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Chapter Text

Micah Bell fell to the ground: his posture unceremonious, what was left of his head bloodied, and -- most importantly -- his chest still. Dutch put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder and lowered his smoking revolver. ‘You ok?’
‘Yeah, yeah.’
The bodies of the O’Driscolls that were supposedly there for the parley littered the scrubby ground, blood sinking steadily into the rocky earth. Micah’s arms were still outstretched as they had been as he monologued about how they’d been so stupid to think the O’Driscolls would actually make peace with them, about how he couldn’t pass up an offer to run with a ‘real man’s gang’ with ‘no dead weight’. As far as Arthur was concerned, Micah had been the idiot for thinking Dutch wouldn’t shoot him like a dog after a single sentence of his surely pages long soliloquy. Granted, Arthur thought Dutch had been an idiot for even trusting the little rat in the first place. As if he could read minds, Dutch said, ‘You were right all along, son.’
Surprisingly, there was no malice behind it.
‘I’m just glad the bastard can’t do more damage than he’s already done.’ Arthur replied as they slowly picked their way back to the path and their horses.
Dutch glared at the dirt in front of them. ‘We‘ll leave the body for the coyotes.’
With those mere seven words, Arthur finally felt like the only father he’d ever known was back.

In fact, Arthur’s other father was the one waiting for them at camp. Hosea took one look at the blood on their clothes and faces and horses and ground out, ‘I told you it was a setup.’
‘You were right,’ Dutch admitted, leaping off the Count, straightening his clothes the best he could, and preparing to address the family. ‘Micah was a rat, working for the O’Driscolls, maybe the Pinkertons.’ He added, quickly.
‘What?’ Hosea breathed.
‘He’s dead.’ Arthur added, flat. ‘We’re both ok. Good riddance.’
‘Good riddance? Is Micah dead?’ Charles said from his guard post, less serious than usual.
‘Yup.’ Arthur replied.
He blinked.
‘What? Micah was a rat?’ Bill spluttered.
‘Yes! I’ll tell everyone,’ Dutch grumbled. ‘Hey, all of you! Over here!’
All near two dozen of them gathered obediently.
‘There’s no light way to say this. Micah was the rat, for at the very least the O’Driscolls and at worst the Pinkertons. He’s dead.’ Dutch began. Not one face fell, many of the members cheering mutedly.
‘We will not let this scum that lived among us poison this family. We ride together, we die together, we follow each other into hell if we must. One slimy bastard can’t twist that, my dear friends. I say tonight we celebrate.’ He continued in his tone he saved for oration.
More whoops came from the crowd. Arthur, as badly as he wanted to, couldn’t join in. Mary-Beth saved him from his thoughts, trotting over and handing him a letter somewhat solemnly. ‘Heya, Arthur. This came whilst you were out. It’s from Mary Linton?’
Arthur winced, hoping Mary-Beth didn’t notice. ‘Thanks.’

He peeled the top of the envelope open, the end closed with a proper wax seal.
My dear Arthur, he read.
I have been such a fool these past years.
Daddy passed last week, which I suspect you’ll be glad to hear. I’ve been thinking — it’s all I can do of late — and I realized I’d die if I didn’t see you again. Daddy was always holding me back, and I know with him gone and Jamie safe I can be happy.
With you, that is — if you’ll have me. Lord I can understand if you won’t.
I’ll be at the hotel in Valentine from the fourth to seventh of this month. I hope to see you, even just to be rejected.
Yours,
Mary. X

He spluttered a little, having to catch his breath as his heart rose and sank. She’d played him like a fiddle so much before he couldn’t stand the thought of it happening again. But, the thought of letting this pass him by was a thousand times worse.
He didn’t let himself mull on it longer. He’d go, and see what she had to say for herself.

Arthur contemplated whether he should have given Bill his last jar of pomade (in a somewhat mortifying exchange) as he procrastinated riding into Valentine. Ultimately deciding against it, Arthur kicked himself out of camp, hopped onto Dotty -- his appaloosa that he’d found when rescuing Tilly from the Foreman brothers -- and set off, still unconvinced this wasn’t a mistake.

Mary looked surprisingly good for the circumstances. The heavy look in her eyes had lifted, though her hands still moved tensely at her sides. Arthur had left his father’s hat at home, so there was no hiding the anxious pinch in his forehead. ‘Hello, Mary.’
‘Oh, Arthur,’ Mary said. ‘You really came! I admit I wasn’t sure you would. Walk with me?’
Arthur softened slightly, and outstretched his elbow. ‘Sure.’
‘I’ve been so silly, Arthur,’ she began. ‘And I’ve messed you around like no one deserves.’
‘Even a no good outlaw like me?’ He interjected.
Mary gave him a look of both fondness and exasperation before continuing.
‘Yes. I do love you, still. And… oh Arthur, I don’t know how to say this without being blunt but I want to give… us, another chance, if you’ll do the same.’ Mary stuttered.
Arthur was worse than speechless, his head filled with rebuttals of how she’d strung him along for over a decade, how cruelly her father had treated him, and how she ran to him for favors the minute her husband died. He forgot what he said the moment each word left his teeth, but gathered it was largely a list of such things.
‘I know, and I’ll never be sorry enough,’ Pain lined her eyes again. ‘I’ve still got the ring you gave me.’

Over the next few days, Arthur was at camp less and less and in Valentine more and more. Dutch and Hosea -- being his surrogate fathers -- had reassured the rest of the camp (or the ones that had asked, anyway) that he was off exploring by himself as usual. Mary Beth kept decidedly quiet about the letter. One of such days Arthur returned to camp with a dopey grin half on his face. It was like him and Mary had never been apart; or he half convinced himself of that, anyway.
‘What’re you grinning about, Morgan?’ Sean teased from his guard post, shifting uncomfortably.
‘None of your business, kid.’ He said, but couldn’t stop his grin from stretching wider. Sean just shook his head and went back to counting all the trees in front of him. Arthur went straight to his tent to write in his journal, but his usual, borderline fatal selflessness coerced him into paying into the revered tithing box.
‘Nice work, Arthur.’ Dutch commented from his usual spot bordering his tent, cigar in hand. ‘Where’ve you been adventuring these past few days? Not that I blame you, son, after the whole…’ he trailed off.
Arthur sighed as he finished writing in the ledger and turned around to him. ‘If I gotta be honest, I’ve been seeing Mary again. Her father’s dead. Always hated me.’
‘And a decidedly swindling capitalist, if I remember right.’ Dutch muttered. He looked like he was about to comment on Mary herself for a second, but bit it back, softened, and said, ‘I understand, my dear boy. Just… be careful, hm? I don’t like how that woman’s played you.’
Arthur nodded. ‘Aye.’

Before he could say any more, there was a shriek from the trees just before camp. The twenty or so armed members of the gang had guns drawn and trailed on the trees in a second. Sean wished he’d spent more time reloading his rifle instead of staring at leaves.
‘It’s ok, it's just us!’ Bill bellowed. ‘It was Kieran screeching.’
Indeed, him and Kieran trudged out of the woods, followed by a third figure. Everyone lowered their guns. The third figure, about four and a half feet tall, was held by the scruff of the neck by Bill. It was a small boy, wearing tatty checked trousers and a stained shirt. He had a thick matt of light brown hair and a dusting of freckles across his nose.
‘This little imp bit me!’ Kieran yelped.
‘Why’s he here then?’ Grimshaw demanded.
‘Ain’t you the Van der Lindes?’ The boy said. He had an accent that was hard to place.
Dutch stepped forward. ‘Right you are, boy. Who are you?’
‘I’m Isaac. My papers said my father’s Arthur Morgan.’

Shock spread through the small crowd like a cold wave. Every eye turned to Arthur.
‘Isaac? I thought you were dead?’
Isaac didn’t necessarily reply. ‘It is you. Like Ma said.’
‘Is your mother…’ Arthur breathed.
‘Naw,’ Isaac said mutely. ‘She died when you thought she did. I ran away after that.’
Dutch caught Arthur’s shoulder as he moved forwards. ‘You sure it's him?’
Arthur couldn’t find words.
‘Cmon Dutch, what harm’s a little boy gonna do?’ Tilly interjected.
Hosea made the decision for him. ‘Come along, kid.’

Once the little crowd had dispersed, Arthur strolled somewhat aimlessly alongside Isaac. He decided his tent would be the best place for them to catch up. All of a sudden, Isaac seized Arthur and practically broke his ribs in a crushing hug. ‘I can’t believe I found you. I’ve been searching for a year now, I think.’
Arthur’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Jesus, kid, where’d you start?’
They sat on the edge of Arthur’s cot. Isaac shrugged a little. ‘I roamed for a while after Ma died but I got picked up by some folks and they took me to an orphanage in New York.’
Arthur paled a little: he’d been so far from home. ‘My god, how’d you find us?’
‘I ran away last year, like I said. Ma wrote somethin’ about you runnin’ with a gang called the Van der Lindes. I saw their name in the paper and said you was near here. Then I heard that big fella squawkin’ ‘bout you and some guy called Dutch and I followed him.’ Isaac explained, as if the small matter of navigating such a huge country was rudimentary.
Arthur’s chest swelled proudly. Unsure of what to say, Arthur settled on ‘How’d that lead to you biting Kieran?’
‘He was havin’ a go at me,’ Isaac said, furrowing his eyebrows scrappily. ‘Plus, I pickpocketed him. The big one noticed.’
Arthur laughed, properly, for the first time in what felt like months. ‘I’ve missed you, a lot, d’you know that?’
Isaac nodded earnestly.
‘Do you remember me, at all?’
Isaac made a face like he was thinking hard. ‘Yeah, I think so. I remember you comin’ to our house. You was holding a dead rabbit, so you’d probably been hunting. And there was a big deer behind you, and you turned around really slow and we looked at it and it looked at us and then walked away.’ He rattled off.
‘Hm. I think I remember that too.’
Arthur knew he remembered that. That same deer had followed him since, popping up in the corners of his eyes and dreams alike.

There was a short but comfortable silence.
‘Who were those guys that brought me in then?’ Isaac asked.
‘The big one’s Bill, he acts all mean but he’s dumber than he is dangerous. The one you bit’s Kieran. He’s harmless. Mostly looks after the horses.’
‘Who’s that with the scars?’ Isaac lifted a tentative hand to John.
Arthur let himself grin again. ‘That, unfortunately, is my little brother, John. Well not really, but he might as well be. I met him when he was barely older than you. Say, how old are you by now?’
‘I’ll be ten in January. So five months or so, but still not that long. What’s them scars from, anyway?’
‘He got half-eaten by some wolves a few months ago,’ Arthur explained. ‘He’s got a kid too, Jack. I reckon his mother’d be mighty happy if you played with him at some point, eh?’
‘Sure,’ Isaac scanned the camp more. ‘Is he the leader?’ He nodded towards where Dutch and Hosea were talking, fairly hushed.
‘Dutch?’
‘The one with the black hair, yeah.’
‘Yep. Him and Hosea -- that’s the other one -- are the closest I’ve ever had to fathers. I met ‘em when I was fourteen or so.’
Isaac nodded certainly. They didn’t much look like the ruthless murderers the papers had raved about.

‘I, uh, didn’t know you had a son, Arthur.’ Charles said, strolling over and sitting down next to where Arthur was cleaning his revolver.
Arthur made a face. ‘Kid basically faked his own death.’
‘Seems to like Jack though.’
They looked to where Jack and Isaac were chasing each other around, Isaac letting the littler of the two push him over occasionally.
‘Yup. D’you know he got here and found me from New York?’
‘What?’
‘Can’t tell if that means he’s smart or our names are more public than we thought.’ Arthur grumbled.
They were interrupted by Dutch’s crowing from across camp. ‘Arthur!’
Arthur sighed, clapped his hands onto his knees lazily, and lumbered across to Dutch and Hosea. ‘You rang?’
‘How’re you holding up, son?’ Dutch asked softly.
Arthur was slightly surprised by this. ‘I’m fine. I’m sorry about the boy, he’s--’
‘Hush with that. We don’t mind having him around, do we Dutch?’ Hosea intervened.
‘No.’ Dutch agreed, sounding only slightly forced.
‘Matter of fact, where is he?’ Arthur muttered.

They soon had their answer. Isaac was sitting in a heap in the entrance to Dutch’s tent, squinting intensely at a thick book. None of the three of them said anything, just looked on as Isaac soundlessly mouthed tricky words to himself. The front of the book shifted to show the title An American Eden, by Evelyn Miller. Dutch softened. ‘Enjoying Miller, son?’ he said.
Isaac didn’t jump like Arthur did when he was younger: he looked up slowly, only taking his eyes from the page at the very last second. ‘What does bes-spoyle mean? It says here ‘we bespoil it with European delusions’.’
Dutch looked almost comically touched. ‘Erm, it just means to take something away or ruin it. I take it you can read then?’
‘Yep. Not much else to do back at the orphanage.’ Isaac replied with a shrug.
Dutch still failed at hiding his newfound enamorment with the boy. ‘Well, that’s very impressive. I’ll tell you something, your Pa here wasn’t exactly keen on reading when we first met him.’
Isaac giggled a little. Hosea gawked at Dutch’s abrupt turnaround: it felt like the old Robin Hood was back.
‘I’ll tell you what, dear boy, I’ll read more of this with you later. Arthur, if you’ll excuse us, Hosea and I have some planning to finish up,’ Dutch said, turning to his oldest son but keeping the fond look on his face.
Arthur looked nonchalant and turned to go. ‘Come along, boy.’
Hosea mentioned something to Dutch surreptitiously, who nodded.
‘Actually, wait. I think you should have some input. And get your brother.’
Arthur allowed himself a grin. ‘Hey, Marston!’ he hollered.
A scarred face bobbed up from behind a wagon. ‘Whaaaaaaat, Arthur?’ he called back in his usual wheeze. Arthur made a muted beckoning movement, then bent down to Isaac. ‘I won’t be long, I’m sure you can go and occupy yourself for a bit. That ok?’
Isaac nodded, a rogue sprig of brown hair flopping forward a little. ‘Sure, Pa.’
Arthur’s chest swelled: he hadn’t heard the boy call him that for years, far out of the fog of Isaac’s memory. ‘Attaboy.’

Finding something to do in a still unfamiliar place proved harder than Isaac had thought. He settled on sharpening a stick with his little pocket knife on the edge of camp.
‘You must be Arthur’s little boy,’ A soft voice gushed from behind him. Isaac turned around to see a young woman with a purple skirt and soft green eyes. ‘I’m Mary-Beth. You haven’t met the other girls yet, have you?’
Isaac stood. ‘Not yet, just Jack’s ma.’
Mary-Beth smiled gently. ‘Would you like to?’

‘Oh, isn’t he sweet!’
‘Looks just like his Pa.’
The small gaggle of women fussed over him, where Isaac just shrank into himself a little.
‘I didn’t expect another kid ‘round here,’ One of them, somewhat imposing with blonde ringlets, said.
‘Oh back off, Karen, you’re scaring him!’ Mary-Beth defended.
‘Nah, I doubt he’s a yella one,’ said another woman, who carried a repeater and wore black trousers with a tough look to her. She somewhat swaggered straight past them. ‘I heard he found Arthur here from New York.’ With that she sauntered off.
‘That true?’ The third young woman said, this one with an angular face and neat black plaits.
Isaac shifted. ‘Might be.’
They effervesced praise again, but froze when they heard demanding footsteps from round the edge of the tent behind them. ‘What are we housing you for, ladi--’ An older woman (Miss Grimshaw, if Isaac had overheard right) bellowed scratchily at them before cutting herself off.
‘Hello, Isaac. You ok?’
‘Yes, thank y’ Miss. I can make myself scarce.’
Grimshaw, tough as nails as she was, seemed somewhat charmed by this. ‘No worries, but the girls here need to work. Run along, now.’

‘I know it’s drastic, but I really think it’s our only chance,’ Hosea implored, as the old guard leant intently over a map of North America.
‘Canada? Are you sure?’ John muttered.
Arthur sighed. ‘I agree with Hosea. The law ain’t just gonna forget about us if we disappear for a while like we used to.’
Dutch sighed, though not venomously like he had in the past. ‘You’re right. We’ll have to put it to the rest, but I reckon most will come. It’s certainly easier to move north than to sail to Australia,’ His eyes twinkled as he added, ‘or Tahiti.’

Molly glared at the four men around the table -- though at one of them in particular. Whether they were planning an attack or a retreat Molly didn’t know. She fell so deep into the pit of thought that honestly she didn’t care what the latest scheme -- sorry, plan -- was that she didn’t notice the short figure in front of her.
‘Hullo,’ A young voice began. ‘Have we met?’
Molly cut her view from the tent off to the right to the person directly in front of her. Her seething expression softened a little. ‘Hi. Who… who are you?’
Isaac grinned, the few little gaps in his teeth somewhat endearing, like a gawky rabbit kitten. ‘I’m Isaac. Arthur’s my Pa.’ he declared, cocking his head sideways in pride.
Molly snorted mutely. ‘Didn’t know Arthur’d had a little boy,’ She muttered. ‘Or a woman, for that matter. Where’s your mammy?’
‘Died a few years back. Anyway, are you alright?’ he said, as if nothing had happened.
‘Don’t worry about me, boy,’ she replied softly. ‘But, erm, thanks for asking.’
‘No problem,’ Isaac said, shrugged, and loped off to bother the guards or visit the horses. Molly allowed her small smile to stay on her face as she was touched by both his concern, and his similarity to her little brother, who she hadn’t seen in so, so, long.

That night Arthur found it hard to take his gaze off Isaac, asleep on a bedroll on the floor of his tent, his jaw moving tensely. He drew him there, the whickers of the horses at the edge of camp as a constant white noise, and added to his journal.

It appears people can come back from the dead, Arthur wrote.
My son -- Isaac, who I had with that waitress years ago -- was alive in New York of all places. How he found us is beyond me. Strangely enough Dutch has taken a shine to him: he found him reading Evelyn Miller earlier. I might steer him more towards Tom Sawyer.
God knows how I'm going to explain this to Mary.
Anyway, we're planning on going north now, to Canada. I suppose I'm taking the boy with me.
If he can come back from the dead, I sure hope Micah can't.

Chapter Text

‘Right then, my boy,’ Arthur began as they  rode into town several weeks of settling in later. ‘There’s someone I think it’s important you meet. I just, err, need you to be on your best behaviour.’ He added as they drew up at the nearest hitching post. 

‘Of course. Who is it we’re meeting then?’ Isaac said, trying not to topple over as he landed down from the horse. 

Arthur looked awkward for a second. ‘Someone I knew before I knew your Ma, don’t you worry. Now, uh, go stand round there and come out when I tell you.’ 

Isaac nodded dutifully, and went to stand by the side wall of the hotel. A moment later he heard the door swing open. 

Mary immediately beamed at him, standing on her toes to kiss him quickly. ‘Hello, darling. It’s been too long.’ 

Arthur grinned. ‘It’s been two weeks.’ 

‘My point still stands. Where shall we go?’ 

‘Actually, uh, there’s someone I’d like you to meet,’ Arthur began, and stuck his head out around the corner. ‘Cmon’ 

Isaac, anxious though he didn’t know why, went up onto the porch. A woman stood there, about the same age as Arthur, with a bright green broach and black hair. ‘Hullo, ma’am.’ He said reflexively. 

‘Hello,’ She replied, sounding more timid than confused. ‘Who’s this?’ 

Arthur cleared his throat and decided he should be out with it. ‘This is Isaac. He’s my son.’ 

Mary looked choked but composed herself. ‘Your… when…’ 

‘He’s nine. You was married, Mary.’ 

She did a half-sigh half-smile in acceptance. ‘I understand.’ She bent down to look at Isaac. ‘Nice to meet you, Isaac. I’m Mary.’ 

‘Nice to meet you too, miss,’ Isaac said, grinning as adorably as he could. 

Mary was clearly charmed as she stood up straight again. ‘Oh, Arthur. You should have told me about him sooner.’ 

Arthur smiled wordlessly. Mary took his arm and they began walking. Isaac, unsure whether he should trail behind or walk alongside them,  settled on the former. Mary made polite conversation with him for a bit. 

‘Say, you ever been to school, Isaac?’ She asked. 

Isaac shook his head. ‘A nun taught me to read at the orphanage, but that’s about it.’ 

She gave Arthur a look. ‘Could be a good idea, hmm?’ 

He looked like he was at least considering it. Isaac’s attention, however, was most definitely not on the conversation. By the edge of a half-built structure, two girls of around Isaac’s age — plus a boy a little younger than Jack — were squabbling loudly. ‘We can’t play house without anyone to play husband, Emelia!’ One snapped. 

The other harrumphed, swishing her petticoat indignantly. ‘It’s not my fault Minnie isn’t here! She usually plays the man.’ She scowled at the small boy for a second. ‘Can’t Joey play the husband?’

The other girl looked at Emelia like she was an idiot. ‘No, he’s the baby!’ 

Having heard enough of the conversation and being decidedly intrigued, Isaac tugged on his fathers sleeve. ‘Pa? Can I go play with them?’ 

Arthur shrugged. ‘Sure. Meet us outside the saloon.’ 

‘Okay.’ 

Arthur ruffled his hair. 

‘Hullo. I heard you was looking for someone to play with?’ Isaac started, striding up to them as boldly as he could.  

Emelia beamed and hopped a little. ‘Yes, yes, yes! We’re playing house and we don’t have anyone to be the husband since our friend Minnie is away. Do you want to play?’ 

It wasn’t really Isaac's thing, but it had been so long since he’d played with any kids his age. 

‘Okay.’ 

Emelia squealed. ‘Yay! I’m Emelia and this is my cousin Izzie. She’s playing the nanny, and I’m the wife, and my other cousin Joey is the baby.’ 

The character list didn’t really help Isaac decipher what the game was. He said so. 

‘It’s easy, silly,’ Izzie laughed. ‘First, you have to go out to work. Minnie’s usually a writer so you could be that.’ 

That sounded quite good to Isaac: he liked writing, after all. His mind cast to his father and Mary in the saloon. ‘I’m a gunslinger, too!’ He declared. ‘A gunslinger that writes about gunslinging, that is.’ 

‘Oh, Arthur,’ Mary began as usual. ‘He’s so like you.’ 

Around the corner she caught a glimpse of the boy playing house, pretending to shoot invisible laws at one minute and writing studiously in an imaginary notebook the next, pausing to intermittently carry one of the girls over a puddle. She pretended not to notice, thinking it a little prying to watch him when he was clearly so at ease. 

Arthur chuckled. ‘A little too much, feisty little thing he is. Bit Kieran when they first found him.’ 

Mary laughed, then pondered, ‘who’s Kieran?’

He gestured with his chin dismissively. ‘Little O’Driscoll we picked up, turned out to be alright.’ 

Mary nodded absently. 

‘Whatchu thinking?’ Arthur said after a moment. 

‘Something selfish,’ Mary whispered. ‘That boy should’ve been mine. Ours. I should have ran away with you before. I wanted to be a mother and now I doubt I-’

Arthur shushed her reassuringly. ‘The past is the past. Anyway, I’m certainly gonna need help with him, an’ he seemed to like you well enough.’ He offered. 

Mary smiled weakly. ‘Of course you’ll need help with him, silly. Only thing you’ve raised is hell.’ 

‘What do you think, my boy?’ Arthur asked, stepping back from the grey pony he was holding onto lightly. Saying Isaac looked thrilled was an understatement. ‘I love him! What’s his name?’ 

The nearby stablehand looked endeared. ‘Bobby. He’s a cool little pony, alright. I’ll warn you, he can be scrappy with other horses. Kicks like a brawler.’ 

Arthur’s brow furrowed. ‘Safe around people, right?’ 

‘Yes, yes. Just a loner. Kicking’s got mighty better, too. Honest.’ 

‘And you’re sure he’s the only pony you got?’ Arthur asked, earning a playful slap from Mary.

‘Yep, though your boy seems pretty besotted with him.’ 

Indeed he was. Arthur smiled. ‘How much?’ 

‘Thankyouthankyouthanky-’ Isaac rattled as they rode along the path back into camp. 

Arthur smiled and ruffled Isaac’s hair, having to lean precariously out of the saddle to do so. ‘No need to thank me, I told y’. Just look after him.’ 

Isaac leant forward to pat Bobby’s neck. ‘I will.’ He looked back up at his father with a mischievous smile curled on his face. ‘You didn’t tell me I had a stepmother.’ He teased. 

He scowled in mock annoyance. ‘Mary ain’t your… ah, whatever. Don’t worry about it.’

Isaac shrugged, careful not to disturb the reins too much. ‘Whatever you say, Pa.’ 

As they rode into camp, a familiar deep voice bellowed, ‘Who’s that?!’ 

‘Arthur, you dumbass!’ 

Isaac giggled and stuck his tongue out at Bill, who just snarled and rolled his eyes. 

‘Aha! My favourite boy!’ Hosea called as they tied the horses up. ‘And Arthur’ He quipped. 

Dutch, having overheard, chortled to himself. 

‘Real funny, ‘Sea.’ Arthur said, but couldn’t keep from smiling. Hosea clapped him on the shoulder affectionately. ‘Where’ve you two been exploring?’

‘I met my stepmother. Didn’t know I had one.’ Isaac quipped before his father could protest. Dutch looked sharply up from where he was reading. ‘Oh did you now?’ 

Arthur held his hands out in frantic reassurance. ‘I didn’t do nothing drastic, I swear! He’s only teasin’. But yes, I took him to meet Mary.’ 

‘Oh dear,’ mary beth said from where she had overheard nearby. ‘How’d she take it?’

‘Worryingly well.’ 

Dutch just looked pensive. That could either be very good or very bad. 

‘Something interestin’ did happen, though,’ Arthur continued. ‘Mary suggested he go to school.’ 

‘Hmm,’ Hosea began. ‘Could be an idea, if it’s safe. Are there any around?’

Arthur shrugged but Isaac hopped a little with his contribution. ‘Ooo! Them girls I was playing with said they went to a school around somewhere called Radley’s Pasture.’

‘Girls?’ Mary Beth chimed in as the others sat down around one of the tables. Isaac plonked himself down on the floor instead, and picked at the grass around him. He looked up at her and nodded. ‘Aye, I played with some girls since their friend weren’t there. We played house ‘n I was the husband, they said i had to be a writer so I did that but I was a gunslinger too.’ 

Arthur bristled a little at that: he supposed it was normal for Isaac to want to do what he was so infamous for, but he’d sooner cut off his left arm than have Isaac live this life for longer than absolutely necessary. Such darker thoughts were cut off by Mary Beth giggling at Isaac’s matter-of-fact reply. ‘Quite the charmer, ain’t he?’ 

‘So’s his father, apparently,’ Lenny joked dryly from where he was reading nearby. Arthur retaliated by chucking a small pebble at him playfully. 

‘Anyway, what do you think, Isaac?’ Hosea asked. 

Isaac shrugged. ‘What would I learn? I can already read.’ 

‘Probably the feeble, avaricious machinations of rich ex-slavers,’ Dutch interjected. ‘ We taught you alright, didn’t we, Arthur?’ 

Arthur looked like he agreed, but Mary Beth interjected before he could say so. ‘At least he could make some friends. Awful lonely with just us grown ups here.’ 

‘Don’t think you could call Sean here a grown up.’ Karen said, from where the two of them were leant against a tree passing a whisky between them. 

Sean nudged her. ‘I’ll have to disagree, darlin’. I’m as much of a man as any here.’ 

The others chuckled at this, and Sean just pouted back at them. 

‘I agree with Mary Beth, besides, it ain’t like any of us are so good at math or things like that’ Lenny commented. ‘Do you want to go, Isaac?’ 

Isaac tilted his head endearingly, like he was thinking hard. ‘Sure. I guess it could be fun.’ 

Dutch sighed, but not dismissively. ‘That settles it then. We’ll carry on our reading though, dear boy.’ 

Isaac nodded, and trotted off with a spring in his step he didn’t expect he’d have. 

Not knowing what else to do, Arthur sat by one of the fires and drew Isaac on his new pony, then him playing with the two girls with his hand in a gun shape, then himself, Mary, and Isaac in their line earlier: almost like a real family. He was so engrossed in his drawings he didn’t notice John come and sit opposite him, whittling a stick and listening to the pencil on paper -- a comfort he’d found solace in as a kid. The sun had shrank down under the horizon by the time Arthur was content with the drawings, and once he checked Isaac was alright (he had been playing with Jack and talking to Mary Beth and Tilly meanwhile) he settled on writing an entry to accompany them. 

Took Isaac to see Mary today, he wrote. She took it better than I expected, and seemed quite taken with him, if a little jealous she hadn’t met him before. 

Also bought the boy a brawler of a grey pony named Bobby. He’s pretty feisty, but seems honest enough. 

Mood in camp seems good, we had a talk about sending Isaac to school near Rhodes. Consensus was yes, so I’ll go meet the schoolmaster tomorrow. 

I just gotta watch my back more now than ever. I can’t have that boy orphaned like I was -- again. 

Chapter Text

Isaac tried not to look too nervous as he and Arthur waited outside the wide black door of the schoolhouse. The building was neither grand nor modest, the most extraordinary thing about it being the shiny brass bell on the roof. It had something engraved on it Isaac couldn’t quite read. He just about  snapped his gaze down from where he was squinting at the bell as the door swung open, a squat strawberry blonde woman behind it. Arthur felt a little awkward: he’d never been to school himself — aside from the Van der Linde Gang Academy, of course.  Arthur briefly introduced himself and Isaac — as the Cullenans, mind, not as the Morgans or Callahans (the latter had been used a little widely by now) -- before they were shepherded past the two empty classrooms and into a dusty office labelled Mr G. Eastwood, with the arguably unnecessary tag of headmaster. The man was gaunt and wiry, though didn’t have the unpleasant pinch to his features that you might expect. He actually looked a little like Hosea, if Hosea ever decided to grow a delicately twizzled mustache in what could only be a mid life crisis (though that could describe the majority or the gang’s decisions, since no one knew when they’d passed their midlives). 

The pair headed back after a semi-successful meeting: the headmaster didn’t seem too suspicious of them, and was happy enough to let Isaac join the class the next week. The boy himself was practically vibrating with glee as they rode away. 

‘I take it you’re lookin’ forward to it, then?’ Arthur asked with a chuckle. Isaac nodded enthusiastically. ‘Yep! I hope Izzie and Emelia are there.’ 

Arthur started a little as he thought he heard a faraway, familiar voice, but returned back to the conversation just as quickly. ‘Who’re they again?’ 

‘Them girls I was playin’ with, that day we was in Valentine with Mary. Say, when are we gonna see her again?’ Isaac asked, cocking his head to the side a little in puzzlement. 

Arthur had to admit he was touched by Isaac’s keenness to see her again; it could have gone the complete other way. ‘I ain’t sure, but hopefully soon.’

Isaac looked pensive for a moment before quietly asking, ‘Why didn’t you ever marry her?’ 

Arthur shifted a little but thought the boy deserved an answer. ‘I was gonna, a long time ago. Before I met your ma. But, her daddy weren’t exactly fond of me.’ 

‘That’s a shame,’ he replied, looking up from his little grumpy pony earnestly. ‘Is it ‘cos… of the gang?’ He decided on the latter after a moment of deep thinking. 

‘Yeah, something like that.’ Arthur replied, and cleared his throat.

Isaac dropped his gaze to the ground. ‘D’ya think… that’ll happen to me? Them girls I met didn’t seem like they were thieves, or knew any.’ 

A quip courtesy of Dutch’s teachings came to mind then. ‘Thieves can wear three piece suits every day, son,’ he said with a smirk. ‘Besides, you’re hardly a thief.’ 

Isaac gave him a mock-offended look. ‘I can pick a pocket fast as you can blink, I’ll have you know!’ 

Arthur chuckled to himself again. ‘I’m sure you can. You’ll have to show me sometime, eh?’ 

Isaac grinned and nodded proudly. Before they could make any kind of scheme, Arthur heard the familiar cry again, this time louder and closer. Arthur’s face dropped as he realized who it was. ‘Shit, Albert!’ He galloped off in the direction of the sound, dodging rocks expertly. ‘Isaac, follow me but keep your distance!’ 

Isaac did as he was told. Arthur vaulted off his horse to see Albert Mason -- the photographer he’d met when a coyote had stolen his bag and he was nearly attacked by the very wolves he was supposed to be using as muses -- cowering on the edge of a rocky drop with a rattlesnake coiled in front of him. Quick as blinking Arthur drew his pistol and shot the thing. Albert breathed a sigh of relief and trudged towards him appreciatively. ‘Mr Morgan! Once again you have saved me from my stimulus! I got a stunning shot of the poor thing, before… well. Thank you yet again!’ 

Arthur grinned at him -- there was something about the gawky little man he instantly had liked. ‘No trouble, Mr Mason.’ 

Their amiable reunion was cut off by a grubby boy flinging himself off a grubbier, puffing grey pony and bolting over to them. ‘That was amazing, Pa! How’d you hit its little head?’ He panted, hopping over to them and stumbling over the loose rocks littering the ground as he did so. 

Albert looked at Arthur quizzically, who holstered the gun and sighed a little. ‘This is my son, Isaac. Isaac, this is Mr Mason, a friend of mine. Say hello, boy.’ 

‘Hullo,’ Isaac said diligently. ‘What were you doing?’ 

Albert softened. ‘I was trying to take photographs of that snake there, before your valiant father here saved me. I must confess, I didn’t know you had a child, Arthur.’ 

‘It’s sort of a long story. We’re headed just west from here, if that’s where you’re going?’ 

Albert suddenly looked sheepish. ‘I’m dreadfully sorry, I have to be working my way across to Saint Denis -- though I’m very curious about this story of yours. Send me a letter?’

Arthur nodded. ‘Sure. Pleasure as always, Mr Mason.’

‘Yes, and thank you again! Pleased to meet you, Isaac.’ 

Isaac touched the brim of his cap (he had very briefly been a newsie, so still had it from then) and said. ‘You too, sir.’ 

‘He was… I think peculiar would be the best word.’ Isaac said matter-of-factly as they neared camp. Arthur tried not to laugh out loud at his tone. ‘I suppose, yes. He’s nice enough, just gets himself nearly eaten a lot.’ 

Isaac nodded, paused, and asked stoically, ‘Can I try cantering home from here?’ 

Arthur thought on it a moment. ‘Sure. Just try not to tense up, that won’t be comfortable for either of you.’ 

They nudged the horses into a smooth trot, then a collected canter. Isaac tried to relax as best he could. ‘You’re doing it, kid!’ Arthur praised. He beamed back at him, but thought it best to concentrate on not hitting his head on branches. 

They drew back into a trot as they neared camp, and Isaac was clearly very pleased with himself. As they hitched the horses and walked back to camp, Arthur clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Good job, fy bachgen.’ He said. 

Isaac gave him a puzzled if still chuffed look. ‘What’s that mean?’ 

Arthur shrugged and replied, ‘It means ‘my boy’ or something like that. My ma used to say it sometimes.’ 

They carried on into camp, having bonded comfortably. Of course, business had to get in the way. ‘Hey, Morgan!’ Bill hollered. Both heads lifted. 

‘The big one, you fool,’ He continued.

 Arthur thought it wiser to roll his eyes than start an argument. ‘What?’ 

‘I got somethin’ to rob, of course.’ 

Arthur huffed, but lumbered off reluctantly. Isaac climbed a tree and pulled out the book Hosea had left him as a present the day before. He began reading:  “TOM!" No answer. "TOM!" No answer. "What's gone with that boy, I wonder? You TOM!" No answer.

‘Isaac! What’s that mud on your socks?! Have you been tramping through fields, boy?’ Mr Mulhouse, the middle form schoolmaster, barked. 

Isaac scowled. ‘I suppose you could say that, yes.’ He replied cuttingly. 

Mr Mulhouse blinked. ‘Don’t be smart. I’ll give you a warning since you’re a newcomer, but it’ll be the cane next time, you hear?’ 

Isaac nodded, only a little arrogantly, and couldn't get out the door to the playground enough once they were dismissed.

Compared to the game of Bandits (he was dying to boast that his father was a real bandit, but understood how stupid that would be) Isaac had played at breaktime, it was no wonder he was fed up with arithmetic. Isaac silently produced his book from where he’d hid it in his lap and set on reading it again. His vision tunneled onto the page, but he was snapped out of the permeable haze by Mr Mulhouse’s bellow of ‘Isaac Cullenan! What’s eight multiplied by nine?!’ 

Isaac looked back up to see said sum on the blackboard. He bit his lip to buy himself some time. ‘Uhhhhhhhh…’ 

The erratic flaring of Mr Mulhouse’s nostrils pushed a random guess out of Isaac. 

‘Uhhh, seventy-nine?’ 

The air was completely still. ‘Stand up, boy.’

Isaac did as he was told, but stared the schoolmaster down like he was facing a firing squad. 

‘All that musing and you get the wrong answer? Kneel up with your hands on the front desk!’ 

Isaac solemnly climbed the imaginary gallows to the teachers desk, where he lay his hands, the only marks on them for now a blister he’d got from tree climbing. Mr Mulhouse took down a cane that looked like it was made of human bone. The class all suspected it was, and kept perfectly silent in their rigid, preemptive terror. 

Isaac pressed his tongue against his top teeth in stoicism as the schoolmaster strode away from the cupboard where the dreaded cane was kept. He tapped the end of it against his palm as if he was cocking a pistol. With no more buildup Mr Mulhouse cracked the cane between Isaac’s top knuckles, once, twice, three times. Isaac’s jaw clicked as he ground his teeth against the pain. The rest of the class watched with a motiveless lump in their throats. With no pause he cracked the cane against the backs of Isaac’s legs, a little above the fragile achilles tendon. Isaac could practically feel the pain in his shins and worried they were broken. He was assured of the contrary as he scrambled back to his feet when commanded back to his desk. Teeth gritted so tight his jaw ached, he buried his head and wondered what his father would think.

When Isaac trotted timidly out of the schoolhouse after that, he was not met with his disappointed father but rather two others from the gang; Mary-Beth, and a solemn, pensive-looking man he had seen little of: Charles, he remembered. Isaac looked at the pair quizzically, and hid his reddened knuckles in his pockets. ‘Where’s my pa?’

Mary-Beth just looked awkward, leaving Charles to clear his throat and outstretch Bobby’s reins to the boy. ‘He ran into a little trouble earlier. We’ll tell you more on the way home. Mount up.’ 

The words were well chosen: Isaac didn’t want them to lie about what sort of trouble it might have been. He did as he was told but winced as his fingers flexed around the reins and his calves hit Bobby’s sides. 

Charles noticed. 

‘You ok, Isaac?’ 

‘Yes,’ He snapped, his old pugnacious tone returning but not helping convince the man. 

 ‘I don’t believe you. Are you worried about your father?’ 

Isaac couldn’t deny that wasn’t preying on his mind either. ‘Yeah. What happened?’ 

‘Charles are you sure--’ Mary-Beth interjected from just behind as they rode off at a trot. 

Charles ignored her, looking down solemnly at the boy. ‘He went out to rob a house with some of the senior guns and took a hit. He’ll be ok, I’m sure of it.’ 

Isaac trusted few, but got the feeling Charles was right. Nevertheless his worry and the constant pain pulsing from his very tendons kept his unease fresh. 

Isaac slid off Bobby and landed with his calves as still as possible. Miss Grimshaw strode briskly over to them as soon as the horses were tied up, her brow knitted in worry. ‘Isaac… I’m sure you’ve heard,’ she went to grasp his hands  reassuringly but smarted at the thick red line across his knuckles. She stared furiously at Mary-Beth and seethed ‘did you not notice this, girl?’ 

Mary Beth stuttered that she didn’t. 

‘It ain’t her fault, Miss Grimshaw!’ Isaac interjected. ‘I hid them.’  

She cast aside her worries about telling him about Arthur in favour of frogmarching the poor boy up to Dutch’s tent. Dutch was staring pensively at the flap of fabric separating him from his adopted son. He never had been keen on being in the midst of the situations like this, instead preferring to scheme and mope from the sidelines. Regardless, he seemed to perk up as soon as he saw Isaac. ‘How was school, m’boy?’ 

Grimshaw answered for him. ‘Show him your knuckles, dear.’ She sounded considerably gentler than Isaac had heard her before. 

Isaac did as he was told, his hands shaking more violently with every inch he moved them up. Dutch’s eyes hardened into fury. ‘I knew it’d be a mistake. Goddamn authoritarian bastards, beating a child like that!’ He huffed in what was a passable attempt at controlling his breathing. ‘Did they do anything else?’

Isaac nodded and mutely showed him the wide purple line across the back of his leg, just above his ankle. He didn’t have to say the other was the same. Mary-Beth looked like she was about to cry.

 ‘Riding must have hurt like hell.’ Charles said softly. 

Isaac nodded, but there was no real reason to. Grimshaw put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Do you want to see your father, hm?’

Isaac nodded a lie. 

Isaac supposed Arthur wouldn’t miss the page he’d ripped out of his journal and was currently writing on. He was curled like a cub into the corner of the tent they now shared, his feet pressed together with his knees out to the side in a comfortable stretch. His father was asleep on his cot -- and had been for a while -- with his shirt off and a thick bandage slung around his left shoulder that some of the girls kept coming in to clean, ruffling Isaac’s  hair in pity on the way out. They assured him Arthur was stable enough, though, and in the few moments he had been awake he’d grinned lazily at Isaac and slurred ‘hullo, kid,’ affectionately. Isaac tried not to press too hard on the paper, as he usually did, as he wrote:

Pa got hit so can’t write today. I hope he’ll be alright, but Hosea and some of the others assured me he’s strong so I’m inclined to believe them. 

I went to school. My friends I made the other day were there which was good, but I got beat cos I said eight times nine was seventy nine or something like that. Got caned across the knuckles and backs of shins but it’s nothing compared to Pa’s bullet hole -- at least I think that’s what happened, no one will tell me much. 

Even so, I think theys going to look after me, certainly more than anyone else since Ma. I overheard some of them talking about my beating and they seemed real pissed off. I hope that’s a good sign, is all. 

A faint smile crossed Isaac's face as he signed off properly. 

Isaac Morgan.

Chapter Text

Dutch softened his seething glare as it fell on Isaac, who was sitting in his usual perch in a tree, reading. Dutch couldn’t deny he was similar to Arthur -- they had the same stoic, earnest disposition and melancholic look in their eyes. As trying and argumentative as the boy had been, Dutch (and Hosea, for that matter)  had to admit they often missed Arthur being little. Dutch pulled himself out of this nostalgic haze with the thought that at least Isaac was alive again, and that there even was another Morgan boy, full stop. 

Back to life, that was, albeit not with his mother. Dutch would have killed the men that had made Arthur that distraught -- the worst Dutch and Hosea had ever seen him -- a hundred times over, if Arthur hadn’t done it himself. 

It was this wistful train of thought that filled Dutch with rage over what that schoolmaster had done to Isaac: of course Arthur’s injury at the hands of the surprise party of O’Driscolls had set him off already, but what kind of authoritarian monster beats a boy?

Lyle Morgan, for one. 

‘What’re you snarling to yourself about?’ A voice said suddenly. Hosea leant coolly against the frame of Dutch’s tent. 

Dutch flicked his gaze to him then up at the concealed sky. ‘What they did to that poor boy.’ 

Hosea came and sat by him, carding a hand through Dutch’s hair reassuringly. ‘Which one, dear?’ 

‘Either,’ Dutch spat, sitting up suddenly and holding Hosea’s hand almost desperately. ‘Send one of the girls to check Isaac’s ok, please?’ 

They stood up and started for the tree. ‘Why don’t we do it? We can check on that brave son of ours, too, hmm?’ 

Dutch didn’t answer, instead pressing a kiss to Hosea’s temple in agreement. 

‘Enjoying Twain there, son?’ 

Isaac just about pulled his eyes from the page. ‘Yup, thanks for the recommendation.’ 

His beaming, clever grin made the outlaws' hearts melt. It was so familiar. 

Nevertheless Dutch’s tone shifted. ‘How’re the bruises? You don’t have to be all stoic like your father, it doesn't do him no good neither.’ 

‘They’re ok,’ Isaac replied quietly. ‘Skin hardly broke.’

A belligerent voice snorted, ‘It weren’t that bad.’ 

Dutch turned round slowly, his stare ice. Bill was cleaning his gun nearby. ‘Care to repeat that, Bill?’

Bill, too stupid to realize this was a chance for him to recant his mutterings, repeated ‘A rap across the knuckles never did no boy no harm. Probably did something to deserve it, didn’t you, y’little imp?’ 

Dutch was incensed but Isaac cut him off, leaping down from the tree and squaring up with the much bigger man. ‘Did not, you fuckin’ thickskulled bastard.’ He growled as aggressively as a small boy could. All the others blinked in surprise; Dutch just looked proud.

Karen, who like before was passing a bottle of something between her and Sean, laughed, and quipped ‘He’s got you down to a T there, Williamson.’

Sean nudged her in convivial agreement. ‘You’re lucky Arthur’s not here, boyo, or he’d drop kick you to Moscow.’ 

The others all laughed in agreement with him, but their faces fell into scowls as a woman only familiar to a few of them traipsed into the treeline, flanked by Javier brandishing a repeater. She had a broach that half of them itched to steal. Dutch could hardly keep the glower off his face. ‘Miss Gillis, a pleasure to see you again after all these years. I assume you’re here for Arthur?’ 

It was hardly surprising that Mary squirmed a little under the glares of almost every outlaw at camp. ‘Partly, yes, Mr Van der Linde, but more I’m here for Isaac.’ she scanned the group and her eyes fell to Isaac who was still shooting pugnacious looks at Bill. ‘There you are, sweetheart,’ She said, smiling softly. Isaac mirrored her, and none of them liked the green look that passed over Dutch’s features when Isaac took her hand sweetly, chirping, ‘Do y’ want me to take you to Pa?’ 

Once they were safely out of earshot, Dutch muttered ‘I loathe that woman.’ 

‘Loathe is a strong word.’ Hosea replied. 

‘But an applicable one.’ Dutch stared the woman's back down as she disappeared over the horizon, her arm around Isaac's shoulders.   

Arthur could just about lift his head and murmur a quick ‘Hullo, darlin’ before his eyes flickered  back shut. Blinking the tears from her eyes, Mary took Isaac’s hand after a while of brushing Arthur’s hair back morosely. ‘I heard they’re selling ice cream just outside Valentine. Do you want to ride or get a stagecoach?’ 

Isaac’s mind went to his bruised legs. ‘Stage, I’ll explain why later. What’s ice cream?’ 

The ride in the stage was far more comfortable than Isaac had expected it to be, and the steady ache from his shins made him all the more grateful for it. 

‘Are you alright?’ Mary asked as the stage jolted and bashed into his bruises. 

Isaac remembered what Dutch had told him about not being closed off and sighed a little. ‘Not really. I got beat at school the other day. Still hurts.’ He murmured. 

Mary’s face fell and she immediately pulled him close to her. ‘Oh, you poor thing!’

‘Didn’t you and your brother get caned at school?’ Isaac rested his head on her shoulder. 

‘We had a governess, and she was never very big on… that sort of thing. Quite right too -- it’s barbaric.’ 

‘I’ve had worse,’ Isaac said darkly, still not meeting her eyes, and as if to change the subject piped ‘D’you know I used to live in New York? I was lookin’ for Pa for ‘bout a year, I think.’ 

It was this story that he told whenever he was uncomfortable, or variations of it anyway; it was a sort of verbal comfort blanket. 

Mary carded her hand through his hair reassuringly. ‘Why, aren’t you brave.’ she gushed, and Isaac grinned but hid his teeth still. Isaac sat quietly for a while, the sights out of the window going by faster than he could drink them in. He hopped nimbly down from the coach, trying not to splash mud onto his new overalls, and outstretched his hand to help Mary down like he’d seen Arthur do. Seeming charmed, she accepted it and they started towards the wagon where a gaggle of other children were brandishing pots of something sandy colored. 

‘So, err, how’d you meet my Pa?’ Isaac asked as they waited in line. He half expected a negative reaction to this, for no reason he could think of. 

Instead Mary smiled fondly. ‘A long time ago, we were about nineteen. My father didn’t get on with him, plus the gang was smaller then and he was always busy, so we didn’t see each other too often, even though we planned to get married.’

Isaac nodded and mused for a second. ‘Would you still?’ 

Mary got a faraway look to her. ‘Yes, I think I would.’ 

‘Even with the gan--’ Isaac stopped himself as they got to the front of the line and Mary exchanged a few coins for two tubs of the pale stuff. 

‘Even with the gang?’ Isaac said again once they were a safe enough distance away. 

Conclusively, as if there was a huge weight to it Isaac didn’t recognise, she nodded. 

‘This is unmistakably the best thing I’ve ever ate!’ Isaac chirped as they sat, watching the world go by. 

Mary smiled softly at him. ‘I’m glad you like it, dear boy.’ She said without thinking. 

A couple that looked like they could be a portion of Mary’s plethora of silk-stocking aunts and uncles ambled past and gandered at the sight of them. ‘You ok, ma’am?’ Mary asked.

‘Oh yes,’ she gushed. ‘Just cooing over your son here. What’s your name, little boy?’ 

Isaac discarded his patronise-me-and-I’ll-break-your-face mentality for the sake of mutually  beneficial charm. ‘I’m Isaac.’ He said, and smiled as adorably as he could muster. 

‘Bless,’ the woman gushed again, and they moved on. Mary inwardly pretended to be surprised at how happy she was. 

‘And that's why capitalism will be the death of America, dear boy.’ Dutch ended, having gotten a tad carried away in relaying his philosophies to Isaac. 

‘I thought you was done with finding new proteges, Dutch?’ Hosea asked dryly. 

He appeared nonplussed. ‘Nonsense, my dear Hosea. After that barbaric experience with the school in Rhodes I’m simply taking the boy’s education into my own hands. We taught Arthur and John well enough.’ 

Hosea sighed, but decided to be wary. ‘I suppose you’re right.’

‘Indeed. Now Isaac, what do you think Miller’s meaning here?’ 

‘Does he mean that there shouldn’t be no cities or nothin’, ‘n everyone should live free like we do?’ 

Dutch looked ecstatic at his understanding. ‘Attaboy, that’s just right!’ 

He looked set to launch into another philosophical soliloquy but was intercepted by a somewhat timid Sean. ‘Can I borrow y’ a minute, sir?’ 

Dutch stood and patted Isaac on the shoulder. ‘Told you before, boy. Stop with the ‘sir’, this ain’t the army,’ he gave Isaac a look and added ‘ we win our fights.’

‘Of course. Sorry, don’t think I’ve introduced meself to the kid here. I’m Sean, Prince Isaac.’ Sean bowed ironically. 

‘Prince?’ Isaac gave him a quizzical look.

‘Sure, ent ol’ King Arthur your da? I see it.’ Sean reconsidered the comment he was about to make over them both having sad eyes. 

‘Stop needling the poor kid, Sean. You were saying?’ 

‘Ah, yes. I heard a fella talking about a horse race at  Emerald Station. I thought it would be good for scoping out, especially if there’s anyone handling bets.’ Sean explained. 

Dutch nodded appreciatively. ‘Good work. Are there likely to be bets?’

‘I’ve got Trelawney on that, should be here soon.’ 

In his typical eccentric fashion, Trelawney appeared. ‘Hello, gentlemen! I trust young Sean has told you about our new prospect?’ 

‘Indeed he has. Wait, have you met Isaac?’ 

The jovial man’s face fell into a scowl. ‘I think I may have. Have you ever been to New York, young man?’ 

Isaac’s jaw dropped. ‘Shit! Did I steal somethin’ off you, mister?’ 

‘Indeed you did. I suspect it was a pocket watch. I have since got a nicer one, I assure you, but you’re a fine pickpocket.’

Dutch guffawed. ‘Well, ain’t you a dark horse! How’d you notice he took it, Josiah?’

‘I recognise the red part on your sock, dear boy.’ 

Isaac pulled his trouser cuff up and scowled at the distinguishing embroidered mark. ‘Maybe I should do something about that.’ 

Hosea, who had looked up from the newspaper he had been reading when Trelawney had materialized, mused for a moment. ‘Why don’t you take him along to that race? We took John and Arthur to things like that when they were kids. There could be fine pickings.’ 

Dutch clasped him by the shoulder. ‘My dear Hosea, you are a genius. Who else wants to go?’

‘The junior guns are probably safest in bigger crowds.’

Mary Beth looked up from her darning. ‘I can go. You’ll need someone to look after Isaac, and I’m a good pick myself.’ 

‘I will too,’ Tilly said. ‘Anything to get away from the laundry.’ 

‘Sure. Anyone else?’ 

‘’Ey Lenny! D’you want to come robbin’ with us tomorrow?’ Sean hollered across camp.

‘Sure!’ Lenny exclaimed, and shrugged -- subsequently, the bucket of water he was carrying sloshed onto his feet. 

‘Hey, if Sean’s going I’m going.’ Karen drawled. 

Sean smirked. ‘I thought you’d be glad to be rid of me, darlin’?’ 

‘Shut up, y’ little bastard. ‘Sides, I’m so bored I'd put up with your yammering.’ 

‘It’s my god given talent, Miss Jones. I can talk--’ 

‘A dog off a meat wagon, we know, you dumbass,’ Javier quipped from his guard post. ‘I had to listen to this all the way from Blackwater. I’ll come too, anyway.’ 

‘Kieran and I will not! ’ Bill huffed from where they were grooming their horses, their sides pressed together (though people paid no heed). 

Isaac smirked. ‘Good choice if you want intact shins.’ He kicked the soft earth with the toe of his boot threateningly, like an indignant colt. 

‘Now listen here you little shit--’ 

‘Calm down, Bill.’

‘Sorry, Dutch.’ 

‘I forgive you.’ Dutch snapped. ‘Good plan, anyway, boys.’

‘You schemin’ without me, Dutch?’ A familiar voice said, slightly rasping. Leaning against one of the posts of his tent was Arthur, barely escaping Miss Grimshaw’s fussing. There were relieved cries of ‘Arthur!’ and ‘You’re up!’ and ‘how’s the arm?’ from the group, which were fended off by a raised hand and a soft sigh from him. ‘I’m ok, I’m ok. What I wanna know is what I’ve missed.’ 

Isaac never kept the pocket watches he stole, so didn’t know exactly what time it was by the time they crossed from the wide lantern of the campfire to the cold comfort of their tent. Arthur walked with his arms stiff and wheezed slightly as his left side shifted. 

‘You ok, Pa?’ Isaac asked, and plonked himself onto the floor. 

‘Yeah, I feel a helluva lot better actually. How was your trip with Mary?’

‘It was great. You ever had ice cream before? It’s incredible.’

He chuckled weakly. ‘Glad you liked it, kid. She likes you too -- you’re sweet when you ain’t stealing pocket watches and kicking in folk’s kneecaps, eh?’ 

Isaac grinned guiltily. ‘You heard about Trelawney?’

‘Nah, I heard about Kieran.’

‘Dutch said you were worse when you was a kid.’ 

‘Never mind that. G’night, son.’

‘G’night, Pa.’

Arthur could tell Isaac was asleep as his jaw moved stiffly, grinding his teeth. 

Feeling better, he wrote, after reading the note Isaac had slipped rather obviously into the back cover. Mary took Isaac out whilst I was layed up, but from the looks of it the gang clubbed around to look after him pretty good. No one told me he got beat at school, least of all him. Not that I blame him -- poor kid, and tough at that. Tomorrow all the junior guns are taking him to a horse race or something. Kid’s a hell of a pickpocket. 

Hell of a kid in general, too. 

Chapter Text

‘Watches and winnings, that's all we’re looking for.’ Trelawney explained as they rode in their standard caterpillar formation. 

‘What’s everyone's thoughts on adding whor--’ Javier began cunningly, before an empty chocolate bar wrapper hit his head to shut him up. 

‘Mind the boy, Javier.’ Mary Beth said with a protectiveness she didn’t use often. 

‘Please, he got himself near a thousand miles to get to us, he can hear the big boys talk,’ Lenny ribbed. Isaac giggled, but Mary Beth still stayed at her point.  

They drew up to where the race allegedly was due to start, which bustled with moving legs in both pairs and quads. According to snippets Sean and the others had heard, the race started (and ended) at the small intersection directly west of Emerald Ranch, then headed back north east over the station, then back south and to the same line: perilously close to the train track, at that. 

‘That fella said most people are cutting just under the ranch after the start to see them go along the tracks, then riding back again to see the finish,’ Lenny explained as they walked away from where they hitched their horses. ‘Should be starting in twenty minutes or so, he said too.’ 

‘Sounds good. Let’s go exploring.’ Trelawney quipped, and spotted a group of fellow whimsically dressed men discussing something vaguely dignified.

‘Damn exploring, I want a drink! Sean, are you with me?’ Karen demanded. 

‘Don’t have to ask me twice!’ Sean offered her his elbow and they disappeared off to where a man was ringing a bell and crying ‘whisky, whisky!’. Such a call was like holding a lit match in front of a swarm of moths. Javier eyed a group of made-up women by the whisky stall. ‘I’m gonna go ingratiate myself with them.’ 

The remaining four — Tilly, Mary Beth, Lenny, and Isaac — looked at each other. 

‘Thieving time?’ 

The nods were slight but enthusiastic. 

Isaac threw his head back and sobbed, clutching his ankle and practically rolling around on the floor. A nearby woman (not unlike Mary, the boy thought) hurried over, as predicted. ‘Are you ok, little boy?’ She asked softly. The ornate gold bracelets jangling on her wrists very nearly made Isaac break character in glee, but he was well versed enough to know better.

‘I got kicked over by a mule and I can’t find my nanny!’ He blubbered. 

‘Oh you poor dear!’ The woman said. She turned over her shoulder (revealing a fantastic gold hairpin that Isaac would be very glad to lift) and called, ‘Richard! Richard, I need your help, you useless man!’ 

Said useless man strode over from the back of the queue in front of a man holding a deformed satchel — notably, which was absolutely stuffed with cash — with a watch chain swinging from his pocket enticingly. ‘What’s that bawling about, boy?!’ 

Oh yes, Isaac thought. I’m definitely gonna have to confiscate your watch, sir. 

‘Oh Richard, don’t be coarse! I think he’s broken his ankle, poor little thing! Help me carry him to get help, you oaf!’ 

Richard sighed, and took Isaac by under his arm. The boy continued bawling as he smoothly lifted the watch, bracelets, hairpin and broach from the pair of them — plus a very agreeable sum of cash that he suspected the man planned to give the bookie. Once Tilly saw the last objects disappear into Isaac’s pockets, she rushed out of the crowd, calling ‘Tom! Tom! Where have you run off to, you little fiend?’ before striding over to the now light-travelling pair in mock relief and realization. ‘Tom Kilgore, you silly little boy! Where’d you run off to, hmm?’ She put her fists on her hips and scowled down at him in scolding.

The woman looked Tilly up and down. ‘Is this your nanny, dear?’ 

Isaac paused his sobbing to nod. 

‘Thank goodness! The poor lad’s been kicked over and hurt his ankle. Do you have a way of getting to the doctor?’ 

‘Yes, yes! Thank you for finding him — little beast never stops running off by himself. Say thank you, Tom.’ 

‘Tha-thank you, ma’am, sir.’ He tipped his hat weakly, and limped away, thoroughly pleased with himself. 

‘Right, what’s everyone’s takes?’ Tilly asked when all present Van der Lindes had gathered safely round the back of a building. Ever the big mouth (tipsiness didn’t help either), Sean went first. ‘Well, me and Miss Jones here got the greatest take off all -- knowledge,’ He slurred. ‘Ain’t that what you always say, Lenny? Anyway, we found out the guy controlling all the bookies puts these races on every two weeks or so, so is clearly rolling in the money, eh? I reckon we find where he’s based and rob the bastard blind ‘fore we go to Canada.’

‘From the sounds of it his security’s not too hot either -- just a few farm boys playing soldier. I think we should wait 'til Morgan’s all better first, though.’ Karen added.

‘And we don’t mean you, kid!’ Sean slurred. Isaac scowled and stuck his tongue out. Sean laughed and did it back. 

‘Careful there Sean, you’re messing with the best pickpocket south of Chicago!’ Tilly quipped. 

‘What picks do you know in Chicago?’ Isaac joked. 

Mary Beth ruffled his hair. ‘Show us your take then, kiddo!’ 

Isaac methodically took his loot out of his trouser and jacket pockets, then some out from the back of his waistband. He took the wad of cash out of his boot: he had two pairs including his old, all-black, laced, city ones that he was wearing, and his smarter, short ones that were a little small and he only really wore for riding and in fancier places. 

The cash made an intensely satisfying thump as it landed. The gang’s jaws all dropped. 

‘My god,’ Lenny said, and pulled out his take of five shiny watches. ‘Mine looks pathetic compared to that.’ 

‘Thank you. I assume we have a fence?’ Isaac chirped. 

‘Mierda, of course we do!’ Javier breathed. ‘But that must be two hundred dollars in cash, never mind the shiny stuff.’

Isaac just shrugged humbly. ‘I couldn’t have done it without Tilly. Without her I’d be at the doctors in Valentine and would have had to break my own ankle.’

‘Dutch’ll be pleased, if I know one thing.’ Mary Beth said, and took out her take which was similar in value and volume to Isaac’s but without the cash. Trelawney drifted over, calling formal goodbyes to the upper class men he’d very clearly swindled. ‘Come on folks, the race is starting!’

They made their way over to the horses in a broad squad. ‘Hey, did anyone find out what the name of this bookie guy is?’ Lenny piped.

Sean and Karen paled. ‘Shit.’ They both said at once. 

Javier rolled his eyes. ‘The ladies I was with said they’d seen him before. His name is Gus Crowden, they said he manages about three dozen bookmakers. All we gotta do is find where he’s based.’ 

Once safely on their horses, the group trotted over to where the crowd was flocking — the start. ‘I like that one,’ Isaac muttered to Tilly and Mary Beth, raising a hand to a wiry man in a blue shirt on a strapping jet black horse. 

‘Me too,’ Sean quipped. ‘I bet a hundr- some money on him.’

‘Shush, it’s starting!’ Lenny hissed, his eyes glinting. 

 ‘Watch his blue shirt, boyo.’ Sean said, nudging Isaac slightly.

‘And they’re off!’ 

The spectators didn’t stay to watch them disappear over the hill for long. Lenny and Mary Beth positioned themselves on either side of Isaac. ‘Stay between us, this might turn into a bit of a stampede.’

Indeed it did, as the spectators thundered over the hill and directly across (carefully through the ranch) to the train tracks. Isaac could see the blue shirt of the favourite racer in the distance, the sprinting air lifting the peak of his cap. He whooped like a wolf pup as the herd of them picked up speed and Lenny gave him a look.    

‘Start pulling him up, kiddo.’ Mary Beth said. Isaac did as he was told, pulling Bobby back to a trot. The eight competitors soon bolted up the tracks, too focused on closing and reopening the gaps between them to worry about if a train came. The one in the blue shirt was picking up speed, the black horse beneath him aimed down the train track like a sniper aiming a slug down a canyon. The crowd roared in an ambiguous mix of pride and irritation, with Sean hollering in joy as the blue shirted rider overtook the frontrunner, who was a very short, stockier man with a nose so crooked the group could notice it even from that far away. The man next to Isaac -- who he recognised as one of the top-hatted ones Trelawney had been conning -- snarled and looked furiously at a well-dressed teenage boy beside him. ‘I told you we shouldn’t have bet on that one, nephew!’ He whacked the boy upside the head, who said nothing. Thinking quickly on his vigilantism, Isaac took a pinch of hay and carefully threw it in front of the man’s horse, who dove for it and pulled the unsavory man from his seat with a grunt. Swiftly, Isaac leant over, undid the man’s saddlebag, and robbed the entirety of its contents. He put the platinum pocket watch, fat money clip, and few cigars (Isaac didn’t know how much they’d be worth but figured he ought to take them) in his bag as quickly as he’d started. Sean pulled his gaze from the riders as he noticed what Isaac did with a beaming smile. ‘Good lad.’ he muttered mischievously.

As the riders turned off the train track into the home stretch (this one safely on a path) the group turned around to ride straight back the other direction, to where they’d started. Bobby pinned his ears back as another horse got remotely near his back hooves. ‘Don’t you dare!’ Isaac scolded, making Lenny laugh. 

‘You should put a red ribbon on his tail next time to tell people,’ Tilly advised. 

‘Plus he’ll look pretty!’ Javier joked. 

‘ That’s feckin’ pretty!’ Sean exclaimed, lifting his hand from Ennis’ neck as they loped, his finger following the blue shirted rider who was a good four or five lengths in the lead by the home straight. His horse looked more like a shadow than an animal, its tail out in a banner of night behind it; Isaac thought it looked like a jousting horse from a book about knights he’d read once. The rider stood up in his stirrups and beat the air in triumph as they passed through the dusty intersection to win. ‘Oh thank fuck!’ Sean cried. ‘Dutch woulda skinned me if I lost! I gotta go collect my winnings -- Karen, you with me?’ 

The two of them trotted off. Isaac couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this happy.

A few minutes later Sean and Karen returned with the blue-shirted rider in tow. ‘’Ey guys, Mr Bataney here’s invited us for a drink!’ 

The group’s faces all split into grins as they hitched their horses and headed towards the whisky stall again. As the squad of them made their way there, the two girls Javier had been with before slinked over. ‘Heya again, handsome,’ one of them said. ‘Have you won?’

Isaac stepped a little out from his safe spot between Tilly and Mary Beth: the working girls he’d known in New York had always stopped to ruffle his hair or give him a lump of toffee when he and the other orphanage kids had passed them. Nevertheless, Mary Beth kept hold of his hand as she craned her neck to spot Karen. 

‘Well, let us know if you or any of the boys want company,’ One of them said after talking with Javier for a bit. ‘Except maybe him.’ She looked at Isaac pointedly, who giggled. The other girl squealed. ‘Aww, isn’t he darling!’ 

‘You’ve seen a kid before, Ruth,’ the other said dryly. 

‘Oh shush! How old are you, kiddo?’

Isaac threw his shoulders back like a toy soldier and proudly lied, ‘Eleven,’ in an attempt to sound slightly more grown up. 

Tilly swatted his arm. ‘Nine, more like.’

‘He’s adorable, if a liar,’ Ruth pinched Isaac’s cheek, who accepted he had to grin and bear it. 

Without thinking, Javier remarked. ‘That he is, he’s my er-- kid brother.’ 

Both of the girls looked at him incredulously. ‘I’m not sure how faithful your mama was then.’

They all laughed at Javier, who just blinked. He was saved by Sean calling, ‘Hey, you lot coming?’  

They learnt the rider was named Paddy Bataney, and had got his skills riding in the pony express as a kid forty years previously. He’d been so kind as to give Isaac some advice on Bobby’s kicking problem. 

‘What you gotta do,’ he’d said sagely, ‘is pinch him hard on the neck when he gets grumpy. Their mothers nip ‘em like that, you see. It’s just bad manners from when he was a baby.’ 

Isaac thought to ask the O’Driscoll boy he’d bit about that -- he seemed to always be with the horses, though Isaac wasn’t sure if he was forgiven yet. 

 He had a hell of a lot to say about Crowden, notably that he’d put more races on if he got robbed so really it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, and it wouldn’t be too herculean a feat, either. Bataney and Sean got on like a house on fire, and they returned to camp with two thousand dollars, a lead, and a new friend. 

‘My god,’ Dutch began as he leafed through the pile of bills. ‘Where‘s this from?’  

‘This idiot bet a hundred and fifty bucks on a horse!’ Karen huffed. ‘He won with good odds, but still.’ 

‘You’re lucky your judgement’s decent, kid.’ Hosea chuckled. 

‘At least half’s from the boy.’ Javier admitted. 

Dutch and Hosea blinked at each other, then at Isaac. ‘...What?’ 

‘He’s a pickpocketing prodigy, Dutch!’ Lenny exclaimed, clapping Isaac on the shoulder. ‘I wish you’d seen his haul before we fenced it all off.’ 

All eyes turned to Isaac, who went bright red. ‘Mary Beth and Tilly got lots too.’ 

Dutch just smirked and called over his shoulder. ‘Hey Arthur, come here a minute.’ 

Arthur looked up from the map he and John were studying, and lumbered over. ‘Isaac, what have you done now?’ he sighed. 

‘He’s made us a thousand dollars richer in an afternoon, that’s what he’s done!’ Dutch crowed, ruffling the boy’s hair. The camp seemed to still as they took in the figure. Bill was slumped by a fire with a bottle of whisky stuck in his hand. ‘As if,’ he slurred. ‘Y’all are just covering for him to make the little brat feel better.’ 

‘Watch it, Williamson.’ Arthur, Dutch and Hosea all growled at once. 

‘What’s your problem with me?’ Isaac spat. 

‘You practically gave Kieran rabies!’ 

‘I don’t have rabies!’ 

‘Wow, first lyin’ about your stealing and now this? You oughta beat him, Arthur.’ 

Predictably, everyone yelled obscenities at Bill at once. Charles kept a notably firm grip on Arthur’s shoulder. 

Hosea, ever with the level head, brought everyone to quiet.

‘I ain’t a liar!’ Isaac snarled finally. ‘In fact I bet--’ 

‘Isaac--’ Arthur began scolding lowly. 

‘I bet my whole take from today that I can steal something of value from everyone in camp by the end of the week. Excluding Jack, and the horses of course.’ Isaac finished, with a smirk. Some of the gang chuckled and shook their heads in amusement. The deal had Dutch written all over it, so he agreed on Bill’s behalf. ‘You gotta make your case, Bill. A deal’s a deal.’ 

Bill huffed, and shook hands. ‘I look forward to being at least a bit richer. Wait, how much is your take?’

Isaac beamed toothily back at him. ‘Ten dollars -- what am I gonna do with more? Not that you’ll be getting it, Marion.’ 

‘YOU LITTLE SONOFA--’ 

Isaac was thoroughly exhausted from the day of stealing, so slept without even gritting his teeth. Relieved by this, Arthur wrote carefully. 

The young uns took Isaac robbing at some horse race today. Kid’s got ghost’s fingers, apparently: he lifted nearly a thousand bucks all in all, most of it without help or even telling anyone. I’d say he’s like me as a kid but if I’d been that good Hosea and Dutch wouldn’t have noticed me. Impressive as it is, I hate how good he’s had to become at stealing. 

Now he’s in some strange bet with Will Billiamson  Bill Williamson as to if he can steal something of value from everyone in camp. Good god, he’s stubborn. I reckon he’ll go for my hat. 

They also got a lead on a bookmaker we can rob before we go to Canada. I’ll be glad to get away from the Pinkertons, but I have a few people (well, one I can think of right now) I want to introduce Isaac to first -- I’ll take him up to Willard’s Rest soon. 

Chapter Text

Isaac tucked the rabbit’s ankles through the empty belt loops of his overalls contentedly. 

‘Not bad, kid,’ Arthur said, clapping him on the shoulder. 

Isaac lit up. ‘D’ya think so?’ 

‘Yeah, sure,’ He ruffled his hair. ‘Clean to the head. I’ll tell ya what, did you say you’re ten in January?’ 

Isaac nodded as they slung themselves back onto the horses. 

‘Well, when you’re ten I’ll give you this rifle, so long as you can hit each can in a line at eight paces.’ He wiggled the varmint rifle he was holding lightly before putting it away. 

‘Really?’ 

‘Eight of my paces.’ 

‘Oh. But still, really?’ He squealed. 

‘Shoah. I don’t use it much, and you best start earning your keep, boy.’ He said with a smirk. 

As they trotted back towards camp, Arthur saw a swipe of a familiar blue blouse and an uncleaned rifle. Thinking what a ridiculous coincidence it was, he hopped off his horse. ‘I’ll be damned. Charlotte?’ 

Perplexed but obedient, Isaac followed. Standing in a clearing was a woman a little younger than Arthur, who looked slightly bedraggled and held an old rifle as if it was about to turn into a cobra. 

‘Arthur!’ The woman breathed. ‘Fancy seeing you here. I suppose you’re hunting, same as me?’ 

‘Yeah, actually with my… Isaac, where are ya?’ 

Isaac stepped out from behind the tree he hadn’t even deliberately hid behind. ‘Pa?’ Arthur gave him a look and Isaac trotted over to his father’s side. 

‘Isaac, this is Charlotte, a friend of mine.’

Jesus, Isaac thought. Is he ever gonna stop introducing me to people?

‘Hiya, ma’am. I’m Isaac.’ He said, well versed in endearing adults by now. 

Charlotte said something genuine about how she was pleased to meet him; Arthur thought he ought to give her an explanation. ‘He’s my son. Apologies, before y’ say, I hadn’t mentioned him before.’ 

‘Oh, I understand,’ Charlotte gushed. ‘I can see the resemblance.’ 

‘Except the eyes,’ Isaac chirped, hiding behind Arthur a little. ‘Pa’s got great green eyes, but mine are just dark brown.’ 

‘Well I think they’re lovely. My eyes are brown too, see?’ 

‘I don’t doubt yours are pretty, ma’am. Yours are like honey, mine are more black.’ Truth be told, Isaac didn’t know where he was going with this, but it seemed to be charming her. 

‘I beg to differ,’ Charlotte said with a smile. ‘He’s just darling, Arthur.’ 

‘He has his moments. D’you want me to hunt with you? I could probably do with bringing in some more.’ 

‘I’d be delighted.’ 

As they turned to go off to where Arthur had seen some turkeys before, he looked over his shoulder at Isaac. ‘Can you stay here with the horses, boy?’ he asked, though it wasn’t unaffectionate. 

Isaac narrowed his eyes imperceptibly: why couldn’t he come?

‘...’course , Pa.’ 

Arthur smiled and clapped his usual black gambler hat onto Isaac’s head, while it fell over his eyes. ‘Good boy. Shout if you need me, ok?’ 

Isaac nodded and couldn’t keep from grinning. His father and Charlotte disappeared off into the trees. 

Isaac settled on sharpening a stick with his pocket knife whilst sitting on a low tree branch, his father’s hat tipped up so he could see. He wondered just how well they knew each other. 

‘Pa sure seems to have a lotta sweethearts…’ he muttered to himself. 

‘Who’re you talking to, lad?’ A voice asked. Isaac’s head snapped up and the hat flopped over his eyes again, only this time he couldn’t afford it. He pushed the brim back up to see an immensely tall, wispily-built man sporting a green bandana and a pump action shotgun. Something about the colour turned Isaac’s stomach to lead. ‘No one.’ He said plainly. 

The man just blinked at him threateningly. ‘I seen that hat before, lad. Where’d you get it?’

Isaac was immensely glad of his pocket knife. He stayed silent. The man took a few harsh steps toward him. ‘I know you ain’t a mute, boy! Answer me or I’ll take my belt and stripe your back!’ 

The hell you will! 

Isaac formulated a plan, impressing himself with the speed. He turned his head to the opposite direction to where Arthur and Charlotte had gone, cried ‘PA! HELP!’ as loud as he could, readied his knife, and leapt behind the tree he was in for cover. Fortunately, the man didn’t start shooting at him; instead charging with his gun drawn in the direction Isaac had yelled. He pinned himself against the tree, and hoped Arthur was still in earshot. 

‘So, how’ve you been?’ Arthur began as they wandered back (Charlotte with a fat turkey in her hand, Arthur without) the sun having sank slightly into the horizon. 

‘Much better, all thanks to you. I can hit seven cans out of ten now. I, for one, am intrigued about that boy of yours.’ She replied lightly. 

‘There ain’t much to say. His mother died a couple years back, and I regret to say I lost track—’

Arthur’s pupils dilated in panic as he heard the cry he dreaded. ‘PA! HELP!’ 

‘Shit,’ Arthur hissed. He drew his gun and turned to Charlotte as he set off. ‘Stay here and try and find cover.’ He said, already charging away. The panic and adrenaline Arthur felt was like nothing he’d ever had in his twenty or more years of outlawing, his mind solely focused on getting between danger and Isaac. At night he would wonder if Dutch or Hosea or indeed even Miss Grimshaw had felt like that toward him before, and made a note to stop complaining about them motherhenning him if this is what it felt like.

But not then. At that moment, with the thin branches as whips to his back, he zoned in on where the sound had come from. 

He caught a glimpse of Isaac’s face, pale from terror, which only strengthened his resolve. Isaac pointed sheepishly to where the man had charged off to. 

‘That way.’ He whispered. ‘Had a gun.’ 

Arthur nodded and continued, not having to run far before he saw the thin, pale man Isaac must have been frightened by -- for good reason: he looked like a skeleton looking for a skin to inhabit. Arthur raised his gun. The man turned over his shoulder, revealing a total of six teeth and an ear with a bullethole through it. The sight and the memory that came with it lowered the gun to the man’s ankle, which Arthur shot. ‘You’re Allan O’Brien, aincha?’ he growled, standing over the man who had fallen to the ground and was currently, feebly, pressing the green bandana to his ankle. He nodded. ‘That’s your boy, ain’t it, Morgan? I’ll be damned -- I didn’t think Dutch let his best workhorse out of sight let alone--’ 

Arthur cut him off with a kick across the chin. He hogtied the man and threw him over his shoulder, confident enough that what he was doing was a good idea. 

‘Isaac,’ Arthur began as he trudged nearer. ‘You alright?’ 

‘yeah , I’m fine, he… looks like you’ve handled him.’ Isaac said, and shuffled out of his hiding place. Worry still lined his features that Arthur had only ever seen such a trace of when Bill and Kieran had brought him in. 

‘That I have. Can you run up the hill a little and tell Charlotte we’re ok? But come straight back.’ 

Isaac nodded, and set off dutifully. 

Allan’s eyes flickered like a tongue out of a snake’s mouth as he came to. ‘Whatcha doing with me, Morgan?’ 

‘Figured Dutch would wanna see you.’ Arthur slung him over the back of his horse and caught sight of Charlotte waving to him, with Isaac trotting out of the woods and up to them. 

‘So, we meet again, Arthur Morgan. Rival enforcers -- very poetic.’ Allan said, every other syllable cropped by the horse’s movements. Arthur stayed quiet and irritated Allan into a change of tactics. ‘Hey, boy!’ 

Isaac rode a little closer to the back of Arthur’s horse in mock obedience. 

‘Mr Morgan here’s your Pa, right?’ 

Isaac nodded, trying to look as babyish as possible. 

‘I’m wondering who your mama is, is all. Is she some working girl that’s dead in the gutter by now? Or is she some poor farmer’s daughter that got caught up in the mess of outlaw politics, perhaps — I reckon it’s that.’ 

Isaac smiled with his mouth pinched closed, kicked his left foot out of his stirrup, and swung it at Allan’s mouth hard enough to reduce his count of teeth to five. Arthur just laughed approvingly. 

‘Not sure Pearson had that in mind when he asked you to go hunting, son.’ Hosea joked when they were safely back at camp, Allan hanging off Arthur’s shoulder. 

‘Well I never -- if it isn’t Colm’s favourite running dog,’ Dutch crowed theatrically, like always. ‘How’d you find this one, Arthur?’ 

‘He found us. What do you want me to do with him?’ 

‘Tie him by the scout fire, we’ll get him hungry.’

Arthur did as he was told, with Isaac watching from a distance and scuttling over to spit on the man’s boots when he could. ‘Isaac!’ Arthur scolded as he was caught. ‘Stay away, even if you’re taunting him.’ 

The sky was pleasant that night, the air coming off the lake cool and clean feeling. Arthur and Isaac sat in their tent, with the former sketching and the latter repeatedly picking open a battered lock. ‘Say, you sure got a lotta sweethearts, Pa.’ Isaac began casually. 

Arthur looked up very deliberately. ‘What do you mean?’

He shrugged nonchalantly. ‘Well there’s Mary, but that Charlotte woman sure seemed to like y’ and I reckon even that Mr Mason and Mary Beth like y’ too.’ He said nonchalantly. 

Arthur blinked, feeling like the twenty something year old kid he’d been when Hosea had pointed out quite how smitten Mary had very obviously been with him.  ‘I guess. But they ain’t my sweethearts, you know that.’

‘I understand, Pa.’ Isaac replied, somewhat timidly. 

Arthur scowled at his hands guiltily. ‘What’ve you managed to steal so far, then?’  

Isaac beamed and took an innumerate amount of small objects from his little satchel gleefully. Arthur blinked at the mass of them: there was the spare button he knew Charles always kept in his pocket; the broach that Abigail hated but always wore; Pearson’s naval compass he’d got only a few weeks prior; one of John’s shoelaces; Lenny’s wax seal, which Hosea had got for him since he was such an academic at heart; the half-full ink cartridge from Mary Beth’s fountain pen (Arthur was especially impressed by that, since he must’ve had to take the cartridge out without her noticing); and Dutch’s monogrammed comb he rather vainly kept on him at all times.

 Arthur’s chest swelled in pride. ‘My lord,’ he breathed. ‘Have you got something from everyone?’ 

‘Yep. I gave some of them back as soon as I took them ‘cos I felt bad.’ 

He nodded. ‘What did you take from Bill?’ 

Isaac fished a pin from the pile. ‘This. I think it's his hat badge from the army.’

Arthur inspected it. ‘Indeed it is,’ he drawled. ‘Cmon, let's go and tell him to cough up the ten bucks.’ 

Isaac grinned toothily. 

‘ Arthuuuuur!’ came a squawk from the edge of camp. The teenage self in Arthur worried he was in trouble, but his older and slightly more sensible side shrugged it off. He ruffled Isaac’s hair apologetically, and lumbered over to where Dutch and Bill were crowding Allan, who was tied on the underside of a branch over the lake. He suppressed the chuckle at this position, and squared his shoulders like a bull about to charge. ‘Greasy little thing wants to talk, huh?’ 

‘No, that’s the problem.’ Dutch muttered conspiratorially. ‘I ain’t all too sure he will. I think we should just break him up a little then send him running or… dispatch him.’ 

Arthur blinked at his jarring tone. ‘Is that necessary? Won’t Colm take vengeance?’ 

Dutch sighed. ‘My boy, you sound just like your fathe-- Hosea,’ he corrected with a sideways glance at Bill. ‘I’ll admit I have the exact same trepidation, but Kieran has assured me he ain’t that dear to Colm.’

Bill gave a harsh nod. ‘You have my and Kieran’s word, Dutch.’ 

Dutch clapped them both on the shoulder. ‘Glad to hear it. Now, there’s a reason I got my two strongest men on this.’

Arthur reverted to the state he had to in order to stay sane doing things like this, his green eyes solid and cold like dragon’s scales.  ‘Anything you particularly want us to do?’ 

Isaac laid nervous eyes on Dutch, Bill and his father where they schemed by the river, fortunately barely visible from camp. Mary Beth, sensing this and all too aware of what Isaac could see, and had probably seen, traipsed over and sat next to him. ‘Hullo, Isaac. Do you want to carry on your reading with me whilst your Pa works? We can sit by the fire if you like.’ She lulled. Isaac nodded gently and -- to both of their surprise -- took her hand. Isaac exhaled softly as he opened the book: this was a way of calming down one of the older girls at the orphanage had taught him years before, and he’d overturned his expectation of forgetting it immediately. He made himself smile, and in his most proper voice, began, ‘ Monday morning found Tom Sawyer miserable…’ 

The pair alternated reading every few pages, but after a chapter they fell into chattering and eavesdropping on the rest of the camp in equal volumes: Swanson was cursing Morpheus as usual; Javier and John were moaning about their women, past and present; and Karen and Sean were making innuendos and nudging each other playfully. 

And Arthur, Dutch, and Bill were still invisibly by the lake. 

‘Are you sweet on my Pa?’ Isaac asked innocently, shaking his head to clear the visions of the man from the woods and his green bandana turned from green to red again. 

Mary Beth instantly went bright red and fixed a stare on the neat stars on the cover of the book. ‘Why’d you ask?’ She stuttered.

Isaac started playing with a stick at his feet, regretting his decision immensely. ‘Y’ just go all giggly when you talk to him, I noticed,’ he shrugged. ‘Oh hell, I’m outta line.’ He muttered, his voice disturbingly dripping with self loathing. Mary Beth put her arm around him. ‘Don’t be silly,’ she whispered. ‘You’re right.’ 

Bill, darkly, seemed in a better mood once he and the others returned to the campfire, so Isaac ran with the trinkets in his front overall pocket and clasped them in both hands, shoving the loot under Bill’s nose. ‘Cough it up, Williamson!’

The hours that followed felt to Isaac like the scenery that went by when he was in that stagecoach with Mary -- had that really been a month ago? The gang were in high spirits, anyway, even if Isaac didn’t really know the politics as to why. Bill had accepted his loss with the grace of a clumsy alleycat: so not nearly as bad as it could have been. He’d since got drunk and disappeared off with Kieran. The sun’s shell on the lake was beautiful, and though he tried to mope, Isaac tucked himself under his father’s arm and let himself be happy. 

Bill was less drunk than he’d have been without Kieran, that’s for sure. The two of them draped their legs into the freezing lake, their sides pressed unabashedly together, the last of the light shining as a diamond between their heads and necks. ‘I’m annoyed that little shit beat me. I am!’ Bill groaned, sloshing the trickle of beer that remained in its bottle around boisterously.

Kieran giggled, his torso flopping with mirth like a doll’s. ‘I ain’t convinced, Billy.’

‘I a mmm,’ Bill drawled. ‘Annoying little bastard. Nuisance. Grrr.’ 

Kieran couldn’t help laughing at him again. ‘You’re the one that sounds like a kid. ‘Grr’.’ 

Bill made an extravagant gesture of denial. 

‘You gotta admit, it’s pretty impressive, all them things he stole.’ Kieran shrugged, and necked the rest of Bill’s beer before he could protest. 

Bill snorted. ‘Of course it is. Bastard son of the great King Arthur who can do no wrong. Dutch says he don’t play favourites but I beg to differ.’ 

Kieran shifted, sensing a deeper issue. ‘This ain’t about the boy, is it.’ 

Bill huffed petulantly. ‘No. I guess I shouldn’t have… taken it out on him. Even if he bit you.’ 

‘Please, I woulda bit any of you when you first captured me. I can hardly blame him.’ 

Bill didn’t bother checking if anyone was watching as he pecked Kieran’s cheek. ‘You’re right. I should apologise.’ 

Kieran’s heart melted. ‘Billy, would you ever want… one of them?’ 

‘One of who?’ 

‘A kid.’ 

Bill guffawed louder than he ought to. ‘I don’t think two guys can have one, dear.’ 

Kieran scoffed. ‘Tell that to Dutch and Hosea. They raised Arthur and John from boys, right? Besides, I don’t think neither of us fancy cleaning up after a baby.’  

Bill looked pensive (which was new). ‘Maybe. Boy or girl?’ 

Kieran almost vibrated where he sat. ‘Girl, I think. I had a little cousin, and she was just the sweetest thing.’

Bill chuckled at him. 

‘What?’

‘You’re adorable.’

‘Go apologise to the boy!’ 

Isaac was playing with Jack when Bill stamped over to them, booming, ‘hello, boys!’ at a volume just a shade below deafening. He leapt to his feet, standing in front of Jack and scowling at the man defensively. ‘If you’re here to bully me outta my ten bucks, you won’t get a penny.’ 

He was far braver than Bill had given him credit for. ‘I ain’t here for that. I wanna say I’m sorry.’ He slurred. 

Isaac just looked perplexed. 

‘I’m sorry for always havin’ a go at you when you don’t deserve it. You’re a brave kid, and a hell of a pick.’

Isaac grinned. ‘No hard feelings, mister. So what was the army like? I met a platoon from New York once.’ 

Arthur, who had been watching protectively, turned back to the others once he saw Bill’s face light up. 

The day had felt immensely long, and Arthur tried his best to get it all written down before the sun came up to start it all again. 

As luck would have it, bumped into Charlotte with Isaac. Hunting got cut a little short as one of the O’Driscoll enforcers noticed Isaac (and my hat) so had to catch him. 

I did, and what me and Bill did to him weren’t pretty. I was worried Colm would take revenge, but Kieran assured Dutch it wouldn't be that big a deal so it's on his head anyway. The man's dead now -- I just hope Isaac didn’t see. I think I noticed Mary Beth reading with him, though. 

Speaking of, Isaac seems to think every woman (and a man or two) I know is sweet on me. I severely doubt it. 

Isaac won his bet against Bill. I felt pretty damn proud, but I’ve no idea if that’s the right response to when your kid is a master thief. 

I think when we’ve got our own place, I’ll get him a dog. 

Chapter Text

The can leapt back like a hand from a fire in a way Isaac found immensely gratifying. Arthur clapped his shoulder proudly as he lowered the rifle. ‘Good shot, kid.’ 

Isaac beamed. ‘Does this mean you’re gonna teach me how to duel?’ 

‘ No.’ Arthur laughed. 

Sadie traipsed past them with her repeater broken over her elbow. ‘Teaching the boy how to shoot, huh?’ 

‘Aye. From the state of these cans, he ain’t doing too bad.’ Arthur quipped back, keeping his eyes on Isaac as the boy reloaded the rifle with the staunch discipline of a young corporal.  Sadie smirked and took her revolver out of its holster. ‘Cmon, he can have a go with this.’ She joked. Isaac bounced on his toes in glee. Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose and his chest heaved with an amused sigh. ‘Sadie, I’d rather you didn’t arm my child.’ 

‘Suit yourself. He’s a mighty impressive thief, if I know one thing. Anyway, some of the boys and I are planning the robbery on the bookmaker’s and we need you.’ 

Arthur took the guns from Isaac (who pouted but got over it) and sauntered off, leaving the boy to his own devices.

Jack soon toddled over. ‘Isaac, Isaac? Do you want to play?’ 

Isaac crouched; though he’d always been a loner, he was fond of his new cousin. ‘Sure. I can get my cards and we can play snap if you want.’ 

Jack nodded enthusiastically, and they scampered off to the edge of camp, so that they wouldn’t get under everyone’s feet. After a few rounds of snap they got bored -- namely Isaac got bored of letting Jack win -- so they found sticks to use as swords and hacked lightly at each other. Their escapades led to a squealing Jack chasing Isaac deeper into the trees. Two shiny green bandanas caught Isaac’s eye. 

Goddamn it, why can’t we just play without being spied on by outlaws! He thought. 

‘Jack,’ he whispered, having no idea what he was supposed to do. ‘Stay close to me. And quiet.’

By now both boys were disturbingly well drilled in avoiding the clutches of rival outlaws. Jack did as he was told. The green flashes were coming from the path they’d have to take back to camp; his only shred of hope was that in their stillness and the cover of the huge tree they’d run into the bowl of, the O’Driscolls appeared not to have seen the boys yet. 

  Pa will kill me if I lead them to camp! Think, Morgan, think! 

No joy. The boys both froze, their pupils dilated into the unknown terror. Once, Isaac had seen a pair of fox kits staring straight into the eyes of a huge, furious rattlesnake, completely frozen in their places, too powerless to even resign themselves to their fate -- until Isaac’s guardian at the time (an unnamed so-and-so in a dark hat wielding a long-unpolished revolver) had shot the snake, that was.

But there was no cowboy to save them.

‘Aw hell, the boss said they’d only be the diddly one!’ A hushed, accented voice hissed. 

The game was up. 

‘That one’s hardly bigger. You scared of a couple of kids?’ 

There was a huff, and the necks the green bandanas were attached to stepped out into the light. ‘Hello, boys,’ one said cordially. ‘Why don’t you get out of that tree?’ 

‘Jack,’ Isaac breathed. ‘When I move, run. And call for our fathers and uncles.’ 

Isaac dropped out of the tree. ‘What do you want?’ he snarled. 

‘We ain’t gonna kill you,’ one said quickly. ‘But we can hurt you. Come easy now, boy.’ 

‘No!’ Isaac said, sounding far less terrified than he felt. 

Jack tore away, out of the tree, round the O’Driscolls, and back toward camp screaming every name he remembered. Stupidly, the O’Driscolls watched, their eyes rolling in their heads as Isaac leapt on one and in a fit of desperation sank his teeth into his right wrist until he tasted iron. He felt a shape come up behind him and Isaac slashed the air with his pocket knife until it met something dense and slowed and a roar of pain rang behind him.

 The twenty seconds before Arthur, Sadie, Bill, and Charles arrived felt like hours. The former two’s guns smoked as the bodies hit the ground. Sadie spat on one of them. 

‘Isaac, are you alright? What… what happened?!’ Arthur said, pulling the boy to his chest. 

‘O’Driscolls, I think,’ Isaac said through hyper-breaths. ‘They were gonna take Jack but I don’t think they expected me.’  

‘Oh, you brave, brave kid.’ Arthur breathed, and picked him up.

‘Is Jack ok?’ Isaac said into his father’s shoulder. 

John and Dutch appeared. ‘Oh my dear boy! Is he ok, Arthur?’ 

‘More or less, yeah.’ They trudged on back to camp. 

‘It was the O’Driscolls.’ Sadie snarled. 

Dutch narrowed his eyes at Bill. ‘I thought,’ he seethed through gritted teeth, ‘you said that O’Brien was a nobody.’ 

Bill froze. ‘You know Colm better than I do.’ 

‘So you should trust that I, who worked with Colm briefly twenty years ago, know his current members better than one of his former running men?’ 

‘He makes a good point, Williamson.’ John growled. 

‘How’d you know it’s actually revenge?!’

‘Basic situational awareness!’ Charles snapped. Isaac looked slightly amused, but his face fell again as Kieran scuttled over, terrified, at Dutch’s call. John slugged him across the face and all hell broke loose. 

Dutch, John, Sadie and Arthur crowded Kieran, yelling something about how they’d been fools to trust an O’Driscoll and how much danger the kids had been put in. Bill, naturally, retaliated and Hosea thought it best to intervene before any black eyes were dispensed. 

‘Everyone just calm down!’ he huffed. ‘Now, it ain’t Kieran’s fault Colm sent his men here -- he didn’t make that decision.’

Bill and Kieran nodded appreciatively. 

‘But--’ Hosea said before either got too relaxed. ‘He said that Colm would be unlikely to seek retribution, which was evidently wrong.’ 

Dutch said. ‘You’re right, Hosea. But,’ he jabbed a finger at Kieran. ‘ You are on thin goddamn ice.’ 

Bill took Kieran by the shoulder and marched him away, the rest of the gang staring after them tensely. 

As it was everyone wanted to change the subject that all of camp were thinking about, as the guns split off to carry on senselessly drilling the plan for the robbery into their heads and the others stayed quiet and got on with their chores. Miss Grimshaw demanded to know whether Isaac was alright, and as soon as she had been assured he was, ordered him to go and wash his face.  

Arthur, Sadie, Bill, Charles, Javier and John readied themselves as they rode out of camp, their faces stony with the knowledge of what they had to do and that alone. They had Javier, Sean, and Karen to thank for the intel -- the latter two being surprisingly diligent -- as they had skulked around anything that could be bet on: a dog race, fistfights, several duels. The bookmaker’s, as Karen had reported, was scarcely defended. ‘Hey, buddy!’ John hissed from the guardpost he’d so kindly commandeered. The boy turned around, squinting in bewilderment. Arthur slugged him across the back of the head. 

‘Nice,’ John whispered as the brothers advanced to the middle of the building. ‘I can see Javier over there.’ He pointed across to a bridge from the next building, and completely ignored Bill who was there too. 

‘Aye,’ Arthur replied, and kicked the next door in with ease. ‘This better not be a wild goose-- oh my god.’ he said as the door swung open, the thick lock on it crashing to the ground, and it revealed a wall of safes and lockboxes. They looked at each other and wiggled their eyebrows conspiratorially. 

‘Holy crap,’ John huffed, shoveling stacks and stacks of bills into his satchel.

 ‘There’s gotta be some catch to this.’ Arthur muttered as he broke the lock on one of the bigger safes. 

They feared Arthur was right as there was a sound from the door. The ecstatic faces of Sadie and Charles (serious as they both usually were) glowed back at them. 

‘Our poor horses,’ Charles quipped, approaching one of the robust lockboxes. ‘They’re gonna have to carry all this.’ 

They group all laughed -- something Arthur reckoned in all his years of outlawing he’d never seen during a robbery -- as they stuffed any pocket with as much cash as they could carry. 

‘Why the fuck didn’t they defend this better?!’ Javier hissed as he and Bill filled the doorway, their jaws on the floor. 

‘You took your time!’ John bit back. 

‘Bite me, Marston.’ Bill growled. ‘Sean’s gonna be so goddamn smug: it was his lead.’ 

Their bickering was cut off by a plethora of thuds from the corridor. They all swore. 

‘Spoke too soon.’ Arthur muttered dryly. 

The gang leapt into cover behind safes and stacks of money, as three waves of eight scruffy guards thundered in and were mown down in an almost businesslike fashion. 

‘That all of them?’ Someone asked as the last body hit the floor and the smell of iron diffused across the room. 

‘Nope,’ a foreign voice said loudly. ‘Hold your fire, I have a deal to make.’ 

No one popped their heads out. 

‘And what might that be?’ Arthur said boldly. 

The voice had the leathery quality of gluttonous arrogance, with the swirling noises of speech around a toothpick. ‘I’m something of a duelist. Send your best gun out here and I won’t alert the law.’ 

‘Or we could shoot you where you stand.’ Sadie bit back. 

‘I don’t think that’d bode well for your reputation,’ the voice said, clipping down on the last two syllables uncomfortably hard. ‘You’re the big bad Van der Linde gang, right?’ 

‘How’d you know that?!’ Bill snarled. 

The voice chuckled, the sound sickening. ‘I guessed, originally. Now are you gonna take my offer up or not?’ 

Arthur, in his omnipresent self-sacrificing manner, sighed. ‘I’ll go.’ 

He didn’t let himself think about the what if s, except hoping if he fell, Mary and Charlotte and Hosea and Mary-Beth and Charles would look after Isaac. He pushed his coat back to reveal his holster and headed into the corridor. 

The man before him — his opponent — indeed had a toothpick in his mouth, and had lank red hair stained auburn by oil and pomade. As he stood he grinned a vile, cunning grin. ‘Well, well, pleasure to duel you -- not the most conventional of arenas, I apologise: I hoped no one would have the insolence to rob me. I’m Gus Crowden.’ 

Arthur’s voice stayed unwavering. ‘Assumptions of manners work less well than good guards, Mr Crowden. How many paces?’ 

The hospitality fell from Crowden’s face. ‘Seven.’ 

It was a disagreeable, uneven, undividable number that matched the man that willed it. 

‘Fine.’ 

They stepped up to within an arm and an eighth’s distance. Javier stayed behind the doorway but elected to count. 

‘One.’ 

What am I doing?

‘Two.’ 

Perhaps I missed the danger, these weeks of looking after a kid. 

‘Three.’

My kid, that is! You goddamn idiot, Morgan.

‘Four.’ 

I can win against this fool anyway.

‘Five.’ 

I’m gonna orphan that boy a second time. 

‘Six.’ 

And so the cycle continues. I’m sorry, Isaac.

‘Seven, draw!’ 

Turn, breathe, shoot!

Crowden collapsed to the floor, his head leaking something pinkish.

 Arthur huffed. ‘I’m alive,’ he said. ‘Every one of you and more would have full permission to spit on my corpse if I wasn’t, though.’ 

‘No time for your self loathing.’ John said, still teasing. ‘Let’s get as much of this cash as we can carry.’ 

‘See anything, lad?’ Sean asked lazily from his guardpost. 

Isaac squinted through the treetops to the main path. ‘Nothing yet. Say, don’t you wish you were with them, since you planned it all?’ 

Sean looked up to where the boy was perched in the tree to his left, his head tilted cherubically. ‘Nah,’ he wrinkled his nose. ‘I still get a cut of the profits and I don’t have to stick my neck out or nothin’. It’s ideal.’ 

Sean realised this might not be the most encouraging thing to say, given that it insinuated Arthur and the others were ‘sticking their necks out.’ 

‘Besides,’ he added. ‘Your da don’t want me there.’

‘Why’d you say that?’ Isaac asked innocently. 

Sean grunted dismissively. ‘I think he finds me a bit of a pain.’ He muttered. 

Isaac swivelled to face him more. ‘He doesn’t. He likes y’ really.’ 

Sean was touched, but obviously hid it. 

‘Wait, I see lights!’ Isaac cried, standing up in the tree to watch two bobbing lanterns make their way down the path towards camp. Sean squinted. ‘Looks like Javier and Bill.’ 

Dutch hurried over at the scent of cash. ‘How’d it go?’ 

‘Perfect, more or less. Though Arthur will have a story to tell.’ Javier quipped, hopping off Boaz triumphantly. 

Hosea bristled. ‘Is Arthur alright?’

‘Yeah, with the quickest draw in Lemoyne to boot.’ Javier replied. ‘He’ll explain more later.’ 

He and Bill swaggered off. 

Dutch sighed and shook his head. ‘That boy of ours…’ he muttered. 

Kieran rushed up to Bill in relief. ‘Billy! Did it go ok?’ 

‘Yes, yes, more than ok -- we’re rich!’ Bill exclaimed, practically shaking him by the shoulders. ‘I’m gonna go have a drink.’ 

‘I’ll brush Brown Jack down for you.’ Kieran replied, and headed to the treeline. His neck burned from the glare someone was giving him. 

‘Running off, O’Driscoll?’ Sean sneered. 

‘I ain’t running, nor am I an O’Driscoll!’ he squeaked, whirling round. 

‘Oh really -- Isaac here’s tougher than you’ll ever be. Boy, would I like to see what John and Arthur woulda done to you if he hadn’t been so bricky. No offence, lad.’ 

‘None taken.’ Isaac muttered, his gaze firmly on the path.  

Content with the dose of chaos he’d dispatched, Sean fell to whistling arrogantly to himself. 

Once isaac deemed the coast clear, he tore his gaze from the path and onto Kieran and the horses. ‘Psst, Kieran?’

‘What?’ he spat, then rethought. ‘Sorry. I know your Pa’s probably planning on killing me in my sleep.’ 

‘On the contrary,’ Isaac replied, thinking he sounded eloquent. ‘I wanted to say I don’t blame you for what happened to me and Jack.’

Kieran had swathes more he wanted to say to explain himself, but was cut off as the boy practically squealed. ‘My dad and John are back!’ 

Indeed they were. The brothers, weighed down in cash, swung off their horses, the rims of their hats illuminated by the moonlight and last illuminations of the scout fire, the barrels of their guns over their shoulders forming shadow puppets on the tree trunks. 

‘Aha, my dear boys!’ Dutch crowed, swaggering towards them. ‘How’d it go?’ 

‘Well, we about got enough money to get to Timbuktu, let alone Canada.’ Arthur said with a contented shrug. 

‘Went pretty seamlessly, too.’ John added, slinging the bag off his shoulder. 

‘That’s not what we heard from Javier,’ Hosea said, reeling on Arthur but being unable to bring himself to be wholly stern. ‘Apparently you’ve got a story to tell us, young man.’ 

Arthur blinked. 

Isaac dropped out of the tree to his rescue. ‘Heya, pa.’ 

Arthur grinned immediately. ‘There you are, kid. What’s it with you and hiding in trees, eh?’ 

‘Arthur!’ Hosea prompted. 

‘Fine,’ Arthur grunted, and clapped his hands over Isaac’s ears (who looked furious). ‘The bookmaker guy was a weird feller. Made someone duel him before we could leave. So, I did.’ 

‘I take it you won?’ 

‘Yeah, he was hopeless.’ 

Dutch grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘That’s my boy. How much do you reckon you got?’ 

It was the early hours of the morning before Arthur had a chance to write. Isaac was passed out on the floor, the stresses of the day having drained his energy entirely. 

Turns out Colm cared more about that guy than we thought; he sent some guys to take Jack but didn’t expect Isaac. 

That kid is tough and smart beyond belief -- he fended off the O’Driscolls by himself until I and the others got there. 

Now everyone’s blaming Kieran. I can’t decide whether I do or not. 

On a better note, the job on the bookie’s went well. The take was huge, and the only downside was a stupid duel I got into. 

I just hope our escape plan works. I’m tired, and I don’t want Isaac dragged into thieving more than he has been already. 

Chapter Text

Branson, Missouri, Late 1897

On a particularly boring spring day, Isaac had worked out his ratio of successful to unsuccessful picks, and after several hours of deliberation (and trying to remember what little he’d learnt about what a ratio was) he decided it was about 183 victims pickpocketed successfully to 1 time he got caught. 

This cloudy day in the sheriff’s office was that one time. 

‘Now, son, I understand you must be hungry but you don’t have to steal,’ The sheriff — who had a mustache the width of a cigarette and seemed flauntingly unaware of how much he was balding — stuck his thumbs into his belt and raised his eyebrows patronisingly. ‘But since I’m feeling kind and you’re so young, I’ll let you off with a warning and try to help best I can.’ 

‘I ain’t your son, sir. In fact that’s what I’m travelling for.’ 

The sheriff scowled. ‘Fair enough. Where are your folks then?’ 

Isaac huffed. ‘As I said, sir. I’m looking for my Pa — matter of fact, can I see those posters up there?’ 

The deputy, who was picking his teeth with his feet on the desk (Isaac had half a mind to tie his shoelaces together, which since the man had his head buried in the paper wouldn’t even be hard) snorted, his thin blue eyes flicking over Isaac. ‘Can you even read, boy?’

‘I sure can,’ he snapped. ‘I can count to two hundred, too.’ 

‘ Verrrry impressive.’ he didn’t bother taking the posters down, instead shoving a hand vaguely in the direction of the wall.  

Isaac, not bothering to contest him, scurried over and his chest leapt at the sight of the words he was looking for. 

WANTED

Dutch van der Linde and Hosea Matthews 

of the Van der Linde Gang

For MURDER, ARMED ROBBERY, ASSAULT, and DESTRUCTION OF PROPERTY. 

Last seen in the area but thought to be moving south to New Austin. 

Reward significant: divulged on application

‘When’s this poster from?’ Isaac asked, wheeling on the sheriff gleefully. 

‘Couple of weeks ago. No one’s had the stones to go after them yet. Don’t you think you’re a little young for bounty catching, kid?’ 

‘Just wondering. Do you reckon they’ll be in New Austin by now?’ 

The teeth-picking seemed to be contagious, as the sheriff did it too. ‘Probably. But look, boy, I don’t recommend you--’ 

The door burst open, cutting him off. Two men, jaws covered, waved guns in the faces of the sheriff and deputy. One jerked his head towards the man in the cell (Isaac had thought nothing of him, since he was asleep), not needing an explanation. The deputy sighed, nonchalant -- in the same way you would if a cat had been sick on the carpet for the umpteenth time -- and unlocked the cell. ‘Get lost.’ 

Isaac, seizing his opportunity, ripped the wanted poster from the wall and dashed out the door behind the men, and set to whirl around the corner to sprint for as far as his legs would carry him. He was stopped by his shirt collar forming a noose as he was seized by the scruff. 

‘Where are you running off to, boy? Quite the trick you pulled back there.’ One asked as they speed-walked away from the jail, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible.

‘What’s it to you?’ Isaac spat. ‘Let me go!’ 

‘I heard what they had you in for, cowpoke,’ Another of them -- the one who had been in the cell -- hissed, albeit sounding impressed. ‘You stole everything but the clothes off two dozen people. That takes some skill.’

‘Must be gutsy too, if you’ve been travelling by yourself. Despite your youth, we think we could use you for our little gang here. We’re headed to New Austin, if that’s where you’re going.’ The other said. The third man had stayed silent. Isaac considered this -- he’d mucked in with bands of men before, and he didn’t want to know what they’d do to him if he said no. He had nothing to lose, anyway. 

‘Sure. I’m Isaac.’ he shook the hand of one of them. 

This one was tall and lean, with short black hair and a pale, clean-shaven, slightly freckled face. He wore a dark hat and had his thumb hooked comfortably in his dirty gunbelt. ‘I’m Cillian, and that there’s my cousin, James. He don’t talk much but he got a quick draw, I’ll tell you that.’ 

James -- who was short and stocky, with a scar along his hairline -- nodded at him solemnly. A thick rhythm drummed in Isaac's chest that sounded like he’d been respected. 

The third man was portly with ratty blonde hair and a thick mustache that drawled into a horseshoe on the sides of his chin.  ‘Pleasure to meet you, Isaac,’ he said. ‘I’m Micah.’ 

As they sat around the fire that evening Isaac realised life with a petty gang was decidedly boring. 

‘You know how to play blackjack, kid?’ Cillian said. The camp was filthy and everyone (including Isaac, granted) stank. He’d even noticed several plump rats scurrying around the back of the tents — unusually healthy rats, at that. Thinking he had nothing better to do, Isaac accepted, trying to ignore the vile smell that stung his nose. 

‘Twenty-one, sonofabitch!’ Micah snarled at Isaac’s cards. ‘How’d you do that?’

Isaac shrugged and made himself small. ‘Luck, I guess.’

‘Hmm. Speaking of which, where’s your ma, kid?’ Micah asked, but there was a dark edge to the innocent question. 

‘Died a few years back. Why?’ 

‘I woulda liked to meet her. I’ve always fancied fathering, after all.’ 

Isaac tucked his knees up to his ribs. 

‘Lay off the kid, Micah,’ James muttered. 

‘Look who’s decided to speak up.’ Micah sneered. 

James rolled his eyes down at the piece of wood he was carving. 

‘Who’s that?’ Isaac asked as he saw a figure on a horse crest the hill they’d strategically put the camp on top of. 

To be honest, Isaac wasn’t sure they’d factored in the tactical advantages, but liked to hope for the best. 

A man with a ratty, pinched face hopped off the horse and scurried over.  

‘Howdy, Cleet.’ Micah sighed. ‘Have you met our young associate here?’  

 ‘Indeed I ain’t. Why’s he here?’ The man’s thin eyes narrowed more. 

‘Isaac here picked two dozen pockets in a half hour. He’s going our way anyway.’ Cillian said, and reached to ruffle Isaac’s hair. He ducked away. Cillian flexed his back in understanding. The air hung with motiveless tension. 

‘So how are we getting to New Austin?’

Micah said nothing, but panted aggressively in a way that made Isaac’s skin crawl. 

‘There's a coal train we can sneak onto when it stops here in a few days. We’ll have to hop off pretty neatly but it should be alright.’ James said -- his voice was gravelly but reassuring, going down into a whisper on the last word. 

Isaac became suddenly aware of how close he was to finding the gang, and swung his legs back and forth happily. His toes kicked up dusty mud which settled over the strip of skin visible between the red letter M embroidered on his sock and the ripped cuff of his trousers. The sock itself had been found in the back of his mother’s side drawer, and he could only assume the M was for Morgan. As the men played poker, Isaac, thinking  it best to keep his head down, sat on a low branch of a tree and looked over the wanted poster that was still folded in his pocket. The letters seemed to float off the page, and for a moment Isaac worried he was holding air and just imagining the words, the edges polished to unbelievability like in a dream. His dreams were far less peaceful than this. 

‘What’s that face you’re pulling, boy?!’ Micah growled, sending all the birds above the convoy of horses skittering off into the sky. 

‘Sorry,’ Isaac grumbled. ‘My tooth is loose ‘n I can’t stop wobblin’ it.’

‘I can pull it out if it’s that much of a problem.’ Micah hissed darkly. 

Isaac sneered. ‘No.’ 

‘Lay off him, Micah,’ Cillian sighed for the umpteenth time. The whole ride to town had been oddly tense, the only conversation being the plan and the repeated iterations of ‘Keep your heads down’. Today was the day (the train left at quarter past midnight, but that was besides the point) and if they were noticed they were toast, as the next one left in a month, if they hadn’t all swung by then. As Isaac slid off the back of Cillian’s horse, his eyes shifted over Micah cautiously, and he tucked to the outside of the group. 

Naturally, all the best things in the store were at Isaac’s eye level, and luckily Cillian and Micah were too absorbed in selling their fake story (they were brothers travelling with the coal to try and find a new job, for they both had asthma, or so they said)  to notice him slipping anything and everything that caught his eye into his pockets. 

Including cash from the middle-aged, stout couple that had come in just after them. 

‘Aha, what did you get?’ Cillian chirped lowly once they were a safe distance away and Isaac let go of his heavy pockets, which jangled gratifyingly. Isaac fished the weighty stack of coins and jewelry, letting it balance gratifyingly in his hand… until it wasn’t. 

Micah seized the loot and pawed over it. ‘Good boy! They said you was a good pick -- didn’t reckon you were this good.’ He drawled. ‘Cmon, we might as well go get some more.’ He patted Isaac’s shoulder and didn’t sound quite as repugnant as usual. 

Cillian scoffed. ‘Fine, just don’t draw too much attention to yourselves.’ he considered for a moment and added, ‘On second thought, I’ll come with you and get a drink.’ 

Isaac crept out of range of his latest target’s liberally used fist, the weighed-down feeling of his pockets extremely comfortable. Cillian was over at the bar (though Isaac knew better than to stare at his accomplices) and looked like he wanted to shoot himself. Micah was off leaning against a wall, and was talking to a woman like a spiderweb charms a fly. ‘My boy should be around here somewhere,’ his lips mouthed, as if they were being moved by a puppeteer. 

‘Oh really? I’d love to meet him.’ The woman said, her face animated and cool under the harsh glow of the saloon lamps. Isaac huffed, resigned to the role he had to play. 

‘There you are, son!’ 

Resigned as Isaac had said he was, that last word coming out of Micah’s mouth sent bile up his tongue. 

Nevertheless he trotted across the saloon. ‘This here’s my son, Henry.’ Micah said. 

‘Oh, he’s adorable!’ The woman said, her painted cheeks stretching into a smile.  

Micah schooled his face into a hard done by expression. ‘It’s been hard without his mother, I’ll tell you that,’ he said gravely. Isaac had an urge to tread on his foot. ‘But we get through it, don’t we, buddy?’ 

‘Uh-huh.’ Isaac muttered to his boots. 

Micah suddenly looked furious, and yanked Isaac’s head up by the ear, making the boy suppress a yelp of ‘ouch!’ 

‘Be polite, boy.’ He snarled. 

‘Sorry.’ Isaac said, artificially and to no one in particular. 

‘It’s alright, sweetie.’ The anonymous woman chirped, disregarding the violence. 

‘Oscar!’ Came a call from the bar — Cillian. ‘We have to go!’ He slurred his words dramatically. 

‘Apologies, my lady.’ Micah said sickeningly, and stalked off outside behind Cillian and Isaac. 

‘What was that all about?!’ Cillian growled. 

‘Steady on, misery guts. Just having a little fun, is all. If anything you should be scolding the boy for not behaving.’ He smirked down at Isaac nauseatingly, his wiry mustache twitching, perverse and ratlike. 

Isaac scowled at him. ‘I didn’t do nothin’ wrong! I thought the plan was for me just to pick them whilst you stayed at the bar, not for us to play house.’ He didn’t wait for a response, instead driving his toe into Micah’s shin, once, twice, thrice, before he was pulled back by the scruff by a thin, firm hand -- James and Cleet had caught up with them. 

‘Easy, tiger.’ Cleet sneered. 

‘You little fucking bastard.’ Micah growled. Isaac shrunk, slumping his shoulders in defense. 

 Cillian gave him a look. ‘He’s just a kid, Micah.’ 

Micah breathed heavily, threateningly, but said nothing. The band of thieves trudged on to wait under the cliff they’d found, and no one watched the sunset. 

The train, rather than rocking Isaac to sleep like he so desired, juddered and shook coal dust everywhere. The five of them were sitting on the floor, heads bobbing and with the movement of the dusty carriage, one leg outstretched and the other tucked up. Isaac glared at the floor and wobbled his loose tooth, licking the blood from his gum when he tasted iron. 

Micah kicked the sole of his shoe. ‘Hey, kid,’ he hissed. ‘Are you gonna be a man and pull that tooth out or do I have to? The sound's pissing me off.’ 

There was a screech from outside as the train slowed for something or other, and all five heads pricked up. 

‘Well?’ 

‘I heard you ain’t meant to pull them out. It’ll get infected.’ Isaac whispered, but didn’t care to fight back anymore. 

‘Nonsense. Cmon, which one is it?’ 

Isaac hoped this was his way of making up, and poked the loose tooth proudly. Micah nodded, then before Isaac could think Micah had pinched the tooth and yanked, clapping a hand over his mouth in case they were heard. Isaac bit the hand (having to ignore the vile smell) as hard as he could, and the iron he tasted now was not his own. Micah clipped him up the back of the head, but was pulled back down into sitting by James.

‘I swear, if I meet anyone else called Isaac -- or Morgan, for that matter, I don’t care -- I’ll kill them.’ Micah muttered darkly. 

 The air stayed deathly quiet, the scuffle and the sooty air choking all of them. 

Isaac stretched like a cat as he strolled away from the train, keeping his cap low over his eyes. The split from the gang had been more amicable than he’d expected, with Cillian giving him a pat on the shoulder and telling him he’d happily run with him when he was older, especially with hands as ghostly as his. Speaking of which, Micah hadn’t dared ask for the considerable take Isaac had got from the saloon: the wound on his hand was still weeping, after all. Isaac decided to forget about them unless he absolutely needed to find Cillian again, and headed east and away from the band of reprobates with the steadfast determination of the coal pony he felt like, his bones aching and snot black from the soot. There was a sheriff's office which he found himself glad he hadn’t steered clear of. 

By the hitching post was a board of bounty hunters. He scanned the names (and these ones even came with descriptions) -- rarely was he so glad to be literate. 

Colm O’Driscoll, Anthony Foreman, Otis Skinner… 

Familiar.

Dutch van der Linde…

Encouraging. 

Hosea Matthews… 

Even better. 

Arthur Morgan. 

Isaac’s heart leapt. 

WANTED

Arthur Morgan

of the Van der Linde gang

For MURDER, ARMED ROBBERY, ASSAULT, and DESTRUCTION OF PROPERTY. 

Bounty is approximately 35 years of age, with a tall and stocky build, light brown hair, and a scar on his chin. 

He and the rest of the Van der Linde gang are thought to have moved North-West, possibly having left the state. 

Bounty $500

He is to be considered EXTREMELY DANGEROUS. 

The poster looked far more recent than the ones in his pocket. Isaac assumed that was good. He’d followed them for this long and they moved like phantoms. No wonder they haven’t been caught, Isaac thought wryly.

He grew pleased with himself as he had a cunning idea. Checking to see if anyone cared -- they resoundingly did not -- he took all three posters down and replaced Dutch and Hosea’s with the old ones. He tucked the newer ones in his pocket, steeled himself, and trudged on, invisible. 

Cumberland Forest, 1899

The train was rocking him awake again, and he tasted blood. There must have been a door of the carriage open: it was freezing, and it didn’t smell like soot. Surely all the coal was tumbling out, a great pitch black river onto gravel? 

Isaac sat bolt upright, a hand over the now-filled gap in his jaw defensively. ‘Isaac!’ A woman’s voice said. 

‘Ma?’ The boy muttered, wincing as his bones ached with cold. He blinked his black pits of eyes at the face in front of him, that was still very much alive. 

‘Are you alright, Isaac?’ Mary-Beth murmured, and pretended she hadn’t heard him. 

‘Yeah I-- had a bad dream. Where’s my Pa?’ he sat up properly now as so many had cajoled him to in the past. He was not on a sooty train but a rickety wagon, jammed between boxes of whatever and blankets and other people (notably Jack, who for a moment Isaac worried he had punched as he sat up but was reassured by the boy’s sleeping that he hadn’t) as the caravan of wagons juddered their way north to Canada. 

‘I think he’s up front guarding. Do you need him?’ 

The very top of the sun just rearing up from the horizon blinded Isaac to Mary-Beth’s response as he nodded softly. 

After some muttering from the front of the convoy Arthur and his horse dropped back to level with the wagon. ‘You ok, Isaac?’ 

His lower lip wobbled in response. ‘Yes.’ He said, his stoicism unconvincing. 

Arthur smiled and shook his head. ‘Come here, son.’ 

Karen, who was also on the wagon and awake (if bedraggled) helped Isaac to the very edge of the wagon. By some miracle of physics Arthur got Isaac behind him onto the horse.  Arthur didn’t like that he couldn’t see the boy’s face, but it’d have to do. 

‘I had a bad dream,’ Isaac whispered, resting his chin on the sturdy shoulder clear of rifle barrels. 

‘You’re safe,’ Arthur said steadily. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’ 

Isaac recalled something his mother had told him. 

Talk to yourself, darling, she’d advised before he went off to play once. It’ll scare off the bears, and the trees will keep your secrets. 

Though now he wasn’t talking to himself. 

‘It was about when I was trying to find you,’ he began. ‘I ran with a few guys and we were on a train full of coal headed somewhere. Most of them were alright, but there was one that pulled my tooth out and it hurt.’ 

Arthur huffed. 

‘But it’s better now.’ Isaac reassured. ‘The guy had blonde, wiry hair. He was ugly.’ 

A dreadful, implausible thought came over Arthur. ‘Do you remember his name?’ 

‘I think it was Michael -- no, not that. Micah, I’m pretty sure.’ 

Arthur had no words. 

Ludicrous, terrible coincidence. 

‘Did he do anything else to hurt you? Didn’t hit y’ or anything?’ 

‘No, not really. I bit his hand hard though.’ Isaac said, and Arthur could hear he was smiling a little. 

‘That’s my boy. I’ll tell you what, do you wanna ride up at the front for a bit with the others?’  

‘Yeah!’ Isaac chirped. 

Arthur chuckled, and kicked the horse on as Isaac watched the rising sun climbing through the listening trees.  

Chapter Text

Isaac grit his teeth against the steely cold and focused on forcing his vision to tunnel onto the words in front of him. 

O what a rogue and peasant slave am I!

It is not monstrous that this player here, 

But in a fiction, in a dream of passion, 

Could force his soul so to his own conceit…

He craned his neck at the words, squinting as the cogs behind his eyes ticked through. 

Confident footsteps and creaking snow pulled his eyes from the page before he could figure out what the hell it meant. 

It was Dutch, looking roguely pretentious as usual. ‘Whatcha reading, son?’ 

‘Hamlet,’ Isaac replied, looking up and leaning on his backwards hands casually, ignoring the snow burning his palms. ‘The words seem kind of stubborn, like they don’t want me to get them. And it’s very moody.’ He said approvingly, but hoped what he was saying actually made sense. 

Dutch chortled and shook his head affectionately. ‘A bit like your father then.’ He muttered. 

‘Wha?’ 

‘Nothing, dear boy. Do you know where your Pa is?’ 

Isaac turned his head as he thought in the exact same way Arthur had as a kid, and in precious moments did now. ‘Chopping wood, he said.’ 

‘Thanks. I’ll do some reading with you later, eh?’ 

‘Sure.’

‘Don’t wander off, whatever you do.’ Dutch added crucially as he strode across the makeshift camp. 

Arthur was indeed chopping firewood, diligent as always, and clacked the axe into the stump he was using to rest the wood on when he saw Dutch traipsing over to him. ‘What’s wrong, Dutch?’ 

‘Nothing’s wrong, son. We’re moving and we’re living. How’re you doing?’ 

‘Fine.’ Arthur replied automatically. 

Dutch gave him a look. 

‘Naw, seriously Dutch, I’m fine. Actually I’m… happier than I’ve been for a while.’ Arthur said earnestly. 

Dutch smiled -- not like he was scheming, just normally. ‘Good to hear, my boy. Cmon, we need to talk the plan over with the others.’ 

The pair made their way through the dark of the trees across to the cabin they’d taken over -- naturally, Dutch had claimed it and insisted Hosea slept there too. 

‘Isaac seems to be doing well.’ Dutch said idly. 

‘Yeah, he spends a lot of time by himself but that ain’t unlike me, I guess.’ 

Dutch chuckled knowingly. ‘He was reading Hamlet last time I saw him.’ 

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘God, I remember you gettin’ me to read that.’ 

‘Yes, and it only developed your melancholic temperament.’ Dutch teased, and pushed the rickety door open with his shoulder. ‘Hello, gentlemen.’

John and Hosea were leaning over the same map they had been for weeks. ‘Hiya. We think we got it mapped out.’ John said, sitting back triumphantly. 

They gathered around the map and traced the path up to north-west Canada. It was a forgiving route, really -- a good few towns to stop at and safe enough paths. 

‘Looks good, don’t it?’ Hosea said with a small smirk. 

‘Indeed it does, my dear.’ Dutch squeezed his shoulder affectionately. ‘So when do you reckon we should get moving?’ 

‘Two or three days, I’d say.’ Arthur replied. ‘Me and Charles’ll go hunting all day tomorrow so we can stock up.’

‘Kind of you to invite me.’ John muttered sarcastically.

Arthur shoved him playfully. ‘You can’t hunt for shit!’

They elbowed and shoved each other for some time before breaking out into low laughter. Dutch and Hosea shared a look. 

The girls smoked, glad the trip gave them a temporary hiatus from their darning and washing but savoring it in preparation for the months of work they’d inevitably have trying to establish themselves in Canada. For now they gossiped. 

‘Aww, look at Isaac reading over there.’ Mary-Beth cooed, sneaking a look at the boy who was still perched on a box and drinking in the book intently. 

‘You’re quite taken with him, aincha?’ Karen ribbed. 

‘He’s very sweet.’ She replied simply. ‘Though that black shirt is quite morbid for a little boy.’ 

They looked him up and down: said black shirt was new, with baggy sleeves and a crumpled stand up collar, like an adult’s. Mary-Beth thought, ever the one for fairytales, that he looked like a young prince in a gothic novel -- she didn’t know if actual King Arthur had had any children, but reckoned ‘Prince Isaac’ sounded good.  

Tilly hummed agreement. ‘I think Mary Gillis got it for him. Probably trying to smarten the little grub up.’ 

‘So is Arthur still with her?’ Karen asked scandalously. 

‘Not properly, no,’ Tilly whispered. ‘She’s planning on taking the train up sometimes. Pretty dedicated, I’ll give her that.’

‘Or she’s stringing him along.’ Mary-Beth muttered. 

‘What’s new?’ Karen scoffed. 

Mary-Beth took a thoughtful drag on her cigarette. ‘She seems intent Isaac needs a mother, or needs civilizing, anyway.’ 

‘What, and you’re rivaling her for that spot?’ Karen teased. 

Tilly giggled at the expression Mary-Beth had, who whacked a chuckling Karen on the arm with a nearby newspaper. ‘Shush! Arthur’s--’ 

‘Right next to you.’ Came a gruff voice, but the flutey laughter that came after gave the game away. It was Kieran, who was bent double with giggles. He was the next victim of Mary-Beth’s newspaper. ‘You scared me! How much did you hear?’ She demanded, in the friendliest way an interrogation could sound. 

‘I heard enough. I’ll keep your secret.’ He said lightly. 

‘ Kieraaaaaaan!’ Bill hollered from one of the wagons. ‘What box did you pack my socks in?!’ 

Kieran shrugged and sauntered off. The girls chuckled to themselves, shaking their heads. 

‘Anyway,’ Tilly said. ‘How’re things with you and Sean, Karen?’ 

Isaac was understandably perplexed when the next day in their makeshift camp (cold, dark, actually quite pleasant as it was) Bill approached him sheepishly. ‘Hey, boy! You busy?’ 

Isaac pinched his book shut with a bang. ‘No. My Pa went hunting with Charles, if that’s who you’re looking for.’ 

‘I ain’t. I was wonderin’... aw hell, I ain’t good with words! Yanno, my daddy started forgetting what he was gonna say in the middle of saying it and--’ 

Isaac cut him off by raising a pocketwatch -- Bill’s, for that matter, which the little tyke must have swiped whilst they were talking -- and tapping it snarkily. 

Bill huffed. ‘Sorry. I guess what I want to say is -- what do kids like?’ 

‘Wha?’ Isaac tilted his head in confusion again. 

‘I’ve been thinking lately I might like to take a kid in -- yanno, like Dutch and Hosea did your daddy and John.’ 

Isaac didn’t seem bothered enough to protest, instead squinting. ‘I thought you hated me. And hated kids, for that matter.’ 

‘I hated you when you was kickin’ me in the shins and all that. Cmon boy, I ain’t gonna grovel. What do you do for fun?’

‘Well I read or write or play bandits or explore, but folks at the orphanage said I’m melancholic and a loner so I probably ain’t the best example.’ 

Bill leant forward in intrigue, as if the kid was speaking in Latin or something. ‘No, that’s fine. What does ‘bandits’ involve?’ 

‘What’re you doing skulking here, Billy?’ Kieran asked softly.  

Bill kept his eyes fixed ahead like a sentry. ‘Trying to understand how children work,’ he grumbled. ‘They sound difficult. Do you think girls are easier?’ 

Kieran melted, endeared at how hard Bill was trying, but remained composed. ‘Depends. Too soon to tell at Jack’s age; but despite his wantin’ to fight everything he meets, Isaac’s quiet at least.’ 

Bill chewed on the response for a bit. 

‘Why don’t we join in?’ Kieran offered. 

‘Aw, it’s silly!’

Kieran raised his eyebrows. ‘You too yellow?’ 

Bill looked affronted. ‘No!’ and stamped off toward them. 

‘Works every time.’  Kieran murmured, pleased with himself, and followed on. 

‘Right, who’s being the bandits and who’s being the Laws?’ Lenny asked from his post on top of the cabin roof. Since he and Sean were the two youngest, they enjoyed mucking in on the kid’s games. 

‘I’m best at being a bandit.’ Isaac said proudly. 

‘Hell nah if I’m being a Law! I’ll join y’, kid.’ Bill declared. 

‘Ma would want me to be a law.’ Jack said pragmatically. 

‘I’ll help.’ Kieran said. 

‘And I’ll be the rogue double agent!’ Sean proclaimed. ‘Very political, eh?’ 

‘Wait, how do you catch each other?’ Kieran said, scratching his head. 

‘We could use pebbles,’ Sean mused. ‘A hit on the chest could count as being shot.’ 

They all seemed to agree on this, and Bill got a cunning look about him. ‘Use round stones,’ he muttered to Isaac. ‘They’ll be more accurate, like bullets.’  

Isaac nodded, and the game was on. Pebbles flew left and right as the bunch weaved through the trees. The ‘bandits’ (not graced by the help of Sean) dove behind trees for cover and pelted pebbles at the others -- efficiently, at that. 

Miss Grimshaw noticed, and tapped Hosea on the shoulder. 

‘Hosea?’

‘Yes?’ 

‘The younger boys are throwing rocks at each other. Should I intervene?’ 

Hosea pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. ‘They’ll be the death of me,’ he muttered, but his jaw dropped when he looked up. ‘Actually, with Bill Williamson playing like that? It’d be a crime.’ 

‘We got you cornered, thieving scum!’ Lenny hollered, as the ‘Laws’ held pebbles back behind their heads threateningly. Isaac and Bill stayed behind a rock for cover. 

‘Follow me!’ Bill hissed, and ran to their right -- further away from camp, into the less trod forest. As if supernaturally, they dodged the pebbles and landed a few on their opponent’s chests until it was just Lenny left. 

Isaac lined up his shot, still sprinting, threw, and just as the pebble hit Lenny’s chest…

His foot twisted its way down a rabbit hole. 

Isaac’s right ankle twisted with a sickening crunch as his body lurched sideways. ‘Ach!’ he hissed, righting himself. 

‘You ok Isaac?!’ Kieran spluttered. 

Isaac hopped on his good leg desperately, hissing profane you’d expect from a sailor rather than a little boy. ‘Yeah I’m...okay.’ 

‘Cmon, I’ll take you to Grimshaw.’ Lenny said, hopping off the low roof and steering Isaac by the shoulder, which jarred as he walked gingerly on his toes. 

‘Ugh, who’s lost an eye then?’ Grimshaw huffed, striding over. 

‘Not an eye, Isaac’s ankle.’ 

Grimshaw looked the boy up and down: he was stony-faced but his eyes watered visibly. 

‘Oh, I knew this’d all end in tears,’ She huffed. 

‘I ain’t crying.’ Isaac insisted. 

‘I know, dear. You’re being very brave.’ Grimshaw said softly. ‘Swanson! Are you sober?’ 

Swanson tramped over. ‘Yes, what’s wrong?’

‘Isaac’s ankle.’ 

Swanson’s brow furrowed in concentration. ‘It’s certainly swelling up. Can you move it?’

‘A little.’ Isaac squeezed the bottom edge of his shirt for comfort.  

By some inevitability, Arthur and Charles strolled down the path, off their horses which were laden with deer and other supplies. Arthur took one look at the situation -- a watery-eyed Isaac being fussed over with his ankle propped up -- and paled. 

‘God, Isaac, you ok?’ 

‘Uh-huh.’ He said through gritted teeth as Swanson wiggled his foot carefully. 

‘Hmm.’ The reverend thumbed at his chin. ‘Doesn’t look broken or dislocated, it’s probably just a bad sprain.’ 

The pale, unmarred skin below Isaac's ankle bone was turning a concerning shade of violet. Arthur glowered at it, feeling useless. 

Isaac fidgeted as he tried to read the next morning, thoroughly irritated with his (now tinged with skeleton’s fingers of purple) ankle and how he’d been forbidden to run or play or seemingly do anything fun by Swanson and Grimshaw. The camp hummed around him like a swarm of bees, packing the little they had cobbled together in the first place. Isaac was left slumped over Hamlet with his bad foot propped up in the back of one of the wagons. His only company was Kieran, who was adjusting the harnesses of the carthorses obsessively; Uncle, who as per usual was dozing on the floor and not helping; and Dutch, who paused his patrol of giving out orders to intermittently read over his shoulder.

‘Say, how old are you, Isaac?’ Uncle began languidly. 

The boy’s head snapped up from his fixed look on the page. ‘I’m ten in January. Why?’ 

‘Hmm,’ Uncle said, swigging from his bottle idly. ‘You’re like me, yanno.’ 

Isaac scowled, offended. ‘In what way?’ 

‘I was livin’ on my wits when I was your age. Runnin’ with gangs of misfits, stealing to survive, all that.’ He mused. 

Isaac’s ears pricked, and he rested his forearms on the side of the wagon eagerly. ‘Really?’

‘Sure was. Hell, I reckon I was a better pick than you.’ 

Isaac stuck his tongue out and made a face; Uncle just laughed.

‘What’re you antagonizing the boy for, old man?’ Dutch boomed, striding over. ‘And he’s a finer thief than you’ll ever be, for that matter.’ 

Isaac accepted the compliment silently. 

‘Just bonding over our shared orphanhood, sir.’ 

‘I ain’t an orphan.’ Isaac insisted.

‘Quite right you’re not. Arthur would throw you to Paris if he heard you say that, Uncle.’ Dutch said lowly, then as if nothing had happened turned to Isaac. ‘How’re you doing, son?’ 

‘Alright. Bored.’ He sighed. 

‘I don’t blame you. In fact…’ Dutch said, and smirked knowingly as he fabricated a book from thin air. ‘Fancy doing any reading?’ 

Isaac squinted at the cover. ‘ Resistance to Civil Government, by Henry David Thoreau. What is it?’   

‘Ain’t he a little young for philosophies, Dutch?’ Hosea interjected from the wagon behind, where he was supervising the fixing of one of the wheels. 

‘Non sense, my dear Hosea. He’s a sharp one.’ Dutch drawled back. 

‘Arthur? Do you approve?’ 

Arthur grunted between bashing the wheel with his shoulder like a vexed bull. 

‘ Pur-leeze , Pa! I’m curious now.’ Isaac whined

‘Alright then.’ Arthur sighed, and gave Charles an amused look. 

‘Good. Right, start with this first paragraph, then.’ 

Isaac cleared his throat, shifted, winced at the cold and movement of his ankle, and began. ‘ I heartily accept the motto, "That government is best which governs least"; and I should like to see it acted up to more rapidly and systematically…’ 

They didn’t stop overnight again for several days, until they found the edge of a town they could set a base at. Charles had made Isaac a neat little crutch for his right side, which Grimshaw had mandated he use. 

‘This thing makes me look like a cripple.’ He moaned as he limped his way into the unnamed town. 

‘Don't say that. Anyway, I thought you’d be glad of it, since it gets you off that wagon.’ Arthur remarked from alongside him.

‘I guess. What’re we getting again?’ 

‘Hosea wrote me a list.’ Arthur took said scrap of paper from his pocket.  ‘Mostly matches, ammunition, and stuff for the horses. Medicine too, I think. It won’t be long.’ 

‘Alright.’ Isaac sighed, and grinned as he could see his breath. It was getting colder alright -- Isaac would have enjoyed the impending snow if he was allowed to play in it. 

The doctor’s office looked surprisingly new, with a gratifyingly heavy and bullet-hole-less door and freshly painted windows.  Isaac was disinterested by the medicines Arthur was buying, so swung on his crutch idly. ‘Stop that, you’ll bash your bad foot.’ Arthur scolded softly. 

Isaac fell in immediately. ‘Sorry.’ He peeked over the window at the dispenser: a woman with a neat blonde bun and a messy collar who kept sneaking looks at Arthur. She noticed Isaac, and the crutch. 

‘Oh, you poor dear.’ She breathed, then leant on the counter toward Arthur. ‘This your boy?’ 

‘Yeah.’ He muttered, looking antisocial. ‘He’s alright, just sprained his ankle.’

‘I can ask Dr Browning if he can take a look at that. It’s been a slow day.’ The dispenser batted her eyelashes. 

Arthur smiled, slightly less oblivious. ‘Sure, if he has time.’ 

‘I never been to a doctor before.’ Isaac said, looking considerably cheerier as they left the doctors. 

‘I went once,’ Arthur quipped. ‘I met a guy who got his arm mangled by something or other, and I took him then. The doctor had to cut his arm off.’ 

Isaac giggled and made a face. ‘By god, I’m glad he ain’t cut my foot off. Still, that was awful nice of you.’ 

Arthur ruffled his hair affectionately. ‘I didn’t think that hard about it, boy.’ 

‘Sure, Pa. Did you see the lady at the counter making eyes at y’, though?’ 

Arthur scoffed unconvincingly, and the cold air sunk in this throat for his troubles.  ‘She weren’t.’

‘She was.’ 

‘Wasn’t.’ 

‘Was.’ 

‘Wasn’t.’ 

‘Was! Hosea said you think people don’t like you because you have low self-esteem, not because it's true.’ 

Arthur chuckled and shook his head. ‘Do you even understand that?’ 

‘Not really, but I think Hosea’s right because he’s--’ Isaac cut himself off as he squinted at a figure on the other side of the street. ‘Bly?’ he whispered. ‘Pa, can I meet you once you’re done in the general store?’ 

‘Sure.’ Arthur said. ‘Just don’t get yourself lost.’ 

Isaac beamed and hopped across the road as fast as his one good leg could carry him. 

‘Bly!’ He exclaimed at the figure. It was a young teenage boy with a flop of auburn hair and a crooked, gappy, ever-present grin. 

‘Isaac!’ The boy cried back, and pulled him into a tight hug. ‘God, I ain’t seen you since the orphanage! You’ve come awful far west.’ He had a cheery, twanging accent that was out of place here but familiar to Isaac. 

‘I could say the same about you. Did you run away like me?’ 

‘Naw, naw, I got adopted by these folks: they’re rich but pretty nice. I got two big sisters now, but I never forgot you, little brother. So, did you find your Pa, the outlaw?’ Bly leant against the telegraph pole and lit a cigarette he plucked from his pocket. 

‘After a while I did. He’s around.’ Isaac chirped. 

‘Good!’ Bly patted and shook Isaac’s shoulder affectionately.

'You ain't gonna rat us out, are y'?' Isaac asked urgently.

'Not for a king's fortune, little brother.' 

'Thank god.' 

‘Do you got a new mother? Youse too nice dressed not to.’ 

‘Eh. I sorta do. Where’s your folks?’ 

‘They sent me off to buy a paper, but they don’t mind if I ain’t back for a while. Whaddaya say we do some swindling, like old days?’ 

‘Aye, sure, I gotta be back soon though.’ 

‘Hey, you know how we work,’ Bly quipped as they set off. ‘Efficient and well-paid.’

‘Hey, mister!’ Isaac said, hopping into a grimy alley on his crutch. ‘Do you know what the time is?’ 

The man -- well dressed, portly, early forties, unpleasantly red face --pulled out an ornate pocket watch and read it. ‘Eleven-thirty.’

‘Thank you!’ Isaac gave him a gappy smile which fell when Bly, masquerading as antagonistic, swaggered past. ‘Move, y’ little cripple!’ He snarled.

‘Hey, keep your thoughts to yourself, boy!’ The man snapped, leaning forward and jabbing Bly’s chest with his thick index finger. Isaac took his opportunity, gliding around the man’s many pockets and expertly lifting everything from them. He fixed Bly with a look and gave a firm, confirmatory nod. Bly hurriedly apologized and scuttled off. 

‘My god, I forget how fun that was!’ Bly exclaimed, his resting expression of sheer glee back across his face. 

‘We’re damn good at it, too.’ Isaac quipped back, and plucked the take from his pocket. ‘Here’s your share. I divided it roughly into half in terms of worth--’ 

‘It’s ok.’ Bly shrugged. ‘I got no use for it.’ 

‘Alright.’ He replaced the shiny winnings. ‘Do you reckon I’m a better pick than you now, then?’ 

Bly snorted and punched him in the shoulder affectionately. ‘Nah. Wager?’ 

‘Wager.’ 

To begin this spar they engaged in so often, Bly crossed the road to the line of stores. Isaac picked a victim, tripped over the crutch (annoying as it was, it made an excellent prop for conning), and let his hand fall into his target’s pocket as he was helped up. It was met with a heavy watch and some cash, which shortly ended up in his own pocket. Bly… wasn’t having such luck, and ran around the back of one of the stores, arms pumping in panic, pristine boots kicking up dirt, a man in a turquoise vest careering after him. ‘Aw, hell!’ Isaac hopped across the road, the flat of his left foot pounding the mud desperately. ‘Over here, you sonofabitch!’ Isaac yelled at the man, who had Bly pinned against the wall by his collar. 

‘This your comrade, eh?’ He snarled, and before Isaac could stumble away over his ankle he was seized by the scruff of the neck and shoved into the wall too. Isaac squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself for pain and against the pressure of the hand on his neck. 

Until the feeling eased and he fell to supporting himself. 

He turned away from the wall and almost beamed at the scene before him. Arthur had their assailant cowering as he sent blow after blow of coiled power into the man’s jaw and ribs. Arthur shoved him to the ground, spat at him in an allusion to his younger temperament, and steered the boys away. 

‘Thank y’, mister!’ Bly breathed. 

‘Don’t mention it. Come along, Isaac.’

‘Wait, Pa! This is Bly, he looked after me when we were in New York together.’ Isaac clung to the boy’s arm. Arthur softened at the sight. 

‘Is that right?’ he said, and allowed himself to smile a little: he was aware with his resting scowling face and formidable frame, he must look terrifying. 

‘Yep. We was in the orphanage together. Are you Isaac’s father?’ 

‘Indeed I am. Let me guess, you’re the one who taught him to pick pockets.’ 

‘He sure did,’ Isaac said, and looked as enamored with his yankee comrade as John had been with Arthur once. The similarity was touching. ‘’Cept he’s got sloppy since he joined the aristocracy.’ 

‘I ain’t the one who uses words like ari-- aris-- goddamnit!’ 

The boys teased each other again, and Arthur thought it best to keep out of it. He was glad Isaac had someone looking after him when he couldn’t. Bly looked about the age Arthur had been when Dutch and Hosea first took him in, too. 

‘I best be gettin’ home,’ Bly said after a minute. ‘Good to see you again, little brother. Send me a letter?’ 

‘Sure. Where to?’ 

‘Train station, here. And pleasure to meet you, sir.’ 

Arthur touched his hat brim. ‘You too, Bly.’

‘What’re you chuckling at?’ Dutch asked from the wagon as they mobilized that evening. Arthur, blinking tiredly on his horse, repeater within easy reach, shook his head. ‘I met one of the boy’s friends from New York, if you’ll believe it.’

‘Hmm.’ Dutch said, flicking the reins. ‘What did you think?’

‘They reminded me of me and John, if I’m being honest. Stealin’ and ribbing each other, just like we did.’  

Dutch laughed fondly. ‘I can imagine.’ 

Arthur laughed, but shrunk into his collar in exhaustion. 

Dutch, for once, noticed. ‘You look tired, son. Wake up Javier, he can go on guard. Go be with your boy.’ 

‘You sure you can manage without me?’

‘Yes, dear boy. Go on -- that’s not a request.’ 

Arthur laughed tiredly, and turned his horse to the second wagon from the front.  

The wagon wouldn’t be too hard to sleep in, if how still Isaac was sleeping was anything to go by. 

Still moving, he wrote, hoping his handwriting was legible in the dark. Found a town where we could all stretch our legs. Isaac sprained his ankle so I took him to the doctor -- little imp managed to slip off and do some robbing and meet up with his old friend. Bly, I think he was called, and seemed nice enough. They reminded me of myself and John as kids. 

Good times. 

I don’t know exactly what we’re gonna do for money once we get there, but Sadie, John and I have been talking about doing some bounty hunting. I think Uncle’s seeing about some cattle, too. 

Nevertheless, I think we’re gonna be alright. 

Chapter Text

Land Out West, October 1907

Isaac clicked his tongue at the cob and apologised to his wrists as he pushed the plough, squinting against the low sun. 

‘Walk on, girl.’ He said, his voice having grown low over their eight years of travel. His back ached where the leather strap that hung across his neck pulled his head down, his weight on his wrists uncomfortably. He made short work of the last length of the field and flexed his shoulder blades together appreciatively as he stood up straight. 

Once the plough horse was untacked and away he trudged his way over to the cabin, a few windows lit up. His father, John, and Sadie were all off bounty hunting, he knew that. From the looks of the cabin lights, Bill and Kieran were still around the farm somewhere. Karen was on the porch of her and Sean’s house. ‘Been working hard, Isaac?’ She asked, looking up from whatever she was darning. The backs of the cabins were illuminated in orange, a silhouette of an owl taking the boy’s attention for a second before he realised his error. ‘Yup,’ he said lowly. All was quiet, even the owl. ‘Top field’s ploughed.’

‘Good lad.’ Karen replied passively. She wasn’t drunk, the reason being beneath her hand on her stomach, invisible for now. 

‘It’s damn quiet. Where is everyone?’ 

‘Bill, Charles, Hosea and Sean are off chasing the new cattle home. I think Uncle went too, so there’s a blessing for us.’ 

Isaac was too shattered to laugh. ‘Aye.’

‘Dutch was asking for you.’

‘Probably wants to cram more Thoreau down my throat.’

‘Oh, you love it really. You’re the booky type, hmm?’ She said fondly, if lazily. 

‘I can’t argue with that. I’d best be off then.’ 

Karen watched the boy turn and took in the peace. 

Isaac tread across the yard, past the silo (it’d been there already, and had seen better days); the barn (which was new, and beautiful, in Isaac’s opinion, biased as it was since he’d helped build it); and up to the side by side cabins: one his fathers and his, the windows dark, and the other glowing out like a distant campfire -- Dutch and Hosea’s. He knocked twice on the heavy oak door, beginning a third but the door swinging away as Dutch yanked it open. 

‘Hullo, dear boy.’ He said, ushering him in.  

‘Karen said you was asking for me?’ Isaac pulled his sleeves down and sank into a wide leather armchair at Dutch’s insistence. 

‘Indeed. I have a favor to ask you.’ He lit a cigar, and deemed Isaac too young -- eighteen in under three months -- to have the same, so offered him an accepted cigarette. Dutch had fallen to even more engulfing philosophy and classicism in his semi-retirement, much to Hosea’s chagrin but ultimate fondness. 

‘How’re your studies with Bly and Winters going?’ 

‘Not easy, but good.’ 

Indeed they were: Isaac had kept in touch with Bly, and taken up his offer of joining his studies with a certain Mr Winters, some disgruntled -- but ultimately agreeable -- professor from Pennsylvania, who tutored Lenny separately. Dutch had admittedly pouted about losing his protege, but had compromised on the promise Isaac would recount every lesson to him. 

‘And how’s Bly?’

‘Positively sanguine, as usual.’

Dutch chuckled acknowledgment. ‘What did you do yesterday?’ 

‘Pretty much entirely Latin. The grammar makes me feel sick but it’s interesting enough.’

‘Good. That brings me to my request.’ 

He leafed through his desk drawer (one was empty, the other was crammed with junk, there was no in between) and retrieved a yellowed piece of paper, covered in Latin script . ‘See if you can make anything of that.’ 

Isaac blinked. ‘My literacy is rudimentary at best, Dutch.’ He chuckled. 

‘Have a little faith in yourself, son. I ain’t in a rush to know what it means anyway.’ 

‘Alright,’ Isaac said, squinting at it and taking a drag on his cigarette as the first few words on the page gained meaning. ‘What’s the story?’

‘I heard some guy in town muttering about it,’ Dutch got a gleam in his eye that usually accompanied schemes. ‘Being the expert hucksters we are, Hosea and I got him to kindly give us it -- as a gift, of course.’ He winked. ‘Anyway, he said an old cult stashed their savings around here somewhere, and whatever that says might clue us in.’

Isaac hummed and grinned knowingly. ‘I’ll try work it out.’ 

In truth, he was happy to be included in Dutch and Hosea’s schemes: since their retirement, they’d taken to conning together again -- only this time tricking the cash from the pockets of harmless rich fools for amusement rather than genuine gain. Arthur went along sometimes, convincing himself that he was more bored than skilled; Dutch and Hosea badgered him with reassurances that he was a fine conman and an even finer son -- why wouldn’t they take him? 

Hence, Isaac had hoped they’d include him someday, and now was ecstatic (if a little daunted) they had chosen him for something so vital. He practically strutted the short way to the cabin he shared with his father, and took up residence with another cigarette on the porch. 

The train of cattle and herders alike crashed up the driveway and shoved into the front pastures. The five figures that swung off the horses, bent sideways in tiredness, seemed jovial enough. Sean, who was only slightly less immature than he’d been eight years previous, clambered through his own window, to Karen’s chagrin.

Bill lumbered across the yard to his and Kieran’s cabin, the latter of whom appeared from the stable (next door, Kieran had requested the cabin for that exact reason) holding the hand of a small girl. Their small girl, that they’d picked up on the gang’s travels through Alberta. She was around six years old, biddable, blonde, and too sweet for her own good; her name was Elsie.

Uncle disappeared to god knows where.

Charles went like a shadow to his cabin on the other side of the ranch (if Arthur had been there he would have had a drink with him, but he, John, and Sadie were still out catching their bounty) and nodded acknowledgement to Isaac. 

Hosea made sure everything was as it should before heading to his and Dutch’s cabin.  

‘Jesus, you’d think with all their practice those boys would be somewhat competent at herding.’ he huffed, hanging his hat up.

‘Evening to you too, dear,’ Dutch quipped. ‘I take it the auction didn’t go as planned then?’ 

 ‘It was alright.’ Hosea kissed his forehead quickly. ‘Are Arthur and the others back yet?’ 

‘Not yet, no.’ He said, staring rather obviously out the window. 

Hosea joined him. ‘I hope they’re alright.’ 

‘I’m sure they are, mother hen. Probably just having a celebratory drink. It’ll be good for them -- you know how miserable they all get.’ Dutch rubbed Hosea’s shoulder. 

‘How’s Isaac? Hosea asked suddenly. 

‘Pretty good. Said he’d take a look at that map.’ 

Hosea nodded and sat down. ‘He’s a good kid.’ He gained a faraway look in his eye. ‘I do wish Bessie had met him.’

Dutch didn’t protest, humming agreement. ‘Annabel too. We were quite the little team, us and the boys.’ 

Before either could get too emotional, there was the sound of hooves and laughter floating up the driveway.

‘Aha! Speak of the devil!’ Hosea leapt up faster than his age allowed and was met with Arthur, Sadie and John bickering with wide grins across their faces. 

‘No, idiot, it was Kentucky. I bet you… eighty bucks.’ John slurred, but he sounded drunk on contentment rather than liquor. 

‘I remember where I do all my swindling, Johnny. Them big family was in Arkansas. Why would you remember anyway, you were standing watch, kid . It was me and Dutch doing the robbing.’ Arthur sounded the same -- properly happy. 

Sadie just snickered at the pair of them. 

‘I take it the bounty catching went well then?’ Dutch said, striding grandly onto the porch. Almost as if it was choreographed, the three took thick stacks of bills out of their pockets and riffled them appreciatively. 

‘I’ll say,’ Sadie declared. ‘Was good fun too. I’d best be off though. Good huntin’, boys.’ 

Arthur and John hollered back ‘you too’ over their shoulders before turning back to their fathers. ‘Anything happen whilst we were away?’ Arthur said, because of course he did. 

‘I learnt everyone is useless at herding, that’s for sure. But apart from that, no. You’re both alright?’ Hosea replied, as they both craned their necks to check their sons for injuries. 

‘More than alright!’ John chirped. ‘Couldn’t have gone better.’ 

‘Glad to hear it.’ Dutch checked his pocket watch, fancifully engraved as it was. ‘You best be getting back to your sons.’ 

The glowing stub at the end of Isaac’s cigarette was a reassurance that he was alright. 

‘Hey, Pa. How’d the bounty go?’ 

‘Pretty damn well.’ Arthur replied, a knowing grin tracing across his face. He clapped a hand on Isaac’s shoulder and pushed open the door, the boy following him as they both hung up their coats. Isaac went automatically to the woodburner to start it up, his hair flopping  partially over his black eyes. 

Arthur hung his hat up -- the same black gambler Lyle had had since a teenager -- and flopped into a chair. ‘I’m gettin’ too old for it, though.’ 

Isaac waved his index finger through the lit match before tossing it at the tinder, and snorted in scepticism. ‘No you ain’t, if that pile of bills is anything to go by.’

Arthur chortled at the dry response. ‘I was building up to asking if you wanted to come with us next time.’ 

Isaac looked up sharply. ‘Really?’ 

‘Against my better judgement.’ Arthur muttered around a cigarette. ‘I don’t want you getting into no fights with that Meyer boy again -- not even to impress that girl of yours.’ 

Isaac’s grin turned dopey at the latter statement. ‘Lilly ain’t impressed with me fighting, Pa. Unfortunate, since I’m good at it and little else.’ 

 ‘Don’t say that, kid.’ Arthur’s voice was serious but affectionate. ‘You’re good at plenty, if that Professor Winters’ opinion means anything. Let alone Dutch.’

Isaac let himself bask in the praise for a second. ‘Oh! Speaking of, Dutch asked me to translate something. Says it leads to some cult’s old money. Not a clue why it's in Latin, but it couldn’t hurt to try.’

‘That’s got Dutch written all over it. Hang on, I thought Winters had you learning Russian or something?’

 ‘That too -- he asks a lot of us, by god.’ 

‘Ah, you can deal with it, my boy.’ Arthur ruffled his hair. ‘How’re your friends?’ 

‘The few I have? Alright. We’re gonna ride up to Moorimp sometime we can get the day off our respective chores.’

‘I’ll talk to Hosea, see when he can spare you. Just don’t pick anything, pockets or locks, y’ hear?’

Isaac laughed and made a fake disappointed face. ‘Cmon, it impresses them so much: they’re just farmboys.’ 

‘Yeah, and so are you to everyone except us, Isaac Callahan.’ 

Isaac lit a smoke and looked content with the fire. ‘You got me.’

Arthur gave him a knowing look down his nose. ‘Does Lilly feel the same?’

He smirked. ‘Might do. But I’ll be careful, I promise. In more ways than one.’

Arthur nudged him. ‘So, do you want to come bounty hunting or not?’ 

Isaac studied the poster and fortunately was unimpressed with the target. He was a banker named Tobias Armstrong, accused of embezzlement (John had thought that was a fancy word for being confused, and was ribbed mercilessly for it by his brother) of all things. He’d been hiding in the woods for god knows how long, and looked like you’d expect.

As they crested the hill, the ground spongy from pine needles, a pillar of unnaturally dark, suffocating smoke shot into view above their heads. 

‘Must be using damp wood,’ Sadie commented. ‘He really is useless. Right, who’s taking the lead?’ 

John shrugged and pushed his horse on. ‘I will. You wanna surround him?’ 

‘Sure.’ Arthur said. ‘Isaac, you go over there, that rock should give you some cover. Sadie and me’ll take those two sides opposite, like in a triangle, see?’ 

Isaac nodded, cheerful in his task’s importance, and they all got off their horses aside from John, who bumbled along the path and tried to draw from Hosea’s well-versed conning technique. Isaac did as he was told and hid behind the rock. 

‘Hey, mister!’ John called, and immediately kicked himself for sounding more aggressive than probably was effective or indeed necessary. 

A head of dishevelled grey hair rose from the damp fire, the face beneath it ruddy and inflamed with sunken in and milky eyes. It was Armstrong alright -- he was even wearing the same dull navy suit he had been last seen in. 

John touched the rim of his hat and hid his relief that they’d found him. ‘Do you, er, know what the time is?’ 

He didn’t fall for it. ‘You a bounty hunter, sir?’ He backed away frantically, raising his hands in placation. John tried to protest but he was already turning and running away -- towards Isaac’s rock. 

Isaac stayed quiet as a spectre until the thud-flop of the man’s worn business shoes was right next to him, when he burst out of cover and tackled the man with such force his neck clicked. He smelt of herbivore bait and paranoia, and Isaac sat back up and flipped him over as quick as he could. In seconds Arthur was there, hogtied him, and had him on his shoulder. 

‘Nicely done, my boy!’ He said, somehow managing to clap him on the back with Armstrong kicking and groaning on his shoulder. 

‘He’s a better bounty catcher than you, Marston.’ Sadie teased. 

Arthur laughed in fraternal agreement as they headed back to the horses. ‘You’da thought Hosea would’ve taught you to lie better.’ 

John scoffed and shook his head in mirth. ‘Oh back off. Let’s get him in.’ 

Arthur dumped the bounty unceremoniously in the Moorimp sheriff's office and left Sadie to collect and divide their reward. Isaac’s head tilted in welcome surprise as he got his cut. 

‘We got him in remarkable condition ‘cause of you, kid.’ Sadie had explained. 

They rode out with high spirits and at high speed, but in the blur of moving countryside Isaac caught sight of a large painted sign. It read: 

RETRIEVERDOG PUPS FOR SALE 

$1.50 EECH. 

INQUIRE WITH-IN. 

Isaac melted so much his initial puzzlement over the grammar dissipated. His eyes got a bright sheen to them that Arthur knew was of mischief as the boy drew up alongside him and they slowed. ‘Hey, Pa! Did you happen to, er, see that sign back there?’ he asked innocently. 

Arthur chuckled in a way that indicated he knew Isaac’s scheme. ‘ Fine, we can go have a look.’ 

‘Aw, yis!’ Isaac cheered, wheeling his horse (this one a placid Irish Hunter called Shovel, for he had outgrown Bobby but kept him anyway) around and kicking him back to where he’d seen the sign. Arthur followed, feigning reluctance. 

They resumed the ride home with a portion of  Isaac’s take from the bounty invested -- said investment was a dark sandy mass of fluff trying its best to eat the boy’s coat. 

‘Whatchu gonna call her?’ Arthur asked, leaning over in his saddle to coo at the puppy. 

 ‘Haven’t decided yet. I was thinking Ambush, given she tried to chew my ankles off when we went into that barn.’ 

Arthur guffawed. ‘That’s a name and a half, son. Just be prepared to call it a lot when she’s chasing sheep and stealing your food.’ 

‘Oh, I’ll train her better than that. I’ll take her hunting with me, too. You used to take Copper, right?’ 

 Arthur scoffed nostalgically. ‘He mostly scared everything off, but yes. I’ll help you train her, Charles will too.’ 

Isaac nodded but only looked up from the puppy when he nearly hit his head on a tree. ‘Jack’ll be excited,’ he said after a moment. ‘I was gonna take him hunting but this is so much better.’ 

Then they agreeably didn’t speak, just listening to the puppy’s yips and the thud of the horse’s hooves. It was the late afternoon by then, and John and Sadie were long home. The sun beat coldly and brightly on their hats as they passed under the sign to the ranch. 

Arthur’s window faced west, though he no longer had to look longingly to their resting place (of either variety) as he was already there. The sun was low and sanguine, and cast a glow like embers or the background of dreams across Arthur’s desk.

That was new, and at Hosea’s insistence, though Isaac was usually seen there: poring over Latin; or Thoreau; or (bizarrely, in Arthur’s eyes) Russian; or more often than not Gothic ‘classics’ by decree of Professor Winters. That wasn’t where he was now, though: he was under the tree in front of the cabin, playing with the new puppy. The bounty money was in a stack on the desk, light on Arthur’s mind. Most of the others were in their respective cabins.

All was peaceful and unhaunted.