Work Text:
April, 1898
The moment Cal left the boat, he threw up over the edge of the docks. After spending the worst few weeks of his life on that God-forsaken ship, he just had to try and expel all the nastiness the ship had left in his stomach. Eventually his heaving stopped, and he wiped it his mouth with the sleeve of his dress.
Cal clung to the railing, staring at the churning sea beneath him. The ocean was once a beacon of hope, a promise of greater things over the horizon. Now, it was just a painful reminder of all he had lost and the fact that he was now alone in this new country.
Land of the free my ass, Cal thought bitterly as he stepped away, turning his focus back to the docks. The San Fransisco port was bustling with activity, all of it overwhelming to the now orphan child. He sighed and he pushed off from the railing, making his way across the paved streets. I’m 15, he chided himself. I’m grown. I can do this. It’s just a new city with new people, who speak a language I’ve hardly used, and- Damn it. Repeating it in his head just made him feel even worse.
Another realization settled on him, filling his gut with dread. And I’m still a woman. His plan when he came to America was to completely ditch the dresses his family dressed him in and start over as a new person, as a new man. He’d tell everyone his name was Cal, which it was, and he make a claim for himself here.
His self-loathing was interrupted by a man on the sidewalk. “Hendrick Everett?” he called out. He was fat, clearly well off, and definitely had been waiting for a while judging by the impatient look on his face. He just kept checking his watch, scowling. “Is there a Mr. Hendrick Everett?” he called out again, frowning at the crowd. Cal supposed he should probably say something to him, given he was asking for his father.
“Uhhh... hello,” he said hesitantly, approaching the man.
The man's frowned deepened, leering at Cal. “What do you want, girl?”
Cal coughed nervously. “Well, uh...” he paused. He didn't like this man one bit, and really didn’t want to tell him about what had happened. “Hendrick Everett is my father. He sent me to speak to you while he and Mother check in to our hotel,” he lied. “The trip was... hard on the both of them.”
His expression softened, but he was still frowning as he examined the kid in front of him. “Why would your father send his daughter to handle a man’s business?” he asked. Cal just shrugged.
“Times change, mister,” he said simply. “I- I have verification papers, if you need them.” Cal reached into his bag, shuffling through it until he pulled out a stack of papers his father left him on his death bed. “Here.”
The man took the pages from him, still frowning. He grumbled before reluctantly handing them back. “Everything seems to be in order, Ms. Everett. Come along.” He motioned for him to follow, and Cal did.
As they made their way through the streets, Cal had to lift up his plain skirts slightly. Compared to all the women dressed in frills, he felt extremely judged and underdressed. He wrinkled his nose as he stepped over horse manure, soon realizing that they were heading to a nearby stable.
“I suppose I forgot to introduce myself,” the man said, not looking back as he spoke. “My name is Edwin Brenner, your father’s law assistant and sponsor here in America. Your name is?”
Cal hesitated before telling him the name he refused to use anymore. Mr. Brenner simply nodded, opening the door for him as he entered.
“Lovely,” he replied with no enthusiasm. Mr. Brenner approached the stablemaster, speaking with him before turning back to Cal. He didn’t catch most of what they were saying. “Your father bought a horse while he was overseas. Spent a good amount of money on it too. She’s over here.”
He followed one of the stable hands until they stopped in front of a large tan horse. Her hair was black and straight, and she was eyeing Cal cautiously, as if sizing up her new master.
“Woah,” Cal breathed. “She’s gorgeous.” He reached out to gently stroke her nose. She snorted and nuzzled his hand, causing him to flinch slightly. It seemed like she just wanted some attention, and Cal found himself suddenly very fond of horses despite barely having any experience with them.
Edwin watched judgmentally. “Hmph,’ he huffed. “I hope your father is pleased. It is his horse after all. You have her papers right now; all your father has to do is sign it and write down a name for it.” He paused a moment to check his watch. “That’s all I wished to discuss with him today. Let your father settle in, and tell him to come see me at my office when he wishes to purchase land, alright?”
“Of course,” Cal replied compliantly. “I’ll tell him. Thank you, Mr. Brenner.”
With a curt nod, Edwin left the stable, leaving Cal alone with the stable hands. He turned back to the horse, which was actually his and not his father’s. He stroked her nose before letting out a sigh and backing away.
“I’ll come back for you, ok?” he whispered to her. She snorted in irritation and pawed at the ground, but obviously didn’t say anything back. Cal patted her nose once more before leaving, looking to find a clothing store and a pair of scissors.
It was easy enough to find a tailors; it was harder for Cal to convince the storekeeper to actually sell to him. He had to slip the man an extra 10 dollars before he finally caved, and eventually, Cal got his hands on a men’s shirt, vest, and pants, which were all slightly too long. He had also found himself a good hat for travelling, at least according to the salesman.
Cal ducked into an alleyway, first taking the scissors he had bought and chopping away his dark silky hair. The sight of his locks on the ground made his heart ache; he had always liked his hair long, but he couldn’t be a man with it like that. Trimming up the edges so he looked presentable, he slipped on the clothes and stuffed his old dress into a nearby trash can.
He grinned at the sight of himself in his handheld mirror. With short hair and his rolled-up sleeves, he passed pretty well for your average 15-year-old boy. Okay, maybe he looked a little younger, but still. A wave of euphoria swept over him; he finally looked and felt like a real man.
Snapping the mirror shut, he shoved it into his pocket as he made his way back into the streets. His hand brushed over the pistol on his waist as he walked, a thrill running through him. He was basically a cowboy now; all he needed was his horse.
During his shopping, Cal had laid out a plan in his head. Buy food, get the horse (which he had decided he would name Cleopatra) and leave town. He had some cash on him, but not much after buying the clothing. He didn’t want to be around when Edwin started digging around for his parents that had already been buried at sea.
Cal practically skipped into the stable and checked out his horse, with only a few disgusted looks from the stablemaster. Cleopatra seemed compliant to stretch her legs, which made Cal’s job easier as he led her out of the stable. Once outside, he realized how tall the horse was, or maybe how short he was.
He circled Cleopatra, which made the mare whinny nervously as he figured out the best way to mount. It probably wasn’t the best time for him to remember he had never ridden a horse alone before. He had only ever had his father behind him, holding the reins. Finally deciding to just go for it, he put his hands on her saddle, one foot on the stirrup, and hauled himself up and almost falling over the other side.
Cal grinned at his success as he settled into the saddle. Now all he had to do was spur her onwards. Softly, he took the reins and kicked her side. Cleopatra didn’t react. He kicked her again, slightly harder. No response again.
He scowled and flicked the reins, causing her to toss her head. People were staring now, obviously confused by the 15-year-old boy who couldn’t ride a horse. Cal smiled awkwardly and leaned forwards.
“Come on, Cleo, help me out here,” he whispered desperately. “Just get me out of this city.”
Again, he kicked her side, this time with some actual force. To his surprise, Cleopatra listened and started trotting. He swerved past a few pedestrians before falling into a comfortable pace on the right side of the road.
His giddy high didn’t last very long, however. Just as he had to wind his way through a narrow road heading down a hill, Cleo suddenly swerved into another well-dressed man on horseback. His silver mare whinnied and bucked him to the ground, and he fell with an angry shout.
“The hell are you doing?” he yelled at Cal as the boy desperately tried to maneuver to face him. His poor handling agitated Cleo, and with an upset whinny, her hoof came down on the man’s face and she took off running down the street. It took all of his strength to hold on to the reins and not fly off, shutting his eyes tightly as he heard police whistles and angry yelling around him.
They swerved through the streets, dodging pedestrians and angry officers alike. Cal’s stomach churned even more as the city became less dense, the buildings turning to farmland. It felt like hours of galloping, but eventually they slowed to a trot. By sheer luck, they had somehow lost the police far behind them and were now on a dirt road.
Slowly, Cal loosened his grip on the saddle horn and sat up, his heart racing. The yelling and whistles were still burned into his ears, but he didn’t hear or see them anymore. He hoped the man he had run over was okay, but that chase was... exhilarating. His eyes sparkled as he urged Cleo onwards, feeling freer than he ever had. He had faith that there was somewhere in this country for someone like him.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
There was nowhere in this country for him.
The first time Cal stopped in a town, he stepped into the general store just to come out and find everything in his saddle bags stolen. All his food, his money; it was gone. At least they hadn’t taken Cleopatra, although he did give her a dirty look for letting the thief take his things. She responded with a snort, as if saying deal with it, kid. He saddled up and continued on the road east.
That night, Cal tried to set up a place to camp. It started alright, using the saddle blanket as a makeshift tent. Then he lit a fire, and was about to settle for the night when rustling in the trees alerted him. Whispering and laughter broke the hush of the night, and he quickly threw his sleeping bag back onto Cleo’s back and set off again with no sleep.
He dozed off on her back, waking up to the sound of a passing train. Cal rubbed the sleep out of his bleary eyes, watching as the train slowed and stopped at the small train station. When he entered, he took a look at the board and immediately frowned. Pinned to the bulletin board was a bounty, with his deadname in huge letters. The bounty was a whopping 60 dollars, for assault, theft, and identity fraud. He sighed and swiped the paper from the board.
“Excuse me.” Cal stepped up to the ticket counter where a man behind it was reading a book. “Do you know the story behind this one?” he asked as he held out the paper.
“Ah.” The man peered at the bounty. “We got that recently. Apparently, some girl lied about her parents' death and stole her father’s horse. She ran a man over on her way out of San Fran,” he laughed. “Gotta say, it’s an impressive bounty for a little girl.”
“I guess,” he grumbled, staring at the paper. “Well, do you know which way she went?”
The man narrowed his eyes, looking him up and down. “Aren’t you a little young to be bounty hunting?” he asked. Cal froze. Quickly, he recovered with a scoff and dismissive wave.
“I don’t tell you how to live your life,” he retorted. “Now do you know where she is or not?”
“Hmph. Last reports saw her on the road southeast,” the man replied dismissively. Cal nodded curtly and turned to leave. “Be careful out there, kid.”
Cal saddled up on Cleopatra, guiding her back onto the road. “If they’re look for me to the south, we’re going north,” he said to himself as they reached a split of the road. They branched off north, the mountains looming in the distance..
It was a long day of travelling, and by the time he reached the small town of Folsom, his legs ached more than they ever have. That was saying something, since he had just spent three weeks sitting on a boat surrounded by sickness.
Cal hopped off Cleopatra’s back, clutching the saddle as he regained his balanced. He hitched her in front of the general store, digging through his bags for any cash he could trade for food. He found nothing but a few dollar bills and a stray dime. With a frustrated sigh, he shoved them into his pocket and trudged in, the door opening with the cheery ding.
Inside, it was just a general store. There were some canned foods, some sweets, and some miscellaneous bait items meant for hunting. He casually strode over to the wall of cans, observing them nonchalantly before painfully realizing he could hardly afford a single can.
He clutched the can of peaches as he read over the rest of the cans. The door’s bell rung again, and Cal cast a glance behind him to see a stout, blubbery man walked in. He discreetly watched as the man stopped at the counter, his voice booming as he spoke to the storekeeper. From what Cal could gather from the snippets of conversation and the man’s increasing agitation, the storekeeper was refusing to sell to him.
“Is there dirt in your ears?” the fat man asked, scowling deeply. “I’m simply here to buy groceries.”
The storekeeper scoffed. “Groceries? What kind of man asks for that many groceries and refuses to even offer a fair price?”
The door opened again, and Cal quickly looked away again. He snuck a glance back at the newcomer, a 30-something looking man with brown hair and a leather hat. He stepped up to the counter, looking just as exasperated as his friend explained the situation.
He turned to the storekeeper with a sigh, his voice sounding just like Cal imagined it to; rough but surprisingly calm. “Look, mister,” he said, leaning on the counter. “My friend here, Mr. Pearson, is simply askin’ you sell us your stock. If you would be so kind to oblige us, we can get out of your store.
The storekeeper just frowned and crossed his arms. “Well, mister. I’m not a fan of your attitude,” he huffed. “I still withhold the right to not sell to the likes of you.”
The brunette clearly didn’t like that, because he lunged across the counter and grabbed the storekeeper by the shirt collar. Cal’s eyes widened as he watched the scene unfold, slowly backing away towards the door.
“Listen here,” he growled. “I’ve been being nice to you, but God, you’re gettin’ on my nerves. I’ve got a new deal for you. How about this? You sell us what we want, we pay a discounted price, and then I let you live?”
The storekeeper gulped; his eyes widening at the sudden threat. “That’s-” he looked like he wanted to argue, but instead grimaced and let out a sigh. “That’s a very reasonable deal. I suppose we can- we can work it out.”
Cal had been inching towards the door, unsure of if he should do anything. The canned peaches still remained in his hands, and he glanced down at it before looking back at the counter. The cowpoke had dropped the storekeeper and was watching grimly as the fat man, Pearson, pointed at a list on the counter.
“We’ll come by in the morning with a wagon,” the cowpoke said. He glanced Cal’s way, a flash of fear running through Cal as they made eye contact. Now was not the time for him to be caught. He quickly turned around and practically ran out the door, unhitching Cleopatra from the post.
“Let’s go,” he urged anxiously, tugging the reins. Cal led Cleopatra away from the store, his mind still racing as he clutched the can of peaches. They stopped slightly outside of town, breathing out a sigh of relief as he saw the two men ride out the opposite direction. He tied Cleo to a tree and sat down in the grass to eat the stolen peaches. The sweet taste seemed to pass right over his tongue as he thought about the intimidating man and his less threatening friend.
They wanted a large amount of dry and canned goods, and were planning to collect them in the morning. Clearly, they were providing for a large amount of people or travelling around. Maybe it was both, but either way, they clearly had funds. How could that be? The brunette looked like your average cattleman, and Mr. Pearson didn’t look like he was from a wealthy family. He looked like he worked for a wealthy family, and they kept him out of the guest’s sights.
Cal had never been much of schemer, but an idea planted itself into his brain. What if, he could sneak into that wagon and take the food he needed? It surely couldn’t hurt; they seemed well off enough to survive without a few cans of peaches.
Plus, in the wagon, he could also watch them for a little while and figure out what they did. Maybe, if they came off as welcoming enough, he’d see if they would take him in. If they weren’t he could slip away in the dead of night and come back for Cleo. And sure, the man seemed intimidating, but Cal preferred to think he was the only one that violent. He was clearly the brawns of whatever organization they were part of.
That night, Cal settled with his plan. After finding out he could stable his horse and retrieve her at a nondisclosed date, he felt much more comfortable leaving Cleopatra in the small town. With a final pat on the nose, he headed off to find a place to sleep. What could possibly go wrong with his plan?
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
When morning came, Cal made his way to the Folsom general store, sitting down in the alleyway next to it. He waited for what felt like forever until a covered wagon stopped at the doorstep. It was driven by the brunette from earlier, and another darker-skinned man. Cal felt a pang of jealousy as he admired his long black hair, wishing he could have it like that and still be so obviously masculine.
The storekeeper stepped out, the door jingling him behind. Cal didn’t pay too much attention to their conversation, but he did pick up some names as they walked around to the back of the building. The cowpoke from earlier was Arthur, while his beefy friend was Charles. Cal peeked around the corner, watching as they carried crates to their wagon and waiting for the perfect time to board.
With both of the men working together, it wasn’t long before they were discussing payment with the storekeeper. They disappeared into the store, and Cal took his chance to scramble into the back of the wagon.
It smelled like food. Good and well-seasoned food or white person food, Cal couldn’t tell. He climbed behind the largest of the crates, pushing them out of the way so he could curl up against deepest corner of the covered wagon. There was a small opening that let in the tiniest bit of sunlight, but Cal knew it would be blocked when the drivers sat down.
Speaking of which, he tensed up when he heard the ding of the shop's door. He held his breath as they climbed onto the driver's seat, with Arthur grumbling something not very nice about the shopkeeper. He flicked the reins, and Charles leaned back in the seat as they left the town behind.
Cal was already overwhelmed at the fact his plan had been going so well that most of the things the two chatted about went straight past him. It seemed to be mainly playful teasing, but he picked up a few names. There was a Dutch, that Arthur seemed particularly annoyed with at the moment. There was also a Sean, that Arthur was annoyed with, and a John, who, by no surprise, Arthur was also annoyed with.
After a while, he tuned out their conversation, simply focusing on the feel of the road beneath him. The wagon would occasionally hit a hole, and he’d try his best not to get thrown around too much.
Finally, they came to a stop. Arthur and Charles hopped off, and Cal lifted his head slightly to peer through the gap. They seemed to be at the edge of a camp, the area bustling with activity. There was a mustached man standing in the center, talking quietly to his elderly companion. A tired woman was sitting towards the edge, watching over a young child as he played in the dirt. Cal listened as Arthur spoke to the camp’s cook again, Mr. Pearson.
His breath hitched as the wagon dipped slightly, the cook climbing on the end to peer inside. He mumbled to himself as Cal held his breath, before Pearson finally left with a satisfied nod.
“Thank you, Mr. Morgan,” he said in his usual booming voice. “This should be plenty to get us over the Sierras and the Grizzlies.”
Cal wracked through his mind, trying to recall where he had heard those names before. He remembered them from the map of America he had spent most of the boat ride milling over, identifying which states were where.
The sudden realization dawned on him. Whoever these people were, they were heading east, and that meant Cal was too. He settled back into the wagon, leg bouncing anxiously. Maybe things really were about to change.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It had been two weeks since Cal had snuck into what he learned was the Van der Linde Gang’s wagon. From what he had gathered, they were all outlaws, constantly moving from place to place. Currently, they were leaving California and were now settled at the base of the Sierra Nevadas.
As he did most evenings, Cal was slurping from a can of pineapples. The taste always reminded him of the port he grew up in, when his mother would cut up pieces of fresh pineapple for him to eat. The canned stuff wasn’t quite the same, but it made him homesick nonetheless.
He had had a few close-run ins over the past two weeks, but somehow remained largely undetected. There was an incident one night when he snuck out of the wagon to use the bathroom when a scowling man with greasy, dark hair, nearly caught him. It had been dark enough for him stay hidden in the underbrush and not get caught, but he had to wait a little while until he could return to the wagon.
There was another close call in the middle of the night, when Cal was asleep as usual. He woke up to drunken singing of an Irishman digging around, looking for something to eat. Out of pure fear, Cal handed the drunk redhead some canned peaches which he had thanked him for and proceeded to shuffle out of the wagon. It wasn’t until Cal had fully woken up when he realized what he had done, and then proceeded to stress about it for the next few days. Nothing ended up happening.
He had managed to stay mostly out of sight. He leaned against one of the crates, peering out the crack by the seat as the Van der Linde gang unpacked for the night. Pearson never seemed to travel far from his wagon, giving Cal an excellent view of the back of his balding head.
Cal watched them tiredly, half asleep. He usually slept during the day, but the road had been rocky and too uncomfortable for him to get any rest. He hardly noticed when Pearson went around the wagon, a notepad in his hand.
Cal jolted awake when he heard Pearson’s heavy footsteps climb onto the wagon. He opened boxes and scowled at the empty cans inside. The cook scribbled onto his pad, grumbling to himself. Cal held his breath as he slowly got closer and closer, trying to think of a way out. He could try inching away towards the back, but boxes and the man approaching made it difficult.
This was it, Cal thought. This is where I get shot. Maybe they’ll just turn me in for my bounty. Or maybe they’ll just hang me. He shuddered at the thought. He didn’t want to be another body hanging from a tree, a warning sign for any others.
The thought was too horrible. Cal decided that if he was going to get caught, he wasn’t going to be caught cowering. The moment Pearson turned around to face the other side of the wagon, Cal scrambled out as fast as he could, climbing over the boxes and tumbling out onto the grass.
“What the-” Pearson exclaimed, sticking his head out to scowl at the runaway that just jumped out of his wagon. “You! You’re that kid from the general store!” He pointed his pen accusingly at Cal as the boy squinted in the bright light. “The hell are you doing in my wagon?”
Cal opened his mouth to speak, but quickly closed it and took off running. He didn’t have a good excuse and would really like to keep his life. He snatched a knife from a nearby table as the rest of the gang took notice of the commotion. Pearson yelled out something indistinct to Cal’s racing mind, and he tried to make a break for the trees.
Suddenly, he nearly ran face first into a lumbering man. Cal skidded to a stop, looking up into the man’s bushy face. He seemed to be just as surprised as Cal felt.
“The hell are you doing here?” He growled, reaching out to grab Cal. Luckily, he was more agile and managed to slip away, sprinting the other direction. There was lots of shouting around the camp as he dodged the grasps of various gang members he hardly even remembered seeing. He vaguely acknowledged the Irishman from a few days ago lunged at him, only to miss and be yanked up by a black man who seemed hardly older than Cal himself.
Cal was starting to run out of places to go. He was surrounded, disoriented, and outnumbered. The only thing he had was a hunting knife that he was too afraid to use. Even the women here were scary, and boy was he scared.
His internal panic completely shifted when he was suddenly yanked by the back of his shirt. Cal yelped, clutching the knife as he was suddenly swinging from the air. The man who had lifted him scowled, and Cal realized that it was Arthur Morgan, the man he had first seen at the general store.
“L-let go of me, Mister,” Cal squeaked, gripping the knife. His voice was hoarse from two weeks of disuse. “I’ll cut you, I swear I will.”
Arthur laughed as he examined the boy. “You look familiar,” he said. “What’s a kid like you doing out here?”
Pearson and a dark-haired man suddenly stepped in, shouldering past the rest of the gang that had come to watch. “That brat’s the reason we keep losing supplies,” Pearson shouted, pointing at him accusingly. Cal stuck his tongue out at him as he kicked his legs, trying to break out of Arthur’s grip.
“Calm down, Mr. Pearson,” the dark-haired man said, his voice calm and commanding. Cal remembered him just barely; he was the leader of the gang, the Mr. Van der Linde himself. His blood went cold as he stared helplessly. “Let the boy explain what he was doing in our provisions.”
Arthur lowered Cal onto the ground, not letting go of his shirt. Cal’s fingers flexed on the hilt of the knife, but he made no attempt to swing. “I was hungry,” he said simply, looking Dutch directly in the eye. “You people had a bunch of food, so I thought I could take some and no one would notice. It took you long enough to find out.”
“How long have you been back there?” Pearson growled, taking another threatening step forward. “There’s weeks' worth of food missing cause of you!”
Cal shrugged. “Almost two weeks now,” he said as if it were nothing. In reality he was terrified, but right now he was going to be confident. He wasn’t some scared little girl anymore.
“That checks out,” Arthur added. “This kid reeks.”
His face flushed with embarrassment. “Well, it’s kind of hard to take a bath when you guys don’t stay anywhere longer than a day!” Cal snapped, thrashing around some more. Arthur’s grip remained tight on his shirt.
“Settle down, boy,” Dutch said exasperatedly. Cal reluctantly complied, still scowling at the man in front of him. “What’s your name?”
“Cal Everett,” he said simply. “Son of Hendrick Everett and Vani Everett.”
“Exotic,” Dutch muttered, and Cal shot him a pointed glare. “How old are you?”
“I’ll be 16 in August,” he replied. Cal glanced at the surrounding crowd, considering his options. It didn’t look like he’d be able to fight his way out of here, even with the knife.
Dutch grinned. “You certainly look younger,” he noted. “Where are your parents?”
Cal paused. He had done his best to repress the memories of that god-forsaken ship, but now they were all coming back to the surface. “Dead,” he managed to say. “Died to typhoid fever on a ship to California.”
“Interesting...” Dutch pondered for a moment, stroking the facial hair on his chin. “So, you have no family here in America?”
Cal rolled his eyes. All these questions were starting to get irritating. “Nope,” he said. “Now what are you guys going to do with me?”
Pearson scoffed, turning to face Dutch. “This bastard child has been a pain in my ass for the past few weeks,” he complained. “Surely you’ll make sure he pays for this.”
Dutch waved dismissively at the cook. “Of course, Mr. Pearson,” he said reassuringly. “Normally this would be a hanging offense, but it seems a bit... cruel to hang a child.” His eyes gleamed as he met Cal’s wary gaze. “How about this? You’re welcome to come along with us, at least until you repay your debt to our camp cook here. You’ll work as his assistant in whatever he or anyone else here needs help with.
Both Cal and Pearson seemed equally taken aback. “Dutch, you can’t be serious!” Pearson sputtered, only to be cut off by a sharp rejection from Dutch. He turned to look at the shocked boy.
“You’ll be fed, and we’ll let you earn your keep. What do you say, Cal?”
Cal hesitated. It didn’t sound all that bad, but he didn’t like the sound of having to work for the walrus they called the cook. “What’s the catch?” he asked carefully. “There has to be something you want.”
Dutch looked shocked at the accusation. “Never!” he insisted, and he saw Arthur rolling his eyes in the corner of his view. “Like I said, you’d simply be working for Mr. Pearson until your debt is paid. You would still be one of us, a member of the Van der Linde Gang! It’s really not that bad of an option, especially given your... situation.”
Cal glanced away. It was tempting, it really was, and the life of an outlaw he had read about seemed exciting. It was certainly better than being alone in the mountains with no horse. Cal’s shoulders slumped, and he reluctantly sighed. “Alright, fine,” he agreed. “I’ll stick around.”
“Excellent!” Dutch grinned and walked over, smacking him on the shoulder hard enough to hurt. “Then that’s that! Go speak to Mrs. Grimshaw, she’ll get you settled in.” He stepped back. “Don’t you worry, Cal, you’ll earn your keep soon enough. Have faith in yourself, boy!”
With that, he turned and walked away. Pearson shot him another glare before turning away, grumbling. Arthur let go of Cal’s shirt and patted him on the back. “Typical Dutch, picking up any old street rat,” he joked. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Grimshaw won’t bite. None of us will, though I do recommend you listen to her. She can be... intimidating, to say the least. Good luck, kid.”
Cal didn’t have time respond before Arthur walked away to join a man he recognized as Charles from back in Folsom. Charles shot him an almost sympathetic look before turning back to Arthur, leaving Cal slightly confused. The rest of the gang had mostly cleared out, and he was glad. He wasn’t in the mood for socializing right now, and he really hoped this Mrs. Grimshaw could get him some new clothes at least.
Looking around, Cal truly hoped that it would turn out alright. Dutch didn’t need to know he didn’t know how to do much other than read and write, and this gang certainly didn’t need to know he wasn’t quite like the rest of them. But he felt much lighter now. At least he had somewhere to called a home, even if it was just for a little while.