The small campfire Red had set up was in the middle of a small dip in the terrain, sheltered on all sides for the most part and shoring up against a rock formation in the east. It seemed like the ideal camping spot.

Dante was in his element once more, sitting on a rock he’d dragged over from a few feet away. He had his hands out towards the fire, seeking warmth from the oftentimes harsh desert cold. Even if it was scorching hot during the day, at night the temperatures could reach as low as below freezing.

He couldn’t help but feel grateful at the familiarity, giving him a chance to recover from his small internal meltdown a few minutes ago mostly undisturbed. A tired quiet had settled over the camp. Red was at the carriage a few yards away, grabbing some food along with a blanket.

Eva sat across the campfire from Dante, her eyes on the fire again. It seemed that the memories of the bodies had returned to some degree, with her eyes narrowed and mouth in a frown.

The Mestizo’s eyes flicked to the approaching Red, holding two cans in his hands. The man turned to Eva, “I got peas, corn, ‘n carrots. That sound good or do ya want some more veggies?”

The girl didn’t respond.

“Ms. Ostlund?” Red asked, raising his voice a bit.

Eva perked up, looking momentarily lost, “Ja?”

“Peas, corn, ‘n carrots. That good?” Red grunted.

“Uh- yes.”

Dante quirked an eyebrow, “No meat?”

Red glanced at the Mestizo, “Don’t worry, we got meat in the back. Some wine too from 1814. Heard even Andrew Jackson couldn’t afford it.”

“You do?” Dante gave the man a confused stare as he sat up straight on the rock.

“No.”

“So… no meat?”

“I just bought veggies. That’s all we’re eatin’.”

Dante hummed, “I can work with that.”

Red deadpanned, “Work with what?”

“The food. I’m cooking,” Dante stated, standing up.

“And why would I let you that?”

“Because I was camp cook for the Velvet Rangers.”

Eva butted in, “His cooking is rather tasty. Perhaps you try it this once?”

Red narrowed his eyes at the girl before grunting in concession, “Alright, fine.”

He gently tossed the can to the Mestizo, turning around back to the carriage, “I’ll get the cooking supplies. Let’s see what you can do.”

About five minutes later, Dante was sliding the pan of veggies over the fire. Red had pulled out a skillet and a makeshift grill. It was somewhat odd looking, the surface rough hewn as was typical of wrought iron. It resembled a small table, with the legs having spikes on each end to stick into the ground for support.

Dante was glad for the small familiarity, though. Even if he wasn’t in the gang, he could still cook. He’d been cooking for so long that doing so was essentially second nature to him. Not even paying attention, he could still make a decent meal.

“..why are you just cooking the carrots and potatoes?”

Dante glanced at the man, “Both take a longer time to cook than peas or corn. You weren’t just going to dump it all in the pan and cook it at once, right? That would’ve thrown off the temperature and flavor.”

Red deadpanned, “Listen, Greaser, this is just about getting something in our bellies. Taste or temperature doesn’t matter; if it’s cooked, it’s good.”

The Mestizo simply stared at the sizzling pan for a few moments before speaking up.

“Do you have any spare water?”

Red quirked an eyebrow, “What? You thirsty?”

“For the vegetables. They look dry.”

“I already said that we just need the nutrition. Nothing else is important.”

Dante narrowed his eyes for a moment, before shrugging, “If you say so.”

X-X-X

Malcolm felt about ready to pass out.

The adrenaline he’d been running on had long left him, leaving him tired and wounded as he clutched to the back of a man on a horse. Right now, he wanted to just lay on something. The swaying of the beast made him feel like hurling, and the shifting of its muscles underneath him only worsening the nausea.

He hadn’t been this hurt in a while, usually able to escape most situations unscathed with his skills in sweet-talking and gunslinging.

Malcolm was pulled out of his sulking when the horse stopped. Glancing up at the rest of the gang, it seemed that Kidd was scanning the terrain. They’d left the flats of the desert behind, instead passing into a somewhat hilly grassland, with Kidd perched atop an incline in the terrain.

He quickly turned back around and rode his horse back down the slope.

“Just a few miles, friends!” he called out, “We’re nearly there!”

Malcolm felt himself jostle at the horse lurching into movement again. After the first second he got back into a comfortable position.

“So where did you all set up shop?”

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Kidd replied with a grin from the front, “Abandoned mining town! Checked the quarry if you were curious; empty. Seems they were searching for coal or silver and only found a small copper vein in its stead.”

The gang fell back into a silent lull, Malcolm not really remembering much of the trip. It was all mostly blurry, a few comments here and there. He only slipped out of his half-conscious state when he felt himself be carried off the horse and roughly placed on a wooden table.

Snapping to, he quickly took in his new surroundings. They weren’t much, really; a small shack in a state of disrepair, with spartan amenities inside. Kidd as well as two gang members were inside with him.

“Don’t worry about your leg,” Kidd grinned, gesturing to a man with his back turned to Malcolm, seemingly cleaning something, “Dr. Blackwater is quite the apothecary.”

“Blackwater,” Malcolm echoed, “Real assuring name.”

The doctor in question was a portly man, with a scruffy beard comprising of white and grey patches. A trilby hat sat atop his seemingly bald head, the rest of his visage a rosy pink. The name Blackwater was quite the misnomer for a Santa lookalike, to say the least.

His clothes were a similar case, with a tan-white coat covering a sandy colored vest leading to beige townpants. What stuck out the most to Malcolm, though, was the cross necklace that glittered in the cracks of light streaming through the roof like gold.

“Y-Yes, some people have a h-h-hard time g-getting over it,” the doctor added, his voice stuttering like a busted gramophone, “Others s-s-s-say it sounds f-familiar for s-s-some reason.”

Malcolm gave the man a curious look.

Kidd sensed the question brewing in his mind, “Dr. Blackwater has a bit of social trepidation and has trouble speaking fluently. Don’t mind that, though. He’s one of the few medical experts in a criminal gang that has actually served as a professional prior.”

A doctor joining up with a gang? Sounded ludicrous to Malcolm’s ears; with that kind of pay, a life that could be called more than modest wasn’t that far off.

Dr. Blackwater shuffled over to a rickety cabinet, pulling out some basic medical utensils, “S-S-So what’s t-the issue?”

“There’s a chunk of lead lodged in my left leg,” Malcolm deadpanned, gesturing to the offending appendage.

Kidd quirked an eyebrow, “Along with numerous cuts, bruises, and scrapes.”

“It’s an occupational hazard,” Malcolm grunted. He mentally tacked on, But you’re too green to know that.

Dr. Blackwater spoke up, walking over with some medical tools, “All r-r-r-rather simple to f-f-f-fix, I like t-t-to think. Do you want s-s-some anesthetics?”

With that, the doctor offered Malcolm a small cup of an unknown liquid, probably a cocktail of drugs and herbs judging by the smell. The ex-gang leader shook his head, “Apologies, but I don’t trust you all enough for that.”

“If you’re worried about that, d-don’t be. As a p-professionally educated d-doctor, it is my G-God-given d-duty to p-protect my p-patients with life and l-limb. And with the L-Lord as my witness, I shall f-fulfill it if necessary.”

Malcolm was unimpressed, to say the least. He didn’t have many options, though.

“I’ll drink only some; I don’t feel like slinging shit afterwards,” he ‘conceded’.

Dr. Blackwater nodded, handing the cup, “T-That’s fine with me.”

Malcolm perched himself up on one arm, using the other to grab the beverage. He gave it a hesitant sniff. Before, the smell was light, barely wafting by his nose. Now it was pungent, smelling of cocaine and herbs along with several animals.

He then lifted the cup to his lips and tilted it. The liquid pressed up against his mouth, but none went in. Malcolm kept the beverage like that for a few seconds, acting like he was drinking. He’d be damned if he’d just end up getting robbed for what little he had by some nobodies who recently crossed the border.

With that, he lowered the cup and swallowed some saliva in his mouth, giving the doctor back the cup and laying down.

Thankfully, Dr. Blackwater placed the cup on one of the rusty cabinets without bothering to check how much was in it.

The whole procedure was painful, only made worse by Malcolm having to feign semi-consciousness through the whole process. Either way, he’d prefer pain to being robbed and potentially killed while being able to do nothing about it.

At least he had a decently repaired leg by the end.

X-X-X

The fire had faded out long ago, the measly chunks of shrub they’d been using withering up and leaving warm char. The desert night seemed no less bright, though. Sometime in the past hour, the clouds obscuring the sky had vanished, leaving the sky spotless. The silver moon in the sky above seemed nearly as bright as the sun to Dante’s eyes, bathing the canyon path in an argent glow.

Their camp, huddled under a rock outcropping that shielded them from moon and sunlight alike, had a decent view of both sides of the canyon while still remaining hidden for the most part thanks to a small dip in the terrain.

Both Red and Eva had fallen asleep, the former somehow managing to pass out—eyes open—standing in the corner, hand resting on the revolver at his hip. It was frankly quite disconcerting, especially since Dante was plagued by the constant need to make sure the man was actually asleep instead of just watching them.

Despite this, the Mestizo had managed to achieve some sense of comfort. The familiar feeling of camping out had done some to soothe his nerves. He’d fallen into a state of light sleep, but still ready to wake up at a moment’s notice if anything went wrong.

So that’s why he blinked awake when he heard footsteps. He stayed quiet. Had they been discovered by some wanderers looking for refuge? He didn’t hear any horses, nor did the footsteps sound particularly powerful. Shuffling was the best word for them.

Dante cracked one eye open to find Eva with the blanket as a shawl tiredly walking to the edge of the camp, the one facing down one of the canyon paths. Hadn’t she been asleep? He debated what to do as she roughly sat down, silently looking down the ravine.

After a moment, he sat up.

“Eva,” he whispered, “What are you doing?”

The girl glanced back at him, “I could ask the same of you.”

“You woke me up,” Dante propped himself up on his elbows, raising a brow.

“Oh. Förlåt.”

The Mestizo only blinked, “What?”

“I meant to say sorry,” she whispered.

Dante slowly nodded before getting to his feet, stepping over, “So why are you awake?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“That much is clear.”

He sat down next to her, the two staying quiet for a moment. A small breeze swept through the gorge, creating a barely noticeable howling sound as it swept through the winding path. Dante only just realized how chilly it was, probably around 50-ish degrees.

Back in the Velvet Rangers, everyone would sleep next to a fire that was stocked up enough to last the night so proper nightwear had never been much of an issue. Now, Dante was beginning to regret it; his work shirt just didn’t cut it. He couldn’t suppress the small shiver that crawled up his spine.

It seemed to have caught Eva’s eye, though, as she offered him part of the blanket that she had draped over her body. Dante paused before accepting it, scooting closer to minimize any gaps.

The warmth was a relief, the two simply staving off the cold for a moment.

“I can’t get over them.”

Dante glanced at her, “Them?”

“The men,” Eva added, her voice shaky, “The ones who… you know…”

“Died?” Dante offered.

“That sounds too peaceful. I could say my grandma died, and one would assume she passed in her sleep or surrounded by family.”

The Mestizo only gave her a curious glance, “So you’re saying shot’s a better term?”

“Executed would be more apt. It was brutal. Blood stains everywhere. How did you not freeze in horror?”

“No offense, but ‘everywhere’ is somewhat exaggerated.”

He paused when Eva gave him a hard stare.

“Anyways, it’s the frontier life. I don’t know how life is over there in Sweden or even Europe for that matter, but here in the west, it’s kill or be killed. Not only for the people, but for the animals too.”

He heard Eva take in a ragged breath, “I’d barely even seen blood before this whole ordeal. Now it feels like I’m haunted by it. The corpses too. I couldn’t sleep since I just kept seeing their faces whenever I close my eyes.”

Dante, out of his depth, just placed a hand on her shoulder.

Another breeze swept through the canyon. The first rays of the sun came with it, as the eastern portion of the sky visible from their spot was just barely growing lighter. Knowing that the sun would be up soon filled the Mestizo with a sense of optimism, that they’d make it no matter the odds.

“Either way, you’ll be back in Sweden soon; far away from all… this.”

She took a moment to respond, her voice somewhat shaky but better than before, “You’re coming too. Don’t forget that.”

Despite himself, the ghost of a smile made its way onto Dante’s lips.

“Yes. I guess I am.”