Chapter Three

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1888, West Elizabeth: Great Plains

"Alright, gentlemen," Dutch announced, walking to the center of camp as he beckoned over the other members. He glanced at Rosalie with a slight grin. "And lady."

"How kind of you to remember to include me, Dutch," Rosalie teased, walking over, Mac at her side.

Hosea followed after Dutch and shot Rosalie an amused look. Rosalie returned his expression with an innocent bat of her eyelashes.

Arthur was already sitting at the fire, sketching in his journal. He looked up at the sound of them coming over and closed the book, tucking it under his arm. "What's goin' on?" He asked as Dutch came to a stop at the fire, hands on his hips.

Dutch grinned at Arthur. "We, my boy, are gonna go hit a nearby O'Driscoll camp. Davey ran into some of them while fishin' the other day in the upper Montana river. Heard some of them boys talkin' about their hideout nearby before he snuck up on 'em." He said.

John perked up by his tent where he was cleaning his revolver at the mention of this.

"When we goin'?" He asked, standing and jogging over.

Dutch scoffed and shot John a scolding look. "Oh no, you ain't coming with us. Arthur told me all about the wagon issue you had last week. This is somethin' that needs more of a...delicate touch, son."

John made a noise of indignation and threw up his hands. "Whatchu' mean?! That's why can't I come with? 'Cause of that wagon?!"

He was baffled by Dutch's words, unable to believe they weren't letting him go with them.

Arthur glared at John. "We'd be more willin' to take you with us, butchu' don't wanna listen to anyone but yourself."

"Shuddup!" John turned bright red with anger.

Rosalie sighed and pressed her fingers to her forehead. She could already feel the terrible migraine coming on, and Arthur's pestering was sure to put John in a sour mood for the rest of the day, if not for the rest of the week.

Mac gestured to his tent where Davey was snoring away, blissfully unaware of their conversation. "Ain't we gonna include that old fool?" He asked.

"Bright idea," Dutch said, and then glanced at Hosea. He nodded his head in the direction of the Callander brother's tent.

Understanding what he was getting at, Hosea went over and delivered a swift kick to Davey's backside. Davey cried out and scrambled to his feet as Hosea backed away. Davey looked around wildly and wiped the drool from his chin.

"What's goin' on?!" He cried, looking at the gathering happening by the fire.

Mac gave him an unimpressed look. "We're discussin' your tip on the O'Driscoll's, brother, so I thought jus' maybe you should be awake for this."

Davey sniffed idly, but walked over, roughly brushing his hands over his head to make his short hair more presentable. "Whatever. When we plannin' to go?" He asked, glancing at Dutch.

"I was thinkin' we wait till nightfall, but I think it might be more fun to just have ourselves a nice, old-fashioned shootout." A mischievous smile pulled at Dutch's lips, his gaze drifting around the group. "What do you all think, hm?"

John scoffed and turned around, walking away from the group. He kicked a stray rock, sending it flying to where Uncle was snoozing against a wagon. Uncle jolted awake, beer sloshing from the bottle as he looked around for the source of his attacker.

"Huh? Who did that?!" He shouted.

"Go back to sleep, Uncle," John grumbled, walking over to his tent and plopping to the ground.

𝘍𝘖𝘙𝘎𝘐𝘝𝘌𝘕𝘌𝘚𝘚 𝘈𝘕𝘋 𝘙𝘌𝘛𝘙𝘐𝘉𝘜𝘛𝘐𝘖𝘕 | ʀᴅʀWhere stories live. Discover now