A/N: Yay! We're going to Saint Denis! Just kidding, I hate Saint Denis. It does have some nice areas to look at, but geez, the pedestrians and traffic, though.

Act III: When It Falls

The sun was fading behind the horizon by the time Dutch and Hosea made it to the place marked on the map. Hosea was trying to remain hopeful, and while Dutch had strangely remained calm through all of this, the older man was worried for his friend.

The location was at the edge of the swamps on the eastern coast of the state of Lemoyne. Beyond that was a large mass of water that connected to the Lannahechee River. In the middle of the giant stretch of water was an island with a running prison known as Sisika Penitentiary. Hosea could only pray that none of their own would end up there.

They must have searched in the area for hours. Dutch wasn't like Colm to hide behind his men all the time. He was practically at the front lines for his gang, usually by Hosea's side. It was not a surprise at all that he would lead the charge into the muck just for the hope of finding some fortune. Even if it ended in blood… or fire.

Finally, as the sun finally disappeared, Hosea nearly tripped over something solid. He felt around and soon found a metal case. It wasn't very big, he noticed, so he hoped it was packed with something, at least.

Dutch came over, lantern in hand, and the pair worked the box out of the mud. After clearing the debris, Dutch pulled out a knife and forced the thing open. However, there wasn't any gold like they were hoping for, but there was a note. Hosea picked it up and Dutch used the lantern so they could read it in the dark.

June 12th, 1806

My Dearest Douglas,

The mere act of writing your name weakens me with longing. My exile in Connecticut has endured barely three weeks but it feels like a lifetime since I last saw your wonderful smile. Why should the family into which I was born, and a surname that was imposed on me dictate whom I can and cannot love? Like you always say, however, there are so many less fortunate than ourselves and subject to far worse partiality and narrow-mindedness.

Please take all that gold to the group I told you about. It should provide them with enough funding for another two years of operation so they can keep pressure on Congress to abolish the importation of slaves into this country once and for all. Our two families are so blinded by avarice and bitterness that either they will not realize it is missing or they will assume the other has stolen from them.

Then come for me, my love, as we planned, and we will flee somewhere far away, down to South America or across Europe, where we can simply live as Douglas and Lucille, not as Master Gray and Miss Braithwaite.

Yours always,

Lucille

Hosea slowly lowered the letter.

The gold.

It was the thing they had been after this whole time. It wasn't here. And not only that, they never would have found it. Not even if they managed to fool those two families even longer than they did. The letter was written a long time ago.

In. Other. Words.

The gold was already long gone.

"Dutch…" Hosea said. "I'm sorry, I-"

Dutch wrestled the letter from his oldest friend before tossing it into the waters of the vast lake. His frame was shaking, but not from fear. The older man could only assume that Dutch had connected the dots from reading the letter alone. Hosea wanted to be careful in what he said next.

"Dutch… we can figure this out," Hosea tried to say. "We can-"

Dutch was taking deep breaths. He was not one to lose his composure. He wouldn't do that in front of his gang, not to Arthur and John, not even to Hosea. Though, he had been close. Still, Dutch was almost red. Hosea didn't need the lantern to see it.

"...Dutch?" Hosea spoke, softly.

Finally, Dutch took a deep sigh. He took off his hat and wiped the sweat off his forehead. It was sinking in for him, at last. Now, there they were, covered in mud and wading around in more, after killing two families, all for a treasure that was already long gone.

"I'm sorry…" he finally said.

"I know…" said Hosea. "You didn't know. None of us did."

"I should have."

"But you didn't. And that's okay…"

Still, Dutch was silent. He was never one to openly admit his faults, either. If he admitted to his faults to any of this, then it would mean John was right. This whole mess would really mean nothing. In his mind, he wasn't really sure which one was worse.

"Let's just get that boy back…" Dutch finally relented, putting his hat back on. "We can worry about how we're going to get out of this later."

"Sure," said Hosea. He held out an arm and led Dutch through the thick mud back towards their horses.

Hosea felt bad. He had to find something… for Dutch's sake.

Today had been eventful, to say the least. That was an understatement. Jack was missing, the Pinkertons were on their tails, and Sam finally identified his uncle's killer who turned out to be working for the government themselves. Even so, there was still work to be done. Pearson, Susan and the others were setting things up at Shady Belle. A good chunk of the gang still slept outside, but some of the girls and even Uncle made use of the space inside of the dilapidated old house.

Meanwhile, Karen was in one of the rooms of the house, with Lily tending to her. She had slept off the alcohol from her screaming with Micah, but now she was trying to take care of a big hangover. Lily had offered her water, or some tea, but Karen insisted on the bottle. Of course, Lily had to be such a stick in the mud to her and only give her a small glass of it. She laid down on one of the old couches to rest her head.

Too bad the windows were either broken, or not there at all. Everyone inside could hear whatever was outside, and vice versa.

"He's only a boy, he ain't even half grown!" Lily heard Abigail yell from outside.

"He'll be alright," said John.

"If they so much as put one bruise on him I swear, I'll bring the fires of hell on 'em myself. Ain't like nobody else around here's up for the task!"

"We'll get him back, I promise."

"You ain't no better, neither. A gang of supposed 'strong men', you can't protect one boy!"

Finally, Karen had enough. She grabbed her head with a hiss and sat up slowly.

"Hey, and what's your job, Abigail?! Why weren't you keeping an eye on him?"

"And what are you doing, getting drunk off your ass?!" Abigail then shouted.

Lily rolled her eyes. "That's enough, both of you!" she shouted. "Complaining about who did what isn't going to get Jack back! Now, stop it!"

Abigail huffed and stormed off. Karen grumbled and laid back down. She grabbed a nearby rag and covered her eyes. Lily just sighed and turned away. "Get some rest."

Lily walked back into the foyer. Other than Abigail's fits, things were getting quiet. She was kind of relieved when the door opened, and Hosea walked in with Dutch.

"Honey, we're home!" Hosea joked.

"Welcome home," she said. "Ignore the gators and the bodies in the water. We've got four walls and a roof!"

Dutch forced a small smile. "I love it. Where's Arthur and your cousin?"

"They're upstairs," said Lily. "Sam just got back half an hour ago. Ms. Grimshaw has your room set up in the master bedroom, and there's two others for John and Arthur."

"Thank-you, Ms. Hawkeson," Dutch said, his voice flat. He walked past her and headed up the steps.

"Uh, is he okay?"

Hosea placed a hand on the girl's shoulder. "He's… had a long day."

The girl nodded. "Yeah, I bet. You should get some rest, too."

"I think we all need it," the old man agreed.

Dutch made it up the steps and saw the doors open, where his room would be. Although he was deterred from going in, upon seeing Molly sleeping on the bed he supposed he would be sharing with her. A bed. A nice upgrade, at least, and it looked like someone had taken the time to clean and change the sheets. Still, he didn't feel like dealing with her tonight and made his way towards Arthur's room.

Arthur was leaning forward on his cot scribbling who knows what in his journal, when Dutch walked in.

"There you are, big man!" Dutch exclaimed, a smile on his face. "What do you think of the new place?"

Arthur grinned. He closed his journal while his mentor walked up to him. "Well, minus the gators and bodies John and I cleared out, it's paradise."

That's when Dutch noticed someone behind Arthur. Sam was sleeping away behind him, his head on the pillow, and bandages on his forehead. The poor thing looked like he needed it. Arthur's hat was left on the bed, but Sam had it in his arms, near his chest.

"What happened to him?" said Dutch.

"Some Gray punched him," Arthur said, with a slight growl. "Said he hit him back, though. He helped those young fools escape."

Dutch nodded. "Beau" and "Penelope," he recalled. "Well, at least some good can come out of this."

"Where did you and Hosea head off to, anyway?"

The gang leader looked out one of the windows. It was dark out, now, but the moonlight was bouncing off the leaves of trees, the overgrown grass, and the swamps outside. "We were looking into something. It didn't go anywhere."

Arthur wasn't stupid. Well, he played it out that he was sometimes, but he knew something was on Dutch's mind. Though, it would be hard to get him to say what it was.

"We saw a bit of this so-called 'Eighth Wonder of the Civilized World' Saint Denis the old hag mentioned," Dutch continued. "We'd better check it out tomorrow. How's John doing?"

"'Bout what you expect," said Arthur. "He's taking it hard. Abigail, too. You're not gonna like this, but John suggested we should see Brandon. He knows people and could be able to get us in contact with Angelo Bronte."

Dutch touched the ridge of his nose. "You're right," he said. "I don't like it, but it's probably one of the only ways we can do it without drawing more attention to ourselves than we already have. We need to get that boy and go. Sorry if Sam won't get to stick it to the O'Driscolls, but it must be done."

Arthur turned his head, and looked at Sam's sleeping form. He had a long day, but at the same time, everyone did. People were at each other's throats, but Dutch was the glue keeping everyone together, and as God as his witness, he would do his damndest to keep it that way.

"He's not going after them for revenge no more," said Arthur. "He's doing it to protect us."

Dutch raised a brow, but continued to listen.

"He knows the attention he's drawn to himself, and now that they know he's with us, they'll be gunning for us," said Arthur. "Well, more than usual… He… He said it's only fair after the trouble he caused."

Dutch could only smile, as he stared at Sam. Even after the rollercoaster of the day he had, he managed to find an answer. Still choosing love over vengeance. If he could somehow keep himself together after a whole mess, then so can he. He, too, would find his own answer.

"Keep him safe, Arthur," said Dutch. "And yourself, too."

"I will." Though, it felt like Sam was the one keeping him safe, lately.

"Well, good. You get some rest, as well," Dutch suddenly spoke up, his voice sounding more confident as he made his way to the door. "We've got a big day ahead of us tomorrow. That boy ain't gonna find himself."

"We'd better," said Arthur. "Or Abigail is gonna kill us all."

"More women like her, there wouldn't be a city to look for Jack in."

The two exchanged a laugh, before Dutch left to turn in for the night. Arthur kicked off his boots, before taking his hat back from Sam's arms and placing it on the nearby table. Sam opened his eyes a little, but wasn't awake all the way. He groaned from the loss of the stolen possession he held, but as soon as Arthur laid down, Sam was practically jumping to cuddle up against him. Arthur flinched at the sudden contact, but didn't move away. He lowered himself to the pillow slowly, and eventually just melted into the bed beneath him.

Sam mumbled something and nuzzled against Arthur's chest, before finally going still. Arthur sighed, trying to ignore how his face was burning as he closed his eyes and listened to the younger man's breathing even out.

He smiled as he fell asleep. There were moments where he felt like he didn't deserve this kind of treatment.

But still, it was nice…

Abigail's anger was known throughout the camp. Of course, everyone knows to never mess with a mother who's missing their child. Even so, in the morning, members of the camp who were staying inside of the dilapidated house, awoke to hear Abigail's soft weeping in the halls. No matter how strong and angry she was, she was still a human who deeply missed her boy, and just wanted him back in her arms, safe and sound.

Today was the day. They had to find Angelo Bronte, and find Jack.

Bill, Javier, and Micah were sent out to patrol the areas near Shady Belle for any signs of Jack and to just make sure they weren't followed. Saint Denis was said to be a big city, but knowing that Angelo Bronte was in the city somewhere at least helped narrow things down. As much as Dutch didn't want to, they needed Brandon's help… so he sent John and Sam to go to one of Brandon's many hideouts. Specifically, the one out in the Bayou. All four of them agreed to meet up at a saloon in town that Dutch marked on their maps.

The four saddled up, with Sam and John getting a head start. Dutch just couldn't wait to see this so-called piece of the "civilized" world.

"Dutch," Molly called. She was hurrying out of the house to catch up with him.

"Yes?" Dutch said, holding the reins of his albino stallion. He hadn't even looked in her direction.

"Could I have a word with ya?"

"Not now." And the gang leader mounted his horse and Arthur got onto his own. "Come on, Arthur," he said, far kinder to him than to the red headed woman.

Molly didn't say another word and walked back into the house, dejected, as the two men rode away. She raced back towards the house, trying to suppress her fears and doubts.

"Miss O'Shea is far too high and mighty now for the likes of us… or to do any real work. She's a society lady, now."

"He loves me…" Molly muttered, as she opened the front door and closed it.. "He bloody well loves me…"

"I'm so in love, Tilly. I'm so in love. He's… eh…"

"He's not doing the washing, that's for sure. Now help me, or clear out."

The redhead intended to march into her room, but stopped upon hearing voices on the first floor. Other than the ones from her memories repeating in her head.

"Shall I compare thee to, uh… What shall I compare thee to?"

"You tell me, Dutch."

"Arthur. What should I compare her to?"

"An idiot… if you believe his crap."

Molly, her heels clicking on the wooden floor, made her way towards the source of the two voices. Maybe they were people who wouldn't make fun of her.

"Chickens pecked you good, huh?" Lily asked in the new makeshift infirmary. Kieran was sitting on one of the beds after an incident with chicken feed being accidentally dumped on him and the chickens outside just went wild.

"More like Mrs. Adler 'accidentally' tripped and it fell on me," Kieran mumbled to himself.

Lily just hummed to herself. Kieran tried not to flinch as she applied a cloth soaked in whiskey to the light wounds on his body.

"They don't look too bad, actually," said Lily. "I'll just wrap them up and you can take it easy." Lily walked across the room and grabbed the bandages.

"Kieran, are you okay?" Mary-Beth entered the room from another door, adjacent from the one Molly was looking in through.

Kieran looked up at the girl as she approached him. Lily just finished bandaging one of his arms, and Mary-Beth took it in one of her hands.

"Poor thing…" Mary-Beth spoke, gently.

"Aw, I'm alright, miss."

"It's Mary-Beth, silly," the girl continued. "We've been over this."

Lily finished up wrapping his other arm and his torso, and then went to clean up. Just as she was putting everything away, her foot bumped into the crate with her tent tucked away in it. She looked back at the pair seeing the chat away about a book Mary-Beth wanted to read to him, the young lady helping him get dressed. There were two cots in the infirmary, and as long as they didn't have patients with serious injuries Sam and Lily could sleep in here, just fine. She rolled her eyes and picked up the crate.

"You know," Lily spoke up, interrupting the two. "Since, uh… Sam and I are going to sleep in the house for now, it's… probably better you don't sleep outside and get pecked by chickens again."

Kieran looked up and saw the crate with the folded up tent and some spare bedrolls.

"So, uh… Just borrow this and don't say anything else," Lily said.

Kieran stared at Lily in bewilderment. His jaw dropped slightly, making him look like a dope. He graciously took the camping supplies.

"Th-thank-you, Ms. Hawkeson."

Lily shrugged. Mary-Beth seemed just as ecstatic.

"I'll help you set up, Kieran," Mary-Beth said excitedly. "I know a good spot where Sadie won't bother you."

The two walked out and exited the house from the back door. Lily grabbed a broom and swept the floor, when Molly walked into the room.

"Can I help you, Miss O'Shea?" Lily said, nonchalantly.

"Well, it's… it's about Dutch…" Molly said, clearly despondent. She was usually very poised, but her posture was not perfect today, and she was letting her arms fall where they may.

Lily stopped for a moment and let out a sigh. "Of course, it is." Then, she kept sweeping up the debris on the floor. They were in a rush to move and unpack, that Lily and Sam barely had much time to clean and sterilize the room the best they could. She might as well keep working and just let Molly say her piece, because she was just looking for someone to talk at and not to.

Molly stepped into the infirmary and shut the door behind her. "I love him, you know. And… I know he loves me… I think… I know… He has to, right? But, he's just been so cold lately, and all the girls make fun of me, and Miss Roberts, is… not helping. I love him! What am I doing wrong?"

Lily sighed, and placed her broom against the wall. "I don't think it's anything. I think…" She wiped the sweat from her brow. "You're not gonna like this."

"Please don't tell me what Miss Roberts said!" Molly pleaded.

The blonde raised a brow, her head tilting slightly. "Pardon?"

"She said that Dutch don't love me! That's bloody stupid, isn't it? I'm from Ireland, born from wealth, but he promised me freedom, adventure…" Her voice went quiet, but she meant what she said next. "Love. B-But… But what if… What if that woman is right?" Molly's hand found the nearby table and she ended up following it to one of the cots in the room and sat down. "All the stuff he said to me. It has to mean something."

Lily shrugged. "I'm… I'm not sure."

"I want to be sure!" Molly raised her voice. "If not, what the hell am I doing out here? There's no way I can just go back, but here it's the wolves!"

"They're not wolves," said Lily. "They're a part of this whole gang. But, you need to get off your high horse. That's why they can't stand you."

"And what? Pick up the work?" Molly replied, hotly. She stood up from her seat. "I am nobody's servant girl. I'm well bred, not some trollop you-"

"And that's where you need to stop!" Lily said, raising her voice. Molly stood up and stepped away a little, when Lily walked up to her chest almost puffed out and her stance widened. "Nobody cares who you are. We have an ex-soldier, a former pastor, an aspiring scholar, common street thieves and an ex-prostitute. And my cousin… is loving someone that would normally get him lynched, before he could even blink. Your status does not apply to the gang. It never has. We're outlaws, and it's not like any of Mary-Beth's novels or Jack's fairy tales. This is real life." And with that, she practically stomped over to her bag and picked up her bow. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I, a former doctor's assistant, am going to join a half Indian and half black man, to go and bring in lunch. Lock the door on your way out. I don't want the reverend coming in here."

Lily brushed past Molly, nearly knocking her back onto the cot. Normally, someone would apologize when they saw her for doing that, but Lily just proved her own point.

What she is… Or rather, what she was, didn't matter to the gang in the slightest.

Did that apply to Dutch, as well?

"It should be down this way," said Sam as they entered the Bayou Nwa region. They took a left in the fork in the road. They knew they were in the swamps once the ground started getting muddier and the smell of murky water entered their noses.

"I know," said John. "I've been here before."

"Really?"

"Yeah. It's one more right and then we're there."

It was easy to feel the need to just cut across the fields, but they were usually spots for mud and gators, as well as snapping turtles. They stayed on the paths, as they should, turned right and through a clearing of trees was the shack up ahead.

Everything seemed normal when they dismounted their horses. It was quiet, like it usually was in the swampy regions of Lemoyne. However, when Sam and John approached the front of the property, the pair noticed something was off.

"Wait, were those bullet holes always there?" John said pointing at the holes in the front wall. Sam grimaced, but stepped forward to knock on the door, only for it to open at a single tap. Sam immediately flinched, his face going white, as John pulled Sam behind him and reached for his gun.

"Oh my god!" Sam nearly shrieked.

"Shit…" John hissed.

Upon the door opening, the pair of outlaws immediately caught the smell of blood in their noses and saw the color of crimson red. There were people inside, but they were dead.

John took the lead, and Sam followed him into the shack, holding out their revolvers. Once John was inside Sam put his back to him to watch his six and vice versa. There were men, lying dead, one was sat against the wall, a bullet in his chest. Sam lowered his gun slowly, knelt down, checked for a pulse, even though he knew there wouldn't be any, but then saw his clothes and the bowler hat. He stood back up and looked at the other bodies that were wearing similar clothes.

"Lem?" John called. He pushed the door to the kitchen and living area open, but found more bodies, an empty desk and a kitchen with broken plates everywhere. "Fike? You in here?" He stepped in to check the bedroom, but found it empty, too.

"John!" Sam called, trying to keep his voice to a whisper. John stepped back out as Sam stood still, gun in his hands, pointing at one of the dead bodies before them. "These are Pinkertons."

The two outlaws quickly hurried down the stairs into the basement. It seemed that unfortunately, they had found the secret room where the Moonshine was being stilled. However, it didn't look like it had been destroyed yet. Judging from the position of the other bodies, there had been an attempt. Still, Marcel, Brandon's Moonshine distiller, wasn't here, either, and the secret bar was devoid of people. Well, not entirely. There were more dead Pinkertons… along with patrons. Some of them were wearing the red bandanas like those in Brandon's group.

"Damn…" John grumbled. "You think they tried to be heroes?"

"They're Pinkertons!" Sam growled. He scowled, disgusted by all of the carnage. "Goddamn murderers in suits!"

John gasped. His heart felt like it sank into his stomach. There was a woman on the floor. She was wearing all black, and her bandana was red.

Like a rose.

"ROSE!" John shouted. He ran to the body. As soon as Sam heard John's voice he ran up to the body, as well, hands on his bag.

John gathered the woman in his arms. He saw the Ruby lipstick she wore and the hat on her head. However, as John gently moved it, he saw her face. She was much older. And the orange hair she had fell off her head like a wig. Underneath, was brown hair. Her hands fell to the side, but as they hit the floor a knife fell from her grip and clattered onto the floor. It was tipped with blood, but the only wound on the woman's body was a gunshot to the chest.

John and Sam backed away from the body. This woman was not Rose.

"What the hell? said Sam. The young man bumped into the bar counter behind him and then he turned around, seeing something on the floor behind it. He climbed over it, piquing John's interest. Sam found a map of the area in Lemoyne, with Saint Denis and several other locations circled in dark ink. He set it on the table and showed it to John.

"Do you think that's where Brandon went?" said Sam.

John sighed. He gulped down a lump in his throat. "I hope so. We need to leave. There could be more." Sam could only nod and follow John out of the building. He no longer wanted to be there as much as John.

Where are you, Brandon? John could only think as they raced out of the place.

John was more angry than worried when they made it back outside. Actually, perhaps it was a mix of both. They were in a rush to leave, but John had that same scowl.

"Saint Denis is the closest on the map," said Sam. "And it's where Dutch and Arthur are, too. They can help us."

"Sure," John said, flatly.

"What is it?"

The two took off back into the thicket of trees. They came out on the other side where they were led past the orchard Sam had helped protect with Lily, Sadie and John and then they were on a wooden path taking them towards the city and over the open muddy fields.

"It's Dutch!" John admitted, frustratingly. "Nobody wants to say anything, but he's probably why the Pinkertons found Brandon's hideout. Before, no one could care less about that place and Brandon and Rose were fine! But Dutch had to go and draw all that attention to us. And now, look what's happening: Sean's gone, Jack's missing and now Brandon is in danger."

"You seem to know Brandon well, actually," said Sam.

"He took me in on my… hiatus from the gang," John replied. "He and Rose know how to handle themselves on their own, so they tried to help me, since I was on my own." The trail continued to twist and turn and soon they were back on the dirt path riding past a couple of farmsteads and crop fields. "He and Rose ran into a hard time before the success they have now. And now, just because of Dutch, they could lose all that."

"Brandon's smarter than he looks," said Sam. "At least, that's what I feel."

"I know," said John. "I just hope his brains and luck hold out for him."

Sam continued looking ahead and then at the map that was left behind. Then, as they approached Saint Denis at last, Sam had to admit, it looked a lot different that it did at night.

At night, the only thing that caught Sam's eyes were the tall buildings, the lights and the vehicles. It was like a whole other world, and the same still applies right now in the day. Maybe he was too dazed from that bump to the head yesterday to notice.

The smell of coal and smoke was in the air. There were tall buildings and large streets, sure, but the streets were covered in heavy traffic and debris and the skies above Saint Denis were nearly darkened from all the polluted smoke rising from the tops of the many factories.

"So… this is… Saint Denis?" said Sam. He swallowed down a gulp at something that tickled his memory. A few things that motivated his Uncle Cliff to move out to Valentine a long time ago.

"Guess so…" said John. "Let's get to the saloon." At least the two had something to look forward to in this city.

Saint Denis was a big city alright. It had roads, trolleys, and pavements, but cities all looked the same to Arthur at this point. There were even some back out west. Blackwater was no exception, but was never this polluted and crowded.

He and Dutch found themselves at Bastille Saloon. Upon entering, however, seeing all of those people almost dressed to the nines, made Arthur and Dutch stick out like sore thumbs. The gang leader dressed a bit better than most in the gang, but even so, their rough around the edges demeanor still shone through.

The saloon had many windows along the walls, small chandeliers that hung over the bar, the floor was wooden, but even so, there was something of a criss-cross pattern across it. The tables were covered in white tablecloths, and the chairs all had been polished with fancy frames. A piano sat in the back, just up a few steps on the stairway. At the bar were many bottles on display and the words, "Bastille Saloon" were written there in all capital letters on the arched mirror on the wall.

All the men in suits and ties, wearing dapper hats and all the ladies in their flowing dresses and styled up hair, stared at the newcomers from the sticks. Still, they didn't pay them much attention after a few moments and went about their business.

Dutch tried to blend in. They had checked the bars for any signs of Brandon or any information about Angelo Bronte, but nothing had come up. They hadn't even seen anyone wearing red bandanas. Dutch had gone around, making conversation with the locals. Arthur just wanted a goddamn drink after all that running and searching.

"How can I help you?" the bartender said, as Arthur approached the bar. "You look like a whiskey man."

"Sure."

The man grabbed a bottle and a shot glass. "Dollar, please."

Arthur scrunched his nose. "For a whiskey?"

"Sure. That's the real stuff, from Scotland."

The outlaw sighed. "Okay…" He reached into his bag, but pulled out two dollars instead, "here, have one for yourself."

"Why thank you." The man poured out two drinks and passed one of them to Arthur. The outlaw leaned forward on the bar, shot glass in hand.

"So, mister… can I ask you a question?" said Arthur. "You ever hear of a feller by the name of Bronte?"

"Who's asking?"

"Me. I'm asking."

"No, leave it, friend."

"What you mean, leave it?"

"Look, I don't know what business you are in but leave it, friend… you and your pal that came in here."

Arthur sighed through his nose. He finished the shot of whiskey he paid for and turned away from the counter. Just as he did, though, he saw someone making their way down the stairs. They looked familiar and as soon as he realized that they looked different, because they weren't wearing any makeup, he knew who it was. The woman wasn't wearing her usual black coat and outfit. She had a simple long-sleeved white shirt and dark pants, and her orange hair was down, still damp from taking a bath upstairs. Of course, she still had that bandana around her neck. The girl had her arms crossed, and she was pale, as if she was worried about something.

Dutch caught up with Arthur.

"Any luck?" he asked. He was puzzled when Arthur didn't respond. "What is it?" And he looked in Arthur's direction.

"Rose?" said Arthur.

Rose gasped, upon seeing the two men in the middle of the bar. Immediately, she ran towards the wooden railing of the stairs, jumped on to the poker table, shocking the players, then to the ground and ran outside.

"Hey, wait up!" said Arthur. He started after her first, with Dutch following.

Rose knocked the doors open and ran outside, only to run into Sam and John. At that moment, she pushed Sam, who she knew wouldn't be prepared for that, turned the corner and ran down the street, going east.

"Hey, wait!" John called.

"Fan out!" said Dutch. "We need to catch up with her. She's hiding something!"

The four split up into two teams, hoping to box her in somewhere. Rose took a right, between the saloon and another building, going down an alley. Even behind the buildings that were between other ones there were courtyards with gardens, tables, or benches.

Arthur and Dutch were hot on her trail, though. Soon she ran back out onto the street almost going in a complete circle around the block, until she saw a trolley passing by. Quickly, the girl ran up to the trolley, jumping on, and getting a hold of the handle. Her orange damp hair flowed in the wind as she rode away. Rose was about to step inside and take a seat.

"STOP THE TROLLEY!"

Rose looked and saw John and Sam riding on horses, trying to keep up with the trolley. There was no way the driver was going to just stop on command, especially to some shady looking outlaws on horses, but the next stop was just up ahead. As soon as it started slowing down, Rose jumped off and ran into another alley.

"Why is she running!?" Sam yelled.

"I don't know!" said John. "Rose, we just need to ask you something!"

Rose ran through a gate and up the stairs by a building. It took her to the second floor balcony and when she got up there, she leapt over the railing and onto the roof of another building. More footsteps were rapidly approaching. It was one thing to shoot and run away on horses, but did they know about running on obstacles? she wondered.

The redhead ran to the top of the roof, but she went too fast and slipped on the downward slide. She dug her worn out boots into the shingles, but it barely slowed her down. She slipped off the edge, but just as she closed her eyes to brace for impact, a hand wrapped around her wrist and stopped her.

Rose looked up and saw that Sam grabbed her hand. He was struggling to hold her up. Still, he smiled through gritted teeth.

"You're not the only one who's had to run like that before," he said. "Give me some help, please?"

Rose rolled her eyes and reached out her other hand. She used the wall to push her feet into, her boots gaining the friction to push her up while Sam pulled.

"Sam, you got her?" Dutch called from below in the alley.

The young man guided Rose back onto the roof. She saw Dutch with Arthur and John below, glared, and slowly hid behind Sam.

"Listen, if we were here to kill you, you wouldn't be talking right now," said Sam.

Rose elbowed him in the arm. "Uh, right."

"Look, we just need to know about Angelo Bronte," said Dutch.

Rose quickly stepped forward and put her index finger on her lips.

"What? Do you know where he is or not?"

The young lady shook her head.

"What about Brandon?"

A nod.

"Good. Then where is he?"

Rose pulled down a gulp.

"I don't believe you're in a position to refuse, young lady."

The redhead stared down at Arthur and Dutch. Then, she looked at John and nodded.

"I think… she's gonna take us to him," said Sam.

Dutch nodded, but his movements were slow, and his gaze remained on the young lady. "Good."

John was relieved Rose looked okay, but still, there was a lot of explaining to do and Rose obviously couldn't do it. He could only hope Brandon was able to do it in her stead.

God dammit! He just wanted his son back…