Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

❝By 1899, the age of outlaws and gunslingers was at an end. America was becoming a land of laws… Even the West had mostly been tamed. A few gangs still roamed, but they were being hunted down and destroyed. ❞

The sharp, blistering wind and heavy snow surrounded the mountains as Florence tried her best to keep warm. Although sitting in the back of a wagon was somewhat comforting, she worried their luck would run out soon enough, especially with a dying gang member in her arms.

She leaned the back of Davey’s head on her knees. It had been hours since she lost hope of trying to aid him. With the lack of supplies and the weather conditions, that gunshot wound to the gut was slowly eating his life away. It was only a matter of time before he passed.

At first, he was joking about how it was only a tiny wound. As time passed, his breathing became shallower and his skin paler than it already was. He could barely let out a few words before he passed out. Florence kept leaning down to hear a faint breath, indicating he was still alive but was in a short time.

She let out a heavy and looked at her other companions sitting in the back with her, “He hasn’t got long left.” She announced softly, “There’s absolutely nothing I can do for him anymore…”

“Nothing at all?” Abigail quickly asked, also knowing that attempts were futile. “I can’t believe it… Davey didn’t deserve this.” She lowered her head in despair.

Florence placed her gloved hands on Davey’s shoulders in a comforting manner, “If- If we weren’t all dragged out of camp to run away from the law. We might have had time to save him- or at least give him a peaceful passing. But what’s done is done. Being out in the snow isn’t helping. We gotta find somewhere.” She confirmed.

The other passenger, Reverend Swanson, sighed and grabbed a lantern beside him. “I’ll inform Dutch and let him know if we should stop somewhere.” The two women told the Reverend to be careful in the snow as they watched him get off and walk ahead to the front. They soon heard muffled voices due to the heavy storm.

Abigail’s voice was shaky as she spoke up. “It ain't ever been this bad with the law before. What the hell happened on that boat?” She asked no one in particular, as neither of the two was on the heist. John didn’t tell me a thing.” She referred to her husband.

Florence sucked in a lip, “Well, Sean and Mac have been taken in by the Pinkertons—Jenny’s dead. I don’t trust what comes from Micah’s mouth, and Dutch won’t say anything about it. I already tried before we left. The only person I’d ask would be Javier.”

Swanson had just returned and pulled himself back onto the wagon, and Abigail instantly asked, “What did he say?”

He sniffled from his stuffy nose. “He said okay and had already sent Arthur up ahead to see if he could find somewhere for us.”

The Romani woman’s hands loosened on Davey’s shoulders. She hoped Arthur was okay out there alone. It wasn’t the sort of weather to be riding in. Abigail noticed Florence’s concern and gently touched hers, “Hey, he’ll be alright out there. Nothing stops Arthur.” She smiled, which the tanned woman returned.

Suddenly, the wagon stopped, and more voices were heard. Florence raised her head to see that Arthur was talking to Dutch and Hosea a few metres away. Soon, the gang had been led to an old, abandoned town.

Florence gently placed Davey’s head on a few folded clothes for support, and once the Wagons stopped, she jumped down, and her boots landed in a thick layer of snow. She was dressed for winter as she wore some heavy pants tucked into her boots. Her usual corset over her shirt and a thick, long coat which reached by her knees. She didn’t usually wear her hat, but it seemed suited with a scarf and a pair of black gloves.

As everyone sorted out, Florence walked ahead to where Arthur was getting off his horse but was quickly stopped by Hosea, who stood in front, showing the woman his concerns. “Are you holding up alright, Florence? Have you been keeping warm?” he asked, pulling her into a hug. Hosea had always been like a father to her. He and Bessy practically raised her since she was a child. They both had a strong family bond despite not being related.

She returned the hug, “I’m fine, thank you, Hosea. What about you?”

“Happy we’ve finally found a place to camp in this godforsaken weather.” He expressed as he pulled away from the hug. He noticed Florence wasn’t even looking at him but was looking past him. He turned around, seeing Arthur, and he sighed, stepping aside, “I see you ain’t too worried about your old man anymore.” He retorted jokingly.

Florence smiled and gave him one last side hug. “I’m always worried about you, " she replied before jogging towards Arthur. She called out his name, grabbed his attention, and stopped just before him. “I had no clue Dutch had sent you off ahead. Are you alright?”

He tilted his head and smiled ghostly, “I’m just peachy, Florrie. But you don’t need to worry ‘bout me. You worry about yer own safety.” He reassured. Arthur was one of the few people she had known for years since they were young. They grew up together and had their fair share of laughs and falling-outs, but he was her best friend, someone she could rely on.

“Out of all these years of finding somewhere to camp,” Florence crossed her arms together when she felt a strong gush of wind blow over her, “We have never ended up in the snowy mountains. It makes me wonder how bad this heist was.”

Arthur sighed, his breath showing from the indication of the cold weather, “I’m thinking the same as you. We’ve had failed heists before, but it ain't ever been this bad. Anyone said anything to you about it?”

The woman shook her head, “I asked Dutch when we were all rushing around getting everything packed back at camp. Just shook his head and told me not to worry ‘bout it. It’s hard not to when we all need to leave camp because of it. I did overhear him telling Hosea that a bunch of Pinkertons showed up. But how did they get there so quickly? They must’ve already known.”

He placed his hands on his belt, “Does seem weird, doesn’t it.” Arthur looked over to see Davey being placed on a stretcher near the wagons. He put a hand on Florence’s shoulder, “I’ll help Bill bring him in. Keep yourself warm, Florence.” And with that, he walked over, and Florence followed Hosea to one of the cabins.

He called for them to bring Davey in, and everyone else followed suit. Once Davey’s body was placed down, Miss Grimshaw had already started giving out orders, “Miss Gaskill… get that fire lit quick. Miss Jones, bring whatever blankets we have. Mr Pearson, see what we’ve got in terms of food.” While doing so, Florence and Abigail leaned over Davey to check for signs of life. They both gave each other a knowing look, realising that he was no longer breathing.

Abigail lifted her head and looked at each gang member, “Davey’s dead.” She announced with a look of grief.

Florence placed her hands over her chest, “I did what I could do. But he wasn’t going to make it in this weather.” She couldn’t help but feel a sense of guilt as she was the one who aided him, and yet her attempts were futile, and Davey still died.

“There was… nothing more you could have done.” Swanson tried to reassure her, but she could only look down at the floor sadly.

Hosea approached her and rubbed her shoulder in a comforting manner while asking, “What are we gonna do? We need supplies.” He said, walking them both over to Dutch, where Arthur was already standing nearby.

Dutch gave him a look, “Well, first of all, you’re gonna stay here… and you are gonna get yourself warm. You as well, Florence, you’re shaking like a leaf.” He was right; she had never been used to this weather, and her body felt numb from any movement. “Now, I sent John and Micah scouting ahead. Arthur and I, we’re gonna ride out and see if we can find one of ‘em.”

“In this?” Arthur asked with a look of disbelief. Florence was in shock as well. Why send them ahead in this weather? They could get lost, and Dutch and Arthur might go missing looking for them.

“Just for a short bit… I don’t see what other choice we have.” Dutch replied before turning to the gang. “Listen,” he said louder to catch their attention, “Listen to me, all of you, for a moment. Now, we’ve had… well, a bad couple of days. I loved Davey… Jenny… Sean, Mac… they may be okay, we don’t know. But we lost some folks. Now, If I could… throw myself in the ground in their stead, I’d do it… gladly. But, we’re gonna ride out… and we are gonna find some food. Everybody, we’re safe now. There aint nobody following us through a storm like this one… and by the time they get here… well, we’re gonna be… we’re gonna be long gone. We’ve been through worse than this before.” Florence frowned. Had they been through worse? “Mr Pearson,” Dutch looked over to the camp’s cook, “Miss Grimshaw… I need you to turn this place into a camp. We may be here for a few days. Now, all of you… get yourselves warm. Stay strong. Stay with me. We ain’t done yet!” his voice rose as he picked up a lantern, “Come on, Arthur.”

As Arthur followed Dutch, Florence quickly stopped him by placing a hand on the side of his chest, “Don’t get lost out there. Otherwise, Hosea and I will come out looking for you ourselves.”

He tilted his hat, “Will do, Miss Lovell.” As he left, Miss Grimshaw was giving orders again, and it almost felt like they were already at a camp.

_

It had been some time since Dutch and Arthur left, and soon, everyone tried their best to settle down. Davey was buried in that time under a few trees with a makeshift cross over his grave. Florence was worried about the rest of the men who were out there. Although she wasn’t a big fan of Micah, she wouldn’t wish death upon him. She wasn’t that cruel. She decided to approach Javier, sitting on a bench, trying to keep himself warm.

She sat beside him, and he nodded, “Señorita.”

Florence smiled and placed her hands on her lap, “How are you holding up, Mr Escuella?”

“I’m not too bad, Florence. It's a little cold, but I’m surviving. How about you?”

“I’m okay.” She replied, “But I wanted to ask- now that we aren’t all panicking. What happened on that Ferry? Because it all seems a little odd that we’ve ended up in the mountains.”

He sighed and crossed his arms, “Well, everything seemed to be going well. We got the money and everything. But then- I don’t think I’ve seen so many lawmen in my life. Dozens of them, everywhere. There was a breakout in a massive gunfight. It was raining bullets, but… Dutch- he… he shot a girl. It was brutal, but we were in a bad situation.”

Florence’s eyes widened, “Like- Like a bystander? An innocent woman?”

Javier nodded, “Yeah, an innocent woman.”

Her jaw had almost dropped to the ground. That was so unlike Dutch in every way possible. The only people he shot were people trying to fight him, not innocent. Even when robbing innocent folk, Dutch never had the intention to massacre them all. “But why? Was it an accident?”

He shrugged, “In all honesty, I couldn’t tell if it was an accident. It would seem like it, given the circumstances. There were a lot of Pinkertons there, and she probably got in the way of the gunfire.”

“Yeah, maybe…” Florence replied, her eyes staring into nothing as she spoke. It still sounded so surreal to her that Dutch would do that. It explained why he looked like a ghost when they returned from the raid. But what happened to the money if they already had it? Was it abandoned somewhere? Perhaps everything was moving so fast that they had to leave it behind.

“Please excuse me.” Florence sat up and scanned the room for Hosea who stood close to the fire place with other gang members. She walked up and tugged his arm, “I gotta speak to you ‘bout something.” She murmured before dragging the poor man to a corner. “Javier just told me Dutch killed an innocent woman on that boat.” She whispered harshly.

Hosea sighed, “Yes I’m aware. I kept bugging Dutch until he finally cracked open about what happened; he was very brief about it, however, and told me not to worry about it. I have to say, though, in all my years of knowing Dutch, he’s never killed an innocent for no reason.”

The tanned woman raised a brow, “Do you reckon she might’ve said something to him?”

The older man looked confused for a moment, “How do you mean?”

She gulped and looked around to see if anyone was listening before speaking more softly, “Well you and I both know Dutch seems himself as someone more noble than he actually is. He’s always expected people to fear him but what if this woman didn’t? What If she said something to Dutch, calling him out as some petty thief, and with Micah’s influence-“ she grumbled the man's name, “He just could have snapped… and shot her perhaps?”

Hosea was silent for a moment, but she could tell on his face that her theory wasn’t far-fetched, he sighed once again, “I wouldn’t be surprised if that were true, Florence.”  

Before she could reply, the two heard Lenny’s muffled voice outside, “Hey, somebody’s coming!” They ran out of the cabin when they discovered it was Dutch and Arthur who had returned with Micah, but no sign of John

“How’d you get on?” Hosea hollered out, and Florence immediately noticed the frail stranger who sat on the back of Dutch’s horse, a thick cloak over her body.

“Micah found a homestead, but… he wasn’t there first.” Dutch replied, “Colm O’Driscoll and his scum, they beat us to it.” The name Colm O’Driscoll left a sour taste on Florence’s tongue. She despised the man. Parasites like him should have no room left on earth. “We found some of them there… but there is more about apparently scouting a train.”

Florence ran to help the woman off the horse, noticing how freezing she was, as Hosea replied to the gang leader, “That’s the last thing we need right now, Dutch.”

“Well, it is what it is… but we found some supplies, some blankets… a little bit of food… and this poor soul, Mrs Alder.” Dutch motioned to the blonde woman before turning to Florence, “Florence, would you warm her up, give her a drink or something.”

Florence had pulled the woman into her arms, “Come on, sweetness, let’s get you warmed up.” She soothed before leading her to the main cabin.

“And Mrs Adler, it’s gonna be okay… you’re safe now.” Dutch finished.

The woman started to sob again, and Florence held her closer in her comforting grip, “We’ll get you out of that thin nightgown, Mrs Adler. I’ll let you borrow some of my clothes. We look around at a similar height.” She smiled softly.

“It’s Sadie…” the woman uttered, “Thank you…”

“You don’t have to thank me. I’ll get you dressed and fed, and you can sleep in my bed. I don’t want you to be alone.” Florence felt horrible for whatever Sadie had to go through with the O’Driscolls. The poor woman looked terrified.

Florence had given Sadie a spare set of clothes, and she tried getting her to eat or drink something, but the woman refused, insisting she just wanted to go to bed. The Romani woman realised the widow wanted to be left alone, to be left in her thoughts. She couldn’t blame her; she had been through a lot in one night, so Florence tucked her into bed and decided she could sleep on a chair by the fireplace.

It was late, Florence assumed that everyone else had gone to bed since Dutch was sharing with Molly, Hosea had a small room the same as Arthur which was all in one cabin. She took off her scarf and wrapped it around her body like a little blanket and sighed, leaning back on the uncomfy wooden chair.

She closed her eyes and after what felt like hours, she slowly started to doze off until the main door creaked open and heavy boots stepped in making her almost jump out of her chair like a cat touching water. Florence gasped and turned to see Arthur walk in making her letting out a sigh of relief. She placed a hand on her chest and laughed slightly, “It’s just you…”

Arthur raised a brow, “What ’chu doing sleeping there? Thought you had a bed?”

Florence adjusted herself in her seat, “I let Mrs Adler sleep in it, I don’t mind sleeping on here tonight. What are you doing out there so late?”

“Went for a smoke.”

“Ah.” She nodded

He gestured the chair next to hers, “May I?” she nodded and he sat down beside her. Arthur crossed his arms and glanced towards the younger woman, “You holding up alright? I know you don’t do to well in the cold.”

Florence placed her hands on her lap, staring into the dim lit fire, “I’m as good as can be. Just hope we aint here for too long.” She turned to Arthur, “John didn’t come back with Micah. He’s lost in the mountains.” She said worriedly. She had known John since he was only a little boy while she was a teenager, he was practically her younger brother.

Arthur huffed, “Probably ran off and left, not like he hasn’t done it before.” He said with a bitter tone. The man next to her had little respect for John after his son Jack was born, he’d cowardly ran off for a year, denying he was the father as his ‘wife’ Abigal used to be the camp whore before she’d fallen pregnant with Jack.

“Don’t be like that.” Florence argued back, “John… has made some poor decisions in the past, but he’s still family. I’m gonna go out and search for him in the morning-“

“I ain’t letting you go out there.” Arthur cut in, his voice stern and demanding, “Look Florence, give him a few days, if he doesn’t turn up, then I’ll consider lookin for him. But you’re not going out there.” He said making Florence roll her eyes.

“Fine.” She said simply, knowing that fighting with Arthur would be pointless. He was probably right, she would barely survive out in the cold by herself, especially with how harsh this blizzard was, “And you aren’t considering it, you will go out and look for him if you ain’t letting me.” She pointed.

He chuckled, leaning back in his chair, “Whatever you say."

Chapter Text

Over the next few days, the blizzard hadn’t gone down much, John hadn’t returned, and everyone was slowly starting to lose hope, wondering if they would ever get out of the snowy mountains. Florence had taken her time to care for Sadie, who was unsurprisingly still in a depressive state over her deceased husband. The Romani made sure that she was eating and drinking something as the widow stayed in an almost vegetative state.

At one point, Abigal had nagged Arthur so much about John that, with Hosea’s urging, he reluctantly went out to look for him, Javier joining him. He also knew Florence would give him an earful since he didn’t let her go out and look for John.

Once they had returned and thankfully with John, he wasn’t in the best state. Abigal came rushing out, with Florence following behind. She winced when she saw the deep and nasty cuts plastered on John’s paled face as Bill helped him off Javier’s horse. John had cried out in pain, and Florence learned he had hurt his leg, “We need to get him inside.” She ordered as Abigal thanked the two men. Florence placed a hand on her shoulder, “I’ll get him fixed up.” She said reassuringly.

John was laid down on a bed, and Florence shooed Bill away. She turned to John as she took her gloves, “How do you manage to get yourself into trouble so easily?” she pondered as he let out a pained laugh.

“Just unlucky, I guess.” His voice was hoarse, and Abigal held his hand worriedly.

“You’re a fool, John Marston.” Was all she said.

Florence had cleaned and stitched John’s face up; he told her he and his horse were attacked by wolves; he only came out with a few scratches; his poor old horse didn’t make it out alive, however. She bandaged up his leg, and Abigal gave him food and water after Florence had done what she needed. He was left to rest in bed, but she was glad he was alive, the poor bastard.

She’d left him and Abigal In the small cabin and sighed; looking up, she noticed Charles and Arthur standing outside another cabin together, Arthur inhaling a cigarette. The two took notice of her as she approached them. Arthur looked down at the dried blood on her hands as she fitted her gloves back on, “I take it he’s fine then?”

Florence nodded, “He just needs a bit of rest, that’s all.” She looks at him, “Thank you for going out to look for him.” She said before turning to Charles and looking at his burnt bandaged hand, which he had injured during the Blackwater heist, “How’s your hand doing?”

“It’s getting there.” He softly replied, “Not as swollen as when I burnt it.”

“That’s good; I’ll redo your bandages later on for you so I can check on it.” She replied while looking back to the cabin before sighing, “Those wolf cuts are deep; if we stay out in the cold for too long, there's a chance they’ll get infected. John needs to rest somewhere dry and warm.”

Arthur dropped his remaining ashed cigarette, which burned out into the snow. “Well, dear old Johnny boy is gonna have to deal with it 'cause I ain't sure how long we’re still out here for. Hosea said we’re probably heading east, into too much civilisation for my liking.” He grumbled.

Florence rolled her eyes at Arthur’s attitude towards John but ignored it, “I heard civilization is quite modern east. But maybe he’s right. The law might be expecting us to go west.”

Charles chuckled lightly, “So we do the opposite.”

“Exactly.” She replied with a smile.

_

They’ve been held up in Colter for a few days now, and Florence made sure to keep an eye out for John to see if he was getting any worse. Luckily, he had no temperature but was recovering too slowly for her liking; they needed to escape the mountains quickly. However, she was slightly annoyed with Dutch as he had dragged out some of the members to look for Colm O’driscoll, saying he wanted to find him before he found them.

John noticed Florence’s stern expression, “Whats the matter with you? Look like your brain might explode.”

She crossed her arms and legs on the chair and sighed, “Instead of trying to look for the next decent place to live, Dutch dragged Arthur and the rest of ‘em to find Colm O’Driscoll’s camp. We don’t have time for this, and we shouldn’t be killin’ more people, whether they enemies or not. We need to stay low.”

John let out a chesty cough, clearing his throat before replying, “You know what Dutch is like about Colm. If he knows he's close by, he ain't gonna ignore it.”

“He should be putting his gang- his family first.” She argued, “John, you must think that this is strange for Dutch? Please tell me you agree with me and I aint being delusional?”

John was quiet momentarily, but he finally answered, “You’re right, it is odd. But we still gotta put our trust in him. After all these years, he’s never failed us before.” He coughed again and closed his eyes, “God, I feel like shit.” He muttered.

“You look like it too.” She commented with crossed arms and a smirk before standing up, “Anyway, I’ll let you rest. Try and get some sleep, John, and don’t move.” She pointed a finger at him, “You’ll get sicker if you try going out there.”

He rolled his eyes and looked up at the dark ceiling, “Whatever you say, boss.” He retorted sarcastically.

It was a few hours later when the rest of the gang showed up, and they'd found the O’Driscoll camp and killed all the present members. However, Colm was no longer there, which hadn’t surprised Florence one bit. She was surprised when Arthur returned shortly after with an O’Driscoll hogtied on his horse. One that had fleed just in time but couldn’t make it far enough. This was the first time they had brought a live O’Driscoll back, and he was soon tied up in the barn.

They also discovered something else at the O’driscoll camp: Colm was planning on robbing a train owned by Leviticus Cornwall. He sounded like a wealthy man who could potentially have a lot of money on this train. Florence wasn’t convinced it was a good idea. They were meant to be on the run and supposed to be laying low. Robbing a wealthy man’s train could only lead to something much worse.

The next morning, the Romani woman was once again greeted by the cold blistering air as she wrapped her scarf further up her face, covering her mouth. In the distance by the stables, she noticed Arthur and Charles mounting their horses. Curiously, she walked up behind them, asking, “Where you headin’ off?” she asked.

“We’re low on food.” Charles answered, “Decided we should go hunting, but we need to find some meat before going back.”

Florence looked at his injured hand and raised a brow, “I don’t think your hand will appreciate that.” It seemed an idea popped into her head, “Let me come with you both-“

“No.” Arthur bluntly replied as he sat atop his horse, “It’s freezing out there, Florence.”

“Oh, please let me come.” She pouted at the man, “I’m sick of seeing this place and… I know how to hunt. Better than you anyway.” She pointed out to Arthur, who looked like he was going to bite back with something until she spoke again, “Remember that time when you couldn’t catch that Bass and you ended up going to the market-“

“Fine. Get on yer horse, woman.” Arthur ordered, and Florence was quick to smile and drag her horse out of the stables, mounting it. Florence owned a grey Turkoman horse named Woody, which she had gotten eight years ago. She mounted him and joined the two men. She had left her bow attached to Woody’s saddle as using a gun would probably scare off any nearby animals. She saw the bow on Arthur’s back, meaning he was gonna be the one using it, and he was never that good at using one.

Charles seemed to lead the way as Arthur and Florence followed behind slightly. “How you holding up, Charles?” Arthur had asked after a few moments of silence.

“I’m okay, apart from this hand.” He glanced down at the bandaged wound, “Stupid mistake. Would’ve been worse if I didn’t have Florence helping me straight away.” He turned back with a small smile at her, and she returned.

“I’ll check on it later.” She said, “Hopefully, it’ll improve in a few days. And from what I’m gathering, you aren’t the one pulling a bow?”

“Gonna teach Arthur. Seems like having you come along would do us good if you already know.”

“I sure hope I can. I never really got the hang of it.” Arthur said.

“You’ll be fine.” Charles replied.

Florence laughed lightly, “Learning how to use a bow in a blizzard. Now that’s something I wanna see.” At the mention of the word, she could feel a shiver run down her spine once she felt the cold again.

Arthur sighed and looked down, “You reckon we’re gonna find something to kill that ain’t an O’Driscoll?”

“There’s meat up here for sure.” Charles replied, “Pearson doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Now the weather’s eased off a bit. They’ll be needing to feed.” Charles then directed his horse up a hill, and the other two followed suit, “We’ll head up this way. Find some higher ground.”

Arthur noticed Florence bundled herself up in her scarf, “You doing okay? Not too cold?”

“I’m alright.” She replied softly, “Still trying to get used to it.”

“’ It’s been a wild few days, alright.” Arthur replied, “That ride north from Blackwater, getting stuck in this storm.” He said with detest in his voice, “Going out for John, that thing with the O’Driscolls.”

Florence sighed and shook her head, “I still can’t believe Dutch wants to go through with that train.” Her voice full of disappointment.

“You’ve had a lot put on you.” Charles said to Arthur, “I wish I could have done more.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, just… a lot to think back on.” Arthur said with a sigh in his voice.

“I still don’t really know what happened on that boat.” Charles pointed out, which Arthur agreed with.

“I asked Javier.” Florence spoke up, “Obviously, I wasn’t there, but I have an idea; I’ll talk about it later when we get back. Can’t really hear or talk that well with this wind.”

Arthur nodded, and the three headed up the mountains and down a river stream. Florence guessed animals like deer or elk would be nearby as the river wasn’t frozen. On cue, Charles spoke again, “There are some patches of grass here; this is good.”

“Also, there’s running water; they’ve got to stay hydrated somehow.” Florence added, “The winds died down too.”

“And that’s good?” Arthur questioned.

“No wind at all is bad, but if it’s too strong, they won't move.” Charles answered, “Now shh… stay quiet.” He said in a low voice, knowing they were near any wildlife. They soon made a stop and got off their horses when Charles noticed some deer tracks in the snow, and it seemed the footprints were recent.

Florence grabbed her bow, and Arthur followed as the three lay low, following the tracks. They moved along and soon saw the deer drinking water further down the stream. Florence looked to Arthur, “You gonna do the honours, cowboy?”

“I just might.” He replied while placing an arrow on his bow, and Charles advised him to hit it in the neck or head so it wouldn’t suffer. Charles talked Arthur through it before the man released the arrow and hit the deer straight clean in the neck.

“Shall we see if we can get another one?” Charles asked.

“Sounds like a plan.” The woman replied, and the three moved further along until they reached another who was eating a patch of grass. Unfortunately, it heard them and started to run, and Florence was quick to aim her bow at its running form and release it, shooting it in the head.

Charles whistled, “Good shot.” He praised while Arthur muttered, “Show off.” With a slight laugh. They hunted for one more deer, and the three carried them back each to their horses. Florence slung hers over Woody and the three started to head back to camp. “Nice work, both of you.” Charles said, “Should be enough meat here to keep us all fed for a few days.”

“Well, when you’ve got uncle eating for three, it might only last us less.” Florence commented, making the two men laugh.

“Considering how things were looking a couple days back, maybe our luck Is finally on the turn.” Arthur pointed out.

“Seems to me we should be putting our effort into getting off this mountain now.” Charles added.

“Ugh, I couldn’t have said it better myself.” Florence replied, “I goddam hate this stupid mountain; I hate the stupid snow.”

Arthur tugged the corner of his lips at her before speaking again, “People are still weak, and we’ve seen how snowed in those wagons are… they aren’t going nowhere until we get some more thaw.”

“You’re probably right.” Charles agreed, “And even if we do get off here… what then? We’ll still have a big price on our heads.”

“This is a big country…” Arthur retorted, “We’ll find somewhere to lie low. Dutch and Hosea will have a plan.”

“They always do.” Florence muttered.

Arthur turned to the two, “You noticed how Pearson’s had a bottle in his hand ever since we fled Blackwater. We give the camp cook five minutes to grab the essentials and go, and he doesn’t even bring a crumb of food.” His comment made Florence snort; however, she was glad they had found three deer.

“Good thing we caught more than one.” Charles replied, “We’ve only been up here a few days and have already picked up two more mouths to feed.”

“One more.” Arthur corrected, “We ain’t feeding the O’Driscoll a damn thing, except maybe that can of salted offal Pearson was kind enough to give us.”

Florence slightly frowned. She had gotten a good look at the O’driscoll the night before, and from what she gathered, he only seemed a few years younger than her, and he had a certain look about him, which most O’driscolls didn’t have. She knew he was one, but she could tell she was extremely new to it and barely knew a thing about what the O’driscoll gang did. However, she couldn’t argue with that.

“The girl, she has a wild look in her eye.” Charles noticed.

“I mean…” Florence started, “The poor woman lost everything in one night and now has to rely on strangers. And I ain’t sure what she’s gonna want to do once we get out of here.”

“She might have family somewhere.” Arthur informed.

“Who knows, maybe she’ll deal with the O’Driscoll for us.” Charles suggested, referring to the one they had locked up.

Arthur laughed heartily, “I know who my money’s on in that fight. He’s weak, but that makes him much more useful. Maybe we can get to them before they get to us.”

“What is it with the O’driscolls?” Charles suddenly asked.

“You ain’t dealt with them?” Arthur asked, surprised, “I suppose we ain’t run into them much the last six months, I guess because they’ve been over this way.”

“I’ve heard a lot of talk about them…”

“Well, we’ve been scrapping over scores with them for years-” Arthur started until they noticed a bear in the distance. They went another way around to avoid it, and at that point, they had forgotten what they were talking about. Arthur asked Charles how long he had been with the gang with which was around six months. He seemed to notice that Dutch was different than many gang leaders. He was treated fairly despite having a black father and an Indian mother. He then asked, “How long have you been with these boys? Why ain’t you run off?”

“Twenty years, something like that.” Arthur replied, “Since I was a boy.”

“Twenty years?” Charles asked, shocked, “What about you, Florence?”

The woman shrugged, “Uh, I think a little less than that, but still quite a long time. Hosea taught me how to read and write. John, too.”

“Dutch saved me,” Arthur said, “Saved most of us. That’s why we need to stick by him through this. He always sees us right.” They had soon returned to camp, and Pearson was exceptionally happy with three deer at his feet. It appeared uncle was sitting in there as well, drinking. “What a surprise… to find the camp rat loitering around in the kitchen.” Arthur looked at Uncle.

“Is that aint way to greet an old friend? I feel like we haven’t spoken for days.”

“I do my utmost to avoid you.”

“He loves me really… It’s his sad way of showing affection.” Uncle waved him off, but Arthur just told him to get lost. Florence stood by the fire to keep warm as Pearson offered them some navy rum, which ultimately burned her throat after she had a gulp. She and Charles both left as Arthur helped Pearson skin the deer.

Later that night, Florence was sitting on a bench by the fireplace in the main cabin. Arthur had noticed her when he walked in and sat beside her. He tipped his hat, “Miss Lovell.”

“Mr Morgan.” She smiled lightly.

“So, what did Javier tell you? When we looked out for John together, he mentioned a few things to me.” Arthur informed.

“He told you as well? I can assume he mentioned Dutch shooting a girl, then?” Arthur nodded in response, “Well then, what do you think about it all?”

Arthur’s expression changed at the mention, and they let out a heavy breath, “I don’t know. I mean, I have some thoughts ‘bout the whole thing, but I ain’t too sure anymore.”

Florence leaned in closer with a low voice so no one else could hear, “I have a theory about it. I mentioned it to Hosea, but I don’t know what you think.”

“Let’s hear it then.” Arthur said.

Florence took in a breath, “S Dutch killed a girl, and not just any girl, an innocent. This is something Dutch ain’t ever done before, so why now?”

He looked at her with a curious expression, “What are you saying, Florence?”

She lowered her voice more, “I think this woman may have called him out, called him pathetic or something and… he got angry and shot her.”

He furrowed his brows, and he thought about what she said. It made sense… but he couldn’t quite believe it, “So you’re saying that Dutch… shot her because she insulted him?” he asked, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Well, you know he's got Micah influencing now, who he seems to like very much. I've noticed that man is like a snake, slivering around trying to whisper things in Dutch's ear, making him believe he's some amazing god. But yes, I think the woman insulted him." Florence informed with her hands on her knees.

Arthur nodded, understanding this newfound friendship between Dutch and Micah, “And I assume you believe Micah has something to do with the whole thing, too, right?” he asked, referring to the heist itself.

Florence looked down momentarily, “We've never had a heist go so bad before. But this is the first one Micah mentioned, and they had a lot of involvement with it. Don't you think it's strange how quickly the law showed up, too?"

The man rubbed his chin thoughtfully, never thinking about it that way, but now she had mentioned it, it raised his suspicions. “Now that you mention it, it does seem odd. You think Micah had a hand in it?” he asked her with a serious expression.

"I don't know. I don't have proof, but I think he influenced Dutch to shoot that girl. Cause Dutch ain't ever shoot an innocent before." Florence replied.

Arthur knew Dutch had a code; he would never intentionally kill an innocent, “I guess there’s a first time for everything. But still, it just dont sound like something Dutch would do.” He said, then looked past in deep thought.

Florence placed a gloved hand on his knee, "Just…  can you think about it? I know you trust Dutch; I mean, he's taken care of us for years now. But people can change, Arthur. Please promise me you ain't gonna blindly follow him if you don't think it's right."

Arthur's expression softened as he looked at Florence. He knew she was worried. He let out a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah. I understand what you mean. I ain't gonna blindly follow him if I don't think it's right..." He looked away for a moment, contemplating the situation they were in. "But, We’ve known Dutch for a damn long time. He's been like a father to me. I'd be lying if I said I didn't trust him."

"I trust him too. But recently... We've been in nothing but trouble, and many of us have died for it."

"I know, I know...But we've been through tough times before. We always manage to stick together, even if it gets rough." He sighed and looked at her again, "I just...I hope Dutch hasn't changed. I want to believe that he's still the man we all looked up to."

“Me too.” She replied sadly, looking down.

Arthur shook his head and sighed,  "We'll get through this like we always do."

Chapter Text

Over the last few days, Dutch seemed eager about the train robbery and made plans as soon as possible. They had found some explosives from the O’Driscoll camp and were planning on using it to blow up the tracks. Florence wanted no part in it. She was on the same track as Hosea, thinking it was an awful idea. She was a little disappointed in Arthur for following along with Dutch’s plan, but at the end of the day, she knew Arthur’s role in the gang and couldn’t hate him for it.

She followed Hosea out of the cabin. As she watched the men mount their horses, Hosea spoke his mind, “Why are we doing this? Weather’s breaking, we could leave. I-I thought we was lying low.”

“What do you want from me, Hosea?” Dutch expressed while Florence noticed Arthur avoided eye contact with her.

Hosea narrowed his eyes, “I just don’t want any more folks to die, Dutch.”

“We’re living, Hosea, we’re living… look at me, look at Florence, we’re living… even you.” He looked at the woman, “Don’t tell me you feel the same way, my dear.”

Florence gave him an unsure expression, “I just feel it’s too soon; what if the law is close by? Shouldn’t we wait a little until we are off the mountains?” she pondered with a worried look.

Dutch, however, kept a serious and stern expression, “But we need money. Everything we have’s in Blackwater.” He turned back to Hosea, “You fancy heading back there?”

“No.” Hosea sighed, “Listen, Dutch, I ain’t trying to undermine you; I just… I just want to stick to the plan… which was to lie low, then head back out west. Now suddenly, we’re about to rob a train.”

Florence looked between Arthur and Dutch, “What happens if the law shows up? What if they expect us to rob an important rich man's train? Ain’t somethin’ that’s foreign to us.”

“What choice have we got?” Dutch’s question almost seemed rhetorical.

Hosea placed a hand on Florence’s shoulder, “Florence is right, Leviticus Cornwall’s no joke, Dutch, he-“

Arthur suddenly cut in, “Who is Leviticus Cornwall?”

“He’s a big railway magnate, sugar dealer, oil man.” Hosea explained.

“Well, how good for him.” Dutch said sarcastically, “Sounds like he has more than enough to share.”

“Dutch!” Hosea tried arguing, but Florence could only roll her eyes internally. Dutch didn’t see the bigger picture. They could be in deep trouble if Leviticus Cornwall discovered who stole from him.

Dutch ignored Hosea and stepped past him, “Gentlemen, it is time to make something of ourselves.”

Arthur could only nod at Hosea and Florence as he mounted his horse. As Dutch continued talking, Florence held Arthur’s gloved hand, saying, “Don’t do anything foolish.” She ordered.

“Yes, ma’am.” He replied before Dutch had ordered them to head out. She watched in despair as their horses fled into the open snow during the sunset.

Florence tutted as she turned to Hosea, clinging her arm into his as they walked back to the cabin, “This is ridiculous, what if they get seen? What if someone recognises them?”

“I’m not too sure anymore, my dear. All we can do now is tell the rest of the folk to start packing; we’ll leave once they return as the weather clears up.” Hosea replied, patting her hand. They entered the cabin, and Hosea ordered everyone to start packing. She left Miss Grimshore in charge as she was always the best at keeping everyone in line.

Florence started packing all the stuff in the room she slept in. Luckily, there wasn’t much to do as she left most of her things packed, hoping they wouldn’t stay here for too long. She had a lot of important things she’s kept over the years of this gang. She couldn’t do much in her flower printing journal as they lacked any greenery in the mountains.

She had another journal that studied herbs she used in her medical care. She had some jewellery which was essential to her as years ago it belonged to her mother. Her mother did her piercings when she was little, which consisted of nose piercings. One on her right lobe and two on her left lobe. She wore bracelets and rings and a golden necklace. Micah taunted her once about them, claiming she stole them and was selfish not to sell what she ‘stole’. He was just a condescending asshole anyway.

She brought her things out and loaded it onto a wagon while she helped out with everyone else. A few hours later, the rest of the gang had returned, but Florence noticed there was no sign of Arthur. None of the men looked worried, so she assumed Dutch had sent him to do something else. She approached the man and Hosea, who stood by a wagon, and asked, “Where’s Arthur?”

Dutch approached her, “Got him to send off the train. There were some folks on there I left him to deal with as well. Should be turning up soon.”

Florence only nodded, “Anything worth stealing then?” she asked with her arms crossed.

“I was telling Hosea here that we found some bonds that we could sell-“

“That’s it?” Florence cut him off with narrowed eyes, “You risked all that for some bonds to sell?” She clenched her fists, and Hosea was about to tell her to calm down, but she just couldn’t, “What if someone saw you, Dutch?! What if they now know it was you that stole from Leviticus Cornwall?!”

Dutch placed two firm hands on her shoulder, “Yet, selling those bonds is money.” His voice was slow and firm, “We had our faces covered, and no law showed up. We are fine. You ain’t doubting me, are you, my dear?”

Hosea interjected, “Dutch, Florence was just worried.” He defended, “Didn’t want anyone to get hurt, is all.” Florence unclenched her fists and then crossed her arms, looking away.

Dutch could only sigh and pat the woman's shoulder, “I apologise, Florence. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot like that. The main thing is we are alive.”

She could only nod and looked up again to see Arthur riding into camp. Relief washed over her as he jumped off his horse and walked over to them, “So, we getting out of this hellhole?” he asked.

Dutch removed his hand from her, “We’re gonna try; weather seems stable.” He replied.

“And we just robbed a Leviticus Cornwall train.” Hosea looked to Dutch, disappointed.

The gang leader could only sigh as two of his trusted companions seemed to be going against him, “We got money in our pockets… the worst is behind us, gentlemen. So the question is, where now?”

“I know this country a little…” Hosea started, “I told you we should set camp in Horseshoe Overlook near Valentine. We’ll be able to hide out there no problem, as long as we keep our noses clean.

“Well then let’s go.” Dutch said, seemingly for the first time he and Hosea agreed on something in a while, “Clean noses and everything else.”

Florence watched as John was dragged onto a wagon and saw he had been dropped down roughly, “Hey! Be careful with him. He’s still hurt, Mr Williamson!” she shouted and let out a large breath through his nose.

Dutch chuckled and turned to Arthur, pointing out the wagon behind him, “Arthur, you’re in that one. Bring Hosea and Florence… I know you three like to talk about the good old days and what’s gone wrong with old Dutch.”

Florence rolled her eyes and got on the back of the wagon while Arthur and Hosea sat at the front. Soon, they set off, their wagon at the back.

It was a long ride down the mountains, but once Florence saw a more green start to surround them and less snow, a wave of excitement waved through her, lifting her spirits. The air got warmer as they descended into the spring area. It was nice seeing something other than white. They had sat silently until they had just gotten out of a stream, and suddenly, the back end of the wagon dropped.

Florence held onto the sides as Arthur shouted out, “Ah, shit!”

The woman sighed and flicked the top of the man's hat, “You fool, riding too harshly.”

“Let’s take a look.” Hosea said.

Arthur jumped off the wagon to see the damage, “I broke the goddamn wheel.” He admitted in annoyance as Hosea and Florence followed off the wagon.

“I’ll help you.” Florence interjected before Hosea could offer to help, knowing the poor man would break his back trying to lift it. Charles had walked over in silence. He and Hosea lifted the wagon while Florence and Arthur rolled the wheel over.

“You still strong enough to hold up a wagon?” Arthur teased.

“Shut up.” The two forced the wheel back on, and four started loading things that had fallen off when the wheel broke. Hosea noticed that in the distance, three figures on horses were looking down at them from the mountains.

They realised it was native Americans watching them; Charles then said, “If they wanted trouble… we wouldn’t have seen them.” Meaning they were watching the four. Hosea raised his arm at them in recognition.

“Poor bastards.” He said, “We really screwed them over down here. Come on… let’s not push our luck.”

“What happened?” Arthur asked as he picked up the last fallen item.

“Well… get in… and I’ll tell you.”

Charles helped Florence climb on the back of the wagon while he followed behind Arthur and Hosea, sitting in the front again. He turned to the woman he sat opposite, “I assume you’re much happier in this weather now?” he asked.

“I love it.” She smiled, “I can finally open my eyes wide and enjoy the nature around me.”

He returned with a small smile as Arthur hit the reigns, and the horses started moving while Hosea began to speak, “So… yes, the Indians in these parts got sold a very raw deal. This is the Heartlands we’re going to, good farming and grazing country, they lost it all. Stolen clean away from them it was, every blade of grass. Killed or herded up to the reservations in the middle of nowhere.”

“And how’s that different from anywhere else?” Charles questioned.

“Well, maybe it’s not.” Hosea answered, “I just heard some of the army out here was particulary, uh… unpleasant about it.”

“Unpleasant? How do you rob and kill people pleasantly?”

This time, Arther answered, “We don’t, in spite of Dutch’s talk.” Which made Florence let out a scoff, remembering Dutch killed an innocent woman.

Hosea spoke again, “I fear I was perhaps trying to simplify something more complicated for the benefit of our blockheaded driver here.”

“Hey, don’t blame it on me.” Arthur defended, “Never forget, this here’s a conman, Charles, born and bred. Just ‘cause it sounds fancy don’t mean he knows a damn thing about what he’s talking about.”

“To be fair,” Florence interjected, “Without Hosea, the two of us would most likely be dead if it weren’t for situations he’s gotten us both out with his fancy words.”

It was quiet momentarily before Arthur looked back at Charles, “So… what happened to your tribe?”

“I don’t even know if I have one… least not that I can remember. My father was a coloured man. They told me he lived with our people for a while. A number of free men did, but… when we were forced to move from our lands, the three of us fled. I was too young to really remember much. All my life, I’ve been on the run. A couple of years later, some soldiers captured my mother and took her somewhere. We never saw her again. We drifted around… He was a very sad man, and the drink had a mean hold on him.” Florence gave Charles a sympathetic look as he continued, “Around thirteen… I just took off on my own.”

“That was about the age we found young Arthur here, maybe a little older, and we found Florence when she was around eleven. A wilder delinquent you never did see. But he learned fast. Both of them did.” Hosea replied.

“Not as fast as Marston, apparently.” Arthur replied with an eye roll.

“Wait… I don’t understand.” Charles frowned, “What’s the problem between you two?”

Arthur was silent before saying, “It’s a long story.”

“I’ll tell you it.” Florence crossed her arms, “Sometime after Jack was born, John realised he wasn’t cut out to be a father and left for a year. He came back one day, but he hasn't really ever acted like the boy's father, even now. Arthur’s still mad about it.” She explained while Charles nodded in acknowledgement.

“Yer too kind to him, Florence. That deadbeat left and came running back when he got lonely.” Arthur huffed. He moved the subject and looked to Hosea, “We still heading the right way?”

“That depends… are we still heading west, in search of fortune and repose in virgin forests, as we planned? No.” Hosea said with a sense of distaste, “Are we heading in the correct direction on our desperate escape from the law eastwards down the mountains? Yes, I believe so.”

“You know this area?” Charles asked him.

“A little, I’ve been through a couple times. There’s a livestock town not too far from here, called Valentine.” Hosea explained, “Cowboys, outlaws, working girls—our kind of place.

“O’Driscolls?” Arthur asked with a raised brow.

“Probably them, too.”

“Pinkertons?”

“Let’s hope not.”

While Hosea and Arthur spoke in the front, Florence turned to Charles, “I’m sorry about your past, Charles. I wish we found you sooner so you weren’t alone for so many years.”

“Thank you, Florence.” He replied kindly, “But being alone has helped me learn a lot. It’s given me a wider perspective on the world. But I am glad I found you all despite the circumstances.”

They soon both tuned in to what Hosea said, “And how low do you think Dutch is really going to lie? It’s just… you know, maybe it’s me who’s changed, not him, but we kept telling him that the ferry job didn’t feel right—all three of us. You and I had a real lead in Blackwater that could’ve worked out. It’s just… isn’t like Dutch to lose his head like that.”

“Things go wrong sometimes.” Arthur replied, and Florence could see that Arthur didn’t really want to believe anything was wrong with Dutch. “People die. It’s the way it is, always has been. Me, you, Florence, Dutch… we’ve all been in this line of work a long time, and we’re still here, so… I figure we must’ve got it right a hell of a lot more than we got it wrong.

They continued riding on, and Florence closed her eyes, feeling the warm breeze hitting her face. She was now feeling overwhelmingly hot in her winter coat. She couldn’t wait to change once they set up camp at this Horshoe overlook.

Once they had arrived, a few tents were set up, and some people were already out of winter clothes. Dutch took notice of them and waved them over, “You weren’t wrong, Hosea. This place is perfect.” As the four jumped off the wagon, he said, “Gentlemen, we have survived.”

“For now.” Hosea told him.

Dutch seemed to ignore the comment, “Now it is time to prosper.” He said as Hosea, Arthur, and Florence walked up to him. The woman now finally taking her coat off.

“Arthur and I were about to prosper in Blackwater.” Hosea started, “We were on to something big… then Micah got you all excited about that ferry, and here we are.”

Dutch gave him a firm look, “We have all made mistakes over the years, Hosea… every last one of us. But I kept us together…” his comment made Florence raise a brow, “Kept us alive… Kept the nooses off our neck.” He started to storm away, and Hosea tried catching up to him while Arthur and Florence followed behind.

“I guess I’m just worried. I ain’t get that long, Dutch. I want folks safe before I go.” He said hurriedly.

Florence gasped, “Hosea, please don’t say stuff like that.” She exclaimed with a sad look on her face.

“I want them safe, too.” Dutch proclaimed.

Hosea looked at him firmly, “And now we are stuck… east of the Grizzlies and out of money, and a long way from our dream of virgin land In the west.”

“I know, my brother, but we are safe. We make a bit of money here; then we moved again… head out around them, be west of Uncle Sam… in a few months, buy us some land.”

“I hope so.” Hosea replied unconvinced.

Florence sighed, walked away, and suddenly heard Miss Grimshaw from behind her, “Miss Lovell, your stuff is over there. Your tent has already been set up.”

The woman nodded, “Thank you, Miss Grimshaw.” Behind her tent was the wagon carrying all the camp's medical supplies. She got on top and did a quick check-around.

Not long after, Dutch had gathered everyone around, and Florence made her way over, standing next to Arthur as Dutch spoke, “I know things have been tough… but we are safe now, and we are far too poor. So it is time for everyone to get to work.”

“Get to work, but stay out of trouble.” Hosea added, “Remember, we are itinerant workers-“

Dutch cut in, “Laid off when they shut down our factory to the north. Now, get out there and see what you can find. Uncle, Reverend Swanson… no more passengers.” He said, making the younger ladies giggle, “It is time for everyone to earn their keep.”

“There is a town a little way down the track…” Hosea started, “Name of Valentine, livestock town. All mud and morons, if I remember right. That seems a decent place to start.”

Pearson joined in, “And… we need food… real food. That means every day, one of you.”

Dutch then slammed a box on a barrel outside his tent, “And remember, whatever it is that you find… the camp gets its slice. Now, be sensible out there.”

Chapter Text

After about two weeks at Horseshoe Overlook, the gang settled in nicely. Florence had to say that it was one of the nicer areas in which they had stayed. It was nice and hot; the sun was blaring down on them, and the woman could finally wear clothes that didn’t consist of a thick woolly jacket. This morning, she came out of her tent with a long maroon skirt with a few added detailed layers, a brown corset wrapped around her waist, and under her, an off-white buttoned-up shirt, exposing part of her collarbone. She often wore a red headscarf to keep her curly locks out of her face. And, of course, she wore her dark brown boots underneath.

Florence had woken early as she often would. She got herself a coffee and sat with Hosea for a bit before she was up and ready to finish some work. She hadn’t really left camp much since they got here. She had hunted with Charles a few times but hadn’t been in town yet. Today, she had offered to sow some clothes that needed stitching.

She soon sat herself down on a log and got to work with the pile of clothes that had been left for her. At one point, Jack sat beside her as she worked, giving her company. He asked if she could tell him stories, which she happily did. She cared deeply for the boy who would call her Auntie Florence. It left a warm feeling in her heart.

She had gotten quite far in when she had heard Karen shout for her from across the camp, “Florence! Arthur’s taking us ladies into town, you wanna come?”

Florence shook her head and shouted, “I’m okay! Gotta finish this first. Enjoy yourselves!” she waved at them before returning to work. Karen frowned and turned to Arthur, who only patted her shoulder and told the rest of the ladies to get on the wagon. He looked back to Florence as she kept her focus on sewing, he knew what she was like. She was a determined woman, always wanted to get her shit done before anything else.

About an hour later, she finally managed to get everything done. Jack had gotten bored quite a while ago and went to play with a stick he had found. Bless him. She got up and picked up the pile of clothing. She folded it and put it in its rightful place, whoever it was. She sighed and walked over to Dutch and Hosea sitting at a table.

She plopped herself in her seat, “There she is.” Dutch greeted her, “You look bored, Florence.” He noticed.

“I’m okay.” She folded her arms on the table, “Just wanting to get things done. Yesterday, I was looking at the camp's medical supplies, and we’re a little low. Is there a doctor's office in town? I ain’t been to Valentine yet.”

Hosea looked at her, “I believe so. It's only a small thing, but they’ll be enough there.”

“In fact,” Dutch started, “I was about to go into town myself, see the place for the first time. Why don’t we ride there together, my dear? We haven’t really spent time together in a while.”

Dutch had always been like a second father to Florence after Hosea; he was also there, watching her grow up. She tended to run to Hosea more as he taught her everything she knew academically, whereas Dutch had taught her how to shoot a gun and how to rob a man.

“That sounds like a wonderful idea.” Hosea spoke for her, “You do really need to get out of here for a bit, Florence. You look like you're ready for something.”

She looked down with a smile, “I guess I wouldn’t mind going out for a bit.” She stood up, “I’ll meet you buy the horses, I’ll go get my basket.”

_

Florence rode beside Dutch in silence. For someone she had known for most of her life, she was lost for words. She reckoned he noticed how silent she was being as he kept glancing at her back and forced with an unreadable expression.

“Say, Florence, how old are you now, honey?” It was Dutch to break the silence between them both.

She gasped with a laugh, “You know, after raising me for nearly two decades, you’re still terrible at remembering my age, old man.”

He chuckled at her snarky reply with an eye roll, “Oh shut up, I’m not that old yet.” He chuckled again and shook his head, “I swear each year I get older, the sassier you become.”

She sighed with a smile, “I’m turning thirty soon.” Saying that made her feel old, well older than she would like. She still never married or had a child and would soon be too old for any man. It made her worry; she was so devoted to the gang; would that be her life till the end? An old maid who’ll probably get shot to death.

Dutch’s eyes widened slightly as he realised how much Florence had actually grown. He remembered when she was so young. It amazed him how quickly the years went by. It felt like only yesterday when he and Hosea found her in that Romani wagon. He smiled at her, “Now you are making me feel old.”

She returned with a light smile, “Not the eleven-year-old girl you found anymore. I still can’t believe it's been this long.”

He nodded, “No, you definitely aint the little girl I found. Doesn’t feel too long ago that you were sitting on my lap asking me how to shoot a gun.”

Florence liked to reminisce about the times when she was a child. She was always much closer to Dutch when she was little than she is now. Maybe it was because his most recent lover, Molly O’Shea, was younger than her. This made her feel a little weird thinking about her father figure with a younger woman, but she shook the thought off.

Then she remembered Annabelle, making her smile lightly. Dutch always had a type in redheads. Annabelle was the best. She helped Florence grow up into the woman she is now. She sighed, missing the motherly figure.

The Romani looked up and turned to Dutch, “Do you like Horseshoe Overlook?”

His expression took a more serious tone at the question. But he only sighed and nodded his head, “It ain’t bad. A lot quieter than Blackwater, that’s for sure.” He looked around the area they were riding through, then turned back to Florence, “It’s nice enough. Well hidden. We should be safe here for a while, at the very least. We need that, especially with the Pinkertones breathing down our necks.”

She nodded, “Hopefully, as time comes, they’ll get off our backs. Of course, as long as we don’t do anything stupid, that is.”

A chuckle escaped his lips, “Oh Florence, I’m sure we can manage to stay out of trouble. We’re smart, right?” He asked, giving her a pointed look.

She grimaced internally and recalled the Blackwater heist, “Some of us are smarter than others.”

They had soon made it into town, and Florence was instantly met with the smell of pig shit, making her grimace. However, the town itself didn’t look too bad. The two hitched their horses, and Florence noticed the doctor's clinic at the end of the street. She turned to Dutch, “I’m heading over to buy some supplies. See you in town?”

“Of course.” He nodded, “I’ll have a look around myself.”

Florence departed from Dutch and made her way to the clinic. When she was younger, she was terrified to wander the streets by herself because of her skin colour and ethnicity. It wasn’t often a Romani would walk about freely. Sometimes, she would get looks; sometimes, she wouldn’t. It always depended on where the gang moved to, and no one seemed to care right now.

She walked into the clinic and was greeted by a man behind the counter, “Good morning, miss. What can I do for you?”

The woman smiled, “Just here for some supplies and tonics.”

She had looked through the catalogue of what she needed, such as tools, bandages, tonics, and basic first aid that she was allowed to buy. More advanced stuff would have to be stolen.

“Say, I don’t think I’ve seen you ‘round here before, little lady.”

She looked up at him as she handed him what she owed him, “Passing through with my family, we want a place to live. Valentines our first stop.”

He seemed satisfied with her answer, and she placed her stuff in her basket and walked out of the clinic. “Miss Lovell!” she had heard Dutch call out, “You won't believe who I found strutting around town.”

Florence turned her head to see Josiah Trelawny, “Oh, Trelawny.” She walked down the steps, up to the two, “It’s wonderful to see you.”

He grabbed her hand, “You are looking as lovely as ever, Miss Lovell.” He kissed her knuckles, and she waved him off with a bashful look.

“I thought you were going to New York. Change of plans?” she asked.

“Oh, you know me, my dear,” he smiled, “I couldn’t miss out on all the action. Besides, I always come back.”

She was about to reply with something else, but suddenly, a window smashed in the distance. The three looked over to see the townspeople gathering around to what look like was a brawl. Florence noticed Charles, Javier, and Bill watching from the saloon doors as the pair fought.

“What is going on?” she asked.

“Seems like a local fight.” Dutch replied.

They walked up, and Florence peered through the crowd and gasped when she saw Arthur fighting with a bigger, bulkier man. She winced at the punches that were landed and the mud that covered them as it started to rain.

The big guy, who she heard the townspeople call Tommy, had him in a headlock, and she was worried he was going to kill Arthur until the cowboy managed to push him off, knock him down and lean over while he punched him to a pulp. She thought Arthur would’ve killed him until a frail-looking farmer stopped him.

The townspeople seemed to have dispersed, and Arthur got up to a barrel filled with water to clean himself up.

Florence walked with Trelawny and Dutch as the moustached man greeted Arthur, “Making new friends again, I see, Arthur.”

“Look who we found sniffing about.” Dutch said to him while Florence stood beside Dutch, a worried look on her face.

Josiah bowed as Arthur acknowledged him, “Josiah Trelawny. Well, well…” Arthur was leaning over in pain as he spoke, “I thought you’d gone to New York.”

“And miss all this glamour?” Trelawny asked with amusement, “You must be joking.”

“How are you?” Arthur asked.

“Well. Quite well indeed. I went to Blackwater looking for you, gentlemen. You’re not very popular there it seems- Ah Javier and Charles. I’ve missed you… and Bill looking as well as can be.” He greeted the three men as they approached. Javier and Bill looked roughed, while Charles looked like he won his fight. “Gentlemen and my lady,” he gestured to Florence. “Always a pleasure.” He bowed once again.

“You’re right. We ain’t too popular in Blackwater.” Dutch replied.

“We left a lot of money there.” Arthur added.

“And young Sean, it seems.” Josiah mentioned.

“Sean? You found him?” Dutch questioned.

“Yes, I have. He's being held by some bounty hunters… trying to see how much money the government will pay them. I know he’s in Blackwater… but there’s talk of them moving.”

Arthur once again winced in pain, holding his jaw as he spoke, “Well, if we step foot in Blackwater… well, then we’re dead men for sure.”

“There’ll be Pinkertons all over the place, but… if he’s alive, we gotta try.” Dutch informed.

“It’s you they want, Dutch.” Trelawny told him.

“Always is.” Dutch turned to the men, “Charles, go find out what you can, carefully. Josiah, take Javier. Arthur, go get yourself cleaned up, and let Nurse Lovell here take care of you.” He patted her shoulder, “Join them when you’re ready.” He ordered Arthur.

Florence followed after Arthur as she heard Bill ask, “Well, what about me?”

“Well, exactly; what about you?” Dutch retorted.

“W-What does that mean?”

Arthur started heading back to the water barrel and splashed water on his face. That was when he felt a warm hand grab his wrist, “Here, let me see.” Florence said softly.

“I’m fine, Florence…” he started, but she shushed him and inspected his face.

She winced at the nasty bruise which was forming in his eye and the blood dripping from his nose and lips. She pulled a cloth from her basket and gently patted the blood off him. Her body was standing relatively close as she could inspect his injuries better.

“How’d you manage to get yourself in a fight already?” she asked.

He sighed and let her do what she needed to do; Bill started a fight with another feller, and the whole saloon broke out into a fight. Guess I got unlucky, but I won.”

“You did.” She replied, “But you look terrible.” She finished up. He was about to respond with something else, but she stopped him, patted his chest, and smiled. “Go do what you need to do, Mr Morgan. Just be careful.”

“Yes ma’am.” He nodded, “Get back to camp safely.” He said.

“I will, see you later.” She waved him goodbye and sighed as she watched his retreating figure get to his horse. She brushed down her skirt and held her basket tight as she joined Dutch again, and the two rode back to camp.

_

“Ah, there she is! I missed ya’ miss Lovell!” a familiar Irish voice spoke out that Florence knew all too well. She turned her head to see Sean had returned safe and sound.

She smiled, “I see you don’t have a bullet in your head yet, Mr Maguire. Keeping well, I presume?”

“Good as always.” He smiled, “You know me, it takes more than a bullet to kill me.”

She chuckled lightly and smiled at his return. The sun was setting, and there seemed to be a little party in honour of Sean returning alive.

Everyone was gathered around the campfire, drinking and singing. In times like this, Florence forgot all her worries as she took a swing of her drink. Everyone was so happy, and it made her happy. But she frowned when she couldn’t see Sadie anywhere. The poor woman was still in a terrible state and wanted to be left alone most of the time, but it seemed she was staying.

Florence walked away and looked for her, not wanting to leave the woman alone. She walked around camp and found the woman sitting in her cot. Sitting there, it seemed like she had found a book to entertain herself with, but Florence could hear the sniffles coming from her, “Mrs Adler?” she called out softly.

Sadie turned to look in surprise as she quickly wiped her eyes, “Miss Lovell, I was just-“

“It’s okay.” Florence sat beside her, “You don’t need to justify yourself for anything. I know this is a stupid question, but are you alright?”

She sighed, her face in her palms as she leaned back, “I just miss him, is all.” It was no surprise to Florence, of course, to hear what Sadie was crying about.

The Romani woman patted her shoulder, “I know you do,” she said softly.

“Every night, I look up at the damned stars, and I see him up there.” She spoke through gritted teeth, still hiding in her palms, “Then I say my ‘Goodnights’. I wake up the next mormin’ and the grief begins all over again.”

“I know it must be hard for you, dear.” Florence comforted her, “I hate seeing you like this. I want you to know we are all here for you, Mrs Adler. I know we are still strangers, but if you ain’t got nowhere to go, I’d love for you to stay at camp with us.”

Sadie finally lifted her head to look over at the woman beside her, nodding, “Suppose camp is my best option right now.” She exhaled, trying to ease the anger and despair in her body. “I appreciate you caring, really do.” She gave a subtle, meek smile.

Florence sighed, "I may have never had a lover to lose, but when I was a child, I lost both my parents, and I remember it was hard to get over. But then I found a new family within the gang." she looked towards her family with a smile, "I know it's different for you, and I can't tell you how your feeling but it's always good to find comfort in other people when you feel alone."

Sadie nodded, sighing through her nose and letting her eyes follow where she was looking until they landed on the people of the camp. They were a weird bunch, a hodgepodge of oddballs. They all treated each other like family. She just hoped it wouldn’t be too hard to mesh into that family. “How long have you been with all these misfits?” She asked with a scoff.

"Nearly twenty years. Dutch and Hosea had found me in my mother's wagon after she was killed."

Sadie’s eyes widened. “Twenty years…” She chuckled. “Damn… that’s quite a while.” She looked over to the camp again and then back to Florence. “You must really be close with these people if you've been hangin’ around for that long.”

"I would say so. Hosea practically adopted me. I would be lost without him. Dutch has always been there, same with John, and then there's Arthur..." she sighed softly, not realising she had trailed off as she stared at the man enjoying a drink by the campfire.

Sadie tilted her head, picking up on the little sigh that escaped her lips and how her demeanour shifted at mentioning the man. She looked at Florence curiously, an eyebrow raised. “And then there’s Arthur...” She repeated, hoping she’d elaborate on that one.

"Huh?" Florence looked back at her in confusion, "What did I say?"

“Just the way you said his name…” She smirked at Florence, crossing her arms over her chest. “Is there something goin’ on between the two of you? You sure got all… soft when you mentioned him just now.”

"Oh- no, nothing like that." she waved off softly, "I've known Arthur for nearly most of my life. We grew up together. I just worry about him sometimes."

“You worry ‘bout him, huh? What are you worried about? He seems like a tough guy. He can take care of himself.”

"I know, but sometimes I feel too much is on his plate." Florence replied, "Sometimes a worry that his luck might run out soon, and it scares me,"

Sadie nodded and looked down at her feet, kicking a pebble with the tip of her boot. “I understand how you feel. When you love or care about someone, you always worry, don’t you?” She let out a soft, exasperated sigh.

"All the time." Florence admitted, "I guess when you've also known someone that long. I don't know what I would do without him."

It was a sweet statement, but it made Sadie think of her late husband. She had been with him for so long, and he was ripped away from her in a snap. “You always feel like something will happen to them the second you look away, hm?” She asked softly.

"I guess so." Florence smiled sadly, "But enough about me." She stood up, "You should join us, Mrs Adler. Enjoy yourself tonight, and get that smile back on your face." The woman held a hand out to the widow.

Sadie looked up to her, a little reluctant to go join the others at first, but she was desperate to get her mind off the current topic. “Alright, I suppose it couldn’t hurt.” Sadie grabbed her hand and stood up, dusting herself off briefly, before turning to follow her, “Thank you again for talking with me.”

"I'll always be there if you need me." Florence patted the woman's arm.