The Isolate Thief

You weren't afraid, were you, Dix?

Come on.

I want to go see Dad.

Outpost log entry 516, first week of the new year, '65.

The different set of handwriting here at the end,

different because this is my first and last entry

into this logbook.

Major General Edward James Horn, retired US Army officer

and Pinkerton, is deceased, four weeks, pneumonia,

buried by his daughter and only living kin,

Adeline Elizabeth Horn.

The ground was almost too frozen to dig into.

Watch him ride right by.

You better circle back.

Dig, dig.

Gus.

You little survivor.

Today, circle back.

The outpost will be abandoned within a day or two

at most, as conditions have become too harsh.

I've sent letters to Camp Watson and to the Pinkerton offices

in Chicago requesting a replacement,

but I've received no word back.

My fear that I have been forgotten by the world

is overwhelmed by a deeper fear...

that I was never known at all.

In keeping with my father's intent,

all supplies will be kept here, ready and available

for any Union soldier in need.

I'm also leaving this logbook behind as a marker

that we were here.

Adeline Elizabeth Horn.

I don't know how I'll earn my way,

and I know that I am letting my father down by leaving.

I am not the caretaker he was.

I saw a man today, a soul lost to the wilderness,

and I did not call out to help him.

Put that light out!

I said, put that thing out,

unless'n you want to get us both killed.

Where are you keeping your daddy's garments?

Come on, girlie.

I know you ain't here by your lonesome.

Come on, out with it.

Bedroom dresser.

Bedroom dresser.

Wait now.

How old?

First thing's gon' be first.

Come over here.

Sit down.

We don't have any money.

Well, that's what they call an assumption.

But we do have plenty of food and water, medicine.

You don't need a gun.

My father has had Army medical training

and should be returning from his midnight walk presently.

As for me, I know a great deal about nursing and dressing.

I bandaged myself today.

Bah, foolishness.

Midnight walk.

Get over here and bring that chair.

You said you weren't gonna do nothing to me.

Darn right.

Oh, you'll be safe.

I'm a bunny rabbit.

You've got no cause to tie me up and bully me.

I've told you.

I saw this camp 100 yards out, like an oasis

right there in the middle of wild nowhere.

Open.

Nothing.

Oh, figures.

Oh, my.

Oh, now this is warmth.

Tell you what.

Look at old Perry.

That's my father's coat.

Oh, he won't mind none.

Gon' be cold.

He's going to track you down

after I tell him what you did to me,

though I was unarmed and offered assistance.

Well, you go right ahead, girlie.

It ain't your daddy I'm 'fraid of.

Barlow.

Yeah.

Go west, Perry.

Watch him ride right by.

You better circle back.

Dig, dig.

So long, girlie.

Wait, you can't leave me like this.

Your daddy will untie you upon his return.

I lied.

No one's coming to find me.

It's just me here.

I don't mind you taking the clothes or the bread

or the liquor,

but you can't leave me like this,

tied to a chair, left to die like a fool.

Just you?

Yes, sir.

I won't cause you no trouble.

You have my word.

Listen, girlie, he's on his way now.

He don't sleep, so I don't either.

Wish I could wish you nice, but the rain coming my way

won't fall on you none.

Watch him ride right by.

Circle back.

Dig, dig.

Colonel, you are faced with an inevitability.

You will die on this mountain.

I've ordered my men to toss your regiment into the river,

and your blood will saturate these woods.

It was a cowardly surprise attack.

I'm looking for a man, goes by the name

of Burial Perry Parker.

I don't know this man, Parker.

That is not what I was hoping to hear.

What do you think, Dixie?

I fear I am dead in this place without this gold, so I took it.

Do not judge me.

You raised me well enough, but you have not been where I am.

I'll say goodbye to you both, and I

will start my journey southwest to the settlers road

and then on to Astoria.

I cannot bring you with me.

But I love you, and I will return for your portraits

one day when I am no longer fearful of being hunted.

Come on.

We both have to do our fair share.

Shot to pieces.

Oh, my goodness.

You're alive.

But you won't be for much longer out here.

It don't look deserted.

Sure ain't.

Edward Horn.

They are Union.

We're safe.

Is this woman in your party, soldier?

I'll be damned.

Colonel!

You are the caretaker's daughter?

Yes, sir.

Ada.

We have been anticipating you.

Colonel John Good, Cavalry Company G, Camp Watson.

Camp Watson?

Oh, thank God for you, Colonel.

You received my letters.

Do not let my lieutenant here scare you.

I'm certain he's the first full-blooded red paint

you've seen.

But he's a man for the Union, same as you or I.

I saw the Union blue, sir.

Your logbook informs me that your warden has passed.

It's been four weeks.

My condolences.

Your hand is injured.

I had a misfire.

My, you were shooting?

Yes, sir.

Who was the lucky target?

Wolves.

Dry clothes, miss?

Plenty.

Bring some socks and all the blankets you've got.

Miss Horn, you were equipped with a Franklin.

Yes, sir.

I'd appreciate some coffee.

It's been a month since I had a cup.

I'll brew some.

Thank you.

Miss Horn, where's my coffee?

Oh, brewing, Colonel.

Will she be OK, Colonel?

She'll be fine.

I'm sure you've noticed we've taken your Hawken rifle.

I apologize, but it's a safety precaution.

You understand?

It's broken, so no matter.

I'll have Sergeant Baker see if he can't repair it.

Colonel.

Miss Horn, we have what you might call a delicate situation

on our hands.

I have a prisoner under my guard that needs dealing with.

Red!

Red, look at me go!

Whoo!

I'm flying!

He's a dangerous man.

A thief.

Of course, you would not have to be bothered by any of this,

except that it's over four days' hard travel

down this mountain to Camp Watson.

If this man is a thief, Colonel, then he

should be dealt with rightly by the court of law.