Stepping out of the cabin, Davey headed off to find Pearson and grab something to eat.
"Hey, Davey."
Susan Grimshaw approached him.
She had once been Dutch's lover, but after Molly entered the picture, Dutch had gradually grown distant from her.
Still, there was no denying her importance to the gang—she managed their logistics and supplies with precision and order.
"Susan, if you're here to speak up for that rat Micah Bell, save your breath."
Davey's tone was sharp and unwelcoming.
That was just how the Callander brothers were—always had been, always would be.
"Oh, Davey, of course not! You saw it yourself—if he hadn't hidden behind Dutch, I'd have blown his head off right then and there," Susan said quickly.
Hearing that, Davey's expression softened a little. "Mrs. Grimshaw, you know I don't mean anything against you personally. It's Dutch—how could he trust an outsider who just joined us?"
"Mac and I have given everything for this gang. We nearly died on that ferry, and yet he still chooses to believe that rat."
"It's disappointing—Dutch has changed. He's not the man he used to be."
Susan sighed, trying to reason with him. "Dutch... maybe it's just the situation we're in. He's under pressure, restless. Give him some time—he'll see things clearly again."
"Let's hope so." Davey shrugged and walked away.
There was no point in continuing. As capable as she was, Susan's loyalty to Dutch ran too deep.
With Mac following behind, Davey made his way to Pearson's wagon.
"Oh, Davey, Mac! I'm working on the deer and rabbits you two brought back. Want some?"
Pearson gave them a nervous, flattering smile.
He was just the camp cook, not high on the gang's ladder.
The Callander brothers weren't to be trifled with—they were real outlaws, dangerous and unrestrained.
Of course, they also did most of the hunting that kept the camp fed.
"Pearson, that stuff you make tastes awful. You got anything else?" Davey asked bluntly.
Without proper seasoning, the venison and rabbit always turned out gamey. It filled your stomach, sure, but it was hard to choke down.
"I've got some canned goods and biscuits—Arthur and the others brought them back earlier. Maybe you could try those first," Pearson offered hastily, rummaging around before pulling out a few tins.
Davey gave them a look, then nodded in approval.
Mac stepped forward to take them from Pearson.
He was Davey's younger brother, and now he acted every bit the part—quiet, obedient, almost deferential.
It hadn't always been like this. While Mac had usually followed his brother's lead, it had never been to this extent.
He didn't quite know why, but ever since the Blackwater ferry robbery, Davey seemed... different.
More commanding. More intense.
Maybe it was how Davey had looked out for him lately.
Maybe it was the way he'd stood up to Dutch without hesitation.
Or maybe... something else entirely.
Whatever it was, Mac couldn't shake the feeling that his brother had changed—and it unsettled him.
"Mac, we're brothers, right? Always have been."
"No matter what happens, trust me, all right?"
Davey said as he took a can of herring from Mac, opened it with a knife, and glanced over at him.
He'd noticed the shift in Mac's mood.
"Yes, Davey. We're brothers—always. Whatever you're planning, I'm with you."
Mac could tell Davey had something on his mind, though he didn't know what.
...
The next morning, noise stirred outside.
Davey got up, dressed, and stepped out of the cabin.
Mac was still asleep.
Outside, Dutch was mounting his horse with Arthur, Bill, Javier, and the others—they were preparing to rob the train.
"Hey, Davey," Arthur called out in greeting.
Dutch gave a brief nod but said nothing.
Micah Bell avoided Davey's gaze entirely, afraid of provoking the madman again.
Davey's presence alone made the air feel heavier.
Dutch said nothing more and led the group out of camp.
Davey began to wander around idly.
"Hey, Davey."
"Good morning, Mrs. Grimshaw."
"Good morning, Davey."
"Good morning, Miss Karen."
He moved through the camp greeting everyone, as though yesterday's chaos had never happened.
He stopped by Pearson's again and grabbed a bowl of stew—thick with venison, rabbit, vegetables, and the faintest trace of spice.
It tasted terrible, but at least it filled him up.
Not long after, Davey walked over to where Kieran Duffy was tied up.
"Oh, the poor little O'Driscoll boy," Davey said mockingly.
Kieran lifted his head, fear flickering in his eyes.
He didn't know much about the Van der Linde Gang, but he'd seen how reckless Davey was yesterday—clearly someone with real authority here.
"I'm not one of the O'Driscolls," Kieran stammered. "I just ran errands for them."
As he spoke, his eyes fixed hungrily on the bowl in Davey's hands.
"Please... I haven't eaten in two days. I'm starving."
Davey chuckled, lifting the bowl toward Kieran's mouth before tilting it sharply, pouring the contents straight in.
Kieran barely had time to react as his mouth overflowed with stew. Davey didn't stop until the bowl was completely empty, most of it spilling onto the ground.
Kieran coughed and swallowed what he could, struggling to get the words out. "Th... thank you... thank you."
Rough as Davey's gesture had been, Kieran showed no anger—only pure gratitude shining in his eyes.