles, however, said nothing, urging Sam to drink.

"Back to bed, Mrs. Adler." Despite nearly freezing to death, Sam felt chills down his spine ath Dutch's tone. He had heard the way his voice went when he was mad. It was somehow calm, but he could hear the restrained rage behind it. "You need to rest that leg." He took a deep breath. "And you're not leaving camp again until I say so."

Sadie scoffed. "How 'bout I-'

"Room," Dutch boomed. "Now!"

Sadie stepped back, hissing from accidentally putting full weight on her wounded leg. She sighed, her eyebrows furrowing, as she limped back to her room.

"D-Dutch?" Sam sounded so young from shivering. "S-Sadie-"

"Almost got you killed," Dutch said, sternly. "End of discussion."

Sam shook, but wasn't sure if it was out of fear or from the cold. The tea and blankets were helping tons, though.

"Micah, you mind keeping an eye out?" said Dutch. "We'll head out once Sam's recovered enough."

"On it, boss." He took his flask and headed outside armed and ready.

"Charles, you can get some rest. I'll keep an eye on the boy."

Charles nodded. He stood, letting Sam hold the cup in his hands on his own.

"Good-night," Sam said, softly. The native man patted Sam on the shoulder and retired to his room for the night. Dutch sat down next to Sam, taking his place.

There, he surveyed his boy. He saw how his fingers were wrapped up. His forehead was bruised and his cheek was swelling up slightly from biting the inside of it by accident. He could see the indent of a ring where Maclean hit him. His shivering was beginning to lessen, which was a good sign.

But because of Sadie, he almost lost him. He almost lost his boy. He wished he could have personally killed the bastards who harmed him like that.

"How are you feeling?" said Dutch.

Sam shrugged. "T-Tired… S-Sore..."

"I know… just a bit longer," said Dutch. "Then you can sleep."

"Yes, s-sir."

Dutch occasionally reached out to feel Sam's hand. The heat was returning to his body, but he was still a bit clammy. Once it seemed the young man had relaxed enough, he let Sam tell him what happened.

"You did good," said Dutch. "Sent those bastards running."

Sam cracked a smile. "Thank-you." The sun was rising, but Sam was still scared to sleep. There were the nightmares, and the fear of sleeping after nearly freezing to death. "Colm fled from the ranch. M-Maclean said he w-went southeast."

Dutch thought for a moment. Recalling his maps, he knew it would lead into Lemoyne, but why would Colm go further east?

He checked Sam's hands again after a while, even wanting to check his feet and ankles. They were just pink now, and while still a bit cold, were a much safer temperature.

"You're warm enough," he then said. "You should get some rest."

"I-I-"

"You're safe enough now," Dutch spoke up, hushing the young man's worried tones. "You need rest."

The young man bit back a laugh. He was starting to sound like Charles.

Dutch helped out, rearranging the blankets, so Sam could settle down by the fire. He used one bedroll for Sam to lay down on, and used the others as blankets, he tucked them around the dark haired boy, making sure he was nice and snug. It was like he was swaddling a grown man, but it didn't seem like Sam minded at all. The tension and weight seemed to have a calming effect.

"You alright?" the gang leader said, holding back a chuckle. "Comfy?"

"Yeah…" Sam said, a sleepy smile on his face. He opened his eyes, hazy from exhaustion and stared up into comforting brown ones staring down at him. "C-Can… Can you stay?" His soft voice and slightly fearful eyes, made Dutch's heart flutter.

"I was planning on it. I'll still be here when you wake up."

"Mmm." Sam didn't realize his eyes had slid shut until they already were. Dutch smiled, seeing that his blanket handiwork was proving quite effective. It was almost like reliving the days with a young Arthur and John again.

Sam felt Dutch's fingers run through his damp hair. His warm, calloused hand fell on his cheek and he leaned into the touch. He smiled, as Arthur's words rang true in his head. He really wasn't alone anymore...

Dutch stared at the fire, adding more wood to keep it going and to keep the young man warm. He knew he would have to deal with Hosea's stupid grin when he came back for "panicking" and going to look for him after only two days. Arthur had been gone longer, and he never worried too much. He saw Sam's pocket watch, hanging from the pocket of Sam's drying pants and then looked back down at the boy. His eyes were closed, mouth opened slightly and his breaths were deep and steady. He was fast asleep.

The gang leader knew exactly why he panicked, and it turned out he was right to do so. Perhaps Charles would have gotten to Sam if he hadn't been there, but still…

He was glad Sam was too tired and sore to question why he was here, or his strange behavior. However, he knew this would be fleeting, and knew that Sam would grow suspicious, but he wasn't sure whether or not he should know the truth.

All he knew was that he couldn't lose him.

Just like her…