"Arthur, I saw you were covered in dirt just now. I suggest you take advantage of the daylight and head to the river to wash yourself and your clothes. Tilly will be busy later and won't have time to help you. And don't forget to bring a change of clothes. I don't want you disappearing when we have the party, only to send folks hunting all over for you."
Ms. Grimshaw, who had just finished assigning the day's chores, spoke casually as she noticed Arthur setting down his plate.
"As you wish, Madam."
Arthur placed his tin plate and spoon into the washbasin nearby, then turned to Jamie, who stood up with him. "You don't need to tag along for this. Just wander the camp, chat with whoever's free, play some cards, or take in the view."
He added with a glance at Jamie's torn shirt, "I'll wash that bloody thing for you. If the hole's too big, you can ask Tilly to mend it."
Arthur gave Jamie a pat on the back, then headed toward his sleeping spot. It was a small setup along the side of a wagon, a tarp stretched overhead as a roof.
A rough wooden bed rested by the wheel, with a wooden box tucked beneath it and a pair of crates serving as makeshift tables at the head.
Arthur crouched, pulled the box out, and rummaged through until he found a clean shirt and trousers.
He eyed his dusty boots, sighed, and fished out another pair from beneath the bed.
Once he had what he needed, he stowed it all into Boadicea's saddlebag.
With a practiced swing, he mounted the Tennessee Walker, tugged on the reins, and nudged her belly with his spurred boots.
The horse sprang forward at a gallop, carrying him down the trail.
Jamie watched him ride off before making his way toward Ms. Grimshaw, who was rolling out pastry for an apple pie. "Where should I sleep tonight?" he asked.
Ms. Grimshaw wiped her hands on her apron, scanned the camp, and fixed her eyes on a young Black man. "Lenny!"
The first call went unanswered, so she barked louder, her tone sharp enough to cut through the camp chatter. "Hey! Lenny! You deaf?"
Lenny Summers, dressed in a black-and-white checkered vest over a gray jacket, looked up.
Spotting her wave, he strode over quickly. "What is it, Ms. Grimshaw?"
"Jamie here just arrived," she said firmly. "He's got no bedroll or blankets. Mac and Davey's things are free. Get them out of the wagon and set him up next to Arthur. I doubt he'll mind. The gear should be in the wagon by Arthur's spot."
Lenny frowned, hesitation clear in his voice. "This… ain't it a bit strange? We just lost Mac and Davey, and now we're usin' their things—"
Susan Grimshaw cut him off, her voice sharp as a whip. "Who runs this camp, Lenny? You or me? We don't need their things anymore, so why haul them around? Keep them to mourn on their death dates? We're outlaws. Pinkertons could be on us any day, put a bullet right in your fool head. You want Hosea savin' your old boots to remember you by?"
Lenny clamped his jaw shut, smart enough not to argue further. Even Jamie felt awkward, thinking, 'Lord, I hope I didn't just stir up trouble my first night here.'
From the entrance of Horseshoe Overlook came a familiar voice. "Ms. Grimshaw, who's got you hollerin' now? I could hear you from the fork in the trail."
A man tied his horse to the hitching post and strode in with a smile. "Lenny, what'd you do this time? Oh, Jamie—you're here! Welcome, son. What do you make of our camp?"
It was Dutch van der Linde himself, the leader of the gang and the man Jamie had first met in Valentine.
"I feel very good, thank you, Mr. Van der Linde."
Jamie said somewhat reservedly.
"No need to be so formal. Everyone calls me Dutch. The folks in this camp are all family. Just call me by my name."
Dutch van der Linde corrected him with a warm smile.
He then glanced at Susan Grimshaw, who was still fussing, and raised a hand to stop her. "Madam, this is civilized society now. If someone doesn't listen, you can… well… reason with them."
Susan stood with her hands on her hips, chest rising and falling, clearly worked up. She threw a sharp look toward Lenny and said,
"Jamie just got here. He's got no bed and nothing to keep him warm. I told him to use what Mac and Davey left behind, but he turned me down."
"I just felt it wasn't quite right," Lenny muttered, uneasy but unwilling to back down in front of Dutch.
"Alright, alright. Lenny, there's no shame in it," Dutch said, steady and calm. "We keep our fallen brothers in our hearts, but that doesn't mean we can't use what they left. Same as me and these two Schofields I carry—belonged to someone once. It's tradition in this gang."
Dutch's words softened Lenny's expression. He gave a slow nod. "Alright then, I'll fetch it."
Without another glance at Susan, Lenny turned toward the wagon near Arthur's cot.
"I'll give you a hand," Jamie offered quickly, not wanting to stand idle.
Dutch gave him a small nod before pulling a cigar from his pocket, striking a match, and letting the smoke curl into the cool evening air. "Ms. Grimshaw, camp feels lively tonight. Somethin' goin' on?"
"Yes. To celebrate finding our new home, and to welcome Jamie and Mrs. Adler into the family, we'll have a bonfire gathering. The women will help Pearson—there's a stew, bread, even some pastries."
"Well now, that sounds fine," Dutch said with a low chuckle. "Josiah and I already ate back in Valentine. Shame he decided to linger at the hotel. He ain't much for parties anyhow—same as Strauss. I doubt they'll feel they missed much."
Dutch gave a couple of dry laughs, knowing full well Susan wasn't entertained. He tipped his hat lightly. "Alright, I'll leave you to it. Best get a little rest in my tent before the fire gets going."
With that, Dutch strolled off toward his canvas tent in the center of camp while Susan headed back to her work.
Over by Arthur's wagon, Lenny—his curly dark hair catching the firelight, his mustache shadowed—extended a hand toward Jamie with a friendly smile. "Lenny Summers. Sorry about earlier. Nothin' personal. Just figured when kin pass on, maybe their things oughta be kept as a memory."
Jamie shook his hand firmly. "It's alright, I get it. But… is Ms. Grimshaw always that… fierce with everyone?" He hesitated before choosing the word.
Lenny burst out laughing. "Fierce, huh? That's one way to put it! She's like that with all of us. You ain't seen her tear into Uncle yet—that's a sight worth rememberin'. She'll holler ten times worse, and he won't even lift his head from the bottle. Hah!"
He chuckled again, clearly picturing the moment.
"But truth is," Lenny went on, still smiling, "she's solid. One of Dutch's strongest hands. I'd put her right behind him, Hosea, and Arthur. Now come on, give me a hand."
Together, they hauled down a heavy wooden bed frame from the wagon, setting it near Arthur's cot.
"No legs for it, so it'll have to sit on the ground for now," Lenny said as he hopped back up to the wagon and tossed down several folded blankets.
Jamie caught them, feeling the coarse wool beneath his fingers. They were thin, patched in places, but dry and freshly cleaned.
"This'll do just fine. Thanks, Lenny," Jamie said with genuine gratitude.
"I'll help you make the bed, and then I'll show you around."
Lenny hopped down from the wagon, still carrying a smaller crate in his hand.
"Just use this as a simple storage cabinet.
This should be what Arthur uses to stash his odds and ends."
Lenny set the crate down at one end of the bed frame and helped Jamie make the bed.
After fixing it up, Lenny sat on the mattress to test it out and said to Jamie: "Although it looks a lot rougher compared to Arthur's setup, it's not too bad once you sit on it.
The blankets are laid thick, so it ought to be comfortable enough to sleep on.
You sit too. Let's sit here and I'll tell you about some of the folks in camp."
"Okay."
Jamie nodded and sat down on his bed as well.
"I won't talk about Dutch—you already saw him earlier.
Look over there, the four men at the card table."
Lenny pointed toward the table off to the right. "The one in the checkered shirt with his back to you is Bill—Bill Williamson.
They say he used to be in the army, but got himself expelled for reasons nobody really talks about.
To Bill's right is Uncle. Nobody knows his real name—he just told us to call him Uncle.
I've never seen him lift a finger around camp, but whenever we talk, he's always spinning some wild tale like he lived it himself. Nobody buys it, though.
Next to Uncle is Javier, Javier Escuella.
He's the camp's musician and a hell of a fisherman. I reckon you'll hear him playing guitar and singing later tonight.
Finally, there's Micah—Micah Bell.
He only joined up recently. Caused a whole lot of trouble the second he showed his face and... well, let's just say I don't much care for him."
Jamie followed Lenny's pointing and looked at each person as he introduced them.
Besides Bill and Javier, whom he already knew, Uncle stood out: noticeably older, bald on top with a thin comb-over, a red drinker's nose, and a pale, scruffy beard.
Micah, meanwhile, looked about Dutch's age—blond hair, blue eyes, a thick golden mustache, and a flashy white cowboy hat, which felt odd in a time when most men wore darker ones. But there seemed to be something off with him physically—Jamie noticed him clearing his throat now and then between hands of cards.
"Over there, by the wagon, that's Leopold Strauss.
He handles the gang's books and lends money to locals around here at steep interest rates."
The so-called "accountant" Lenny mentioned was sitting quietly, reading a book.
He wore a patterned black-and-white linen coat, a small pair of gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, and his silver hair gave him a sharp, calculating air.
"Further off, tending to the horses, that's Charles—Charles Smith.
His father was Black, and his mother came from a nomadic tribe around these parts. He joined about the same time I did.
Charles is the gang's best hunter."
Jamie had already seen Charles earlier, though the quiet, broad-shouldered man hadn't left much of an impression yet.
He still wore the same blue shirt with white polka dots and brown canvas trousers from that afternoon, and at the moment he was brushing down a horse's mane with steady, practiced hands.
"The man busy by the chuck wagon is the camp's cook and butcher, Simon Pearson, but everyone calls him Mr. Pearson instead of Simon.
He often claims he once served in the navy, and later, after some kind of accident, ended up stranded at sea for fifty days, being the only man from the ship who survived.
I think he's like Uncle—always making up tall tales.
Only one cook surviving on a whole shipwreck? Just thinking about it sounds impossible."
Lenny scoffed as he said this.
Pearson, the camp's cook, was bustling about with a group of women, preparing food for the bonfire party tonight.
The pot-bellied man wore a tall top hat wrapped in red velvet, paired with a yellow shirt under a worn-out black sweater full of holes. The sight of it all made him look almost comical.
"I won't go introducing the women in too much detail," Lenny continued, lowering his voice a little. "It's fine for men to talk about other men, but gossiping about ladies ain't exactly polite. From left to right, that's Molly, Mary-Beth, Abigail, Tilly, and Ms. Grimshaw.
Alright, let's get up. Let's see who else I haven't pointed out yet."
Lenny stood and started walking toward the edge of the camp.
Jamie rose to his feet as well and followed him.
By now, the sky was dimming, the last traces of birdsong thinning out as evening settled in.
Lenny led the way, circling the camp clockwise. After only a few steps, he nodded toward a figure sitting on a stone.
"That there is Mrs. Adler—Sadie Adler. We found her back when we were in Colter. Her husband was murdered by the O'Driscolls, and they burned her home to the ground. It was Dutch who brought her in. Poor woman… she still ain't recovered from it all."
Jamie turned to look.
Mrs. Adler sat in black attire, a yellow straw hat on her head.
Her gaze was lowered, her face shadowed, making it hard to see her expression clearly.
Jamie thought to himself. 'Is this really how life was back in the old days? Even when you never wrong anyone, disaster can still find you. A world ruled by law feels so much safer.'
He let out a quiet sigh.
Lenny walked on a little farther and stopped by a triangular tent. "This here's the Marston family. The man lying down is John Marston. He got torn up by wolves up in the snowy mountains of Ambarino, and his wounds still haven't healed. His partner, Abigail, was the one helping Pearson earlier. And that boy over there playing with the ball—that's their son, Jack."
Jamie's eyes went from John Marston, his right cheek wrapped in a blood-stained bandage, to little Jack laughing as he tossed his ball around nearby.
Then his gaze shifted past them, drawn to the figure tied against a tree not far behind the boy.
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Hey guys! You can comment below on what you think so far. BTW, all chapters have an average of 2k+ words. Should I lessen it or just leave it as it is? Also, I think I'll upload every Tues, Thurs, and Sat. Not yet confirmed, my sched is fkin chaos.