Chapter 11: It's A Sin To Tell A Lie

We moved slowly off the ancient trail along the obscured path through the brush with weapons at the ready. Although it was difficult to keep along the path through all the dried bushes, rocks, and boulders, we kept our eyes up and along all the cliff ledges off to our left. We must have moved along for about ten slow minutes until we started seeing trash, wrappers, and other scrap in the bushes until we rounded a rock formation to our left that seemed to drop off. Although it wasn't the end of the road, we were right along the cliff and looking right out over the Deer Creek Reservoir. The water glimmered in the midday sun, sitting in the bottom of the valley with high mountains and cliffs all around it. Off to our right and perhaps 5 or more miles away sat the distant collections of buildings marking the small town of Wallsburg built in that derelict resort. It was too far to make out any people, but the steep descent where the ancient trail continued on at our rear was buried in the brush along the cliffs leading down to Wallsburg. Still, we couldn't admire the view for long because our attention was turned to where the path continued.

The path leading to "Rock Shack" was nestled firmly against the edge of the cliff we stood upon, dropping down about 400 feet and then toward the shores of the reservoir. Doyle led us along the trail and I remained right behind him as we proceeded on one at a time. The path was only about three shoulder widths wide, so we filed along one at a time, keeping distant of the edge and ignoring the view before us. We must have moved along for around five minutes before Doyle disappeared behind a rock face and said;

"So much for that idea. Looks like we're welcome here but weapons up, friends."

A second or two later, I rounded the same rock and saw what he was talking about. A brief glance back showed the rest of the group was wondering what was up ahead but still holding their weapons ready.

Following Doyle, I knew what he meant when my eyes saw the clearing. The cliffside path ended about 50 yards ahead at the base of a flat clearing where a small scrap-built shack stood. Surrounding the structure in that hidden little nook was an enormous amount of trash and scrap cluttering the whole area between the drop down to the water and the tall mountain we were currently traversing. Although the little mountainside hideaway was unfortunate to look at, it was the people around it that appeared even more unfortunate to me. Doyle was right, we did appear to be welcome, as evidenced by the two men standing atop the piles of trash waving us down with one hand, while rifles were gripped in the other.

Doyle, more focused on the narrow path around the cliff face, gave a little wave towards the waving figures in an effort to relay our own friendly intentions. I did so as well, giving another brief glance behind to see the rest of the team make that last turn around the rock before seeing the same little mountainside shack and its armed occupants.

Moments later, Doyle and I stepped upon the broad opening away from the cliffside path and were better able to make out our new friends as the others finished the last stretch of the trail. We were on solid ground alright, with the rocky cliffs down to the waters of the reservoir 20 yards on our right, and a silent wind being the only sound between us and the unknowns. The men who waved at us stood in their place atop the little piles of scrap around the shack and up ahead near the door to the shack was a huddle of four men conversing amongst themselves.

As Hudson then Nathan stepped up, even Nathan didn't feel the need to remark how Doyle's initial plans to "observe from afar" were forfeited. Instead, the men congregated beside or behind us while my eyes remained fixed on the distant group of men in front of the shack. I saw the knee-length ratty grey coat and black wide brimmed flat cowboy hat of the distant man with his back to us and remarked aloud;

"It ain't tribals."

My words expectedly went without response from Doyle while the last footsteps of Ramos came to a stop behind me, and my eyes went to the nearest man of this unknown party. Atop the husk of an automobile half buried by trash and debris of every description, I met the eyes of one of those men who waved at Doyle and I. An athletic and dirty frame of a man wearing a black tank top, black cargo pants, boots, and an assortment of bandoliers and ammunition pouches across his chest looked at me through his sunglasses. Raising the black military carbine up to rest it on his hip, he wiped the sweat from the base of his short mohawk leaving a streak of pale skin in the sunlight that showed how dirt-covered he really was. He didn't look at me for long, appearing almost disinterested as he turned away to face the waters and scenic view of the reservoir. My eyes went to the other man atop the pile, and although he, as well as the others around the shack were differing in appearance and garment from the man I detailed, all of them were armed very well and all I could tell was that they were not tribals.

Without even having to say it, my men fanned out and made a line beside Doyle and myself just before the group of men around the shack dispersed. The man in the grey coat and black shoulder-wide cowboy hat turned straight around towards us and two more armed men exited the shack when Doyle said softly for everyone in our rank to hear;

"Scavers, smugglers, mercs, or raiders, guns at the ready."

We all wordlessly agreed and remained motionless while the man in the grey coat stepped towards us down a vaguely outlined path in the debris scattered all over this cliffside nook. The two men atop the rubble piles hopped down to approach beside their apparent boss and we stayed put. Making note of every potential danger, I added to Doyle's remark;

"I count 8."

Doyle and the others stayed silent as we looked at the stranger approach until he was about twenty feet distant. Once there, the stranger in the coat stopped and further study showed he was equally dirt covered and weather beaten as his compatriots standing on his flanks or lazing about around the shack. He looked at all of us through dark shades and the silence went on until his mouth covered by the short brown hairs of a patchy beard turned into a wide grin that shined pearly white teeth at us. At last, the stranger spoke,

"C'mon fellas. Come join us round the fire."

Immediately, the stranger turned back around, whistled to his men on the flanks for them to relax and Doyle looked back at me as though to say, "let's both take the lead here." I nodded at Doyle and made a gesture to the others to follow along as Doyle and I led the way up to the shack. Stepping over the scattered debris and past the first closest scrap pile, I took note of the members of the armed party all lounging about a fire off to the right of the shack door, while two others stood off to the left, talking amongst themselves and eying us with weapons lowered. It was almost as if the strange group were welcoming a few strays or even comrades in from the wastes. They were almost completely indifferent to our presence in the first place… Save for the man who approached us.

The stranger in the dirty black hat and grey coat led us closer to the shack and took his place leaning against the door to face us and once he did, we stopped. With five men relaxing near the fire on our right, and two on the left standing distantly eying us, we stopped once more when we were but 20 feet from the man in the wide hat. He grinned at us once more from behind those shades and then said;

"Can I get ya'll something to eat? Trip out here must've been long."

Some of us were hungry, myself included, but even though I felt some of the men like Hudson, Ramos, and Nathan about to take the man up on the offer, Doyle took the lead and silenced any possible words from the others when he spoke up,

"Who are you and why did you lead us up here with those totems?"

The man lifted his hat and chuckled, "'Totems' huh? I guess that's one word for them. I preferred the word, 'sign' but what did you think of them? Pretty crafty wouldn't you say?..."

I thought about the "signs" we'd been following all morning and thought of what they were supposed to mean. A burnt cross with a bull's skull fastened in the middle definitely got our attention even if the other ones didn't have signs saying they were intended for New Canaanites. The design of the totems were clearly made in such a way that this man felt the need to point that out on introduction, and the only feeling I got from the statement was that the design was an ominous one despite the apparent friendliness of the armed strangers. Doyle must've been considering these facts as well because the scout leader beside me only sternly repeated his question in response.

"Who are you, and why did you want to speak to us?"

The grin on the grey coated man grew wider before he said cooly, "You don't recognize me, Doyle? It's me, Tom Cade…" The name meant nothing to me but surprised me in how it was supposed to mean something to Doyle. The stranger "Tom Cade" gestured to one of the men by the fire "… Hey, Bent, Doyle don't recognize us, but hell I told you they'd send him!"

The one sitting atop the box called "Bent" reared his head up and patted the assault rifle between his legs saying, "Guess I owe you 10, Cade."

I wasn't alone on our side of the talk that wondered how Doyle was familiar with these two men of this gang when the coated man under the wide black hat called "Tom" or "Cade" went on, "Been quite a while so I'm not surprised you didn't recognize me. How long's it been? Year and a half? Two years? Something like that?"

I asked very quietly, "How you know these men, Doyle? They safe or what?"

Doyle had been a member of the guard his whole life since returning from mission at 18, so I knew he wasn't a former raider or mercenary or scaver in a past life. The question of how he knew them was especially curious to me as well as the others and so I was all ears knowing it was Doyle who would be taking the lead. Doyle only nodded at me after my question, and turned back to Tom Cade, apparently remembering something before responding equally stern in tone as when he started;

"About two years, yes. Still scouting for the folks at 89 City?"

The man shouted something indecipherable towards the fire and the man named "Bent" stood up to approach Cade's side while three others near the fire stood themselves up as well. Tom Cade said to Doyle,

"Nah, I was only on that gig for the money. Had no use for me after I helped you and your other boys through that shit near Nephi, so Bent, Gunner, and I found ourselves out Hanksville way, getting paid to run fights against Maesers, White Rock, Nkyenea, you name it…"

The man paused expectingly, and Doyle said after a brief moment of apparent recollection regarding his past with this man. "Sounds like you've been busy fighting the Lord's battles, even if your motives remain less than desirable."

Bent had taken his place beside Tom Cade against the shack and Tom nudged his friend with a laugh at Doyle's words, "Haha, Lord's work! That's great."

Bent shared in the laugh with Tom, "I always liked this guy."

All of us, including Doyle remained silent until the laughing between the familiar strangers ended and Tom said to Doyle, "You'll be sad to hear that Gunner ain't amongst the living no more though. Took a bullet about a year back when Maesers captured Bent and I…"

Another brief moment of silence filled the soft winds of the afternoon and I noticed all the men around the fire were standing. Their weapons were lowered and some appeared to be chatting softly amongst themselves while others were sifting through some of the piles of trash while glancing towards us occasionally. The two men on the left still hadn't moved, and although their weapons still hadn't moved, it became clear that they were talking about us now. All Doyle said in response to news about the death of a man he was once familiar with was;

"I'm sorry to hear about Gunner. I'll pray for him."

Bent chuckled lightly and Tom Cade lowered his hat back down, saying, "Don't bother. Idiot's in Hell right now…" He paused, then gave another wide grin, "… But thanks for the sentiment, truly."

All was quiet once again and I felt the rush of another cold breeze on my cheek when, after what was probably a full minute, Doyle asked his acquaintances;

"So why did you leave markings on your 'signs' for New Canaanites to come find you?"

Tom pushed himself off the wall of the shack and took a step or two forward till he was but 15 paces from us. Bent followed as well, stopping only a few feet behind and to the right of his friend. When Tom was in place, I noticed that all the other armed men were watching us now, and a dark feeling came over me. No longer were these men indifferent, or only slightly curious about our arrival. It appeared as though this whole time we were building to something else behind all the pleasantries. Although the others, including Tom Cade and Bent, still gave no signs of hostile intentions, a strange tensity came over the entirety of this little mountainside nook when the pleasantries were over. There was still no hint at what would cause this reunion of one time acquaintances to turn into anything else, but the feeling was undeniably felt in the soft wind.

The breeze picked up ever so slightly, causing the tail of Cade's coat to flutter just barely, and then the man spoke;

"Now you know me, Doyle. You said it yourself how my motives ain't always the best, but I do what I can, right?..."

Doyle remained silent and the man went on after a moment, "… I think you and I and even Bent there can honestly testify to that week we spent near Nephi and how it was one we'll always remember…"

Again Doyle stayed quiet, "… In fact, I think me, Bent, and even the late Gunner would say that we owe you our own lives for how you saved us when we were sent running back to that basement in the suburbs… You know the one..."

He paused, and I could see the contemplation on the stone face of Doyle at memories of one scout he went on around two years ago down near Nephi. I vaguely recalled some of what he said about the incident in stories around that time and certain moments during our group's bible studies in the past two years. In the end, what I could recall of Doyle's experience with these men wasn't much, but the man went on sparking more memories of that expedition in Doyle's mind;

"… But I think you can agree that if it wasn't for what we did for you and your buddy at that gap in the cliff by Salt Creek Peak, you and… What was his name? Oslow?... Yeah, you and Oslow would've spent that evening roasting over a pit in Levanoan camp. That sound right?"

Doyle nodded his head ever so slightly and a quiet moment of recollection passed before he said, "I wasn't keeping score on that trip, but if you're looking to 'call us even' I think I can only agree, but what's your point?"

Bent looked to all the other men before reverting back to us when Tom Cade answered Doyle, "Not at all, Doyle! I aint looking to 'call us even' I'm looking to prove that we're buddies. Buddies who got each others' backs out here in the wastes."

Doyle replied instantly, somewhat lacking in the patience he had inside this whole conversation, "So what does my buddy want to speak to New Canaan about down here at this 'Rock Shack' place? Why the totems?"

Almost imperceptibly, I looked to Tom and Bent's men, seeing that they'd come closer towards us without my even noticing. Then my eyes returned to Cade as he said;

"I don't have nothing against New Canaan, you know that! I'm just looking to chat with some fellas from there. All the better that they sent you, but I'm just looking to catch up, see what's been happening there. You know?"

The wind slowed to a soft breeze and the sun beat down on us harder as it had just begun its slow descent into the west from where it stood high above. Doyle asked even more sternly than before, seeming to know that these strangers intents were far more than they were telling. One could argue that speaking subtly or speaking in a manner to bury or conceal intent was a form of lying, and everyone on our side of the encounter was beginning to realize this when Doyle spoke directly;

"What do you want to know from us?"

"I don't know exactly? We're still just chatting here..." said Tom, obviously lying and still upholding his facade of ignorance to his own motives. "Anything fun been happening? Any nice community get-togethers you want to talk about? I believe you had nothing but great things to say about those last time we talked…"

He paused for Doyle to answer, and after a moment of seeing right through this, Doyle said, "Nothing of the sort comes to mind. At least none that would interest you and your friends."

"I don't know about that. You don't even know what me or my friends find interesting…" said Tom before adding plainly, "Caravans still coming in? Business in the markets still good?"

I glanced to the left, then to the right, seeing my men intently staring at one of Tom Cade's men across from them. The wind fell even more and the slow cool breeze seemed to do little to prevent the sweat trickling down everyone's steady faces in the afternoon sun. Doyle answered the question slowly and deliberately, "Yes, market is livelier than ever… You should come visit sometime," the warning behind the invitation almost imperceptible.

"Livelier than ever you say?..." said Tom, the man called Bent looked to the idle faces of his men and chuckled at his boss's words before Tom added, "… I'll bet, lots of refugees coming in these days huh?"

Even though everything spoken was clearly peaceful, the man speaking to Doyle could not hide what everything said was alluding to, and I believe even he knew he was rapidly getting to it. But before his blatant demand could be said, I felt everyone on this mountainside nook's fingers move a little closer to their weapons' triggers just as I felt my own when Doyle answered, "None more than usual."

Tom Cade chuckled, and said something that put a momentary pause on all the unspoken tension, even if it was because it made another big stride towards the truth of what he wanted, "… Well just you wait. Quite a few tribes fell in the east these past weeks, or so I've heard… Seen a few fall myself but we can talk about that later."

Abandoning his stern and direct tone for the first time since the start, Doyle took in the words and asked in an instant, "What? Who's fallen?"

The minds of both Doyle and myself went back to the scouting reports from Duncan and others in recent days, all of which seemed to bring new meaning to the weight of their information when considering what happened less than a week prior to the current day. Cade returned;

"Quite a few actually. Legion's consuming some of the border tribes, and it's said that even Hanksville is right on Caesar's border now. I'm surprised folks at Hanksville hadn't reached out to yall for backup."

Lost in thought, Doyle answered absently, "Hadn't heard anything about that. I'll keep my ears open", as I felt my finger scarcely curled around the trigger of my submachinegun and thought of Legion expansion.

Despite hearing rumors and stories in the weeks leading up to our newest arrival, even the mere thought of Legion expansion now took on a heightened meaning and new questions: Why were they expanding? How far would they go? How long would that take? And… Why were these men telling us about it?

Cade went on passively as the faint smile grew on his face beneath the wide black hat, "… Don't dismiss it as rumor either. Soon enough, refugees from the east will be flocking to New Canaan in droves if they hadn't been already. Might not be too long before you won't be able to distinguish Every new person who shows up needing your help… Except maybe one…"

A dead silence ensued.

"Excuse me?" Doyle asked.

The smile grew even more sinister in nature on the face of Doyle's one time acquaintance, "… Oh I was just saying there was one person who might show up needing help that should stand out from most of the others. That is of course, if he hadn't already."

My heart stopped, and there it was. The reason these men called us out here was staring at me clear as day between the bandages around his face. I was glad it wasn't me that Cade was addressing even though I would have replied exactly as Doyle did. After a moment of only feigned ignorance or refusal to acknowledge the concealed subject of Cade's inquiry, Doyle asked;

"Who you talking about?"

The smile of Cade was about to break his face in half, and the man was joined in a laugh by everyone on his side before he asked in that falsely friendly way;

"Oh come on friend! Haha! I think you know. In fact, I think a lot of you met him already…"

I felt a lump in my dry throat and glanced to Doyle who remained steady and silent as Cade continued, "… Never met him myself but I hear he's got a whole bunch of burns, probably crippled too since I heard he fell from a very very tall cliff a few months back..."

Silence once again consumed the entire atmosphere and the abundant traces of friendliness slowly disappeared from Cade and his men's faces as the seconds passed. Finally, the man was grinning, but in a way that no longer said he was playing any more games as he said to Doyle;

"You know exactly who I'm talking about, don't you? I can see it in all your faces…"

I know I was not the only person on our side to not even attempt to change the expression on his face, even at the mention. Instead, I and we continued to meet the faces of all the men across from us in silent defiance despite the accusation. Cade at last stated the true motive for this meeting between one-time acquaintances;

"Word is that Legion is paying a whole lot even for simple information on the man."

Still without any vocal admission of anything, Doyle asked Cade, "So you're leading a gang of bounty hunters now? Is that it?"

Unfazed, the man immediately said to Doyle, "I wouldn't put it that way, technically we're working for the Maesers…" I recalled him saying he and his friend was captured by the Maesers earlier in the talk, and he went right along, "… From what I heard, me and Bent stole a page right out of Caesar and Mr. Graham's playbook. Negotiated our release from the Maesers after they captured us by offering our services. The pay is pretty good too, but that's expected from a new Legion auxiliary.. Auxilia?… However Legion boys say it, they take care of us well enough, let us pick our own hours, that sorta thing…"

Cade and Bent's men chuckled, but after that was nothing but another pure silence.

With nothing from us, we all remained statues, and Cade looked to all our faces before looking at the fingers on our triggers. He suddenly wiped the sinister smirk from his "gotcha" face, and a brief glance toward the casually hung weapons and unfocused attentions of his comrades made him speak again in a more "understanding" tone;

"Now look, it's no 'real' secret outside of Legion camps that Graham survived his trip down into the big canyon, and after following up on several sources across the south, it's no surprise that the last time he was seen was walking straight towards New Canaan. We know you all hated that prick for what he did to your community's reputation, I get that…"

Perhaps I wasn't the only one to be pleasantly bewildered by that last part, and perhaps it showed for a moment before he concluded his diplomatic outreach to us, "… So we really just want to know which direction you sent him packing…"

I think we all gave an internal sigh of relief when he said he only wanted to know which way we sent him, as opposed to asking us to hand him over. Either way, we couldn't tell him that, and No New Canaanite was good at lying. The end result was inevitable when Doyle said what he had to.

"I can't tell you anything."

Not even a second after Doyle spoke, Cade lightly kicked a rock by his foot, was more focused on the dirt, and put a hand in his pocket as he asked nonchalantly, "North? West? East? Probably not south. Can't tell me anything about that guy? Not even for a friend?"

Cade's crew was still facing us, and although they were still silent and closer to us than they had been at the start, they appeared to be losing interest the longer this went on. I could see that some were even fighting the urge to chat with the man next to them while their boss and his friend Bent were the only ones dead focused on Doyle and us. Another brief glance to my left and right showed the guardsmen still acting like the statues they were, focused on the man across from them and ready for anything. My mind was at ease despite my continuing nerves, but the silence once again spoke for us when Cade realized the truth in our lack of response. After enough silence and the revelation of what it meant, the man immediately reared his head, turning his attention back to Doyle as he said in near elation;

"Oh my God, you all welcomed him back didn't you? He's in New Canaan right now isn't he!?" My heart skipped a beat once again, and even this outburst did little to arouse the attention of his men as his smile grew to its breaking point once more and he said, "I knew it! Just admit it, Doyle! Haha! You know it's a sin to tell a lie…"

He looked to Bent, who wore the same face as himself, then returned to Doyle who remained a silent and defiant statue. Cade didn't want to take the silence for the answer it was this time, and said, "… Come on Doyle, just admit it, so we can work something out."

Doyle did not say anything, and Cade would have gone on to begin laying out his demands when Bent said, "Ask the other one, Cade." Gesturing to me.

I swallowed, and Cade took two steps forward saying "Good idea, Bent. Maybe Doyle's friend will help us out…" His feet were planted but 12 feet from me as he said, "Hello there, Doyle's friend…"

I saw the gesture for my name, and looked at the long revolver on his hip beneath the battered grey coat as I said, "Paul."

Cade feigned enthusiasm, "Pleasure to meet you, Paul. You already know my name, so I'll get right to it…" Doyle's eyes never left Cade, but I heard him mentally communicate, "Don't speak a word."

Cade got right to it in this show of pleasantry, "… So you and your friends here welcomed Mr. Graham back home like the prodigal son he was, right?... Remember, it's a sin to tell a lie."

I had long since decided to take Doyle's approach and just remain quiet despite the insincerity of a man like Cade attempting to taunt me with a truth he knew nothing about. Although I believe the Lord would have forgiven me if I decided to lie right there to divert Cade's hunt, I knew the silence and mood of this whole encounter was a testament to the truth on its own, and I knew this encounter was only destined to end one way. So, I decided not to pile the sin of lying onto what was already about to happen.

I barely even heard it when Cade started elaborating on the awful deeds of Joshua Graham and telling how it was just and righteous to hand him over for his punishment. That punishment was for God to decide, not these men, the Maesers, the Legion, or Edward Sallow. Cade at last decided to accept the answer the silence on our side had provided and said,

"Dammit, that's fine. Keep your mouth sealed, but I knew it though. That spirit of forgiveness you had for the man might just bring a tear to my eye! I might not be able to get yall to admit it, but we were really just trying to get a lead by calling yall out here. This changes everything though…"

I had fully returned to the moment, and I think Doyle did as well when he mentioned how "this changes everything." I was all ears, and noticed his men were still only half present when the overenthusiastic Cade said;

"… Tell you what, since I like you guys so much, I'll let you buy my silence. Pay me the Legion's rate for Graham's death and I'll head back east and let the boys know I turned up with nothing. That sounds fair, right?"

The offer was indeed fair… Fair enough as far as extortions or blackmails go. Either way, the silence ensuing after the offer was more out of consideration than an attempt to hide any other information. I knew Doyle, like myself, was thinking about the logistics of paying off the man. After what must have been about a minute or two, Doyle finally confessed in a sense by asking how much the man wanted.

I only half-heard the answer. Although I forget the exact amount, and which currency, it was far more than any amount of silver coins, caps, bullets, food, medical items, etc, that we had on us. I began considering the logistics of how to pay this man further, and I believe Doyle was as well immediately after hearing the answer. Even though it was more than we had on us, I thought of Lt. Herbein who was on his way here and wouldn't arrive until sometime this evening. Still, after some brief math, I had to conclude that it was too much for the pockets of all of us, as well as the pockets of Herbein's men.

Cade "gave us a moment" and we remained silent. For a moment, I was about to ask Doyle to radio New Canaan to have them send another group out with the amount required to buy this group's silence. Perhaps Doyle thought of doing that as well, and although we both knew that New Canaan and the Elders would be more than willing to buy the silence of Cade, Doyle glanced back at me, and his look told me something that the leadership of New Canaan could never quite understand: They did not know what men like this, men of filth in the world outside the walls were like.

That look from Doyle reminded me of this as well and I thought back to the White Leg attack that injured me almost two months prior. The Elder's treasury won't stop people like this or the White Legs, the 80s, the Maesers, or the Legion. Some people don't want mercy, forgiveness, or understanding, or even to be bought, some just want everything they can get. Some men will do anything, especially for power, and the smug look on Cade and Bent's faces throughout the whole talk said they absolutely loved lording their power over us in this moment. The money asked for was only a means for more power, and I knew this for a fact when I saw the face of Doyle and remembered who Cade was asking for. I thought of the tortured brother who came to us for his second chance in life, and remembered what he did in his previous life and the reason for the guard's existence: Those who cannot fathom or understand mercy, or forgiveness, sometimes need to be brought to a place where they can. It's only when their actions are turned against them in righteous fashion that they will see the consequence of the path they're on… Who are we to let men like this continue to get away with the sin of their actions? God will ultimately judge them in the end, but if there's a chance they can be shown the light, it is our responsibility to put them in a place where they can understand what that light means.

Doyle turned from me and asked Cade, "How do we know you will keep your word if we get you the money? What's to stop you from telling your masters and collecting their reward too?"

Cade looked up from that rock he was idly kicking with a jolt. That action told us that we had the "gotcha" card now, and after a second more, Cade smiled again and gently told us;

"You'll just have to take my word, Doyle."

Reflecting on the whole talk we had with him, Cade's word didn't really mean a whole lot. His false friendliness before extorting us was reason enough on its own to mistrust him, but that wasn't even mentioning his deed of befriending and working with the ones he was paid by Hanksville to fight against, and seeing Doyle adjust the grip on his weapon told me there was even more reasons to distrust him. At the same time, I remembered what it was we were following the whole morning. The totems were a burnt cross with a brahmin bull head chained in the middle. It all suddenly made sense. Perhaps Cade didn't know for sure that Joshua Graham was in New Canaan, but the blackened crosses seemed to intentionally take the shape of Graham's burnt skin in my mind and it became clear that whether or not the bull skull was reference to Graham's old affiliation, or the current affiliation of Cade and his band, there was still only one way that this whole thing was going to end. At this point, the men across from us simply knew too much, and what they would do with that information was not anything good. Doyle said in response to his acquaintance's offer the simple words;

"I don't trust you, Cade…"

And after another moment of silence, Cade shifted his eyes from Doyle, to me, then to Nathan, to Ramos, to Hudson, to Lockwood, then to Duncan, and back to Doyle before tilting his hat up and asking;

"Well where does that leave us then, Doyle?"

*BANG*