I don't dream. Haven't since the day I died. That's why I knew this wasn't a dream but a vision. Visions are different. They're real—a glimpse into what is or what could be. Mostly what was, like in this case.

My breath swirled before me while Big Davey and I toiled with the hearth. We'd found an abandoned house in the hills north of where we'd pulled our last job, robbing a railroad magnate of some very valuable bonds.

Spirits were high. Inhibitions were low… A potent mixture for trouble.

All around us, the Scuttlers were celebrating a job well done. Drinking, carousing, playing games of chance, cheating at games of chance. All the things we outlaws were so damn good at.

"Fucking hell, Crowley, you need a real man over there to get that fire going?"

That was Morris "Mad Dog" Morrison, bitching even while he dressed a nasty-looking wound. Always figured his daddy must've hated him, giving him such piss for a name. Truth was, all the firewood was soaked to the core from sitting out in snow and sleet. I'd been at it for the better part of an hour already.

Big Davey stood at my side as he always had. For the most, we were inseparable.

I was raised in a good Catholic home back in Granger's Outlook before I went and got mixed up with the Scuttlers and left ma and pa for a life of thieving and outlawing. When I was real young, my weekends were spent serving Father Osgood, caring for the Lord's house, and whatnot. I shudder to think how many hours were spent scrubbing them pews.

Davey ended up there, too, only his parents died outright, and he needed taking care of. On the surface, it was Father Osgood done the caring for. But really, I like to think Davey and I kept each other afloat.

Where I was tall, dark, and handsome, Davey was light-haired and complected, freckles dotting his whole body like a disease, and well… I guess he was tall too. Not saying much in the way of whether or not he was handsome, but the ladies didn't mind sharing company with him.

"Hold your horses," I growled back at Mad Dog, who waved me off dismissively.

"Bet he makes love like he makes fires," Big Davey whispered to me. "One quick spark, and it's done."

I laughed while I struck the flint a final time, and the flames roared to life.

I turned and bowed low. "You're welcome, you ungrateful pricks."

"'Bout time," Morrison said.

Instantly, I felt winter's cold bite give way, and my hands thawed.

"That feels good," Davey said. We took a seat by the fire, cross-legged on a bearskin rug, and got to work polishing our guns like we always did.

"You getting tired of this?" I asked him when I was sure no one was listening.

"Tired of what?"

"This… all of it. Them. The job. When's the last time you got to spend any of our hard-earned greenbacks?"

"I'll spend 'em when I'm dead, I reckon," Davey said.

"Ain't that the truth? Scary thing is, that might be sooner rather than later the way Ace's been acting. Getting a bit too big for his britches, you ask me."

"I don't know," Davey said. "His britches are getting pretty big, too."

My snicker didn’t last long before my stare turned distant. “That lady on the train, she didn’t have to die.”

“I didn’t see much,” Davey admitted, "but how was Ace to know her husband was connected?”

“What does that matter? We were already free and clear. Now we'll have vengeful folk after us, and he wants us to cross the border south and run? ‘Conquer new lands,’ he says? For what? So he can shoot whoever he pleases for a few extra bucks?”

A gruff voice called out, "What's the haul?"

Hiram Church was of medium height and build. Nothing special about him except he was missing a leg, replaced by a wooden peg. Heard it got bit off by a mountain lion, but people tell stories. Hiram got called the first mate because he looked like a damn pirate, and he was Ace Ryker's right hand. We also had the private joke that he was called his right hand because he would jerk Ace off like one. Though none of us would dare say it to their faces.

Truth was that Hiram was just a good old-fashioned suck-up. Bumsucker. Yes man. Whatever term you got for it, he was the definition.

But the two of them were the only constants in the Scuttlers. Ace could be such a hot-head that few stuck around very long. Sometimes they left for greener pastures. Other times, Ace introduced them to a three-cent friend.

Another thing we said was that Ace Ryker killed more of his own men than he did anyone else. Wasn't true, mind, but we all talked too much for our own good.

"Not enough," Mae answered. She was the only lady among us, and that word had to be taken lightly. I think in a fair fight back then, she'd have squashed me like a bug. Mae was bigger than an overfed gorilla and twice as mean as a starved one. She stood six-foot-two, and I wouldn't guess at a lady's weight, but she beat me. Took a special kind of woman to join up with a crew like us.

I don't know what brings most of us to do it. Wasn't my first choice, outlawing—I'd always wanted to be a doctor, believe it or not. I know, big gap from one to the other, but I'd always preferred saving lives to ruining them.

So why the Scuttlers? Ain't much else to do for a runaway son of a coal-miner. Had no education past Madam Forester at the Granger's Outlook schoolhouse and hours spent at the church with Father Osgood. Though most of that was cleaning and running errands. No such thing as the Pinks back then, either.

But there I was. Sometimes, a man's gotta do what he's gotta to keep the taxman at bay…

Like any of us pay taxes. Or have skills suited for anything else.

"Never is enough," Hiram said to Mae. Then, he turned to all of us, his peg leg clacking on the wooden floor. "Live it up, fellas! Tomorrow, it’s greener pastures!"

A stone settled into my belly at the mention of tomorrow. Ace had been talking about conquering new lands so long, most of us thought he was just flapping his gums. The Scuttlers had always been a smalltime gang, but now, Ace decided it was time to go international.

No mention that the bounty on his head and his crew’s after who he killed was enough to fund a whole town so there was a reason to run. He just made it seem like an opportunity for everyone now that the Scuttlers legend couldn’t grow much bigger.

Everything was a job to Ace. Always and forever.

Problem was, I didn’t want to run. I’m sure I wasn’t alone in that, but even if I was, we shouldn’t have had to. Ace made a stupid mistake and we were all being punished for it under the guise of ‘new opportunity.’

"Crowley!" Norman ‘Mac‘ Macmillan shouted, dragging me from unpleasant thoughts. He kicked under the table and slid out an empty chair across from him. "Grab a bowl and sit your ass in for a hand. I could use a win."

Mac elbowed the others beside him, Emmett Banks and Colby Harkins. They all shared a little ha-ha at my expense. It was fine. Giving each other a hard time was just what we did.

Davey and I shared our own quick glance.

"You can bring your lady friend, too, if you like," Mac said, talking about Davey. But I was already rising.

I rolled my eyes and gestured to Cook with two fingers. He ladled stew into a couple of tin bowls and offered them our way.

"Rabbit?" Big Davey asked.

"Was when I started," Cook replied.

I chuckled.

The bowl was hot, but it kind of felt good after being out in the cold for so long. We did like Mac requested and took a seat with him and the others and let them deal me in. Davey was never much for poker, so he just stood behind me, spooning what turned out to be mostly broth and some old carrots into his gullet.

"Ready for the long haul?" Mac asked, tossing cards around the table.

He was a rangy man, slender as they come. Like a stiff breeze would knock him on his ass. Wasn't the kind you'd expect to find amongst this rough and tumble crew. Hell, Mae might've lost him between her cheeks if she'd sat wrong. Guess you don't have to be particularly meaty to blow shit up—that was old Mac's job. Explosives master extraordinaire.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

"Not sure any of us is," I said casually, taking a bite.

Mac stopped dealing, but I only counted three cards on the table in front of me. I looked up from my bowl to see him eyeballing me.

“What'chu say?"

I took another bite and shrugged. "Nothing important. Just talking."

"You scared of greasers?" he asked, a yellow smile appearing beneath his overlarge nose.

I didn't answer. I wasn't exactly afraid of dying. However, if I'd have known what awaited me, I probably would've been.

"How 'bout you, little Dave?"

"Much rather be alive and poor than dead and rich," Davey answered, following it with a slurp of his stew.

"Pussy," Colby muttered.

"You know what they say," Davey said. "You are what you eat."

Just then, Mae approached the table, wearing a scowl that would scare a ghost. Everyone abruptly stopped laughing.

"Guess that makes the rest of you boys assholes, don't it?" she said.

"Goddamn, Mae's coming in hot!" Emmett said.

Mac shook his head, smirking, and got back to dealing.

"Best not let Ace hear you talking like this," he said. "He's got grand plans for us with all that money. Build ourselves a nice little kingdom south of the border."

"Kingdom,'' I said with a sniff. "Say, where is our Royal Highness, anyway?"

It hadn't occurred to me, but I hadn't seen him since we returned. As if taking a cue, Ace Ryker, drunk as a skunk, came traipsing down the stairs. Ace had a full head of lustrous hair and a perfectly narrowing beard, with mustache hairs that curled at the end.

By his ratty jacket and clothes, you’d not think he was worth a damn, but Ace was never one to care about fineries or how he looked. He let his gun do the talking for him, and a tongue that may as well have been silver.

"Lookie, lookie," he said, stumbling. "Guess the place wasn't as empty as we thought."

From the pass, the house had appeared abandoned—in a mild state of disrepair, the stables and paddocks out front, empty. The fields in the back looked to've been untilled for ages. There was a creepy shrine in one corner of the main room with red candles melted all the way down to hardened puddles. And a skull. Human. Probably of some ancestor. Far-be-it for me to judge someone's beliefs.

"Found 'em hiding upstairs."

In one arm, Ace clutched a child—might've been six years old, maybe less, maybe more. I don't know. I’d never known many children for good reason. His other hand was clenched around the wrist of what I could only assume to be the girl's mother.

A beauty for damn sure.

I could tell she wanted to shove him down the stairs but refrained for fear of injuring her daughter.

"How old's the girl?" Mad Dog asked, a sick grin on his face. I hoped that wound killed him.

"Dios mio, por favor, No. Oh, Dios!" The mother muttered pleas in both English and Spanish, but no one was listening except me, it seemed.

"Shut up, bitch," Ace said, slapping her across the face with the back of his hand. She slammed against the wall.

The little one cried, but it was more like a whimper. Poor girl was terrified.

Ace lifted the mom. “You are something,” he whispered, running his mouth along her arm and sniffing. Couldn't help but notice a small tattoo on her forearm. Couldn't make it out, but it's always odd seeing ink on a lady.

Ace reached her neck, let his tongue graze a moment, then whistled. A few of the others joined him. “We’re heading down to rule your people soon. I think, maybe, you’d like to keep us company?”

She spat into his face. He wiped it away slow, then tore her shirt from neck to hem. She cried and tried to cover herself, backed up against the wall with nowhere to go. Her eyes flitted between the ragged members of my crew, most standing and circling like hungry wolves.

The young girl just watched now, stunned into silence. Terror had paralyzed her.

“Now, now, girly, don’t worry,” Ace said then, kneeling and grasping her by the sides of the face to stare into her eyes. A place you never wanted to be. Like the devil, he had a way of convincing you to do just about anything if you dare got caught in his trance.

“We ain’t here to hurt you,” he went on. He ran his hand through her dark hair and brushed it over her ear. “We help our guests. And your mama is worth helping.”

“And helping ourselves too!” one of the men chortled. I couldn’t tell which, I was so incensed watching what was unfolding before me.

“Take care of her.” Ace pushed the young girl to Hiram, the most revolting of all of us. A guy that I knew had absolutely no limits, which was probably what endeared him to Ace.

“Let her go!” the mother shrieked. She threw herself at him, but Ace caught her by the wrist and forced her back against the wall, knocking the air out of her. He pinned her there, placing a kiss against her collarbone, then lower.

He hadn't always been that way, Ace. I mean, he was never exactly a good guy, but when I joined up, he was more about getting the cash than any of this power-trip, god-complex bullshit.

But you ever just had enough of something? It already wasn't sitting right with me that Ace wanted to uproot our lives over his own mistake and call it generosity. You don't shit in in my water and tell me it’s coffee.

But with this? He just kept pushing and pushing and pushing…

"Let them go, Ace," I said, standing. I didn't reach for my Peacemaker since I knew that would be starting a war, but the implication carried.

"Or what, Crowley?" Ace asked, snickering like I wasn't even a threat.

"Or nothing," I said. "Just didn't think breaking into this lady's house and passing her around like salt was what we were all about."

"And you know what what we’re about?"

"Guess not what I thought."

"I’m getting pretty tired of your complaining. You want out, there's the door, hero," Ace said, continuing to kiss the woman’s neck. He had her hand over her mouth, so her protests were muffled. Hiram held her daughter, big arms wrapped around her shoulders.

Everyone laughed except me and Davey—even Mae.

"Sure, Ace," I said, taking a small step toward him. "Gimme the girls, and I'll be on my merry way."

"Somebody shut him up already?" Ace groaned.

Mac, ever the one to please, tossed the table up, sending cards and cash soaring. It hit me in the hip. Didn't hurt, but it surprised me. I staggered, barely, bumping into Big Davey.

"You can’t stomach some just rewards," Ace said, pointing at the door without looking up from the woman. "Then go sleep with the horses.”

"Fine, fine," I said, giving Davey a glance. "I'm going."

I walked to the door, and Davey took a hard step my way.

"You going with him, Davey?" Hiram asked. "I always knew you two were sweet on each other."

He made smooching noises right next to the little girl’s cheek. She squeezed her eyelids tight and muttered to herself in Spanish. Davey gave me a look, then he stopped where he was, leaving me walking alone.

The whole room laughed at me, calling me all kinds of names.

I grabbed the doorknob with my left hand.

“You all gonna follow him to the ends of the Earth?” I asked. “Think what happened on that train is the last mistake he’ll make?”

Davey watched me but said nothing.

“He makes us rich,” Mad Dog said.

"She had it coming," Hiram added. “They always do.”

“You really gonna try and turn my crew against me, boy?” Ace cackled loudly. “Old no-fun James Crowley? There ain’t a soul on God’s green Earth that would follow you. Stop embarrassing yourself.”

I gritted my teeth. "You’ll all get what you deserve then, I reckon.”

I gave one last look at Davey.

"Now, where were we, beautiful?" Ace asked, dropping his voice an octave to sound all sultry. All I heard in response were whimpers.

"Por favor, let her go…" the woman sniveled. "Let my Rosa go and I’ll give you anything you want."

I threw open the door, and drew my twin Peacemakers.

Cold hit me like an ox plow but didn't stop me from firing a round at Ace. I missed, but Big Davey surprised me by drawing his guns on the Scuttlers too. His bullet hit Hiram right in the heart, over the little girl's head, killing him good. He always was a dead shot.

We ran out front, forgetting to account for the mounting snow. Seeking quick cover, we ducked into a barely standing stable.

Ace and his boys were shooting at us, cutting lines in our meager defenses. Splinters broke off all around, slicing at our skin. We slid along to the other side, where there was an opening for us to shoot back. The spaces between slats were so big they could easily follow our movements.

I sucked in a deep breath when a plum caught me in the shoulder.

"Shit," I swore. “I didn’t think you were with me.”

"I wasn’t sure either, but screw Ace," Davey said, popping up from cover and shooting back.

By the sound of it, he landed a couple.

I waited a second and joined him. Wasn't sure where everyone was, and I was concerned we'd put a bullet in Rosa and her mother, but we shot back nonetheless. One of my shots hit Mac square in the gut, and I couldn't help but smile. I reloaded once, using the iron from a pouch on my hip, but that was all I had, so I needed to make my remaining shots count.

Squatting, back to the wall, I turned to Davey and said, "Sorry, friend. Didn't mean to get you caught up in all this. Just got tired."

"Knew I shouldn't have skipped Sunday Mass for the last hundred weeks," Davey replied.

I'd have laughed if a bullet hadn't gone straight through him the exact same time.

He collapsed, dead before he hit the ground.

I rubbed my face, telling myself I was wiping sweat, but they were tears, no doubt. Salty and hot. It was then, I knew I wasn't getting out of there alive.

"Let the girl go, and we can all air our lungs and go home still breathing!" I shouted.

Ace laughed, and soon, all his lackeys joined in.

"You ain't in any good place to bargain, traitor!" Ace called back. "There's ten of us, one of you, by my count."

Not sure how they knew they'd killed Davey, but I wasn't about to let them be sure.

"I ain't alone, friend. Put down the gun."

Two shotgun blasts put holes through the stable on either side of me. Then someone fired a rifle and it pounded straight through my spine.

I slid down, back dragging against the old, splintering wood.

Darkness encroached around my vision. It's not true, what they say about your life flashing before your eyes when you die. I saw nothing. No bright light. No happy memories from when I was a lad, like there were any.

All I saw was pain manifest, lightning coursing through my whole body. Then, I saw the blurry shape of Ace Ryker come into view before me, laughing like the piece of shit he was. His ice-blue eyes stared deep into my soul, and he leaned in close to me. His breath reeked of alcohol. It was the last thing I remember smelling.

My eyes drifted over his shoulder to a lone figure running through the snow. The woman in her tattered clothes holding her daughter, Rosa, fleeing into the haze. Just as I'd have hoped, they used the scuffle to escape.

Helping that poor woman and child get away was the greatest act of my pitiful life. May never've become a doctor, but I saved two lives that night. Nothing that made up how many deaths I'd been responsible for with the Scuttlers mind you, but I'll take one little victory.

Ace followed my gaze and turned back to me, sneering.

"You don't think we'll find her?" he said.

I felt his boot stomping down on my wrist, but I was past the point of feeling pain. I didn't see it happen since everything felt like a slow waltz, but cold fingers squeezed around my throat until what little breath I could find was no longer there either.

If he was close before, now he might as well be an extension of me now.

His cold hands squeezed harder. Hot breath on my neck.

Like I needed help dying. Only reason I was still hanging on and fighting back the darkness was to buy the woman more time to get her daughter farther. Every second counted, and I knew Ace was too lazy and drunk to want to give chase.

"She can have her head start, you damned fool." He shook his head. "Turning on your own for some greaser bitch?"

He shoved me against the wall. My throat was dry like it had already turned back into the dust it was made from. But I was a stubborn son of a bitch. I couldn't let him have the last words. There was more time to buy.

"Seemed the right thing," I croaked out.

Ace clicked his tongue and shook his head. He knelt, knee crushing down on Davey's head, and looked right into my face. He didn't grin like he often did when he got the better of a man. He regarded me like I was some pitiable soul. Like a disappointed father of sorts.

I hadn't noticed before then, but all my former compadres were now behind him, watching my death like it was a show at the playhouse, totally ignorant of their own injured or dying at their backs.

A tragedy, no doubt.

"Ain't no heroes in the west, Crowley," he said.

Then he leveled his Le Mat revolver at my chest. One shot from that thing would put a hole through me the size of one of Mae's beefy fists.

"That's true," I gargled, "But sometimes, shit deserves to get buried in the sand."

Like I said, I wasn't about to give him the final word.