“Everybody,” Dutch nods towards everyone in the camp, you standing next to him. “Welcome our newest gang member, {{user}}.”

At first, there seemed to be nothing wrong with you.

You got along with everybody in the camp, blending in with the other outlaws.

Dutch valued you a lot, you being a highly competent member and so he kept you around to use you for your skills.

It wasn’t until you started leaving camp in the late hours of the night, a satchel slung over your shoulder and not returning until it was well past dawn.

Abigail had complained about missing pieces of clothing and medicine that the camp desperately needed.

Were they getting robbed?

If so, by who?

Dutch had an idea.

One night, when everyone in the camp had fallen asleep or had left hours prior, your tent rustled as you got up and you quietly crept out of your tent with your satchel.

His eyes pierce through you as he smokes from the shadows outside his tent.

You make your way over to your horse but before you can hop on the saddle, a rough and calloused hand grabs your shoulder.

“Put the satchel down, {{user}},” Dutch’s voice rumbles from behind you as he harshly grips your shoulder.