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Chapter 14 - Chapter 14

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Everyone followed Arthur all the way down to the stables at the far end of the street, pulling off their veils once they were out of sight.

 The women tucked their revolvers away and straightened themselves up, trying to look like nothing out of the ordinary had happened before stepping back out onto the main street.

Now that they'd made it clear of the clinic without being spotted, the tension in the group lifted. The safest way to keep suspicion off them was to melt into the crowd. 

Morning in Valentine was busy—folk moving wagons, shopkeepers setting out their goods, ranch hands pushing through town—plenty of faces for them to disappear among. With no lawmen catching them in the act, there wasn't much chance anyone would piece together who'd just slipped out of that clinic.

"Jamie, didn't I tell you to keep an eye on the doc? What made you come inside?" Arthur asked as they kept walking.

Jamie rubbed at his nose and muttered, "The doc got spooked soon as the guns went off. He tripped on his own laces, cracked his head, and went down cold. I didn't even lay a hand on him. Pure bad luck for him." His voice came out a little stuffed, his nose still full of dust.

Arthur gave a short laugh. "Ha! Poor bastard. Guess his luck ran out." Then he glanced over his shoulder at the women. "Ladies, seeing how smooth that went, how about we raise a glass? Tavern sound good?"

A chorus of eager replies followed. "Yes!" "Finally something fun!"

Inside the saloon, the group slid into a corner table instead of crowding the bar. Arthur waved at the barkeep. "One bottle of gin, one of whiskey, one of brandy, and six glasses!" This time he didn't just order his usual whiskey. He added the gin for himself and the brandy the ladies favored.

Mary-Beth frowned. "Arthur, it's barely morning. You're ordering like it's a Saturday night. We've still got the whole day ahead."

Arthur leaned back with a grin. "Ah, Mary-Beth, if you knew what we walked away with today, you'd want a drink too."

Jamie, who'd been eyeing the box Arthur carried since they left the clinic, couldn't hold it in anymore. "Arthur, I've been meaning to ask… what's in that compartment? That box you're clutching like treasure?"

Arthur smirked, set the wooden box down on the table, and slid it across to Jamie. "Go on. Open it. See for yourself."

Jamie muttered, "You sure about this?" The box looked plain enough—polished wood, short as his forearm, carved with a few simple lines. 

He lifted the lid and blinked when the lamplight caught silver steel. Nestled inside was a gleaming Schofield revolver.

Jamie's eyes widened. "This… this is for me?"

Arthur chuckled and nodded. "Aye. Brand new. Worth near eighty dollars. She's a fine gun, smooth action. But compared to what we really got today, that's pocket change."

Tilly leaned forward, curiosity getting the better of her. "Then what is the big prize, Arthur? Stop keeping us guessing."

Karen, unable to hold it in, leaned across the table with a mischievous look. "If he won't say it, I will." She dropped her voice low, glancing around to make sure no ears were too close. "Gold bars. Shining gold bars. More than a dozen of 'em!"

(The prices in the book are closer to real prices. At the end of the 19th century, a standard weight gold bar was worth about $80)

"What?" Mary-Beth and Tilly's jaws dropped, the shock quickly giving way to grins of pure delight.

Jamie sat back, stunned. 

That much wealth hidden under a clinic floor seemed unreal. 

Still, he didn't let greed get ahold of him. 

In his mind, he was just a man tagging along in this strange, dangerous world. 

Gold could buy supplies, guns, clothes—but it wasn't comfort or peace. 

And once it got split between everyone in camp, it wouldn't stretch as far as it sounded. 

He figured the real joy for the others was in how easy the job had gone, and how much sweeter the haul turned out than they expected.

"Shh! Keep your voices down, don't go drawin' attention." Karen warned sharply when she noticed the two girls' excitement.

"The O'Driscoll boys stashed all that money in this hideout? Well, they sure took a beating tonight." Mary-Beth whispered with a laugh, covering her mouth to hide her grin.

Arthur chuckled as he pocketed another handful of bills. "And it's all thanks to Jamie. If he hadn't stumbled onto that secret compartment, we'd be leavin' with just a few dollars and that gun. Truth be told, even that would've been worth the trouble—we robbed the O'Driscolls, took out some of their men, and burned one of their safe spots. But the fact that we found the money they went out of their way to hide? That'll make Colm boil over. I can't help but laugh just thinkin' about it. And Dutch—hah, I can only imagine the look on his face when he hears this." His serious expression broke into a grin by the end.

Jamie scratched the back of his neck, a little uneasy with the attention. "It was pure luck, really. I didn't expect leanin' on that wall would lead me to somethin' like that." 

But even as he said it, he couldn't help but wonder. Too many things today had lined up strangely well. 

Arthur's shot that sent the doctor into a panic, the man knocking himself out cold, Jamie following Karen inside at just the right time, and then his hand landing right on the hidden panel. 

He had even spotted a proper safe built into the wall behind where Sadie was standin', so why stash the real fortune elsewhere? Something about it all gnawed at him.

"Well, whatever it was, tonight's worth celebratin'." Arthur lifted a tray of glasses the barkeep had just brought over. 

He passed them around, his voice carrying a rare cheer. "Word is the fancy folk mix whiskey or brandy with gin these days. Let's give it a try."

Everyone poured, swirling their glasses before raising them high. Arthur took the lead, smirking toward Jamie. "Cheers, Jamie!"

The women joined in, their voices light and teasing: "Cheers to Jamie!"

Jamie shifted under their gaze, his cheeks warming. He lifted his own glass hesitantly and muttered, "To… myself."

The whole group broke into laughter, the sound filling the saloon room.

They clinked their glasses again, this time toasting louder: "To Dutch! To a better life!"

Jamie tried to keep up, but the whiskey burned through his empty stomach, still sour from earlier. 

After three glasses, his face paled, and he leaned toward Arthur. "Arthur… I ain't feelin' too good. Think I need to lie down and maybe get somethin' in my stomach."

Arthur gave him a concerned look. "Damn, I forgot you threw up back there. Sit tight. I'll grab us a room and have 'em send up food."

He strode off to the bar and returned a moment later, brass key in hand. "Alright, Jamie. Room 204's ours. Come on, I'll see you up there." He turned to the women, tipping his hat. "Ladies, Jamie needs some rest. If you get restless, take a walk outside for a spell."

"Poor Jamie," Karen said softly, her tone full of sympathy. "He must be feelin' it after all that."

"We'll go up too," Tilly added quickly. "Ain't easy walkin' around with iron stuffed under our clothes. We'll drop the guns in the room for now."

The others agreed, and together they surrounded Jamie, guiding him upstairs toward Room 204.

The room above the saloon was small—no more than twelve square meters, Jamie guessed. A plain bed pushed against the wall, a nightstand with a dented lamp, a rough wooden desk and two chairs filled the space. 

No washbasin, no running water—just the sort of rough lodgings a traveler might rent for a night.

Jamie dropped onto the bed while the others arranged themselves around the room. 

For a moment he thought they'd all settle into polite conversation, but then he saw Karen slip a hand beneath the skirt of her dress and, with a quick move, draw a revolver.

 She laid it on the desk in plain sight. Mary-Beth and Tilly followed her lead, sliding their pistols from the holsters at their hips and placing them beside Karen's as if it were the most natural thing to do.

"Sadie, you coming with us?" Mary-Beth asked when she noticed Sadie lingering near the doorway.

Sadie glanced up but didn't move. Her jaw worked for a second, then she gave a small, distant smile. 

"You go on. I'm not keen on the town. I'll keep watch here." 

Jamie thought he heard less rasp in her voice than the night before—perhaps she was steadier in daylight.

"Well, you'll stay here with poor Jamie, then," Mary-Beth said with a teasing lilt. 

The three women waved and slipped out of the room, voices buzzing with excitement as they hurried downstairs.

Arthur straightened, readjusted his coat, and said, "I'll be back to camp for a spell. Can't be carrying all this gold on me in town. I'll stash it proper-like. Also, the O'Driscolls took a hard hit today. They'll be restless—could be trouble in the area for a bit. Keep your heads down. Especially you, Mrs. Adler—you've got reasons to be careful." His tone softened for a beat, aimed at the woman who'd taken a life for vengeance.

Sadie met Arthur's gaze for a long second, then nodded once. "I understand."

"Jamie, food'll be here soon. Lie down a while. If Karen or the others return, keep them inside and don't let them go out. I'll be back." Arthur's last words were brisk, businesslike.

"Don't worry," Jamie answered, settling back on the mattress as Arthur closed the door and left.

When the door thudded shut, Jamie turned to Sadie and offered, "Mrs. Adler, please sit. It might be a while."

She accepted and moved to the chair by the desk. 

Today she'd swapped the deep black mourning clothes for a dark yellow cotton shirt and brown canvas trousers, her straw hat replaced by a battered cowboy hat. 

The change made her look less like a shadow and more like someone trying to live again.

Jamie smoothed the pillows at the head of the bed and glanced over before he leaned his back against them. "You sure you don't want to come? It's been quiet here for days. A little town air might do you good."

Sadie didn't answer at once. 

Her eyes rested on the faded print above the bed—a pastoral scene with painted horses—and held there, as if the painting were a distant memory she couldn't reach.

 After a long beat she said, calmly, "I don't need to rest. I feel… lighter. I'm glad I saw a few of the O'Driscoll boys go under my hand today."

Jamie felt the room tilt at those words.

 They were flat, almost matter-of-fact, but beneath them ran a current of something hard and raw. 

He propped himself a little higher and asked carefully, "How many? You mean—besides the woman—did you get others?"

Sadie nodded and said, "Yeah. Besides that woman, there was also a gunman."

Hearing that she and Arthur had taken out a gunman and walked away unharmed, Jamie couldn't help but exclaim, "I didn't expect you to be that tough. I mean… what I saw from you today is nothing like how you act back at camp."

Sadie's expression hardened. "We live in a harsh world. To survive, I had to learn how to ride, how to hunt, how to fight. Now I'm glad I did, 'cause it means I can take revenge quicker." She dragged out the word revenge, her tone sharp, like that word alone was keeping her alive.

Jamie lowered his eyes. "Seems we both had rough pasts. But yours… yours sounds worse than mine." 

He hesitated, then told her a version of his story—how he learned to shoot, but only at bottles and cans. 

He claimed he'd never shot a man, not even an animal. 

Of course, the tale was stitched together from things he'd seen in movies and TV Series.

Sadie studied him for a moment, her gaze steady. "No wonder you reacted like that in the O'Driscoll hideout. You need… some training." She paused before landing hard on that last word.

A knock broke the silence. Knock, knock, knock. "Guests of Room 204, here's the food you ordered," came a voice from the other side of the door.

"Okay, I'm coming!" Jamie said quickly, moving to stand.

But Sadie raised a hand. "Hold on. Let me." She crossed the room, opened the door, and took the tray of food from the waiter.

"Thank you," Jamie said, stepping forward. But instead of handing it over, Sadie carried the food to the desk where she'd been sitting and set it down. "

Sit here. Eat while it's hot. I'll take the chair over there."

"Oh… alright." Jamie didn't argue. 

He sat where she'd been, lifted the lid off the pot, and the rich smell of stew rose up.

The kitchen must've forgotten a proper spoon, leaving only a plate and a small one. 

With a shrug, Jamie ditched the plate and used the little spoon to scoop stew straight from the pot.

The meat tasted like lamb. Boiled plain, but without the strong gamy taste he half-expected. 

Mixed in were carrots, potatoes, and something unexpected. He fished out a pale slice, examined it for a long while, then realized—it was an apple.

An apple stew. And surprisingly, it worked. Sweetness cut through the broth, blending with the vegetables and meat. 

Jamie grinned to himself. 'Maybe I oughta tell Pearson about this when we get back. He could make somethin' like it for camp.'

When he finally leaned back and patted his full stomach, he felt the weight of the day ease off him, just for a moment.

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