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Chapter Text

"How are you doin', Darlin'?" Abigail's voice drifted into Rory's left ear. She could almost feel the woman's hands gripping her arm, right around the bullet wound. Pain shot through her arm again, and she let out a whimper. It was excruciating. Abigail quickly caught on and grimaced. "Sorry, Darlin'," she said with an apologetic smile. "Your Pa's out looking for a safe spot for us to settle down. We'll get you patched up real nice once we find some warmth."

Rorry nodded, her teeth clattering. The wind howled against the wagon's cover, sneaking through the canvas. She thought it was freezing as she huddled closer to Abigail, Jack, and Mary-Beth for some heat. The wind gusted again, and she could've sworn the wagon nearly tipped. She thought it would, if the gusts got any stronger.

Struggling to endure the agony, she cast her gaze upon Davey, sprawled on the wagon floor. His complexion was ghostly, his garments soaked in his own blood, and the wood beneath was a grim testament to his suffering. The metallic scent of blood hung heavy in the air, and she couldn't fathom how a single man could have so much blood.

Not long ago, Davey had been trying to keep spirits up, making feeble jokes despite his dire state. He put on a brave face, but Rory saw through it. He bore a dozen bullet wounds, and the Reverend had managed to extract only two of the bullets. Each attempt to dig them out only exacerbated the flow of blood. The pain in her arm seemed trivial compared to what Davey was enduring. Even in his torment, he had made an effort to speak, but his voice faded as they climbed higher up the mountain. A grim realization settled in her heart; he wouldn't be with them much longer. She recognized the signs of a dying man. If only it had been someone else who'd taken those bullets.

Someone like Micah. He was the one who suggested the ferry to Dutch. If he'd been the one riddled with bullets, then they wouldn't be losing anyone important.

"Davey?" Abigail leaned in, gripping Rory's arm tightly. Jack, positioned on her other side,1 shifted closer to her. "How are you holdin' up?"

Davey hardly stirred. The morphine Reverend Swanson had given him seemed to have numbed him to sleep. Rory wished that was the case, but a nagging voice in her mind insisted, "It's not the morphine at work, you know it."

She hoped it only the morphine, not the alternative. Davey was a good soul; despite his wild ways, he had a heart of gold. He was like a big brother to her or an eccentric uncle. She took a deep breath, her eyes drifting to the wagon trailing behind them. Pearson and Uncle were in charge of that one, loaded with their supplies and personal items. They snatched what they could, leaving some behind when time slipped away from them.

Just before they reached Lake Isabella, another member of the gang, Jenny, passed away. She'd been shot multiple times, and Rory suspected her injuries were more severe than Davey's. Not long after they entered the Grizzlies, she succumbed to her wounds. Rory had cherished their friendship; Jenny was like a sister to her, a genuinely kind-hearted woman. She helped her with many things.

Rory sniffled, using her free hand to wipe her nose. Davey lay so still that she feared he might already be gone. Yet, his chest barely rose and fell, a sign he was still clinging to life, though she could tell he was taking his last breaths. The Reverend had done all he could, giving what little morphine he had. At least it provided some relief as Davey bled out. When he reached for her, she recoiled at the chill of his fingers. Looking at him, she saw the life slowly drain from his features, and tears streamed down her cheeks, seeing him manage one final smile.

And then he was gone. His hand had gone limp onto her leg, but she held on tight. It brought her some solace to know she was there with him in his final moments. She was certain the other women in the gang were there with Jenny as she faced her own end.

Rory shivered once more, a jolt of pain coursing through her body, a stark reminder that she was still alive. She clutched Davey's hand, feeling its warmth dull.

"What was that?" Abigail shouted to Bill, who was at the reins of the wagon they were riding in. She caught his words but couldn't decipher them.

"Arthur's found a spot!" he called back.

A wave of relief washed over Rory. At last, they had a safe place to rest and warm up. "Ow!" She gasped as Abigail tightened her grip on her injured arm.

"Sorry, Darlin'," Abigail said, her expression remorseful again. "We need to get movin' soon."

"Move where?" Rory's voice sounded strange to her, heavy and weary. Her mind struggled to register the wagon to a stop or the wind easing its ferocity.

Abigail, Jack, and Rory huddled together, pushing their way through knee-deep snow until they reached a cabin of sorts. It wasn't exactly cozy, but at least the snow was stinging her face anymore. She watched as they brought Davey's lifeless body inside after them, and another wave of sadness washed over her. He had been a good man.

She swallowed hard as Bill and Javier laid Davey on a nearby table. Abigail moved closer, leaning in as if to inspect him.

"Hold your arm like this, Darlin'," Abigail instructed, taking Rory's other hand and guiding her to her bleeding bicep. "Just like that, alright?" Once Rory nodded, Abigail could see the exhaustion in her eyes, but she held on, even as every nerve in her arm screamed for her to let go.

Rory nestled close to the women, trembling from the biting cold. It was frigid, to say the least. "Frigid" hardly captured the reality; the icy air seeped into her very bones, making her teeth chatter and raising many painful goosebumps across her skin. Each breath escaped her lips in frosty puffs, nearly icing them over.

As the gang gathered inside the building, she kept track of everyone. A lantern flicker was held aloft by Hosea until Miss Grimshaw began directing the ladies to get a fire to warm the place.

"Davey's dead," Abigail declared shortly after checking on the man.

A thick silence settled over the group like a heavy fog. Most of the gang carried a profound sadness in their hearts upon hearing the news, though it was no shock to them; Davey's wounds were far too severe for him to recover.

"There...there wasn't much else we could've done," Reverend Swanson said gently, reaching into his coat to retrieve two coins, which he placed carefully over Davey's closed eyes.

Rest in peace, Davey, Rory silently prayed.

After silence for their fallen friends, Rory met eyes with her father by the door. Dutch was next to him, rubbing his palms together.

"What do we do now? We need supplies." She heard Hosea say. She saw him shuffle next to Dutch with a grim expression.

"I-I reckon we go out and look for some food." Dutch sniffled from the cold.

Rory watched her father's face twist in disbelief. "In this?"

"For a short bit," replied Dutch. "I don't see any other choice we have."

"Alright," her father sighed heavily, and then he glanced at her from where he stood, giving her a soft expression. She didn't need to be told. She understood his eyes. She nodded back at him, and he gave her a small, comforting smile before he and Dutch exited into the storm outside. 

Chapter Text

The next few days were almost hell if hell were frozen over. At least the snowstorm let up a little, the wind wasn't forceful and nipping, though those with injuries would disagree. Rory figured Mr. Smith was being a good sport about his burned hand and did everything he could to help everyone, just like her father, who, she may add, was not in their shared room when she woke up. Of course, she knew he was probably off doing important things like finding food or more wood for the fireplaces.

"Where's my dad?" Rory asked after entering the cabin where the camp's women, children, and a few men stayed. She shuffled close to the man she considered a grandfather.

"He and Javier went out to find John," Hosea answered her and flipped to the next page in his book. It'd been a pastime. There wasn't much to do when they were snowed in.

"Wait, what happened to John?" She asked, concern blooming in her chest. The image of him being shot during their escape from Blackwater flashed through her mind. "And why didn't anyone tell me? Why didn't my dad tell me?"

The old man sighed calmly, smiled, and glanced at her from his reading. "Don't worry, my dear. Your dear father will return with your uncle. All will be well. Just focus on healing that arm of yours."

Rory glanced at her arm. She didn't feel much pain now, though she supposed she had the cold and the Reverend's morphine to thank for that. It'd given her some energy. It was the adrenaline, she thought. She really did feel better a day ago.

"What about her?" She looked toward the sobbing woman between Mary-Beth, Karen, and Tilly. "What's going to happen with her?"

She wasn't awake when her father returned on their first night in the mountains.

"Mrs. Adler?" Hosea glanced at the woman in thought. "Well, I suppose we take care of her until she figures out what she wants to do. She hasn't got much left, no thanks to the bull-headed fool Micah. Poor woman lost her husband and her home; she's grieving."

She knew little of the woman, she wanted to give her the space she deserved. The O'Driscolls were a terrible bunch with an even more terrible leader.  Hearing that Mrs. Adler was a victim of that gang, she understood and didn't ask any more questions. 

Her knowledge of the way was limited; her dad didn't want her exposed to the realities of the real world, at least not yet. She knew a lot, and she was clever enough to know what went on in the world. Her dad couldn't keep her ignorant forever, unfortunately. 

She shifted on the bench, wringing her frozen fingers together, ignoring the twinges of pain in her arm. "Hosea-" he hummed in acknowledgement - "When are we going to bury Davey and Jenny?"

He paused, thinking with a frown. "I suppose...we can give them a proper burial later this afternoon."

"Won't the ground be hard to dig?"

"Perhaps, but with decent shovels and arms, we can make it happen. We ore our fallen friends that much."

Rory stared down at her hands. Yes, they deserved a good burial, but they deserved so much more than death; they deserved to live. Neither Jenny nor Davey deserved to be shot, well, maybe a little since they did help during the robbery of the ferry, but to die? Thinking back on it, she gnawed on her inner lip.

"Hosea?"

"Hm?" The man flipped a page.

"Do...do you think we would have been okay if Micah hadn't gotten Dutch in on the ferry job?"

Hosea looked at her, almost shocked she'd asked that. But he didn't reprimand her for asking. He tilted his head, thinking of an appropriate answer to tell her. "I don't know." He admitted. "I like to think we would've been better off without the ferry job ever happening, but we can't change what's been done," he reached over and patted her shoulder gently. "Don't think too hard on the subject, alright, dear? Dutch won't like the questioning."

She fell silent. "Okay."

For now, she'd keep her thoughts to herself.

Later, Rory found herself in the barn of the abandoned camp. They kept Davey and Jenny there until they were able to bury them. She felt that she needed to send them off with a little prayer before they were buried. They died days ago, but they deserved a prayer at least.

Reverend Swanson always told her that prayer helped, it gave her hope that there was a place beyond the "mortal realm", a "great beyond".

So, to give herself peace, she prayed over their bodies. She wished them happy in the great beyond, and hoped they were at peace. The way they went was not peaceful, but she hoped they were in a painless place.

"Whatcha doin' in here, Darlin'?" Her ears perked up and she twisted around to find her father stepping into the barn. "It's cold out. You should be inside with the ladies."

"You're back." Rory got up and went to hug him. He smelled like blood and tobacco. "Did you find Uncle John?"

He chortled. "He's being stitched back together now, if you want to go see him."

Rory screwed her face up. "I'll wait till he's done."

"Didn't answer my question, Darlin'," her dad glanced between her and the bodies on the ground. "Why don't you go back inside, and I'll come get you when they're tucked in the ground?"

Rory frowned. "Is anyone going to help bury them?"

"Javier or Bill," he answered gruffly.

"And you'll come get me when you're finished?"

"Yes," he promised and then shifted his weight to his left side. "If it ain't too cold."

Rory made a face. "I'm not worried about the cold, Dad."

He chuckled and pulled her into an embrace. "Go get some rest."

"I'm not tired."

"Just-" he sighed. "Just do it for me, okay? Give your old man some peace of mind."

Rory bit the inside of her cheek, and then she nodded. "Okay. I'll give ya some peace of mind," she exaggerated his words in a joking manner.

"Good. Now go to Abigail or Tilly and get warm. I'll get you later."

Reluctantly, she left the barn, into the cold and slightly windy outside. She trudged through the knee-deep snow, and toward the cabin, where the ladies stayed.

She'd get the chance to do what she wanted later.

Chapter Text

"It's not that bad," Rory lied right through her teeth. An obvious lie that Uncle John saw right through.

After being brought back by her dad and Javier, John, with a broken leg and bleeding scratches on his face, was immediately sewn up. He was given a cot and a blanket. His head was wrapped with blood-stained bandages. She wanted to keep him company while many men scouted out. She didn't catch what they were doing, but probably had something to do with...again, she didn't quite catch their plan. All but Uncle, Mr. Pearson, Charles, the Reverend, Hosea, and John remained. Doing their own thing, also while keeping a lookout for any unwelcome guests.

"Ya don't gotta lie, kid," John chuckled and winced. He tried to shift but wasn't able to. "I know I'm ugly."

"I didn't say that," she giggled. "I'm sure Miss Grimshaw's sewing skills will have you almost scarless."

John snorted. "My face is damned enough."

They shared a laugh. Well, Rory laughed, but John couldn't laugh as much with the pain he was in. Miss Grimshaw had one of the steadiest sewing hands. The woman insisted on sewing herself. Rory thought she wouldn't hear the end of the woman's complaining. But Miss Grimshaw cared for John, truly, she did. It was her way of showing she did.

"I said 'almost'," Rory grinned. "I'm sure you'll bounce back when your leg heals -- how'd you even break it? I thought snow was soft."

John grunted. "Didn't exactly fall on snow. My horse did, crushed my leg." 

She couldn't hold back the grimace fast enough. Right. Her dad mentioned that John's horse was dead, but she didn't know the details. Maybe until now.

"Then, how did you get away from the wolves?" 

"I crawled."

"Sounds awful."

"Trust me," John said, looking at the ceiling. "I don't recommend."

Rory tried not to smile. "Don't plan on it."

Wind suddenly breathed over them, and people shuffled into the cabin. Her father, Abigail, and little Jack. She twisted to look at them. Jack looked at her, smiled, and then looked at John.

"Hi, Jack." She greeted him with a large smile to boost his mood.

"Hiya, Rory!" He said back, a smile just as large as hers spreading on his small face. His smile lessened when he looked at John. "Hi, Papa."

"Hey, Jack."

Abigail shuffled forward. "The boy wanted to see you."

"He's seen me." 

Abigail narrowed her eyes. "I guess I was hoping to see a corpse."

"Wait a bit, you'll see plenty of those."

The woman made a disgruntled noise, grabbed Jack's shoulders, and they left. Rory could almost feel the dejection. Abigail did try to be there for John, but he usually rejected most affection from her. She thought it was because he was afraid of commitment.

"How you doin', Darlin'?" Her father's warm voice entered her ears.

"Good enough," she said. "Just visitin' Uncle John."

"I can see that," he rubbed his chin. "Listen, Darlin', me and a few of the men are gonna head out for a bit. Don't know when we'll be back, thought I'd tell you before we left. I know you worry a lot."

"Thank you for telling me." Rory smiled at him. "Be safe, okay?"

"Always am, Darlin'." He leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss to her widow's peak. And then he left her and John.

She tried not to think about the chaos that'd surely ensue. O'Driscolls on the mountain with them? She prayed that they were on the other side of the mountain and remained oblivious to them.

They'd be aware of them after today, unfortunately. 

It was late noon when the men returned. But she didn't see her father, and that worried her. 

"Where's my dad?" She asked Dutch.

"He's fine," he answered, a rolled-up map or something in his gloved hands. "He'll be here soon, don't worry your little head."

She huddled in their shared room, trying to warm herself until she knew her father was back and safe. She waited until she heard a horse outside, and... crying? 

The wind blew fiercely. Snow caught in her coat and hair. Lamps filled the snowy air with dim golden light, even so, she saw her father. He grabbed a man off the back of his horse, the man cried as he hit the ground.  Her father loomed over him, cutting the ropes that bound his feet. 

"I swear I don't know nothin'!" He spoke.

"Want me to make him talk?" Her father said with a tone that meant business.

"Oh no, now all we'll get is lies," Dutch said and stood close to the visibly scared man. She couldn't hear what he said next because Hosea saw her and ushered her inside.

"I don't think now is the time to be curious, Aurora," Hosea said with a tone that made her listen. He led her to her assigned room and sat with her until her father clambered in, shaking snow off his hat and coat. 

"Evening, Arthur." Hosea stood and began to shuffle out of the room.

"Who was that man?" She asked almost immediately.

"Rory," her dad began with a serious tone. "I don't want you going anywhere near that man. Do you understand me?"

"Wh-what? You didn't answer my question!"

She watched his jaw tighten and relax. His expression contorted, but he stayed calm.

"He's an O'Driscoll." 

Rory went silent. Why was there an O'Driscoll here, with them? Weren't O'Driscoll's dangerous? And that man, from what little she saw, didn't seem like one. He was shaking and terrified out of his mind. She'd seen an O'Driscoll before, and that's not how she'd seen them act. Other ones were full of curses that'd make nuns go into confinement for a month. But this one... no. He didn't seem like an O'Driscoll.

"Do you understand me, Rory?" She blinked at her father, realizing he'd told her something. "Don't go near him at all. That's an order. Do you understand me?"

"But-" She tried to argue, but then she was given the look. Her mouth snapped shut and her argument deflated. When she was given that look by her father, any say she had was gone. "Okay. I won't go near the O'Driscoll."

"Good." He seemed satisfied. He rotated his neck, a few pops sounding out. "I'm in need of shut eye."

She moved away from his cot, so he could lie down and rest. He needed it after all he's done the past few days. He sighed in relief as he sat. She grabbed the blanket she'd used, the one he insisted that she have instead of him and waited for him to lay down before covering him with it. She almost expected him to reject the blanket, but once his head hit the small pillow on the cot, he was out. His breathing was soft and steady. 

"Sleep well, Dad." she leaned over him and kissed his forehead. Her cot was across from his. She sat on it. She wasn't tired, but she might as well rest too. So, she lied down, cold but content.

She curled into a ball, closed her eyes, and fell asleep with the thought of seeking a peek at the O'Driscoll when she could. 

Chapter Text

The couple of days that followed after bringing the O'Driscoll into their camp was like hearing bees buzz about. The adults tried to be hushed about it all, but she heard them with their whispers and the looks of dismay on their faces. 

Rory wanted to meet the O'Driscoll up close, but her father forbade her. It wasn't as if she wouldn't meet him after a while, there was just nothing to do besides wonder. She'd read through Hosea's small book collection, and it was too cold to explore. She'd just about counted the abandoned cobwebs on the ceilings. 

And if that weren't boring enough, she didn't know what was. She'd rather watch grass grow. 

"A train?" She looked over her bowl of breakfast stew - whatever Mr. Pearson made it with, she'd rather not know. 

Her father hummed, finishing off his coffee. "It won't be too long before we hit it," he said. "After that, we are gonna git from this mountain. I reckon you'd had enough of the snow."

He was teasing her, but getting out of the snow sounded real nice. 

"When's this job gonna happen?" She asked slowly.

"A couple of days," her father answered. "I'll be gone a few hours. Think you can handle that?"

She snorted. "Course I can handle a couple of hours! As long as you're careful out there during all the robbing, that is."

"Darlin', robbin' trains ain't easy. I can't promise to come out unscathed."

"Well, then, promise not to die."

Her father's blue eyes twinkled. "That I can do."

When the day finally came for the train robbery, Rory made sure to give her father a big hug, like she always did when he was about to leave for a risky robbery. She felt him press a kiss to her forehead, heard him tell her to behave and listen to Hosea, and then with the rest of the men, he left. 

Waiting for her father to return was like waiting for an important letter to arrive. It was dreadful and the anticipation of them returning as they left was high. She felt the tension, the excitement, the worry. She tried to keep herself entertained with staying by the women, or John, who mostly slept or made soft conversation.

Mrs. Adler, poor woman, Rory did her utmost best to help her be more comfortable. Karen and Tilly shooed her away, saying the woman needed some time. 

So, she found herself by Jack and Abigail.

"I can't wait to get out of this cold," complained the woman, shivering in her coat and shawl.

Rory smiled. "Don't like the snow?"

Abigail made a strong expression of disdain. "No. I don't like the cold. I want to be in a nice place where cold is nonexistent."

"But I like the snow!" Jack chirped, looking up from a children's book he found.

"No, you don't."

"But I do, Momma! I can make balls and throw them!" 

Rory giggled softly. The day the wind died down and the snow had stopped, Abigail had allowed Jack to have some freedom, of course, under the supervision of a trusted adult - her father or Hosea or Charles - the two youngest of the gang played in the snow. They had themselves a small snowball fight, which ended in a stalemate and red noses. But they had fun, and she thought the adults had fun watching them build lumpy forts and oddly proportioned snow people.

And she, for a moment, she thought she saw her father drawing in his journal. 

"I, for one, will miss the mountain," Rory stated with an exaggerated tone of sadness, for Jack's sake. "But the view is prettier from far away. And I miss grass. And flowers. And playing in rivers. And reading under the warm sun," she baited Jack. The boy smiled big, a dimple poking through his left cheek. "I reckon we are way past due makin' flower crowns. Don't you think so, Jackie?"

"Uh-huh!" he nodded his head feverishly. "I like those purple flowers! Oh, and the red ones! Remember the ones that grew out of the ground, by our last home? I liked those red ones! Momma was so pretty when she wore the crown I made her."

Abigail's expression softened. "And I absolutely loved them, my Jack. I was so sad when we left."

Jack's face fell. "Can we make more flower crowns?"

She slung an arm around him, "I don't see why not. When we get outta here, we'll make all the flower crowns you want."

"I can't wait!" Jack wiggled in his place excitedly. 

The surrounding adults chuckled, having paid attention to the conversation. That lightened up the tension for now. 

Rory ruffled Jack's light brown hair, wincing when her arm pinched with pain. She'd almost forgotten her arm was still healing. Almost. She'd rather just forget. 

When evening came around, she'd already chewed on her fingernails until they hurt. There was no sign of her father or the others. She'd received constant reassurance that they'd be okay and would return soon. She hoped so. When she'd been told "a few hours", she didn't picture half the day. The sky was darkening already, and they still weren't back.

"Stew's done!" She heard Pearson call from outside. "Also, Dutch is back!"

She and Hosea were outside nearly immediately. The sun going down made it colder, but she ignored the frosty temperature and eagerly searched for her father. She didn't see him at first, and her heart raced, but then she saw him trot in on his new horse. 

"We did it, Hosea." Dutch's deep voice called for his friend, a knowing grin widely spread under his thick mustache. "The bonds, my good sir."

"My god," Hosea's eyes nearly bulged from his head when Dutch showed him the stack of papers. "These must be worth thousands."

"That is what I am hoping," Dutch said and then nodded toward Rory. "My dear girl, you should be inside. It's cold out."

"I want to see my dad first."

Dutch nodded his head again, not wanting to argue. He then gestured for Hosea to follow him to the larger cabin. Enthusiastically chatting about the bonds they'd stolen. It sounded important, but those things never interested her.

"Darlin'," she perked up, hearing her father's voice. "You should be inside."

Rory kicked through the snow, passing Lenny and Javier. "I thought I'd greet you. How'd it go?"

"It went all right," he slid off his horse and tied it to the hitch post before embracing Rory. "It's good to see you, Darlin'. I hope you behaved while I was gone."

"I was good, I swear. But I was bored."

He chuckled and ruffled her hair. "I'm here now. You can rest easy." He teased her.

She swatted his hands away from her hair and tried smoothing it back down. "So, when do we get leave this place? I heard Hosea say the bonds could be worth a lot."

He made a face but said nothing. "Don't you worry about that, Darlin'," he said as the others shuffled toward the cabins. "C'mon, let's get inside."

"Okay," she agreed, deciding to keep her curiosity to herself for now. "Did you have to kill anyone?"

Her father sighed in exasperation. "Rory -"

"Right. Sorry," she said in return. "Um, did you manage to not get hurt?"

"I'm fine, Darlin'. Not a scratch on me. Well, I did get hit with a shovel, but that's different--" they headed toward the main building, where their assigned sleeping area was.

Chapter Text

The days followed with excitement and a thaw that allowed the wagons to be moved.

Miss Grimshaw had the women packing and the men lifting the heavier things onto the wagons on the brightest morning Rory had seen since they fled Blackwater. She could almost feel the warmth of the light. It was like a cold kind of light, but light, nonetheless.

As her arm hadn't fully healed, she was allowed to carry light things. She carried mostly blankets, small boxes, and empty baskets to put on the wagons. Miss Grimshaw wanted the packing to be quick. She needed as many hands as she could afford. Rory didn't want to feel like she was a burden, so she did her best to help.

"Let me help you with that," suddenly Charles came from behind her, taking the milk canister, which she was trying to put on one of the middle wagons, unsuccessfully of course. He lifted the canister effortlessly and placed it with the other miscellaneous items. 

"Oh," she stood, surprised for a second. "Thank you."

He smiled kindly at her. "Your help is appreciated, but you need to rest your arm."

She resisted scrunching her nose. "I'd rather not sit back if I don't have to, Mr. Smith."

He chuckled, seeming to understand her dilemma. "Well, be careful and ask for help if you need it."

"Of course, Mr. Smith." She nodded and he walked off to find more things to load onto the wagons. It was almost...degrading. She felt weak. Humiliated. Her arm needed to heal faster. She didn't like not being able to help. After a little while, most of the gang's stuff had been packed and stored on the line of wagons. Which meant they were just about to take off down the mountain.

"Aurora," Hosea called to her as he approached the wagon before her. "Shouldn't you be with Tilly and the other women?"

"I was trying to help." 

The older man's wrinkles creased as he smiled at her. "That's kind of you, dear, but you should be resting that arm of yours. Won't do anyone, or yourself, any good if you injure yourself further."

"But-" She tried arguing.

"No buts, Aurora," Hosea silenced her. 

Rory closed her lips, feeling a sense of unfairness bubble in her. It was useless to try and argue with Hosea. He was a lot quicker with the tongue than she was.

"Can I talk to my dad before we leave?" She asked hopefully.

"I don't see why not. We still have time -- Oh, speak of the devil." Hosea chuckled as her father, as tall and brooding as ever, approached the wagon with Dutch.

Dutch had just finished saying something her dad and headed to the second front wagon.

"Good morning, Darlin'," her father gave her a quick hug and kiss to the crown. "You should be with the ladies and Jack. Whatcha doin' here?"

"I wanted to ask if I could ride with you." She was prepared to be told no. The disappointment not far behind her request.

"We ain't got much room with us, Darlin'," he said, looking at the wagon, seeing what space there was. "Yer small enough, I guess. I'd be more at ease if you'd ride with the ladies, though."

"So, I can?" Her eyes lit up.

"Sure, why not?"

"Yay," Rory's disappointed flustered backward and excitement buzzed. Her dad's gloved hand reached up and patted her head affectionately. "Thank you."

"Go ahead and get comfortable," he gestured to the wagon. "We're about to head off."

It wasn't soon after that they did leave. Slowly, but surely, each of the wagons rolled out of the abandoned mining town and back down to the Grizzlies. Gradually, the snow became less and less and grass. Halfway down, she could finally smell the pine and freshness of the air. The cold had numbed her nose a bit, so having smelled the earth was refreshing. 

If Jenny and Davey had survived, they would've liked this bit of country. Or at least, Jenny would've. She had always hinted about wanting to come to land that was warm in the spring, autumn, and summer. Davey, well, Davey was a man who enjoyed all kinds of places, as long as there were people to rob and alcohol to suckle down. Mac was like that too. And Sean. She hoped those two were okay too. 

"It's really gotten warm!" Rory sighed and slid off her gloves. She stuffed them into her coat pockets. "I like it."

Hosea chuckled from the driver's seat. "Isn't it just? Bessie and I came through a few times."

"Grandma Bessie?" Rory perked up. A melancholy feeling pulsated pinpricked her chest. "Did you visit a lot?"

Hosea chuckled. "Bessie loved this part of the country. She wasn't big on the cold, and she didn't quite like being in the dry heat, so we floated through this area for a while. You were only a couple of years old when she died, I don't expect you to remember much about her, but it's nice to talk about her again."

"If she were still alive, how would she have reacted to the mountain?" Rory leaned in between her father and Hosea. 

"She would have gone on a rampage." Hosea said without hesitation, a smile on his face. "My wife had quite the temper, she did. Even dear old Dutch dared not to unleash her horns."

Rory and her father shared a chuckle. 

Her curious eyes swallowed in the pine swelled trees and the animals that scurried into the underbrush and thorny thickets. This was land was practically fresh, brand new. Fresh, ripe, and ready to be explored further. So many parts of this earth were yet to discovered by Aurora Morgan.

The eager teenager greedily observed every inch of the lush forest the best she could. This place was nothing like the dry scapes of New Austin. The ground was covered with grass. Green grass. It was almost strange to see green and not gold. And after those last few weeks stuck on the mountain, it nearly felt bizarre to see so much green. That train job really put them on their way. Her heart was leaping to the moon with unchecked joy.

Mint and pine opened her senses. The spring sun peeked through the tall trees, as if to say hello to the newcomers. There was no snow around, she knew she was happy about that. There was a river not too far ahead of them, its vast flowing veins. The natural splashes were like music to Rory's ears.

"Oh, yeah, this is definitely better than that mountain!" Rory released a relaxed sigh.

"Indeed it is, dear child," Hosea agreed as the wagon rolled closer to the river splitting the land apart. The others had already crossed the river. The wagon before them, manned by Javier and Bill, had already exited the river as they entered it.

"Quickly now! We don't want to get caught in the current." Hosea encouraged her father to speed up.

There was this terrible crunch, and then a small tremor shook the wagon as the water engulfed its wheels. Rory noticed the back left wheel became incredibly loose and looked like it was going to pop off any second. That would be pretty bad if they lost everything while near a waterfall...

"Alright, alright, I got it," her dad grumbled, snapping the reins, urging the horses to pull their cargo faster.

"Dad--" Rory tried to warn the older men.

"Not now, dear girl," Hosea dismissed her politely. "There we are!"

The horses pulled the wagon out the river, the wheels crunching on the dirt and rocks. It almost happened too quickly.

As the back wheels made contact with the solid dirt, the wobbly wheel suddenly cracks, breaking off. The entire vehicle shakes violently, barely giving its passengers time to brace themselves. 

"Shit!" Arthur spewed loudly, doing his best to keep the wagon on the road.

"What's wrong?" The wagon before them jerked to a stop.

"I broke the goddamn wheel!" Rory jumped out of the back with her father and Hosea.

"Language!" She chastised and grabbed the nearest fallen basket. 

Charles, who was on the back of Javier's wagon, came to help them get the wheel back on. It took Hosea and him to lift, and then her father got the wheel on. Once that was done, they gathered the fallen objects and placed them back on the wagon.

"What's that?" Rory pointed out three figures atop the overlooking cliff. "Are those people?"

"What's that?" Hosea said curiously, looking at what she was seeing. His expression became somber. "Poor bastards," he said with a soft tone. "We should get while our luck is still strong."

"You know something?" Rory blinked.

The old man smiled and ruffled her hair. "I suppose I can tell you on the way to our new place of residence. Come along, gentleman, and lady."

"Oh, story time!" Rory said, climbing into the back of the wagon with Charles and waited for her father and Hosea to get into the front seat so they could continue their journey.

Chapter Text

Horseshoe Overlook, the place Hosea suggested they hole up, was hidden by trees, and there was land overlooking the valley below. It was quite literally in the name. It was chilly, but not as chilly as it was in the mountains.

It'd been a few weeks since they'd settled into this hidden area, and they were getting back to thriving. Rory thought so anyway. Even if Miss Grimshaw hounded her and the other ladies of the camp, she would rather be in this place than knee-deep snow.

She quite liked waking up to the smell of pine, not so much the coffee, but it was a familiar smell.

The best part about this new camp was that there was no snow. That much was obvious. Rory very much enjoyed not being in the snow.

She often thought about it, especially while doing her chores. Jack had loved the snow, despite not being able to play in it. Maybe she felt a bit sorry about that, but he seemed to be okay now that he had flowers to make into crowns. He'd given his mother one, and he gave her a pretty crown made of purple flowers.

She pinned a newly washed shirt onto the clothesline. It could've been her dad's shirt, or Bill's, or maybe even Charle's. Miss Grimshaw just threw them a large basket of clothes and told them to wash and hang. She couldn't quite sew without maiming her fingers, so she left the delicate work to Mary-Beth, Karen, and Tilly.

"One more to go..." she breathed, eyeing the dirty plaid shirt in the basket. Whose it was, she didn't know. Maybe she didn't want to know. It was just chores.

"Hey, Darlin'," her dad's voice entered her ears delightfully. She was eager to escape from laundry.

"Hey." She smiled at him. "What's going on today?"

"Nothin' much," he scratched the back of his neck with one hand, taking off his hat with the other. "Me, Uncle, and some of the ladies are headin' to Valentine. Kinda figured you'd wanna come with."

She blinked. "Wait, really?"

He looked quite serious and smiled with a nod. "Kinda figured you'd want a break from camp for an hour or two."

"Well, I don't know," she dramatically exasperated. "Lemme think on that -- Okay!" She hurried pinned a shirt that could've been one of the men's shirts to the clothesline that'd been hung up. "I've been goin' stir crazy!"

Her father chuckled, reaching to ruffle the hair that matched his. "Karen and the ladies are too. Caught me as I kicked Uncle awake."

"Miss Grimshaw has been down their throats lately."

Her father hummed absentmindedly. "Well, it's good to get away sometimes." They approached the wagon they planned to take into town. It was a passenger wagon. Mary-Beth, Karen, and Tilly were already sat in the back and Uncle was in the right side of the driver's seat.

"You ladies ready?" Uncle said loudly as Rory climbed into the back and settled beside Karen.

"Yes! Get us outta here!" Karen exclaimed dramatically and then giggled with Tilly.

"I see young Rory's joinin' us," Uncle twisted around with a half-grin. "Say, little missy, what you gonna do in town?"

Rory's mind blanked. "I don't know," she turned slightly pink. "I guess I'll wait and see what's there to see. Hosea mentioned it was a livestock town. I doubt there's any bookstores."

"Well, I'm sure there's a store up there. Maybe you'll get lucky." Karen said, her accent strong.

"'Okay, Dad! Let's go!" Rory announced as her father finally climbed into the driver's seat, taking the reins.

"When we get there, you stay by me, Kay?" Her father said in a tone that was stern but soft.

"Sure thing," she agreed immediately. Anything to see the new country they'd nested in for the time being. As beautiful as Horseshoe Overlook was, she needed something else to see. To smell. To do.

The wagon rolled out of the woods and onto the path leading to the town said to be a livestock town. Somewhere inside her, she dreaded it but also looked forward to it. She thought about how long since she'd seen a sheep. Or a pig. And a cow. She wondered if they had chickens and roosters and goats.

The ride went smoothly, up until they approached train tracks. They followed the path over the tracks when a carriage driver also on the road lost control of his horses, spooked by something.

"Uh oh!" Uncle said aloud, a bubbly jolly in his tone.

"Poor man," Tilly commented as the carriage driver tried to calm his horses but the white shire in front was too scared to listen and managed to break free from his poorly tied reigns.

"Are we gonna help that man, Arthur?" Karen said in a sweet tone.

Her father let out this sigh mixed of a few emotions. Though she couldn't tell which ones. For a moment, she thought he would continue on the path without assisting the man but then he led the horses to the opposite side of the road. He handed Uncle the reins, mumbling something about, "Being right back."

He heavily hopped the wagon and made his way toward the panicking man.

"Hey, partner," her father called to him, gaining his frantic attention. "Do you, uh... would you like some help?"

"Would you?" The man lit up hopefully. "Why, thank you, sir! M-my horse went thataway!"

Rory watched her father nod and turn to where the white shire had run. He approached the startled shire with careful precision, and she could hear him talking to the horse to calm him down. She found it extraordinary how her father could easily connect with horses, like they could understand him. She wasn't as patient with horses as her father was, or rather, she was uncertain about how to treat a horse. They were large beasts with gentle hearts and loyal spirits.

She supposed she was too afraid to try.

"Here's your horse, mister," her father led the large shire back to the carriage driver, who was more than happy about her father's kindness.

"Thank you, sir, thank you!" The driver practically cried tears of untethered joy. "There ain't enough kindness in the world."

"Sure, mister," her father nod briskly and came back to the wagon, returning to his seat upfront.

"That was mighty kind of you, Arthur," first said Mary-Beth.

"Yeah," Tilly hummed in agreement. "Very nice of you."

He pulled the horses back onto the road and they continued to head toward the town ahead. "If I'm bein' honest, if you ladies and Rory weren't with me, I probably woulda robbed 'im."

The women laughed.

"No good deed goes unrewarded," Rory quipped with a smile, proud that her father did the right thing.

"What she said," Tilly nodded at her words. "I think you been hangin' 'round Hosea too much." She giggled.

"Whew!" Karen's nose crinkled as the overtaking smell of manure and muck filled the air. "Smell those sheep!" 

"Or is that Uncle?" Mary-Beth cracked which caused everyone on the wagon except Uncle to laugh.

The wagon shook a little as they came over another track near the train station. Rory took all of it in. Valentine really was a livestock town. She looked toward the fences which had animals inside them. Sheep, pigs, chickens. No goats or cows. There were two large barns and a sign that said, 'AUCTION YARD'. She supposed this is where farm animals were sold and bought.

"Hmm-mmm!" Karen watched the people as they went by. "Take a gander, ladies," she glanced at Rory, "Not you, Darling, yer too young for thievery yet."

Rory smiled. "I think I'm too young for every one of your professions." 

Her father snorted. "And you will be too young for a long time coming."

"Don't you worry yer head, Arthur, we won't let Rory go down that path." 

Rory knew what they were taking about. She wasn't that naive. She'd seen a lot over the years. She knew the routine. The ladies, mostly Karen, pretended to be a prostitute to lure men in, and when she had them where she wanted, she'd knock them out cold and rob them blind. 

They tried to keep that from her, but she heard them talk sometimes. Weren't pretty talk, but it was their woes, their fears, their secrets. She wasn't going to say anything. She kept their secrets secret. They were their secrets to tell, anyhow. 

"Feast them eyes, ladies," Karen said once again. "Look at our unsuspecting prey." 

"Don't look like much is here." Tilly said, unsatisfied by their 'easy pickings'. 

"Maybe one of 'em is just down dressin'," Karen dismissed her grimace. "Just do what you do best: steal."

Rory watched the buildings go by with curious eyes. A doctor's office. A gunsmith. The sheriff's office. A general store. A hotel. A saloon.

So, this was Valentine. It didn't look like much, but she supposed it's how they lived. When the wagon stopped, they were near the stables. 

"Kay, ladies," Karen announced as she and the other women climbed from the back. "Let's get to work."

"Be careful too!" Rory chimed in, hopping off the wagon and onto the muddy ground. 

"We will!" And then they vanished into the life of the town, committing silent crimes.

Chapter Text

"Are you findin' everything to your likin', Sir?" The general store owner asked from behind the counter. He was an older man with a handlebar mustache and glasses, and work attire befitting of a man working the register. He watched them as they sifted through the store.

Rory had hoped to find anything worthwhile besides the chocolate bars and other candies. There were some clothes, and there was a pretty deep purple blouse that caught her eye, but it was twenty dollars. And not her size. She decided against asking for it. Instead, she grabbed a couple of candy cartons, turning to her father with a smile. 

"Please?" She made her eyes big. "I won't eat them all at once."

"How about this?" Her father came over to her, reaching to grab two more candy cartons. "I take two, you take two." 

"I don't believe that you're getting candy for yourself," Rory gaped. "You don't even eat candy."

He shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe I like candy now."

"You said it hurts your teeth!" 

"It does not." He smirked as he teased her. "Now, c'mon. We need to grab some coffee and meet back up with Uncle and the women."

Rory huffed but trailed after him obediently. He had a really funny way of teasing her. It got her riled up, and sometimes she thought smoke rolled out of her ears. 

"Excuse me, mister," Rory said as they approached the counter to pay. "Do you have any books or anything? Or is there a hidden library in this town?"

Immediately, the store owner looked very confused. "Why would a youngin' like you want to read?"

Rory tilted her head, also confused. "Because I like to read?"

The confusion became amusement.  I'm afraid, Valentine ain't that civilized yet." 

"Darn," she muttered. She had been really hoping there was a chance of books, but she guessed just not in this place. "Well, thanks anyway."

She watched her father purchase the coffee and candy and went to wait outside for the ladies and Uncle to return to them. They sat together on the bench outside the store and shared the bagged candies.

About an hour passed before they saw Uncle and Mary-Beth again. Uncle seemed red in the face, and Rory assumed he'd went and gotten himself drunk. Mary-Beth was smiling and kept her voice low but high enough for them to hear her. She'd explained she had posed as a servant for a well-off home, having overheard a potential train going through the country in New Hanover. 

Rory found her chocolate more interesting than train robbery talk. 

"Where are Karen and Tilly at?" 

Mary-Beth glanced around. "It has been a while," she pressed her lips together. "I-I'm not too sure." 

Rory heard her father sigh heavily and go to stand up. 

"Oh!" Mary-Beth said. "There's Tilly -- oh, that does not look ideal." 

Across the muddy street at the hotel, Tilly was dragged to the side of the building by a tall, dark-skinned man, and he wasn't shy about how aggressively he was being. 

Worry flooded Rory immediately. 

"Damn it," her father growled. He pointed to her. "Stay with Uncle and Mary-Beth. Do not move."

She nodded and watched with intense anticipation. Her father hurried to the other side, making his presence known to the hostile man. At first, she saw he was about to go on the defensive, but something her father said made him stop. Soon, he was backing away from Tilly and walking away. Tilly was visibly relieved and thankful that she'd been saved. 

Her father and Tilly exchanged a few more words before he started toward the hotel. That's when Tilly hurried over to them, almost in tears, but she refused to cry.

"Who was that?" Rory asked, eyebrows furrowed.

Tilly smiled, despite her trembling. "It was nobody important."

She took that as a "don't worry about it". So instead of questions, she offered some chocolate to Tilly. Chocolate always made her feel better, so it might've made Tilly feel a little bit better. 

"I'm good, but thank you, Rory," Tilly smiled kindly, waving her palm at her.

"I have plenty," Rory said in a comforting but cheerful tone. "So, if you change your mind..."

"That's mighty kind of you, Rory." Tilly sat beside her. "You must get your kindness from your father... Say what about your mother?"

Rory blinked at the sudden question. "Oh... um, I don't know who my mom is. But my dad says she was beautiful and kind."

When she wasn't looking, Tilly and Mary-Beth shared a look. But it wasn't long before her father and Karen emerged from the hotel. Karen's lip was busted and bleeding, a small trail of blood dripping off her chin.

"Karen, you're bleeding." Rory stood up, brows furrowing with concern.

"This ain't nothin'," Karen dismissed her with a smile. "Can't say the same for the other guy." 

"Mary-Beth, Tilly," her father stepped onto the porch, pulling five dollars from his jacket. "Take Karen to the doctor. Git her patched up and then get on back to camp."

"I'm fine, Arthur," Karen insisted, wiping the blood from her chin.

"Well then, you ladies should get on home," he nodded. "Uncle, would you...?"

The man sighed loudly. "Oh, I suppose. Ladies, shall we?" 

"So... this is where you got to, Arthur!" The Spanish accent of Javier rang out almost in a jolly way.

Near the hitch post in front of the general store rode Charles and Javier. The men unmounted their horses and tied them to the post while greeting her father.

"Hey there, Rory," Javier chuckled at her. "How's it going?" 

"It's going," she repeated. "Want some chocolate?" She offered.

"No thanks, Azucar," he said. "I will be at the bar... socializing. Coming, Charles?" 

Charles, the hulking man he was, nodded stoically. He nodded, quietly saying a greeting to them, and then following Javier into the saloon.

"Maybe I should have gone back home." Rory teased, watching the saloon doors swing until they were still.

"Well, you're stuck here until we get a horse," her father said. "Unless you wanna start walkin'?"

Rory made a face. "I'll stay."

"How 'bout I get us some lunch?" 

"Food sounds good right now," her stomach rumbled lightly. She ate a while ago; leftover stew Pearson heated up from last night.

When they entered the saloon, it was almost full, but not too full. Javier and Charles were at the bar, with two working ladies. Javier was putting the charm on a beautiful red-haired woman, and Charles was silent as he leaned against the counter beside another beautiful woman with tanned skin and dark hair. 

"Arthur," Javier looked toward them. "Arthur, come here!"

"Here, Darlin'," her father handed her a dollar. "Go get yourself somethin' to eat. I'll be with you in a minute, 'kay?"

Rory bit her lip and nodded, taking the money from him. She wanted to stay by him, especially in a saloon, but he wouldn't be very far away from her, so she swallowed her anxiety and went to the counter. 

The bartender was cleaning out a whisky glass when she hopped up onto the barstool. He looked at her oddly.

"Can I help you, little miss?" he asked formally.

"Do you have any meals I can order?" 

"Only complimentary snacks," he answered, placing the clean glass on the shelf. "We've got pickled eggs, almonds, and if you're feelin' fancy, caviar."

Rory grimaced. "What's caviar?"

The man smacked his lips. "Um. You know, I think it's fish eggs? I ain't quite sure. It's new. Not many folks have ordered it. But take your pick."

"I'll have some almonds and water, please." She placed the dollar on the counter.

"'Course." He fetched a clean glass to fill and poured almonds into a small bowl. He slid them in front of her when done.

"Thanks," she said and grabbed some of the almonds and nibbled on them. It wasn't much of a meal, but it was something, at least, she guessed. She popped a few more almonds into her mouth when the saloon doors burst open, and a tipsy Bill Williamson stumbled inside. She wasn't expecting to see him, but he was a grown man; he could go wherever he wanted.

She watched Bill bump into another man, who also appeared inebriated. The men began to have heated words. And then suddenly Bill head-butted the man.

And then Rory found herself diving to the floor as the saloon erupted in chaos. A chair was thrown, and men were at each other's throats as if their lives depended on it.

"Rory, stay down!" Her father's voice shouted to her as he came into view, trying to keep the fight away from her. 

She stayed where she was. Mainly because she didn't want to get flattened by the fighting.

"What's goin' on down here?" A deep voice boomed out, but the fighting didn't cease. 

"Ah, shit," she heard the bartender grunt. "No, no, Tommy, there's no need to come down here!"

A tall, beefy man stomped down from the saloon's second floor. He was breathing hard, face reddening. 

"There's no need, Tommy!" The bartender tried again, but the large man ignored him. "No, Tommy!"

Rory felt genuine fear as he yelled out, eyes scanning the saloon brawl. At first, she thought he was going to scoop her up and flail her about like a rag doll, but then he yelled out, "C'mere, Greaser!" He went for Javier, out of all the men; he went for Javier. 

He attacked the Mexican, easily and quickly overpowering him. 

"Javier!" She heard her father somewhere among the chaos. But the man, Tommy, was trying to choke the life out of Javier. He did try to fight back, but the man was so much bigger than him.

"Let Javier go!" Rory, mind swimming with how much it was a bad idea to get involved, rushed at the large man looming over Javier. She hit her fists against the man's back, surely not doing any damage besides angering him. 

"Rory, no!"

"Who let the little girl in here, huh?" The man peered at her from over his shoulder, brows squishing together. "Get lost!" 

She hit him again and again until she found herself on the floor, the barstools breaking as her impact on it was forceful. She was stunned for about a second, but then she looked up, and the man hovered over her now. A vein popped through his forehead; he seemed so angry. 

She screamed when he lifted his leg, ready to kick her.

"RORY!" 

Suddenly, the man was given a mean right hook. His head was forced to the side, but he was wholly unfazed by the punch. He focused on his new opponent: her father. He was smaller than Tommy, but he didn't back down from the fight. They threw a few punches, broke the table by the window, and then Tommy suddenly had a hold of her father, launching him right out the window and into the street. 

"Dad!" Rory scrambled to her feet as the crowd built up outside. In the muddy road, her father and Tommy wrangled each other, fighting for dominance. Mud clung to them.

"Kick his ass, Arthur!" Javier hooted in encouragement. 

"Yeah!" Rory shouted. "Kick his butt, Dad!"

Tommy punched her father again, sending him into the mud, but he reacted quickly by scrambling to his feet and tackling him onto the ground, and absolutely laying it into him. Each punch sounded into the crowd-cheering air, but a thin person cut through the cheering people.

"Stop! Stop!" A sickly-looking man in a dirty shirt got in between the men, preventing her father from landing a final blow. "He's had enough, don't you think?"

Her father scoffed. "He started it."

"And you've ended it, sir," the sickly man said. "Isn't that enough?"

Her father pondered for a second, then considered it. "Ah, whatever. I can't be bothered anymore." He stepped away from Tommy, who was being helped by the sickly man.  

"Way to go, Arthur!" Javier and Charles grinned as her father made it to the porch of the saloon. "Showed him, huh?"

"Rory," he immediately said to her. "What you did in there was incredibly stupid."

"I'm sorry, Dad, but that man was trying to kill Javier!" Rory protested.

"You are a brave Chiquita." Javier reached over to ruffle her hair. "My very own knight in shining armor."

"Just don't ever do that again." Her father wiped his face, which only smeared the mud more. 

"No promises."

"You should clean up," Javier told Arthur. "Miss Grimshaw will have a stroke if you come into camp like that."

"Will do," he said. "C'mon, Rory."

"Shouldn't you get seen by the doctor?" She asked, seeing blood mixed with the mud on his face.

"I'll be fine." 

"Quite the performance, Mr. Morgan." A sophisticated voice pierced the air. 

"Trelawney?" The man, tall, clean, and handsome, approached them with Dutch Van der Linde.

"In the flesh, Sir." He bowed dramatically, even taking off his hat. "You create havoc anywhere you rest." 

"Where did you crawl outta of?" Her father spat out blood and mud. 

"I come bearing news," Trelawney said, placing his hat back on his crown, his expression light but serious. "About young Sean."