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...
Charles absorbed this, his gaze returning to the dark forest. The implications were staggering. They were outlaws, yes, but they survived by preying on the fringes, by being ghosts. A direct confrontation with a power like Bronte's in the heart of a modern city was a recipe for annihilation.
"The gang… they follow him because he gives them hope," Charles said after a long silence. "But hope built on a lie is a dangerous thing."
He looked at Caleb again, a new understanding passing between them. "If the time comes, and his plans threaten to destroy the family… I will do what is necessary to protect the people who cannot protect themselves. I did not join a suicide cult. I joined a group that was supposed to look out for each other."
Caleb felt a wave of relief. He wasn't alone in his concerns. Having a man of Charles's integrity and strength on the same page was invaluable. "Neither did I, Charles," he said softly, flicking the ash from his cigar. "Neither did I."
Charles gave him a faint smile, the kind that never reached his lips but lingered in his eyes. Then he turned back to the darkness.
The night went on quietly after that. They stood their vigil, two men awake against the darkness while the rest of the camp slept in drunken dreams.
Occasionally they spoke of lighter things, Charles's hunting skills, Caleb's strange knack for cigars and his sly humor, but mostly they kept their peace, listening to the night sounds, the call of owls, the distant rustle of the lake shore.
The night will stretched on to the morning. But Caleb knew sleep would not come easy, not with what tomorrow promised at Shady Belle, and what waited beyond.
The rest of the night passed in a quiet, professional rhythm, it was long and heavy, but Caleb and Charles had made a system of it. One man would rest for an hour while the other kept watch, then they would switch, repeating the cycle until dawn. It wasn't perfect, but it kept them sharp enough, and in a camp this vulnerable, sharpness meant survival.
When the first rays of morning crept across the horizon, Charles gently roused Caleb, who had only just drifted into a shallow, dreamless sleep.
"Your turn," Charles said, his voice quiet but steady. "Sun's up. I'll grab what rest I can before the day starts."
Caleb pushed himself upright, blinking against the pale light of dawn. He rubbed the grit from his eyes, then sat forward, nodding. "Yeah. Go on, take your rest. Don't worry. Easier to guard with the light out anyway."
Charles studied him for a moment, then gave a short nod. "Wake me if anything stirs." With that, he walked toward a crate at the edge of camp, set his rifle down beside him, leaned back, and let his eyes slip shut.
Caleb rolled his shoulders, before picking up his Lancaster Repeater into a comfortable hold, then he light up a cigar, and scanned the perimeter. The air was crisp, filled with birdsong and the faint murmur of waves lapping at Flat Iron Lake. The camp was quiet, most of the gang still lost in the throes of sleep or the aches of a hangover.
Then came the sound of footsteps behind him, light and hesitant. Caleb turned, half expecting Charles again, but instead he saw Penelope Braithwaite.
Her dress was scuffed and rumpled, likely from her first night sleeping on a bedroll rather than the soft mattress of Braithwaite Manor. Her blonde hair, once perfectly set, was loose and tangled around her shoulders. She looked tired, but there was something softer in her expression, an unguarded vulnerability she'd likely never shown back in her family's gilded halls.
Caleb takes a puff of his cigar before tipped his head politely. "Good mornin', Miss Penelope."
She returned a wan smile, inclining her head. "Good morning, Mr. Caleb." Her voice was gentle, almost apologetic. "I… was wondering, where might I find some water? Or perhaps a cup of coffee?"
"Of course," Caleb said, before then gesturing toward Pearson's wagon. "If it's water you're after, Pearson keeps a barrel there behind his wagon. And if it's coffee, there's a pot by the cauldron next to his wagon. Can't promise it'll taste good, but it'll wake you up."
Penelope's smile warmed faintly. "That will do just fine. Thank you." She dipped her head again, then made her way toward Pearson's wagon, her skirts brushing against the morning grass.
Caleb turned back to his watch and puff his cigar, but soon enough another figure approached. This time it was Kieran, already awake, his repeater slung over his shoulder. His eyes were still heavy with sleep, but he looked determined.
"Mornin', Caleb." Kieran greeted, offering a small smile.
"Morning Kieran," Caleb returned, shifting his cigar to the corner of his mouth. "How'd you sleep?"
"Like a baby," Kieran said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Guess a bit of beer helped. Anyway, I can take over from here if you want. You've been up most the night."
Caleb thought about it. His stomach growled quietly, and he figured Pearson would still be passed out drunk after last night's revelry. That left breakfast on the gang's shoulders, and he knew Mary-Beth would appreciate something warm to start her day.
"Alright," Caleb said at last, giving Kieran a pat on the shoulder. "Appreciate it. I'll whip up some breakfast for me and Mary-Beth."
Kieran nodded. "Go on. I've got this."
Caleb slung his Lancaster across his shoulder and made his way to Pearson's wagon. Sure enough, Pearson himself was nowhere to be found, no doubt lying face down in his bedroll or by a barrel somewhere.
At the wagon, he found Penelope carefully pouring herself a steaming cup of coffee, her delicate fingers trying not to spill a drop. She glanced up at him as he passed, offering a shy nod.
Caleb gave her a polite smile, then turned his attention to Pearson's work table. There, laid out in a haphazard mess, he rummaged through the supplies to make of a decent breakfast, venison from the last hunt, a few carrots and potatoes, and several cans of fruit.
He set to work. With quick, practiced hands, he cut and salted the venison, dusting it with spices Pearson had tucked away. He set it to grill, the meat sizzling and filling the air with its savory scent. He peeled and chopped the potatoes and carrots, tossing them into a pot of boiling water until they softened. Last, he cracked open the canned fruit, laying it out neatly on the side.
By the time he plated everything, two generous servings, neatly portioned, the smell had filled the air, drawing Penelope's attention. She had been sipping her coffee quietly, but now she turned, eyes widening slightly at the sight of the meal.
"Mr. Caleb… I'm sorry to bother you, but that smells… wonderful," she admitted, a touch of surprise in her voice. Then, almost hesitant, she asked, "Would there be… any food I might have as well?"
Caleb gave her an easy smile. "Help yourself to the canned foods in that crate," he said, gesturing with his head before turning his attention back to the two plates. "There's beans, corn, things like that." He didn't offer her his plates, those were meant for him and Mary-Beth, but his tone carried no malice, only matter of fact honesty.
Penelope blinked at him, perhaps unused to such bluntness after a lifetime of servants who bent over backward to appease her. Before Penelope could say another word, he picked up the two plates and walked away, leaving her standing there, a little surprised by his brisk, utilitarian response. His focus was elsewhere.
As he walked toward the women's sleeping area, he spotted Mary-Beth, already awake. She was sitting cross legged between the still slumbering forms of Tilly and Karen, gently brushing out her hair. When she looked up and saw him approaching with plates in hand, her face brightened with a sweet smile.
"Good morning," she said softly, standing and smoothing her skirts as she came to meet him.
"Morning," Caleb said, his own smile warm and genuine. "Made us some breakfast."
Mary-Beth's eyes softened, her smile deepening into something even sweeter. "Oh, Caleb, that's so sweet of you. Thank you. You're too good to me," she murmured, leaning up to press a gentle kiss against his cheek.
Caleb leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, the simple affection feeling like a bulwark against the coming day. Together, the two of them walked to the main campfire, settling down side by side with their plates.
The food was simple, but warm and filling. The venison was perfectly cooked, the vegetables hearty, and the fruits a sweet finish. As they ate, Mary-Beth leaned into him, their quiet companionship a rare pocket of peace amid the chaos of outlaw life. Caleb found himself savoring it, the normalcy, the illusion of a shared life free of violence and uncertainty.
It wasn't long before another figure joined them. Arthur, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, strolled over with a cigarette already between his lips. He lit it with a flick, inhaling deeply before exhaling a long plume of smoke.
"Morning you two," Arthur said, settling down near the fire.
"Morning Arthur," Caleb and Mary-Beth answered in unison.
Arthur took another long drag, his eyes, bloodshot but clear, settling on Caleb. "I've been thinkin'," he began, exhaling a plume of smoke. "About Shady Belle. I think we ought to clear it out today. Soon as we can. The longer we wait here, the bigger the chance the Grays or, God forbid, the Pinkertons, connect us to what happened at the Braithwaite place. We need to be gone from here, and we need that mansion secured."
He looked at Caleb, his expression grim and determined. "What do you think? You, me, Charles, and John. We ride out this morning, get it done?" The unspoken question hung in the air: were they ready to dive into another fight so soon after the last? The respite had been brief, but the relentless pressure of their lives demanded they keep moving.
Caleb set down his fork, meeting Arthur's gaze across the fire. The question wasn't just practical, it was laced with urgency, with the awareness that their window of safety was rapidly closing.
"Best to move quick," Caleb said at last. "The Braithwaites are ashes, but that don't mean the Grays or the law won't come sniffin'. Word gets out, people start lookin' for culprits. And if the Pinkertons put two and two together…" He shook his head. "We're done."
Arthur nodded grimly as flicked his cigarette into the fire and leaned forward. "That's what I figured. Dutch last night want us to head out today or tomorrow. Knowing him, more likely today. He hates sittin' still when there's an opportunity. Guess we'd best eat up and be ready."
Mary-Beth's hand found Caleb's under the table, squeezing gently. Her smile was faint, her eyes worried, before she glance at Arthur. "But you'll be careful, won't you? All of you."
Arthur gave her a small, almost weary smile. "Careful as we ever are, Mary-Beth." His tone carried that wry humor of his, but Caleb caught the underlying seriousness. Arthur knew exactly how messy this could get.
Caleb looked at Mary-Beth, holding her gaze, and nodded firmly. "I'll be careful. I promise."
Caleb squeezed back, offering her a quiet smile. "Always."
Arthur watched the exchange with a half smirk, half sigh, before taking another puff from his cigarette. "Well, eat up. Something tells me we'll be ridin' out before the sun's too high."
...
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: -