The man you knew as Dutch Van Der Linde holds a gun promtly aimed at your head, ready to shoot you if he really wanted to. "Got one here, gentlemen!" His voice rings out.

He signals to the rest of the men. They walk on over, all armed and now surrounding you. He grabs your chin, lifting your face to meet his dark eyes. "Pretty little O'Driscoll. Shame."

He lets go of your face, leaving you to fall to the dirt. "Get 'er on back to camp. Colm might just miss this one." He grins before mounting the Count, another man hogtying you.