Smoke on the Horizon
The air in the cabin was thick with the scent of sickness and stale whiskey. Reverend Swanson sat awkwardly beside John Marston's cot, holding a half-empty flask in one hand and a Bible in the other—as if unsure which one he was supposed to offer next.
Arthur leaned in the doorway, arms crossed.
"I thought you was readin' him his last rites," Arthur said, brow raised. "Now I see you're introducin' him to your other passion."
Swanson rose stiffly, brushing off invisible dust from his coat. "I'll mind you to show me some respect, Mr. Morgan."
Arthur just smirked. "Mind away, Reverend."
With a bitter huff, Swanson shuffled out, nearly bumping into Cam Gallagher as he pushed through the door. Cam raised a brow but said nothing, just stepped aside to let the Reverend pass. His sharp eyes swept the room, landing on John—bruised, broken, and still somehow trying to sit upright.
"You're still here, then?" Arthur asked John.
John grunted. "I owe you."
Arthur sat down beside him. "And you'll pay me. But for now, just rest."
Cam leaned against the doorway, arms folded, his rifle slung casually over his shoulder. "Ain't exactly the way I pictured our big return," he muttered.
John cracked a smirk. "Yeah? Dreamed of somethin' a little more heroic, Gallagher?"
"Dreamed of a warm fire and a bottle of whiskey, not frostbite and a corpse in the makin'," Cam quipped back, though there was no real bite in it.
The door creaked open again and Dutch strode in like a man with thunder under his boots, coat flaring behind him. He had that look in his eye again—that look that meant someone was about to bleed.
"Arthur," he said, voice low and urgent. "I think it's time for the train."
John perked up, wincing. "You want me to come?"
Dutch gave him a long, assessing look. "Of course I do, but... look at you."
John pulled the blanket aside, trying to sit up. "I was always ugly, Dutch… it's just a scratch."
"Lie still, son," Dutch said firmly.
Arthur pushed John back gently, chuckling. "Don't flatter yourself, Marston."
The moment was interrupted as the door opened once more—Abigail with little Jack in tow.
"Dutch," Abigail said stiffly.
"Hello, Abigail," Dutch replied, dipping his head with charm as thin as paper. "Jackie."
Jack rushed forward toward his father's side.
"The boy wanted to see you," Abigail said.
John smiled weakly. "He's seen me now... or what's left of me." Then to Abigail, dryly, "What about you?"
"Guess I was hopin' to see a corpse."
Cam let out a low whistle, under his breath. "Damn."
Arthur grinned sideways. "Love is a battlefield."
"You're a rotten man, John Marston," Abigail snapped.
Dutch cut in smoothly, "He is an idiot, Abigail. We all know it."
She rolled her eyes and took Jack by the hand, walking him out without another word.
Dutch turned back to business, eyes scanning the room like they were already halfway through the robbery.
"Now, railway men," he said, motioning to Arthur and Cam. "Let's get to it."
Outside, Bill Williamson was saddling his horse, dynamite already secured in his saddlebags.
"Bill," Dutch called, "ride ahead and set the charge. Water tower, just before the tunnel."
Bill tipped his hat, mounting up. "Ain't a problem."
"Hya!"
He rode off into the white veil of snow, disappearing fast.
Hosea appeared then, bundled against the wind, face lined with doubt.
"Why are we doin' this?" Hosea asked, his tone laced with quiet desperation. "Weather's breakin', Dutch. We could leave. I thought we was lying low."
Cam exchanged a glance with Arthur, then with Dutch, his breath fogging in the cold.
Dutch was already pacing, hands animated. "What do you want from me, Hosea?"
"I just don't want any more folks to die."
"We're living, Hosea!" Dutch gestured to all of them—Arthur, Cam, the rest gathering near their horses. "Look at me. We're living. Even you."
Cam folded his arms, eyes narrowed as Dutch went on.
"But we need money. Everything we have's in Blackwater. You fancy headin' back there?"
Hosea hesitated. "No... but—"
Dutch cut him off. "I ain't underminin' your concern. But this is our shot. One good job to set us back on our feet."
Arthur shifted in his saddle.
"Who the hell is Leviticus Cornwall, anyway?" he asked.
Hosea sighed. "He's a big railway magnate… sugar dealer… oil man."
Cam scoffed. "Sounds like a man who never missed a meal."
Dutch smirked. "Well good for him. Sounds like he has more than enough to share."
"Dutch…" Hosea warned.
But Dutch was already turning to the others. "Gentlemen," he said, voice lifting with that old fire, "it is time… to make something of ourselves."
Javier, Micah, Lenny, and Charles mounted up. Cam swung into his saddle beside Arthur, tightening his gloves.
Arthur leaned over. "This feel right to you?"
Cam shrugged. "Ain't nothin' felt right since Blackwater. But I ain't about to sit on my ass while the gang moves forward."
Dutch called out over the wind.
"Get your horses ready—we have a train to rob."
And just like that, seven men rode out into the snow, hooves thundering through the frostbitten silence, with dynamite, rifles, and nothing left to lose.
The gang veered off the trail, riding through the shallow stream that glittered beneath the thinning snow. Cam Gallagher rode just behind Dutch, the barrel of his rifle bouncing lightly on his back, his breath fogging up in front of him as he scanned the treeline. His gloves were worn, fingers twitching from cold and nerves—but his eyes were calm, calculating.
Dutch raised a hand and pulled up his horse. The others gathered, reining in and forming a loose circle around him.
"Okay, gentlemen—listen up," Dutch said, voice loud and steady. "According to what our O'Driscoll friends spilled, that train's comin' up from Big Valley. We'll catch it after it crosses into the Grizzlies. There's a raised spot—we'll hit it from there. Charles, you keep lookout for outriders. How's that hand?"
Charles flexed his fingers and nodded. "I'll manage."
Dutch nodded. "Good. I'll take the driver and the engineer, run point. Lenny, Javier—you're on the front cars. Take out any guards."
He paused, eyes sliding to Arthur.
"Arthur, Micah—you two go for the private car. That's where Mr. Cornwall keeps his goodies."
Micah scoffed, leaning toward Arthur. "You and me, Morgan."
Arthur's face didn't move. "Great."
Micah grinned. "You got a problem with that?"
Arthur rolled his eyes. "Not if you keep your damn head."
"You worry about yourself."
Cam leaned over slightly in his saddle, his voice dry and cool. "Boys, you wanna keep bickering, or should I flip a coin for who's the bigger ass?"
Arthur smirked. Micah shot Cam a glare but said nothing.
Dutch chuckled. "Thank you, Cam. Always a voice of reason. You ride with me up front. Soon as that dynamite blows, I want you close—just in case things go sideways."
Cam nodded once. "Got it. You want me takin' the flank after, or stay with you?"
"Flank left once the engine's stopped. Cover Lenny and Javier."
"Copy that."
Dutch raised a brow. "Look at you. Soundin' like you've done this before."
Cam's mouth curved into a half-smile. "Might've robbed a train or two south of El Paso. But who's counting?"
Dutch gave a tight grin. "That's why I like you."
The group rode on, their horses kicking up melting snow and pine needles as they moved through the thinning white.
Arthur breathed deep. "Out of the snow, finally."
"Can feel my damn toes again," Cam muttered, flexing his boots in the stirrups. "I was about two shivers from frostbite."
Dutch turned in his saddle, scanning the group like a proud general. "Now look at you boys… this is a crew. Micah Bell, Charles Smith, Arthur Morgan, Javier Escuella. Young Lenny, first man on his horse—and Gallagher, who never misses a beat."
Lenny chuckled. "Just glad we're back at it, Dutch."
"You ready for this, kid?" Javier asked.
"Born ready," Lenny said with a smile.
Cam looked over. "Stick to your lane, Lenny. Watch Dutch's back and don't play hero. That's how you live long enough to see the next score."
Lenny nodded seriously.
Micah piped up from the back. "So we do this, then we finally head back to Blackwater?"
Arthur groaned. "You ever get tired of that question?"
Micah shot back, "It's a hell of a lotta money sittin' there."
Charles added, "And a hell of a lotta Pinkertons."
Cam, more serious now, spoke low. "I say we do the job, get out clean. Then figure out what's worth the risk. No point dying for money if you can't spend it."
Dutch nodded, pleased. "We go back when I say. For now, we focus. If the O'Driscolls were right, this train's loaded with railroad bonds—worth a damn fortune once we find someone who'll cash 'em."
He slowed his horse again, raising his hand.
"Now quiet down. We're close."
They crested the ridge. Below them, the track stretched through a shallow valley, the water tower standing tall beside it like a watchman. The air was still. Tense.
Dutch pointed down. "There's the spot. Hold here."
Cam pulled his horse up beside Arthur, scanning the tracks below with a focused gaze. His gloved hand reached instinctively for the rifle slung across his back.
He let out a slow breath. "Alright, boys. Time to make history… or a real big mess."
Arthur gave him a sidelong glance. "With us? Probably both."
They shared a quiet laugh as the wind rustled through the trees.
The horses slowed to a stop as the gang reached the ridge. Below them, the water tower loomed over the tracks like a silent watchman, shadow stretching long across the snow-thawed valley.
Dutch pointed toward the edge. "There's the water tower. Hold up here."
The gang reined in. Cam swung one leg off his saddle and slid down smoothly, boots crunching lightly against the frosty grass. His eyes scanned the area.
Dutch squinted ahead. "Is Bill there?"
Arthur shaded his eyes with a hand. "Yeah… I see him."
Dutch nodded. "You wanna head down? See how he's gettin' on?"
Arthur grunted and kicked his horse into motion. "Alright."
Cam watched him go, adjusting the strap of his rifle. "Let's just hope Bill remembered left from right this time."
Micah snorted. "Wouldn't hold your breath."
Down below, Arthur approached Bill as he fumbled with the dynamite.
"How you gettin' on?" Arthur asked.
Bill grunted. "Yeah... I'm okay."
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "You sure?"
"Of course."
"You want a hand?"
"Alright. Go ahead... set up the detonator by those rocks over there."
Arthur dismounted and picked up the spool of wire. He walked it over with care and crouched near the rocks, connecting the wire to the detonator box.
Arthur stood and dusted his gloves. "Okay, this is good."
"That should do it. Head back up—I got it from here."
Arthur swung onto his horse and rode up toward the ridge again.
From above, Cam leaned on his saddle horn. "That took longer than it should've," he muttered.
Lenny glanced over his shoulder. "Here comes Arthur."
Micah rolled his neck. "About time. I have to say—I am very much looking forward to this."
Dutch snapped his fingers, refocusing the group. "Just be ready to move quick. And remember the plan—all of you. No mistakes."
Arthur rejoined them, tugging his gloves tight.
Dutch looked to him. "What's going on?"
"He says it's all fine."
Javier clicked his tongue. "We'll soon find out."
Dutch gave a small nod, face hard. "Everything okay?"
"I think so," Arthur replied, but the doubt in his tone didn't go unnoticed.
"Cover your faces," Dutch ordered. "Train should be here any minute now."
The gang pulled up their bandanas. Cam's fingers lingered on his scarf, eyes narrowing as the faint chugging of the train echoed through the trees.
Dutch's voice dropped low, almost reverent. "Gentlemen… it's time."
The steel beast rolled into view, smoke curling high as it thundered along the track. The dynamite—silent, waiting—sat just beyond the water tower.
Dutch's eyes flicked to Bill.
"Good luck, all of you," he said. "You all know what to do."
Cam exhaled slowly, hand resting near his holster. "Showtime."
Down below, Bill braced himself, hands gripping the detonator.
"Here we go," he muttered.
He slammed it down.
Nothing.
Bill's eyes widened. "Shit—no! What? Goddamn it—!"
The dynamite sat like an unlit birthday candle while the train roared past. Bill frantically pounded the box again.
Dutch's voice sharpened. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me."
Arthur threw up his hands. "Where did you find that moron?"
Dutch fired back. "You said it was fine!"
Arthur turned on him. "So now it's my fault?"
Cam had already leapt off his horse.
"No time," he barked. "We improvise—now!"
The gang dismounted in a flurry, boots hitting snow and earth as they rushed to the tunnel. Cam ran beside Arthur, rifle bouncing against his back, wind slicing across his face as they chased the train.
Javier grunted ahead. "Well, come on!"
"You're pathetic, Dutch!" Arthur snapped over his shoulder before vanishing with Cam and Lenny into the tunnel's echoing dark.
Javier pointed ahead. "Here we go!"
The three launched from the ledge.
Arthur landed cleanly.
Javier missed entirely, slamming into the gravel below with a grunt.
Lenny clung desperately to the side of the car.
Cam hit hard—boots scraping metal, one hand grabbing the top rail as his hat flew off into the wind. He grunted, swung a leg over, and pulled himself up in one clean motion.
He reached out, grabbed Lenny's forearm just as the boy began to slip.
"Got you, kid—hold on!"
Lenny gritted his teeth, fingers white-knuckled around Cam's wrist.
"Pull yourself up—I ain't draggin' your ass the whole way!"
Lenny grunted, using Cam's grip as leverage to clamber onto the car.
They both rolled forward and pressed flat against the roof, snowflakes scattering around them, the roar of the train in their ears.
Cam reached for his rifle and chambered a round.
Arthur shouted from ahead, crouched on the next car. "Y'all still breathin'?"
"Barely," Cam called back, smirking through grit. "But that's the fun part, ain't it?"
Cam pulled Lenny up hard onto the roof of the train car, and without hesitation, the two began moving fast, boots pounding against cold steel as the train thundered ahead.
Lenny: "Where's Javier?"
Arthur: "He fell. The others'll get him."
Lenny: "You and me, big man."
Lenny dropped down into the car below. Cam followed behind him, rifle slung, hand already brushing the hilt of his knife.
Inside, a guard turned just as Lenny stepped forward, but it was too late—the kid buried his knife into the man's neck and eased him down with shaky control.
Cam gave a quick nod of approval, crouching beside the door.
Arthur: "Come on, we need to stop this train."
They pushed forward. Another guard waited just outside the train car. Lenny leaned close.
Lenny: "There's another guard up ahead. You want me to take him?"
Cam: (low and sharp) "No. I'll handle it. Cover me."
Cam didn't hesitate. He slipped out the door, staying low. The guard barely had time to blink before Cam's throwing knife buried itself under his jawline. The man dropped like dead weight onto the rails.
Gunfire erupted almost immediately from further up.
Arthur: "Guess they heard that."
Cam: "Good. Let 'em come."
Bullets sparked against metal as guards began pouring from the next car. Cam dropped low behind a crate and switched fluidly to his Lancaster repeater. He fired clean, controlled shots—two to the chest, one to the head—before moving.
Arthur and Lenny joined in, the three of them pushing through the cars with lethal rhythm.
Arthur: "You alright?"
Lenny: (grinning) "Yeah, I'm good!"
Cam: (reloading) "Keep your head, Lenny. Check corners, move smart."
The fighting grew tighter as they advanced toward the front. Cam switched again, slipping his repeater back and drawing both revolvers as they breached the next car.
Lenny: "What the hell was Bill doing? He had long enough to set that charge."
Arthur: "Well, I hooked up the wire, but we won't mention that."
Cam smirked as he fired down another corridor, hitting a guard square in the shoulder, then followed up with a center-mass shot.
Cam: "Let's just say it's a miracle this train's still on the tracks."
Up ahead, they reached the final car before the engine.
Arthur: "How you doin' there?"
Lenny: "I'm okay!"
Cam: "Let's finish it. Other boys won't keep up if this thing rolls much further."
Arthur moved to the edge—just as a shovel swung out from nowhere, cracking against his ribs. He stumbled back into the train wall as the engineer lunged from the coal bin, hands around his throat.
Lenny: "You got him?! I ain't got a clear shot!"
Cam raised his revolver but hesitated—the train was bucking hard and the angle was bad. Arthur was on his own.
Gritting his teeth, Arthur wrestled the engineer down and slammed him off the train with a brutal shove. The man's scream was swallowed by the wind and steel as he disappeared beneath the bridge.
Arthur climbed forward into the engine car and yanked the brake.
The train screeched as it finally ground to a halt.
But no peace followed.
Arthur: "Shit! More guards comin' outta that train car!"
A storm of bodies spilled from the side doors. Gunfire lit the clearing. Cam grabbed his repeater and ducked behind the coal tender.
Cam: "Cover left! I'll swing wide!"
He vaulted down the side of the train, crouched behind a log, and picked off two men advancing on Lenny. Then, switching again, he drew his knife and ran full-tilt toward another guard trying to flank Arthur—slashing deep across the ribs before burying the blade in the man's spine.
Lenny: "There better be some money at the end of this!"
Arthur: "All these bastards gotta be guarding something!"
Cam: (gritting his teeth, blood on his sleeves) "There's no way Cornwall wastes men like this on an empty safe."
The trio pushed forward through smoke and shouting.
Lenny: "We need the car at the back, right?"
Arthur: "Yep! Keep pushing!"
Cam: "Keep low and aim high!"
They cut down another wave of guards. Cam moved efficiently, rotating between his revolvers and repeater with the speed of a man who'd seen more battlefields than campfires.
Arthur: "You still okay?"
Lenny: "I think so!"
Cam: "That's all you need to be, kid. Just breathe."
Lenny: "Damn—he's got an army! Who is this guy?!"
Arthur: "You're doin' good, kid."
Cam: "Not dead yet. That's a win."
Gunfire slowed as the final car loomed.
Lenny: "Oh shit... look! They're comin' outta that last train car!"
Arthur: "We're gonna get outta this!"
Lenny: "Oh, I know we are!"
Then—the sound of hoofbeats on gravel.
Lenny: "Hey! There's the other boys!"
Dutch and the others galloped into the clearing. Micah and Charles opened fire immediately. Javier fired from horseback. Bill cursed under his breath, ducking a stray bullet.
Lenny: "Watch it! More of 'em ahead!"
Dutch: "Alright—clear those sons of bitches!!"
Cam didn't need the order. He reloaded, shouldered his repeater, and moved forward again—relentless, precise, and deadly.
The last of the guards fell, the echo of gunfire swallowed by the mountains.
Cam stood tall, blood and soot staining his coat, rifle still smoking in his hands.
Cam: "If this is what they had guarding it... there better be something damn good in that car."
Smoke still curled in the frozen air. Brass shells glittered on the frostbitten ground. Cam Gallagher stood beside Arthur, revolver low at his side, eyes scanning the treeline even as the chaos slowed.
Arthur: "Good shooting, kid."
Lenny: (panting) "I can see now why the O'Driscolls brought so many boys up here for this."
The rest of the gang rode up in a thunder of hooves, dismounting as they neared the halted train. Dutch's eyes swept the battlefield.
Dutch: "Are you two alright?"
Arthur: "Yeah. Let's get the money and go."
Cam: (nodding, voice steady) "Train's clear. Let's not waste time."
They moved as a group toward the last train car, weapons drawn and boots crunching on gravel and snow.
Dutch: "We got some fellers holed up in this last car."
Arthur: "Ah, shit."
Dutch stepped forward, slow and theatrical, like a preacher who'd traded his Bible for a revolver.
Dutch: (calling out) "What are you boys planning on doing in there?"
Cam shifted beside him, rifle ready but calm. He didn't posture—he watched the corners, windows, shadows.
Dutch: "Listen to me. We don't want to kill any of ya…" (he glanced at the gang) "…any more of ya. I give you my word. But trust me... we will."
Employee: (from within the car) "I work for Leviticus Cornwall!"
Dutch: "Come on, boys."
Employee: "We got our orders."
Dutch: "Okay. You asked for it. Five…"
Cam took a step back, already calculating angles in his head.
Employee: "We ain't opening this door!"
Dutch: "Four… Three… Two… One."
Dutch turned, face unreadable.
Dutch: "Seems our friends have gone deaf. Wake 'em up a little!"
The gang let loose—a storm of bullets tearing across the train walls. Cam didn't waste rounds. He sighted one of the hinges and popped it twice, clean and precise.
Employee: "We ain't comin' out! You got no way in here!"
Dutch: "That's enough!"
The gunfire ceased. Snowflakes drifted lazily where smoke had been.
Dutch: "Mr. Williamson, give Mr. Morgan and Mr. Smith some dynamite. You two boys go blow that door open."
As Arthur and Charles took the dynamite, Cam stepped forward.
Cam: "I'll go with 'em. You'll want someone watching your backs while you're setting that."
Dutch: (nodding) "Fine by me. Just don't blow yourselves sky high."
The three moved to the door. Arthur planted the sticks. Charles secured the fuse. Cam covered both ends, rifle raised.
Arthur: "Here we go..."
Charles: "Seems good enough. Now light the fuse."
Bill: "Unless you got a death wish, I'd step back, fellers."
They moved clear. The fuse hissed.
BOOM.
The door blew open in a shower of wood and smoke.
Dutch: (to the inside) "Alright, come on... just walk on out here."
Shaking, soot-covered men staggered out with hands raised.
Dutch: "We don't want to kill you… we just wanna rob your boss."
Cam: (quietly, to the side) "Stay in line, don't make this worse for yourselves."
The gang ushered them aside. Dutch motioned to the car.
Dutch: "Get on up there, search that train."
Cam followed Arthur, Lenny, and Micah into the lavish car. It was damn near royalty on rails—mahogany panels, gold trim, fine liquor on the table.
Lenny: "Look at this place. It's like a palace."
Arthur: "Now I've seen everything. You two get the safe. I'll search the rest."
Cam: "I'll watch the door. We're not done yet."
As Lenny and Micah headed for the safe, Cam posted up at the entrance, revolver loose in his hand.
Micah: "You're just gonna stand there, kid? Pour me some brandy, will ya? I'm parched."
Lenny: "Shut up. Me, Cam and Arthur did all the work."
Arthur: "Yeah... kid did good. Didn't see you rushing to jump on that train."
Micah: (smirking) "He's keen. I'll give you that."
Cam: (not even looking at him) "Keep talking, Micah. I'll pour you some hot lead instead."
The safe clicked.
Micah: "There. See? That's how it's done."
He peered in, face falling.
Micah: "Shit. Just a pile of papers."
Arthur: "Bonds?"
Micah: "Don't think so. Here, Lenny, make yourself useful. Least we all know you can read."
Lenny: "Give me those."
Lenny scanned the pages.
Lenny: "Railroad contracts… invoices… sugar imports from the Spanish West Indies… and something about a fancy new boat."
Micah: (grumbling) "I ain't robbin' another boat as long as I live."
Cam watched Arthur quietly moving through cabinets, checking drawers. Then—
Arthur: "Think I got 'em."
He held up the railroad bonds.
Micah: "Nice."
Lenny: "Well thank God. Come on."
The three climbed down from the train car. Cam was last, glancing once over his shoulder before dropping back onto the dirt.
Dutch: "What did you find?"
Arthur: "These. Bonds."
He handed them over. Dutch studied the papers, a rare glint in his eye.
Dutch: "Bearer bonds. I think we could sell these easily. Well done. Now would you get rid of all this?"
Arthur: "The train?"
Dutch: "Yeah, get it outta here."
The gang was already mounting up.
Arthur: (to Dutch) "What about them?"
He gestured toward the workers lined up.
Dutch: "What do you think?"
Arthur: "I don't know."
Dutch: "It's up to you."
He turned away, voice drifting like fog in the trees.
Dutch: "Kill 'em, leave 'em here… take 'em with you on the train. Just make sure they don't send no folk after us."
Arthur: "Okay."
Dutch swung up on his horse, calm as ever.
Dutch: "See you back at camp. When you get back… we'll be moving on. The rest of you... let's ride!"
The train had finally stopped, the last of the guards taken care of. The workers—scattered and shivering, their hands bound and their faces pale—were lined up in the snow. The wind howled across the mountain pass, biting at their skin and making their teeth chatter. The gang stood in a loose circle around the crew, ready to make their next move.
Cam stood close to Arthur, his posture tense. His mind raced with the same thoughts that always lingered after a job like this: What was the right thing to do?
The gang stood in a tight circle around the train crew, their breath heavy in the cold mountain air. The train had come to a stop, the last of the guards taken out. The workers—scared and unsure—were kneeling in the snow, their hands bound behind their backs. Cam and Arthur stood side by side, staring at the men.
Cam shifted his weight, trying to shake off the unease. He looked over at Arthur, his voice low.
"Arthur," Cam said, his tone steady but firm. "These men? They're just workers. They've got nothing to do with Cornwall's games. We don't need to kill them."
Arthur's eyes narrowed as he surveyed the men. His jaw tightened, his breath puffing in the cold air. He had made hard decisions before, and he didn't hesitate now.
"Cam, you know what Cornwall's capable of. You let them go, and what happens? They'll run back to him, tell him everything, and then we'll have Cornwall's men breathing down our necks. That's how this works."
Cam exhaled sharply, shaking his head slightly, trying to push back the frustration.
"I get it, but these men don't even know what's going on. You think they'd risk their lives for Cornwall? They're not the problem here. Killing them won't change a damn thing." Cam's voice was more urgent now. "It's not about mercy. It's about not making more enemies than we already have."
Arthur didn't respond immediately. He was used to seeing everything in black and white: kill or be killed. But there was something in Cam's words that struck him. He wasn't some naive kid, and Arthur knew that. Cam was practical, smart, but still held onto some idealism.
"I hear you, but you think letting them go won't bite us in the ass?" Arthur's voice was rough, but his gaze softened just a touch. "Cornwall doesn't care about these workers. They're expendable. If we let them live, what's to stop them from running straight to him? And then we've got a hundred men on our tail."
Cam's expression hardened, but he didn't back down.
"Cornwall's a bastard. That's not news. But those workers? They're just trying to get by. If we let them go with a warning, that's the end of it. We're not in the business of killing people just because we can. They won't go back to Cornwall to rat on us—they'll be too scared to do anything."
Arthur rubbed the back of his neck, his frustration mounting. He was used to making the hard calls, cutting the dead weight to make sure everyone else made it out alive. But this wasn't as clear-cut as it usually was.
"And what if you're wrong?" Arthur shot back. "What if they go straight to Cornwall, or worse—bring others after us? You know how this works. We've got a long list of people wanting us dead."
Cam stood a little taller, meeting Arthur's gaze with a level-headed intensity. He wasn't backing down, but his voice was measured.
"I'm not saying we trust them completely," Cam replied, his tone firm but calm. "We let them go with a message: don't come after us. If they do? We deal with it then. But we're not making this personal. We don't have to kill them all just to cover our backs."
Arthur stared at him for a moment, the cold air between them thick with tension. He had seen enough bloodshed to know that mercy wasn't a luxury you could afford in their world. But Cam wasn't naive. He wasn't making this about feeling good—it was about being smart, not burning bridges they didn't need to.
Arthur looked over at the crew, then back to Cam, his expression still hard but his mind working through the situation.
"Fine," Arthur muttered, taking a step back. "We don't kill them. But they get a message. No funny business. If they even think about running back to Cornwall or anyone else, we'll make sure they regret it."
Cam nodded, relief settling in his chest, but there was no triumph in it—just the understanding that they were all just trying to survive in a world that didn't care about mercy.
The last of the Leviticus Cornwall men were trembling, hands up, faces pale. Cam and Arthur stood before them, eyes sharp beneath the brim of their hats. The others had ridden off, leaving the two of them to handle the loose ends.
Arthur had his revolver drawn, the steel catching what little sun peeked through the alpine clouds.
"Get on the damn train," Arthur said flatly.
No shouting. No second warnings. Just cold certainty.
The workers hesitated for half a breath, until Cam stepped forward, a hand resting lightly on the grip of his rifle slung over his shoulder.
"You heard him," Cam added, his voice low and even. "Car at the back. Now. Or we bury you right here and roll this train over your bones."
The men scrambled, stumbling into the rear car without another word. Arthur slammed the door shut behind them and locked it.
"You really think they'll stay quiet?" Arthur muttered, holstering his revolver as he walked toward the front of the train.
"They've got eyes. They saw what we did," Cam said, following close behind. "You kill 'em, and Cornwall sends more. We leave 'em scared and breathing, maybe they keep their mouths shut."
Arthur let out a short, humorless laugh.
"You got too much faith in cowards, Cam."
"No," Cam said coolly, "I've got enough faith in fear. That's what we left 'em with."
Arthur didn't argue. He climbed up into the engine, boots thudding on metal, and took the throttle in his hand.
"They talk, they die later. Simple."
Cam nodded once and stepped in beside him, checking the gauges as the steam hissed loud into the cold air. The engine grumbled, coughed, then roared to life.
The train began to crawl forward, wheels grinding against frozen rails, until it picked up speed. Behind them, the locked car rattled—its cargo of terrified witnesses bound by silence and the threat of retribution.
Arthur kept his eyes on the track ahead.
"No speeches, no mercy next time," he said. "We're not here to teach lessons."
Cam didn't look over, just adjusted a valve and watched the road open up through the steam.
"No. We're here to survive."
The train screamed downhill, past the pines, the wind carving through the canyons like a blade. Two outlaws at the helm. A warning left behind.
And if those men talked?
They'd be the first to die screaming.