Jamie watched the proprietress leave the room in quick, hurried steps.
"Interested in her?" Arthur gave Jamie that familiar 'we're all men here, I get it' grin.
"No... no. I just think she's a good person, and she doesn't mind how dirty you are," Jamie explained, scratching the back of his head.
Arthur chuckled. "I've been through that stage too. What you're thinking now, I thought back then. John and I used to brag about how we'd win her over in a few days. We're all brave men out here, don't be shy." He walked over and clapped Jamie on the back, teasing him loudly.
Jamie blinked, a little surprised. He didn't expect Arthur to have been so bold before. No—maybe everyone in the Old West was just that… uninhibited? Jamie thought to himself.
"Alright, I'm a little interested, just a tiny bit," Jamie admitted, gesturing with his hand to show the small extent.
"Alright! Alright! Our gang just got here, and if nothing unexpected happens, we'll be around for a while. You've got plenty of time to win her over. If you don't know how, once I take you back to camp, you can ask Molly or Mary-Beth for advice. Of course, you can ask me too. Now, pick a belt buckle you like." Arthur guided Jamie over to the glass counter.
Joining a gang comes with dating advice too?
That actually sounds a little tempting.
'Well, if its my face from before, I would never even think about it, but now? Why don't I give it a try?' Jamie thought, smiling to himself as he looked into the display case.
Most of the buckles were brass, though a few silvery-white ones stood out—likely made from silver. He figured there must be gold ones too, though those would be far out of his budget.
Even silver was a stretch.
Deciding to play it safe, Jamie picked the cheapest brass buckle he could find—a design carved with a prairie scene.
By the time the proprietress returned, he had already made his choice.
"This one? Good taste. A lot of women in town pick this style for their husbands." The proprietress pulled out an identical buckle from under the counter and smoothly attached it to a gun belt.
Jamie waited while she worked, then she handed him the belt with the buckle fixed in place. "Try it on, see if it fits."
Jamie fastened the gun belt around his waist, doing it the way he was used to in his own time.
Arthur stepped back a couple of paces, giving him a once-over. "Hmm… aside from being a bit young, you look the part."
Jamie, feeling playful, tucked his thumbs into the gun belt like the cowboys he'd seen in movies, pacing a few steps in the store.
For a moment, he truly felt like a gunslinger of the West.
The only problem was, he didn't have a pistol yet—and even if he did, he had no idea how to use it.
After bidding farewell to the beautiful proprietress, Jamie and Arthur mounted up on Arthur's Tennessee Walker, Boadicea, and rode out toward the Van der Linde gang's camp at Horseshoe Overlook.
As they neared the edge of town, Jamie's eyes caught on a strange-looking wooden building with a raised platform in front. A shop? Probably not—the shops were on the two streets behind them.
A house? No, those were usually up on the hillside. As he puzzled it over, Boadicea's steady pace carried them closer. Then Jamie saw the sign: "Train Station & Stagecoach Station & Post Office."
'So that's how it is! There's even a train here. Guess Valentine ain't as small as I thought.
That train must head off to the big cities—I wonder just how busy and prosperous those places really are.'
Along the ride, Jamie noticed how different everything looked compared to what he'd imagined from the reels and pictures that he'd seen before online.
In those stories, the West was always some dry, sun-baked desert with tumbleweeds rolling across empty plains. It even comes with a western guitar soundtrack.
But Valentine's surroundings told a different story.
The rain had left the rolling hills fresh and green, scattered with wildflowers and grasses he didn't recognize.
Off in the distance, snow still capped the high peaks, but closer by everything seemed alive with the season.
The trail was worn by wagon wheels and horse hooves, and little animals darted out every now and then, startling Jamie—who'd never seen anything like it back in the city.
"Is that… a deer? There are deers here?" he asked, eyes wide as he spotted a brown-furred creature with a white tail flicking in the distance.
"That's right. White-tailed deer," Arthur answered easily. "They're thick up in the Ambarino mountains and all through these foothills. On the way in, I also saw red foxes, chipmunks, black-tailed rabbits… and the birds out here—falcons, ravens, orioles, woodpeckers. Not as noisy now, since there ain't many trees around, but once we get closer to camp, you'll hear 'em plenty."
Jamie sat straighter in the saddle, bouncing with the horse's rhythm.
At first, riding had left him stiff and nervous, but now he was slowly getting the hang of it.
After about twenty minutes, a line of dark forest came into view, and Arthur called out behind him, "Almost there."
As they neared the treeline, Jamie noticed tall pines and thick shrubs that he couldn't name.
Arthur led the horse down a fork, turning onto the narrow track toward camp.
Not long into the woods, a figure stepped into view—a man in a blue hat and a heavy fur-lined coat, rifle raised squarely at Jamie.
Heart lurching, Jamie threw his hands up quick to show he meant no harm.
"Hosea, it's me—Arthur!" Arthur called out from behind.
The man lowered his rifle at once. "Arthur. I just heard from Javier and the boys you nearly got yourself shot in town. And who's this young fella?"
Arthur nudged his horse forward. "This here's the man who pulled me outta trouble. Dutch already agreed—we're bringing him in. Jamie Custer. Jamie, meet the brains of the Van der Linde gang—Hosea Matthews."
"A new face, eh? Well, looks like we'll have reason for a little celebration tonight. Sadie's lookin' livelier these days too. Why don't you tell Miss Grimshaw later—we'll all raise a glass proper. Jamie, good to have you with us," Hosea said warmly, stepping closer with a smile.
"Hello, Mr. Matthews," Jamie returned the smile politely.
Arthur gave a nod. "Sounds fine. I'll let Miss Grimshaw know. See you at camp." He tapped his spurred boot against his horse, pushing them onward.
As they drew near, Jamie spotted another figure standing guard. A woman, her golden hair tied in a bun with loose curls framing her temples.
Her pale eyes watched sharp beneath a mole just above her lip.
She wore a black fur coat draped over a white lace bustier and a purple skirt, rifle in hand as she kept watch at the camp's edge.
"This is Karen, Karen Jones, whom I told you about before. Don't let her appearance fool you—she's the camp's sharpshooter, as brave as any man," Arthur said, his tone carrying a note of warning, worried Jamie might get the wrong idea about Karen.
"Hey, Arthur, you're back. Who's this lad?" Karen's voice wasn't the soft, ladylike sound Jamie expected.
Instead, it was rough and bold, carrying the same edge as most of the men he'd met so far.
While Ms. Karen Jones had curves that could turn heads in any saloon, Jamie figured her temper probably matched her stature.
Looking at her twin mountain pass, Jamie calculated the pros and cons within microseconds...
"..."
Best to tread carefully.
He quickly looked away, staring at the distant hills, forcing himself to push away any improper thoughts.
"This is our new member, Jamie Custer, Karen. Jamie hasn't been around gangs before, so go easy on him," Arthur said firmly.
"Go easy on him? You telling me I've been rough on all of you before?" Karen shot back with mock offense, one eyebrow raised.
Arthur scratched his head, realizing his slip. "No, no, that's not what I meant. Just… treat him the same way you treat everyone else."
Karen smirked, then turned her eyes on Jamie, giving him a teasing smile before saying, "Go on, Pearson's already cooked. Supper's long done."
"Ah, seems we're late again. Pearson never misses his schedule. We'll catch up with you later," Arthur replied with a chuckle.
After a quick farewell to Karen Jones, Arthur led Boadicea to the camp's hitching post.
The two of them dismounted, Arthur tying the reins with practiced ease, before guiding Jamie into the heart of camp.
Curious eyes followed Jamie as he passed—faces he didn't know yet, but who would soon be his family.
An older woman with sharp blue eyes, her brown hair pulled into a tight bun, stepped forward.
Dressed in a red lace-trimmed coat over a black cotton skirt, she crossed her arms and gave Arthur a hard look. "Arthur, who's this? And why are you filthy again?"
Arthur gave a sheepish half-smile. "Miss Grimshaw, just about to introduce him."
He grabbed a skillet and spoon from a nearby crate, banging them together with a clear clang clang until the whole camp's attention turned his way.
"Listen up, everyone! This here beside me—" he gestured to Jamie, who suddenly felt very small under all the stares— "this is Jamie Custer. He's our new member. Some of you might not know, but today in Valentine, he saved my life. Didn't have anywhere else to go, so Dutch and I agreed he could ride with us. From now on, Jamie's one of the family. Jamie, care to say a few words?"
Dozens of eyes landed on him. Jamie's heart pounded. Even a little boy, no older than five, peeked out curiously from the front of the crowd.
Speaking in front of so many people wasn't something he'd ever done, and his throat tightened with nerves.
Bill, wearing his usual plaid shirt and leaning casually against a wagon, noticed Jamie's hesitation. "Don't freeze up, kid! We're all family here. Say whatever's on your mind," he boomed.
Others nodded, their faces open and encouraging.
Jamie swallowed hard, then took a breath and forced the words out.
"Hello, everyone. I'm Jamie Custer—you can just call me Jamie. Before this, I worked as a projectionist and narrator for a traveling circus, but honestly, I only studied for two weeks and didn't learn much." He scratched the back of his head with a nervous laugh before going on.
"Saving Mr. Morgan was pure luck. I just happened to see the man aiming at him, so I pushed him out of the way. I've never lived outdoors before, never rode a horse or even fired a gun. I hope to learn from all of you and do my part to help the camp."
By the end, Jamie's words grew steadier, his voice carrying more confidence. A few folks even clapped.
"Alright, that's enough chatter. I reckon you're all hungry. Pearson's still got some of tonight's dinner left, so go on and get yourselves a plate," Miss Grimshaw said firmly to Arthur and Jamie.
Then she turned to the rest of the camp, her voice carrying that no-nonsense tone nobody dared argue with.
"Arthur just told me he wants a welcome gathering tonight, and I say that's a fine idea. Lucky for us, he brought back the spices I asked him for. We've still got meat and vegetables Bill and the boys hauled in earlier. The womenfolk'll be helping Pearson in a spell—there'll be pastries and some meat soaking in seasoning soon enough. Mary-Beth, Molly—don't think you're slipping away. Everyone's pitching in. Tonight we'll have ourselves a bonfire, celebrate finding a new spot to call home, and give Jamie and Mrs. Adler the welcome they deserve as part of this family."
Arthur led Jamie over to the fire where the stew pot bubbled away, smoke rising with the smell of cooked meat.
He grabbed two tin plates and spoons off a nearby wagon, handing one over with a casual nod.
"Tonight's supper looks to be round bread and stew," Arthur said, sniffing the pot.
With a steady hand, he ladled some thick broth and chunks of meat into his plate, then gestured for Jamie. "Go on, help yourself. Fill up. Bread's sittin' in the basket there on the wagon."
Jamie gave a small nod and took the spoon, keeping quiet as he peered down into the steaming pot.
The stew looked hearty, smelled rich, but he wondered if the taste matched up. Scooping out a piece of meat, he lifted it to his mouth, chewing slowly.
The flavor was simple—light salt, mostly the meat's own juices. It wasn't some city delicacy, but after the long ride, it felt damn near like it.
He quickly swallowed, then went back for more, spooning a few extra chunks into his tin.
Reaching into the basket, he pulled out a round loaf of bread.
The thing was hard as stone in his grip, sour on the nose, and didn't look all too inviting.
Still, hunger gnawed at him. He bit down and nearly winced—it was tough, dry, and near impossible to choke down plain.
With a little thought, Jamie copied Arthur's method.
He set his plate on a barrel beside the wagon, tore the bread into rough chunks, and dipped them into the stew until they soaked up the broth.
Once softened, he scooped the pieces into his mouth with the spoon. It wasn't half bad that way.
Bit by bit, he finished off the loaf and felt a good weight settle in his stomach. For now, that was enough.
He leaned back slightly, palm pressing against his midsection with a small sigh.
Eyes drifting toward the horizon, he caught the warm glow of the sun slipping behind the hills, painting the sky in shades of fire and gold.