Disclaimer: I own none of the characters presented in this story. Red Dead Redemption and all associated with said property belong to Rockstar Games.

Disclaimer: Strong depictions of violence, murder, and other such heinous and repugnant acts, very harsh language used throughout, and some taboo and offensive material occasionally presented.

Part Sixty-Three: Dutch

9:49 PM, November 14th, 1899

It was late when Dutch, Tilly, and Kieran returned to the reservation. The gibbous moon was shining starkly against the smooth jet-black sky. There wasn't a star in sight.

They saw the buff lantern light and orange campfire from a quarter mile away and heard the noise from twice that.

People were screaming bloody murder.

"God in heaven…" Kieran muttered as they put their foot to their horses, cantering quicker and quicker.

Dutch had thought of the horse stations as a kind of 'No Man's Land' between the two groups, and now, it had been breached.

The natives surrounded the gang with spears, bows, and guns, herding them into a tight semicircle. Bill, Javier, and Sadie stood at the forefront, hollering and firing warning shots in the air, as though that would diffuse the situation.

Idiots, Dutch thought, entering camp. I'm gone for one day and they start this? They're helpless without me, fuck whatever Abigail's fuckin' bitches. He hadn't slept since The Count was shot dead in front of him and he was exhausted. Who cares? I gotta fuckin' do everything 'round here. Indians are pissed, John's unconscious, Tilly's whining about Uncle, and I still don't know who the hell Molly's fuckin'. Another day in fuckin' paradise.

Dutch dismounted by the infirmary, paying his crippled boy a fast glance before cutting between the two screaming flocks of fools, finding Rains Fall there too.

"What the hell happened?" he asked the chief.

"One of your own beat the hell outta one of mine." Yellow light outlined the old man's face, making every crease and bend in his skin pop out. If he was weary, this man was dead.

Dutch didn't have the energy for sympathy. "Well get your fuckin' people under control! Before someone gets hurt!"

Rains Fall didn't meet his gaze, and when Dutch followed the tilt of his head, he saw why. Or more accurately, he saw the 'someone' who would be getting hurt.

Mary-Beth was gagged and bound, three men holding her roughly, a knife at her throat. The tears cascading down her face glimmered blood-orange.

Without a thought, Dutch clasped Rains Fall's set of long oily braids and pulled him into a headlock, bringing his silver-plated gun to the man's skull.

"Let her go, you fuckin' savages!" he roared, his cold raw voice slicing through the other chatter. "Or I'll fuckin' gut this decrepit bag of bones like a fish!"

"Dutch!" Abigail pestered, storming past Javier to him, that condescending glare in her eyes. "That ain't the way to help thi—"

For a moment, the butt of his gun found her face. Then she was on the hard, arid ground, clutching a bleeding nose.

"I'll fuckin' do it!" he vowed.

"Please," the chief begged cowardly, "I can talk to them, if you do this, they won't—"

"Do it, Dutch!" Bill screamed. "Kill the fuckin' red man!"

"Shut the fuck up, Bill," Sadie cried. "You fuckin' started this mess!"

"I did not!"

Dutch's trigger finger itched copiously. "I'll fuckin' do it!"

A Wapiti woman marched to the crowd holding Mary-Beth hostage, being strongarmed away. "What are you doing, Aleshanee? Let her go!"

"No," said the one twisting the knife at her neck. "I won't. Not till we get what's ours."

"They're gonna kill him," said another native, Yellow Rabbit, Dutch thought.

Aleshanee only snickered. "So? What's that coot done for us? I'll tell you: he invited them to that meeting with Favours, he allowed them to stay with us, he stood back and watched as they brought the goddamn army to our doorstep!"

"We also brought you the vaccines," Dutch growled, trying to stay loose. Don't be Esau, be Jacob. "We got your stupid horses back. We cleared the army from your doorsteps—if you poverty-stricken assholes had any. Or did you forget?" He was impressed by how calm he was despite the circumstances. "Let's just… let's just forget about this, eh?" He removed the gun from Rains Fall's skull as a gesture of faith. "I'll release him, you release her. It'll never happen again, I'll kick the dumb hick who started this to the curb if that's what it takes. She's just a kid, dammit, you don't want her. C'mon, we'll do it together. On three. One, two—"

"No," Aleshanee repeated. Other natives began engirdling him now, trying to dissuade him, stop him. When the knife left a crimson line on Mary-Beth's neck and she screamed, the mob backed away. Because they know if she dies, they all do. They ain't doin' it for Mary-Beth. And I thought we were alike…

"Stop!" Kieran bemoaned, a revolver in wildly shaking hands. "God Jesus, she ain't involved in any of this!"

"Neither was Eagle Flies," Tail of the Fox, one of Aleshanee's boys, hissed.

"The fuck he wasn't!" Dutch said. "We were minding our business, and he ran into us at Cornwall's oil factory. And y'know what we did? We saved him. Then we saved all of you! What happened to him wasn't our fault!"

That argument was a mistake because more natives began adding their voices to Aleshanee's side. "You killed Favours! You gave them the excuse to do what you know they was waitin' for!"

"Woulda happened anyway, what do you want from me?" Dutch shrugged, returning his pistol's barrel to the old man's ear. "We minimized the damage."

"Damage?" Tail of the Fox bellowed. "Was Paytah 'damage?' What about my father? My sister?"

"W-war has casualties," Grimshaw attempted. Dutch gave her a nod of appreciation, though internally he wished she'd sounded more convincing.

"Glad we agree on something," Aleshanee said, indicating his hostage.

"Take me in her place!" Kieran shouted suddenly, dropping his gun and walking forward, hands plain as a pikestaff.

"Back up!" Songaa demanded, his spear pointed at the stablehand, not sure if he hated Bill enough to kill a man he barely knew just for being in the same ranks.

"Kieran, get away from them!" Sadie barked. Grimshaw echoed her.

"I'm not tryin' anything," Kieran said softly, inching near and nearer to Aleshanee. "You can have me, just let her g—"

The back of Songaa's spear struck Kieran's head and Tail of the Fox was on him in a second. Now the Wapitis had two hostages.

"Dammit, Kieran!" Sadie said, taking aim. Wouldn't matter, even if she shot Tail of the Fox without hitting Kieran, he was boxed in by more natives, all with weapons. He wasn't getting back to them.

"Sorry…" he murmured, voice wet with blood as Tail of the Fox forced him on his knees, holding a gun to the back of his head.

Fuckin' idiot! Dutch thought. Idiot, idiot, idiot, the lot! They don't deserve my help, not Abigail and certainly not those goddamn redskin turncoats. I'm so sick of—

"Dutch," Micah interjected, hieing to his side, "they killed the bookkeeper. Charles too."

"No, we didn't!" Flower of the Priarie said quickly, still trying to work through the fortification of Aleshanee's followers to talk some sense to him. "He just disappeared!"

Molly snickered from afar. Always from afar, bitch. "Yeah, right. Our pretty bookworm, silent half-breed, and Australian moneyman go into the woods and now the only one to come back is your prisoner. Yep, bet the others just disappeared in a puff of smoke."

Dutch noticed for the first time that they were absent. Charles he couldn't care less about, hell, good riddance, but Strauss… Not him too… Shit, why are they all dying? Sean, Lenny, Hosea, The Count. Why are they all so weak? Goddamn Arthur, I need you…

Bill cocked his shotgun dramatically. "Alright, party's over, y'all got to the count of five—"

"And you'll do what?' Aleshanee laughed. "We got all the cards here!"

"You got a two and a four of clubs, at best," Bill answered. "And I ain't foldin' for that, no sir." He redirected his double-barrel at Alesganee's chest. "Five… Four…"

"Shut up, Bill," Abigail said, hobbling to her feet. If the pink indentation across her cheek hurt, she didn't show it.

"Three… Two…"

"Bill, shut up!" She yelled it in tangent with Dutch, Grimshaw, and all the others. He fell silent.

"How-how about we cut a deal?" Abigail suggested. "You want somethin', don't you? Else we'd all be fighting by now."

"Yeah," Tail of the Fox said, jouncing with excitement. "Yeah, you could say that. We Indians clearly don't have great memories, or we'd have murdered every white man in the country by now, Ghost Dance or no, but we ain't so stupid we've forgotten about something that happened only this morning. You fellers have got forty thousand dollars, and we want it."

Dutch's stomach sank to his spurs. They know… How many rats do we have? Uncle was one, surely… Molly? Ab—Charles. It was fuckin' Charles.

His finger tightened around the trigger. He suddenly wanted to see Rains Fall's brain dripping onto his shiny black boots. Might as well be Charles'. Considering all he does is let these fuckin' savages think for him.

"That was in pesos, remember?" Bill tried desperately.

Aleshanee grinned. "After Langton came 'round, we did some checking. He weren't lyin' not that any of us thought for a second he was. You are outlaws and infamous ones at that. You wouldn't risk your necks for pesos. You have real money, and you're going to give it to us…" His knife shaved Mary-Beth's chin, taking a thin strip of tan skin with it. "Or else…"

"Forty-thousand dollars for an illiterate Irish idiot and a whore that won't put out," Micah mused. "I ain't a master negotiating, but I can feel when I'm bein' fucked in the ass."

'I ain't illiterate…" Kieran muttered until Tail of the Fox's fist sent him face-first downward.

"God, stop it, Aleshanee!" Flower of the Prairie protested.

"My son," Rains Fall said, his crisp booming voice stretching and reverbing, "please don't this. This isn't what Eagle Flies would want—"

"Don't act like you would know," the feminine man snapped. "Chalk and cheese you two were. You didn't see the real him when he was two feet in front of your face, how could you see it with him six feet under?" That silenced the elder. His hair floated over his shoulder as he faced Dutch. "And you… you're worse, you used him."

He couldn't beat back a snicker. "I used him?"

"Yeah, y—"

"I used him?" He was laughing now, shaking with humorous ecstasy. "You fuckin' idiots… He came to me, begging for help! Oh, you're so delusional…"

"Paytah got fuckin' arrested and tortured because of your damn prank! And you knew it too, you didn't do a thing. You said you would help break him out but you left."

"You're worse than fuckin' Molly, dear God…"

"We have to leave our homes because of you!" Tail of the Fox roared, mirrored by a dozen other angry men. "Because of what you did to Favours! Charles told me about that, he was gonna turn himself in to take the fall for the boat and the valley, but you botched it. For fuckin' nothin'!"

"What happened to you was wrong!" Tilly shouted several times until the fuming thunderous chants died down. "It was, but you can't stack all the fault on one man. Dutch was only ever trying to help you guys, why else would he have done all he done?"

Abigail opened her mouth to speak, no doubt to object, to make things worse, but Dutch shot her a glare and she stepped back, rubbing the mark on her face in apprehension.

"No more stalling!" Aleshanee declared. "Tell us where the money is, or these lovebirds die together."

Tail of the Fox chuckled, gaze falling to Mary-Beth. "Heh, like that book you was readin'. 'Bout the lovers that die together?"

"That's a different book," she whispered flatly, lips purple, face still. She was preparing for it. She wondered if this was how Pearson felt when the knife itched his throat. Javier had said he'd cried, but she had no more tears to shed. But maybe she would when he gashed the shiny metal across her neck—she'd read that everyone pisses themselves when they die, maybe eyes work the same way.

"Even…" Dutch started, trying to steady the shake in his tone. "Even if I wanted to, I can't. The money is buried in the goddamn mountains somewhere, miles off." His lips dried up and he tried wettening them, but the cracks only drank it up. I knew I should've hidden it somewhere else. Lazy, lazy, lazy. I never made that mistake when Hosea was around, fuckin' dammit.

"Where?" Aleshanee asked. "Fill me in. Now."

"Fuck you. Set them free and we'll talk."

"No. Money now, or cold bodies, your call."

"Aleshanee," Flower of the Prairie said, finally squeezing through his halfwit savages, racing to his ear. "Please, can't you see what you're doing?"

"I'm gettin' us what we deserve," he insisted. Backed by Tail of the Fox and all the other fools following him. "They've ruined us."

"The army ruined us too, a dozen times over. When did striking back at them bring anything good?"

"So that smug asshole gets away with it?" He pointed a bloody knife at Dutch. "We have to let go of all we've lost. Again and again and again and again?!"

"That's not what I'm sayin'! I—can't you see?"

"How can you stand by them, after Kiona—"

She silenced him with a slap. "Don't you dare…"

Tail of the Fox aimed his gun at her. "Just say the word, Aleshanee, I'll shut her up."

"What are you doing?" Rains Fall shouted at the natives, the ones who were facing the gang, ignoring what was happening behind them, and the ones hiding away in their tepees, wishing this madness would end. "How can you let this happen? What have we become?"

"Brother, say the word," Tail of the Fox repeated.

Aleshanee stared at the woman (the Indian, not the pseud author), every breath a snarl.

She didn't waver. "Kiona would've never been a part of this."

"Yes, he would."

"No, he wouldn't."

"Yes, he—"

"No! No, I—can't you see? You talk about what we deserve, while you hold a dagger at an innocent girl—"

"She's a killer. They are all. If we kill 'em and hand over their bodies to the law, we'd get paid."

"No," she objected, "we'd get tossed out of the office and the lawman would pocket the bounty himself. And we'd count ourselves lucky." No one could argue with that. "Why can't you see it? Clutching a life in your hand, proclaiming it's your way or the highway. That's what they did to us."

Aleshanee flinched visibly and Dutch coughed to hide a smirk. That's it, bitch, keep talking. Feed him that resilient parasite.

"Don't you try and compare me to them," the native boomed. "This… this girl is a killer."

"You said that." Her gaze was sure and sharp as steel.

"C'mon, man, say the word," Tail of the Fox urged.

"Y'know, she's been writing a book," Dutch hollered. "It's comin' along pretty good too, from what she's mentioned."

"Shut up!" Aleshanee barked, but it was too late. His shelter of self-certainty was dissipating and so too were his followers.

"Kill her, man!"

"Send 'em a message!"

It was like being a priest; you play the part of the holy man, and if for a second your faith wavers, if for a second the blind belief is gone, if for a second someone believes they can play that part better than you, you're through. Dutch knew that very well.

Aleshanee's knife quivered at Mary-Beth's flesh. He looked to Dutch. "Just… just give us the money!"

Dutch shrugged. "No can do. It ain't here."

He needed that bluff to work. If they tore the camp apart, they'd find every coin in Pearson's chuckwagon. Then there would be no need for any of them alive. He scanned the situation; they were outnumbered, outmatched. The natives were like the Pinks, they doubled every time you blinked. No wonder the army was so terrified of them.

"He's toyin' with us," Tail of the Fox brayed. "Show him we ain't so weak. That we're willing to do whatever it—"

"No." It was Songaa who said it, lowering his spear. "What difference does it make now? The chief's right. This isn't us."

"Oh, fuck that!" Tail of the Fox stomped on Kieran's back, provoking a soft groan. "My fuckin' brother is dead! I am not turning the other cheek on this! My brother is fuckin' dead and these cowfuckers don't get to—what the fuck, Songaa? That big bastard beat you senseless, how the hell are you in favor of letting them walk?"

"Because," Aleshanee said for him, "whatever's been done, these two weren't a part of it." The knife drooped from Mary-Beth, slapping his thigh. He pushed her forward and the men ahead of him cleared a path.

Grimshaw stepped forward and yanked a frozen Mary-Beth away back behind Sadie and Javier.

"Moron," Tail of the Fox said, hate marring his handsome caramel-skinned face. "Pussy. Heh, maybe your mother named you right on the money." He scowled at Flower of the Prairie with contempt, then Rains Fall. "I'm surrounded by fuckin' women. Big-hearted, empty-headed women." He lifted Kieran up by his unkempt dirty-brown hair, sticking a gun in his ear in a reflective manner of how Dutch was holding the chief.

"Well screw all of you! I hate being one of you. Fuckin' suckers. We've been played from day one and you're all too womanly to see it." A cold wind swept in, swaying the lanterns so the yellow light flitted over his glower in frightening flashes. "If I can't have my money, I'm cashin' in on my revenge."

He pulled the trigger, or would have, if strong hands hadn't collapsed him from behind, raising his gun skywards so the bang recheated across the vast starless stratosphere.

With one firm punch, he hit the rough dirt, unconscious.

Kieran was hurled forward and like with Mary-Beth, no other Wapiti tried to stop him. They sunk their heads, exhausted, physically and emotionally. So many dead, and like always, they had nothing to show for it—for the blood and death. Dutch would've pitied them if he'd felt any compassion for them anymore.

The wind slowed and when it did, the lantern light stilled on one man, the man leading Kieran back to the gang.

"Charles," Dutch greeted amiably. It was the first time in months the living embodiment of reticence had been a comely sight. "Nice of you to join us."

"Where the hell have you been, half-spawn?" Micah asked with a noxious whistle.

"No more, Dutch," Charles said, aiming a burly finger at the old man in a headlock. His face was as hard and rigid as an iron mask.

"Of course," Dutch chuckled, sliding his gun where it belonged, patting Rains Fall on the back as he let go. "They let ours go, we let theirs go. Tit for tat." He spoke in his sermon voice—boisterous enough for all in the reservation to hear lucidly. "I know we both said things tonight that we regret, but I'm glad we were able to resolve our differences without bloodshed. I know times have been tough on you people, but you are like us: you are tough and you will not break. It's late, so I propose we all go to bed, tomorrow I'd like to invite you over to our side of the camp for a party!" There were a few snickers, but he ignored them. "I'm serious, really. There's a bit of ill will remaining I feel and I think we ought to air it out before the train gets here. Don't forget, the journey to Canada will be weeks and we'll be seeing a lot of each—"

"I kicked Strauss out, Dutch," Charles said at once.

"You did what?" It wasn't an accusation. It was a legitimate question. He heard him wrong, he must have.

Charles' long, girthy braid dangled over his shoulder. He scratched a blotch of stubble on his cheek. "I kicked him out. I gave him some money and told him to stay out of the state. Said I'd kill him if I ever came back. I think I would."

Dutch's rage was hot and imminent. He… removed Strauss… He's barely still a gang member, and he has the audacity to remove my men?

Stay loose, he told himself. Jacob, not Esau. This wasn't like with Uncle. People were watching. "What, may I ask, possessed you to do such a stupid thing?"

"He lied." Charles blinked and revolved to the other side of the equation, the side with a dozen debtors now audibly sighing with relief. "It's not pesos. It's forty-thousand dollars." When his finger extended it impaled Dutch, stretching behind him, to where the apricot cans and salted beef were stashed. "And it's all in that wagon."

Greed ignited a flame in the Indians, and before Dutch had drawn his gun, their spears and knives and bows were in the air again, their screams louder than ever.

"I knew it!" Yellow Rabbit said.

"It's right there!" said another.

"Forty-thousand?"

"Let's take it, c'mon!"

"Yeah, we ain't hurtin' anyone!"

"Yeah, it's ours!"

Charles stepped between them, shepherding them back from the gang. Dutch wanted to shoot him in the back. "Wait, wait! It doesn't have to go this way!"

"How the hell else does it have to go?" one demanded.

"Peacefully. Because Dutch is going to give it all to you freely."

The man himself almost died spontaneously from laughter. This is a dream, this has to be a dream…

"He will," Charles insisted, looking around for assistance.

"Don't you look at me," Rains Fall said from afar. "They don't listen to me anymore."

Charles sighed. "Just… give me a moment to explain it to him. Please."

"He can have one minute," Aleshanee told the mob around him. "Then we take what's ours."

"But we won't kill anyone," Songaa suggested. They all agreed.

Dutch thought of John, bones twisted out of proportion, flesh jagged and sharp where bone protruded from, and knew that sometimes it could be worse not to kill anyone.

He had to fight to keep his finger from working against the trigger. His shirt stuck to his back. Sweat dripped down his long hair. Yet when he exhaled deeply, a puff of white smoke followed his breath.

Charles turned back to the gang, an expressionless frown plastered on his ugly mug. "Dutch," he started, stepping forward.

The bullet sprayed dust onto his worn boots.

"That far enough, Charles," Dutch commanded. He brought his head over his shoulder. "Executive order: this man is no longer a member of our gang. If for a second you think he's a threat, I ask you to shoot him dead on sight."

"It'll be a fuckin' honor," Micah said. Dutch noticed for the first time he was wearing John's—Arthur's—hat. Yet, he didn't feel obliged to remove it at the moment. He noticed too for the first time there was a bullet hole at the center of its band.

"Dutch," Grimshaw said gently, her hand brushing against his shoulder, "maybe we should hear him out…"

His heart was drumming against his ribs. He hated it when she spoke to him that way, with her voice all low and deep, like she thought it was more convincing. No, she thinks it is more seductive that way, like I'd ever want her. Whore. Just like Abigail, just like Molly. And who the fuck is Molly fuckin'?!

"Sure," he said, as cool as he could, "I'll hear you out, Charles. You got three seconds to convince me why I shouldn't shoot your goddamn face off." The half-native stood only three feet away, even with Dutch's gun being a lower caliber, one shot would do the trick to make his head into a ruddy 'O'.

"It's the right thing to do, Dutch," he explained.

"Don't you talk to me about the right thing!" Dutch roared. Sweat trickled into his eyes but he didn't wipe it away. He kept one hand on his gun and the other waving around wildly as he spoke. He had to blink a lot. "You think I wanted to kill Bronte? You think I wanted to scare my best friend away? You think that was calculated? You think I wanted the boat job to go to hell—is that what this is about? No, no, it's about Molly, right?"

"Dutch—"

"Oh, don't you fuckin' dare! You all wanted to do the same fuckin' thing, don't you dare deny it! Hell, Karen did! Remember, she slapped the bitch cuz—ooh, that's why you're doin' this. Because a' Karen. Like she contributed anything! You asshole… do you know how easy it is to nitpick, to complain? Put yourself in my shoes. I gotta save us, feed us, keep us safe, create new fuckin' plans—you think I'm fuckin' omnipresent? How could I have known they were gonna beat Kieran so badly? And where was your fuckin' plan, huh? You had the same amount of information I had, where was your fuckin' brilliant idea?

"I got the Pinks, I got the bounty hunters, I got Murfrees, the army, Cornwall, and cuz a' you, the Indians. I got a dead son and another crippled, and everyone's whining and screaming and telling me I'm doin' wrong and I should be doin' this and not doin' that and Abigail still hates me because I didn't go back for Jack when he was supposed to be dead and I've got a woman who won't spread her fuckin' legs! Fuck what that old dog said, I didn't run! Is that what you think, that I didn't do everything I could for that boy? I loved him, I fuckin' loved h—" His voice cracked into a million pieces and sobs took their place. He bent over, hands groping his knees for dear life.

Charles' fingers extended to touch Dutch, to show an ounce of compassion and humanity. It didn't help one iota. "Dutch, they need that money. We've buried dozens of the army. They won't forget that. They will come back in full force, and every single person on the reservation will die. Every one. And we started this, Dutch, not just you, but us. We need to make it right, we need to give them a chance."

"And we will," Dutch cried hoarsely. He tried to stand fully until the vertigo overwhelmed him and he went back to his awkward slouch. "The train will be here in a few days, and we can hop over to Canada. We'll escape, get fr—"

"There is no train," Charles said miserably. His silhouette was slouched solemnly. Suddenly every man, woman, and child in the reservation had the same heart, they felt the same things. Heartbreak, anger, betrayal. It hung so heavy in the silence it was palpable.

"What?" Tilly whispered. She was the only one brave enough to ask. To make this horrible nightmare real with a confirmation.

Charles, slowly and deliberately, caressed a hand inside of his vest pocket. He pulled out a letter. It was crumpled yet snow-white."That's where I was. I went to the post office." The paper creaked as he opened it, offering it to Dutch. He couldn't take it.

"What does it say?"

Charles recited it, ice in his words:

Washington has denied our request.

They say it is unethical and illegal and quite frankly, they were insulted by the offer. They claim Henry Favours' actions were regrettable but insist they were in the dark on his connection with Cornwall and his willful provocation of the native Wapitis.

I'm sorry. There's too much heat: corporate corruption in the army, horrible practices brought on by the state at the expense of an ethnic group the politicians made a huge show about fixing things with, and now, the accusations of natives buying hired guns and 'initiating coordinated terrorist attacks' against the army.

President McKinsley's office is scared if they remove the Wapitis, some very powerful politicians in the state will help swing the votes against McKinsley's people in the coming elections. However, they can't justify the enormous cost of transporting so many people without the evidence about Favours coming out.

I have been offered a promotion for relocation in Pennsylvania for my valiant contributions in this delicate matter, which I have refused. Suffice it to say, I no longer work for the federal government of this country.

I wish I knew what to say. The only good news I can bring you is that I'm taking some boys down with me to the reservation right now. Until you all get packed up, we can help protect you from any army raids or general attacks on your way of life.

I'm more sorry than you can ever know,

Lyndon Monroe

For a long while, the only noise present in the cold night was the rattling of the wind against the lanterns. Eventually, it was Micah who broke the silence.

"Well… at least he's sorry."

That was when Dutch collapsed to his knees, allowing the wrinkled paper to flutter away in the wind. Just like with the state bonds. Just like with Sean before that wet smack he made with the lake.

Dutch reminisced on his old house and the rats in the walls that went squeak squeak squeak!

"We'll move into a nicer place, soon, my boy," his father had said. "I promise." Squeak squeak squeak!

"I just gotta wait it out, when Old Man Mikey decides he'd rather have two hundred dollars in his hand instead of a shack he don't use, we'll move out, damn if he said three was his price, you'll see." Squeak squeak squeak!

"This new job in the army'll be great for us! Pay is terrific and they say I'm not likely to actually see any combat." Squeak squeak squeak! "Just hold out a little longer and when I come back, we'll buy a real lovely home, I promise." Squeak squeak squeak!

"Dutch," Charles said, bending to one knee to meet his eyeline. "They can't get up to Canada on their own. They need the money to survive the journey. We owe it to them."

"Owe… it… to… them…?" Dutch said dispassionately, saliva torrenting down his chin.

"Yeah. We-we have a chance to do some good here. We can't fix the mistakes we've made, but we can help make up for them. Please, Dutch."

Dutch whimpered slowly and nodded his head. "I-I agree with you, Charles… There's just one small problem: I owe them nothing."

Then he was on his feet, and he kicked Charles onto his back. "You turncoat! You traitor! I gave you a home and this is how you repay me?! Ratting out the money! You're dead, y'hear? You—"

Charles caught the next kick and swept a leg under Dutch's boot, spiraling him onto the ground. He stumbled to his feet as the mob of natives swarmed to defend their friend.

They barely even know him. What the hell makes him so damn special?

"I saved your lives!" Dutch thundered. "I set you free from the colonel, I inspired you to leave instead of dying on this hill! I don't owe any of you losers jackshit! You want my money? You better be bringing an army bigger than this one!"

"I'm sure you're right." The natives rushed him and he tried to shoot back, but remembered he'd dropped his gun when he fell to his knees. He landed a punch on someone, anyone, what difference did it make, they were all the same. He swung wildly, hitting multiple bodies. Then Charles came at him.

His fist hammered into the half-breed's cheekbones, but Charles held firm, tackling Dutch to the floor. He let fly a strong kick at Charles' face, throwing him off, but by then the others were around him, bombarding him with grips until he was immobilized.

"My son died for that money!" he screamed. "My other sacrifice a leg and a hand for it! What have you sacrificed, huh?"

"Our dead children!" a woman called.

"Our ancestral home," said another.

"Our friends, dying needlessly because you killed Favours!"

He was pinned down and when the sea of natives cleared, he saw Micah and Grimshaw were being taken too, while the other members of his gang stood back, Javier coaxing Bill down. They don't want to hurt them. They don't want to fuckin' hurt 'em. Idiots…

Dutch's left arm was being twisted behind his back and the throbbing began to overtake all the other sounds. Until, in an echoing, distorted voice, he heard Charles yell.

"Giiiiib deeem zaa muniiii! "Giiiiib deeem zaa muniiii!"

Of course, Dutch realized. Charles was the one fucking Molly. Clever bastard, oh, he would gut him, he would make him suffer, just like the rest of these savages, he would make it last for months, he wo—

The sharp popping sound in his arm broke his train of thought. He bellowed in agony, biting his lip until he drew blood.

"Okay, okay!" he bemoaned. "Just stop! The money is in the wagon, like Charles said. The wagon is hollowed out where it meets with the chuckbox. Check that, that's where it is."

"Dutch," Bill started, "we can't—"

"Shut up and let them through before they rip my arm off!"

It was near midnight by the time every sack had been looted. The natives hooted and hollered as they carried his money to their portion of the reservation. One moron had even cut his bag open before he'd left to better admire the haul, and loose bills had spilled out, mocking the gang as Grimshaw scooped it all up. They'd gotten over forty-two thousand dollars, Strauss had said.

Now, they had less than four hundred dollars.

Later, Rain Falls and Flower of the Prairie came over and treated Dutch's arm, casting it in a sling to help it heal better.

"I'm sorry about all this," the chief lied. "I really am."

"No you ain't," Dutch snickered. "Why would you be? You got everything."

"Not everything," he said grimly, glancing at Jack who slept on Abigail's lap. "Aleshanee has been made the new chief. He wanted you to know that… look, you can stay for one more night, we know you need to get everything together, but after… It-it would be better for you to be gone." With that, he and Flower of the Prairie returned to their people. Dutch hadn't bothered keeping them prisoner. It hadn't worked last time, why would it work now?

He was tired as he lay flat on the smooth, stony terrain and was half-asleep in seconds.

"You can't let them get away!" Molly bitched. "That's our money!"

"You're more than welcome to try and get it back," he quipped, groggily. "Me? I'm going to bed."

"But—"

"Molly, lock it up, alright? It's over." When his eyes closed, he dreamt of the west.

Alright, big chapter today:

Wapitis took Mary-Beth, Dutch slapped Abigail, the train is gone which means their escape to Canada isn't happening, and the money has switched hands, meaning John lost his leg and hand for nothing.

Hope you enjoyed, please let me know what you thought.

Next time: A Snake's Comeuppance.