'Every time that we run,
we don't know what it's from.
Now we've finally slowed down,
we feel close to it.
There's a change gonna come,
I don't know where or when,
but whenever it does - we'll be here for it.'

-

The ride back to camp was plagued with a sense of urgency. The horses' were pelting down across the ruthless plains to make it back down to Rhodes in good time.

Since the scrape, Dutch finally getting to draw the last moments of life out of Colm O Driscoll – the gang leader rightly assumed that it was time to move onwards again and search for somewhere new to settle and lie low for a few more months. Arthur was just glad that maybe this means Micah wouldn't come crawling back anytime soon.

They knew camp was close when the air became thick and soupy, muggy and humid – making clothes cling to the skin and the horses' suddenly drip with sweat. The two men trotted through the tree line and into the clearing of camp, and all eyes were up  - counting and quickly noticing they were a man short.

No one seemed too upset that Micah was missing.

"Where is Mr Bell?" Abigail was the first to say, crossing her arms over her chest whilst John shot her a cautionary look for her challenging tone. It was no secret that Abigail had rather fallen out of trust with Dutch since he had so willingly let you get exiled from the gang.

With one sweeping motion, Van Der Linde dismounted from The Count's back and tethered his horse up to the post. There was already an apologetic look on his face, like he was seeking forgiveness from his followers.

"We... we discovered somethin'." Dutch swallowed, looking down for a few moments as he paced gingerly into his own camp – under fire from a lot of confused gazes. Slowly, Arthur walked behind, minding to give Dutch plenty of space, he was just glad that finally everyone would know the truth.

Just like he had promised you on the day you were sent away...

"Micah... Micah got it wrong." Dutch started, looking up at all of the surveying gazes around him. The leader's dark brown eyes flickered uncertainly, and Arthur could read through it – Dutch felt so ashamed and guilty for letting you go.

"'Bout what?" Bill Williamson then boomed, that usual stormy look on his face. "Bout Colm?"

Arthur's steely blue eyes swiftly glanced in Dutch's direction, and caught his mentor's gaze. There was a look in Morgan's eyes that said 'Just tell them the truth.'

Exalting a low and heavy breath, Dutch gave everyone a final burdened look.

"About (name)." he said in a collected voice, eyes down at the ground in that very moment. "Micah lied about her being a spy..."

Those who had been in belief you were a spy, looked around in a contempt and confused manner whilst those who had known it to be a lie – looked at Dutch with a defiant smugness.

"We heard it from Colm himself." Arthur stepped up then, hands lazing passively on his belt as he address the group with a look of cool clarity. "She was no spy. Just a lotta' convenient stuff happened 'round here at the same time for Micah to spin himself a real good lie."

The others seemed to be in their own personal thought bubbles now, it was clear to see in the ways they looked at the ground, or had deeply perplexed expressions on their faces.

"So where is Micah then?" Lenny had asked, his tone was quite cocky now that the truth was out there. Lenny had always admired you and thought of you as a good friend.

Before Dutch could even reply, Arthur quickly stepped in. He wanted to deliver this deeply gratifying news.

"When the truth got out – he started firin' to cause a distraction. Next moment we look up – and he is gone." Arthur said to Lenny, shrugging his shoulders in a subtly smug fashion. "We don't have no clue where he's ran to."

A thoughtful silence cascaded over the group, as if everyone was drawing in the same sheer level of hatred for Micah and what he had done to you. Those who had followed his word looked embarrassed to say the least.

"All we know now is folks," Dutch then began, "We need to get movin'. If them O Driscolls' find out I killed Colm, then they'll be coming after us."

In the moment following that statement, faces around the group lifted – aside from one, who just looked slightly unsure.

"You killed Colm, Dutch?" Hosea asked, a troubled look on his expression. The last thing he wanted was for anyone in the group to suffer an attack from any O Driscolls'. With a slight scowl, Dutch looked over at Hosea who stood there appearing very unnerved by the whole thing.

"Yes, Hosea – I did? Is there a problem with that?" The tension was beginning to rise. Everyone just seemed to be silently looking between the two men.

Hosea let out a sharp sigh, it was clear he wanted to say a lot of things but knew he probably shouldn't.

"I don't know... just feels like the wrong time to be doing all this – we've got Pinkerton's up all over us now, we've stirred up trouble with the locals here..." Hosea started to list, and that is when Dutch strode over to him with an air of egotistical purpose.

"That's why, my friend – we are leaving. Right now." Dutch almost growled at Hosea, before he quickly snapped around to face the group.

"Everybody – lets go! Mr Pearson, Miss Grimshaw – get this place all packed up-!" Van Der Linde barked, marching across the camp whilst everyone dispersed to help do their bit.

All this constant moving forwards – Arthur himself was growing increasingly concerned about Dutch. He seemed to have a million plans in one different day and always managed to find a way to muck it up somehow and leave them all in trouble.

No wonder Hosea always seemed so anxious nowadays.

In a few hours, the gang had their camp all packed up on the wagons – and it was time for them to move onwards.

Leading at the front of the convoy, were John and Arthur, sat atop of their respective horses.

Apparently John had informed Dutch of an old manor house- a place called Shady Belle. Arthur recalled it to – it had been overrun with hillbilly scum the last he and Lenny had infiltrated there to grab some guns.

"You two go ahead, scope it out." Dutch had commanded from the front of the wagon, on his seat next to Hosea. "If anybody's there, clear 'em out."

It was a clear enough instruction – as the boys raced ahead, horses' snorting and hooves drumming like thunder with each galloping gait.

The further east they travelled, the air became lighter and less muggy – and it appeared the sun no longer had to shine through a haze of smoggy clouds.  It began to feel more like winter as John and Arthur started to near their location.

"It's up through these trees here, aint it?" John had affirmed to Arthur, who nodded as rode next to him at a gentle canter on Phantom.

Cutting up, it was easy to tell why this would be a good location. The place had been in ruin for so long there was no clear diversion of the main track that would even indicate the house was there.

The only signs of it's former grandeur where the ivy covered stone walls that stood just outside of the long, overgrown and leave-covered trail down to the distained and crumbling structure.

"This looks like it will do." Arthur assured himself out loud, as the two horses plodded leisurely down the path  - and both John and Arthur had a hand near their holsters' in case someone were to jump out.

They left the horses just on the other side of the small bridge that was out the front of the property – wandering cautiously into the house.

As expected, there were a few scummy red-necks still causing a raucous inside – but with a bullet thy were all quickly dispatched. It was then a cause of simply clearing up before the others arrived.

A rather odd time to have such a conversation, but John had started chatting to Arthur about you as they got rid of the bodies.

"Nice to hear about (name), aint it?" John had said, scooping one of the limp bodies off the dirty marble floor and throwing it over his shoulder. Arthur was on his way back into the manor after dumping a body in the nearby swamp, and gave Marston a wry smile

"Sure... I guess so." He sighed, shrugging as he went in to grab the last hillbilly's body, blood stained on the back of his blue shirt. "Just feels like it was a little too late... I have no clue where she's at now." Arthur explained to John, and the disheartened look on his expression was clear to see – it also told something the gunslinger hadn't vocalised... a fear that you were dead.

John was silent for a few moments, he seemed to be thinking over the right thing to say. He knew how much you meant to Arthur.

"I thing she's alive, I really do." John exclaimed, heading towards the door where a heavy flood of light poured through into the shadowy property. Arthur mused over John's words for a second, before he scoffed half heartedly, not wanting to let his guard down and appear all soft and emotional.

"Why'd ya' say that?" Arthur asked quizzically, meeting John's gaze. Marston shrugged, but he was still smiling.

"She's a smart girl, that's plain to see. She'll be just fine."

With that, John escorted the body out of the door on his shoulder and disappeared to the right to get rid of the corpse. Lingering, Arthur thought over John's words. He knew he shouldn't get his hopes up, but Arthur knew really that John was right. You were an incredibly smart girl – that was plain to see.

Arthur just wholeheartedly hoped it was the truth – for if he had lost you, he wasn't sure he could go on this world anymore with an open heart.

He had been wounded far too many times – and he knew someday, he wouldn't get back up again.

--

- a few weeks later –

Life, as it usually did – filtered on for the gang in their newly appointed hideout. Some liked the idea of living in a fancy house -run down as it was, it was still the poshest thing any of them had lived in to date.

Now that the heat of an impending attack from the O Driscolls' was dying down, Dutch was moving onto new ideas.

On one pleasant sunny morning, Arthur was called into the front room by a very eager sounding Dutch. Hosea was sat too his right, his lips pressed into a thin line.

"I've been thinking – we need to put ourselves out there." Was the rather vaguely optimistic statement leaking from Dutch's mouth, as the man flashed a sort of crazed smile. "You ever been to Saint Denis, my boy?" Dutch asked Arthur, who could only shake his head in response.

"No I aint, but I've heard about it sure. Ain't it some big city?" he asked, and Hosea was quick to put his opinion in.

"Yeah – a city with no place for the likes of us." Hosea's voice sounded urgent, and again he was looking at Dutch with a worried glance. But once Dutch as onto something, like a blood hound – it was hard to deter him from the scent.

"So...? What exactly are you plannin', Dutch?" Arthur asked, leaning his back against the wall, arms folded across his broad chest and an intrigued gaze coming from under the brim of his hat. When Hosea appeared worried, and Dutch looked like an excitable child – it was usually some crazy plan that Arthur always ended up getting wrapped up in.

"There are a lot of powerful, influential people in that city, Arthur." Dutch started, "People with a lot of money." There it was, the incentive. Arthur exalted a hefty sigh and shot Dutch a questioning look from his cool eyes.

"So, what're you suggestin'? We go and rob them?" Arthur scoffed, clearly showing his distaste if that was indeed the case. The look Arthur received from Dutch was as if he had highly offended the gang leader. There was a prominent furrow on Dutch's brows, as he took a moment to pause before responding.

"No, son, of course not!" Dutch scoffed, reclining back in his seat as he passively clenched his fists a little and toyed with the rings that sat so lavishly on his hands. "I was just thinking about doing some networking, is all." Dutch grinned like a sly cat.

The statement was clouded with over-optimism Arthur felt. There was a reason this gang had to hide out, because they all had a price on their head. Mingling with city big-wigs didn't seem like a good idea at all. Clenching his jaw, Arthur mused for a second over the thought of trying to argue back at Dutch – but then he knew it would be futile. The man had a fixation on ideas he thought were brilliant.

And as per usual, Dutch took Arthur's silence as some indicator of agreement – and the man shot up from his seat with a keen smile.

"Excellent, son." He started, "Let's go. Fetch Marston too, please?" Dutch asked, and swaggered out of the room with an air of purpose.

Left there wordless, Arthur sighed deeply and ran his hand over his face in a troubled manner. Just when he thought they were beginning to lay low the possibility of trouble was looming over the horizon.

But Arthur knew better than to disobey Dutch, and so, a bit like a stroppy child – he went to fetch John to join them in their little quest to the big city of Saint Denis.

-

A/N: sorry this is a little boring, it's a bit of a filler chapter!!