Jamie, restrained and unable to move, heard Arthur's voice, which sounded like salvation itself, and pleaded, "Mr. Morgan, please help me."
Before he could even finish, a bullet whizzed past the circus manager, who had just staggered back to his feet, and smacked into the dirt beside him. The man yelped in panic, and another shot followed, grazing his boot before thudding into the ground.
"You're the manager Jamie was talking about, right?" Arthur asked coolly, his revolver steady and aimed at the trembling man, whose once-clean suit was now dust-stained.
"Y-Yes… yes, I am. W-What do you want?" the manager stuttered, his knees shaking beneath him.
"What do you think? Let him go. Otherwise…" Arthur tilted the gun, his voice sharp as a knife, "I'll blow your damn head off."
"N-No need for that. Let's… let's talk this through. If he wants to leave, he can leave!" the manager blurted, raising his hands halfway.
Arthur gave a low chuckle. "Good answer. Jamie, let's go."
Jamie shoved off the rough hands gripping him, giving the manager a scornful glare before swaggering out of the circus tent at Arthur's side.
"Mr. Morgan, thank you back there," Jamie said, his voice still buzzing with adrenaline. "The bastard saw me hand over twenty dollars and tried to bleed me dry. I lost my temper and roughed him up."
Arthur smirked. "Not bad, Jamie. You've barely been with us and already acting like one of the gang. Should I start handing out praise now?"
Jamie chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his head. For the first time in a long while, he felt like the air was lighter, freer.
"C'mon, I'll get you back to camp. My horse is tied up out front by the saloon," Arthur said, nodding towards the street.
They had barely stepped onto the boardwalk when the general store's door creaked open. Two figures emerged, both dressed in black tailcoats.
Jamie noticed the first immediately: ruddy complexion, a small mole on his left cheek, a neatly trimmed goatee, and a soft black felt hat perched on his head.
"Making new friends again, Arthur?" the man drawled, eyeing Jamie curiously.
Arthur's expression tightened. "Arthur, look who's lurking about," the man added, stepping aside to reveal the second figure.
Arthur exhaled through his nose. "Josiah Trelawny."
The man grinned and tipped his hat in a gentleman's bow. "Precisely."
Arthur ignored him and looked past, spotting the taller figure behind. "Dutch, good timing. I was just about to look for you. Jamie, meet Dutch van der Linde, our leader. And the fellow bowing like some fancy magician is Josiah—a swindler. Don't believe half of what he says. Hell, don't believe a damn thing."
"Arthur, really! I've only been gone a few days. No need to tarnish my good name," Josiah protested, his tone wounded.
Arthur waved him off. "Josiah, I need to talk business with Dutch. Be a good boy and step aside." He gestured dismissively.
Josiah opened his mouth to argue, but Dutch's deep voice cut him off. "Josiah, wait for me by the bank. I'll join you shortly."
Defeated, Josiah tipped his hat again—this time at Jamie. "See you around," he said smoothly, before strolling toward the Valentine Savings Bank.
With him gone, Dutch turned his attention back. "Arthur, what's so urgent? You got news for me?"
Arthur shook his head and nudged Jamie forward with a pat on the back. "Dutch, Jamie here saved my hide today. Michael Michelson slipped out of prison. Took a shot at me from the second floor of the Saints Hotel. Would've been done for if Jamie hadn't tackled me out of the way. Bill and Charles nabbed Michael upstairs, and we handed him off to the Sheriff."
Dutch's eyes widened. He pressed a hand against his chest, clearly shaken.
Removing his hat with solemn respect, he gave Jamie a slight bow. "Thank you for saving Arthur. He's the heart of this gang. I can't imagine what we'd do without him."
Arthur cleared his throat. "Dutch, Jamie's looking to ride with us. I figured it best not to promise him anything until you weighed in."
Dutch's gaze lingered on Jamie for a long moment before he finally spoke. "Join us, you say?" His brow furrowed. He tugged Arthur aside with a polite nod to Jamie. "Mr. Custer, if you'll excuse us."
Jamie offered a polite smile and nodded back.
Still, in his head he wondered if Dutch thought he was some kind of plant, sent in to sniff out the gang.
He kept his composure, only half pretending to admire the wagons rolling down the muddy street. After all, it was his first time seeing one in real life. Forget the wagons—the horses alone amazed him.
Meanwhile Dutch and Arthur whispered in the narrow alley between two storefronts.
At last, Arthur reappeared, a smile tugging at his lips. He clapped Jamie gently on the uninjured shoulder. "Jamie, Dutch agreed. You're one of us now. We're companions from here on out."
Dutch smiled warmly at Jamie and said, "Welcome to the Van der Linde gang. From now on, you're family. If you run into trouble, the gang's got your back."
Jamie let out a quiet sigh of relief. The first step of his plan had worked—he'd managed to join the gang.
Still, a strange thought gnawed at him. It felt almost like someone had been guiding his path from the shadows. After all, what were the odds that he'd end up saving Arthur at just the right moment?
But for now, the excitement of being welcomed into the gang outweighed the unease.
He nodded back to Dutch, copying the older man's gesture, and said, "Thank you!"
"Jamie, you stick with Arthur for now," Dutch went on. "Josiah and I have some business to handle, so we won't be ridin' back to camp just yet. Oh—and Arthur, I see Jamie's shirt is in rough shape. Why don't you take him over to Lizzy's Clothing Store around the corner, get him a new one on my tab. Consider it a welcome gift." With that, Dutch tipped his hat and headed toward the Valentine Savings Bank where Josiah had just disappeared.
"C'mon, Jamie," Arthur said, taking the reins from him and hitching the horse back up outside the saloon. "Almost forgot—Susan asked me to pick up some spices while I was out. Let's stop by the general store first and see what they've got."
"Alright, Mr. Morgan." Jamie nodded, though in his head he thought about how strange it felt to suddenly live in the late 1800s.
He didn't even know what kind of food people here usually ate, or if he'd even like it. This was as good a time as any to find out.
Arthur gave him a small grin. "Just call me Arthur. No need for all that 'mister' business between family. Especially not after you went and saved my hide."
Jamie followed Arthur into the Worths General Store. The place felt oddly familiar—wooden floors, shelves stacked high with goods, and a bell above the door that jingled as they stepped inside.
It reminded him of the old country stores he'd only ever read about.
Everything was stacked neatly behind counters, the kind where you'd tell the clerk what you wanted and they'd fetch it for you.
The bell startled the shopkeeper, a plain-dressed man sitting behind the counter. He straightened up and asked politely, "What can I get you, sir?"
"Lookin' for spices. The kind for cookin'," Arthur said.
The owner brightened. "We've got black pepper, wild mint, thyme, and oregano. Which'll it be?"
Arthur rubbed his chin, then said, "A little of each. Enough to make a pound all together."
While Arthur sorted out the purchase, Jamie let his eyes wander around the store. Shelves were lined mostly with canned goods—practical for long travel and easy to keep from spoilin'.
Behind the counter sat glass cases filled with cigars and cigarette packs, the kind of items folks didn't want stolen. Off to the side were stacks of everyday gear: coffee pots, cutlery, fishing rods, even some basic tools.
The fresher goods—vegetables and fruit—were laid out where customers could browse freely.
The shopkeeper moved quick, weighing and packing the herbs into a paper bag before handing it over. "That'll be two dollars and twenty cents."
Arthur dug into his pocket, fished out some coins, and slid them across the counter. "Here you go."
"Thank you kindly," the shopkeeper said with a small bow.
Stepping back outside, Arthur tucked the bag under his arm and looked at Jamie. "Alright, next stop's Lizzy's. We'll get you somethin' decent to wear."
Jamie shifted a little uncomfortably. "There's just one problem—I've never actually ridden a horse before."
Arthur chuckled. "Ain't no problem. First time for everything. Here—grab the mane with your left hand, hold the saddle with your right, put your left foot in the stirrup. That's it. Now just swing your leg over. You'll get used to it quick enough."
Arthur's horse was a bay roan Tennessee Walker. After helping Jamie—who had never ridden a horse before—into the saddle, Arthur swung up smoothly behind him.
"Now, listen," Arthur said, steady and patient. "Hold the reins with both hands. Keep one end pressed under your thumb, and grip the other end with your pinky and ring finger. Sit up straight, legs snug against her sides. Good… very good. We're settin' off now."
With a gentle tap of his heel against the mare's flank, the horse moved forward obediently, her gait calm and steady.
Jamie sat stiff in the saddle, his nerves buzzing. He half-expected the animal to bolt and throw him to the dirt at any second.
Arthur caught the look on his face and chuckled low. "Relax. Boadicea's a good girl. Smarter than some folks I know."
Though still nervous, Jamie loosened his death grip on the reins, trying to follow Arthur's advice.
When they reached the clothing store on the corner of Valentine's main street, Arthur spoke again. "Now, to stop her, do this." He leaned forward, guiding Jamie's wrist as he pulled the reins back smoothly, not too hard, not too soft. Boadicea slowed to a halt at once.
"See? Simple enough," Arthur said as he swung down, then steadied Jamie by the arm to help him dismount. "Riding's about balance. Once you get the hang of that, you'll be tearing across the prairie like you were born to it."
He tied Boadicea's reins to the hitching post before leading Jamie inside the clothing shop. Springtime in Valentine meant the heavier coats were tucked off in the corners while lighter shirts and trousers filled the racks. A few finer outfits—silk vests and neatly tailored jackets—were displayed proudly up high behind the counter.
"Gentlemen, looking for something in particular?" asked the shop's proprietress, a poised woman in a dark green gown trimmed with gold. Her smile was warm, her voice even warmer.
Jamie froze for a second, struck dumb by her presence. After all this time seeing guy covered of mud, blood, and some roughnecks, she looked like something out of another world.
His throat went dry, and he swallowed hard.
"Not me, him," Arthur said, jerking his chin toward Jamie. "I'm too filthy to be standin' around in a fine place like this. Maybe I oughta wait outside." He brushed at the dried mud clinging to his shirt and boots, feeling sheepish.
The woman waved her hand kindly. "Nonsense. Mud can be swept. You stay right here. No need to leave."
Arthur gave a small, grateful nod, while Jamie's thoughts ran wild.
'Now this was service.'
Compared to that cranky sawbones at the clinic earlier, this woman was a saint. And beautiful, too—inside and out.
"And you, sir? What are you looking for today?" she asked, stepping closer. "Sir?…"
Jamie snapped out of his daze, his face reddening under her gaze.
"Ah—uh—sorry. I need a shirt." He tugged at the fabric on his back, showing the dark bloodstain where the bullet had grazed him.
The woman gasped softly. "Oh my! You're hurt. Did you have that wound tended to?"
Jamie waved it off quickly, forcing a smile. "I'm fine now, ma'am. Thank you kindly for asking."
"That's good," the shopkeeper's wife said with a sigh of relief, patting her chest. Jamie's eyes flicked down for a split second and caught the distracting bounce of her figure.
'Damn, chill, Little Jamie…' He quickly sucked in a deep breath, thought of the weeabo kid nonsense he'd seen on reels, and his face quickly turned expressionless.
The Madam moved to a rack of clothes, pulled down a dark blue cotton shirt, and held it up. "How about this one?"
"Looks fine. Mind if I try it on?" Jamie asked. He figured a little store like this wouldn't have too much variety anyway, so if it fit, he'd just take it.
"Course you can. Fittin' room's right over there," she said, pointing toward a corner curtained off with black cloth.
Jamie took the shirt from her, ducked behind the curtain, peeled off his bloodied one, and slipped into the new garment.
It was a little loose, but considering he'd be spending plenty of time on the road, looser was probably better.
Holding his stained shirt, he pushed the curtain aside and stepped back out.
"Well, don't you look sharp. Fits you nicely," the Madam said with a smile.
"Good enough. I'll take it," Jamie replied.
He wasn't the type to fuss—back when he lived alone, he'd just grab clothes off the rack without much thought.
As long as they worked, he didn't bother sending anything back.
Arthur leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. "Pick out another set too. Looks like you came with nothin', so you'll need a spare. And grab a coat while you're at it. Dutch said he'd cover it anyway. Consider it a welcome gift."
Jamie blinked, realizing Arthur was right—he didn't have so much as a spare shirt.
The circus he'd been with was long gone, and there was no way he could go back for any of it now.
He gave a small nod. "Alright."
The Madam brightened. "Perfect. I'll set you up proper." She went along the rack, pulling a striped blue cotton shirt, a pair of dark gray work trousers, a gray-and-white plaid vest, brown suspenders, and finally a dark blue dust coat.
She handed the pile over to Jamie with a proud grin.
Back in the fitting room, Jamie tried them on one by one.
As he stripped down, he glanced at himself with a mix of curiosity and amusement. 'Do folks not wear undergarments back in these times? And no socks either? Their feet must reek after a day's ride.'
He shook his head, pulling on the vest and coat, then studied himself in the mirror.
The look gave him a surge of confidence.
When he stepped out, the Madam's eyes lit up, though her brow furrowed like something was missing.
With sudden inspiration, she hurried to the counter, pulled out a dark wide-brimmed hat, and settled it on Jamie's head.
She stepped back, studied him carefully, and then beamed.
"There! What do you think?" she asked, turning to Arthur.
Arthur gave a crooked grin. "Not bad at all. Almost as good as me."
His tone carried a playful jab before he straightened and asked more seriously, "What's the damage?"
"One moment." The Madam opened a ledger on the counter, flipping through until she found the right page.
After a bit of scribbling and calculation, she looked up. "That'll be twenty-six dollars and sixty cents altogether."
"Fair price," Arthur said with a nod, pulling out two rolls of twenties and setting them down. "And add a gun belt and buckle to the tally. Keep the rest as your tip."
"Of course. I don't keep gun belts here myself, but I can fetch one from Dalton's shop next door. You two can pick out a buckle while you wait." She tucked the money away, pointed toward the glass display of buckles, and then bustled quickly out the door.