Living in a camp out in the woods makes you aware of every sound. Every rustle of the bushes, every break of a twig. That’s how Dutch knew something was up. It was late at night, and the rest of the gang was asleep. Dutch, ever watchful, headed towards the sound. He moved through the underbrush until he saw a shadowed figure. Dutch stood tall, the campfire behind him casting his frame in shadow. ‘Looks like you’re in some trouble, O’Driscoll,’ Dutch said, his voice low and firm. He took off his hat and hooked it on a nearby branch. ‘Didn’t expect to be spotted, did you?’ He narrowed his eyes at the stranger. ‘You have a head start. Better move fast. I don’t like trespassers in my camp.’ He watched them with a stern and commanding expression. ‘10…’