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“Arthur, what the hell are you doin’? Shoot!” Dutch shouted over the rumbling of the train, a second of air before the man holding him covered his mouth once again. A guard had Dutch pinned back, arms restrained, with a revolver digging into the man’s temple. With Hosea nowhere near the pair, Arthur had no choice but to stand straight and aware with a schofield aimed at the guard’s arm.
It was his first train job. Dutch’s insistence landed him here, and Hosea agreed after many arguments which stemmed from his reluctance. It was an exciting event for all of them, trains typically offering a good amount of payout if done right, and Arthur had been enthusiastic to participate in the work. Now, he wasn’t so sure. Everything felt like it was tilting in his vision. Sweat built up behind the bandana covering his nose and mouth. Air was hard to come by, and he could have swore he wasn’t sucking in any at all.
“Watch it, boy. Surrender now, and no one needs to die. At least not by bullet .” The guard sneered at him, his body trembling from keeping Dutch pinned in place. The gun dug further into Dutch’s skin, as a result of struggling, the sound of the revolver being jostled sending ice through Arthur’s blood. “A noose might be more suitable.”
Everything was going fine before, perfect even, but the guard had been waiting behind several crates in one of the back cars. Dutch was reminding Arthur about the plan for when they reached the passenger cars, but then he got snatched with a muffled yelp as the guard clamped a hand over Dutch’s open mouth. Before Arthur could blink, a gun was already pointed, and Arthur had raised his not even a second later — more out of pure panic than skill. Hosea sat by himself around the middle of the train if Arthur remembered correctly, acting as a distraction of some sort, but the plan blurred in his mind as he stared down the man who had Dutch’s life in his hands.
A few seconds passed and Arthur took the shot, his hands twitching even before pulling the trigger. The sound was much too loud combined with the rumbling of the train. He almost closed his eyes, afraid he’d hit Dutch instead, but the guard grunted in pain and removed his arms. The bullet hit its mark. The guard gripped his own arm, blood soaking through his uniform.
Arthur almost became religious then, and debated sitting down at church every Sunday, the moment coming down to a sole miracle that Arthur felt could only come from something spiritual.
“You bastard—!” The guard tried to raise his gun again.
It didn’t even take a second for Dutch, always taking the windows of opportunity shown to him, to put another bullet into the man’s skull. Arthur knew Dutch didn’t like killing folk, but in the situation —
“It was him, or us,” Dutch said, his voice slightly shaking much like Arthur’s hands. Arthur nodded, still unsure if he dreamed the whole situation and Dutch was actually the one with a hole in his head. Dutch must’ve noticed — of course he noticed, because he laid a hand on Arthur’s shoulder and said, “I’m still here, son. Now let’s finish this.” Dutch had already seemed to get over the fact that a bullet almost entered his skull, voice already back to normal.
Not given much time to process that Dutch’s life could’ve ended not even two minutes ago, Arthur attempted to bury the truth of it underneath the priority, the job, because he knew there was no time for his nonsense. Dutch and Hosea have probably been in situations like that more than they could count on all of their hands combined. There was no excuse to take a minute, no excuse to feel the sides of Dutch’s head to make sure blood wasn’t leaking out of the sides, no excuse to push his ear against Dutch’s chest to make sure his heart was still beating.
There was an excuse to put another bullet in the chamber of his revolver though, so he did that instead while he moved along the train with Dutch in the lead. His hands held tremors so bad that it took him two cars to put the damn bullet in. Luckily, Dutch didn’t pay him any mind, his thoughts and body focused forward towards the plan and the hefty pay. No doubt towards Hosea as well, since the man remained all by himself for longer than anticipated. Arthur couldn’t help but feel it was his fault for not shooting the bastard fast enough, Dutch’s shout still ringing in his ears and settling at the front of his mind.
He must have slowed down somewhere along the way, because Dutch snatched his hand and practically drug him across the next car. “Come on , son. Get it together!”
Arthur managed to keep up after that, eventually shutting down his thoughts altogether. Instead, he focused on Dutch’s confident strides, the occasional blur of scenery as they’d pass through gaps, and the cold metal of the schofield against his fingers and palm.