Birds of a Feather II

Dutch

In the end, what has a man but his thoughts? What has a man to stand for but his thoughts? His actions, perhaps? Lions, donkeys, hyenas. They all act. So is that what we are? No. We are more—and less—than the beasts. We are thoughts. We are actions and the reflections upon those actions. Yet we are also not merely reflections. We are not mirrors...

Dutch took in a deep, relaxing breath as the words of Evelyn Miller washed over him, providing their usual quelling effect. Luckily, this morning hadn't started as badly as last night had nearly ended.

Dutch had originally left their newfound camp horseless and unsure on their next steps for his Blackwater plan. But he'd returned a new man with a steed worthy of his status and a few dollars in his pocket from a small, successful thieving.

He'd thought, when he came back into camp and found it a little more populated than when he'd left, that it was good news to see a few more faces.

But he'd had to have an impromptu battle of wills against Arthur to keep him and the rest of them in line. Dutch had a private chat with Arthur and finally got him to see things his way, but Dutch suspected Charlotte's influence behind this new reluctance. Ever since she'd come around, things had started changing for the worse.

As for the others who'd joined up again, John and Sadie were supposedly around, though they had yet to reappear in his presence. But since Old Boy and Bob were still hitched in camp, it had to be true.

They'd lost Charles to the Wapiti tribe, a people Dutch had been curious to speak with, but too late to act upon his introduction.

Thankfully, Lenny was back among their ranks. As for the women, besides the suspicious Mrs. Balfour and the unpredictable Mrs. Adler, Karen was here too and he wasn't yet sure what to make of it as she wasn't keeping herself perpetually drunk. Lastly, he'd known Pearson and Uncle had been in attendance until Bill woke him this morning to inform him of their desertion.

They'd suffered the abandonment of their friends on a near daily basis as of late, but of all of them, Dutch was reeling most from the loss of his partner in crime.

Hosea was gone and he was alone, with a crater in his chest that he had no idea of how to start filling. His instinct had been revenge. Despite the dozens of Pinkerton agents they'd killed at Beaver Hollow, there was no one to get angry at, no villain, no enemy with a gun. The old man had left him without remorse. Dutch remembered quite clearly the subtle smile lifting as he passed away in his arms.

The burdens he bore had already started a weighty drop on his shoulders. Dutch hadn't slept. He didn't know the last time he'd had a good rest. Weeks? Months? At times, his thoughts were clear, he knew what he was doing. He knew himself. But lately, things had started to muddle. He'd fought the uncertainty by focusing on his enemies.

Colm was dead. Cornwall was dead. As soon as Milton was struck by lightning, all his enemies will have fallen.

"Dutch!"

Dutch startled out of his musings and looked up at Arthur's steadfast approach. He stood, stepping down from the cabin's small porch. "What can I do for you, son?"

Arthur stopped, his breathing uncomfortably wheezy. Dutch tried not to grimace at the sound, but his mind drew a sharp comparison between it and Hosea's last, dying breath.

"Dutch, Charlotte's found out that Abigail's been taken in by Milton."

"Is that so?"

His eyes scanned for Charlotte's whereabouts. She sat with Karen at the campfire, the two of them attempting to persuade Jack to eat. Always interfering, that one. It shouldn't have surprised him that Pearson had left. She'd been tending Pearson, spent time alone with him, and what was the result of that? Pearson was gone like so many others.