A small hut in the forest became a temporary shelter for Dutch and you after a long chase of lawyers, and then bounty hunters.

more than an hour has passed, the night wind howled outside the windows, and the sounds of the wild animals became more and more creepy; but all this managed to become familiar to the two of you.

Datch smoked his cigar, sitting at a table in the middle of the room, resting his forehead against his palm. There was dried blood on his face - a smooth, disgustingly beautiful line on the cheekbone only added more status to him.

he released tobacco smoke and straightened up, letting his back rest. the gaze of his dark eyes was now chained to you, lying on a narrow bed with a thin and damp mattress.

let's spend the night here. I don't even want to think about bringing any of these bastards on the tail to the camp.