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Shaking the thought, Caleb made his way toward the left outskirts of camp. There, beneath the wide arms of a great tree, John and Uncle stood by the scout fire, a bottle of bourbon being passed between them. Their laughter was muted, tinged with bitterness.
Uncle was speaking, voice low but insistent. "…I'm tellin' you, boy, you'd be wise to think about it. Things're gettin' worse, not better. Dutch's mind ain't right. Man's diggin' himself deeper into a hole and draggin' us with him."
John scowled, taking a swig before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "And what the hell am I supposed to do, old man? Just walk away? With Abigail on my back every damn day, and Jack needin' me? Where am I gonna go in this god forsaken world?"
Uncle snorted. "I don't know. Anywhere's better than followin' a man who's lost his way. You got a real family, John. Not something folks here have. Think about 'em, not Dutch's damn speeches and crazy ideas."
Caleb slowed his steps, listening, heart heavy. He remembered how John's story was supposed to unfold. Abigail and Jack, their future, or their suffering, depending on the choices made. If Dutch kept unraveling this way, Uncle might be right. Maybe leaving sooner would spare John and his family a world of pain.
But John wasn't ready to hear it, not yet. He was still bound to Dutch, to the gang, to that dream they all clung to.
Caleb leaned against the tree quietly, not intruding yet. He let their words sink in, the bourbon passing between them, the firelight flickering against worn faces.
Inside, though, his resolve only hardened. He had to keep nudging the pieces. Keep protecting those who deserved better. Mary-Beth. Hosea. Arthur. John. Even Bill, if he could manage it.
And all the while, Dutch's warning echoed in his mind like a brand. No more surprises.
Caleb knew better. There would be plenty more surprises. And he intended to make damn sure they were ones Dutch never saw coming.
The bitter exchange between John and Uncle was a stark reflection of the gang's internal decay. Caleb listened, his heart heavy with the weight of foreknowledge.
He remembered the tragic arc of John Marston's life, the separation, the struggle, the eventual, hard won redemption that came at a terrible cost. Uncle, for all his laziness and drunkenness, was often the camp's reluctant Cassandra, speaking uncomfortable truths everyone else ignored.
As John rebuffed the old man's advice, Caleb decided it was time to intervene, if only subtly. Caleb cleared his throat softly, a polite cough that broke the low drone of Uncle and John's conversation without shattering it. Both men turned their heads in his direction, faces shifting as firelight revealed their expressions.
Uncle's squinty eyes widened slightly, then softened into something like a smile. John gave him a nod and half a grin, holding out the bourbon bottle lazily in Caleb's direction.
"Well, look who it is," John said, voice hoarse from drink and smoke. "You want a sip, Caleb? After the day you've had, I reckon you deserve it more than me."
Before Caleb could answer, Uncle barked out a laugh, raising his hand like he was about to swat John with words.
"Now hold on a damn minute. Why should we go sharin' our bottle with him? Boy's young, healthy, and got his own means. Let him fetch his own liquor instead of suckin' ours dry. Why should we share our precious nectar?"
John scowled, his lip curling in irritation. "You greedy bastard," he muttered, shaking his head. "This is the same fella who brought us half these bottles to begin with, and you don't even have the decency to share? You oughta be ashamed of yourself, Uncle."
Uncle only shrugged, feigning innocence. "I'm old. I earned my drink. Man oughta learn to keep what's his."
Caleb chuckled, the sound light enough to cut the tension before it thickened. He waved a hand, refusing the bottle that John offered.
"No need, John. I don't want anything to drink after… well, after what happened today. But thank you for the offer." He turned his gaze toward Uncle, a sly grin tugging his lips. "As for you, old man, I'll remember this. One of these days, when you come cryin' for help, I'll think twice before lendin' a hand. We'll see how you like it then."
Uncle's eyes bulged for a heartbeat before he let out an exaggerated nervous chuckle, rubbing his hands together like a guilty gambler caught cheating. "Aw, now come on, Caleb. Don't take it to heart. Old Uncle's just foolin'. You wouldn't hold a grudge against a defenseless old cripple, would you?" He clutched his chest dramatically.
Caleb shook his head, smiling. "Defenseless? You? You've survived more than half the gang without liftin' a finger. If anyone here's a survivor, it's you."
He settled onto a crate near the fire, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. The flames danced in his eyes as he spoke again, this time more serious. "John… you should think about what Uncle said. I ain't tellin' you to run off tomorrow, but just, really consider it. If things keep goin' the way they are, you might not get the chance later."
The words landed like a rock dropped in still water. Uncle froze mid motion, the bottle halfway to his lips. His eyes flickered toward Caleb, then back to John, waiting.
John blinked, surprised. His brow furrowed as he studied Caleb, then exhaled through his nose, frustration simmering.
"Why'd you say that?" he asked. "I mean, I get it, Dutch treated you like hell just now, we all saw it. I get that you're angry. Hell, I'd be furious. But now more than ever we oughta stick together. Ain't the time to be plantin' ideas about leavin'. If we all start splittin' up…"
He trailed off, then gestured vaguely into the darkness beyond the camp. "And even if I did… what then? Abigail and Jack, sure, but where the hell would we go? What kind of life could I give 'em out there? How would I provide for Abigail and Jack? Don't listen to this old fool, he ain't been sober enough to see straight in a decade." He then gestured vaguely into the night beyond the fire. "You think runnin' solves anything?"
Uncle snorted, shaking his head as he tipped the bottle back for another drink. "Boy, you can keep spinnin' Dutch's pretty words all you like, but only Caleb here's got the sense to see what's happenin'. Just like poor old Uncle."
"Poor old Uncle, huh?" John muttered. He snatched the bottle from Uncle's hands in one swift motion, making the older man cry out.
"Hey! That's theft, plain as day!" Uncle exclaimed, pointing accusingly.
But John ignored him, raising the bottle to his lips and taking several long gulps. The bourbon burned his throat, but he welcomed it, slamming the bottle back down with a scowl. He stood up abruptly, his movements stiff with frustration.
"I'll go see Jack and Abigail," he said, his voice quieter now, but still heavy. Without another word, he turned and strode into the dark, leaving the firelight behind him.
Uncle leaned back in his chair, watching John's retreating figure with narrowed eyes. Then he cupped his hands around his mouth and hollered, "Think about it, boy!"
The words echoed faintly before fading into the quiet night.
Caleb glanced at Uncle, shaking his head. "Let him be, Uncle. He's got a lot on his mind. John ain't the decisive type, never has been. Pushin' him too hard will only make him dig his heels in deeper."
Uncle huffed and crossed his arms, but a crooked grin formed under his mustache. "Ain't that the truth. That man couldn't decide what boots to wear without Abigail naggin' him. Hell, even when she had Jack, he up and disappeared for near a year. Who knows what fool things he was doin' out there, while Abigail raised the boy alone. Still wouldn't even look at Jack proper until you came along, Caleb."
Caleb smiled faintly, though his chest tightened at the thought. "That's why we can't push him. Same way Arthur and Hosea are seein' it now, they know Dutch is slippin', but they can't bring themselves to accept it outright. John's the same. He's not blind, just… bound by their memory."
Uncle chuckled, pointing the neck of the bourbon bottle at him like a judge with a gavel, his usual drunken haze seeming to clear for a moment.
"There's a benefit to havin' someone like you around, Caled. Someone who ain't been with us for years, who ain't been poisoned by Dutch's silver tongue. You and Charles… you're a blessin' for this gang. You look past the pretty words and see what's inside. Folks think I'm just sittin' around camp drinkin', but I hear things. See things. Secrets no one else wants dragged out into the light."
Caleb chuckled, raising a brow. "Secrets, huh? I never knew you had such treasures hidden away."
Uncle smirked, tilting his head knowingly. "Oh, you'll learn soon enough. Old Uncle always knows more than he lets on. Comes with watchin' from the shadows while everyone else runs around playin' hero."
Caleb shook his head with a soft laugh, rising to his feet. "Well, when the time comes, I'll look forward to hearin' 'em. For now, I'll see what's goin' on back in camp."
"Be my guest," Uncle muttered, lifting the bottle again.
Caleb walked away from the firelight, his boots crunching lightly on the dirt. The camp came into view again, lanterns glowing faintly, shadows moving here and there. He spotted John already with Abigail and Jack.
The three of them sat close together, Jack nestled between them with a book in his small hands, the very one Mary-Beth had given him. Abigail's voice carried softly as she read, Jack giggling at some turn in the tale, John trying to hide his smile behind his hand.
It was a warm sight, fragile yet grounding. Caleb's chest tightened again. He knew too well how thin the thread was that held such moments together.
Then, from his right, a voice cut through the night.
"Mr. Thorne! A moment, if you please."
He turned, spotting Herr Strauss sitting near his medicine wagon, ledger open in his lap, spectacles perched precariously on his nose. The German's sharp eyes regarded him with a mix of curiosity and calculation. His fingers tapped the ledger lightly, as though counting invisible coins in the air.
Caleb adjusted his stance, masking the weight of his earlier conversation, and walked toward Strauss.
"Herr Strauss," Caleb said, when he reaches him. "What can I do for you?"
Strauss closed his ledger carefully. "I wished to thank you, personally, for the medical supplies. The iodine, the bandages… they are of the highest quality. They will be most useful." His tone was polite, but his eyes were sharp and calculating. "It is… a significant contribution. Far more than the usual donations to the tithing box."
Caleb nodded. "Glad they'll help."
Strauss leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping, almost a murmur. "Your… success in Valentine. It seems it was quite substantial. More than just a few small robberies, perhaps?"
After saying that, he didn't wait for an answer, instead tapping his ledger. "Since the two of us known that you're a man with high talent for acquiring things back, I want to ask for your help one again. Here, I have a new list of individuals here in Lemoyne who have been… reluctant… to honor their debts after I come to them to get their payment."
...
Name: Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 7/10
- Agility: 7/10
- Perception: 8/10
- Stamina: 7/10
- Charm: 6/10
- Luck: 8/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl 4)
- Rifle (Lvl 3)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl 3)
- Past Life Memory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl 2)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl 1)
- Sneaking (Lvl 3)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl 4)
- Poker (Lvl 4)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl 2)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl 1)
- Dead Eye (Lvl 3)
- Bow (Lvl 2)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl 1)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl 0)
- Crafting (Lvl 3)
- Persuasion (Lvl 3)
- Mental Fortitude (Lvl MAX)
- Cooking (Lvl 4)
- Teaching (Lvl 2)
- Germanic Language Proficiency (Lvl MAX)
- Inventory System (Permanent - 10x10x10)
- Acting (Lvl 3)
- Alcohol Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Treasure Hunter (Lvl MAX)
Money: 1,814 dollars and 46 cents
Inventory: 103,988 dollars and 50 cents, 7 gold nuggets, 58 gold bars, 7 silver rings, 1 Double Action, 1 Schofield, 2 large bags of jewelry, 4 gold rings, 2 silver rings, 4 silver pocket watches, 3 gold buckles, 1 gold pocket compass, 2 platinum pocket watches, 2 Colm's Schofields, and land deed (Parcel)
Bank: -