With a sack full of around a thousand wallets, we left the train and rode towards the east—towards the direction of Copper Springs. But as I led my men forward, Peter suddenly galloped up beside me and said, "So what's next?"

"We need to meet up with Smokey Dan." I never took my eyes off the barren terrain ahead of us as I answered him.

"And afterwards?"

The strange pitch in his voice made me turn, seeing he had an eyebrow quirked and a smile on his lips.

"We have to go to town. Or that's where this direction will eventually lead us." The figure of Smokey Dan started to come into view. He was on top of his mare, waiting there beside the train as if he knew to expect us.

"What do you have to do in town?" Peter glanced at me. "Stage another a shootout?"

Something about his tone seemed strange to me. He was asking a question, but it didn't sound like he wanted to know the answer. "I don't know." I frowned at him. "I haven't been told yet."

We were rapidly closing in on Smokey Dan. We would reach him in about sixty seconds, me being the first. But before I could, Peter's hand shot out and gripped onto my shoulder, stopping me. "Julia, wait." He sounded like he was out of breath. "If it's an order you need, then how about we skip town and go somewhere else?"

I opened my mouth, wanting to deny him. I wanted to tell him we had to go to town. Yet, I couldn't. For some reason, the words that came out of me were, "Where would we go?"

His smile only widened. "Well, you're an outlaw, right?" Since our horses had slowed to a trot, he was now able to speak in a clearer, smoother voice. "Why don't we go rob a stagecoach?"

Do as he says.

At last, a command. But not the one I wanted. "Alright." I tipped the brim of my hat back. "Have you ever robbed one before?"

"I haven't. But that's why I'm here, isn't it?" Peter asked, circling around me from on his horse. He reminded me of how a vulture circles around its next meal. "To live out the fantasies of a time gone by?"

"Hey!" Nash finally came up beside us, followed by the rest of the men. "Why did y'all stop?"

I gazed over towards Peter. If his voice was strange, the look in his eye was even stranger. He was looking at me as if he was waiting for me to say something. But not just anything— something specific.

"We're going to go rob a stagecoach." I turned back to my men. They all whooped and hollered, or at least they started to until Peter spoke.

"Sorry, guys. But this is just something between me and her." He nudged me with his elbow. "But don't worry. I'll bring her back."

The men fell silent before turning to me.

"What? I don't understand." Nash blinked. I saw his hand brush against the side of his hip, but it never reached for the gun tucked away in the holster.

"I'll return soon," I assured them.

And with that, we were off, leaving my gang behind in the dust. I knew they were staring at me as I rode off towards the vast unknown that was the desert. I knew their eyes were blinking as they waited for what to do next. And despite knowing this, I wanted to look back and confirm it. Yet, I never did. The command prevented me from doing so.

Keep following him.

The roar of an engine echoed through the desert followed by a high-pitched whistle. The train had started moving again, and this entire time I hadn't noticed until now.

"I studied the map last night. There should be a creek nearby." Peter's voice drowned out the sound of the train.

"I thought you wanted to rob a stagecoach, not go for a swim," I scoffed, forgetting all about the train and my men.

He tilted his head back and laughed. "You can actually be pretty funny, you know?"

I wasn't sure how to answer that. So I just shrugged and asked, "What's at this creek?"

"There might be some people there. From what my wife-" He paused, quickly correcting himself. "I mean, Dominque—told me—it's sort of like a lovers' lane."

"So you're just guessing?" I shook my head, acknowledging this was a waste of time. A gamble that probably wouldn't pay off. "If you wanted to rob a stagecoach, then you should have done it back in town. At least you know there are people—"

"Wait, look!" Peter came to a halt and pointed towards something in the distance. I brought Muerto to a standstill, squinting towards where his finger was pointing. Sure enough, there was a red stagecoach rolling along the dusty, beaten path towards a flowing stream.

"Well, I'll be damned," I muttered, crossing my arms. I had lived here my whole life and yet, I never knew of this creek. The only places I knew of were Hell's Canyon, Copper Springs, and the desert that connected the two.

"You know how you asked if I had done this before? Well, I haven't..." Peter rubbed the back of his neck. Once again, his voice had changed, going even higher than its usual pitch.

Do what he wants.

I sighed. "I should've known better than to ask. C'mon. Let's go." Tapping Muerto with the side of my heel, I took off after the stagecoach heading for the nearby creek. From behind me, I could hear Peter struggling to stay atop his galloping mare—his grunts and gasps indicated as much.

It didn't take long before I reached the trail, crossing out in front of the stagecoach with my revolver in my hand. "Alright, I want y'all to come out slowly with your hands up!" I called out as I stepped off Muerto and onto the dirt.

With a creak, and slower than a snail's pace, the door started to inch back. Gripping my gun even tighter, I crept over to the side of the stagecoach until I could see the two faces peering out from the darkness. "Step outside." I gestured with a tilt of my head.

"Please, don't hurt us." The young man held his palms out as he cowered to the ground. "We—We aren't looking for any trouble. We were just headed down to the creek for a picnic."

"What is he saying?" Peter whispered as he came up to me. I almost glanced back at him, not recognizing that the young man had been speaking a completely different language. But I couldn't risk it. In the split of a second, the man could whip out his gun and shoot us.

"He is saying how he was going to the creek for a picnic, and doesn't want any trouble." I narrowed my eyes at the young man, who now had his woman beside him. Her hands trembled out in front of her, matching the same quiver of her lip. A clear liquid dribbled down the man's temple and over onto his brow. They both wore nearly identical expressions on their faces. The only difference being his mouth was agape while hers was closed.

"Tell them we don't either. We just want their stagecoach," Peter instructed.

"Step away from the stagecoach." As I moved closer to the wagon, they shuffled further away—almost as if we were rotating places. "That's right. Keep moving."

Climbing into the wagon, I took a quick scan of the interior. It sure was fancy looking with its red velvet seats and drawn curtains. But besides a picnic basket, there was nothing inside worth taking.

"Wow!" Peter's eyes went wide as he scrambled inside. "Look at this!" He grabbed the picnic basket on the cushion and began to sift through it. "Want some?" He offered, taking a large bite out of an apple.

I shook my head. "No, thanks."

"Oh, right. You all can't eat." He flopped down on the seat, crossing his leg out in front of the other. "So you want to go back to town?" Peter asked in-between bites, typing something into a glowing panel on the wall.

Say yes.

"Sure," I replied, moving over to shut the door. But as I started to close it, I took one last look at the couple standing on the side of the road. Their faces had changed. No longer were their eyes bulging out of their sockets, but were drooping, and had a glassy sheen over them. Neither were their hands up in surrender like before, but were slumped down by their sides.

There were no guns attached to their hips. And I hadn't found any inside the wagon either. They never had any guns—this couple had been defenseless this whole time.

"Better start walking. It's a long journey back to town," I called to them before shutting the door. The stagecoach started to move again, leaving the couple behind as it headed back to Copper Springs.