Ever since the incident in Valentine, the gang kept a low profile. But over the course of a week, their new camp was more alive than ever. With everyone unable to leave, it became a bit crowded. Those who were more optimistic took the situation in stride, and were able to keep a more of a steady pace, whereas others simply moped around hoping for something to do. Bill drowned his worries in alcohol while Kieran, still trying to prove himself, would do anything that was asked of him.

The young man worked fast and precise, making sure the horses were clean, fed and comfortable.

"Hey, O'Driscoll!" Bill yelled. "Come here and sit down."

"I-I ain't no O'Driscoll, I swear!" Kieran stuttered and stammered.

"Alright, take it easy - no need to be a girl about it–" Bill tossed his head back with a laugh.

Bill was Kieran's biggest tormentor, so it was only right that Kieran was a little nervous around him.

"You wanna have a drink?"

"N-No, thank you–"

Bill shrugged. He was trying to be nice for once, but he guessed that ship sailed; Kieran was far too traumatized to even consider it.

"Have a goddamn drink!" Bill shouted.

Kieran had no choice but to accept a drink now. He turned back around and cautiously approached the table, where Bill was nursing a bottle of whiskey. He stopped mid-sip and passed the bottle. He took a hesitant sip, grimaced, then passed it back. He thanked the man, then scurried off back to what he was doing.

He didn't like Bill, nor did he trust him. For all he knew, the whiskey had poison in it, and he was just pretending to drink it. He may have been paranoid, but it was better to be paranoid than naive. The first few days, as crowded as it was, were quiet. It was a rarity and something they lacked, but something they desperately needed. As Ethan tended to Gray near the corral, he overheard Sean and Jack near the wood line. In many ways, Sean was every bit the child that Jack was.

"It's a white rabbit!"

"Oh–" Jack frowned as he poked the dead rabbit.

"They are magical, you know?" Sean said.

"Really?"

"Sure! It's a sign–" Sean insisted. "It's definitely a sign."

"A sign of what?" Jack asked.

"Yeah, a sign of what?" Ethan asked.

Sean shrugged. "Tsk, no idea yet."

"Maybe a sign for you to get to work."

"Ah, Jackie boy, this is the age of reason. No room for dreams."

Of course not everything was sunshine and roses, and this was especially apparent when John and Abigail fought…as they were now. It wasn't the first time and it wouldn't be the last. But this fight was different - it was about Jack…or about Jack's parentage.

"You take that little brain of yours, and whatever you think is right, do the exact opposite and maybe it'll make you a real man!" Abigail yelled.

"Just like your momma did?" He rasped. "Raise a real man, like you?"

The slap John received from his wife was damn near fatal; a hush fell over the entire camp, everyone avoiding everyone else, just making themselves look busy for a time. Ethan decided to take Jack away from camp for a while, figuring it was best if he didn't hear or see the fighting.

He's seen enough of it for a lifetime and he was only four. As the days and nights wore on, it was evident that peace was becoming an issue. Dutch believed the Pinkertons wouldn't find them, and he made a good case, but everyone else wasn't as convinced. After working all day and well into the evening, the gang gathered near the campfire to eat and listen to Javier strum on his guitar. It was a certain kind of peace they needed after months on the run.

At sun down, Arthur and Ethan had returned from fishing, and gave Pearson two large bundles of fish. At least they made him happy.

"How'd it go?" Karen asked.

"All's good - nothing new." Arthur replied.

Karen smiled. "Well that's nice for a change."

"Yeah." She began to fidget.

"What?"

"Nothin', I was thinking that Jenny would've liked it here."

"She loved to swim."

"Sure would've been nice to share something here together–"

"Yeah."

Mary-Beth stood up. "I have to go."

"Not again–" Karen whispered.

Ethan quickly stood to his feet, ready to go after her, but Arthur grabbed his arm.

"But–"

"Let her talk to Karen, then go after her."

"You think that's a good idea? I mean–"

He squeezed Ethan's shoulder. "Just let her talk to Karen. Quit trying to be a hero, let her grieve."

Mary-Beth was standing by the horses, hugging herself, as silent tears rolled down her cheeks.

"Hey–" Karen placed a hand on her back.

"I'm scared."

"Of?"

"Pinkertons - bounty Hunters!" Mary-Beth cried. "We're gonna die just like Jenny and Mac and Davey–"

"Don't be ridiculous," Karen tried. "This is Dutch Van Der Linde and Hosea Matthews we're talking about. The whole world could be after 'em and they'd still find a way out."

Mary-Beth sniffled. "Really? Are you sure?"

Karen wrapped her arms around Mary-Beth, trying to calm her, when she saw Ethan appear through the trees. He looked concerned as he approached them.

"Is she okay?" He asked.

"It's hard to say–" Karen pulled away from the hug.

Mary-Beth turned around, wiping her eyes. She quickly sought out Ethan's arms, and he embraced her without hesitation. But it did beg the question; were they really safe? He didn't think so, but his father believed in Dutch, so maybe they were? As the days and nights continued without an issue, tension steadily rose between everyone in camp. They didn't show it, but Ethan suspected that everyone was waiting for the hammer to drop.

One had to be strong, even though it was hard to maintain the facade, especially when their leader and his lady love were constantly at each other's throats. It was hard to keep a low profile then, and even harder to appear strong as a whole. Dealing with Molly O'Shea was no easy feat; the Irish beauty was superficial, arrogant, needy and hotheaded. And she craved a certain kind of love and affection from Dutch and the man just didn't have it in him. They were quite literally fire and ice.

By mid-morning the next day, Dutch's temper was affecting not only himself but the entire camp. Not even the sight of Hosea with fish could brighten his mood. However, it did brighten Pearson's mood.

"Mr. Pearson! I have something for you!" Hosea dropped the bundle on the table.

Pearson guffawed. "You should've been a sailor, Mr. Matthews!"

"No," He chuckled. "I like fish but not swimming with them."

Pearson pointed a finger. "That reminds me - this one time, a gigantic whale stalked us for days and–"

"You know…the same thing happened to me just south of Milwaukee, only I didn't like to talk about it," He rested against the table. "I have nasty memories, though."

Pearson huffed. "You're not as kind as you come off!"

Hosea walked away with a laugh. Even with Dutch and Molly at each other's throats and tensions rising, it was hard to have fun, but Hosea found it was the perfect time to have fun. Especially when his target was Pearson, who had a fondness of over exaggerating the truth.

"Look at him!" Micah yelled at a loopy Reverend. "You're a disgrace! The rest of us are risking our necks so this degenerate can dissipate himself."

"Leave him alone!" Miss Grimshaw snapped. "Leave the morality to Dutch, Mr. Bell."

"I love Dutch," Micah barked a laugh. "But he's too soft on the weak."

"And what would you do, Mr. Bell?" She demanded.

"All folk can earn, Miss Grimshaw, ain't none of us need charity. Even this fool."

Micha tossed his cigarette to the ground, then stomped off in the opposite direction. Miss Grimshaw walked over to Swanson and kicked his boot. He was barely aware of his surroundings or himself for that matter. Swanson needed help, but unfortunately, he didn't think anything was wrong.

"Okay Reverend," Hosea began. "I've heard you keep getting in trouble."

Swanson sat up from his mat. "I've never liked catholics, Mr. Matthews. But maybe they are right...I do need to confess."

"Well that's a business I know nothing about," He looked up at the sky. "That's between you and God."

"Sometimes I feel that if he cared, he would've killed me years ago."

Hosea lowered his head, snickering. "I can relate to that, Reverend."

Hosea patted his shoulder, stood up and walked away. The path of an almost sober Swanson was nearing, and soon he would be level headed enough to eat some stew and throw back a cup of coffee.

"Me and Mary-Beth have been worried about you." Tilly said.

Swanson shook his head. "You girls have beautiful hearts."

"I don't know about that," Tilly denied with a grin. "But we care about you, you seem very sad."

"My life took a turn when I took up morphine and opium. I was told it would alleviate my suffering, and in many ways they were correct. It made all my previous suffering null and void."

Tilly watched Reverend, who'd already hit rock bottom, confess his sins. It was endearing that he trusted her enough to hear them, but it was also harrowing to hear.

"I have real suffering now - I lost everything in my life; my faith, my family–" He held back his tears. "But if not for Dutch and you poor people, I would have lost my life long ago."

Tilly frowned. "I'm...I'm sorry about that."

"So am I," Swanson sniffled. "And yet I know in a few days, I'll be back at it. Oh...I've been such a fool–"

"We are all fools, Reverend," Arthur interjected.

Little could be expected in the land of fools and degenerates, but to hope for their redemption. The camp was hitting rock bottom back then and it seemed as if it was a never ending spiral downward. Many tolerated it, many accepted it, some ignored it, and others simply rejected it entirely.

One of the few who ignored it was Ethan, who instead of slipping into his own personal insanity like many of the others did, he focused on staying active.

"Hey Ethan–" Mary-Beth called out. "You doing okay?"

He looked up. "Yeah, I think so."

She smiled. "Would you like to sit with me?"

Ethan nodded and they both took a seat underneath a tree.

"So…how've you been?" She asked.

"Fine I guess," Ethan replied, wringing his hands together. "How about you–"

She paused, looking down. "I'm sorry you saw all that the other day…I just get scared sometimes."

"Nothing wrong with that - I still get scared sometimes myself," He scratched the side of his face."I'm sure everyone else is too, they just don't say it."

She smiled. "Thank you. I mean it."

He waved his hand. "I won't lie, I still look over my shoulder even here in camp. Hell, sometimes I wake up thinking a thunderstorm is gunfire. It ain't easy livin' the life we live; it always comes with fears."

She reached out and took his hand. "I'm glad you have your doubts too."

Ethan glanced down at their hands then looked out at camp; everyone was busying themselves with something, but mainly chores. Pearson cooked his fish and rabbit, Miss Grimshaw did her fair share as she ordered people around. Uncle lounged lazily underneath a tree, while Micah stabbed the table repeatedly. And on the other side of the wagons, he could still see Abigail and Jack just waking up, and far away from them, John sitting at a table pensively.

"I think we'll be okay; we'll get out–" He nodded. "It won't be easy though."

Mary-Beth nodded and rested her head on his shoulder. "I can't imagine always running away is the right answer, but…what do I know?"

"Some might say it isn't the right answer, but, this is the life we chose."

Mary-Beth breathed a laugh. "I was planning to clear your head, but I feel like you're clearing mine."

He smirked. "You're welcome then."

"You're a fool," She teased. "But I like that about you–"

Ethan leaned in and stole a kiss; he figured it was the best time, seeing as they were among peace and quiet. It was a welcoming feeling, to kiss Mary-Beth without being interrupted, but he knew it wouldn't last. And it didn't, because Miss Grimshaw was looking for Mary-Beth.

After they parted ways, Ethan waited a few minutes, then ducked out near the water. The last thing he needed was for people to start talking. He saw his father up ahead, sitting on the rickety old dock, sipping a cup of coffee as he wrote in his journal. He always wondered what was in his.

"Morning."

Arthur looked up. "Mornin'."

"I thought you were out?"

"Got in early this mornin', everyone was still asleep," He handed Ethan an extra cup of coffee. "Here, stole this second one."

Ethan chuckled. "Thanks, I guess?"

"I went out prowling the area and I ran into some crazy fuckers not too far from here."

"What do you mean?"

He huffed. "Lemoyne Raiders - I think that's what they're called? Dangerous people, so be careful if you're out and about by yourself."

"Do you think they'll be a problem?"

"Nothin' we ain't faced before," Arthur shrugged. "How's things here?"

Ethan sipped his coffee and hissed. "Damn that's hot–" He shrugged. "Well…the more time I spend here, the more I realize why I always liked being outside…granted, I don't like the bugs and the heat all that much, but the view is nice."

"Heh, I can relate."

"It's been a long time since I've done any chores….pretty sure Grimshaw'll have my ass when she finds out."

"You'd better get goin' then, she's worse than a goddamn drill sergeant."

Ethan laughed and turned with his piping hot cup of coffee in his hand. He stepped off the dock, then stopped abruptly.

"What's wrong?" Arthur asked.

"Nothing, it's just that...did you know Dutch's father fought in the Civil War?"

Arthur nodded. "He must've told it a million times."

"He says the people of this land are rotten."

"I reckon they won't let go of what happened here."

"Do you think it's a good idea for us to stay here then?" Ethan asked, concerned. "I mean, is it worth it?"

"It's only a temporary solution to a very real problem," Arthur revealed. "But once we have enough money we'll be on the move again."

"Yeah, but what about later?" Ethan questioned, finger tapping the tin cup. "How long before the Pinkertons find us again? How long before more of us are killed?"

"You're bein' a little dramatic here, son–" Arthur tried. "But…if it makes you feel any better, I'm a little worried myself."

Ethan nodded and looked away, the feeling of complete and utter emptiness entering his soul.

"Listen," Arthur began." I know this arrangement is a tough one. I don't like it anymore than you do; we're too close to the East, in a land of people who are worse than us, and don't even get me started on the heat. But I trust Dutch and Hosea will find us a way out, because they have every other time–"

"Do you think Dutch is doing the right thing?"

Arthur fell silent, eyeing his son, who had a mouth just as bad as he did. A part of Arthur was proud of him for voicing his opinions, until he used his voice to ask very real and important questions. Then he found himself dumbfounded by the lack of balls he had to answer him.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said–"

"I trust Dutch," Arthur repeated. "Even after everything we've been through. He's made some mistakes, but we all have. He's trying his best and I think we should be grateful he's kept us all alive."

Ethan nodded and left the dock, unsure of what he could really say, when his father said all there was on the matter. Arthur said he trusted Dutch to reassure Ethan, but in reality, he was trying to reassure himself. Everyday he was losing hope and faith in Dutch and it scared him.

The camp was still running accordingly, per Miss Grimshaw, and everyone truly believed in the plan that Dutch proclaimed daily…even though Arthur wasn't sure it existed. And to put it plainly, he wasn't even sure those that planned it believed it existed either.