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"Annesburg," Caleb said, the word dropping between them like a lead weight. "It's his town. His mine. If he's not licking his wounds on a train back to his headquarters gods knows where, he's there. It's the only place that makes sense."
Hosea's face grew grim. "A vile place. Full of misery and many hired thugs. Dangerous."
"I've been in dangerous places before."
"I know." Hosea sighed. "And you say you'll leave soon?"
"In two or three days," Caleb confirmed. "I want to make sure things here are running smoothly. That everyone's settled. And…"
He let the sentence hang, his hand unconsciously touching the pocket where the key and the small glass bottle rested. "That other matters are resolved. We can't have loose ends here while I'm gone."
Hosea's eyes followed the gesture. His face, already lined with age, seemed to acquire a few more deep grooves in that moment.
He understood perfectly. The final piece of the old life. The silence stretched, filled with the distant laughter from the yard and the mournful cry of a hawk circling high above.
Finally, Hosea gave a single, slow, almost imperceptible nod. It wasn't enthusiastic. It wasn't relieved. It was the sagging acceptance of a terrible, necessary truth.
He closed his eyes for a second, as if picturing the man he'd ridden with for twenty years, then opened them, looking at the solid home around them.
"You're right," he whispered, the words barely audible. "Loose ends… they have a way of unraveling everything. See to it before you go. Cleanly. Gently, if such a thing is possible."
He met Caleb's gaze, his own eyes holding a world of sorrow and shared complicity. "For the family."
"For the family," Caleb echoed, the phrase a vow and a eulogy.
Hosea gave his shoulder one last squeeze, then pushed off the railing, moving back toward the house, his step slower than before, weighed down by the final sanction he had just given.
Caleb finished his cigarette, watching the sun begin its decline. The timeline was set. The next two or three days would be for fortifying this new life.
And in the quiet of the coming evenings, he would begin the slow, careful administration of potassium bromide into Dutch Van der Linde's dinner broth, starting a clock that would tick down silently, invisibly, toward a merciful looking end.
Then, with the ghost ticking time to rest permanently started, he could ride to Annesburg to confront the last living ghost of their past, leaving behind a home that will be finally, truly, safe.
The three days passed in a blur of constructive labor and silent, grim ritual. Caleb's Crafting Skill made him invaluable, transforming the homestead from a shell into a functioning home.
But each evening, as the sun dipped below the tree line, his focus narrowed to a single, dark task.
The first night, he volunteered to take Dutch his dinner, a bowl of Pearson's thick stew and a hunk of bread. It was a task others avoided, the sounds from the cellar a constant, shameful reminder.
Dutch, still restrained to the cot, was in a sullen, muttering phase. His eyes, when they focused on Caleb, held no recognition, only a simmering, animal hostility.
"Evening, Dutch," Caleb said, his voice neutral as he placed the tray on a small stool. He made a show of checking the restraints, his body blocking the bowl from view for the crucial moment.
His fingers, swift and precise, uncorked the small brown bottle from Doc Calloway and let a carefully measured dose of clear potassium bromide tincture drip into the rich gravy, stirring it once with the spoon. The bitter compound vanished into the savory mix. "Pearson's best. Eat up."
Dutch just snarled, turning his head away. But Caleb knew hunger would win. He left, locking the door with the heavy thud that was becoming a familiar sound in the house. The next morning, the bowl was empty, licked clean.
The second night, Dutch was more agitated, hurling curses that were a garbled mix of philosophical jargon and raw bile.
Caleb administered the dose again, this time in a cup of strong, sweetened coffee meant to mask any lingering bitterness. He noted the slight tremor in Dutch's hands as he finally grabbed the cup, a tremor that hadn't been there the day before. The cumulative effect was beginning.
By the third evening, the change was more pronounced. Dutch was listless, his earlier fury dampened into a confused lethargy. His speech, when he bothered to speak, was slurred.
"The… the plan… it's foggy," he mumbled as Caleb placed the tray. The dose went into a mashed potato and gravy mixture.
Dutch ate slowly, clumsily, some of it dribbling down his chin. The potassium bromide was doing its work, mimicking a rapid, devastating cognitive decline.
After doing all of this, Caleb knew this alone would not keep them safe. They needed direction, a future that did not smell of gunpowder.
So after giving food to Dutch, Caleb gathered Hosea, Arthur, the entire body of the men in the gang, and all the women as well, calling them together in the big common room of the house.
It was the first time the whole family had sat like that not to plan a robbery or an escape, but to talk about their future.
The fire crackled low in the hearth. Outside, the new porch chairs creaked in the wind Caleb himself had helped tame.
"I'm going to say something most of you won't like," Caleb began, standing near the long table. "But it needs saying if we mean what we claim, about living different. Not just surviving the next week, but living long enough to see Jack grow old."
That got their attention.
Arthur leaned against the wall with his arms folded. Hosea sat at the head of the table, already watching Caleb with that careful, hopeful look.
"We need to stop being outlaws," Caleb said plainly. "No more robbing trains. No more shooting our way through towns. Every time we do that, we paint a bigger target on this place. If we want the law to forget us one day, if we want those bounty posters to come down, then we need to give them nothing new to chase."
A heavy silence fell. Bill shifted in his seat. Javier rubbed his mustache. Sean looked like someone had told him whiskey was outlawed.
Caleb continued before the doubt could grow. "There's honest work to be done. Farming this land. Raising cattle, pigs, more chickens. Selling crops. And for those who still want to use a gun, bounty hunting. Legal work, paid by the same law that hunts us now."
Hosea was the first one to see the truth in it and agree with his words.
"The boy's right," he said. "It's a bitter pill for some of us to swallow, but it's the only medicine that'll cure what ails us. The world's changing. Trains, factories, Pinkertons everywhere. We keep riding the outlaw road, the law will follow us to our graves. We wanted paradise? This is it."
He then gestured out to the land around them. "But if we put roots in this soil, like Caleb said, grow our own vegetables, maybe buy some cattle, pigs, more chickens, we could become something else entirely."
Miss Grimshaw crossed her arms, then surprised everyone by nodding.
"It's time this family faced the truth," she declared. "Our time… the time of the wild bunch, the gunslinger riding into the sunset… it's ending. This world is building fences, and we're either inside them or we're wolves to be shot. We may be the last of our breed… and I, for one, fancy trying my hand at this farming business."
A ripple of chuckles spread through everyone. "Why's everyone laughing?" she snapped.
Caleb grinned. ""Just hard to picture you with a shovel, Miss Grimshaw. Thought you'd be more… supervising."
"Of course I will!" she shot back. "You boys think I'll break my back in the dirt while you stand around scratching yourselves? How could you boys let an old woman do the planting?!"
Caleb smiled. "Of course not, Miss Grimshaw. We all have our roles to help you."
That broke the tension entirely, laughter bouncing off everyone.
One by one, the agreements came. Arthur gave a slow, firm nod, his eyes meeting Caleb's. It was a pact they'd already made in the dark in the past, now extended to the whole family.
Uncle, ever the survivor, agreed readily, seeing three square meals a day as the ultimate score. Swanson spoke softly of redemption through honest toil. The women, Sadie, Mary-Beth, Karen, Tilly, even Molly, voiced their support, their weariness with the running and hiding they done.
Charles saw the logic in living of the land, which was also part of his ancestors. Kieran and Lenny, the younger ones, seemed almost excited by the challenge of something new and clean.
Pearson puffed out his chest at the thought of a fully-stocked, permanent larder. John glanced at Abigail and Jack and simply said, "Yeah. Okay."
Only Bill, Javier, and Sean looked uneasy.
Bill grumbled, "We ain't exactly farmers, Caleb."
"It's… it's a big change, Caleb," Javier said softly. "The life we left… it leaves a mark. Can we just… put on overalls and be farmers?"
Caleb met their eyes. This was the moment he'd prepared for, and he let his Persuasion and Acting Skills carry his voice, not magical, but steady and convincing.
"You're right. The blood on our hands won't disappear." Caleb said honestly. "We can't wash the past away. Not in a week, not in a lifetime. The blood on our hands is a stain. But a stain doesn't mean you can't pick up a new tool. Redemption isn't about erasure. It's about what you build on top of the scars. We don't have to save the world. We just have to save this."
He gestured to the room, to the people in it. "We do our best for this family. We abandon the crimes, and we try, every day, to be better than we were. That's how we earn this peace."
The words settled over them like warm rain on dry soil.
Sean scratched his head. "So you're saying I can still punch someone if they deserve it?"
"Preferably someone with a legal warrant on them," Caleb replied.
That earned another round of laughs, and the resistance softened.
When everyone finally quieted, Hosea looked around and said, "All in favor of trying this new path?"
Hands rose, slowly at first, then all together. Even Bill and Javier lifted theirs, hesitant but there.
Caleb felt something loosen in his chest he hadn't realized was tight. "Good," he said.
With the moral course set, Caleb moved to the practical. "Now, for money. We have the savings, but they won't last forever. I've got an offer right away. My restaurant in Valentine needs proper security. Honest work, forty dollars a day."
A low whistle went through the room. It was excellent pay. "Forty?" Lenny repeated.
Hosea nodded approvingly. "A fair offer, Caleb. A leg up. Who's interested?"
Lenny and Sean immediately raised their hands.
"I'll guard the hell out of that kitchen," Sean declared. "And eat for free while I'm at it."
Caleb chuckled. "Sample too much, and I'll be deducting it from your wages. I run a business, not a charity."
Sean clutched his chest. "You wound me, boss man!"
"For now, that's what I can offer," Caleb continued. "But I'm working on other… ventures. Herr Strauss, is handling the details. If they prove profitable, there will be more opportunities for honest work here, with good pay. I'll share the news when there's something solid."
This caused a stir. Hosea leaned forward, intrigued. "Expanding your business, Caleb?"
"I am," Caleb confirmed. "I can't elaborate yet. But the goal is to build something that provides for this family, legally and securely. Let's leave it at that for now."
The surprise on their faces told him he'd planted another seed of hope. By the end of the meeting, the gang looked less like a band of hunted wolves and more like a messy, stubborn family trying to learn new habits.
...
Name: Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 8/10
- Agility: 8/10
- Perception: 9/10
- Stamina: 8/10
- Charm: 8/10
- Luck: 9/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl MAX)
- Rifle (Lvl MAX)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl MAX)
- Past Life Memory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl MAX)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl 2)
- Sneaking (Lvl MAX)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl MAX)
- Poker (Lvl MAX)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl MAX)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl 2)
- Dead Eye (Lvl 4)
- Bow (Lvl 3)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl 4)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl 3)
- Crafting (Lvl MAX)
- Persuasion (Lvl MAX)
- Mental Fortitude (Lvl MAX)
- Cooking (Lvl MAX)
- Teaching (Lvl 3)
- Trilingual Language Proficiency - G, I, & C (Lvl MAX)
- Inventory System (Permanent - 10x10x10)
- Acting (Lvl MAX)
- Alcohol Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Treasure Hunter (Lvl MAX)
- Drugs Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Business (Lvl 1)
- Leadership (Lvl 1)
Money: 3,395 dollars and 60 cents
Inventory: 250,392 dollars and 61 cents, 11 gold nuggets, 65 gold bars, 1 Double Action, 1 Schofield, 2 Colm's Schofields, land deed (Parcel), 1 Mauser, 1 Semi Auto Pistol, 1 Lancaster Repeater, 1 Old Wood Jewelry Box, 1 F.F Mausoleum small brass key, 1 Ruby, 1 Braithwaites Land Deed, 1 Broken Pirate Sword, 1 Milton's Safety Deposit Key, 1 Senator Pendleton Sealed Envelope, & Proof Of Marlin-Thorne Firearms Co.
Bank: -