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"'Don't question my lead,'" Arthur quoted bitterly. "He l 'Have some goddamn faith,' 'I just need you to follow my lead.' It's like he can't hear reason no more. All he hears is the echo of his own voice." He looked down at the ground, the ember of his cigarette glowing bright before fading again. "He's startin' to sound like a man who don't wanna hear reason anymore."
Sadie kicked at a loose stone, her face twisting. "You ask me, he's lost the plot. He's so damn sure the world's out to get him that he can't see how he's drivin' us off the edge." She took a long drag, smoke curling from her lips. "I joined this gang 'cause it was about freedom. About livin' on our own terms. And that all of you have took me in. But Dutch? He's turned it into somethin' else. Somethin' ugly."
Caleb was quiet for a moment, his gaze flicking between the two. "You're both right," he said finally. "Dutch ain't seein' straight anymore. He's seein' opportunity in danger, and thinkin' it's the same as control. Bronte ain't someone you can play games with, he's a man who owns Saint Denis from the shadows and have the power to do anything he wants. You cross him, you're signin' your death warrant."
Arthur nodded grimly. "You think Dutch'll listen if we try talkin' him down again?"
Caleb shook his head. "Not a chance. He's already got it in his head that Bronte's a means to an end. The more anyone pushes back, the more he digs his heels in. You and Hosea already tried. Now I did. He ain't listenin' to any reason whatsoever. Especially if it contradict what he wants."
The three stood there for a while, the silence heavy between them. The night air was thick, filled with the distant croak of frogs and the occasional crackle of the fire. Finally, Sadie muttered, "So what do we do, then? Just wait for him to drag us into another mess?"
Caleb looked off toward the tents, where Dutch's silhouette moved faintly behind the canvas of his tent. "No," he said. "We prepare. Dutch'll do what he's gonna do, but that don't mean we walk in blind. If he's set on meetin' Bronte, then we make sure we're the ones holdin' the cards, not the other way around."
Arthur nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing as he thought it over. "You got a plan brewin', don't ya?"
Caleb's lips curved slightly. "Not yet. But I will. Bronte's a businessman. He respects power and precision, not chaos. If Dutch goes to him wild eyed and desperate, Bronte'll use that. So when the time comes, we'll have to keep Dutch from diggin' our graves before we even set foot in Saint Denis again."
Sadie grinned faintly. "Guess it's good we're talkin' now, then. If you're plannin' somethin', count me in. I ain't about to let Dutch get us all killed over some fancy Italian crook."
Arthur gave a quiet chuckle at that, shaking his head. "Reckon you two are the only ones in this gang who can still see straight. Just… be careful. Dutch might start takin' any disagreement as betrayal soon enough."
Caleb took one last drag from his cigarette before tossing it into the dirt. "Then we'll tread lightly. For now, we watch, we listen, and when Dutch makes his move, we'll be ready."
The conversation ended there, heavy with unspoken understanding. Arthur nodded to them both before heading back toward his tent. Sadie lingered a moment longer, giving Caleb a look that mixed respect and camaraderie. "You're a good man, Caleb," she said. "Don't let Dutch break that outta you."
Caleb gave her a half smile. "I'll try."
After that, Sadie walked away, her boots crunching softly against the dirt as she disappeared behind the row of tents. Caleb watched her go for a while, the flicker of the campfire catching her silhouette before it faded into the darkness. The night had grown quiet, save for the hum of insects and the soft rustle of the trees surrounding Shady Belle.
He let out a slow breath, the tension rolling off his shoulders as he turned toward the mansion. The structure loomed tall against the night sky, its weathered walls half illuminated by the moonlight, its air thick with the scent of old wood and damp earth. He walked slowly, the night air cool against his skin, his boots echoing faintly across the porch before he pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The interior was dimly lit, most of the lanterns already burned low. His footsteps echoed faintly as he made his way upstairs, past the peeling wallpaper and cracked doors that still bore the marks of the mansion's former life.
The room assigned to him wasn't much, just a bed, a desk, and a small window overlooking the overgrown courtyard, but it was his for now. He unbuckled his gun belt and set it down carefully on the nightstand, followed by his hat. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he pulled off his boots, leaned back, and let himself fall against the mattress.
Sleep didn't come immediately. His thoughts spun circles, Dutch's stubbornness, Bronte's calculating smile, the look in Arthur's eyes when he mentioned Dutch sounding like a man who couldn't hear reason anymore.
Caleb had seen men like that before, in both lives. Visionaries who mistook obsession for leadership, and loyalty for blind obedience. As exhaustion finally caught up, his eyes closed, the weight of those worries fading into uneasy dreams.
The next morning, sunlight crept through the thin curtains, spilling across the floorboards and reaching Caleb's face. He stirred, squinting against the brightness. The warmth of the light nudged him from slumber, and with a soft grunt, he sat up, running a hand through his tousled hair.
For a moment, he simply sat there, letting the remnants of his dreams fade away. Then, with practiced ease, he swung his legs off the bed and reached for his boots, sliding them on one at a time. He buckled his gun belt securely around his waist, the familiar weight of his revolver grounding him, before grabbing his hat from the bedpost.
He stood, stretched his arms and back until his joints gave a faint pop, and exhaled sharply. "Alright," he muttered under his breath, voice still raspy from sleep. "Let's get this day started."
He stepped out into the hallway, the soft creak of the mansion's old wooden floors echoing beneath his boots. Just as he rounded the corner toward the staircase, he nearly bumped into John and Abigail as they stepped out of their room together.
"Morning," Caleb greeted casually, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
John and Abigail both froze like two kids caught doing something they shouldn't. Abigail's face flushed almost instantly, her hand instinctively straightening the collar of her blouse and adjusting her skirt. John, on the other hand, let out a rough cough or two, pretending to clear his throat.
"Uh, mornin', Caleb," John managed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Good morning," Abigail added quickly, her tone polite but slightly flustered.
Caleb blinked once, then a slow, mischievous grin spread across his face as realization dawned. He chuckled under his breath, leaning against the banister. "Oh, I see how it is," he teased lightly, his tone playful. "I didn't mean to interrupt the two of you during your… private moment."
Abigail's face turned even redder, and John almost choked on air. "It ain't what you think!" John said quickly, holding up a hand. "We were just talkin', that's all!"
"Sure, sure," Caleb said with an exaggerated nod, grinning wider. "Just talkin'. Early in the mornin', closin' the door behind you, real proper talkin', huh?"
Abigail gave John a sharp side eye. "You see? Now he's makin' fun of us because of you."
"Me?" John sputtered. "I didn't even—"
Caleb just chuckled, shaking his head. "Don't mind me. I'll leave you two lovebirds to your talkin'." He tipped his hat with a grin before brushing past them toward the stairs.
Behind him, Abigail muttered something sharp to John, her voice rising in that familiar tone of mock annoyance, while John tried, and failed, to defend himself. The sound of their back and forth followed Caleb down the hall, who couldn't help but laugh quietly to himself. "Some things never change," he murmured.
Downstairs, the morning light streamed through the tall windows, casting long golden beams across the wooden floor. The faint aroma of coffee drifted through the air. Outside, the camp was slowly coming alive again, the distant chatter of voices, the clatter of pots, and the faint sound of someone strumming a guitar.
As he stepped out of the mansion, Caleb spotted Arthur and Mary-Beth near the old fountain, sharing a cigarette. Mary-Beth looked radiant in the sunlight, her hair gently tousled, a faint smile lighting her features as Arthur said something that made her laugh softly.
Caleb smiled as he approached. "Mornin', you two," he greeted warmly.
Arthur looked up, giving a nod. "Mornin', Caleb."
Mary-Beth's eyes brightened as she turned to him. "Good morning, Caleb," she said, her voice carrying that familiar warmth he'd missed.
Without hesitation, she stepped closer, standing beside him. Arthur's eyebrows lifted, and he let out a low chuckle. "Well, damn. Ain't it a bit early for the two of you to be actin' all sweet and glued to each other?"
Mary-Beth flushed immediately, her lips curling into an embarrassed smile. Caleb laughed softly, slipping his arm around her waist. "Can't help it," he said, teasingly. "A man's been away from his girl for over a week, gotta make up for lost time."
"Caleb!" Mary-Beth scolded lightly, her cheeks turning a deeper shade of pink. "Don't say things like that in front of Arthur, it's embarrassing!"
Arthur laughed, shaking his head. "Nah, it's fine," he said, exhaling smoke. "Kinda reminds me of my past, is all."
Mary-Beth tilted her head, curious. "Oh? You mean that Mary girl?"
Arthur gave a small smile. "Yeah. Just thinkin' about how it all ended. But that's the past now."
Caleb looked at him for a moment, the tone in Arthur's voice pulling at something deeper. Then he said quietly, "You sure all of that's in the past?"
Arthur blinked, caught off guard. "What's that supposed to mean—"
Before he could finish, Miss Grimshaw's voice cut through the morning air, sharp and urgent. "Mr. Morgan! Mr. Morgan!"
Arthur straightened immediately, dropping his cigarette and turning toward her. She was striding quickly toward them, revolver in hand, her face a storm of anger and urgency.
Arthur frowned. "What's goin' on?"
Miss Grimshaw's eyes were fierce. "It's Tilly," she said, her voice clipped and furious. "She's been taken by the Foreman Brothers!"
Arthur's expression hardened instantly. "The Foreman Brothers? What the hell are they doin' here?" He stepped forward, his tone sharp.
"I don't know why they're here," Miss Grimshaw said, her jaw tight. "But I can tell you what they're goin' to be doin' here, dyin'."
Caleb's mind sharpened instantly. He knew this moment, No, No and Thrice, No. His memory from his past life filled in the blanks instantly. The Foreman Brothers kidnapping Tilly, Miss Grimshaw's wrath, and Arthur's rescue. He knew exactly how this would go down, but this time, he was part of it.
Arthur nodded grimly. "Alright then. Let's go." He turned to Caleb, jerking his chin. "You comin'?"
"Wouldn't miss it," Caleb replied, already following him.
The three of them hurried toward the wagon parked near the gate. Miss Grimshaw climbed up onto the shotgun seat without hesitation, revolver still gripped tight. Arthur swung up to the driver's seat, taking the reins in hand. Caleb climbed into the back, and sit there.
"Where to?" Arthur called over his shoulder.
"I'll tell you on the way!" Miss Grimshaw snapped. "Just move!"
Arthur flicked the reins, and the horses surged forward, hooves pounding against the dirt road as the wagon rolled out from the mansion grounds. Dust rose behind them in a golden cloud.
Caleb turned his head, catching one last glimpse of Mary-Beth standing by the fountain. Her face was pale, worry written across her features. She raised a hand and called out, "Be careful, Caleb! Bring her back safe!"
He lifted his hand in return, giving her a reassuring wave and a grin. "I will!" he shouted back before the wagon turned the corner, the camp fading from sight behind them.
...
Name: Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 7/10
- Agility: 7/10
- Perception: 8/10
- Stamina: 7/10
- Charm: 7/10
- Luck: 8/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl 4)
- Rifle (Lvl 4)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl 4)
- Past Life Memory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl 3)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl 1)
- Sneaking (Lvl 4)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl 4)
- Poker (Lvl 4)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl 3)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl 1)
- Dead Eye (Lvl 3)
- Bow (Lvl 2)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl 3)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl 2)
- Crafting (Lvl 3)
- Persuasion (Lvl 3)
- Mental Fortitude (Lvl MAX)
- Cooking (Lvl 4)
- Teaching (Lvl 2)
- Trilingual Language Proficiency - G, I, & C (Lvl MAX)
- Inventory System (Permanent - 10x10x10)
- Acting (Lvl 4)
- Alcohol Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Treasure Hunter (Lvl MAX)
- Drugs Resistance (Lvl MAX)
Money: 3,655 dollars and 10 cents
Inventory: 104,669 dollars and 72 cents, 11 gold nuggets, 64 gold bars, 1 Double Action, 1 Schofield, 2 Colm's Schofields, land deed (Parcel), 1 Mauser, 1 Semi Auto Pistol, 1 Lancaster Repeater, 1 Old Wood Jewelry Box, 1 F.F Mausoleum small brass key, & 1 Ruby
Bank: -