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The seed he had planted was being watered by circumstance, and now it had sprouted. He hadn't expected it to bloom this quickly, but maybe that was his luck stat at work. Maybe fate or the code behind it, was leaning in his favor.
If John and Arthur began to question Dutch now, this early… then the direction of the gang's downfall could shift. Maybe not be prevented entirely, but steered toward something less destructive. Something survivable.
He could move faster now. With John and Arthur eventually backing him, he could begin sowing truth and caution among the others. Hosea would be the next step. If Caleb could win him over, others would follow. Slowly. Quietly. Steadily.
Just as he was thinking about his next steps, another hand gently tapped him on the shoulder.
Caleb blinked and turned again, surprised to see Mary-Beth standing there. Her brow was furrowed in concern, her usual bright demeanor slightly dimmed by confusion and unease.
Seeing her, Caleb smiled softly. "Mary-Beth. Everything alright?"
She hesitated for a second before stepping closer, her voice low. "What… what happened earlier? I saw Arthur and Hosea dragging Dutch off and everyone was whispering, but no one was telling me anything. Is he okay? Did something happen?"
Caleb's smile faded as he stared into her eyes. Smart eyes. Sensitive eyes. Mary-Beth might've carried herself with gentle kindness, but she wasn't naive. She paid attention. She could see through things others couldn't.
And if he wanted to really change this camp's future, she would be a valuable ally.
He stayed quiet for a moment, then gestured to the log beside him. "Take a seat. This might take a bit."
She sat down, brushing her skirt flat, waiting patiently.
Caleb looked toward the fire and took a breath. "Dutch… he snapped tonight. Punched Uncle. Full on hit him like a man possessed right on his jaw."
Mary-Beth gasped, her hand covering her mouth. "What? Why? What did Uncle do that caused Dutch to react like that?"
"Just ran his mouth. Like always. Nothing new. But Dutch… something in him just cracked. He wasn't just angry, he was unstable. Hosea and Arthur had to step in, calm him down. Drag him away, really."
Mary-Beth looked away, clearly shaken. Her fingers trembled slightly.
"I… I knew something was off," she said quietly. "He's been a whole lot different after snapping with Molly. Much more distant. Always talking about 'plans' and then reading his books. But I… I didn't expect for it to reach such a situation."
Caleb nodded. "Yeah. It is."
He let the silence settle between them, giving her space to think.
Eventually, she looked at him again, eyes searching. "Do you think he… has truly lost it?"
Caleb hesitated. He could lie. He could tell her not to worry. But that would be a waste.
"I think the pressures have get to him, combined with him reading those so called philosophical books." Caleb answered carefully. "I think the man Dutch was might still be in there somewhere, but he's getting harder to find. And the more people around him just nod and smile and follow orders, the worse it's going to get."
Mary-Beth swallowed hard, nodding slowly. "Thank you for being honest."
Caleb gave her a small, reassuring smile. "I figured you'd want the truth. Even if it's hard."
She offered a faint smile back, then stood. "I'm going to check on Karen and Tilly. They were pretty shaken up too. If anyone asks… I didn't hear anything from you."
"Thanks, Mary-Beth."
She nodded, kissed Caleb on the cheek, stood up, and disappeared into the dark, her silhouette fading toward the main camp.
Seeing that, Caleb stood up and went to his tent, He lay down and stared at the canvas ceiling of his tent for a while, letting the silence settle over him. Thoughts swirled—of Mary-Beth's eyes, John's conflicted face, Arthur's stormy silence, and Dutch's unhinged rage. He didn't know what tomorrow would bring, but he felt something had shifted. For better or worse.
Eventually, sleep took him.
Seeing that, Caleb stood up and walked over to his tent. Finally letting his body relax after what had been an unexpectedly emotional and strategic night.
He hadn't anticipated things to escalate with Dutch so fast nor that the seed he planted in Arthur might already be beginning to bloom. He needed rest. His mind had been stretched taut with strategy, empathy, fear, and surprise.
He crawled into his bedroll, He lay down and stared at the canvas ceiling of his tent for a while, letting the silence settle over him. Thoughts swirled, of Mary-Beth's eyes, John's conflicted face, Arthur's stormy silence, and Dutch's unhinged rage.
He didn't know what tomorrow would bring, but he felt something had shifted. For better or worse. He then let the silence and the chirping crickets calm his breathing.
Eventually, sleep took him.
Morning came early. A golden hue leaked through the cracks of the tent as birds chirped in full chorus.
Caleb yawned and pushed himself up with a stretch. He blinked the sleep from his eyes, then pulled on a shirt and stepped outside, squinting against the sun.
Today felt different. After all that had happened, he needed to reclaim some rhythm. So he began his morning workout routine, something he had sorely neglected since returning from his fast food stint in Valentine.
He started with stretching. Arms behind the back. Shoulders rolled. Knees bent. Afterward, he dropped down to the ground.
Push ups. A full set. Then sit ups, until his core ached. Then calisthenics, steady breathing, movement, and repetition. Like a rhythm in a machine.
Then, when his muscles were warm and loose, he took off on a jog. Five full laps around the perimeter of the camp, up near the edge of the lake, down past the horses, around the trees, and along the path.
Sweat dripped from his brow, his lungs worked hard, and when he was done, he wiped himself down with a clean cloth. It wasn't a full bath, but it would do.
Once dry, he changed into one of his usual clean outfits, buttoned up his shirt, holstered his sidearm, and ran his fingers through his hair, and then stepped toward the stew pot, the smell of beef and potatoes already in the air.
He grabbed a bowl and poured himself a serving, hungry now after the jog. The first spoonful was still steaming when he heard a familiar, flamboyant voice call out from across camp.
"Good morning, my fine compatriots! A glorious day for liberty and criminal enterprise, wouldn't you say?"
Caleb chuckled softly.
He didn't need to look. He already knew who it was.
Josiah Trelawny.
Still holding his bowl, he finally glanced up.
He was standing near the wagons, already deep in conversation with Sean and John. Sean, as expected, matched Trelawny's energy with the flair of an amateur actor. John, however, looked utterly dead inside, wearing a pained expression as if praying for a quick death.
Caleb shook his head, quietly amused. With Trelawny and Sean teamed up, camp was going to get very loud, very quickly. Those two together were a storm of noise. Exaggerated stories, pointless tangents, and endless jabber.
'Maybe I should head out before the tall tales begin,' Caleb thought. Before the noise gave him a headache.
He found a seat off to the side, taking a moment to enjoy his stew in relative peace. The warmth of the beef, potatoes, and carrots grounded him further, and he let his thoughts drift, hoping to eat in peace.
No such luck.
Footsteps approached, and that voice chimed in again, right above him.
"Ah, there you are, my boy!"
Caleb sighed inwardly and kept his eyes on his stew as if fascinated by the chunks of potato within.
Trelawny plopped down on the log across from him, clasping his hands together. "I must thank you, sincerely, for coming to my rescue yesterday. You, Arthur, and Charles, the three of you are true gentlemen, the lot of you."
Caleb paused mid bite and looked up, the seriousness in Trelawny's tone caught him off guard, and he was further surprised to see Trelawny's usually theatrical features replaced with something… serious.
It was rare, if ever, to hear Josiah Trelawny drop the dramatic flair.
Caleb gave a small smile and shrugged. "Wasn't a big deal. Just did what anyone else here would've done. You'd do the same if the roles were reversed."
Trelawny raised a brow. "Would I? I wouldn't count on that from everyone here. Bill? Javier? Perhaps not so inclined. But you three… I won't forget it. Truly."
He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice further. "And to show my appreciation, I intend to repay that favor. Starting with… keeping quiet about your little venture in Valentine, of course."
Caleb's spoon stopped halfway to his mouth.
His expression shifted for a fraction of a second. Just enough to betray surprise. But he quickly recovered, setting down his bowl, and his eyes locked onto Trelawny's with sudden coldness.
"What venture?" he asked calmly. "I was in Valentine to look for information and make sure it's safe there after a while. Picked up some odd jobs to collect money and play poker as well. That's all."
Trelawny chuckled, not intimidated in the slightest. "Of course, of course. Might've been someone else, then. Funny, though, someone who fits your description's been mentioned more than once by the townsfolk."
Caleb's brow twitched. He countered smoothly. "That raises another question, then. What were you doing in Valentine? I thought you were holed up in Rhodes after the whole Cornwall issue. Didn't you only meet us again after we relocated to Clemens Point?"
Trelawny grinned wide, brushing a speck of dust off his cuff. "Ah, you know me. I have connections. Always moving. Always listening." Trelawny waved a hand theatrically. "Like little whispers from the wind, so to speak. Always good to keep one ear to the ground, especially in these changing times."
He leaned back, more relaxed now. "But don't worry, my boy. I'm no rat. I'm not here to expose anyone. Quite the opposite. Frankly, I admire your ambition. You're one of the few around here with the foresight to prepare for… unfortunate outcomes. Like me."
He rose, brushing his hands off on his coat. "If you're interested in something lucrative, by the way, I shared a rather intriguing opportunity with Arthur. Something you might enjoy. Go ask him when you've finished your breakfast. Until next time, my friend."
He gave Caleb a final pat on the shoulder and strolled off, humming some off key melody as he returned to his circus of tall tales and exaggerated gestures.
Caleb didn't look back. He stared into his stew, the warmth fading slightly.
For the first time, he saw Trelawny differently, he truly felt the depth behind his mask. Beneath all the flair and charm, there was something else, a dangerous kind of awareness. Trelawny might not have been a fighter, but he was certainly not a fool. There was more to him than he let on.
And his words lingered.
"I've shared a valuable piece of information with Arthur…"
Caleb already had a good idea what it was.
Friends in Very Low Places.
The job where Arthur would meet a post office clerk in Rhodes, who would provide details on stagecoaches worth robbing. Simple on the surface, but potentially very lucrative, and more importantly, it could put Caleb in the right place to influence events further. It was time to pay Arthur a visit.
...
Name: Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 7/10
- Agility: 7/10
- Perception: 8/10
- Stamina: 7/10
- Charm: 6/10
- Luck: 6/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl 3)
- Rifle (Lvl 2)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl 3)
- Past Life Memory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl 2)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl 1)
- Sneaking (Lvl 3)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl 3)
- Poker (Lvl 4)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl 2)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl 1)
- Dead Eye (Lvl 2)
- Bow (Lvl 2)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl 1)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl 0)
- Crafting (Lv 2)
- Persuasion (Lvl 2)
- Mental Fortitude (Lvl MAX)
- Cooking (Lvl 2)
- Teaching (Lvl 1)
- Germanic Language Proficiency (Lvl MAX)
- Inventory System (Permanent - 5x5x5)
- Acting (Lvl 2)
Money: 935 dollars and 48 cents
Inventory: 3,245 dollars, 7 gold nuggets, 5 gold bars, 4 silver rings, 1 Double Action, 1 Schofield, 2 large bags of jewelry, a gold ring, two silver rings, four silver pocket watches, a gold buckle, and a gold pocket compass
Bank: -