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He approached carefully, making sure the deer was dead before waving Jack over. The boy touched the hide reverently. "Is it always like this?" he asked. Caleb shook his head. "No. Sometimes they get away. Sometimes they bleed out and it ain't pretty. But this was clean."
Jack nodded solemnly, a little more grown up at that moment. They met Arthur at the ridge a short while later. He had a rabbit hanging from his belt and a grin on his face.
"Didn't let me have all the fun, I see."
Caleb gestured to the deer. "One clean kill. Should feed the camp right."
Arthur nodded. "Let's haul it back before Pearson gets another idea to cook shoe leather stew."
They tied the deer over Morgan's saddle, and Arthur let Jack ride on his horse this time, the boy grinning from ear to ear.
When they returned to camp, Pearson came waddling out with a dish towel over one shoulder.
"Back already?"
Arthur tossed the rabbit toward him. "You said bring you somethin' worth cooking. Here's a starter."
Caleb patted the deer. "And the main course."
Pearson's eyes lit up. "Well, now! This'll do nicely. Thank you, gentlemen, and Master Jack, of course."
Jack beamed.
Abigail came over, kneeling beside her son. "Did you behave?"
"I did! I watched Uncle Caleb shoot a deer! It was amazing!"
Caleb chuckled. "He did well. Quiet, observant. Didn't once get in the way. Just like he had hunted with him before."
"Well, you earned yourself a treat, then," she said, guiding Jack back toward the campfire.
Arthur patted Caleb on the shoulder. "Nice shot. Guess Pearson'll have no excuse now."
Caleb smiled, then pulled out a coin from his satchel and flipped it in the air. "Let's just hope he remembers what salt is."
That night, the stew was better, full, rich, hearty, the meat tender and flavorful. Even Arthur had to admit it.
As they ate by the fire, Mary-Beth slipped onto the log beside Caleb, her shoulder brushing his. "Heard you saved us from another night of Pearson's 'mystery stew,'" she murmured, smiling.
Caleb shrugged, though his chest warmed at her nearness. "Just doing my part."
Mary-Beth smiled warmly at Caleb as they finished their stew. "Well, thank you for saving us from Pearson's mysterious concoction," she said, her voice light with amusement.
Caleb grinned, scooping another spoonful from his bowl, before nudging her shoulder playfully. "My pleasure. Figured I owed everyone something better than shoe leather soup or other mysterious stew he prepared."
They ate together on the log near the fire, shoulders occasionally brushing, the evening cool but pleasant.
Caleb, usually more reserved, found himself telling light hearted jokes, little observations about Pearson's cooking, the way Arthur always scowled when reading, even a quick impression of Dutch's flowery speeches that made Mary-Beth giggle, hiding her mouth behind her hand.
"That was awful," she said between laughs, her eyes shining in the firelight.
"That's the point," Caleb replied with a grin. "If I ever talk like that, shoot me."
"I'll hold you to that," she teased, bumping her shoulder against his.
Arthur, arms crossed over his chest, grunted in agreement. "I actually think so. But for a while, I figured they'd keep flirting with each other until the world ended. Still… since you said so, Hosea, I reckon it'll happen now." He smirked. "Less somethin' gets in the way."
He let out a soft laugh, sipping from his cup.
Dutch, however, remained silent. His eyes, usually filled with fire and philosophy, now looked a bit dim. His jaw tightened just slightly, the expression subtle but clear enough for a man like Hosea to notice. The leader's gaze was fixed on Caleb and Mary-Beth, his face oddly ashen under the flickering firelight.
"Dutch?" Hosea asked after a pause. "You got a take on the young lovers?"
Arthur nudged Dutch lightly. "Or you just plannin' on starin' holes into the poor boy all night?"
The question pulled Dutch from his silent contemplation. He blinked, then turned back toward his friends with the familiar charismatic smile stretching across his face.
"Oh, of course," he said warmly, voice returning to that smooth, almost musical tone. "It's a fine thing, seeing young folks find peace in this kind of life. Young love is a beautiful thing. Makes you believe in something better, doesn't it?"
Then his tone shifted, darker, though still wrapped in that smooth charm. "But Caleb best be careful. If he ever breaks that sweet girl's heart..." Dutch let the threat hang in the air, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "Well, let's just say he'll have the *entire* camp to answer to."
The warning came with a theatrical flourish, but the edge in his voice lingered just a second too long. Hosea chuckled, catching the undertone, but brushing it off.
"Hell," Arthur added, "Pearson alone would skin him and serve him for dinner." The three men shared a laugh, as the fire crackled from the campfire.
Meanwhile, Caleb and Mary-Beth finished their meal, scraping the last of the stew from their bowls. The flavor lingered, tender venison, perfectly seasoned for once, warm and filling.
They both stood, walking to the camp's washing basin together. Caleb rinsed his bowl, and Mary-Beth did the same beside him.
She glanced up at him once more, eyes lingering.
"I'm glad you're here, Caleb," she said softly.
He paused, a rare vulnerability flashing across his face. "Me too."
A moment of silence passed, comfortable and unhurried. Then Mary-Beth smiled, gave a little wave, and returned to her tent.
Caleb stood there a moment longer, bowl in hand, before turning away and making his way across camp.
Arthur met him halfway, separating from Dutch and Hosea, and the two of them fell into an easy stride together.
"You two looked very cozy," Arthur said, just loud enough to be heard over the gentle murmur of camp.
Caleb shot him a sidelong glance. "You jealous, Mr. Morgan?"
Arthur smirked. "Maybe. Don't tell Mary-Beth."
They shared a chuckle before their expressions turned more serious.
"Ready to fill John in?" Arthur asked, adjusting his hat.
Caleb nodded. "Let's go."
They found John near his tent, cleaning his revolver with meticulous care. He looked up as they approached, raising an eyebrow. "You two look like you got somethin' to say."
Arthur smirked. "Got the oil wagon stashed at that abandoned shack like you said. Now we just need to know, when's that train comin' through?"
"Then I owe you both for working so hard," John said. "Saved my stomach."
John wiped his hands on a rag, then pulled out a folded piece of paper from his satchel, a train schedule. "Tomorrow night. Around midnight. Line's private, but lightly guarded. Perfect for a hit."
Caleb crossed his arms. "We're thinking of bringing in one more? Just to be safe?"
Arthur rubbed his chin. "Could ask Charles. Man's steady in a fight. He's quiet, strong, and he doesn't miss."
John nodded. "I like it. Four's better than three for this kind of job."
Caleb agreed. "Alright. I'll talk with Charles in the morning, let him know."
"Good," John said. "Let's make sure this one goes smoothly."
Later that night, Caleb lay in his bedroll beneath the stars, the soft murmur of crickets in the grass and the occasional crackle of the dying fire his lullaby. But sleep didn't come easily. He stared up, hands behind his head, thinking about Mary-Beth's smile, and it made him smile.
He had joined this gang because he wanted to change Arthur's life and, if possible, the gang as well, guided by a system interface and memories of his past life. But more and more, it wasn't survival that drove him. It was people. The bonds. The fragile connections that made this harsh life feel worth it.
He closed his eyes, forcing the thoughts away, choosing instead to dream of laughter, of stolen glances by firelight, and a future he hoped he could earn.
The next morning, Caleb woke to the golden hush of dawn stretching its fingers across the camp. The birds were already singing, and the air was cool but promising warmth later in the day.
Normally, he'd start his morning with stretches and light exercise, but today he felt a pull toward something else. Maybe it was the peaceful night before, or Mary-Beth's smile lingering in his mind, or maybe it was just the desire to help, to give back more than bullets and plans.
Instead of his usual regimen, he rolled up his sleeves and got to work.
The first task was chopping logs for the campfire. The small stack near the fire pit had dwindled after several chilly nights. Caleb retrieved the hatchet from the tool wagon and carried an armful of small, dry logs over to the chopping block. The rhythm was grounding, lift, strike, split. The smell of wood and morning dew filled his lungs.
After finishing a healthy pile, he moved on to the chicken feed. A couple of the burlap sacks had been left on a wagon near the girls' tent, and Pearson had grumbled the evening before about them needing to be moved.
Caleb hefted the sacks, one under each arm, and carried them over to Pearson's chuckwagon, setting them down near the crates of seasoning and dry goods.
Next came the haybales for the horses. He hauled them across the camp, placing them in small stacks near the hitching posts and water troughs. The horses whinnied appreciatively as he laid the bundles down, swatting their tails lazily.
Lastly, he returned to the supply wagon Pearson used for storing larger provisions. Caleb took the heavy canvas sacks, flour, beans, salt, and carried them one by one to their proper place near Pearson's cooking station. The sun had climbed higher by then, and sweat slicked his brow, dampening the collar of his shirt.
Once finished, Caleb stood and pulled a cloth from the clothesline strung between two trees. He wiped the sweat from his face, breathing deeply, feeling good in a way that didn't come from training or fighting. Just honest labor. Purposeful. Real.
Then, from the corner of his eye, movement.
A soft hand extended from his side, holding a tin cup filled to the brim with clear water. He turned, startled for just a heartbeat.
Mary-Beth.
Her hair was pulled back, and her dress still held the creases of sleep, but her face glowed with the warmth of morning sun and something gentler, appreciation.
"Thank you," she said, her voice light as the breeze. "For working so hard this morning."
Caleb blinked, momentarily caught off guard. Then he smiled, reaching for the cup. Their fingers brushed for the briefest second.
"Thanks," he said, raising the cup and drinking in one long gulp. The water was cool and clean, and it soothed the heat in his chest and throat. He handed the cup back. "Just doin' my part."
Mary-Beth accepted the empty cup, watching him with those ever-observant eyes of hers.
"How's the drawing going?" Caleb asked, letting his hands rest on his hips. "For the Harry Potter story. Figured you'd have a few sketches by now since I haven't had a chance to finish telling it."
Mary-Beth lit up at the mention. "I did! I've been working on some of the scenes you described. That flying game, the one with the broomsticks and the golden ball? Quidditch?"
She chuckled, a little embarrassed. "I had to make up a few things, of course, but it's been fun. Though… I'm running out of ideas without more of the story. You'll have to keep going soon or I'll just be making things up."
Caleb laughed. "Can't have that. Wouldn't want you turning Hogwarts into a cowboy saloon."
"I might," she teased, then glanced toward her tent. "Anyway, I should get this cup back before Pearson starts barking. Don't work too hard."
Caleb nodded, watching her leave, a warm feeling blooming in his chest. It took effort to pull himself away, but duty called. He had a job to do, and it started with Charles. He headed through the camp, boots soft in the morning dirt, until he found Charles at the edge of the clearing, calmly repairing a broken arrow with quiet focus. Caleb approached and crouched beside him.
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Name: Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 7/10
- Agility: 6/10
- Perception: 8/10
- Stamina: 7/10
- Charm: 5/10
- Luck: 6/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl 2)
- Rifle (Lvl 2)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl 2)
- Past Life Memory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl 1)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl 1)
- Sneaking (Lvl 2)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl 2)
- Poker (Lvl 1)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl 1)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl 1)
- Dead Eye (Lvl 1)
- Bow (Lvl 2)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl 1)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl 0)
- Crafting (Lv1)
- Persuasion (Lvl 2)
Money: 731 dollars and 61 cents
Bank: 40 dollars, 2 gold bars, a large bag of jewelry, and 3 gold nuggets