A/N: Hey, y'all! We rated M now up in this bitch! So, yeah...

It gets kinda smutty until the linebreak after this one. So skip ahead if you're not into that. Wheeeeee…

Sam really didn't know what he was in for until he was done washing up.

"A-Arthur…" Sam stuttered. "But your arm!"

"I'm fine," Arthur grumbled. He had his arms wrapped around the young man's frame as they leaned back against a tree. "Let me pay you back." Sam was nervously gripping where his strong hands settled on his stomach while turning his head to look at him. Though he wasn't sure how convincing he would be with the sides of his face so red. Their hats were off, stacked in a little pile next to the tree.

"I don't want you to feel like you have to pay me back," said Sam. "I want you to enjoy yourself."

Arthur smiled. He hummed behind Sam's neck which sent shivers down the younger man's spine. "Then you can help me by relaxing."

Sam swiped a hand over his own mouth, trying to muffle the soft whimper he made. He nodded, though and let Arthur continue. All they had done up to this point was kissing, touching and cuddling.

Still, Sam gasped as Arthur undid the button on his pants. He closed his eyes tightly and his face burned as Arthur reached down and grabbed him. Sure, he had done this before, but for it to be Arthur, of all people doing it was a bit overwhelming. He grunted at the hot fist around his member. Tried as he might, he couldn't contain himself anymore and moaned around the hand covering his mouth. Sam leaned back, his head resting on Arthur's shoulder as he kept going. He could feel that his new lover was on edge, as well, though his pants.

Sam was quite a sight with his eyes half lidded and his cheeks a beautiful crimson color. It wasn't long before he was rocking his hips towards his fist. He was completely under Arthur's control, and God, he loved it!

"Arthur, I'm-"

Arthur leaned in and kissed his neck. "Go ahead, Sam…"

Sam screamed, his body shaking in Arthur's arms as he reached his peak. Still, Arthur kept stroking him until it was over, and lowered them both to the ground, seeing as Sam's legs had turned to jelly. The younger man stayed leaning against him, head resting on Arthur's shoulder, and back against his chest, his cheek almost touching the outlaw's, as the hand he had over his mouth flopped down onto the grass, glove covered in spit.

"Wipes…" Sam panted. "In my bag…"

Arthur rubbed Sam's torso before getting up and leaning Sam against the trunk of the tree. The young man reached out, probably to get him off, too, but Arthur just gripped his wrists and put them down.

"Let me take care of that," said Arthur. "Just relax."

Sam could only hum and smile, while his eyes slid shut.

Arthur relieved himself really quickly, before grabbing Sam's bag and getting the wipes. Afterwards, he raced back to Sam's side, who was lightly dozing, when Arthur had him lean forward so he could squeeze back behind him and just sit for a while, legs spread out on either side of the smaller man. He cleaned Sam up before pulling his pants back up. Sam was still the whole time, completely relaxed against Arthur.

It made Arthur grin with pride to have someone this close to him again and to just sit in their own little world. For now, the horrors they endured just yesterday felt so far away.

All the questions still swirling in Sam's head about his uncle's killer, the horrible image of what happened to poor Sean was, just in that moment muddled away for just this moment of peace.

Still, they couldn't just stay in it forever. People were counting on them!

"We should head back soon…" said Arthur. "The others'll get worried."

Sam groaned softly, and leaned his head into Arthur's a bit more. "Can we wait until I can think again?"

The outlaw chuckled. "Sure, Princess. Whatever you want."

"Shut up…" Sam mumbled, but he smiled as Arthur's strong arms wrapped around him and sighed when Arthur kissed him once more.

And they just stayed where they were for a while, enjoying the light sun shining through the tree, the sounds of the morning birds and bugs and the splashing of fishing jumping up to catch said bugs.

It was nice to not worry about anything, even if just for a moment.

Because very soon, things were about to get so much worse…

To Lillian Hawkeson,

I'm sorry this letter took quite a while to get to you. I guess when you get kidnapped by O'Driscolls, deliveries tend to get delayed. I've uncovered some information on your mystery man. It's mostly just testimony from various people, but our associates have found a man who is willing to tell you what he knows. I feel like it would be safer if you and Brandon discuss this more in person.

- Rose

Lily's horse, Adonis, trotted through muddy roads of the Bayou, his rider on the saddle. She arrived at Brandon's Moonshine shack and knocked on the door.

This time, when Rose's eyes peeled through the shade on the door, she didn't make Lily say anything and just opened it to let Lily in.

"Thank-you," Lily said, as she entered the shack. "And don't worry. I wasn't followed." Rose closed the door behind her and nodded. "Are you feeling any better?"

Rose nodded and seemed quick to just shrug it off. Immediately she headed down the steps towards the basement. Lily followed her, going through the secret door shelf, and just like when Sam and Dutch went to the secret bar in the basement of the moonshine shack Brandon had in New Hanover, this one had a secret bar as well, past the room with the still where their distiller was hard at work.

As Lily looked around at all the people and the band playing in the back, she began to wonder how all these people got in here without the law or anyone catching on.

They went to one of the tables near the wall. Somehow the space in there made the sounds of the people chattering and the music quieter. Brandon was drinking with another feller. They were sitting at a table across from one another in a booth.

The man Brandon was sitting with had dusty, dirty clothes, but he had his possessions with him in a bag, so Lily could only assume he was some sort of drifter. His dark hair was tangled and long, but pulled back and his left eye was covered with an eye patch.

Brandon looked up as Rose approached him with Lily, his ocean blue eyes seeing Lily's hazel ones. He took one more sip from his drink before speaking.

"Lily! Excellent timing!" said Brandon. He stood up from his seat and gestured to their mystery man. "This man here is one of our regulars here, and he has some information. Normally, we would have just relayed this information back to you, but he insisted on speaking to you himself."

"Uh, okay," said Lily. "What is it that you wanted to tell me?" Brandon gestured to the booth Lily sat down first, before Brandon joined her. Rose took to the other side.

The man just nodded and looked at Lily. "Listen, I don't exactly know who you're looking for, but you need to stop pursuing him."

Lily gulped. Her gloved hands started to grip the table they rested on. "Why is that?"

"Well if you know about him then you know that a man like him ain't normal," said the man. "I've seen him myself only a few times and the people I have met who have seen him say the same thing. Some kind of figure with a black suit and a top hat appears and then disappears." He laid out Lily's doodle that she had given to Rose and pointed at the man's face. "Shadowy… like he ain't of this mortal realm…"

Rose and Brandon exchanged glances. Before Brandon could speak up, Lily did.

"Did… Did he… seem to have information about you?"

The man nodded. Lily could only think to herself for a moment.

"But how does he know?"

Lily had seen him but he was never in the same place and there was never a trace that this strange individual had even been there. He never met her father or Sam before.

She let out a small laugh, her eyes darting around as if the brick walls and portraits around the bar would provide her with an answer.

Was this really the best explanation? She couldn't deny the encounters she already faced with that strange man.

"Wish I could tell ya," said the one-eyed man. "People have even seen someone like him in Armadillo in New Austin. That place is like hell on Earth these days. It was a nice little town, too. Now it's just dust storms, disease and death. It ain't natural."

"Scarlet Fever…" said Brandon. "That's the disease running rampant in New Austin."

Lily nodded. Her body shook, but she felt like she was on the cusp of something. She balled up her hands.

"Is… Is there anything you learned from the people who told you what they saw?" the girl asked.

The man shrugged. "Well most of the information I've gotten was second-hand from people who were told about it."

Lily's lip trembled, but she moved them to ask her next question. She was scared of the answer, but asked anyway.

"Why?"

The girl felt as if the man was staring into her soul. He took another sip of his drink, finishing it off and then the glass slammed on the table.

"Usually, it's because they're dead."

Lily leaned back in her seat. She wasn't even aware that she began to stare downward.

The man stood from the table. "Yeah… Just stay away from this. It's probably better for everyone."

The man squeezed past Rose out of the booth walked towards the bar without Lily even saying goodbye. Brandon patted her shoulder.

"U-Uh, sorry," said Brandon. His voice brought Lily back and got her to finally move. "Usually, info is-"

Lily shook her head. "No, I needed to hear it."

Brandon scratched his head, tipping his hat a bit as he did so. "We're still working on finding the other Laslow brother," he added. Lily looked in his direction. "He and Colm's men seem to have withdrawn from Lone Mule's Stead... My associates said they saw Pinkertons all over the area, though."

Lily's lip pouted. They had probably come thinking they were going to get their snobby, posh little hands on the notorious Arthur Morgan. And to think, months ago she probably would have welcomed that.

"Good," said Lily. "I wish I could've seen Colm's face when he came back to a dead camp."

"We meant to contact him, but something happened in Rhodes," said Brandon.

Lily nodded. "The Grays caught on to Dutch's scheme. There was a huge mess and… Sean didn't make it."

Rose's eyebrows raised. She made a drinking motion with her hand. Brandon nodded.

"Yes, the Irish one, Rose," he answered, eyes half-lidded in irritation. "We're so sorry."

Lily shook her head. "No. Bill and Micah were the idiots. Mostly Micah…"

"Very well. We'll let you know if we find any more information on the O'Driscolls or your mystery man."

It took some convincing and a bit of bickering, but Sam got to be the one to ride them back. Sure, they had both of their horses with them, but Arthur and Sam were craving more of each other's touch… at least until their duties forced them to be apart again.

So, Sam rode on Aurora, taking the reins while Arthur was sitting behind him. The only inconvenience for Sam was how red his face was going to be by the time they made it back to camp, because Arthur had his arms around him.

Thinking about their camp at Clemen's Point made Sam frown. At least there were two paths into the camp and not one. So, if need be, they did not have to pass by the area where poor Sean was buried.

They expected things at camp to still be sad, but that had quickly shifted.

To anger.

"You son of a bitch!"

Tilly and Mary-Beth were trying to hold Karen back from Micah. They were near Pearson's wagon and the other camp members were starting to look on.

Micah could only laugh. "I told ya, we were out trying to find a lead. Same as anyone else."

"He's fucking dead, because of you!" Karen shouted, her words slurring as she stumbled and pointed at him. Micah tried to lower her hand, but Karen suddenly yanked it back, like she was burned by something. "Don't you fucking touch me!" She lunged at him, but Tilly and Mary-Beth held her back.

"Yeah, yeah," said Micah. "Crybaby Sam already said the same thing!"

"Well, he's right!" Karen yelled.

"He came along, too," said Micah. "He was following orders, like me and Bill, and Sean. It's just how it goes. Now if you'll excuse me-"

That was when Karen broke free from her friends and grabbed him by his dark leather jacket.

"Did I say 'leave,' you sack of shit?!"

Micah rolled his eyes. "I can't take you seriously when you're drunk, Miss Jones." He could barely react before Karen threw a fist at him and it hit him in the face.

"Then why can't you take Sean's death seriously?!" Karen shouted. "You murderer!"

Micah turned back to the girl. First Sam, and now this girl? He had about enough. The two blondes raced at each other.

"We're all killers, ain't we?!" Micah shouted.

"Why don't you go back to hell?!" Karen shouted back.

Mary-Beth and Tilly raced out to hold Karen back, grabbing her by her arms, Bill and Javier did the same to Micah.

"STOP IT! BOTH OF YOU!"

Dutch's voice cut through the discourse. Most of the camp had gathered around the scene, minus a few. Arthur and Sam had raced up to the front to hear Dutch out.

"What the hell is going on out here?!" the gang leader questioned.

"I WANT HIM DEAD!" Karen shouted.

Micah huffed. "Same to you."

"He's why Sean's dead!" Karen yelled. "I want him gone!"

"Would you stop whining about it?!" said Micah. "I already explained myself."

"Then how come you can't enter a town without shooting it up?!" said Tilly.

"Or Lenny almost getting lynched?!" said Mary-Beth.

"Oh, so it's Sam then!" said Micah. "He wants to turn everyone against me, because Arthur got a little nick on his shoulder."

Sam growled. He stepped forward, but Arthur held his hand and he stopped. "While I was out there, covered in rain and mud, dodging and taking bullets and Arthur was bleeding, hanging upside down in a cellar, you were here, sitting on your stupid ass! We'd be nothing without Arthur, and you are nothing without us!"

Arthur saw it again. The look in Sam's eyes, without the light shining in them. It was the same as the one he saw when Sam killed people.

He wanted Micah dead.

Micah then saw it: Why Sam was so insistent on protecting Arthur and vice versa. Sam's hand was firmly being held by Arthur's and it was not by the wrist. It was palm to palm. Like… affection?

Micah could only scoff. "You know, I never knew how disgusting the both of you were," he said.

Sam's hand trembled in Arthur's. He realized he was still holding his hand and tried to yank it away. That's when the older outlaw tightened his grip.

"Don't you change the subject, Micah!" Arthur hissed.

"That's enough!" said Dutch. "We all lost Sean, and I feel it just as much as everyone else."

"Not Micah," said Mary-Beth.

"These things happen," said Micah.

"Of course he wouldn't care," said Tilly. "He's used to death, especially when he causes it all the time."

"But what can we do?" said Dutch. "If I could, I'd bring him back as soon as I can, but we can't."

"You can do something!" said Karen. "You can get rid of Micah."

Dutch raised his eyebrows. His hand swiped over his forehead. "I-"

"All he's done is cause trouble for the gang and even in camp, he's a nuisance," said Mary-Beth.

"So, Molly's blubbering isn't a nuisance?" said Micah. "Karen's drinking isn't a nuisance. Your constant reading instead of working isn't a nuisance? And Uncle sitting on his ass all day isn't a nuisance."

"Hey, I ain't lazy!" Uncle insisted, who was among the onlookers. "I just… don't like to work."

"This is not the time to be pointing fingers!" Dutch then raised his voice. "We survived those mountains, escaped the law, kept the nooses off our necks! Sean's gone, but this is the time we need to stick together, not tear each other apart!"

"Dutch is right!" said Bill. "We take care of our own no matter how much of a pain in the ass they are."

"You know, for once I agree with him," said Javier.

"And what makes you think we'll just work with that bastard any longer?" said Lenny.

"Where's my goddamn son?"

Abigail suddenly cut through the commotion and ran up to Dutch.

"Abigail, what's wrong?" said Mary-Beth.

"Where is he? Where's my son?" she asked the gang leader. "They took him, didn't they? They took my son!"

"What?" said Dutch. "Who did?"

"Dutch!" Hosea raced up to him with Kieran and John following behind. "We think that Braithwaite woman took Jack. Kieran said he saw some of those boys nearby."

"Jack?!" said Dutch.

Suddenly the whole camp was in uproar.

"They took Jack!?" said Sam.

"Why the hell would they do that?" said Bill.

"Where is my son?" Abigail pleaded. "If anything…" She covered her eyes at a scary thought. Hosea patted her on the back. "Where is my son, Dutch van der Linde?"

Dutch formed fists with his ringed hands. First Sean and now… No. Out of everyone here, it couldn't be Jack. Taken from his parents without a word.

Dutch never had a say with his son. He didn't even know he existed.

"The manor…" Dutch said under his breath. "We will find him, we will bring him back to you and we will kill any fool who had the temerity to touch one hair on that boy's head. Abigail, you have my word."

"Just get me back my son!" the young mother cried.

"I will get that boy back, so help me god!" Dutch proclaimed. Without another word he was racing towards his horse, the Count.

"You need some extra guns?" said Bill.

"Yeah, why not?" said Dutch. "Micah, Sadie, Kieran, anyone strange turns up, you kill 'em!"

And without another word, his men were following him. They mounted their horses, riding behind their leader. At once, everyone was starting to remember Dutch's words and remember why they were sticking together: Loyalty, above all else.

The sounds of the horses on the trail sounded as if there were a thousand bison in a frenzy, charging down the beaten road towards the Braithwaite Manor. It was safe to assume at this point that they knew about Dutch and Hosea's scheme to trick both families. Whether they knew they were after the gold didn't matter. They had Jack, an innocent child!

The sun descended and soon nightfall was upon the lands. A herd of horses, their riders on their backs, galloped on the gravelly path that would lead up to Braithwaite Manor. Giant trees stood on both sides of the path, the shadows casting down on the gang of outlaws. As always, the Count was shining like a pearl in the night and Dutch was in the saddle leading everyone into a fight of their lives.

They left their horses to the side of the archway that led them into the front courtyard of the manor. Arthur Morgan, Samuel Hawkeson, John Marston, Charles Smith, Leonard "Lenny" Summers, Bill Williamson, Javier Escuella, Hosea Matthews and Dutch van der Linde, walked up to the manor, guns in their hands and ready to raise hell on these damn Braithwaites.

Already, they could see a couple of guards patrolling outside on the second floor balconies inside and there was one or two on the porch.

Everyone was armed with their favorite little bang-bang sticks. Some had their rifles, others had rifles and sidearms ready. Dutch was fine with his trusty revolvers.

"Who steals a goddamn boy?" Dutch growled. It was as dark as it was quiet. The only sound heard was the odd cricket here and there and the sound of grass and gravel being crushed by outlaw boots.

"I'm gonna let fly at those sons of bitches!" John nearly shouted.

"John, I need you to stay calm." Although, it soon turned out that it wasn't John that they needed to stay calm.

"GET DOWN HERE, NOW!" Dutch shouted. "You inbred trash!"

The gang neared the entrance and it wasn't long before someone stepped out. It looked like one of Catherine's sons.

"What the hell do you want?"

Closer the men came out to greet this creep. Hosea held out his hands and stopped John from getting too close.

"Easy, John," Hosea said. Somehow his voice was quieter than the tense silence in the air.

Dutch stopped at the center of the front courtyard, not too far from the porch. His boys were behind him. Dutch's Boys…

"We've come for the boy," said Dutch. "You must've known we would."

"Shouldn't have messed with our business now, should you?" said the man.

It took everything for Dutch not to immediately start getting angrier than he already was. They just admitted it. These bastards took the damn boy! He inhaled deeply, before speaking.

"Whatever complaint you have with us, alleged… or otherwise… That is a young boy. That is not the way you do things. Hand him over."

"Get the hell off our land!"

Up on the second floor, more armed men came out and onto the balcony. More stepped out onto the porch as well.

"If you're not going to be civilized about this…" said Dutch. He didn't even finish that sentence, because the next thing everyone knew, he had shot down three men while drawing his revolvers.

Everyone took cover while drawing their weapons. Bill, Javier, Arthur, and Sam took the left while Dutch, Hosea, John, Charles and Lenny took the right. The sound of gunfire was all that was heard in the calm air despite the gun fire. Men shot from the balcony fell down to the first floor like flies, bullets hit columns sending pieces flying like rocks and rubble.

Dutch, Hosea, Arthur and John went up the middle with the others providing cover. Only bodies remained by the time they made it to the front doors, and Dutch kicked them in, practically breaking the glass on it as it swung.

"Get in there!" he yelled. "Find Jack! And find that Braithwaite woman!"

The gang piled into the foyer and split up to check the rooms.

"Jack! You in here?" Arthur called as he checked the living room.

"Jack!" John called as he entered the dining room. "Jack! Can you hear me?!"

Bill and Javier raced ahead to check the other rooms and shot any stragglers that were hiding.

"Jack!" Bill yelled.

"¿Estás aquí, Jack?" said Javier.

Meanwhile, Sam and Charles headed up the stairs. There were several bedrooms, probably for guests. Still, they were empty as the halls while everyone called the name of the missing child.

On the second floor, Dutch and Hosea found a set of double doors at the end of the hall, near the balcony. With the other rooms empty, that had to be the master bedroom. However, the doors wouldn't budge, but the doorknobs did. The two men tried their darndest to get them open, but they backed away as soon as they heard a shotgun from inside, busting chunks of the wood off.

Sam came out from one of the other bedrooms. "The balcony has doors all around. Maybe there's one for this room, too."

John heard it all and raced outside.

"Wait up!" Arthur called.

Arthur and John ran onto the balcony. They followed the wall, seeing the windows, but the curtains were shut. The boys made their way around the corner and finally found the door. It was jammed shut, John got it to budge a little.

"Come on!" said Arthur. With no hesitation he went up to the door, as well, and together, they pushed it open.

Once the doors swung open, the wardrobe blocking their way fell and two more of Catherine Braithwaite's sons were in there waiting for them. Arthur drew his gun and shot both of them in the face.

Just then, Dutch and Hosea broke through the door that had blocked them. Turns out it was from a very tall mirror. Sam followed behind them.

"You boys alright?" said Hosea.

"Just about," said John.

Dutch went straight for the white door furthest from the bedroom entrance. It looked like it was the bath or dressing room. He kicked the door in and dragged Catherine Braithwaite, who was in her nightgown, and pinned her against the wall.

"You want me to kill you too, old woman?" Dutch hissed at her.

Catherine stared at the floor shocked to see her son laying on the floor in a pool of blood.

"You bastards!" she yelled. She tried to go to them, but Hosea grabbed her shoulder and pinned her back against the wall.

"Where's the boy?!" Hosea yelled.

"We have lived in this house for a hundred and twenty years," Catherine said, sternly. "We never had no problems 'cept for yankees."

"Where is the boy?! Who took him?"

"You killed my sons!" Catherine yelled.

"Oh, and I will surely kill the rest of them, unless you start talking," Dutch said, pointing the barrel of his gun at the old hag's throat.

Catherine squirmed as she heard the gang leader cocking his revolver. "Oh, I know your type. Common scum."

Dutch's right eye twitched. He leaned closer and asked one more time.

"Where. Is. The boy?"

"You filth!"

"Alright." Dutch grabbed the old woman. He wrapped his arm around her and started dragging her out. "We get her outta here."

"What about them?" Arthur said, pointing to her dead sons.

Dutch just fired a bullet into one of them. Catherine let out a scream, while Hosea was the first one out there. The shot however, made Sam flinch, but Arthur grabbed his arm which snapped him back to the present. If Jack wasn't in here, then there was nothing for them to do here.

"Let's get this hag outside," said Dutch as he dragged Catherine down the stairs. "Any more of her sons to deal with?"

"Nope, reckon they're all dead," said Arthur.

"Nooo!" the old woman screamed. She clinged desperately to the railing, until Dutch dragged her away, yanking her down the stairs by the back of her nightgown collar.

"That's right, burn this dump to the ground!" Dutch ordered. "You boys sure Jack ain't in here?"

"We searched everywhere, Dutch," said Hosea.

Downstairs, Sam got into the kitchen and managed to find some of the moonshine they produced. Bill was all too glad to help pour it all over the first floor, while Hosea and John lit torches and just tossed them at anything flammable. It wasn't long before the house began to go up in flames.

"I guess that's the end of the goddamn cribbage game," said Hosea. "Let's go, boys!"

Hosea and John were the first ones out. Sam stepped onto the porch and looked up one more time.

"This one's for you, Sean," he whispered under his breath. Arthur followed him out, soon after and then Dutch came out, too, with Catherine Braithwaite over his shoulder.

"Put me down!" Catherine demanded, as she uselessly flailed and slapped at Dutch. "You damn yankee!"

"There you go," Dutch said, once everyone was a safe distance from the burning building. He dropped Catherine onto the ground like trash, pointed his gun at her and watched the house burn.

Catherine, her face red and wet with tears, hair messed up and all over the place and nightgown covered in dirt, could only watch helplessly as her home was engulfed in flames.

"I never liked you," she grumbled, her voice shaky and broken.

"Why'd you take the boy, Mrs. Braithwaite?" Hosea questioned, as he and the other men stood above her.

"You stole my liquor!"

"Boys are off limits!"

"You stole my horses! Ain't no rules in war, Mr…"

"Mathews."

"Yes… yes, that's it…"

"Where's the boy?"

Catherine sat up slowly, glaring at them despite the position she was in.

"My sons gave him to Angelo Bronte. So my guess is Saint Denis. Either there, or on the boat to Italy."

"Let's go!" Hosea yelled. He began walking away and the others followed.

"What we doing with her?" said Arthur.

"Leave her," said Dutch.

"I told you she was crazy," said Hosea.

No one looked back at the burning building, or the distraught, horrible woman they left behind. They made their way towards the horses, leaving the destruction they caused in the dust. The outlaws rode off into the night, while Catherine Braithwaite ran right back into the flames.

The sun rose on the next day. Everyone was back at camp safely. Well, everyone except for little Jack. It was hard on everyone to have to return to Abigail without her boy and the only lead they had was that he was probably in Saint Denis and one name: Angelo Bronte. With the plan for the so-called "rebel gold" in shambles, they had to at least focus on getting that poor boy back.

For now, Dutch, Hosea, John, Arthur and Sam were discussing their next move. They were at the table just outside of Dutch's tent. Despite the death of Sean and the mystery of Jack's whereabouts looming over them, they still had a camp to run. Lily had made it back to camp during the night, where she was filled in on the situation, and she was present when the boys returned from burning Braithwaite Manor to the ground.

"You sure you're okay?" Arthur said, as he spoke to a slightly space out Sam.

The young man nodded. "I'm fine. Just… seeing Dutch shoot those boys in that room. It…"

"You shouldn't have had to see that, son," said Dutch. "I'm so-"

"No," Sam shook his head. "They were bad men who helped steal an innocent child." He formed fists and slammed them on the table. "They got what they had coming."

Dutch nodded and smiled.

"Let's just focus on getting that boy back," said Sam.

"It's gonna work out, John," said Hosea. "It's gonna work out, listen to Dutch."

"Now, I don't expect you to understand this, but I have never been more proud of you than I am right now, brother. You're doing the right thing."

"If I don't get that boy back safe…" said John. "I'm…" He wasn't much of a talker, but he still didn't have words for any of this. He was understandably unable to sit still. "She… She'll kill us all."

"I know, but… looking at this, logically, that boy is fine. They took him to scare us. Nobody takes a boy to harm him."

"Unless it's an O'Driscoll…" said Sam.

"Not helping, Sam…" said Hosea. "Besides, she said something about an… Angelo Bronte, I believe."

"What do you think, Arthur?" Dutch asked.

"That boy'll be fine," Arthur said, as he leaned over the table, one foot on a barrel, "but of course Marston's scared rotten. We killed all those people… we stirred up all that trouble… for nothing."

"No, no, not for nothing." The gang leader stared at Arthur, the spark in his eyes, the same Sam had when he was determined. "For living. Now we get that boy back… and we go. Trust me."

"Hey, Dutch," said Lenny. "We got a problem."

Sam knew things were bad. Hell, everyone knew that. Soon enough, however, things were about to get a lot more complicated for him.

"Not a problem… visitors… a solution."

Sam had shivers go down his spine. He turned around, along with everyone else except Dutch, looking in the direction of that voice. It was none other than Agent Milton and Ross. They made their way through the camp, with Lenny pointing a rifle at them.

"Good day fine people," Milton said, as if he were just addressing some neighbors or something. "Mr. Van der Linde. Mr. Matthews, I presume." Slowly people were getting up and surrounding the two agents. "And…" He looked at John. "Who are you?"

"Rip Van Winkle," John answered.

Andrew locked eyes with Sam. "The O'Driscoll Slayer, I presume?"

Sam said nothing. His eyes were locked onto him, though, and his mouth was slightly hung open. If his brain wasn't five hundred miles away at the moment, he would have noticed that he looked like he just got caught doing something red-handed.

"What a shame," said Milton. "The O'Driscoll Slayer… And here was me thinking, he'd be on our side."

Sam was frozen, his frame only shaking a bit. A bowler hat… a long coat… When he looked at him he was brought back to…

"What the hell do you want?" Arthur growled.

"Agent Milton, Pinkerton Detective Agency," Andrew said. He gestured to his buddy behind him. "Agent Ross."

"And to what do we owe the pleasure, Agent Moron?" Dutch said, only turning his head enough to see him from the corner of his eye.

"I don't know if you're aware, but this… this is a civilized land, now," Milton said, his voice growing stern. "We didn't kill all them savages only to allow the likes of you to act like human dignity and basic decency was outmoded or not yet invented. This thing… it's done."

Finally, Dutch stood from his seat and faced the detective.

"This place… ain't no such thing as civilized. It's man so in love with greed… He has forgotten himself and found only appetites."

"And as a consequence that lets you take what you please, kill whom you please and hang the rest of us?" Milton raised his voice.

Sam shook like someone had shocked him from behind. That… voice…

It couldn't be… could it?

"Who made you the messiah to these lost souls you've led so horribly astray?" Andrew continued.

"I'm nothing but a seeker, Mr. Milton," said Dutch.

"You ain't much of anything more than a killer, Mr. Van der Linde. But I came to make a deal. It's time. You come with me… and I give the rest of ya three days to run off… disappear and live like human beings someplace else."

"You came for me?" Dutch said, forcing a smile. "Risked life and limb in this den of lowlifes and murderers so that they might live and love? Ain't that fine." He chuckled, and as the rest of the gang gathered around, they began to chuckle, as well.

All except Sam. He was still staring at Andrew Milton.

"I don't wanna kill all these folk, Dutch…" said Milton, "just you."

"In that case…" Dutch slowly raised his hands, "it be my honor… to join you… Excuse me, friends… I have an appointment to keep with…"

And as if on cue, everyone drew their rifles, revolvers, and anything they had. Even Kieran was in on it.

Andrew Milton and Edgar Ross could only stare. Dutch lowered his hands and smiled.

"I think your new friend should leave now, Dutch," said Grimshaw.

"You're making a big mistake… all of you," Andrew stated, sternly.

Sam shook. The chills he had brought him back to that dark night. He could smell the rain, feel the blood that dripped down his head and past his eye.

Dutch chuckled. "Yeah… dreadful. We have got something… something to live and die for. How awful for us, Mr. Milton." And with that, he furrowed his brows, stepped up to the detective and looked him dead in the eyes. "Stop following us… we'll be gone soon."

"I'm afraid I can't…" said Milton, "and when I return, I'll be with fifty men. All of you will die. Run away from this place, you fools! Run!"

"Come on," Lenny ran over to escort them out but Milton pushed him away. "Get your damn hands off of me, boy."

And the second Milton turned away, was the last straw.

Sam saw him. He knew it compared to that hazy image burned into his skull. His mind was brought back to the darkness. The blood, the wooden floorboards, the sound of thunder, and the flash of lightning.

And that sickening gunshot as his vision went dark…

Sam's breath sped up. He couldn't see, he couldn't hear, he couldn't think! But his lips moved before his brain could think before he spoke.

"Mur… Murderer…" The next thing Sam knew, his feet brought him forward. He drew his gun, unable to hear his fellow gang members shouting at him.

"MURDERER!"

A strong hand grabbed Sam's gun hand and another took his gun. He must have fought tooth and nail to try and get through, because the next thing he knew he was lifted off his feet and dragged into his own tent.

As soon as his ass hit the floor, his mind was boggled enough to finally see what was going on, and he registered Arthur, Dutch, Hosea and Lily.

"You can't kill him!" Dutch scolded.

"Why not?!" Sam cried. He wanted to scream. His throat was closing up and his eyes were welling up with tears.

"If he knows where we are, then his lackeys probably do too! They'll come and shoot us all before three days time! What is with you?!"

Sam sat up slowly, his body still shaking either from fear, anger or the unbearable pain. He wasn't sure.

"He…" Sam gulped down hard. "He… He did it."

"He did what?" said Arthur.

"He… killed him." The tears finally escaped Sam's eyes. The sentence came out as a whisper.

His eyes unfocused again. All he could see was that horrible night, his uncle dead against the couch, the O'Driscoll on the floor… the O'Driscolls he killed. What was he doing? What had he been doing?

Lily slowly approached, held out her hand for Dutch and Arthur to stay back, and dropped to her knees. She placed her hands on both sides of his face. Her heart thudded heavily in her chest.

"Sam, who did Milton kill?" she asked. She had to know, and for Sam's own sake, he had to say it. He suddenly looked as shaken as the first night Dutch and Arthur found him.

Sam let Lily's hands guide him. Her face was the only thing that was keeping him stapled to the present. He looked into her eyes, then up at Dutch and Arthur, opened his mouth and spoke.

"Agent Milton killed Cliff Hawkeson."