"Bill thinks he's found 'em," Dutch said, his voice sharp, impatient. "An O'Driscoll camp. Up in the hills, not far. Looks like a chance to finally send a message."
Arthur gave a skeptical snort. "Bill's sure, is he?"
"Course I'm sure," Bill growled from behind. "I seen 'em. Tracks, smoke. O'Driscoll's don't hide their stink."
Wyatt, seated by the fire sharpening a knife, stood slowly. "And we're just strollin' in?"
Dutch's grin was thin. "You're goin' in. You, Arthur, and Bill. Find out what they're planning. Hit them hard if you have to. Leave nothin' standing."
Wyatt holstered Mercy and Judgement, his twin pistols slung low on his thighs. "Guess it's time for a little house call."
The ride out was tense. Wind howled low through the trees, and the snow from the previous day hadn't quite melted, leaving the ground slick in spots.
Bill led them along a ridge. "It's just up ahead," he said, pointing toward a narrow trail. "Follow the creekbed. I saw smoke yesterday."
Wyatt scanned the horizon. "Hope you're not leading us into a ghost camp."
Bill shot him a look. "I ain't wrong."
Arthur muttered, "That'd be a first."
As they crested a hill, the smoke came into view, curling up from behind a stand of pines. Through the branches, they spotted movement—three tents, a wagon, and half a dozen men.
"We goin' loud?" Wyatt asked.
"Not yet," Arthur replied. "We take one alive. Find out where Colm is."
Bill muttered a curse but nodded. "Let's do it quiet, then."
They slid off their horses and crept toward the camp, sticking to the trees. Wyatt flanked right, Arthur and Bill moving left. When Arthur's boot crunched a frozen branch, one of the O'Driscolls turned—but too late.
Bill tackled him from behind, slamming the man's head into the ground.
Wyatt leveled his pistol at the others. "Nobody move."
A short scuffle later, they had one live O'Driscoll tied up by the fire while the others lay cooling in the dirt. Arthur crouched beside the man, who was already spitting curses.
"You best let me go, you sons of—"
Arthur grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head back. "We're lookin' for Colm. Where is he?"
The man laughed, blood dripping from his nose. "Colm'll skin you alive."
"Wrong answer," Bill muttered and cracked him across the jaw.
Wyatt drew Judgement slowly and crouched on the man's other side. His voice was calm. Too calm.
"You ever seen a man's lungs outside his body?"
The O'Driscoll stared at him, pale now. "You're bluffin'."
"I don't bluff."
Wyatt pressed the barrel to the man's thigh. "Where. Is. He?"
"Okay, okay! North. There's a camp in the trees, old logging site. He's holed up there with most the boys."
Arthur looked to Wyatt. Wyatt stood, holstering Judgement again with a nod.
"Then we pay him a visit," Arthur said.
They tied the man to a tree and left him there with a broken nose and a bloodied mouth. He wasn't going anywhere soon.
The logging camp wasn't far. As they neared the ridge, Arthur spotted sentries.
"Two on the path, more in the camp. We'll hit 'em fast."
Wyatt checked the action on his pistols. "Time to finish what we started."
They moved quickly—Arthur opened fire first, dropping the nearest sentry with a headshot. Wyatt followed, fanning Mercy in his left hand while covering their right. Bullets flew, snapping bark and ricocheting off rocks.
Bill charged into the fray, shotgun roaring, while Wyatt flanked around the back. He dropped one man near the wagon, then dove behind a log pile.
An O'Driscoll rushed him with a hatchet. Wyatt met him halfway, parrying with the barrel of Judgement and putting a round in his chest before he hit the ground.
Arthur moved through the camp with calculated rage, taking down two more.
By the time the smoke cleared, the logging camp was a graveyard.
Bill caught his breath, hands on his knees. "That… that went alright."
"Could've gone cleaner," Wyatt muttered, wiping blood from his sleeve.
Arthur stepped into the leader's tent. "Look at this."
They followed him in. A map pinned to a post. Camp locations. A list of names—including Colm O'Driscoll.
"Dutch'll want to see this," Arthur said, rolling the map.
"Burn the rest," Wyatt said. "Let Colm know we're coming."
They torched the camp as they left. Tents burned bright against the falling snow.
Back at Horseshoe Overlook, Dutch waited. He looked at the blood on their coats, the smoke rising behind them, and nodded.
"You got somethin'?"
Arthur handed him the map. "More than somethin'."
Dutch's face hardened as he read. "Good. Let the bastard know who's comin' for him."
Wyatt stayed quiet, standing off to the side. The wind shifted, blowing embers from the cooking fire across the dirt. He watched them fade into the soil.
He'd fought in a hundred fights, lived through ten lifetimes of blood and fire—but there was something about this feud, this personal war with the O'Driscolls, that felt like it was carving itself into his soul.
A familiar burn pulsed in his chest, the old fire rising.