Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Can you believe that fool?”

It was morning, early still, with the reaches of the sun just starting to grace the plains. The land was still heavy in the throes of spring, the ground beneath them thick with morning dew as the horses cantered on.

Near him, Hosea huffed softly, “Not sure what's gotten into his head—but you know how he is. Dutch, he gets a sort of fancy and he can't quite seem to let go of it.”

There was truth in that. Arthur knew him all too well. Dutch—he was something else for sure. A good man, decent...well about as decent as one could be given who they all truly were, but he was fair and smart; clever far beyond what Arthur ever hoped to be. Which was why this latest change in his demeanor perplexed him so.

Because even a fool could see how ludicrous the notion was.

“I mean, robbing a ferry in the middle of a city, in broad daylight?”

“We've taken banks during the day, before,” Hosea offered, “guess Dutch don't see much a difference here.”

“Last I checked, banks don't move” Arthur hummed in return. “There's only one way out if shit goes wrong and trust me, it will go wrong. I don't care what Micah says; there ain't no way a ferry carrying that much money, is gonna go without protection.”

“I know. Dutch does too, or will, once he stops to think about it. He's just excited, is all, even you have to admit that it's a decent opportunity.”

“Him being excited is what I'm worried about,” a pause; then, “you don't think he'll go after it, do you?”

“No,” Hosea reassured him, “he won't try anything while we're gone; that's why I suggested we head on out. It'll give him time to stew and settle on down. Trust me, Arthur—he'll have forgotten all about it by the time we get on back.”

“So we ain't actually up to any business?” Arthur wondered, raising an eyebrow at him. There was a laugh in response.

“Oh we are; figure we'd take a run up to this place we're supposed to be selling. Take a gander at what we got.”

Another piece in the scheme of things. A real estate ploy the man had been working on these past weeks. Enticing potential investors and trying to drum up what interest there was to be had. He'd taken Arthur along with him several times already, portraying him as a partner or something of the sorts. Arthur weren't too sure; he let Hosea do most the talking while he stuck on by in case things went sour. After all, that was why the man often chose him to come along, to be the muscle in case words failed.

That's what he was expecting they were up to here; meeting more potential investors. White Collar Crooks, as Hosea like to call them. Folk who were happy to skirt around legalities to come out ahead and all too interested in the cheap bit of land they was supposedly selling. Of course, they'd be handing money over to a bunch of outlaws and gaining nothing in return if they played their cards right.

Or so Arthur thought.

“You mean to tell me that this place is real?”

“Oh, it's real enough,” Hosea reassured him. “Saw it in the paper a few weeks back, did some nosing around. Current owners are out of state and leaving it up the bank to sell. That's were we come in; doing business on behalf of the First National Bank of Blackwater, seeing as they're so busy nowadays. And you know what? It wasn't even all that hard to forge some papers for the place.”

Arthur laughed, “You really are something, you know that?”

“I'll take that as a compliment,” Hosea returned, “but all that aside; I figured we should at least take a gander, see what we're dealing with.”

It weren't all that far. Blackwater had disappeared over the hills and the land in question stretched out before them. Arthur slowed Boadicea on down to a trot, eyes sweeping over the mess that was left behind. And what a mess it was. Half-rotten fences, a shack in disrepair, grass and weeds growing over everything and boulders clustered over the landscape.

He scoffed, “Well now ain't this something? What kind of fool would buy this?”

“What's wrong with it?”

Arthur stared at him. “What's wrong with it? Just use your damn eyes and look. Place is a disaster.”

“True, there's room for opportunity,” Hosea agreed.

“Opportunity? That's what we're calling it?”

“Sure,” the man hummed, driving Silver Dollar onto the land.

“You can't even see the place; grass is too overgrown.”

“Ah, that my dear boy is what we country folk like to call hay. Why, think of the fortune you'll save just on feeding your livestock.”

“Oh sure, you'll save tons, on account of the livestock just wandering off cause that fence ain't gonna hold them.”

“Life on the open range,” Hosea touted, “just like our forefathers. Plenty of grazing room and better yet; it requires little to no maintenance.”

“Oh sure...you gonna tell them the same thing about the house?” He thumbed over at the derelict shack.

“Why Arthur, that there is the original house founded and built by none other than Kit Carson, back during his trapper years. Most folk would kill for an opportunity to own such a piece of history.”

He blinked, watching as the man wandered up towards the shack. “You really think they really gonna believe that, Hosea?”

“Don't have to—they can take a look for themselves and see. Man carved his initials on the door frame, right here.” He patted the wood with an open hand, fingers glossing over what might be some sort of lucky charm.

Arthur followed, staring at the worn frame. “I ain't see nothing.”

Hosea pulled out a knife with a smirk, driving it deep into the wood as he carved out the letters.

KC

“How about now?”

Arthur laughed, shaking his head as he reached out, clasping him on the shoulder. “Now I've seen everything.”

“That so?” Hosea sheathed his knife, turning back to Silver Dollar. “Then I suppose you wouldn't be interested in checking out a lake up this way? Folk say it's a good place to find some bass. Of course, if you're not interested, we can always head on back to camp?”

Normally he weren't one for fishing; he didn't quite have the patience for it. But he had even less patience for dealing with Dutch, and so he tipped his hat, the brim hiding the quaint smile.

“I ain't in no rush; let's check this place of yours out.”

Chapter Text

They wasted away the day on that stretch of water. Not large enough for a lake, though bigger than a pond, the cool waters trickling out and into the Upper Montana River. Fish there were bountiful and hungry, and they had their fill only a few short hours into the day, feasting upon the remains for their lunch.

It was a beautiful area.

Locked deep in wilderness with hardly any folk about. Manzanita Post was not too far, and even then it was hardly a speck on the map and so they found themselves in blissful solitude most of the day. Of course there was the grizzly that set upon them, but it was hardly a challenge between the pair, and certainly no match for one Hosea Matthews who'd all but grown up around the bastards.

He made a fine pelt, that bear. They sold him onto the trapper nestled in the trees near the falls, collecting a fair share of money for their efforts. As well as a promise for a sturdy coat should they happen upon a decent bison pelt. Enticing as it was, Arthur turned the offer away; the plains were warm enough as is and he already had a decent coat—even if Hosea didn't quite agree.

“You've had that thing for years,” the man pestered him. “Won't hurt to switch to something new, you know.”

He was always doing that. Enticing him to indulge, encouraging him to dote upon himself. A new gun, a decent holster, a ritzy saddle—telling him that he'd more and well earned it, that he deserved to reap the benefits of his hard work. Man had even gone as far to drag him into the shops he'd rather pass on by, hiding under the premise of needing things for himself. Arthur always did manage to find a thing or two on those occasions, though always for others and none for himself, much to the man's annoyance.

It was hard; try as he might, Arthur found the justifications near impossible to sway in his favor. There were a lot of folk back at camp that were in need of one thing or another. For Arthur; he could get on by just fine as he was. Worse would be the fate of riding in with something extravagant and no money lining his pockets and leaving the donation box empty.

So he shrugged off the offer, his shoulders squared as they rode on back towards the city. “Coat's just fine; worn in just the way I like.”

Day was late, now. The sun was fading behind the hills to the west, casting the skies into a twilight. They could see the lights of Blackwater, drawing them in like a beacon. Town seemed to be a touch busy; Arthur could see the scattering of folk as it were even from here. Must be some sort of party, a celebration of sorts. His mind ticked off the days, trying to recall what might be worth all the attention this early in May.

“Just want to make sure you're taking care of yourself,” Hosea hummed in response. “Been what? A few months since you've gotten yourself anything decent?”

“That ain't true,” he protested, “why, just picked myself up a fine new journal the other day.”

Hosea eyed him skeptically. “Don't think it's right fair for you to be counting that as something—though I will say it's good to see you writing again. Been a while.”

It had been a while. Things had been tough since the fire. They'd done near lost everything save for the folk themselves, and while he guessed that had been good, it'd made for a tough a winter. They'd had food aplenty thanks to the plentiful game, but supplies had been scare the weather cold and folk had taken ill. Jack, young as he was, had gotten particularly sick, and caused quite a bit of worry in that time.

He was better now, now that they were out of that winter and basking in the warmth of bountiful lands. The plains they'd settled down on provided near everything they needed. A fair-sized town that provided ample opportunity for business and supplies, smooth rolling hills that were rich with game, a shoreline with a never ending stretch of fresh water.

There was land out here too. Opportunity just beyond the Lower Montana River where they might be able to finally settle on down, provided they had the funds. Dutch, he'd been looking into some areas, but been scared off by something or another. Not that he'd ever admit it, instead choosing to hide under the premise that what he'd found weren't right for them.

Arthur didn't try and call him out on it. He didn't know the first thing about what the man was looking for. Dutch said that they were supposed to become ranchers, or something of the sort. Arthur, he'd rustled cattle before, had even once played the part of a stable hand, but he held no sort of expertise on what it all entailed, of what was all needed. That sort of thing he figured he'd leave up to Dutch, to Hosea. In his mind, if Dutch said the land weren't right, then he guessed the land weren't right.

“Say, we still have some time on our hands,” Hosea perked up just then. “How about we stop by the saloon, have ourselves a drink?”

He was never one to turn down a drink, especially not with the likes of him. There was a wisp of a smile tugging at his lips as he agreed with a hum. “Sounds alright; race you there?”

It was a question he didn't really wait on an answer for. He dug his heels into her flank, jolting Boadicea forwards. From behind he heard Hosea do the same to Silver Dollar, the thundering of hooves consuming them in the night, bringing them ever closer the city. They used to do this sort of thing often, a hold back from days long gone by when it was just the three of them. He and Dutch and Hosea, riding the plains, racing, whiling away time with drink or shenanigans in-between those times when they were conning or scheming or stealing.

They were the times that left him feeling alive.

Though the joyous tones withered and dissipated as they came onto the city. Arthur just a hair's breadth before Hosea, reining Boadicea in with a click of his tongue. They'd seen it before, the commotion. The supposed festivities dying away to pandemonium. The streets were littered in refuse, coated in blood that could be easily seen even in the dying light.

And to the side, brushed off and piled, were bodies.

His senses were on high-alert, casting an uneasy glance with Hosea as they rode on in, trotting on slow down the street. The man's face was pensive, keen eyes scanning, taking in their surroundings as they drove further into the city, noting each and every anomaly.

They cleared the corner, coming up along the docks. They could see it just then; the ferry. Tethered to the side, the docks swathed with law, all of them armed to teeth. He bit back a curse, turning back to Hosea, whispering sharp under his breath.

“You ain't think—”

A thought he hadn't a chance to finish, though it was all but set in his mind. A booming voice called on out, a lawmen coming out in front of them, halting their progress.

“You there,” came the booming voice, commanding. “This area is off limits, move along now.”

“Our apologies,” Hosea tipped his hat towards him, adopting the elderly gentleman facade. “My nephew and I were just passing through; we'll be on our way.”

No challenge, no hesitation—the man was quick in playing the part, as he always was. He shot Arthur a glance, a plea, perhaps to play along and not indulge any sort of stupidity. It was hard, he had to admit. Festering was the need to find out what exactly had happened here and Arthur was often used to the one sent in to fetch such answers.

But he knew they were far beyond their element here. Vastly outnumbered to start and no telling who else might yet be caught in the fray. If this was Dutch's work, and chances that it was, then the causalities that followed might be severe.

Hosea turned first, Arthur on his heels, steering Boadicea out and away from the docks. His heart fluttered in his chest, ticking on behind his ribs, the palms of his hands sweaty enough that he resorted to drying them upon his shirt.

And they made it a few dozen steps before a new voice cut on out through the streets. A voice that caused him to stiffen, for his nerves to become hyper aware.

“You there! Hold up!”

The sheriff.

It was the sheriff who'd called out after him. Arthur recognized it well enough. After all, they'd crossed paths a few times, had mingled together on the account of their supposed business. Best always, Hosea like to say, to keep the law close when you were doing slippery work. Keep them where they could have an eye kept on them.

He watched, following Hosea's lead, as the man slowed Silver on down to turn him. Arthur drew up behind, glancing quick on out to the fields to where camp, and potential safety, lay. Then his focus was back to the streets, back to where the sheriff strode on up, his face red and gun already drawn free and leveled.

He motioned to the others, the rest of the lawmen taking up arms alongside, training on the pair of them. His voice curt and gruff as he shouted out the orders.

“They're with the others; arrest them!”

Guess there weren't any more questions about Dutch's involvement, then. Arthur felt his fingers twitch, resisting the urge to draw his sidearm. He shot a questioning glance towards Hosea, a quiet whisper on his lips.

“What's the plan?”

Fight and die. Surrender and die—neither seemed to be favorable in his mind. He watched as Hosea held his hands on up to show he was unarmed.

“Now, let's not be hasty, fellas. Think you're getting us mixed up with somebody else.”

“If you don't get off those horses now, we'll shoot you on down, you hear? Don't make this harder than it has to be.”

“Hosea,” Arthur hissed out, even as he watched the man swing a leg on out over the saddle. He risked another glance behind, calculating if by chance he could somehow burst on free. But the streets behind them were filled, cutting off any route of escape, and damn it all to hell as if he was gonna leave Hosea on behind.

“Get down, now!”

The click of the gun amplifying the pressure. Hosea shot him a sharp look, a plea to comply. Arthur did so, unwillingly, feeling all too exposed and vulnerable as he stood on there, watching as they crept ever closer.

“Come along, nice and quiet now,” one of them warned as they reached on out.

They took Hosea first, rough in their handling and perhaps that was what got him going. Arthur was moving before he could reason, ignoring the simplistic plea that came from Hosea. He reached on out to assist, to push the bastard off of him when he was set upon himself from behind.

He was knocked to the ground before he could mount any kind of resistance, arms wrenched quick behind his back. Arthur fought, did his best to resist, to protest, kicking up a storm, a tirade of insults along with it to try and dislodge as more feet shuffled on near. Shouts filled the air about him, cascading down on him like a thundering storm as a near horde of lawmen pounced.

And with a sudden burst of pain, the world around him went black.

Chapter Text

He woke to an ache in his head, a deep throb set somewhere in the back of his skull. Felt almost as though it were split in half and he reckoned that much to be true too, given what little he could remember. Arthur reached up with a timid hand, fingers prodding at the delicate flesh with a groan.

“You awake?”

Hosea's voice reached out to him, prompting his eyes to open. He blinked, warily, searching about, taking in his surroundings. Arthur'd been behind bars enough times to understand where he was; jails didn't differ from one another all that much. Not to mention they'd been here before, they'd stood just inside this very room earlier that week when they'd set their plan into action.

Though he reckoned the sheriff's in Blackwater looked different from this angle. At least he weren't bound, a fact all but proven as he shuffled, propping himself up on his elbows.

Hosea sat in the cell next to him, watching with earnest, his lips pressed together in a thin line. “Take it easy, now—you took a few good knocks back there. Bastards didn't go easy on you, though I guess we should call it luck they didn't just run you through. Hell were you thinking?”

Arthur pushed himself the rest of the way up, letting his head fall into his hands. His fingers worked deep into his eyes, up to his temples as though they might coax the worst of the pain away.

“Thinking of not ending up like this,” he groused, glancing back over at him.

“So, we're behind bars,” Hosea said with a light shrug, as though that were nothing more than a minor setback. “Ain't the worst place to be.”

“Oh yeah?” he raised an eyebrow. “Name one place that's worse?”

“The gallows,” Hosea answered, leaning on back against the wall. He crossed his legs, letting his hands rest on his knees as though this were nothing more than a sitting for afternoon tea. “Six feet under. Nailed shut between slabs of wood, tossed in a pit or dumped straight onto a fire—need I go on?”

“No,” Arthur waved him, rubbing at his temples again. “Done made your point.”

And he had—they might be behind bars, but the man was right in that they weren't dead. There was nothing coming back from there and least they were still well and able. Well, perhaps that last bit was a stretch, but Arthur knew he could power through this whenever the time came for it. Ain't nothing a little headache was going to stop him from doing. Hosea though—

“You alright?”

“I'm fine,” Hosea hushed him quick, “was more worried about you. Been out for a while.”

“How long?”

He wanted to wrap his mind about it, of how much time had gone on by without him being aware. Enough to drag them in here, enough to dump them and leave to tend to other business.

“Touch and go for a few hours now; figure it's getting close to midnight. Gotten quiet out there.”

A few hours would see them right about there. Miracle they were still alive, a promise of hope yet to come. Though Arthur had a funny feeling they weren't going to just be let go come morning. He turned to stare the other down, his mind slowly coming back together. “You really think Dutch went after the ferry?”

“Seems to be that way,” Hosea agreed, “been doing my best to listen in, but we haven't had much company here. From the sounds of it, money's gone—so are they, but not without picking a few of ours off in the process.”

His heart sank at that, a sudden sharp intake of breath cutting through his lungs. “Dead?”

“Can't really say—shot at least. Might have arrested someone too, from the sounds of it. All I know is that things are a right mess; law's thick out there and the Pinkertons gotten involved.”

“Pinkertons?”

Arthur'd heard of them. Some sort of specialized law that was emerging, like bounty hunters, only worse. Super Agents, as they'd been called. Till now, he'd might of thought it nothing more than stories spread by drunken men, but hearing Hosea say it thrust that fantasy into reality.

“Agent Milton, his friend—Ross. They were in here earlier,” Hosea confirmed. “Sheriff was telling them everything. Now, they know we didn't take part in the robbery, but they know we all came together, so we can't really play our way out of this one. And I expect they'll be back for more, soon enough.”

More. The implication was real enough. Interrogation. Torture, more like. Arthur knew what those folk did to men like him. Like Hosea. He shared an uneasy glance with the man, doing his best to ignore the tick of fear that was festering inside. He clasped his hands, elbows on knees, chin resting against his fingers.

“So—what's the plan?”

Because, despite how bleak the situation was, Arthur knew there'd be one. Hosea had most likely been plotting since they'd been apprehended, and quick as his mind was, he'd probably already detailed more than one way out. It was a practice as true as it was old, a trick they'd all gotten skilled at. Slipping their way out of jail, sneaking out from behind bars—and in desperate times, blasting the side of the damn jail open.

Though the likelihood of that here was slim, seeing as they was on their own.

Still Hosea turned to him, a grin creasing his features in an ever-knowing way. “Poor old fella ain't doing too well, I think. Something's not right—reckon he should be checked on.”

And Arthur snorted, hardly able to contain his laughter. The idea tantalizing, humorous in a way, and easy enough to pull off. They'd done it before. They'd do it again. All they had to do was wait for the right moment.

A moment that came but not a second later.

The door swung open, the sheriff coming in with laden footsteps, his shoulders hunched as a heavy sigh escaped his lips. He paused a moment, staring at the pair of them, a frown creasing his features as he pulled his hat off.

“So, you ain't dead yet,” the man growled, the previous camaraderie from back when they'd first met all but gone. “Not that it matters much to me, seeing as you will be soon enough.”

“We ain't done nothing,” Arthur defended, matching with a scowl of his own.

“Maybe not directly,” the sheriff agreed, sitting on down at his desk, “but you had a hand in this mess nonetheless. Associates of Dutch Van der Linde himself; never would have guessed I'd have scum of likes of you in my town.”

“You're mistaken,” Hosea corrected, trying to play it still even if there weren't any hope. “We aren't nothing more than simple businessmen; Lafonde and my newphew, Callahan. If we've had any dealings with this Dutch character, I assure it was purely by chance, and not intentional. We aim to do business with only reputable characters, I assure you.”

“Milton assures me otherwise,” the sheriff sorted through a stack of papers in front of him. He pulled free a couple of pages, moving back to his feet. Even held up at a distance he could see the likeness, the faint sketches detailing their profiles. Guess there was no hiding behind their charade anymore, seeing as they already knew.

“Mr. Morgan and Mr. Matthews—prestigious criminals of one of the most notorious gangs this state has ever seen. Your hanging will draw quite the crowd, or so I'm told.”

He paused, staring at the posters a moment before he folded them, tucking them up inside his coat. “Of course, I'm a reasonable man. I'm willing to look the other way, provided you do a favor in return; got those Pinkertons sitting on my doorstep, snooping and poking around where they don't belong. I want them out of my town, you see?”

“And what is it that you're proposing for us to do?” Arthur wondered dryly. If the man reckoned they take on the whole of the unit that scurried the town, he was twice the fool they were. It was certain death; they might as well pull the trigger on themselves, as it were.

“They want Van der Linde,” the man said simply, “they believe he's the brains behind this robbery, not to mention poor Heidi McCourt, bless her child that's now an orphan. Way I see it, no reason you two should take the fall for his deeds. You fellas spill in where he's held up, I'll send my boys on down to get him, hold him accountable for his transgressions and you'll walk on free; granted I can't promise you any clemency once you cross the boundaries of this town and I guarantee that you shall, but a head start is better than no start at all, don't you agree?”

Heidi McCourt...the name drifted through his mind, stashed away for fodder later. For something he would wonder on when their lives weren't in immediate balance. It was gone as quick as it came, in its place was the offer, though it fell of deafened ears.

They were used to being hunted. That was not a new notion in today's world, what with how their way of life was coming to an end. Civilization was taking over, digging its claws in deep and holding tight, refusing to let up its hold and there was no place for the likes of them anymore. Soon enough they'd be nothing more than stories to tell about the dinner table, just like those readers that Jack had set upon.

But they would not walk quietly into the night with that notion resting heavy on their shoulders. No sooner would they give up Dutch, even if they had known where he'd gotten up to. Wrong or not in his justifications for what he'd done, the man had his reasons and theirs was to protect. To hold to that unspoken code that bound the lot of them together. They shared a knowing glance, the one that sealed firm their resolution, and together they basked in the silence.

The sheriff stared at them, long and hard, perhaps waiting for an answer. Even when there was none, he refused to take their silence as a conclusion. He crossed his arms, staring the two of them down.

“I'll let you boys think on that, see if you come to your senses by morning.”

He turned to leave, pausing as Hosea called on out to him, the man barely muffling a cough. “If you wouldn't mind on fetching some water; might bit thirsty in here.”

“Feeding time's at dawn.”

He sounded almost gleeful at that, a just punishment, as he strode on over back to his desk. Arthur watched as Hosea sat up, a few more coughs filtering out between thin-pressed lips. “Surely asking for water ain't too unreasonable?”

There were a few more coughs just then. Deeper, harsher. Quicker. Hosea fisted a hand, thumped it against his chest as though that might loosen whatever had become stuck inside. Arthur shuffled to his feet, leaning against the bars.

“You okay, old man?”

Hosea waved him; a reassurance, no doubt, but the coughs went on, worsening over time. He thumped his chest again, hunched over, face gone red as the fit worsened.

“Hosea?”

No response this time; the man too bent on just breathing. Arthur turned quick, a fierce snap as he glared on over at the sheriff who sat, merely watching it all. “Get him some damn water, will you?”

The sheriff waved him off, though there was a hesitation. “That's enough now, the two of you will be quiet.”

As though simply saying it would make it happen. Hosea was folded over himself, coughing still, gasping as he fell onto his knees, unable to keep himself upright.

“You ain't do something, he's gonna be dead,” Arthur spat out, eyes flicking from to where Hosea crouched on the floor, back to where the sheriff watched. “How's you gonna explain that to all them Pinkertons, huh?”

That seemed to reach him. The man sat still a moment longer, before scrambling to his feet as though the mere mention of those agents instilled a sort of fear in him. Perhaps it did; Arthur could only imagine the sort of pressure they were applying for the simple fact Dutch and the others had gotten away with all that money.

However it was, the sheriff closed that gap between them in a few short strides. He pressed up close to the cell, lips dropped down into a growl as he fumbled with the keys. “Out of all the goddamn things, left to babysit a feeble old man—”

It was all he got out.

Quick as a wildcat, Arthur lunged. The cells close enough to reach on out. His fingers curled in the collar of his coat, and with a solid pull, he slammed the sheriff on back against the bars. The impact staggered him, a weak gasp filtering out between split lips. Before he could recover, Arthur had him pinned, arms pressed tight against his throat, locking firm.

He struggled. Fumbled and clawed with clumsy fingers, legs kicking out, trying to find purchase, trying to get in control of the situation. Arthur ignored it all, clamped his arm all the tighter, counting the seconds gone by as his struggles slowed until they eventually ceased, the weight all but pillowing in his hold.

He dropped the man, watching his body fall in on itself. Hosea was already moving, arm reaching on out to grasp the scattered keys. It took but a moment to free himself, another to do the same for Arthur, and the pair were quick in stuffing the man inside and leaving him to his fate.

“Good job, Arthur,” Hosea whispered, leading the way on out towards the door.

“You were pretty convincing yourself,” Arthur mused, grabbing at his things. They'd been left near the desk, strewn lackadaisically about the chairs that were there. He'd been worried, a moment, that it might not have been real, seeing as Hosea's fits had been getting worse these past months. Man assured everyone it was nothing, but it sure was damn hard to ignore.

“Hella busy out front,” Hosea whispered, peering out the window. He was crouched before it as to not give away their location. Arthur sidled up next to him, watching the lanterns drift on by. Patrols. Leaving the town was going to be difficult.

“You think our horses are back at the stable?”

“Most likely,” Hosea agreed. “Gonna be tricky trying to get there without being seen.”

“I ain't leaving Bo' behind,” Arthur warned. That was a fight he was going to go down with, if it came to it. Though he knew Hosea, knew the man felt the same about Silver Dollar. He could see the look in his eye, recognize the tentative agreement that was there.

“Split up?”

The offer came, sound and true, and Arthur considered it a moment. Alone they'd be harder to spot, but alone they'd be easier to pick on off. If one was caught, there'd be no going back for the other. It took but a moment to decide. It was either together, or not at all.

A decision that Hosea accepted without pause. With a nod the man motioned, pulling away from the window. “Out the back then—we'll move fast, keep our heads down and make our way on out to the stable.”

“Then where?” Arthur could only wonder.

It was an question that neither of them had an answer for.

Chapter Text

They made it well enough to the stables.

There were patrols moving along the streets, but the men tied to those positions were worn from the day's events and bored from the quietude that had followed, and so Arthur and Hosea were able to slip on by unnoticed. The stables were barred, though they slipped in easy through the back and found their horses within.

They left in almost the same manner. Quick and quiet and unseen. They drove the horses down the alleys, waiting for the breath of silence to forge on ahead. The plains beyond the town were empty, beckoning them forth and they sped on ahead without hesitation, circling around when, and only when, they were certain they'd been undetected. It was all for naught, though.

It wasn't a surprise to find camp empty. Arthur figured it'd be more a surprise to find they had not fled the area. Such was the way of things, though it did not make the reality of it any the easier to accept. They'd been split up before, though never under such circumstances and he knew that finding each other would certainly prove to be a chore; though that was a problem for another day. For now they had to find someplace safe for themselves. They stayed not long, a short enough while to dig through that which was abandoned, collecting supplies to see them on their way before they sped off once more, seeking shelters in the safety of the forest beyond.

Tall Trees, as it was called, was silent. They steered away from Manzanita on the off chance law could be lurking, taking shelter in a cabin that was resting in ruins and charred from a fire from the not too distant past. Arthur spent a moment with Boadicea, brushing her down, letting his thoughts wander all the while Hosea scouted the nearby area to ensure they were truly safe for the moment.

All seemed quiet, an admission uttered by Hosea as the man collapsed wearily onto one of the busted stools outside. He looked his age just then, face drawn tight, skin pallid, his shoulders hunched. Arthur could hear his breaths from here, raspy and stuttered, sounding like he'd just run a mile.

He sat on down by him, hat pulled free of his head, wincing at the tenderness that was there. Bastards had gotten him good, the ache setting in deep now that he'd had time to sit away from the chaos. He let out a plaintive sigh. “Hell we supposed to do now?”

Hosea pressed a hand against his own face, as though to work the tension out. “Can't stay here for long; soon as they see that we've gone, they'll have folk out looking for us, though I reckon we'll be well enough for the night. Morning, we'll get ourselves across the river, head on east, see if we can pick up any traces of Dutch and the others.”

“East?” Arthur queried, a bit perplexed. “But what about all them safe houses back west?”

Places they'd picked out to fall on back to in events such as this. Dutch and Hosea, between the pair of them they usually had a few of them stashed away in the recess of their minds. Places that were scurried off the road and well out of sight of the main roads. Arthur had even scouted a few of them, a few weeks back before they'd settled down outside of Blackwater.

It was to one of those he figured they'd run off to. That they'd hunker on down, least long enough for the rest of them to join back up. Hosea though, seemed to think different, the man gesturing loose with a hand.

“Tracks peeled off east from the camp,” the man explained, “which makes sense given they'd have to cross the whole of town to make their way back west. Group as large as we are—ain't an easy task moving everyone, you know how that is.”

He did; when there was only a few of them, they could pack up and disappear in a matter of minutes. Nowadays, it took hours, and that was when they weren't being hounded by the whole of the law. Arthur chewed on his bottom lip a moment, pondering, recalling the lay of the land that stretched beyond the Upper Montana.

“You thinkin' Strawberry?”

“Valley above it, most likely,” Hosea agreed.

Big Valley.

It was an area they'd stayed in for a while, during the worst of the winter months. A place that was out in the midst of nowhere and even Strawberry was a fine jaunt away. Dutch had gone to the place several times, Hosea too—though Arthur hadn't ventured quite as far, too content to while away his time with hunting in order to keep folks fed.

Seemed a likely place for them to return to—seemed as though they were going to head that way as well. Arthur set his hat back atop his head, shuffling to his feet.

“Well—we ain't gonna get too far in this dark; might as well try to get some rest. You go on, I'll keep watch.”

“Pardon me for thinking otherwise,” Hosea ground out thinly, “but I'll be keeping watch. You need to rest up, what with after that beating you took.”

To that, he raised an eyebrow, “I ain't the one looking half-dead,” he gestured, indicating his fragile state. “As for me? I'm fine.”

Hosea wasn't deterred by that. Instead he pushed himself up, measured up alongside him. “Don't be a damn fool—known you long enough to know when you're hurting, even if you try to say otherwise.”

“Hosea—”

“And last I checked, I had seniority here; means you gotta do what I say.”

He hated that card; it was rare for the man to use it, but here it was all the same. A truth that could not be ignored. Without Dutch, the mantle crossed to Hosea, and if not him, then finally to Arthur. Between the two of them, things were shared evenly enough, but in times such as these, when a call had to be made, that call rightly fell to Hosea, and Hosea alone.

Still, he was determined to not back down, least of all not so easily. “Can't force me to sleep, Hosea; nothing's keeping me from staying up with you.”

“Perhaps not,” the man watched him close, eyes narrow in thought. “But imagine, if you would, the struggle of your poor, elderly father, when he ends up staying awake the whole night because he can't trust his unruly boy to keep watch without a few good winks, as it were.”

The drama of it all.

Arthur sighed. Much as he loved Hosea, there was also a part that found him ever exasperated by him at times. He hated the guilt that was sewn there, buried deep in his sinew that was picked and plucked at, pulled forth whenever there was something desperately wanted from him. Dutch knew of it, Hosea too—hell, half the camp did, he supposed.

Still changed nothing. They was still here, still locked in this debate that Arthur knew he was destined to lose in the end. So he gave in, yielded, though not without a scowl and a stern warning to boot to be waken up a few hours in so that they could trade off. An agreement the other took to, though with how much sincerity Arthur could only be left to imagine.

He could only hope that morning brought better tidings than today.

Chapter Text

True to his word, Hosea kept his promise, waking him just before dawn and bedding down himself.

Arthur woke to the aches and pains he was all too familiar with after a nightly jaunt at the bar and one too many drinks, though he'd missed the pleasure of the buzz that came before, his woes due solely to another source altogether.

It was chased away with a tonic of yarrow and ginseng that Hosea all but foisted upon him the moment he'd gotten to his feet. Man must have been busy while he slept, a tribute to the solitude about them. Those early morning hours in which Arthur sat and watched were much the same. From a glance, one would never tell of the brutality that'd taken place but a few short miles away.

Despite the silence, however, his thoughts roared. They were saturated with disbelief, numb with what they'd learned and still had yet to discover. He sat, rifle resting easy in his lap, back pressed up against a tree as his mind buzzed and burned, unwilling and unable to bring himself to believe that which he had heard.

Dutch, killing a woman?

The man wasn't a saint—none of them were, but they were firm in the understanding that they weren't wanton killers. They did not shed blood that was undeserving and engaged only when they hadn't any other choice. Though Arthur supposed being caught as they were, like a wolf in a trap, that perhaps there hadn't been any other choice.

But why her?

Heidi McCourt—sheriff said she left behind a kid. Surely she was of no threat, certainly not compared to the likes of the bodies that had strewn the streets and Dutch himself would be the first to tout the responsibilities of upholding their moral standard of letting those innocent folk be.

“Don't do nothing to folk who ain't got nothing to do to you,” he'd say, just about all the damn time.

They lived by that, let those sort of folk go about their business and let them be. That's just how it was. Course, seeing as he ain't been there, perhaps Dutch had a reason behind doing what he'd done; or maybe the law was just getting it all wrong. As tumultuous as that robbery had to have been, chances were they'd gotten just as much wrong as they'd gotten right.

No—

He'd refuse to believe any of what the law said. Least till he heard it from Dutch himself. A chance he'd hope he'd have soon enough, if Hosea's speculations were right.

East...they was heading east. Pushing further out into civilization. The thought made him sour. He preferred the open plains of the desert, where folk tended to avoid. He liked the quiet, liked the solitude that stretched for miles to come. East was where the towns were, where the cities stood high; unfamiliar territory.

But if they was to catch up with Dutch and the rest of them, east is where they must go.

They left just after dawn.

They kept to the western loop, keeping well away from Manzanita with intentions of crossing the river up by the Owanjila dam, The trees were thick here, the trail quiet, with nary a passing wagon to be seen. Not that it was much expected this far out—these trails weren't kind to such vehicles, the lay of the land rough and unforgiving, suited more for solitary riding than anything.

They used that to their advantage, traveling quick and light, pulling off into the dense forest each time they heard the beat of hooves approaching. Hosea felt it best to keep a low profile, to leave unseen, and Arthur agreed as much. They'd wait for whoever to pass on by before resuming the trail and forging ever north in attempt to leave the state behind.

It was when they reached a fork in the road that complications came to pass. They'd heard the commotion well before they saw it, the thundering of hooves tearing up the very path they'd intended to head on down. Hosea led first, Arthur quick to follow, the pair slipping back off the road and into the shadows; not a moment too soon, watching silently as the men raced on by.

Bounty hunters, by the looks of them.

Riding in close quarters, horses frothing the mouths as they were driven ever onward. Their guns were at the ready as though they might be expecting trouble; there were four of them—five, if one counted the form that was draped unceremoniously over the business-end of one said horse.

Poor fool was trussed up like a prized-pig, arms and legs bound, head covered in a cloth sack, but even that did little to muffle his protests. His voice cut through the stillness of the woods, clear as a bell, hollering up a fuss and spewing a tirade of nonsense. Nonsense that Arthur was well accustomed to. Even if he weren't a loud-mouthed braggart, Arthur would know Sean MacGuire anywhere.

“I'm telling ya, ye got the wrong feller! It's me cousin you want, I ain't even been near the bloody town in days!”

“And I ain't gonna tell you again to shut your flappin mouth,” one of the men snarled, “christ sakes, can't we just put a bullet in him now and call it a day?”

“You do and you'll be paying all our shares for the money lost,” another spat out. “Damn fool's worth a pretty sum alive, and alive is how he's gonna stay, you hear me?”

It was about all they heard, their voices lost on the wind as they disappeared over the ridge, quickening on towards Blackwater.

Near him he heard Hosea stir. “Cutting them off before they reach the plains is gonna be our best bet.”

Arthur shot him an indignant look. “Our best bet for what?”

“Arthur,” Hosea chided, kicking Silver into a run. The man ignored the path, veering in favor of cutting straight through the woods.

“What?” he scoffed, following after, “the fool's long had it coming; you ask me, they doing us all a favor in taking care of that one. I mean, just think of how quiet it's gonna be when we get on back.”

“You don't mean that,” Hosea called on back. Maybe he had a point; annoying as MacGuire was, he did kind of like the Irish bastard. “Come on, between the two of us, these idiots won't stand a chance.”

That they wouldn't—though Arthur still reserved caution in engaging at all. They were still far too close to Blackwater for his comfort, but alas he knew that he couldn't just turn a blind eye and let them take Sean on in to whatever deplorable fate was waiting for him. He kicked Boadicea on, passing Hosea and taking the lead.

In a burst of flurry he tore on out between the trees, right out into path mere inches before the group. It startled them, broke free a tirade of curses, horses screaming as they were reined in. His gun was free, flush in his hands as he let the bullets fly.

Four. One for each, not even pausing to let them try and talk their way out of this. They were dead before they knew what hit them, falling from the saddles into crumbled heaps upon the ground. A problem so easily solved; or so he thought.

The Nokota, the horse that held Sean captive, was gone; racing down the path in which they'd just come, driven by the primal instinct of fear. Arthur let out a curse, holstering his weapon as he urged Boadicea on. She answered with a huff of irritation, as though annoyed by his inability to choose and stick to a single direction.

They tore through the scattered herd, racing up the incline that forked back towards the trees. All the while, Sean's voice tore through the chaos, filled to the brim with unrelenting confusion.

“Wha's that goin' on out there? Can ye slow it down a little, me gut is killing me!”

Arthur drove Boadicea on, catching up to the Nokota. The horse was wide-eyed, driven by panic, sides heaving through it all. Arthur reached out, tried to grasp him, tried to call out to calm him down to no avail. There was nothing for it; he'd have to jump.

It was a feat he'd done before, though it never came without risk. Bo', for her credit, kept her speed steady, matching alongside the panicked horse at his ask. Arthur lifted himself up, balanced, a breath drawn deep into his lungs just before he launched.

Felt as though time stopped moving in that moment.

The next, he was halfway into the saddle, fingers gripping and grasping at the reins, pulling on back to steady his gait. The Nokota slowed, jittery, dancing wildly beneath his grasp, ears flicking at his softened voice.

Didn't help much that Sean was still yowling.

“Who's that now? Where—you making a big mistake, me friends are gonna set you right, just you wait and see; you think I was bad, wait till you get a load of these fellers of mine, be the last thing you see, I promise—”

“Will you can it, Sean?” Arthur demanded gruffly, turning the Nokota around. “I already have a headache, and listening to your dribble is making it worse.”

There was a beat of silence, then, “English? That you?”

“Done told you already, I ain't English,” he reminded the fool, trotting the horse back down the path, Boadicea following close behind.

“Oh, Arthur—it's good to see you; least that's what I'd say if I could. You mind, eh, removing the sack from me head, no rush or nuthin', just a right challenge to breathe, is all.”

“Sure can talk a lot for someone who can't even breathe,” he muttered, slowing the horse as Hosea caught on up to them.

“Good job, Arthur,” Hosea gave him credit where it was due. He tipped his head towards the other, “Let's get him down off there so we can move along; probably best to not linger.”

“Or we can just turn him in ourselves,” Arthur offered, “way I hear it, he's worth a pretty penny.”

“What?!”

Sean sounded indignant at that, his voice nearly a squeak.

“Now listen here fellers, you wouldn't do that to old Sean MacGuire, would ya? I mean, after we all been through, you're like my brothers, you are.”

“Brothers is pushing it; we're more like...estranged cousins, by marriage, if you have it.”

“Arthur,” Hosea hushed him, drawing Silver on up alongside him. The man made quick work of freeing the bag from the man's head. “Quit messing around and get him on off of there, before we attract unwanted company.”

He rolled his eyes, but complied, swinging a leg over the saddle. Sean was a sweaty mess, hair plastered against his flushed face, a rather neat collection of bruises adoring his features.

“Hell you do? Get into a fight while drunk?”

“Oh they worked me over good, they did,” Sean sputtered, gasping as he was hauled down from the horse. Arthur was none too kind in dumping him to the ground, cutting through the bonds with his knife. All the while, Sean carried on, “Took their turns beating on me, set a fire to me, tried their best to get me to talk, but I ain't give them the satisfaction of that; no, not a peep, I was silent as the grave, I was!”

“Wouldn't that be the dream,” Arthur grumbled, hauling himself up atop Boadicea. “You any idea where Dutch and them is at?”

“Course not,” the man laughed as though the idea was ludicrous, commandeering the Nokota for his own use. “Haven't seen Ol' Dutch since that nasty business there in town; got separated, we did, on the account I stayed behind to hold them buggers off.”

“Oh sure,” Arthur tutted, not buying a word of his drivel.

“You implying that it ain't true?” Sean puffed out his chest as though it were a challenge. “How's it you tink we ain't together anymore?”

“I'd sooner believe you were holed up in the bar than facing them down on the street—especially seeing as you ain't got no extra holes in you, aside from the one in your head.”

“Boys,” Hosea cut the pair off before Sean could retaliate. He stared the two of them down, focusing first on Arthur, lastly on Sean before he carried on. “Dutch say anything about where he might be heading once this was all done?”

“Not that I was told, but you know how he is; don't say much 'bout what he's doing and all that. But I got myself out alright, got a place up near the lake that's fine, I'll take you boys to it, jus' follow me.”

“This the same place those bounty hunters caught you?” Arthur wondered mildly.

“Nah, they just got lucky is all; I was out taking care of business when they came up on me. Ain't nice, ya know? Jumping a man with his drawers down, but I reckon that's the only way they could have taken down the Great Sean MacGuire. Them feckers don't play nice, ya know? But I'll tell ye what happened, boys; don't you worry, I won't forget a ting, I won't!”

Arthur drew in an uneasy sigh, trailing on behind the pair. He had a funny feeling that this was going to be one long ride.

Chapter Text

Unsurprisingly, Sean did not stop talking the entirety of the way back. He had a lot to say, though hardly anything of importance, peppering his story with exaggerations or bits of nonsense that had no bearing on their current situation. Twice Arthur had tried to pointedly nudge him back to the topic at hand and twice Arthur was rebuked for his efforts, told plaintively to have some patience as he was getting to the good parts of his tellings.

Honestly, Arthur shouldn't have been surprised. Sean seemed to enjoy the attention. He rather liked stringing them along the whole while, a lopsided grin plastered on his face as he kept meandering, dancing about the questions that were asked of him. It wasn't until Hosea snapped at him to get to the damn point that he finally caved, and summed things up as brief as he could.

Seems it was Micah who'd gotten Dutch all excited about the robbery and convinced him to go after it.

Micah Bell.

Made his blood boil at that. Micah had been a thorn in his side since the moment Dutch had brought him back to camp, what with his bullshit and petty, narrow-minded views that tended to clash with the rest of them, but seemed Dutch was sold on him on the account that Mich had saved his life a while back. If there was truth in that, Arthur couldn't say, seeing as he hadn't been there to see it. Not that it mattered much, there was little he could say to convince Dutch otherwise, but what he did know is that in the short while the man had been with them, he'd been nothing but a nuisance.

He was impulsive, reckless, foul-tempered, vile...not to mention apathetic to their struggles and ignorant in how things worked about camp, willfully ignoring necessary chores and errands in favor of his own wants and desires. Despite all this, Dutch willfully ignored each of those traits, dismissing them as a rough exterior that only needed some polishing. Arthur wasn't fooled; ain't matter how long you polished, you couldn't make diamonds from horseshit. He'd known that Micah was a bad sort since he'd first come along, and this had all but proved it.

Arthur silently fumed over this new revelation all the while Sean carried on. Though there wasn't much else to tell beyond that—seems once things hit the ferry, all hell had broken loose. Law and Pinkertons alike had sprung up from nowhere, overwhelming them, and Sean—well Sean said he ain't see too much on account of all the chaos.

“Was up the street I was; tried to get on back to provide some cover, but I couldn't reach them, ya know?” Sean explained, leading them past the lake. The hills near here were littered in trees and boulders, indicating that area was not well traveled or traversed. It'd be a boon for them, a good place to hide away for the moment until the heat wore down.

“Of course,” Arthur agreed gruffly, “you've never risked your own ass before; why start now?”

“It 'urts that you tink so little of me, English,” Sean scoffed, sounding offended by that jibe, “I mean, you hafta look at the dilemma I was in. This weren't your normal bar scuffle; there were loads of them, there were. More than I could rightly count!”

“Well that ain't exceptionally high.”

Sean shot him a withering glance.

“Quite the comedian you are. All this, coming from a fella that weren't even there in the first place? I may have not been the quickest draw in town, but least I was doing my part, which is more than you can say. The 'ell were you two up to anyhow, while we was facing down our deaths?”

“We was working on our own thing,” Arthur was quick in answering. It was a partial truth, seeing as they had started that way, only to wander off to other things. Still, he'd rather not delve into confessions of their loitering about in order to waste time and pointedly avoiding the whole of Blackwater and camp that day. “You know, the real estate scheme? The job least likely to end up with a bunch of folk dead?”

“Eh, Dutch said t'at was small time—said it weren't gonna be needed after we took the ferry; course, didn't tink he was expecting law like that; kind of puts bugger on it, ey?”

“Course there was gonna be law involved,” Arthur frowned, directing Bo' around a cluster of boulders as Sean cut through the trees. He could see a cluster ahead; makeshift smattering of items strewn about in a circle, a lean-to propped up near a tree. He shook his head, “That goddamn ferry was carrying a fortune; no one in their right minds would let that go unguarded.”

“Thought the same, really,” Sean gave a slight shrug, “told him as much, but Micah kept on 'bout how he had it all figured out and if we didn't go, we was missing an opportunity.”

“Well, if Micah says it was okay, then it must have been,” Arthur ground out sarcastically.

“Look, I don't like that fecker anymore than you do, but it weren't him making the calls, you know?”

Arthur did know; he guessed that was the problem. The reason behind why all this agitated him so. Micah he could see being reckless, but Dutch? Well, he figured Dutch would have been smarter than all that. Seems temptation had been too much....

He watched as Sean jumped from the saddle, scurrying through camp like a squirrel who'd just stumbled upon a horde of acorns. Everything sat in a jumbled heap, clustered in disarray that didn't seem to bother him none. Ennis was waiting for them in the midst, the Standardbred tethered to a tree. Sean reached on out, cradling the stallion's head.

“Don't ye worry, boy; your pa's back, and he ain't gonna leave you again.”

“You could have at least waited five minutes before you went and ruined his day,” he taunted, drawing Boadicea on up to a halt. He stared over the pitiful camp, his brow furrowing. “The hell you do to this place?”

Sean looked up at him, perplexed. “Ain't not'ing wrong with a place that's lived in, now is there? In fact, you fellers should be thanking me, seeing as I got some stew on the fire there; MacGuire's finest—secret family recipe, it is. Put some hair on your chest that will; feel free to dig in.”

“That so?” Arthur crouched down low, nose wrinkling at the offending odor. Looked black like tar from the remnants of chewing tobacco. Hesitantly he reached out, scooping a ladleful. It clung fast to the spoon, leaving a trail of thick sludge hanging in the air as he attempted to draw it on out.

Hungry as he was, his appetite was just about shot now.

“Beginning to understand why you ain't have any family left,” Arthur muttered, dropping the spoon back into the pot.

Sean looked offended at that. “You just too pampered, is all, English—gotten used to your fancy suppers at the saloon, that it? Ain't no real man brave enough to give it a go?”

“Ain't no man who'd survive eating this,” he countered. “Makes Pearson's slop look appetizing.”

“Enough now,” Hosea cut in with a weary sigh. He'd been quiet this whole while, up till now. He stood in the center, hands resting on his hips as he turned about, surveying the mess about them “Arthur—why don't head on out, try to get us a proper supper while Sean and I see to getting stuff set right here.”

“What you mean by that?” Sean protested still, “tis fine the way things are; ain't see nothing wrong with it.”

“That's half the problem,” Arthur pulled himself atop of Boadicea, all too happy to have an out for the time being. He tipped his hat towards them as he rode on out, “You boys have fun. I'll see you in a while.”

He was glad for the break, even if he was back within the hour. He returned victorious, with a plump doe slumped over Bo's rump and a handful of thyme he'd collected just beyond the reaches of the shore. Camp was looking a touch more proper; gone was the offending slop over the fire and draped over branches were bits of canvas to offer shelter and give them a place to bed on down for the night. The rest of the refuse had been shoved to one side to offer them a place to sit.

Arthur dressed the deer, leaving the cooking to Hosea while Sean gathered more wood to see the fire through the night. They ate well enough and chased it down with the weak ale that had been collected from the remains of the previous camp, and though there wasn't much to celebrate, Arthur felt it was enough to toast the fact that they were not only alive, but all of them free.

They spent that time, well into the night, talking. Hosea took charge, drafting up the basics of a flimsy plan that might see them some fortune in finding the others. His speculations were that Dutch was about the area somewhere. The earlier tracks led this way well enough, but were lost beyond the width of the river. Despite this, Hosea suspected the man had taken the others far enough to avoid detection of the law, and there weren't too many paths to take to accomplish that. He'd no doubt avoid Strawberry, seeking instead the confines of the forest beyond and would be doing his best to lie low.

It'd make it hard to find them.

They'd do their best, though. Something would come up soon enough, and split as they were, Hosea knew the others would be trying to reach on out, to leave some sort of note or clue as to where they might have gone and to where they'd be found. They'd do the same in turn and eventually contact would be made, somehow. They'd find one another again.

Arthur was sure of it.

Chapter Text

Some while back, Dutch had taken to creating an alias for them all. A name in which they could discreetly send and receive mail under, no matter where they should end up. Such was a life as theirs, welcome nowhere and always on the move as it were. More than once it'd come in useful and it seemed as though it would be so again.

That following morning, they'd all split up and gone their separate ways, diverging out towards the nearest posts. One in Strawberry, one at Riggs Station, the last, further north up at Wallace Station. Arthur taken to that one, thundering along the trails atop of Boadicea who was built to run. It was a fair distance, but necessary—there was no telling where Dutch and the others might have squirreled themselves away and Hosea had wanted to cover all potential reaches within the area.

But at Wallace, there was no word. Arthur wasn't all that surprised; truly he figured he would be had there actually been something. It'd been but a few days since things had gone awry and chances were the lot of them were still hunkered down, waiting out the worst of the storm. Still, he dropped off a letter of his own for Dutch and the others should they happen this way, a brief note summed up by Hosea of their current whereabouts, before he returned back to camp.

Days passed in which nothing changed. They set to a routine, each of their own, fulfilling roles that ain't really need to be filled given there was just the three of them. Cooking, cleaning, scouting, keeping watch—and if none of those, then meandering about the area, searching for any word or clue that might lead them towards a proper direction.

At first, Arthur kept himself near to the lake, doing his best to avoid town and the roads that were the busiest, lest they attract unwanted attention. He had no telling how far the news of their escape had traveled and fate was the last thing he wanted to tempt.

Yet, as the days turned to weeks, and still no word of Dutch, Arthur found himself wandering further from camp.  Sean, much as he liked the kid, wore on his nerves with his incessant prattle, drawing him thin and leaving him worn and unable to think. So he took the opportunity to slip away and lose himself in the bounty of nature. Big Valley to the north was open and inviting, though not without trouble. Namely on the discovery of the O'Driscolls.

They'd taken over the ruins of a ranch. Been years since he'd last seen those fools—Colm and Dutch, they went way back, the pair of them twisted up in a history that weren't so kind. Blood coated each of their hands and Arthur doubted that was a feud that would ever see end.

It was perhaps a learned behavior, an expectation, to meet those fools with nothing short of a loaded gun and a shallow grave given all that'd taken place, but Arthur knew that was no option here. The dots that scattered about the ranch outnumbered him ten to one, and though the skills of the O'Driscolls were no match for his own prowess, he knew that sheer numbers alone would overpowered any sort of skill he might boast. Much as he hated it, and though he'd never admit it, Arthur wisely turned away and kept himself back near camp.

As for Hosea—well, he wasn't quite sure how Hosea manage to tolerate Sean as he did—though he held his own suspicions, seeing as that more than once he'd come on back to find him gone, running a supposed errand for the man.

“You ain't even like chanterelles,” Arthur pointed out one day, when Hosea dully announced where the kid had gone.

“He doesn't know that,” the man stated plainly, nursing his coffee.

“So,” Arthur wondered, curious. He poured himself a cup as well, sitting down near him. “What's he gonna say when he finds out you ain't even going to use them?”

“Nothing,” Hosea hummed, “on the account he ain't gonna find them this far west. They like wetter climates.”

He pursed his lips, then took a sip. “Remind me to never get on your bad side.”

“Wonder how long he'll keep at it, before he figures it out.”

Arthur laughed, “Chances are he's in town, getting wasted. He'll come on back saying he did his best, but we both know how that is with him.”

Hosea joined in the mirth, clapping him on the shoulder. “I''ll admit, I'm beginning to rethink my stance on saving him.”

It was a jest, one that he picked up on quick. “It ain't too late you know. We can jump him when he's sleeping, haul him on in. Fool won't even know what hit him.”

“Now, I ain't ever done that to you or John, no matter how tempted I was, so I ain't about to start now.”

“Oh please; we weren't half as bad as him.”

“No,” Hosea agreed, “you two were worse; gave Dutch and I a lot of hell in those early years. I know you pretend to be thick in the head, but surely you haven't forgotten all the trouble you caused.”

“It's only trouble if you're caught,” Arthur reminded him, finishing off his coffee. “Ain't my fault Marston was a perfect scapegoat for it all.”

“You're a bad influence, Arthur Morgan,” Hosea tsked, stretching. “Though I guess you're not fully to blame, seeing as Dutch and I weren't much better. We did like to stir up trouble when we were younger.”

That they did. Arthur could remember many of times where simple things had gone wrong, for nothing other than a childish prank. Boasts and brags and tricks and dares....well, they weren't exactly sensible about those sort of things. He heard Hosea sigh, watched as the man leaned against a tree.

“I miss them.”

Arthur felt that same sentiment. Felt it in his bones that wore deep, burning quiet but there all the same. The longing that couldn't quite be soothed from their company alone. He liked Hosea, loved him even—he was as much a father to him as Dutch was, and Sean, despite his aggravation, was akin to a little brother. Annoying in all the right ways.

But it hardly  made up for the rest of them; christ did he missed their company—even if they didn't always get along.

“I think—think I may have made the wrong call, Arthur.”

The admission was so quick it was almost missed. It threw him for a surprise, left him speechless for but a moment. Arthur raised an eyebrow, watching him close.

“How's that?”

Hosea didn't answer, not right away, seemingly intent on staring into the distance instead. Then finally he turned, a sigh escaping him.

“We've been hitting the posts every few days and there's nothing to be found; been thinking that maybe they did head west, looped around through the forest while we were locked up. Thinking maybe we should head that way, get ourselves to one of those safe houses Dutch picked out.”

He perked up at that, gripping the cup firm, though he was quick in biting his tongue. It was a tantalizing idea, heading out west, leaving this all behind. Arthur would be the first to jump on it, hell, he'd even but suggested it all before, but something was stilling him now. Guessed it was the fact Hosea looked so beaten down about it, a look of failure engraved in his features.

Arthur cleared his throat, trying to muster the resolve to be optimistic “Ah, you have to give it some time, Hosea. It's been what? Couple of weeks is all; knowing Dutch, he'll sit quiet for a time before he pokes his head on out. Especially after all the trouble he's caused.”

“Maybe,” the man agreed, “I just can't help think that each day that's gone by is day we're being driven further apart. Chances are that Dutch and the others are states away by now.”

“You ain't know that,” Arthur countered, shuffling to his feet. “Look, we doing exactly what it is that we supposed to be doing; keeping our heads down. Dutch and the others, they'll come up soon enough. Ain't the first time we've run on our own and they know that. Things will work out in the end, you'll see.”

Hosea gave him a meaningful glance, a touch of a smile, even if it was still disheartened. “You're right, Arthur—I didn't mean to drag you into all this and doubt like that.”

“Now you're sounding like Dutch,” he joked, glancing on over to the horses. “Say, how's about we head on into town, check to see if anything's come up? Been a few days since we've taken a look.”

Not to mention it'd do him good to get him out of camp, stuck as he'd been these recent days. Hosea seemed to consider it a moment, before brushing it off. “No, you go on ahead. Someone needs to stay, keep an eye on camp.”

“Ain't no one around,” Arthur reminded him. There hadn't—been awfully quiet around here as of late. “Sides, Sean's sure to be back soon; you and I both know he ain't got the diligence to keep up searching for long. He can hold the place down while you and I take our time. We'll hit the store and pick up some gin, have a right party tonight.”

“I don't think I can take another night of Sean's singing,” Hosea warned, hands resting atop his hips. He took a look around, as though weighing his options, before wandering on over to pick up his fishing rod. “Bit of drink though might be nice; liven the mood around here for once. You go on ahead; I'll see about getting something warm over the fire. We'll have a proper meal tonight.”

Arthur watched him a moment, raising an eyebrow, “You sure?”

Man did like his fishing, a fact that Arthur could never really bring himself to understand how or why. It was decidedly dull, especially when there was plenty of other options about. He almost offered in just picking up some in town, but seeing Hosea set determined changed his mind.

“Alright, then,” he finished off his coffee, set to tack up Boadicea. “Won't be gone for too long, now.”

“Try to stay out of trouble,” Hosea half-jokingly told him as he departed.

Except trouble was exactly what would be waiting for him.

Chapter Text

Strawberry was one of the quieter towns they'd come across.

Nestled up in the hills just before a high reach that crossed on over to a valley, it was largely unoccupied, cloistered with those that lived there and hardly a traveler passing through. It was quiet in just the way he preferred, even if it were decidedly dull. Weren't even a proper tavern to visit, seeing as the mayor was bent on having a proper place without any drunkards stumbling about. Yet, funnily enough, the store sold liquor aplenty, which to Arthur, mostly defeated the purpose of that attempt in the first place.

Seemed to have some impact still, given the reason the town was oddly quiet. Or perhaps that reason was more bent to the simple fact the lot of them weren't there to muddle things up like they normally did. Arthur'd been there a number of times, always quiet, always keeping to himself so he wouldn't be noticed and he was of the right mind to do the same here once again, if not for one simple fact that presented quite the conundrum.

The telling signs of a scuffle just beyond the rise of the hill.

The day was clear; bright and sunny with a pleasant hint of a breeze though nary a cloud in the sky. So he knew quite well that the supposed taps of thunder were anything but. Arthur was well versed in the nature of gunfire, his senses on heightened alert as the tapping din grew ever more potent. As did the cacophony of yells and hollers, the panicked whinnys of horses trapped in the fray.

It gave him pause, a multitude of options floating in his mind. Of the possibility of it being them; Dutch and the others having found their way finally to civilization only to be engaged on the prospect of their heightened bounty.

He'd seen it in the papers. The calling for Dutch and the sizable fortune for anyone who brought him in. Wouldn't surprise him if a few of the others shared the same, given all that taken place, though what surprised him here more was the fact that anyone here would have noticed, seeing as there ain't been a lick of interest in the happenings of Blackwater before.

More he thought about, more he reckoned the chances were it weren't them. O'Driscolls maybe, perhaps having wandered down from the valley to relieve themselves of their boredom, leaving the town to suffer the result of their tedium. And if that were to be the case, it might be best on both their accounts if he just went on his way, lest he be seen as perpetrator alongside them, or worse—announce his presences to the likes of them when they were so vastly outnumbered.

He was caught trying to decide, teetering on the precipice of a decision when it was made for him, quick before he even had the proper time to react.

Because around the corner in a hasty flash came a rider, hunched on over the neck of a mustang, her peppered coat swathed in sweat, eyes drawn wild in fright as they thundered near.

Arthur had his gun ready, a reaction to the fight beyond, an instinct long steeped into his being that he couldn't ignore. Upon seeing him, the rider responded in tandem, though with nothing more than a cattleman which hardly posed a threat in comparison to his repeater.

He felt no fear nor amusement, but rather bewilderment as he took in the man. Though hardly a man—more a kid than anything else, comparable to Sean himself if only by a few years. Though those years were swept under a more educated demeanor, or that of maturity, he presumed. Despite that, those young years were showing here, the flourishing inexperience polluting the air, his face contorted in a surge of panic, though morphing into surprise once he'd seen him.

“Arthur!”

He reined Boadicea in, calmed the wildness that threatened to kick on up as he called back.

“Lenny; the hell's going on?”

Lenny was near out a breath, even though he weren't the one running. He pulled Maggie to halt, turning wildly to glare on over his shoulder back towards town. “They got Micah.”

His eyes narrowed at that. “What?”

“He's been arrested for murder; they got him at the sheriff's there, they're talking of hanging him—Arthur, I tried to go on back for him but he—they nearly lynched me!”

“Take it easy, kid,” he reached out, grabbed Maggie's bridle to calm her on down. “Who else is up there?”

“Nobody,” Lenny let out a stuttered breath, turning back back to him, “there's nobody—just us.”

“Dutch and the others?” He questioned, pressing hard; though all his efforts earned were a shake of his head.

“We got sent on ahead; we was supposed to be scouting, and Micah—Micah's got a crazy side to him, Arthur.”

“Don't I know it,” Arthur hummed, watching the road close. Sounded like things had gotten quiet, had calmed on down. So far, there ain't been no one fit to come on after poor Lenny, despite his frantic insistence he'd nearly hanged. Not that he'd doubt him, seeing as he weren't one to lie and it made his blood boil some. It were Micah who'd brought this on down, who done spilt blood in a town that ain't done no wrong to nobody.

Arthur turned on back to him. “Now where's the others gone? Where's Dutch taken them off to?”

He watched the kid shrug, apprehension still saturating his features. “East? Past the Dakota, is all I know. Micah and I—we were supposed to go on ahead and watch for trouble, but he had us come on down here and then—well, guess you know the rest.”

That he did; he knew how these sort of things went. At least when it concerned Micah. Arthur had a feeling in his gut that this was about as much as he was going to get for the time being. Figure he'd hear the rest of it later, once he got Lenny safe and calmed down. For now, there were things to be done, his mind racing like clockwork. He let go of Maggie, nodding his head back over his shoulder.

“You know where the stable's at around here?”

Lenny nodded, confused. “Sure. Passed it on by coming up.”

He was pleased by the revelation. “You go on, get yourself down there and wait for me.”

“Arthur—”

"I said wait," Arthur started off, but stopped short, a strange tension in his shoulders. He weren't sure what he was trying to argue, or why; times like these, he'd usually say to let nature run its course. He'd vouch for letting fools die in foolish ways. Micah had been nothing but bluster, these past few months, and there was no doubt in his mind that he'd been at the forefront of the mess in Blackwater, and no doubt deserved whatever fate karma had dealt him, but he also knew it weren't quite that simple or easy.

He let out a sigh. "Listen, kid—I'd say we just turn and go and let things be, but knowing Dutch, he'd stick me on latrine duty for a month for even entertaining that thought. So, I'm gonna head on in, see about getting that fool out of there."

“Then let me come with you. I can help.”

“No,” Arthur was stern, pinning him with a glare. “You ain't gonna risk your neck on this one, kid; so get on out of here; you let me deal with this.”

Truth was, the last thing he needed was another row; town would certainly not forget the likes of Lenny, given the poor kid stood out like a sore thumb, and they would for sure retaliate if he set foot on their land again. Least for him he was without suspicion.

He waited long enough for Lenny to mind his order, then set Boadicea forth with a gentle kick of his heels, sauntering up the path and into the midst of the town. Didn't take long to see the mess; the muddied streets were soiled with blood, and left behind were tracks weighted down by that of laden bodies. Several dead, if he was guessing, what if with the weeping and crying that filled the air.

There were nervous looks sent his way as he approached, but he acted without aggression, showing what he hoped appeared to be concern as he took in the lay of the town, crossing the intersection of the sheriff and the general store. It was from here he could hear the hollers. The curses and calamity that came from the cell below.

They'd done well in taking him in so quick.

Micah, for all his idiocy, was still a force to be reckoned with. Arthur wondered just how many fools it'd taken to bring him on in. A fair few, if any indication by the law that idled out front. One of them noticed him just then, a sternness plastered across his face.

“Move along now, nothing for you to be concerned with.”

Arthur took the cue, tipped his hat on towards him, and urged Boadicea along. There was no using in lingering, and Arthur knew when his time was well up. Law was plentiful and damn well jumpy, none of which was a surprise seeing all that had just happened. Be time, he figured, before things settled on down, before he could put any sort of plan into action.

And aside from that, a night in jail might actually do the fool some good.

Chapter Text

“He was half wasted before we even got there. Then we ran into some fellers, one of the Micah knew, and then he drank some more—”

“Then he shoots one of them,” Arthur finished, cutting his rambling off. “I know how that goes.”

And he did; Micah ain't been with the gang long, about six months or so, and he'd been nothing but thorn in his side since. Truly Arthur didn't know what Dutch saw in him, other than that pesky business of saving his life or some shit, but the way Arthur saw things was that it'd be best if they just cut ties with damn fool and went their separate ways.

“The townfolk jumped me, but I managed to get away,” Lenny went on, digging into the plate of fish handed his way.

Hosea'd done a fine job in catching some bass, seasoned them up real nice with some thyme and oregano, crisped the skin up so that it had a bit of crust to it. Was real fine eating, better than what they normally saw with the rest of the gang, though Arthur figured stew held up far better and filled bellies fuller in the long run. However it was, Lenny ate as though he ain't been fed for the past weeks, which he might not have been, seeing as he'd been up in the mountains.

“Found a place up there, old town called Colter,” Lenny had said. “Storm was awful, couldn't see more than a foot in front of you. We all barely made it up there; least most of us did. Lost a few after that robbery went sour; I mean other than you three. Ain't seen or heard from Mac and Davey died up there in the snow; Jenny was gone even before then.”

He said the last part with a touch of despondency, and Arthur felt his heart sorrow at that. “Ah, I'm sorry kid—knew you was sweet on her.”

Lenny was quiet a moment, as though he wasn't sure what could be said. Then he carried on as though nothing had been. “Thought we was all goners there for a time, even after that. Food was hard to find and were just about starving. Then Javier and Charles—they managed to find us some deer to get on by, but it was tough.”

“Everyone else okay, though?” Hosea wondered, sitting down across from him. “Dutch and the women?”

“Yeah,” Lenny reassured him with a nod, talking in between mouthfuls. “Was hard on them too, especially Abigail, after what happened with John.”

That caught his attention. Arthur felt his eyes narrow, “Marston's dead?”

“I don't know,” Lenny admitted, pausing a moment. “He went off ahead, trying to find us a place before we came across Colter. Storm was bad and we all figured he was waiting out the worst of it, but he never came back. Javier went out looking for him, but he didn't find anything.”

“So he's run off again?” he mused, shooting a glance towards Hosea as though to say I told you so. Arthur never did trust the man, not after all he'd done before, leaving like he did. Dutch had welcomed him back in, had pretended as though he hadn't done a damn thing wrong, as though he hadn't betrayed the lot of them.

Hosea, as ever, tried his best to appease him. “We don't know that. John's tough—likely he got separated like we did and he'll find his way back as he always does.”

“Dutch said the same,” Lenny agreed, moving on before they could dwell on it all. “Not only that, we also picked up this new lady, Mrs. Adler. Guess some O'Driscolls killed her husband.”

“O'Driscolls,” Arthur raised an eyebrow. “That far north?”

He'd seen them around these parts, but the Grizzlies were a fair distance away. That was quite a range for them to be traveling in, especially unannounced as they were.

“Was a surprise for Dutch, too,” Lenny shrugged. “Ran into them when he took Micah and Bill up that way to get some supplies. From what I hear, they burnt her house down as well, I'm not sure. A lot's happened these past few weeks.”

“You can say that again,” Arthur agreed. He knew it all too well. The jumble of confusion that followed a whirlwind of events. Adding in all this new information, well—sort of felt like he'd been hit on the back of the head, given how it was starting to ache.

“I'm honestly surprised to find you all here,” Lenny admitted, “Dutch figured you lot would have taken off to the west, to one of the safe houses. He was planning on sending word out that way once we got settled in somewhere new. How'd you end up this far east?”

“We just followed the trail of destruction you left behind, is all.” Arthur stated bluntly.

“Arthur,” Hosea chided him lightly.

“What?” he shrugged his shoulders, “We got thrown in jail and nearly set to hang for what they done; ain't like I'm lying.”

Sean laughed, intervening all the sudden. Kid had been content to listen up to then; seems as though his luck couldn't hold out for that long. “You fellers spent a cushy night behind bars, meanwhiles I was beaten and tortured, dragged along like some fancy carcass atop the ass of a horse—consider yourself lucky you ain't have to suffer that.”

“Just so you know, it weren't my idea to save him,” Arthur confessed, jutting a thumb over his shoulder towards Sean.

There was indignation at that, the start of some protest, but Hosea cut them off before it could really go anywhere. “Dutch say where he might be ending up?”

Lenny shook his head, a plaintive shrug. “Just that he was headed east, past the river. Near a town called Valentine; we find that, reckon we'll find them easy enough.”

“I know that place,” Hosea hummed, elbows resting on knees as he clasped his hands together. “Livestock town, be a good place to hunker down till we figure out what needs to be done.”

Arthur wasn't familiar with the area. He hadn't been this far east, not since he'd started to run with Dutch and Hosea. Felt odd, pushing that direction, especially when they had opportunity out west; not to mention the money.

Least he assumed they had; until Lenny dutifully corrected him otherwise.

“Money's still back in Blackwater, last I heard.”

“How's that?” Sean barked, standing up, “papers say nuthin' bout the money being found. How's you go about losing all that?”

“Sit down,” Arthur snapped, “you can't even read.”

Sean was right though – papers had touted about the money being lost. They figured Dutch had shuffled it away in the chaos, the prospect of a fortune awaiting them tantalizing beyond description. It was disheartening in one way to hear otherwise and frustrating in the other, the knowledge that all that shit had been for naught.

“It ain't lost,” Lenny corrected, glaring back at him. “Dutch says he's got it hidden, and that when things quiet down, we'll go on back to get it.”

“There ain't no going back there,” Arthur pointed out. “Place is crawling with law and Pinkertons alike; Hosea and I weren't even involved in that little shindig of yours and we was arrested in two seconds flat. The hell you think they'll do to any of you that decides to show on up again, acting like it weren't no big deal?”

“It's not like we were going to go anytime soon,” Lenny protested. There was an edge of defeat in his voice, as though he knew there was truth to what had been said.

Hosea's voice was grim as he spoke next, “What's this about Heidi McCort? Is what the papers say true? Did Dutch shoot her?”

To that, Lenny went still, his voice quiet as he answered. “Heard about that—I can't say. I want think I know Dutch well enough to believe that he wouldn't just kill someone like that without reason, but...it was chaos, law and guards all around and bullets flying everywhere; guess I just considered myself lucky any of us made it out of there alive.”

“Ain't no one blaming you, kid,” Arthur reassured.

He too, thought the same. That Dutch never did anything without reason, though it seemed as though they didn't always know what those reasons were. He was glad to hear Hosea back him up and reassure the kid, telling him that he'd done a good job.

“Not sure about that, but at least most of us are still here,” Lenny agreed, “and I think folk will be happy to see all you back. I know Dutch will, at least. He's been stressed lately, trying to run things on his own, but he did well enough, I think. We even managed to hit a train, before we came on down. Got some nice bonds from it.”

“A train?” Hosea wondered.

Arthur did as well. Seemed a strange thing to target, given the circumstances. Trains were hard enough to rob, mostly because getting them to stop was a right pain. Most time it wasn't worth the effort, seeing as the folk riding the train often did not have much on them.

Lenny seemed to disagree.

“Micah found some plans the O'Driscolls had,” he explained. “Guess this train belonged to some businessman, a Cornwall, carrying some bonds or another. Said you'd be good at selling them.”

The last part he said to Hosea, piquing the man's interest. “Cornwall? Leviticus Cornwall?”

A shrug. “Sounds about right.”

“Who the hell is Leviticus Cornwall?” Arthur wondered.

“He's no joke, that's for sure,” Hosea answered plainly, “big business fella; railway magnate, sugar dealer, oil man. His pockets go deep.”

“Dutch said he had more than enough to go around.”

That did sound like Dutch, though Arthur held concerns. Held them because he saw the look on Hosea's face, the one of apprehension that he often got when there was something he did not like.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” Hosea was quick in brushing him off. He sat up, stretching as he veered off into a different topic. “We'll pack up in the morning, head on out towards Valentine; I know of a place about there that's good. Well hidden, close to town. Arthur—I'll have you head on out before we leave, see about getting Micah out of Strawberry and you can catch up with us after.”

That'd been a discussion of interest the moment they'd gotten back, one that was serious and heavy on all their consciences. None of them were particularly fond of Micah—rather, most of them detested the man, crude and obnoxious as he was, but Hosea had been right in saying the man was one of them, despite his shortcomings. No matter how much they'd argued or confuted, it all came down to the same thin thread of truth.

The understanding they couldn't just leave one of their own behind. And Arthur had been the one chosen to see the task through to completion.

There was no way in sending Lenny; kid didn't have the experience to start and chances were his face was already plastered about the town, toting a fair bounty for just being associated with Micah. As for Sean, chances were he would not only let the man hang, but cheer the proceedings on and regale the instance in full glory later on. And Arthur stoutly refused to allow Hosea to put his neck on the line, which is precisely what he'd do if no one else went.

So he'd agreed, reluctantly, angry and stewing the whole while, but knowing all the same that it was something that had to be done, even if it was something he'd rather not.

At the very least, he figured, it was something that would be done right.

Chapter Text

Hosea'd made him change clothes, got him all dressed up in some ridiculous outfit. Arthur hated this sort of act, but the man had made a point about being recognized. So he'd gone along with it, if only for that. Understood too when he was forced him to leave Boadicea behind, on account of her being too distinguished. Warhorse she was—a halfbred, with a liver chestnut coat that was freckled and a mane that was a dirtied red. Weren't too many of those about and she'd for sure be noticed if he went into town riding her like he did before. So he couldn't rightly take her.

Nor Silver Dollar, seeing he was quite the same, and they didn't want to take chances with Maggie. Lenny'd beenin town with her just the day before and it'd take only one fool to recognize them to thrust them in an unfavorable situation. There was Ennis, though it weren't like Sean was about to give him up for this so called little detour. In the end, he'd been left with no other choice than that nokota they'd all but snatched from the bounty hunter.

Smokey, he'd taken to calling him.

Arthur hadn't been so sure of him at first. He was a spindly little thing; nervous and jumpy, more prone to bolting than holding his ground, but Arthur had soon learned the stallion was quite willing with a bit of coaxing. His steps were high and his gait a touch uneven as they plodded on up the trail towards the little town, but he did as he bade and continued his slow trek along. All the while Arthur ran through his head the script Hosea had all but forced upon him.

Don't make mess of things, he'd said. Get in and out quiet, keep things civil. Last thing they needed was to stir up more law and leave a mess of a trail.

To the last comment, Arthur nearly laughed. Nearly, cause he managed to stifle it at the last moment, reminding Hosea just who they was dealing with. A one Micah Bell – quiet and civil were two words the man had no familiarity with. Hell, they'd be lucky to get on out of there without burning half the town down.

Hosea did not find the humor in that.

So Arthur had done his best to promise he'd try. Dressed up in ridiculous finery the man had scrounged up for him, he looked like something off one of them posters you'd see about town. The ones that were asking for bounty hunters to take on extra work in hunting down outlaws, such as himself. That's who he was pretending to be, an extension of the law, a nosy busybody with too much time on his hands.

Arthur had run bounties before; weren't like he felt as though he was above all that, especially seeing as it was, at times, decent cash. Twenty-five, fifty bucks; sometimes a few hundred, depending on who it was. Most those folks the law was looking for were quick to draw on officials, but they let their guard down when it came to ruffians like Arthur, who all but didn't look the part. Made it easy to get close, even easier to jump them, and drag them on in. Usually he ain't get no grief for those sort of deeds, lawmen all too happy to look the other way as their job was done for them. They'd paid him no heed and for that, Arthur was grateful, given his questionable notoriety.

He'd much appreciate the same here, but Hosea actually wanted him to impress the law this time. Said it was part of the act.

Tell them you're on the track of a dangerous criminal .

The idea was to pretend he was from Blackwater, hunting down the folk responsible for the mess on the ferry. The hope was that the law would be all too happy to hand the bastard over on learning this, eager to foist their problem off onto someone else. With that, was the hope that the idiot wouldn't out himself til they were long out of there.

Arthur had his doubts; there was no way Micah would simply let himself be dragged out of town like some sort of trophy to be had, all trussed up and strung over a horse, but the law would hold doubts if anything but that happened. There was a stirring in his gut, the simple thought of all the shit that would surely come on down as a result of Micah's inability to keep his mouth shut.

He hated that he was doing this.

If it were up to me, I'd let the fecker hang, Sean had said.

Arthur, shameful as it was to say it, had agreed with him. After all, Micah had brought this trouble down on himself, had nearly done Lenny in as well—seemed right to just leave him, let him deal with the consequences of his own actions. The fool had spewed enough bluster these past months and Arthur dreaded the prospect of having to put up with it once more. Given a chance, he'd be all too happy to turn tail and leave him to rot in that cell, which was what he rightly deserved.

Right or wrong hardly mattered though.

Years of running with Dutch and Hosea, of being the enforcer of the gang and of being the one to see shit get done and to get folk out had left him with little choice in the matter. There was a stirring of guilt, a thin whisper that refused to abate each time he tried to reason himself to turn away and let nature take its own course. That weren't who he was, weren't who Dutch and Hosea taught him to be, and no matter how much a yellow-bellied mongrel Micah was, Arthur knew he couldn't just leave him behind.

So he'd do what had to be done; he get the fool free and drag him out and pray that no ill came out as a result. Even so, he kept ready the pistol at his side, the repeater loaded and strapped to the saddle as he kept Smokey on the path. They plodded on into Strawberry as though they belonged and he paid no heed to the Sirens that tried to tempt him away.

The place was busy enough; folk going about their business like normal. It almost seemed as though the mayhem that occurred here yesterday was nothing more than a dream—least if folk ignored the bullet holes carved into the sides of them buildings and the stirring of mud that had yet to settle back into place. Weren't a lick of tension in the air. No care nor concern paid to the subtle damage that lingered.

Arthur took all this in as he rode up that hill. The sheriff's sat at top, near overlooking the town, and he rehearsed those lines in his head one final time as he drew Smokey on up to the hitching post. He swung a leg over, dropped on to the ground, prepared to make his way on inside.

Only to pause.

To stare on ahead at the ghost of a shadow that done caught his eye.

At the figure swung slightly in the breeze that was blowing on through, strung up neat in the gallows and on display for any passing eye to see.

Micah Bell, was dead.

Chapter Text

It didn't take Arthur long to catch up with the others.

Smokey might have been small, but he was quick and all too eager, like Arthur, to get out of that place. The others had been surprised to see him; even more surprised to see him alone, thinking perhaps he'd let temptation get the best of him and purposely left Micah behind, but Arthur'd explained that away with a simple shrug.

Truth was, there hadn't been much a reaction. At least not one of a sorrow.

Lenny was quiet, troubled maybe, about how things had gone whereas Sean had boisterously spouted about comeuppance that was rightly deserved. There was a point in that, he supposed, but it was well lost in the disquiet that consumed them all in that moment. Only Hosea had seemed to share some measure of wisdom, as the man always seemed to do, reassuring them all that they weren't at fault for all that had transpired.

“You did what you could.”

Arthur scoffed at that, matching his speed with the other. “Ain't so sure Dutch is gonna see it like that.”

“Dutch'll understand,” Hosea refuted, firm and resolute, though the validity of that assurance was lost on him.

Dutch had been many of things as of late, but understanding hadn't been one of them. Man was short on temper, thin on patience, strange in ways Arthur hadn't really seen before. He attributed that to the ill luck they'd had this past year, what with the fire and being run out of town and suffering that hard winter as they did. Bound to make anyone crazy that was, and Dutch had joked on more than one occasion about the whisperings that were taking place behind his back in regards to 'what'd gone wrong with old Dutch'.

Least, Arthur presumed it was joke. Lately, especially with what had gone on in Blackwater, that speculation was starting to resurface. Left him wondering how it was Dutch would be such a fool to get himself twisted in impossible odds to begin with. The man was clever, one of the cleverest he'd seen aside from Hosea and he had to know that it was doomed to fail from the start, so why had he gone through with it? Where, he wondered, had it all gone wrong?

Or, perhaps, he was simply thinking of it all too deep. Trying to scrutinize details that had no need to be explored. That this, that all of this had been nothing more than ill-judgment, a bad call in the likes of which had happened before.

Sometimes things went to shit.

Sometimes they lost people.

Sometimes, that's all there was to it.

That's just how it was. That this was just one of those times.

He held to that, even as they left West Elizabeth behind, crossing into New Hanover and pushing ever east. Without heavy wagons they traveled at a decent enough clip, though it still felt like ages listening to both Lenny and Sean have a go at one another. Squabbling as they were, flinging mild insults and even though it was done in a amiable manner was still enough to set Arthur's nerves on fire.

Lenny he liked; Sean too, in doses that were small, but between the pair of them they were about as comforting as a scourge of mosquitoes. Always droning, voices buzzing about in his ear like a tickle that left him to shiver. He preferred the quiet, preferred to be able to think and none of that was he able to accomplish with how they carried on. Arthur found about every excuse he could muster in driving on ahead, leaving Hosea to handle them both. He'd feel guilt for it later; for the moment, Hosea seemed wholly unbothered by it and it allowed Arthur a bit a of peace. Gave him time to survey this new area they'd come to.

New Hanover.

It was pretty enough, he decided, with rolling hills that still embodied the sort of freedom he craved. In the distance, to the north, sat Valentine. There was little left for impression, that place; even from here he could smell the shit-laden streets that accompanied such towns. Though the hopes for a decent saloon were high; a boon compared to Strawberry.

Arthur'd paused long enough to take in the town from a distance. Eyes scanning the grounds, noting the figures that loitered about as though it might beckon him forth. A simple hope that he might find some of the others milling around by chance.

Strangers, they all were. Lots of carts and wagons and comings and goings though none of which he recognized. He turned Smokey about, rode him hard to catch up with the others that had carried on. He'd stuck to the plucky little thing, leaving Boadicea to bear the brunt of the burden in regards to supplies. She was built for it, though it left her annoyed if there was any indication by the swishing of her tail. Annoyance that was placated by a cube of sugar; one for her, one for Smokey lest he get any sort of jealously in him.

And Horseshoe Overlook, as Hosea called it, was damn near perfect.

It was a large enough place, sat sheltered in trees just off the road at the edge of a plateau which overlooked the Dakota in the shape of horse's shoe. Arthur reckoned that was where it'd gotten it's name, concluding that some folk weren't all that clever in naming shit. Though there was doubt he could do much better. Weren't something he worried much on, seeing to get camp in order. It didn't take them all that long seeing as they ain't had much to use. A problem Hosea set about remedying almost right away. They scraped together what cash they could manage between them, which weren't much, and he set Arthur loose to town.

Supplies, food, medicine, work—anything and everything that could be found. And with him, one other person of his choosing.

Arthur didn't have to think on it long, hollering for Lenny about seeing to some work. Sean—weasel as he was—tried his best to slip on in as well, but Hosea damn near set on him before he could even get a word on out. Slapped an ax in his hand and ushered him about preparing a fire. Sean might have protested if he weren't so afraid of Hosea, that was.

Man was up in his years; past his prime, some might say. Any onlooker wouldn't pick him out as a threat, but they'd be mistaken. Aside from Dutch, perhaps, Hosea was the one to keep an eye on. He'd much prefer his cons to the act of shedding blood, but blood would easily be spilt without second thought if it had to come from that. He weren't above knocking a few heads about, nor was he hesitant to draw on any fool that might berate or test his nerves in the wrong way.

Arthur knew this well and plenty, from all the years they'd been together. Sean too, even though he'd been there significantly less. There was a scowl and some bitter grumbles as he set to his task, and Lenny and Arthur ain't even spare him the compassion to look back as they rode out.

The weather was nice; sky was blue with only gentle wisps of clouds and a breeze that might be fresh if it weren't sullied by the rank from the town. He'd taken Boadicea this time, left behind Smokey with a bit of hay for a well deserved rest. Lenny kept to Maggie which was of no surprise, the mustang plodding along dutifully, just as he was. Kid was quiet though, reserved in a way he weren't when bantering with Sean. Vexing as it had been, he'd least been talking and now that he'd grown quiet, Arthur did his best to check in on him.

“How you holding up?”

“I'm doing alright, I guess,” he shrugged, “I mean, a few days back, I was near freezing my ass off up in those mountains, and now I'm here with the last folk I expected to be with. It's just a lot to take in, is all.”

Kid had a point. Arthur hadn't really taken the time to grasp all that'd change for him, of all he'd been through. He'd been too consumed with happenings on his own end, the trials and tribulations he'd gone through. Way Lenny spoke about it all, sounded like things had been bad for a while. He didn't want to bring himself to imagine what it must have been like, locked deep in a mining town in the midst of a never-ending storm.

“Well, all that's said and done now,” he did his best to reassure him. That was hard, cause he weren't really the reassuring type. But he figured it needed to be done. “You're with us now and we'll keep an eye out for you. And we know Dutch and the others are nearby, so it's only a matter of time before we find them.”

“Not so sure if I want to, if I'm being honest,” Lenny admitted.

He'd slowed his horse, the same as Arthur, pointedly refusing to look his way.

“What you mean by that?” he couldn't help wonder, a tinge of bitterness to his voice. “You thinking of taking off?”

“No,” Lenny was quick to defend, “course not—not like that, I just...Dutch, he sent Micah and I ahead to do some scouting, and now I'm gonna have to explain to him how I got out and left him behind.”

Arthur stifled a laugh, though it was a cheap one to begin with. There was a thread of sympathy there, though it was thin. “Ain't nothing for you to worry about. Ain't your fault to begin with,” he reassured. “Weren't nobody's fault 'cept for Micah himself. We all knew he had a itchy finger and a short fuse that was gonna get him in trouble some day. That day just happened to catch up to him sooner rather than later, is all.”

And Lenny hummed, a look of amusement on his face. “You want to try explaining that to Dutch? You know how he feels about him.”

He rolled his eyes, kicking Boadicea back into a trot. Course he knew; knew that he was Dutch's new favorite. Man had one of those, every few months or so. Was that way with damn near everyone that he found and rescued. Put those folk up on pedestals he did, held them high and bade that they could do no wrong. That lasted well till he found the next fool and sadly these past months that fool had been Micah himself. Dutch, he knew, would not be pleased with that revelation, but the man would have to learn to deal. That's all there was to it.

“Like Hosea said, Dutch'll understand.”

“You know as well as I do that he won't,” Lenny warned.

Arthur shook off his concern, placating him best he could, “You just let me worry about Dutch, alright? Hosea and I will handle things; in the meantime, just let yourself relax a little. Been a tough few days—let's have ourselves a little break, grab a few drinks.”

There was a side eye at that. “You know, it was a drink that started all that trouble with Micah back in Strawberry.”

He rolled his eyes, shooting him a look. “We're just having a couple,” came the promise. “Enough to settle you down, then we'll get some supplies and head on back.”

Lenny still seemed wary; unsure. Arthur couldn't blame him, given all he'd been dealt these past days. Kid would probably go sober if given the chance. Arthur, in the meantime, was dying for something proper to wet his appetite, craving both drink and the atmosphere that could only be found at one of them dirty and grungy saloons locked deep within a town.

“There ain't gonna be any trouble,” he reassured once more. “Just gonna have quiet time, is all.”

And Lenny was still watching him close, a thin mutter from under his breath.

“If you say so, Arthur.”

Chapter Text

He didn't remember much of that night.

Instead, he woke up somewhere in an open field with nary a lick of what had gone on. His head was pounding and his stomach had gone sour and he damn near spilled his guts out the moment he'd gotten himself up. Heard something screaming and took him a few minutes to notice it were nothing more than the train speeding on by. At least he weren't too far from camp, which was a good thing.

Less a good thing was the fact he was alone; weren't no sign of Lenny and Arthur'd been certain he was with the kid just last night. He could recall some things, but not others. Could remember having a few drinks and the dancing which were odd cause he wasn't much a dancer, or maybe it was less dancing and more fighting and there was something 'bout a fool in a watering trough and then the law—

Christ...not again.

He'd promised himself he wouldn't let that happen anymore. Not after last time. Not after—

He shuddered, feeling too sick and sorry for himself to do much other than stumble a few feet and collapse under a tree. It was there he sat for a good long while, coming to his senses, berating himself for all that shit he'd done. Barely in town but a day and he was already causing problems.

He managed to drag himself back to camp within the hour.

Hosea weren't amused. He sat there near the fire Sean had managed to build, a few logs resting about it to serve as benches and there was that look on his face. The one of vexation and disappointment that got chills running down his spine. Arthur'd done a few foolish things in his life that he'd been able to shrug off and act like it weren't anything big and normally Dutch would berate him a little, but truly it were Hosea that ground on him. Did that without saying a word too which a damn mystery, though that weren't the case here.

Not really. Just a simple, “Arthur.”

A warning.

A plea.

Both, perhaps.

Least Lenny was alright. The kid was waiting there at camp, a right ol' bruise on his head from where he must have been battered, but the rest of him were okay. There was a scowl on his face, hands deep in dishwater as he cleaned up what must have been breakfast. Restitution, perhaps, for all the trouble they'd cause.

Arthur was almost afraid to see what belittling chore he'd be saddled with.

That, it turned out, was fetching the water.

Normally that weren't too big a deal; he'd done that plenty of times just to help out. They used water for drinking and washing and cooking. Normally they kept close to a river or a lake and that was where they got their supply, but Horseshoe Overlook kept true to its name in the fact that it peered over the land and the river ran way down below.

Take him ages, it would, to haul enough up to fill up the barrel, especially on his own with a single bucket. Even riding Boadicea, the going would be slow. He tried to barter, to beg even, to have someone come along and help, but Hosea just slapped the bucket into his hand, muttering something about if he couldn't even get some damn supplies, he sure as could make himself useful and fetch some water.

How he hated that. Riding all the way on down to the Dakota, filling his pail, riding all the way back up, dumping it in the barrel. Repeat. Again and again, only to come on back and find out that Sean had taken some to wash his face and that Hosea had helped himself to brew up coffee and Lenny needed clean water for the rest of his dishes. He was about damn ready to cut every one of those fools off and tell them the water were just for looking, not using, but the stern look on Hosea's face kept him quiet in the end.

He kept to it, despite his irritation. He was stubborn and not about to let it show that it got him down, least Hosea decided to keep it in mind for the future. And it happened about an hour in, around his tenth or so trip that they'd come upon them. Two fools, dressed all pompous and looking all sorts of official that rubbed him the wrong way. Somehow, he knew they was trouble even before they started talking.

“Strange, meeting you here of all places. Arthur, isn't it? Arthur Morgan?”

His senses were on alert then. He figured they'd come far enough east to be forgotten, but seemed as though that weren't the case. They weren't law—least not any kind of law he'd seen, but he sure didn't like the look of them.

“Who are you?”

“Yes, Arthur Morgan...Van der Linde's most trusted associate. You've read the files, typical case...orphaned street kid seduced by that maniac's silver tongue and matures into a degenerate murderer.”

Liked them even less now, seeing as they knew who he was, but the same could not be said in reverse.

“Agent Milton,” the man introduced himself, gesturing to the one near him, “Agent Ross. Pinkerton Detective Agency...seconded to the United States Government. Nice to finally meet. We know a lot about you.”

So...these were the Pinkertons they'd heard about. They didn't look like much, surely nothing like that super agent stuff that'd been said about them. Arthur still, was wary, raising an eyebrow.

“Do you?”

“You're a wanted man, Mr. Morgan. There's five thousand dollars for your head alone.”

That...was a surprise. Arthur knew he'd had bounties on him; he'd had those bounties for years, a trail so long it take ages for any one lone man to follow. But five thousand...

He scoffed, “Can I turn myself in?”

“We want Van der Linde.”

Straight to the point, it was. Arthur shrugged, hand lingering by his side should he have to draw. “Old Dutch? I haven't seen him for months.”

A partial truth. Somewhat a lie. He knew Dutch was around the area, though where exactly, he hadn't a clue. It wouldn't change anything if he did; nothing could be said to persuade him otherwise.

“Because I heard a guy fitting his description robbed a train belonging to Leviticus Cornwall, up near Granite Pass.”

Yes...Lenny had told him that much. His mind drifted back to Hosea's concern. Seemed to have sound reasoning now.

“Little old fashioned nowadays, ain't it?” he bluffed.

A bluff Milton didn't believe. “Apparently not. Listen—this is my offer, Mr. Morgan. Bring in Van der Linde and you have my word, you won't swing.”

“Not planning on swinging anyways, Agent...um...”

“Milton,” the man corrected, seemingly annoyed he couldn't even be bothered to remember his name.

He shrugged, pretending not to care. “You see, I haven't done anything wrong aside from not play the game to your rules.”

That, was a quote he'd picked up from Dutch. One that was well and truly driven into his mind. Didn't seem to affect Milton though. The man just rolled his eyes.

“Spare me the philosophy lesson, I've already heard it from Mac Callander.”

“Mac?” he breathed, suddenly stilled.

“He was pretty shot up by the time I got to him, so really it was more of a mercy killing. Slow, but merciful.”

The implication all too clear. His blood burned in his veins, angry and hot like iron fresh from the fire. He took a step forward, seething in that anger, held in check only by the click of a rifle. A warning...

“You enjoy being a rich man's toy, do you?” he hissed.

“I enjoy society, flaws and all,” Milton corrected. “You people venerate savagery and you will die, savagely. All of you.”

“Oh, we're all gonna die, Agent. Some of us sooner than others.”

The warning thin – though it didn't reach him at all. Milton just smiled, turning away. “Good day, Mr. Morgan.”

Arthur started after them, ready to take on them down for their threats. Stalling, stopping only at the new sounds along the road. A wagon there, driving on by, a passenger carriage no doubt on the way towards Valentine. A family, by the looks of it; a women, some children, a man dressed all fine. The distraction only momentary, but enough to let the agents slip on free, to get on far enough ahead.

Arthur swallowed that anger, let it wash over him like the water that ran near his feet. It was quiet now; he'd watch those agents long enough to make sure they was truly gone. Then without missing a beat he grabbed the bucket and hauled himself atop Boadicea one last time and turned back towards camp.

Because he and Hosea needed to have a chat.

Chapter Text

Weren't good news, those Pinkertons.

Hosea listened quietly as Arthur told him in a rush of what happened. Of what they all said and also of what'd become of Mac. Shame of that—he'd never been close to those brothers, but they'd been good fun, especially when drink was involved. Good guns too; though seems like there weren't nothing to do about it now.

Arthur was still high on nerves, edgy in the thoughts that he'd been followed despite the extra efforts in making sure he weren't. The others knew something was amiss, knew it in how jittered he was, though they wisely gave space for the two to converse privately.

In the end Hosea calmed him down. He told him it were a good thing those Pinkertons were prodding and asking after Dutch as they'd been. Meant they hadn't a clue where he was and long as they kept quiet, they'd move on soon enough. Weren't anything personal; they was just being paid is all. Cornwall's pockets ran deep and the robbery of his train was a personal insult so of course the man wanted retribution. He'd throw a good sum towards them and the Pinkertons would try to weasel them on out, but given a few weeks that want would wither out like a dying flame and they'd be forgotten for the moment.

All they had to do was keep quiet.

Which is what they did. There was no more funny business in town; Arthur made sure of that. He steered well clear of the saloon, though still Hosea wouldn't let him and Lenny go on in by themselves. Not after what'd happened, and no matter how many times Arthur promised he wouldn't give into temptation. He was good for that. Keeping to the stores for supplies and picking up the papers and checking the post on the offhand there might be a letter waiting for them.

He read about that robbery, in those papers. Read about Blackwater too—seems Valentine was more up to date with current happenings than Strawberry was, relaying the story in vivid details. There was some talk about it town too, flippant comments about how the world was turning dark and they was all going to Hell. He'd be offended by that, if he weren't convinced he was already going there.

And despite all of this, there was still no word of neither Dutch, nor those Pinkertons. Both of them vanished, and Arthur guessed there was some good in that. It didn't leave him any less worried or anxious, especially seeing as Hosea enforced the rule of someone always being on watch through both day and night. Took turns on that, they did. All of them, Hosea included—being as there was only four of them it was tough, but they managed well enough.

And they managed to get on out and check the lay of the land as well.

Hosea'd gone out one day, and had come back with a big black shire. Ornery bastard that thing was, mean as he was pretty. Was a biter too, nipping at the other horses and making them nervous, so Hosea had asked that he to take the thing on into town and sell him off. Wouldn't get much from him seeing as they didn't have any papers, but Hosea recalled the stablehand was in the market for a good workhorse and figured they'd get a fair enough price considering.

So Arthur rode him in, Boadicea trailing on behind dutifully as they cantered on down the street towards the stables. And he weren't even two feet into town when he done heard it. A voice that in itself was so distinguishable that even a deaf fella could pick him out in the midst of a busy tavern. The words carrying a bit of a rasp, cutting clean through the air and the shire huffed in annoyance as he was turned about without warning.

Arthur could hardly care about that. Could hardly care about the task he was given, neither. His focus turned ahead, eyes narrowing on the station that sat just in front of him, scrutinizing the figures that loitered there waiting for the train to roll on in.

And if one of them weren't John Fucking Marston.

Casually leaned up against the building, his arms crossed, a cigarette dangling from his lips. Like he had all the time in the god damn world with nothing better to do. Like he ain't up and left the others without word and now he had the gall to just show up here as though nothing weren't amiss.

Arthur kicked the shire up towards the post, hitched him there along with Boadicea. John still ain't notice him, staring off into the distance, talking with another feller though only intermittently, as though he felt obligated to do so. Arthur strode on up to him, leaned against the wall as well, cleared his voice.

“Now, look what what we got here.”

That elicited a reaction from him. A jump, damn near stumbling over his own feet as he turned towards him.

“Arthur Morgan,” Marston sputtered after a moment, letting out a bitter sigh, “warn a fella next time, why don't you? I ain't expect to see you around.”

“Course not,” Arthur returned, sizing him up, taking note of his appearance. Mostly of the scars that ran deep along his face. Red and raw and only partially healed. Recent—something had gotten him, and gotten him good. He nodded, jutting his chin out towards him. “You trying out a new disguise, so when you take off running there won't be no one to notice you?”

“Ain't running,” John defended weakly, fingers coming up to prod at the welts. “Ain't no disguise neither, just—hell you doing here, anyhow?”

“Could ask the same of you.”

That seemed to annoy him. Guess that weren't all that hard a thing to do, seeing how touchy he was. John always was sensitive, took things personally even when they were his damn fault to begin with. Arthur'd long gotten used to letting bullshit slip on through, but everything had its limits.

Like here and now.

He remembered what Lenny had said, 'bout how he'd vanished. Gone ahead to scout and failed to return. Couldn't be found even when folk went looking for him. Dead or just separated was unknown and Arthur'd only been half-joking when he presumed John had run off, but it seemed as though that was what had happened.

Left him angry. Frustrated, cause out of all folk, John should know better. The damn fool had a kid, a woman he should be keeping after and seeing too and chances were they all thought he was long dead, but here he was, chilling in town and apparently set to hop aboard a train and speed further away.

Arthur wanted to beat his skull in.

He didn't, though the temptation was real. Burning worse as he stood there, watching John shift and shuffle where he stood, looking everywhere save for at him.

“So, when's the train due?”

The train came in the morning. That much he knew, as did John, though the fool played his part well. “How should I know?”

“Course—why by them tickets when you can just sneak aboard?”

John pushed past him, stepped off the platform as though to show he weren't interested. “Ain't waiting on no damn train. Just stopped for a smoke is all, christ.”

He ground the cigarette under his foot.

“Folk been looking for you,” Arthur told him, following behind. “Been looking real hard, 'cept they just can't seem to find you. Yet here you is, out in the open, plain as day—”

“Dutch was looking for you too,” John warded off his prying. “You could have really helped us out, back in Blackwater. Same for those mountains, too.”

“Dutch never should have gone for Blackwater,” Arthur warned, voice dropping low. He didn't need any busybodies listening in on their conversation. “You know well as I do that it was a mistake. I mean—look at all that happened.”

“Where've you two been?” John wondered, meaning him and Hosea. Deflecting, that was all he was doing. Arthur could easily ignore the distraction, get back to the meat of the matter. But he decided to indulge, wandering up to Boadicea and stroking her neck. Do anything to calm himself down a touch.

“Been trying to find Dutch; the others,” he answered. “Don't reckon you've seen them?”

It was too much a hope to think he'd been across them. Didn't surprise him to see John shrug his shoulders. Man had gone up to the shire, had followed suit with Arthur's administrations. “Haven't seen nobody, not since I got laid into by those wolves. Got trapped in the storm, barely found some shelter so I wouldn't freeze to death. Once the weather broke, I tried to find them, but they were gone. Moved on. So I got myself down here; closest town I could find. Got myself patched up. It was rough, but I managed alright.”

“Sure you did,” Arthur hummed. Marston was many of things, one of which was a lucky bastard. No matter what seemed to happen, he always came out alright in the end. He was a touch uglier for all his efforts, maybe a bit stupider. Wolves must have eaten some of his brain if he was dull enough to think that sort of excuse would work on him.

“And you just what? Figured you'd take the train out for a ride about the country? See where you might end up? Forget everything and everyone just like you did last time?”

“Said I weren't running,” John said soundly. He glared across the horse at Arthur. “And how about you? Don't look like you found Dutch neither."

There was a pause. Then, the admission. “No.”

Not that it weren't for the lack of trying. They'd found plenty of others, just not the folk they'd been searching for. He let out a breath.

“We rescued Sean from some bounty hunters near Blackwater, and picked up young Lenny just outside Strawberry, so we know they've come this way. Hosea thinks he's in the area. Pinkertons do too.”

“Pinkertons?”

Arthur nodded, “I ran into them a few days back. They want Dutch real bad. They got Mac, back in Blackwater. He's dead.”

“Damn,” John breathed, shaking his head. “We lost Jenny along the way—Davey too, I think. Least he was dying when I headed off. Not to mention the others that were separated; you and Hosea. I'm glad you two are alright.”

“You never could bluff,” Arthur shook his head, mounting Boadicea. He motioned for John to do the same, and the man obliged, pulling himself atop the shire. Seems the poor fool didn't have a horse. Guess he did now. He paused a moment, before telling him the last of the news.

“Micah's dead.”

He said it without any sort of production. Quick and clean, just wanting it over with.

There was a huff at that, a scowl on John's face as he turned the shire around. “That supposed to make me feel bad?”

“Not really,” Arthur followed him on out, “just letting you know, is all.”

“Micah was getting too up in Dutch's business, if you know what I mean. Hell, that's half the reason we were on that ferry anyhow.”

“Guessing Dutch was the other?”

Cause Arthur knew, knew already from what Sean and Lenny had said that Dutch had been the one to make the call. But hearing John confirm it as well just cemented it into his gut. He let out a sigh, shoulders dropping as they came up to the fork in the roads. He slowed Boadicea down, watching in amusement as John trotted on.

Until, suddenly he stopped, looking on back in confusion.

“What you stopping for?”

Arthur let out a hum. “Just wondering where it is that you're headed, is all.”

He was quiet a moment, then, “Figured we were heading back to camp.”

Arthur kicked Boadicea into a trot, veering down the opposite path. “Then maybe you should follow someone who knows where they're going, instead of just wandering, you damn idiot.”

There was a scoff, an insult muttered beneath his breath and Arthur couldn't help but smile a little. There were times he was frustrated with him, but in some way, Arthur was glad that John was back.

Chapter Text

Arthur wasn't sure what had compelled him to bring John back.

It would have been easy to keep on riding, to pretend as though he hadn't seen him, to let the fool run like he'd been planning on despite what he claimed otherwise.

Like he'd done once before.

That memory was still sour, bitter in his mind. Even after all these years, he hadn't forgiven him. Not really. John had left them. Left Abigail, left his boy, had gone and run off because he were too scared a man to face up to the problems he'd done created. Arthur guessed in a way it'd reminded him of his own self, for what he'd done to Eliza and Isaac.

Cause Arthur had gone too.

True, he hadn't disappeared like John had, but neither had he been there and now they was both gone and Arthur hated the fool for so flippantly turning away and acting as though he didn't care about what he still had. Hated him more for how he'd just come on back and been welcomed in like he'd done no wrong. Like he hadn't turned his back on all of them.

Maybe he hated him simply on the premise for what he had, and for the very thing he'd done lost. Arthur could not say for sure.

He could say he was bitter that day, for bringing John home.

He'd been welcomed warmly by everyone. Sean was cracking jokes about all the shit that had gone wrong in Blackwater and Lenny was mostly relieved that John was alright, given he'd disappeared on him up in the mountains and Hosea, too, was happy to see he was alright. Mostly alright—scars on his face still looked raw and Hosea spent near ten minutes poking and prodding at them, before setting to work on making a salve that he'd said would be good in helping him heal.

And after all that was said and done, there'd been a celebration of sorts. Not a rousing party, seeing as none of them could hold a tune and liquor was scare and cheap, but there'd been one none-the-less. Arthur joined with less vigor on account of the sourness that still bubbled in his chest. Still, he weren't one to turn down any excuse to drink and used the opportunity to indulge. Rest of the night were spent talking, each going over their versions of what had happened back in that town, as well as to what the rest of the future might be.

Even with John, their fortune hadn't changed much. There was still no word of Dutch though there'd been indication in town of trouble brewing. Never when they were there and nothing they could gather from it, and so they kept their heads down and did their best to keep themselves quiet. Having john though made keeping watch easier. It gave them another set of hands, another pair of eyes. Enough so that it let Hosea branch out further, to let the man work his charm to try and snare some easy money of which they desperately needed.

And money was why they were out here now, far east across the Heartlands in a tiny place called Emerald Ranch.

Didn't feel right to call it a town. Weren't no shops or nothing and the saloon was battered shut and the rest of the place was just livestock, but Hosea said good money moved on through. How the man knew that, Arthur weren't sure, but he'd long ago had learned not to question him on such things.

There was a fence too—that's the main reason they'd gone there. Seamus was his name; man was a fool. A downright clown that Arthur'd rather not waste the time of day on. But Hosea wanted to impress him, said it would be good for them all. It'd give them a place to sell their wares as well as wagons they may come across. Anything to help earn some money.

So Arthur'd gone with him to steal a wagon from the man's cousin—by marriage. Apparently they'd done that to prove that they could steal wagons—weren't too difficult a task neither. Hosea'd distracted the family with a charade while Arthur cleaned the house out from top to bottom. Cleared a few hundred from that alone; the wagon was another piece of finery and Seamus had given them a fair sum for their work.

It was quite the successful day in the end.

Sun was setting low over the hills by the time they was riding back. They went at a steady trot, conversing idly amongst one another. Hosea was telling him about how he'd been around this area, years ago. Back when Arthur was still young, and if Arthur thought hard enough, he could just scarcely remember a time the man hadn't been around in those early days. He'd gone off to live with Bessie, though that didn't last long. He'd come on back, Bessie in tow, and they'd lived like that least till she got the chills and passed away.

Dark times, those were. Nearly a year passed after in which there hadn't been a day where the man had been sober, and it'd taken Dutch near ever trick in the book to bring him on back. Hosea still spoke of her. Talked about her from time to time and Arthur could recognize the hurt in his voice. Of how much he missed her and he often wondered if it were the same kind of hurt he felt for Eliza and Isaac.

Probably not—world of difference there. He and Eliza had been friendly enough, though love he guess weren't quite the right word for what they shared. Least not the type of love Hosea and Bessie had held. Didn't share the same kind of sentiment, nor the fondness as the man went on. And strangely enough, it'd prompted Hosea to ask strange questions. Most of which if he'd ever thought about leaving, about starting something of his own some day.

“Me?” he chuckled nervously. “Of course not.”

He'd been in for too long. This gang, these folk he was running with—well,that's about all he had. Arthur reckoned there was no starting over for him. That sort of thing didn't happen to folk like them. Hosea, of course, had other ideas.

“Once we find Dutch, and get ourselves back on track and find some decent money, enough money to go someplace new, maybe we all can have a new start.”

“You really think we're gonna find them?” Arthur hummed, curious.

“Sure,” Hosea reassured, “we've already found several folk. Only a matter of time before we get wind of Dutch and see where he's holding up at, you'll see.”

How right he was, though not in any way they expected.

Their conversation drew to an abrupt end with a new sound on the horizon. The stampeding of hooves and the shrill cry that split through the air. A string of words hardly comprehensible, a slew of threats spilling forth as the group drew on near.

A group of four of them; angry looking men. Thundering on by and straight down the road, driving them off to the sides. Strewn across the back of one of the horses was a woman, bound and still hollering the whole while.

“You can go kiss a snake for all I care! You let me go right now, Anthony! You messing with the wrong lady! You hear me? Got some friends that are gonna mess you up when they hear about this—”

“Said shut up!” the man growled, battering her with an elbow.

Made his blood boil, at that. Would have done the same, even if he didn't know quite who she was. Arthur felt a certain way about beating on women. Especially when those women were tied up and defenseless. Left him feeling all the more furious in seeing it happen to her.

To Tilly.

She was a sweet girl. A brave and good little thief. Been running with them for years and Arthur ain't ever seen her hurt a fly, though he'd known she had it in her had it been necessary. Four against one though didn't seem fair odds. Especially given how she was all strung up and being dragged along.

He didn't need to change looks with Hosea. Arthur knew the man had the same inkling as him, and there weren't no hesitation on any of their parts. His gun was out, same as Hosea's, and between them they took down the other three; shot them clean in the backs. Weren't cowardly, as some might suggest—just convenient, along with that surge of anger that forced their hands.

Left, in the end, just the one rider who was with Tilly.

He turned at that, a look on surprise and indignation on his face as he turned his horse. Didn't realize the others were dead, not till he looked around to see them sprawled out on the ground. The damn fool tried to run, to turn his horse and speed on once more, but Arthur was on him quick.

He'd always been good with a lasso. Roped a few cattle in his lifetime. Roped twice as many men. This was just one more. Now a bullet would suffice, but that'd be too easy. Too simple of justice for all he'd done to her, beating on her like he had. He crashed to ground in marvelous display, letting out a grunt as he tried to fumble for his weapon.

Arthur kicked it free of his hand, making quick work in tying him up.

Hosea, meanwhile, was working on freeing Tilly. Helping her on down and reassuring her that all was gonna be just fine. Arthur made sure their newly found friend was secure, before aiding as well. His knife made quick work on the rope, drawing her trembling frame into a firm embrace, repeating the same sentiment that Hosea had before. That she was safe now.

Looked a sight, she did. Face all battered and bruised, swollen about the eye and lip split. Bastard been beating on her for a while, it seemed. Made his skin burn all the more.

“It's okay, Miss Tilly,” he hushed her quietly.

She'd buried her head into his shoulder, shaking all the while. “Thought they was...I thought—”

“Don't matter what you thought,” he reassured, “it's okay now. We got you.”

She seemed to soften at that. Seemed to melt in his hands even if she was still shaking like a leaf. She did her best to put on a brave face, reassuring them both she was alright, even if she ain't feel like she was. Hosea took her on back, led her away from the ugly mess to where Silver Dollar stood, waiting patiently.

Arthur let them go, waiting till Hosea had her up on the horse, before he turned his focus back on the friend of theirs. Told Hosea to head on without him, to get her on home safe and that he would follow up soon enough.

Because there were some questions he'd be needing to ask first, and if this fella were smart enough, he'd do well to answer them all.

Chapter Text

Feller's name was Foreman. Anthony Foreman, to be precise.

He used to be the the leader of the Foreman Brothers.

Used to be.

Weren't much of anything anymore, least not when Arthur was through with him. There was lots of mud and tar surrounded those oil fields; enough to dispose a body in. He did so without guilt, nor any sort of remorse. Weren't any of that left after seeing what'd he done to poor Tilly.

Hosea'd taken her on back to camp, gotten her cleaned up and looked after. She told them about who Anthony was and about how she'd killed his cousin years ago and taken off and that's why he was beating on her, but honestly Arthur ain't care what'd she done or why; there was no need for deserving that. At least she ain't have to worry about them boys no more.

She was grateful for that. Happy to see them all too, especially those she thought were dead or gone. Hosea especially, since she always sort of saw him as something of a father, though Arthur reckoned most of them sort of did, seeing as they'd grown up under him. She told them, too, about where Dutch and the others were holed up at.

It was a place they'd found on the outskirts of Cumberland Forest. An empty homestead with a barn that sat just off the road. They'd kept quiet these past weeks and had only gone to Valentine a few times, including that morning. Tilly said that she and Mary-Beth and Karen all'd gone out along with Uncle, Bill and Javier for a bit of fun, but things had gone sour after she'd run into Anthony.

“Didn't figure he'd try anything, being in town like that,” she admitted quietly. “I tried to get back to the others, but he just grabbed me and ran and I couldn't—couldn't...”

“It's alright, Miss Tilly,” Arthur reassured her. They knew about as much as they needed to know. There was no reason for her to suffer through it all once more. Hosea agreed as well, encouraging her to get something to eat and have a rest.

Then he talked about what they'd need to do, come the next day. Which is how he and John were the ones riding on up to the place Tilly had told them about. She was back at camp, not quite up for the mood of riding back and seeing all them; not that Arthur blamed her for it. She weren't scared like she was before, rather more angry that it'd been them that'd come to her rescue and not any of the others. Apparently those fools had been getting wasted in the saloon and that left her something bitter.

So she'd stayed, and Hosea stayed with her to make sure she was well enough and sent both him and John ahead alone. Arthur figured if anything it should have been Hosea coming along to see Dutch, but for some reason the man felt they'd be enough. They'd head up and check out this place Dutch had taken and see which one of their hideouts was the best. Warn him too, of the Pinkertons, tell him that he needed to be careful.

John seemed nervous. Fidgety. Unable to sit still and it made that shire all anxious as well, which in turn bothered Bo'. Arthur had to snap at him, tell him to quit getting so worried, that there weren't nothing to be afraid of.

“I ain't afraid,” he grumbled.

“No, you just pissy cause all this ruins your plans.”

“What plans?” John wondered, shooting him a dirty look. “I told you already, I wasn't running.”

“Next time I should just tie you up, toss you onto them tracks. Take care of both our problems.”

“You're an ass, Morgan,” he scoffed, cantering up ahead of him.

“Least I don't look like one,” he returned.

Bit unfair, maybe, but weren't like Arthur cared much. He was angry about many things, John being only one of them, but he was the one there to vent his frustrations on.

“Actually, I take that back,” he went on, “you look more like a bit of gristle a dog chewed and threw right back up—which...you know what, I guess it did, if you think about it.”

“What's your problem?” he snapped, turning around to face him.

“I ain't got no problems,” Arthur shrugged, riding by, “neither will you once Abigail gets a good look at ya. She'll be the one running then and all your problems will be solved.”

It'd been years since he'd left them all and Arthur hadn't fully forgiven him yet. He didn't know if he could, and he'd done his damnedest to make sure the fool knew he weren't wanted. But John never did pick up subtle hints, nor blunt ones, it seemed. Always clinging, always following, hovering like a bad smell.

Like he was now. On his heels all the damn way up that road that led into the forest.

And the gang was easily seen, even from the road. The damn fools. Spilling out one way and then another. Felt like they were trying to serve themselves up on a platter for the law.

There was a click; a warning of a weapon being brought to ready, a low voice calling out in a growl.

“Who goes there?”

Bill...

Arthur turned, glaring down at the man who stood off to one side with a shocked expression on his face.

“Just us, you dumbass,” he kicked Boadicea on through, not even waiting for a response. Rode on through the weathered fences and into the fray. Folk had noticed him by that point, cheers and gasps filling the air as though they were the center of some damn parade. They'd come up to them, surrounded them in a manner that almost made it hard to breathe. Pushed up tight near them, exchanging embraces as well as wishes, all given alongside jaunts and jests about the dead coming back to life.

Abigail was onto John in a moment, all tears and wretched insults, crossed between mix of wanting to beat and wanting to hold. John did his best to placate her—though Arthur doubted his efforts were of any success, seeing as he was chasing after her, pleading all the while.

And then, during all this, Dutch was suddenly there.

The man had come on out of the house at the commotion, a cigar held loose in his hold. He looked just as he did all those weeks ago, as though they ain't suffered any sort of hardship. A smirk on his face, that laugh he knew all to well as the man came up alongside him, comforting hands coming to clasp on his shoulders.

“Arthur! John, you're alive!”

It was all he said, before he turned to the rest of the folk.

“My good friends! Fortune has surely smiled upon us—I assured you things were looking up, and wouldn’t you believe it— we are faced with living, breathing proof! Not just one, but two of my sons have returned safe and unharmed!”

Arthur resisted the urge to roll his eyes at that. Unharmed wouldn't be the first thought on his mind, given John's condition. Mildly he wondered if Dutch even noticed the scars adoring his face. Wasn't something easily missed. Yet, despite all of this, Arthur couldn't deny the fact he was glad to see Dutch, relieved to know that he was well enough, despite all that'd gone on.

“Dutch.”

The man let out a jovial laugh, glancing up as John came back on near, “Where have you two boys been?”

“Surviving,” John grumbled.

Arthur took to more a cynical route. “Oh, you know—chasing you idiots across state lines and stewing in jail for all the shit you done caused. Really, Dutch? The goddamn ferry? The hell was you thinking?”

His eyes narrowed at that. A flicker of restrained anger, one that he was well used to. Dutch did not take to being called out like that, though it did little to persuade him otherwise.

“I was thinking about prospering and securing these good folk a fine future, as it were.”

“Yeah?” Arthur wondered, raising an eyebrow, “and how'd that work out for you?”

He turned away, flustered. “Of course there were some complications.”

“That's what we calling it now? Folk are dead, Dutch—”

“We have been beaten down before,” the man cut him off, his tone low. A warning. “But we are far from defeated. You, me—the rest of us? We are living, living, my boy.”

“Oh we living, alright,” Arthur agreed, “Can't say much the same for Heidi.”

Figured that'd strike a nerve with him. Weren't sure why he dug at it. Curiosity, perhaps, the yearning to understand why, to be able to put the matter aside. Maybe it were more the fact he was looking to pick a fight, to let loose the pent up frustration these past weeks had set upon him.

Weren't a fight to be had, though. Rather a curious look on his face, one that were nonchalant as he answered in turn.

“That supposed to mean something?”

“Name's in all the papers; got folk in quite a stir,” Arthur supplied, voice dropping low. “Since when the hell we start killing women? Mothers?”

“It weren't nice,” he shot back, just as quiet, “but times—there's always casualties in war, son.”

He blinked. “Didn't realize we was in a war.”

“Been fighting one for years, now,” Dutch tutted, “us on one side, government and society on the other. Now, times may seem tough at the moment, but we are starting to turn a new leaf. You, me, the rest of us? We're all the way out here now, surrounded by nature and finally free from the confines and shackles that bound us back in Blackwater. Here—we are free men...”

Didn't much like that answer. Felt wrong in ways he couldn't explain. Couldn't help himself as he muttered, “For now.”

Dutch glared at him. “And what do you mean by that?”

“Folk are looking for you, Dutch.”

He laughed. “I've had a price on my head for years. Ain't nothing new, son.”

“These ain't regular bounty hunters,” Arthur warned. “Got Pinkertons—Agent Milton and the other...I don't remember the other—”

“Ross...” Dutch hummed blandly.

Curious at that, that he knew the name so well. Arthur nodded all the same. “Milton and Ross—they know about the train, Dutch. And they know you're in the area.”

“So?”

“So they want you, Dutch. Ran into them a few days back; they offered my freedom in exchange if I told them where you was.”

“Why didn't you take it?”

He scoffed. “Very funny. Even funnier is the fact is that you lot is stretched out here so damn close to the road that all's it gonna take is one fella wandering by who's got too much time on his hands for him to spill at the saloon what he's seen. How long you think it's gonna be before them Pinkertons catch wind of that and come on up for a visit?”

“And what exactly would you propose for us to do?” Dutch wondered. “Pack everyone up and pull on out here? Without a plan, a direction? We did that once, after Blackwater, and—well, guess you heard how well that turned out.”

“Hosea and I got a place, not far from here. It's away from the road and it'll buy us some time before we figure out what's we gonna do.” Arthur tried to placate him.

“Hosea?” A flash of eagerness at that, though he seemed to dismiss everything else. “How is the Old Girl holding up?”

“Well enough,” Arthur shrugged, “got a few of the others back at camp too. Sean, and young Lenny—Micah's dead.”

“Micah?” Dutch seemed stunned at that, a man full of words all the sudden without. “How?”

“Damn fool stirred up trouble in Strawberry, just about got Lenny hanged alongside him," he explained, then paused, before following up with a brief defense, "he had it coming, Dutch.”

“And I suppose you did all you could?”

A hint of sarcasm there, hidden under speculation. Arthur nodded all the same, pretended as though he didn't notice.

“Course.”

“That so?”

He rolled his eyes, “You know how I felt 'bout him—don't mean I was just gonna leave someone to hang, no matter how much he deserved it. But it's like you always say,you  can't change what's been done. Least Lenny's safe—Tilly too.”

“Tilly?” Grimshaw perked up at that. She'd been off to the side, listening close, ushering the others back to work. “Mary-Beth done said some fella got a hold of her. Took myself into town to try and track her down, but there weren't no word. Is she alright?”

“She's fine,” Arthur reassured, and that was mostly the truth. “Bumped into some folk she used to run with and guess they weren't happy about her running off like she did. It's all squared away now.”

“It better be,” she huffed, “Tilly's ours now and I won't suffer any fool thinking they have a right to her, least not when she's with us. I hope you taught them a lesson, Mr. Morgan.”

“Oh, I think it's one they won't soon forget,” Arthur reassured. There'd be time for the full truth later, but for now—now, his concern was with Dutch.

“So; what we do now?”

Dutch had turned away from him, had looked over the camp that sprawled haphazardly across the area. “Last I checked, we didn't suffer to be driven out and into hiding.”

“Hell you going on about?”

“We stay here,” the man touted, turning back to him. “You go on, round up the others and bring them on over. Then we'll start to make some plans in getting ourselves some decent money.”

“Here?” he looked around, perplexed, “you lose your damn mind? The Pinkertons—”

“Are waiting for us to act hasty. To catch us when we're the least aware. We start moving a large a group as this, well, then they're bound to find us. Best course is if we just lay low, keep quiet until we know they've moved on.”

“But Hosea and the others—”

“Can come up here and join us,” Dutch cut him off. That strange look was in his eyes again. The one just shy of irritation. Of final authority. “I'll push some of the boys out of the cabin, make room for you and Hosea—we still got all your stuff here. Kept it safe, because I knew, I knew, that you'd be back in time. You get on up here, and tonight we'll celebrate proper. What do you say to that?”

Be nice, he thought, to be all back together again. Running in small a group as they had, well—that weren't easy. Taxing, rather. Always having to be on guard. Always having to keep an eye out. With others, least it was easier to watch everyone's backs.

But this—this he knew was not wise. Be a matter of time before they was found out and Arthur did not like that area he'd chosen. Road was a stone's throw and sooner, rather than later, some fool would run his mouth off about what'd he seen or heard and then they'd have company poking around.

And it weren't just that. It was something just under his skin, an itch he couldn't quite scratch that irritated him so. What, he weren't sure, but he shook his head all the same, mumbling out the meekest apology he could somehow muster. “Sorry Dutch—but this ain't right.”

“Hell it ain't,” the man growled, his brows furrowed. “You just turning, abandoning us? Running like all the others?”

“I ain't running,” Arthur defended, angry himself now. “Just not sure what the hell's gotten in your head. You take a look around and you know this place ain't safe—just as sure as you knew that ferry job weren't safe neither.”

“We'd been fine, had you and Hosea shown up, son.”

Dutch stated coldly, as though it were a matter of fact instead of an opinion. Arthur bristled at that, turned to argue, but he could only stare. Then he nodded towards John, turning and making his way back towards the horses.

“Come on Marston, let's get out of here.”

Silence was what he was met with. He turned, watching as John stood there nervous. Eyes flicking between him, back to where Abigail was, to where the woman was pleading with him to stay, to not disappear on them once again.

Weren't sure why it got to him so much. He'd been trying to get John to step up, to take responsibility for what was his and now that he was, it bothered him deeply. Maybe it was cause now he was on his own, standing up for nothing other than pride, perhaps.

Arthur didn't say anymore. There really wasn't anything left to say. Instead, he pulled himself up in the saddle and left them all behind.

Chapter Text

Weren't sure why it bothered him so much. Why he was so frustrated with it all. Weren't like Dutch had really done anything.

Guess that was part of it. The man's indifference about how things had gone. His flippancy and disregard for his actions as well as the lack of concern for the others. Man weren't bothered he'd killed a woman in cold blood, nor had he been inclined to ask after Tilly, and neither had he shown one spark of concern for Lenny, nor Sean. Hell, he ain't even seem to notice John had all but disappeared and reemerged looking worse for the wear.

But he sure as hell had been worried about Micah.

Arthur knew he'd be. Still didn't expect to be so put off by the reaction. Man had acted like Arthur'd been the one to bury the prized pony himself. Things might have gone better if Dutch had believed him about him trying. Guess it seemed as though Dutch expected the worse in him even before hearing what'd gone down. The unspoken accusation stung, and that weren't the only thing nipping at his nerves.

He was bitter at seeing the man be so stubborn. Dutch was never one to admit when he was wrong, so that weren't nothing new, but Arthur hoped the man would see some sort of reason. That he'd agree to least come on down and see the place before he so causally dismissed the idea.

And Arthur couldn't help but feel that this was why Hosea should have come. Arthur wasn't good with words like he was; he lacked the charm and experience that came with subtle persuasion. Chances were he just made shit worse and that was the last thing they needed. Even more chances were that he'd get on back and confess to Hosea what'd he done and the man would try to fix things only to fail cause Dutch was bullheaded enough to refuse to back down and Hosea wouldn't want to mess things up all the more and—

“Arthur! Wait up will ya?!”

He ain't even slow Boadicea. Not like they were going fast, but the shire John had could only lumber along. He could hear the thundering hooves come pounding on up behind him.

“Arthur! Christ sakes, slow up!”

“Go on back, John.” Arthur snapped.

“Quit being so sour, will you? Know you and Dutch aren't seeing eye to eye, but you ain't have to take it out on me.”

Arthur shot him a stern glare. “Ain't no reason for you to be here.”

“Like I'm just going to let you go on back by yourself, leave Hosea and the others alone?”

Arthur slowed his mare, letting out strained sigh. “John—go back to your family. Abigail and Jack, they need you more than we do.”

“Abigail's gonna take the boy, meet us there.”

“Where?” he asked, harsh, turning to him.

“Back at Horseshoe,” John explained.

“Why?”

“If these Pinkertons really are out looking for us, and they're as bad as you say they are, then they need to be out of there. You're right about that place Dutch picked out. Hell, they might as well have lit the entire area up with stage lights and put out a sign that says 'Outlaws Live Here!'.”

Arthur rolled his eyes at the strange humor. “You know, ain't exactly safe where we at, neither. Just gonna buy us some extra time, is all.”

“That's fine,” John shrugged. “I talked with her a moment and well, Abigail agrees—she's gonna wait till tonight, slip out when nobody's watching.”

He pondered that a moment, eyes narrow as he hummed. “You think she can make it on her own?”

John nodded, “Ain't have to worry about her. Abigail's strong. It's the rest of them I worry about.”

“I guess,” Arthur agreed, “but Dutch ain't gonna like it—”

“Don't care much what Dutch thinks,” John humphed glumly.

Arthur didn't blame him for that. Not with how dismissive Dutch had been towards the both of them, as well as the situation they was in. The rest of the ride was done in quiet, silence between the pair of them and they got on home alright. Worse came after, of having to sit down with Hosea and explain all that happened.

He listened, took it all in, and did his best to defend the man. Hosea was good at that, at seeing reason where it rightly couldn't be seen. Said that Dutch was under a lot of stress and that he'd made some bad calls that rightly shook some faith and that he was just trying to save face. Said also that once the man calmed down he'd see they were just trying to help and he'd come around.

Hosea said, too, that he'd give the man a few days to simmer, before going on over himself to see if he could talk some sense into him if he'd hadn't found it by then.

Then Hosea set to work, making room for Abigail and Jack. Weren't sure how much they'd come with—that answer was close to nothing. She'd packed just enough to get them on by, had hitched a ride from a wagon, claiming theirs had busted down and they were trying to get on home. It'd dropped her off in town and she'd walked the rest of the way to camp following John's instruction, and was settled in by early morning.

Loved Hosea, she did. He cared for her the same; gathered both of them in a warm embrace and they spent about an hour just talking. Jack was happy to see them all as well, the boy eager and talking and running 'bout the new place to explore. Kind of liked the quiet, he did. Said it was too crowded and noisy back at the other place. Arthur could agree on that; lots of folk meant lots of noise. There was a reason he often left camp for stretches of time on his own.

Those next days were long.

Not much came of it, and town was quiet. Mostly. While he ain't run into any of the others, there were plenty of signs of them being around. Fights at the saloon, oil wagons gone missing—even another train that was robbed in the area. Yet, throughout all this, there was no word from Dutch. No offering of a true or an extension of an olive branch to beckon them forth.

Tempting as it was otherwise, Arthur did his best to not bother with it, focusing instead on helping Tilly with the chores and chopping wood for the fire and feeding the horses. He even got conned into taking young Jack fishing one of those days. They caught a few small fish and Jack made his mamma a necklace from flowers and they headed home not too long after.

Only to find Charles there.

Charles—now he was somewhat new. He'd been running with them for about six months or so. They'd talked a few times, gotten to know one another a little. The man was quiet, kinda like him, but he seemed to have a good head on his shoulders. He was sitting near the fire, whittling, turning a bit of wood in his hands. Arthur helped Jack down off of Boadicea, let him run off before he acknowledged him.

“Charles.”

The man glanced up, returned the same. “Arthur.”

“What brings you out this way?”

Dutch—he figured. But the man didn't say as much. Instead he reached over, gripped a rifle and held it out to him. “Want to go hunting?”

“Hunting?” Arthur took the weapon, turned it over in his hands. “What exactly is you planning on hunting?”

“Bison,” the man said simply. “Saw some on the plains, long way off. Get just about anything from them.”

In truth, Arthur wasn't much a hunter. He could do well enough, when needed, though he was by no mean skilled, as Hosea often liked to remind him. Even so, what little expertise he had resided in smaller game—deer, rabbits, birds. He'd never hunted anything so large. And Charles must have seen the hesitancy on his face, because he encouraged him the next moment.

“Come on; I'll show you how we hunt one.”

“Alright,” Arthur agreed, following him on out. He figured there was more to the man being here other than just a hunt, but he liked Charles well enough to indulge.

So they left Horseshoe behind, headed east onto the plains. Sun was high, just past noon, the day warm despite the early morning chill. Charles talked the whole way there. About how before his time his people used to hunt like this. That it was an age old tradition and that the moved with the bison.

Talk of family and all that was odd, but it all made sense a moment later, seeing as Charles talked about how it must be hard having to chose between them. Between Dutch and Hosea, that was. Arthur guessed as much—guessed that Dutch had sent him.

Charles didn't deny it. The man was quiet. Firm. They slowed down just over one of the hills, watching the herd mill about. He let out a sigh. “Dutch—it's been a hard few weeks and he ain't been himself.”

“How you mean?”

“Been angry, mostly. Irrational. He took that train up in Colter which was a gamble, then another train just the day before, now he's going after Colm—”

“Colm?” that surprised him. Dutch always did say they couldn't afford the luxury of revenge, but apparently that had changed. “What he want with Colm?”

“We found an O'Driscoll, a while back,” Charles explained. “Insufferable man, but he led Bill and I up to one of their hideouts. We ended killing a lot of them for no reason other than Dutch's say so. Claimed that it was them or us. But Colm wasn't ther, so now he's even more flustered. He's paranoid, and growing worse now that folk are leaving.”

This surprised him.

“What folk?”

Charles glanced at him. “You and Hosea. John. Lenny—any of the folk staying with you. really.”

“Weren't us that left,” Arthur defended. “Hosea and I found ourselves stuck behind bars; Sean we damn near dragged off the back end of a horse and Lenny was nearly lynched—”

“I know,” Charles cut of his rambling tirade. “Hosea's told me as much and I agree, but Dutch, he doesn't see it that way.”

“Course not,” Arthur hummed, annoyed. “So, what does he want?”

Charles was quiet a moment, seeming as though he was going to debate what was being asked. Then he shook his head. “He wants to meet up with you; you and Hosea both, in Valentine.”

“Valentine?”

“Neutral ground, or so he claims. Doesn't want an audience, or the distraction of all the others milling about.”

Didn't want to be seen yielding, he guessed. Dutch was always proud like that, unable to admit failure. Chances were he'd give way, then spin it so the story were in his favor. Frustrating as that was, Arthur guessed he should just be happy enough to hear the man wanted to talk.

“Fine,” he hummed, “When's this talk supposed to happen?”

“Tomorrow,” Charles explained. “Keane's Saloon.”

Course it would be the saloon. Arthur wouldn't complain; he could always go for a drink. “You can tell him that we'll be there.”

“Won't have to; he knows you will be.”

And he would. Guess Dutch knew him well enough for that. Guess he knew Dutch well enough to know that they'd work something out, come tomorrow.

But that was tomorrow; for now, they were going to hunt.

Chapter Text

Keane's Saloon was the smaller of the two housed in Valentine. It was quieter and that, Arthur thought, was the reason Dutch had chosen it. There barely was space inside for folk to sit, let along linger; the collection of bare tables and weak liquor seemed to chase most business away. It was dim inside too, not much in the way of light and the windows were dirty. It worked in their favor, he supposed, seeing as it gave them time to sit and talk.

Hosea'd gone in first, Arthur quick on his heels. John had come too, though he remained outside. Weren't sure how'd Dutch feel with him loitering about, but he hadn't wanted to stay at camp and so he agreed to wait outside while they hashed things out.

Or rather, how Hosea did. Cause despite Dutch asking for the pair of them, Arthur knew it was nothing more than a farce. The real talking would be between him and Hosea; old friends they was, going way back to the beginning. As the story went, they'd met along the road, tried to rob one another and started running together instead. Close as they was, they still fought and did so an awful lot. Especially as of late; seemed the bigger their group got, the more they argued.

Hosea felt Dutch took too many people on and Dutch felt as though they weren't doing enough.

Hosea wanted to earn some quiet money, slow and secret and slip away with the wind.

Dutch wanted it quick and fast and he ain't really care how much noise he made in the process. Felt like there weren't no one that could touch him and maybe that were some of the truth, seeing how he was the one that always came on out ahead.

Arthur weren't sure who he agreed with. Dutch had some fine points and was right about calls he made just as often as he as wrong, but Hosea too held some keen insight to how the world was changing and where they stood in it.

Such as right now, where he stood up against the wall, watching the pair of them. Was like watching one of those stage acts; a bunch of pretentious nonsense as they both danced about one another, saying one thing while meaning the other. Always annoyed him, that did. Why couldn't folk just say what the hell they meant?

“We are doing well, Hosea,” Dutch touted proudly, filling up his glass. “Boys took another train a few days back and Strauss is pulling in some good money.”

“Sharking already?” Hosea wondered, taking the offering. “Thought we were past that?”

“It's ugly business, but it's legal,” Dutch defended, “and good money.”

“That it might be, but whatever happened to helping folk?”

“Can't help them till we help ourselves, ain't that right?”

Hosea said nothing to that, but Arthur couldn't help but wonder the same. Because that was what they used to do, long time ago now. Help folk. They hadn't done that in a while. So long now that one might say they hadn't ever. It seemed a shame that things were different now, but he knew Dutch were right in one thing. They had to help themselves before they could help others. Still, sharking—he ain't never been much a fan of that. Especially since Strauss had been turning to him to get things done.

“Bill's been helping with that,” Dutch announced, as though he could read his mind. His attention drawn to him now, “He's not as skilled as you are—but he's making do. Things go a lot smoother, if you went along. If you aren't too busy, that is.”

The last part said with mocking display. Arthur ground his teeth, “Got a lot of things going on at the moment, Dutch.”

“Of course,” the man nodded towards him, but his tone was anything but genuine. “Still planning on how to sow the seeds of distrust among the rest of the folk? Break us up completely?”

“I ain't—”

He fell quiet at the look Hosea gave him. Man had made him promise to keep quiet, to let him do the talking. Chances were Dutch was here looking for a fight rather than a way to come to a compromise. Seems as though Hosea had been right on that. Arthur folded his arms cross his chest, leaned back against the wall and let them do their talking.

“Dutch,” Hosea said with a heavy sigh, “this is ridiculous—why are we doing this?”

“I could ask you the same,” the man returned. “We are prospering, or would be, if you all had our backs.”

“That's not what's happening and you know it,” Hosea chided. “You've been lucky this far, but your luck will run out. Arthur ran into those fella's—”

“So he said,” Dutch cut him off curtly, a snarl on his face. “Though the more I think on it, the more I'm convinced that there weren't even any Pinkertons in this area to begin with.”

Arthur bristled at that. “You calling me a liar?”

“Course not, son,” Dutch placated him. “Just think you're jumpy, is all. I don't blame you for that, hearing what you've been through these past weeks. Times have been tough, for all of us, and it's easy enough to make that sort of mistake.”

“Ain't no mistake, Dutch.”

“I trust Arthur in what he says,” Hosea jumped right back in, cutting in between the pair, “and you've made more than enough of a stir to draw attention. I say our best bet is to wrap things up how they are and get on out of here before it all comes to a head. Find someplace new, somewhere we ain't been before. The both of us.”

That had been Hosea's clever ploy. The compromise that Dutch would never have come up with. Dutch was proud—Hosea figured he'd never admit to being wrong and would never come crawling on back over even if it were the wisest choice. Nor would they go on running to them, seeing the danger that was drifting about.

Clearing out was the only way.

Finding a new place together, somewhere safe that they could get a fresh start. Where that was, Hosea weren't sure. West wasn't much an option, given all that'd happened in Blackwater, but there were places still to the east and the south. Or they could push far north, leave the country altogether. Hosea didn't care much where, long as they was together.

“We ain't finished, here,” Dutch responded coldly. “There's still money to be had and fools that will let themselves to be had—”

“Dutch,” Hosea tried to reason, though his reasoning didn't have any sort of chance.

“Van der Linde! Get out here. Get out here now!”

It wasn a voice he ain't recognize, but the ire behind it indicated it weren't no one they'd consider a friend. Arthur'd turned to peer out the window. There was a big fuss going on out there all the sudden. All sorts of men with their guns drawn. Standing just outside, ready and waiting for them, like a coronation. Then there was another man, the one who was yelling, sitting atop a horse. It weren't the only thing he done saw.

Some of those fellas up front, they had a hold of John. Of Strauss too—Arthur didn't even know that buggy little man had been in the area, but there he was all the same. Gun to his head, whereas a knife was pressed tight against John's neck.

“We've got a problem,” Arthur muttered quiet.

Problem was putting it light. Even now he didn't recognize these fools. It certainly weren't the Pinkertons like he'd seen earlier. But they was trouble, regardless.

“Van der Linde! You don’t know me… but you keep robbing me. My name is Leviticus Cornwall. I am not a man to be messed with by the likes of you. Get out here, before I have these men killed!”

Cornwall—name he recognized well enough. It'd been passed about the fire before, though never really expanded on. He exchanged looks with Hosea and Dutch both, asking the silent question. They was quiet, intuitive now. Any sort of animosity between them was gone for the moment. In its place was stern thoughtfulness, the pair working out together what needed to be done.

“What do you think?”

Strange, it seemed, for Dutch to be asking for opinions now. He'd been so stubborn these past days, thinking he were right and only his opinion mattered, and it was odd to hear him ask. It caught Arthur off guard and it were Hosea who spoke up first, saying he needed a moment to think.

Arthur knew though, knew they ain't have a minute. Man was angry, still yelling and John and Strauss both were still on the receiving end of death. Be dead if they waited much longer. Too many folk had already died and Arthur weren't of the mind to lose more. Not here—not now.

Arthur turned back to Dutch, said what it was on his mind.

“Well, I… You two start spinning a yarn and… when I think the moment’s right… I’ll make a move.”

It was good a plan as any. Dutch and Hosea, they were both quiet a moment, watching one another. Then they seemed to agree, all at once. A nod, a shake of the hands and they both stood on up.

“Why not?” Dutch seemed as though he'd been asked to take a walk. He stooped, took one last drink of whiskey before he righted himself and then the three of them stepped on outside to face whatever might wait for them head on.

Chapter Text

Got out of there by sheer luck, they did.

Frustrating as Dutch was being, the man sure did know how to spin a yarn. He kept those men entranced, alongside Hosea, the pair of them kicking up a story that even the least-gullible fool might have believed.

Might have, cause they sure didn't get a chance to find out.

Arthur'd gunned down those men. Drew on them when they least expected it. Got John free first, knowing he'd be of some help. Strauss next, and it sure was a surprise to see the man jump into the fray as he did. Got himself all shot up for it too, square in the leg.

He'd be alright. Arthur and them had gotten everyone out of there. It weren't an easy task, not with how many damn bastards there were. Cornwall had all but brought in a private army with him, and they lined those streets making them fight for each and every step they took. But fight they did and they got out well enough, though town was left a mess in their wake.

Arthur'd stayed back a touch; least long enough to make sure the others had a head start in getting good and lost. Dutch had hollered at him, told him that Charles would be on by to take where they was going next. Guess the man had agreed to move on out of here, though he wondered if that were what he wanted, or if the choice had just been made for him.

Their camp was in chaos by the time he drove on in. Hosea and John had gotten back just moments before and both of them were rousing folk and packing away things fast as they could. A hard task, seeing as they ain't have no wagon. They'd been getting by alright, but moving like this without one would certainly prove a challenge.

A challenge that was all but chased away shortly after.

Charles had come in, shown up just like Dutch had said he would, and he brought with him a wagon. Arthur's to be exact. Convenience or a peace token, Arthur couldn't say, but he wouldn't argue. His things were there, stuff he'd figured were lost like the photo of his ma and the flower he done kept by his bedside, the picture of Copper and other sorts of trinkets. As well as his clothes and things they'd packed when fleeing Blackwater.

Arthur was happy to see it. Happy to see Charles too, seeing it was another pair of hands to help. He jumped in quick to help load and he weren't alone. With him was a lady; one he ain't seen before. Mrs. Adler, it turned out.

She was certainly a spit-fire. All sorts of angry and biting, seeming like she might just about smite someone just by looking at them. Arthur weren't quite sure why he'd brought her with and when he asked, found out that he hadn't. Seems she just helped herself aboard when he went to pull out and with all the commotion going on, nobody felt the need to argue.

She'd looked him up and down with a glower, spitting to one side. “You must be Arthur.”

“And you must be here to help,” Arthur returned, shoving a box into her hands. “Now, why don't you go on and make yourself useful.”

“I ain't hired help,” she spat out, looking as though she might just dump everything to the ground.

“But you is here,” he cut her off, tired of her spewing, “and you'll help, or I'll tie you to the wagon so you ain't get in the way.”

Seems like she went to say something, but she ain't get that far. That was cause Abigail called on out to her, just as well as distracting her.

“Sadie, will you help over here once you're done with that?”

Trying to fold up the canvass, she was. A hard enough job for one, let alone two. Sadie gave him a final glare, seething quietly as she moved along. He was glad for that; weren't sure what'd it come to with her, weren't sure he wanted to find out neither. He, himself, was grabbing things, loading them onto the wagon quick as he could.

“So where is that we going?”

Charles was helping him; together they lifted up a heavy crate that'd been stuffed with provisions. “Someplace called Dewberry Creek. Guess Micah had his eye set on it, before the mess in Blackwater. Said it was decent place to lie low.”

“Oh, well if Micah said so, it must be,” he scoffed sarcastically.

Charles ignored that; probably for the best. “Dutch wants us to go on ahead, check it out. Clear off anyone suspicious before we move on in.”

“Course he does.”

Didn't surprise him that even now, worlds apart, that he still nothing more than a goddamn errand boy. Least the man seemed to be coming to his senses, even if it did take a god-damn shoot-out in the midst of town to make it happen. Arthur stuffed another chest into the wagon, before turning to holler at Hosea.

“Charles and I are gonna head on out, take a look at some place. Dewberry Creek; we'll meet you on down there.”

“Alright, Arthur,” Hosea agreed—man always was on the same agenda, it seemed.

“You want me to come with?” John offered. Course he'd try to weasel his way out of work.

“Nah,” Arthur shook off the offer. “You stay here case any company shows up. Help the others pack.”

Be safer, too, if just the two of them went. The less attention they drew would be better. Law would surely be hopping after a stint like that and Pinkertons were surely gonna be buzzing in the area before long. Quietly he hoped the others would be safe. Dutch might be foolish at times, but least he was good about keeping an eye on folk.

Most of the time, at least.

He couldn't think of that now. Instead his focus was on Charles, on following the man out of Horseshoe. He hated leaving that area; it was sure a pretty place with a good vantage point, nice and close to town without being too close. But even Arthur knew when they'd overstayed their welcome.

They needed somewhere new. Another place they could call home, if only for a while. South seemed an odd choice, especially for Dutch. Even Charles said as much, commenting the man didn't seem to be one to head on that way. Truth was, he didn't; though more the truth was they were running out of options.

Didn't make it easy, neither, that there were so many of them. Small group, a handful, could disappear well enough. Felt like they had an entire army with them at times. They were good folk though, folk they couldn't rightly turn away or abandon and Dutch wouldn't entertain such idea anyway. Sticking together, holding strong—that was about all Dutch ever talked about. Which was why it seemed so odd for him to stand his ground so hard before.

Pride was one hell of a beast, he guessed.

Whatever it was, Arthur was glad it was done with now. Knew that for a few days things would be rough, what with Dutch still stewing, but it would pass well enough. First though, they needed to get on down there, clear the place on out. Which was where they first ran into trouble.

Because Dewberry Creek was not a good place.

It were too open, too wide, too dangerous. Nary a lick of a tree to hide in and they'd be on display for just about anyone wandering by. Be a bad place too, if rains moved in. It was all dried up for the moment, seeing as they were in the midst of summer, but Arthur'd seen what happened when unsuspecting rains moved in. Be wishing death, or damn near it, if they went ahead and settled in.

That weren't even the worse of it. Worse was the body they found. Seemed like trouble already been there. Never a good omen, that. Death.

They pulled their guns, had them at the ready in case trouble was still brewing. Tracks were driven deep, tearing up the riverbed, leading them over towards a junction. Tents were there. Pitched and emptied, sitting like an abandoned town. Food and goods and supplies all left out for the pickings.

No souls though; least, that was what they thought. Because they heard it just then, hardly above a whisper. Something that weren't quite words, nor were it animalistic in nature. Folk, he figured—hiding somewhere in the mess.

Charles heard it too. Heard it better, seeing as he seemed to know exactly where they was all holed up. Motioned for him to follow, to stay quiet as they drew on near the wagon. And with weapons ready, they pulled apart the debris, only to be surprised by what exactly what waited for them.

Chapter Text

There was a woman, there, hiding with her children. A boy and girl who were not quiet old enough be adult, but neither were they youngins. Scared stiff they were, clearly shaken and protected by nothing more than a weathered old rifle that she ain't clearly know how to handle.

Still, folk didn't need to know how to handle a gun to kill proper. Gun did most the work there, so they both tread real careful. Real slow. Charles did his best, trying to see after them, but they ain't speak English. Not much at least—girl could say a bit. Said something about how some folk had taken her father.

They ain't had time for that, and Arthur said as much. Had tried to send them on their way, but Charles ain't let him. Told him to stop being dense and get on with it. Good man he was, far better than Arthur could ever hope to be. He didn't have the patience for that sort of thing but Charles dragged him along anyhow, forcing him to go through the motions of pretending he cared enough to track this fella down.

Was a good thing in the end, he supposed, cause it was how they ended up finding Clemens Point. After a good long chase, that was. The tracks they followed led them further south, down into the woods where they'd nearly been ambushed. Feller was still alive, unharmed by some miracle. Didn't speak much English either, but Arthur was able to discern the man had money, and that was why this entire mess had begun. Arthur had gotten him back to his family, and he earned a gold bar for his trouble, as well as a place to stay.

Cause Clemens Point was about as perfect as it could get.

There was plenty of room there for them all. A nice and quiet place, right along the side of the lake and close enough to town to wander on in. Charles liked Clemens Point too. Agreed that it was a far better place than that dried up creek bed that'd been suggested, so he'd split off and gone on down to fetch Dutch and the others and take them on in. Arthur'd done the same with Hosea and the rest.

They'd gotten in first, settled themselves in and started to prepare for the others. There was lots to do and while they worked, Hosea told him what little he knew about the town—Rhodes, as it was called. Turns out he didn't know too much, but where town was there was always opportunity. Arthur figured Dutch would want to head on in and check the place out soon as they got here to see what could be had.

They waited an awful long time for that too—Arthur'd gotten his wagon set up the way he liked and Hosea and the girls built some lean-tos and John got wood for the fire and they were all busy enough, still waiting all the while until someone finally did manage to show up.

Charles.

It was only Charles who'd come plodding in, a grim look on his face. Thought something was wrong in that, seeing him riding alone. Arthur waited to hear the news that shit had gone wrong and that maybe Pinkertons had caught up with them and he wanted to kick himself for not going with. His heart hammered in his chest making it hard to hear as he demanded to know what had happened.

But Charles was quick in reassuring him that Dutch and the others were fine. Said that they'd set up along Dewberry like was planned. Then he said that Dutch were waiting for him and rest to join when they were well and ready to get on.

“Damn fool lose his mind?” Arthur all but sputtered. “Thought you was gonna tell him we found a better place?”

“I did,” Charles corrected, “but he wouldn't listen. He insists that we stick to the plan; told me to have faith.”

As though faith would blind any damn Pinkertons nosing around. “Hell he's going on about?”

Charles just shrugged, clearly lacking an answer. Hosea had come near, a stern disappointed look on his face. “What else did he say?”

Was quiet for a moment, then answered. “It's not my place to say, but Dutch was talking with some of the others. Thinks you two are trying to undermine him, coming out this way. And he's not happy with the folk that've taken off.”

He said that loosely, looking over towards Abigail and Jack, Sadie as well. She was still hanging around, though far less volatile than she had been the day before. Seemed at ease here with Abigail and got along with John just fine as well as Hosea. Arthur ain't talk to her much, but way he heard it, Dutch had put her to work with Pearson, and the woman was fixing on gutting the man. Turns out coming her just about saved her life, cause killing the cook would not be taken lightly, even if Person's suppers were questionable in nature.

“Dutch's always the one saying the gang ain't a prison,” Arthur put out lightly.

It weren't—folk could come and go and that was proven with the likes of several characters over the years, but these recent times they'd stuck together more. Guess there was a sort of loyalty owed back for all that was done, but it was preposterous to act as though they leaving was some sort of betrayal, especially when they hadn't really run off.

Not really.

He knew how Dutch was though. Knew the man saw it different and how petty he could be at times. He let out a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess I'll go on and see if I can talk some sense in him.”

“No,” Hosea interrupted, joining them. “You stay here, keep an eye on camp. I'll head on over; ain't the first time Dutch has failed to see reason and I reckon it won't be the last, but God help me if I just sit by and watch. Charles, will you ride with me?”

“Of course.”

Arthur watched them go away, hearing the old man mutter under his breath the whole while.

“'Follow the plan, have some faith.' Have some faith?! He’s setting up in a death trap and we’re just meant to—oh for Christ’s sake, he can shove that faith up his goddamned—”

He ain't hear the last, but Arthur could guess it all the same. He let out a smirk despite it all, tried his best to ignore the twist in his gut, and turned back to finishing up camp. He trusted Hosea more than anyone else, cause if anyone could get Dutch to see reason, it was him.

Chapter Text

They came back empty-handed.

Seems the talk with Dutch ain't done much good, though it weren't too much a surprise, he supposed. Dutch had always been stubborn. Guess the man had dug in deeper, had all but refused and rebuffed Hosea's attempts to convince him and so they'd given up shortly after. It'd left him sour, that did—Hosea ain't had his usual charm, choosing to sit near the fire in silence while the rest of them got on and minded their own business.

It was Charles who'd told him what'd gone down. About how Hosea had wanted to talk in private, but Dutch had refused and about how they'd gotten into the meat of things right out there in the open. Stuck to his guns, Dutch did, carrying on about loyalty and about how they needed to stick together, all but calling Hosea a traitor and how he ought to be ashamed.

There was more, about faith and following the plan—though he couldn't rightly say what that plan was anymore. Angry as Dutch sounded, Arthur figured it might just be best to pack on up, head over to where they was and just yield. That was an option Hosea stoutly refused. Obstinate as Dutch was, Hosea was twice that it seemed. Man told him not to worry about it, that he'd handle it once things had calmed and the dust had settled.

Till then, they'd stay here, do the best they could and hope that nobody came poking around in business that didn't concerned them. Hosea reckoned they'd be good for a few days at least. They'd come far enough south to skirt out of the boundaries of Valentine and away from Cornwall's reach and chances were the Pinkertons would forget about them given enough time.

Arthur hoped he was right. He didn't want to think of what might come otherwise. He tried his best not to think on it, kept himself busy instead. There was plenty to do around there, between chores and picking up supplies so they ain't end up starving.

He'd gone into town and Sadie had ridden with. It was an old wagon he'd taken the liberty of borrowing off of some fool in this backwoods area with intent in stocking it well up on needed provisions. He'd meant to go alone, but just like she had with Charles, Sadie had welcomed herself aboard, saying she needed to get out of camp for a while and clear her head.

Arthur had to admit it was nice to have some company, even if Sadie was a touch impetuous. Like a wildfire she was—untamed and unpredictable, but within her a spark of warmth that was curious. She talked a little, about how'd she come to start running with them and her life in the mountains before then. Seems those O'Driscolls had done up taken everything she had and now she was bent on vengeance, of a sorts.

Didn't seem to matter when he told her about how revenge wasn't a luxury they could afford. Still seemed determined that one;so much so that it wasn't much a surprise to see her come on out of that store, dressed down in pants instead of a dress and looking more hunter than maiden. Fit her well though and she ain't shy away in helping to load the wagon, unafraid of the concept of hard work.

The ride back was the same, far as for them talking. Arthur'd told her about how he'd come to start running with Dutch and them and all they've done for folk, but more so how he was confused as to what they were getting at now, fighting as they were. Sadie called them all idiots and he might have argued that point if not for getting ambushed.

Raiders, they were. Lemoyne Raiders. Men of all sorts that were products of the war, or least the theory of it. Arthur would have played it cool, would have talked them down on account of not wanting to stir shit up so quick in the short time they'd been there, but Sadie had other opinions. And once she opened fire there weren't no going back.

Least they were easy enough to take care of. Proud as those fools were, they ain't had a lick of marksmanship in them, and they were put to rest pretty easy. Sadie'd had proven herself too, quick with her gun as she was her wit and hella proud of it as a result. Arthur though ain't like causing all that commotion so close to town, and worried for the trouble it'd bring, so they'd gotten out of there quick and back to camp.

Only to come on back to more folk there than when they'd left.

Karen was there; turns out she'd followed Hosea on back saying she was tired of slaving under Grimshaw's thumb, though Arthur wondered if there was more to that in seeing just how close she'd set herself up with Sean. They always sweet on one another, those two were, even if they refused to admit it.

And it weren't just Karen who was there, neither. Mary-Beth had popped on up as well, and along with her, a feller he ain't know. Kieran, as it were. A formal O'Driscoll.

He'd bristled at that, at the thought of an O'Driscoll hanging about, but Charles had calmed him down reason enough. He vouched for the kid, said that he'd proven himself in taking them up to one of Colm's hideouts. Arthur trusted Charles well enough, but could not say the same for one of Colm's men, former or not. Arthur still had it in mind to chase him out, but Mary-Beth had conned and pleaded with him till he gave in—though not without warning that he was keeping his eye on the fool.

Didn't have much time to dwell on it, seeing as Hosea had asked him to ride on out just then. Where, he weren't sure, but Hosea had both Silver Dollar and Boadicea ready, so he'd done what he asked they'd ridden out, leaving Charles and John behind to keep an eye on things.

They took off down the road, heading north along the trail. Arthur suspected they might stop by Dewberry once again and see if the pair of them could convince Dutch together, but Hosea just brushed him off when he asked.

“Dutch will do what he wants,” Hosea told him. “Either he's right and nothing will come of it, or he's wrong and we'll find out soon enough anyhow.”

“Him being wrong is what I'm concerned about,” Arthur confessed, gazing eastward towards where there camp should be. “Don't think I've ever seen him this contemptuous before.”

There's been times before where he'd been close. Arthur knew that firsthand, as did Hosea. Experience had taught them that Dutch was not one to yield, least not easily, nor without ludicrous reason. Be different, he thought, had they not have folk breathing down their necks and a haughty price on their heads. Hosea didn't seem to be bothered, simply telling him that things would work out in the end, that he come to his senses given enough time.

“Not sure about that,” he pointed out. “Seeing as more folk have left him behind. If Dutch weren't happy before, sure as hell won't be happy once he finds out more have disappeared.”

Might be best, to send them on their way. Tell them to hole up with Dutch till things simmered down. Hosea gave him that look, the one of skepticism that he was far too acquainted with over these years.

“You think it's better for the women and children to be there, waiting for something to happen?”

“No,” Arthur shrugged, “but at least it'll calm Dutch a little.”

“Being honest, Arthur—don't really give a damn about keeping him calm. What I really want is to bash him on the head, try and knock some sense in him. I don't know what all happened back in Blackwater, but seems like he keeps getting worse as time goes on. Not sure what he's trying to prove, but feels like he's willing to damn us all to make a point.”

Arthur let out a sigh, long tired of playing the mediator. He'd done that for years, had more than once taken a stand by one and not the other. Normally he agreed with Dutch; man had held his back for years and only seemed fair he did the same. Guess it was the same here, even if he didn't quite like how the man was thinking. Least he had to try, see if he could somehow resolve this ridiculous feud that was growing between them.

“Dutch is—well, I'm sure he's doing what he thinks is best. Way Charles talks about it, these past few weeks have been tough. Couldn't have been easy, losing folk like he did, watching them all die. Suffering up in those mountains and now there's the mess with all those Pinkertons? I mean, maybe we should give him the benefit of the doubt, trust him a little? If he's wrong, then well—least we'll be there to get him out of it.”

“You have a fair point,” Hosea admitted, though Arthur was wise enough to understand that it was not a surrender. Man kept talking, as though to prove that point. “We'll worry about that later; let's focus on something else for the rest of the day, shall we?”

He hummed. “Sure—what did you have in mind?”

“Fishing,” he replied.

“Could have gone fishing right back at camp,” Arthur laughed softly, “saw a whole bunch of them there.”

“This place is supposed to be good. Heard it from a fella up north, before we came down this way. There's sturgeons, rock bass, bluegills—plenty more too. Plus I need a moment, just some time away where it's quiet.”

He could appreciate that. Was a reason it was them that always left together, it seemed. Both enjoyed the other's company, even if it was just little more than basking in each other's silence. As for fishing, well he weren't the biggest fan of that, but he knew how Hosea enjoyed it. So he'd go along, if for nothing other than some company, and to forget, if only for a moment, all that was going on.

“Alright, then,” he agreed, perking up just then. “Let's see this place of yours.”

Chapter Text

Been a while since they had that much fun.

Not just the fishing, but signing too, reminiscing about the days when times were better and not quite so dire. Left him feeling a touch homesick, but that was soon forgotten upon returning back to camp. Seems Sadie had picked up some whiskey while in town and the place was jovial and upbeat in celebration. Arthur weren't quite sure what it was they was celebrating, but he happily joined in nonetheless.

Woke up the next day to a sore head and sour gut, all of which was chased away by some coffee. Hosea seemed to be fairing better, looking and sounding more like himself. He'd been up already, had ventured into town and returned all before Arthur even managed to stagger to his feet. The man was far too eager and anxious, all but launching into what he'd learned in that short amount of time.

Which was something about gold, it seemed.

Rumors were abundant about that. About the feud between two prominent families that populated the town. Apparently it went way back, that feud did—far enough back that no one seemed to remember what it was about or why they was fighting, but it was there the same. Reminded Arthur a bit of them and the O'Driscolls, on how even he weren't sure what first sparked the feud, though he was well aware of the collateral suffered on each end.

Supposed the same could be said about these families. One being the Grays, who seemed to run the town. Hosea said near every position of prominence in town was held by a Gray or an associate of a Gray, and the Braithwaites held estates outside the town and rumors abound also spoke of less legal businesses that ran in the shadows. Whatever the cause, it all boiled down the prospect of wealth and an abundance of gold filtering somewhere in the shadows.

Hosea had wanted him to learn more. To nose about see what it was he might discover. See if there was perhaps a way to play the families and come to some sort of conclusion. Seemed a simple enough task and so Arthur'd given himself a moment to chase away the demons of the previous night before working his way into town.

Figured it was the best place to start and it seems he might have been right about that.

Rhodes weren't that big of a place. not really. It had one main street that ran down the dusty roads with a few smaller ones that jutted off of it, and The Count were sure an easy thing to see in the midst of that coppery residue floating about. Brown Jack too was there, both horses hitched right on outside the sheriff's.

Curious thing that; more curious was the man hiding the shadows, looking a hair bedraggled. Least compared to how he normally was. Arthur slowed Boadicea on down, tipping his hat towards him.

“Josiah Trelawny.”

Looked up quick at that, he did. Eyes wide and buggered, though settling down in only a moment. “Why, Arthur. You seem to be looking well enough.”

“And you've seem to be looking worse,” Arthur returned. “Been a while.”

“It has, hasn't it?” he agreed, “for us, at least. I ran into Dutch and a few of the boys back in Valentine. Dutch told me he hadn't seen or heard from you or Hosea for a while. Not since that nasty business back east.”

“Oh, Dutch tell you about that?”

Trelawny laughed, “Not much to tell, I'm afraid. You boys are all the rage nowadays, it seems. Posters everywhere, names in the papers. Caused quite a stir there and caught the attention of all the wrong folk, might I add.”

“Pinkertons, yes,” Arthur agreed. “Reason why we've come this far south; don't explain what you're doing here, skulking about.”

“Skulking?” he raised an eyebrow. “I'll have you know that a man of my stature never skulks—”

“No...”

“I was...investing in a bit of a scheme of my own; didn't quite pan out the way I'd hope, but luck have it that I happened to cross paths with Dutch and things are worked out. For the moment, at least.”

Arthur nodded towards the building. “What's it he's doing in there, exactly?”

“What he always does best, my boy—casting his lure and seeing if anyone is willing to bite.”

Dutch was good at that. Finding leads and Arthur knew. Knew that he could chance it. He could invite himself in and find out what might going down. Or he could wait it out here and find out soon enough without the bother. Be easier that way.

“Last I heard, you was headed to New York. What happened there?”

“You know how it is,” the man shrugged, “life is never a straight road.”

How true that sentiment. One could say the same for him. “Fair enough.”

“Nice to know that I'm missed. Though I must say I'm surprised I didn't see you sooner; you and Dutch having a tiff?”

That was an interesting way to put it. Arthur didn't feel like getting into details. Least not here, and surely not with him. Trelawny was interesting enough in his own right; the last thing Arthur needed to do was give him something else to mull over and dissect.

“Guess it depends on how much he's told you,” he explained away.

“Not much—I'm afraid we haven't had much a chance to converse. He's been rather occupied.”

And occupied he was. There was a chortle of laughter as the door opened, both Dutch and Bill came staggering out along with some folk he ain't recognize. The joviality withered the next moment, soon as Dutch saw him there. Thought there might have been a scowl there, but Arthur liked to think that he was imagining things.

“Arthur—what a surprise to see you here, son.”

Said in a manner that might be seen as a cordiality, but Arthur knew well enough a quip of sarcasm when he heard it.

“Could say the same for you. Was just catching up with an old friend,” he nodded towards Trelawny. Kept quiet too, far as names went. Weren't sure what Dutch had shared and to which he'd kept quiet. Arthur'd played the game long enough to know when to still his tongue.

“Right,” that were the sheriff speaking now. “Your idiot friend is free to go, but no more trouble from you, partner.”

“I promise you, this was just a big misunderstanding,” Trelawny stood, playing his part well. “However, I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

Took Arthur all it had to not roll his eyes. Kept himself occupied, listening to what the sheriff was saying now.

“Now, as you were saying—what with the hard businesses you've been dealt, that you could possibly lend us a hand?”

“It would be an honor,” Dutch tutted, clasping the man on the back. Stopped just then, as though he'd gotten an idea and turned towards him. “In fact, I reckon even Arthur here is willing to help out. This boy is hunter, I tell you. A killer! Could use someone like him on your side.”

Arthur weren't quite sure what that was about. Weren't sure he liked it, either. Still he watched just the same, gaze flicking between him and Trelawny as though that might tell him something. It didn't, and despite himself, he found himself agreeing when asked. Old habits and that.

“What's it you need?”

Sheriff Gray, as his name was, seemed to latch onto that right quick. Entire persona changed around, “There is shine in them woods, and it's costing this county its good name and the state a whole lot of income. We need to root it out, put an end to things, if you catch my drift.”

“Trust me,” Dutch beamed as though he were proud, “it won't be a problem. Not a problem at all. You are in safe hands now. Arthur—this here is Archibald. You wouldn't mind riding along with him, now would you?”

Posed as a question, hinted as an order. Despite their differences, Dutch ain't miss a beat in doling out orders. Arthur stilled where he was, mulling the idea over for but a moment. True enough, Hosea wanted him to find out more about the families; reckoned this was one to do it. Though he weren't sure how it'd be taken if Hosea'd come to learn he was working with Dutch like this.

Then again, maybe it was for the best. The first steps on getting folk back together. Worked better as a whole they did and perhaps garnering a bit of favor from Dutch might settle him enough so that he'd be open to some sort of compromise. Get him and the rest of those fools out of the danger they set themselves up in.

So he grit his teeth, ignored that pesky whisper telling him to turn away, and forced himself out of the saddle and onto the prison wagon. Sat himself up there next to Archibald, a strange scrawny man who already was talking a mile a minute as they pulled on out of that dusty town.

And Arthur could only wonder what it was he'd just agreed to.

Chapter Text

He weren't to keep secrets, least not from Hosea.

Yet it'd been easy to tell him about what'd gone on that day. On how he'd ran into Dutch and gone with him on that moonshine business and how they'd essentially become temporary deputies. Reckoned Dutch had lost his mind on that one, seeing as they normally tried to avoid the law and were now doing the right opposite here.

Hosea listened, quiet and yet intrigued, finally asking about Dutch in the end. Arthur hadn't much to say for that because even he weren't sure. Dutch seemed mostly himself, if not a bit put out, still chewing on what they were doing all the way over here and about how they was enticing folk away with false promises.

Arthur'd told him it was because folk ain't wanting to die and Dutch had just said they was putting on theatrics and that nobody was gonna be dying. In the end, it was tiring, but it felt like they'd made some progress.

They'd gotten a wagon of moonshine out of it. Dutch had given it on to him, told him to take it back to Hosea seeing as that was more his expertise. Gave him the bonds too—ones they got from Cornwall all those weeks ago asking for Hosea to see to selling them. That too was Hosea's line of work. Arthur weren't sure if that was simply business, or if it was an attempt to smooth things over.

Hosea'd taken both of them. They'd taken the wagon on over to the Braithwaites in attempt to sell it. Arthur had questioned him on it, seeing as it were the Braithwaites that had been stolen from in the first place, but Hosea'd been sure he could pull one over on them. Didn't really work that way; nasty woman that Catherine. Wretched and foul and just all around unpleasant. Normally he weren't one to be killing women, but she might just be one to be an exception for, especially since seeing she could barely qualify as one.

Despite the failed ploy, they'd still gotten some money out of it. Fifty cents on the bottle, plus an extra ten to dish it on out at the saloon. Stirring trouble that Catherine was, but Arthur weren't much invested in that feud of theirs so he ain't care too much. He did care in Hosea dressing him up, posing him as country idiot in order to pull of the ploy, though he went with it for no other reason than to appease Hosea. Things went well enough, least till Raiders showed on up.

Right ol' mess that turned out to be.

They'd cut their losses and gotten on out of there alright. Camp was subdued when they returned; quiet. Charles was there again, waiting it seemed, for them. Bringing word from Dutch, 'bout what his plans were and what it was that he wanted. Brought some food as well; deer he'd hunted and cooked on up. Was enough for everyone there and it made a fine enough meal. Arthur sat on down near the fire, a plate resting in his lap as they joined in conversation.

“Dutch has an in with the Grays,” Charles said simply as introduction. “Sounds like they have some work for us; Dutch is wanting you and John to catch up with Javier, see what it's about.”

“We working them now?”

“He thinks there's money,” the man said simply.

“And you don't?” Arthur wondered. Rumors were rampant, that much was clear. Archibald had talked his ear off about that on their previous run together. About how all that gold was either lost or hidden away somewhere that no one ain't ever find.

“I think this is about more than just money,” he confessed after a moment. “Dutch was talking the other night, about how his father was killed down in this area back in the war.”

Yes. He'd heard that one many of times. It was one of the things Dutch liked to bring up often, especially during his ruminations. Didn't surprise him much that coming this far south had stirred those memories up once more.

“I have a strong feeling this might have to do about revenge, as well as his pride.”

Arthur'd like to say that surprised him. Really didn't, not much at least. Like he'd told Sadie before, Dutch often like to say that they ain't have the luxury for that sort of thing. But Dutch seemed to say one thing, all the while doing another. Seemed like those sort of rules applied to others, but not him.

“He'll be alright,” Hosea encouraged gently. “Dutch gets worked up over these sort of things, then simmers on down. We just need to keep focused on the plan.”

“Which is what, exactly?” Arthur wondered, cause so far, he really hadn't heard what that might be.

“Dutch thinks we can work both the families,” Charles put in the offer.

“It's a smart move,” Hosea agreed, leaning forward. “Both these families hate each other well enough, won't take much to get them making poor choices.”

Arthur wasn't too sure about that. Felt different in a way, like these families were smarter than they were being given credit for. Maybe that was his perception being wrong, seeing as he wasn't one to read folk all that well. Guess it'd do well, trusting Hosea on this one.

“So what do we do?”

“You and John head on over to the Grays,” Hosea suggested, taking up Dutch's plan. “I'll take Sean and we'll head on over to the Braithwaites, see if there's any work to be had over there. We do some poking around, see what we can learn about this gold of theirs.”

“You think they'll just tell you?” Charles wondered.

It was a curious thought. Far as Arthur knew, folk just didn't go around talking about that sort of thing. Folk with money preferred to hang onto that money; the very reason why they went about robbing folk and taking it through violent persuasion more times than not.

“They just might,” Hosea countered, squaring his shoulders. “Spin enough of a story to catch them off guard, keep them distracted.”

“I can always sneak on in,” Mary-Beth put in all the sudden. She'd been near the fire, just off to one side reading her book. Least it seemed that way, seeing as she'd just revealed she'd been listening in.

“Sneak in where?” Arthur drilled, staring her down.

“Into the Braithwaites,” she explained, her book closed. It was tucked under one arm as she sauntered near, settling down on the log near Hosea. “All I'd have to do is pretend to be a serving girl and I can do some of my own snooping.”

“You lose your damn mind? It'll never work,” he scoffed.

“It will and it has,” she replied smugly. “I've done it many times.”

“She's good at it, Arthur,” Karen cut in, inviting herself into the fray. There was a bottle in her hand, near empty as she took a swig. “Real pro—sorta like my drunk act.”

“Ain't realize that was an act,” he rolled his eyes. “Answers no—you ain't getting involved.”

“Oh come on, now,” she protested, looking at first him, then to Hosea. “We're getting tired of sitting around, watching you boys go off and have all the fun. We've been robbing and thieving before, all of us—”

“It's how you've all been in trouble before too,” Arthur pointed out. Which they'd had, in various times and instances. Karen most of all, seeing as she seemed to tangle with all the wrong men. Mary-Beth, sweet as she was, was a fine pit-pocket, but even then she'd been caught a number of times. Arthur could remember a few fair times he'd had to get her out of one situation, if not another.

“That was years ago,” she argued. A truth there, though one could say that was due more to the fact she'd been kept in camp these recent years. “I've improved my talents.”

“It might not be a bad idea,” Hosea put in just then. He'd been quiet, listening to them debate, and honestly Arthur was surprised to hear him side with her.

“You've got to be kidding me,” he turned square on the man. His demeanor ain't worry him; man didn't even flinch.

“Having someone on the inside where we can't be would help,” Hosea pointed out. “Braithwaites already know we're involved—doubt they'll suspect a young lady such as Mary-Beth to be with lowlifes such as us.”

“If she's going, so am I,” Karen ground, finishing what was left in her bottle. “Safety in numbers or however that saying goes.”

“You have both gone off the deep end,” Arthur spat out. He ain't like the idea of them going in there, especially for something like this, so that they could play some ridiculous part that could very well get them killed.

“We'll be fine,” Karen consoled him, “you don't have to worry about us. Come on, Arthur, it'll be fun.”

Fun were one way of putting it. Downright stupid was perhaps another. But seemed like the decision was made. Charles ain't let himself get involved and John seemed to not be bothered by it one way or another. Hosea still stood firm that the idea was worth it, so he guessed that was how it was going to be.

He let out a sigh. “Fine—alright. What is it that we planning on doing, then?”

Chapter Text

He'd gone with John down to the Grays.

It was just going to be John to start with, but the fool had been dragging his feet and wasting time until Arthur all but marched him on out of there. He told Hosea he'd come on by after they'd gotten things settled. He preferred it that way too, seeing as he was too anxious to stand around and wait, knowing that Karen and Mary-Beth had infiltrated the place.

John seemed to be better once he'd come along anyhow. Arthur reckoned he was still sour on what'd gone on back in those mountains, on how he'd been left on his own even though that weren't really anyone's fault. Just bad luck was all it was, though John ain't see it that way, it seems. This venture also gave them a chance to talk, something they ain't really had a chance to do since the mess in Valentine, seeing as they'd  both been so busy.

“How's Abigail and Jack holding up in the new place?”

He knew John had set up a tent for them and they were staying with each other. Guess it was sort of an improvement, seeing as though he acted they ain't even existed for a time.

“They're alright,” John shrugged, “better, I think, since settling in. Moving as much as we've been, hard on the boy.”

“Yeah,” Arthur agreed, matching his horse with John's. “Ain't never easy for nobody, but he's a tough kid. He'll be fine.”

“I guess. But the real question is, where do we go from here?”

To that, he weren't sure. South was definitely not on his list of places he wanted to be. Air here was thick, soupy, and the land far too warm for his liking. Too much civilization as well. Left him feeling like he couldn't breathe at times. Seems every which way they went, they kept running into folk and soon enough he figured they'd run into someone they shouldn't. But running out of options they was; the land only went so far.

“I guess we do what Dutch and Hosea say to do; then go from there.”

“And what is it that they say we're supposed to do?”

“We need money, John,” Arthur explained wearily. “Got a whole lot of folk to see after, and you know as well as I do that it takes a lot. Living rough is fine for you and me, but we got the women and your Jack to keep after too. We need to find some cash and try and find a place where we won't be found.”

“Yeah?” he huffed, “and where's that supposed to be?”

Arthur wasn't sure about that. Weren't many place, he figured, that a group large as them could go and get lost. Maybe ten, fifteen years ago when things were different. But the world was changing and society was closing in, and it seemed as though folk preferred it that way. Their way of life was coming to an end, and Arthur reckoned that sooner or later, they would too, unless they changed their ways.

He didn't say any of this. He couldn't—things were fragile enough as it was between them all. Didn't need to add to it. Instead he did his best to keep positive; a struggle for him as he tended to do the opposite.

“We'll figure it out when the time comes. Dutch and Hosea—they'll set things right and we'll be just fine.”

So he hoped.

The Grays place was over at Caliga Hall. Their fields stuffed full of tobacco that was bristle bone dry, a result from the unforgiving drought that had blanketed the land. They were met by guards, armed men who pointed them down a path upon asking about the meeting that had been set. They didn't know much, just that Javier had come ahead of them and they was catching up.

He was down a ways, talking with a one, Tavish Gray. There were too many of these fools to try and keep track, so Arthur ain't even bother to try. All he knew was Tavish was older than the rest and angry enough to boot. On a rant he was, something about the war and how they ain't ever recover. Javier had given them a scowl, a look of impatience as they'd ridden on up.

“Like I promised; we're here to help.”

“Your son, the sheriff—said you were having some trouble with some degenerates?” Arthur put out, curiously.

It was all paraphrasing. He'd heard it from Charles, who'd passed it on from Dutch. Though it ain't take a genius to guess the Grays hated the Braithwaites with a passion and that most their problems revolved around them. He was right, seeing the loathsome scowl mar his features.

“That hag and her inbred sons...they've ruined this county. Killed my uncle, you know?”

“That ain't right,” John supplied, shooting him a curious look.

“Problem is, we can't be seen to get too close,” Tavish huffed.

“And?”

A prod, something to get him going so they didn't wait all damn day. It worked; the man all but spilled the sordid details of what was going down.

Horse rustling.

Arthur'd stolen his fair share of horses over the years, though usually that pertained to folk out in midst of nowhere, or from town when they was too drunk to notice. Stealing horses from paddocks in a guarded plantation was a different story. Most certainly when it was a place they already had folk holed up in.

But for an apparent five-thousand, it was worth the risk. It was the sort of money they needed, the sort that could get them back on their feet. Even so, Arthur found himself stressing the importance of discretion, on how they was supposed to do this quiet.

“Don't want to draw any more attention than need to be,” he reminded them once more as they drew close. “Hosea and Sean are doing their own thing, and the girls are inside too.”

“Doing all sorts of things now, are you?” Javier hummed briskly.

He'd been quiet, up till now. Happy to listen, or so Arthur had presumed. Guess instead there was a grievance brewing there. Arthur slowed Boadicea up till they were matching in speed, shooting him a curious look.

“What's this all about?”

“You, Hosea—all of you going behind Dutch's back, breaking his heart—”

“Behind his back? We ain't doing nothing behind his back.”

Not really, when all was considered. True they might be going about things in their own ways, but it wasn't without direction. This job here, working with the two families—that was all Dutch's doing. As for the women...well, guess that was theirs, but it weren't no different than running a normal ploy. Hell, they'd taken off, groups of them before, without even so much as a word.

How was this any different?

“All this running around, leaving Dutch behind?” Javier went on, surprising him all the more.

“Leaving him? Now wait up a minute; last I saw, it was him who left us behind, back in Blackwater.”

“Wouldn't have, if you'd been there with us.”

He saw John shoot him a curious look, “Wasn't their fault, Javier; we all said we should wait till they got back, he ain't want to.”

“They was off doing whatever, just like Dutch said,” Javier ground out, kicking Boaz out on ahead. “They been with us, well maybe things would have gone different.”

“Maybe,” Arthur said grimly, “or maybe they'd gone worse. Ain't no use in kicking up a fuss over it now; what's done is done. Now's we need to focus on moving ahead, on fixing things.”

“That's what Dutch is trying to do,” Javier argued back. “And you and Hosea just keep slowing things up each time he tries, thinking you know better.”

“Now that ain't how it is,” he cut in, gruff and angry now. Was one thing to call him out, was another to go after Hosea, seeing as all he'd done for the others. “Dutch and you all left; we had to get ourselves out of Blackwater, out of West Elizabeth and did what we had to survive. We still trying to find a way out of this alive and Dutch is too blinded by his damn pride to see that.”

“Tell it how you want,” Javier cautioned, “but it ain't how Dutch sees it, and the man deserves better than what you're all doing to him. Only way out of this is if we stick together.”

“Like I said, that's what we trying to do,” Arthur growled, meeting John's gaze. Man was quiet, a sternness on his face as though he was doing his best to keep his thoughts to himself. Still bitter he was over how he'd been forgotten. Reckon he was wrestling with more thoughts and emotions now than before, hearing Javier carry on.

“Don't seem like it,” Javier said, “Dutch says—”

“Dutch says a lot of things,” Arthur cut him off, “don't mean he's right about them.”

Was about all he could say too, seeing as they were coming up on the stables. They'd come on through the back way, skirted about the guards and workers, though there hadn't been many. Good thing too, since that entire show had gotten a bit heated. Still was tense between them, felt near like they were walking on ice, despite the unforgiving heat. Still, they'd dropped the topic, least for the moment, venturing back into business as they knew best.

Arthur nodded towards John, towards Javier too, though the latter ignored him completely, more inclined to go about his own way.

The most he could hope for was that the man didn't do anything rash, or stupid. Be bad news for all them, if he did. Though Arthur trusted that Javier would be wise enough to put differences aside so that they could get out of here alive.

Even so, he would be on alert and be ready for just about anything. Because there was no telling just how this was going to go.

Chapter Text

Weren't no five thousand for them horses.

Job went well enough, long as you didn't factor that bit in. They'd gotten those horses out of there with hardly any stir and gotten them down to the cove without much hassle. Folk who were buying them, Clay and his brother Clive, just near died laughing at their proposal. At the lunacy of it all and Arthur guessed that was fair enough because even they were skeptical.

Still, seven hundred weren't no price to scoff at, even if they didn't keep any share of it. John was upset at that, arguing with him the whole way back, wanting to know why he'd given it all away. Arthur didn't say much on it, least not much other than that they ain't need it. And they didn't, not really.

Truth was, he figured, that it were more a peace offering. A show of good will, if one could say. He was still jilted by Javier's accusations, no matter how far-fetched and misguided they were. Dutch, he guessed, had been talking. Saying things that had no merit just cause he was sour and those things had stuck with some folk. No doubt that was part of the reason of driving the wedge between them all and he'd hoped that relinquishing their share might help smooth things over. That it might convince Dutch they really was trying.

Left him feeling a little less bitter about the whole situation. Though it did little for the bitterness that waited for them once they'd gotten on back.

Hosea was there—as were the girls. Was good to see them safe, less good was hearing about what they learned. Or rather, what little they did. Turns out there were no word of gold amongst the servants that tilled the lands and worked the houses. Apparently the family was about as poor as they came and most their wealth was just a pretense. What money they had came in through various underground means, mostly through shine or other questionable operations that took place within the nearby city of Saint Denis.

Guess the story went there was some fella there, Angelo Bronte, who Braithwaites dealt with and earned enough a sum in return to keep their lands. What precisely that business was, was unknown. Folk wouldn't speak of it, nor were they inclined to even learn.

Felt almost as though they were at a stalemate. Couldn't build off of nothing. Might be best if they moved on, but to where was the question. Hosea didn't have much an answer for that. Arthur thought maybe they'd have better luck with the Grays, though that might prove difficult seeing as they'd burned their fields.

Well, Sean and Lenny had, to be precise.

That Braithwaite woman had given out a sum to complete that and so they'd did. Was easy, or so Lenny had claimed. He'd hidden in a wagon of shine and Sean had worked his nonsensical magic that somehow ain't gotten him shot and they'd stowed away in the barn till the night fell. Then they lit up those fields like one of them fancy fireworks shows he'd seen in cities.

Now, Lenny had said it'd gone fine, but the way Sean talked about it, things weren't so easy. Arthur weren't sure who to quite believe on that; Sean was a fibber at heart, but Lenny also had a habit of downplaying certain things, pretending it weren't not big deal. Seems Arthur'd never quite know, but ain't like he was up to prying much, seeing how they was fine.

As were the ladies. They felt a bit disappointed they did, in not being able to come back with better news. Arthur reassured them the same, praising them on a fine job and promised they'd find something better another day. Even if the news were bitter, it was overshadowed by the simple fact everyone had come on home alright.

There'd been some drinking that night, some celebrating, but he ain't take part in it. Sat instead with Hosea out near the scout fire, helping to keep watch in case they should receive any unsavory company. In the light as it was, man looked far older than he was. Far older than he should be; weathered and worn. Tired.

He'd clasped his hands, his elbows resting on his knees as he hunched on over, staring out into the woods. “Not sure what we're going to do, Arthur.”

“Ain't the first time we've been wrong about a job before,” he reassured. And it weren't. Many of times they'd made wrong choices and come up empty handed. Least this way they'd found out before they'd gotten in too deep. “Just have to move on, is all.”

“Where?” Hosea wondered, looking up at him. “How long do we keep running, before we start living?”

“Long as we need to, Hosea,” Arthur reinforced. “Come on—there's plenty of places yet. Hell, probably still something worth getting around here even. Tell you what—in the morning I'll head to town, see if that slippery snake, Trelawny, is still hanging around. See what he knows about all this.”

Said it as a way to get his mind off things, though Hosea ain't seem to hear. Man let out a sigh instead, “Think in the morning, I'll ride on over to Dutch. See what he thinks.”

Arthur knew well what Dutch would think. Said it too, so that Hosea could hear. Told him about Javier, about what the man had been saying.

If Hosea was surprised, the man didn't show it. He just got up, rested a hand on his shoulder and told him not to worry over it.

Felt like that made him worry all the more. He ain't sleep much that night.

Morning finally came, and he'd gone out Rhodes like he said he would. Hosea were still getting ready, wished him luck on whatever he was to do. Arthur bade him the same, not quite sure what it was he was wishing for. Might be nice, to finally put all this shit behind them, but all the same it felt wrong. Felt that way cause they'd done stuck together and had each other's back and now were the ones crawling on back, but maybe that was for the best. Something had to give and clearly it weren't gonna be Dutch's pride.

He'd be angry with the news. Of the fact there weren't no gold and Arthur hoped that maybe some good news from Trelawny might help soften that blow. He'd heard that the man was staying in a caravan on the edge of town, just behind the church. It was there he headed, and along the way he'd run into Charles. The man was out doing his own thing, but he offered to come with.

“Aright,” Arthur agreed, appreciative of the fact he weren't on his own. Thoughts troubled him too much for that; was nice to have a distraction, even if that distraction were on things he ain't really want to think on.

“Javier said you boys got conned on those horses.”

“Got some money off them,” Arthur shrugged, “maybe not as much as they said it was, but it's a start. Just about the most we're going to get off these families, I reckon.”

“You think so?” Charles wondered, watching him. Course he was curious. Man weren't there the night before, when they was all talking. Arthur'd let out a sigh, explaining things, letting silence sit between them as they came up on the caravan.

“Dutch won't be pleased to hear that,” he mused, pulling Taima to a halt.

“That's why we're coming this way,” Arthur said, dropping on down to his feet. “Figure if anyone knows something, it's Trelawny.”

“I've only met him a couple of times, but he's...he's a strange one.”

“He's just a cockroach in fancy britches,” Arthur shrugged, but Charles did have a point. Man came and went as he pleased, disappearing for months at a time only to resurface in the strangest of places. Another old friend of Dutch's—went way back, kinda like Hosea did. Was rather exquisite; pompous if one could say.

Which was why it was a concern to see the place in how it was left. In utter disarray. Doors open, items scattered, things pulled apart and strewn about. Certainly was not the standards set forth by the odd little man.

“Looks like someone got here first,” Charles commented. “By the looks of things, it wasn't a social call.”

So it seemed. Guess that worried him some, seeing as last time they'd talked, he'd mentioned something about agents sniffing about. Wondered, perhaps, if that was what had come calling. Worry grew all the more, soon as they found blood.

“Recent,” Charles commented, looking close. “I'd say maybe twelve hours ago?”

Sometime during the night, then. Explain why and how'd they gotten away without much a fuss. Caravan was on the edge of town, so they'd be able to disappear without drawing much attention. Looks like they'd gone to the south—headed somewhere across the tracks. Followed it to the forest there, where'd they found a couple of fellas skulking about.

They ain't have much to say. Least not till he'd killed one of them and near beaten the other into a bloody pulp. Man coughed up what he knew then, scampering out of there soon as Arthur'd let him go. Seems as though Trelawny was being held up down near the cornfields, on the outskirts of the Braithwaites place. Felt as though that was omen, warning them of something ill.

“What you do you think they want with Trelawny?” Charles wondered, soon as they were moving once again.

“Hard to say,” Arthur said, and it was. Could be about them, or could be over something else the man had his finger in. Meddled a lot, Trelawny did. Arthur supposed he had just as many enemies as they. Though that wasn't enough to dispel that fear that settled in him that it were about them, and that Trelawny might be squealing.

Least he didn't know where they were holed up. Dutch, maybe—but not them. Clemens would be safe for the time, but there was no telling about the others. Least until they were able to find him.

And find him they did. Some bounty hunters had him tied up and half-beaten inside a cabin there. They'd scattered, soon as they'd shown up, dodging on into those fields. Made them hard to find, to track on down, but Arthur weren't about to let them go. No telling what they'd been told and he couldn't risk them carrying off their knowledge back to Stoudemire.

That's who those fella's were running with. A Cole Stoudemire, some sort of hunter from the likes of Blackwater. If he'd taken their trails up on his own, or if he'd been lured in by others, no one could say. Worried him, it did, that they'd managed to make it this far. They'd come close, done well to snatch Trelawny as they had.

If they could—surely others could as well. Felt like time was running out, far quicker than they first thought. Least they had a few more days now, seeing as they'd dispatched all those fools. Stoudemire would have to do his own dirty work from here on out.

As for Trelawny—well, Arthur figured the best thing to do was to take him back to Clemens. Would be a good thing, he figured, to keep an eye on him. Least this way the could make sure he didn't wind up in any more trouble.

Cause trouble seemed to have a way of finding them on its own.

Chapter Text

Hosea was there when he'd come on back. Looked grim as Arthur explained what'd happened, though he eased when reassurances came that problem had been dealt with. Despite his discouraging experience, Trelawny ain't seem to be bothered much. The man was spewing some sort of bullshit or another that Arthur hardly listened to, about some far-fetched story and acting though all of it had been a part of some scheme or another.

Arthur'd left him with the girls to see after, get him cleaned on up and a place to sleep for the time. John, meanwhile, was making supper, cooking up some rabbits that Sean and Lenny had gone and hunted down.

Sort a surprise there; Arthur weren't aware the boys knew how to hunt, seeing how often they lazed about. Sean at least—Lenny'd been busy these past days, poking his head about. Weren't too welcome in the town of Rhodes, he was. Been harassed by those Raiders on the account of the color of his skin, which seemed an odd thing to be upset about. Arthur figured one should rather focus on what one did, rather than what one looked like, but Lenny'd told him that folk like that judged different and it was just how it was. Told him not to worry on it, that he had it handled and Arthur sure hoped that were true cause he hadn't had much time in keeping after him.

Was a good thing it were that way, he guessed. Cause Lenny's poking around had come up with something decent in the end; a stash of nice weapons that they could turn around sell if the price was right. That with the bonds Hosea had sold—well, they were sitting on some good cash. It was a start, but not enough to do much, as the man had told him.

“Dutch and them—they've amounted a bit of a sum on their end, but if we want to get anywhere, really get out of here, we're gonna need more.”

“Sure,” Arthur agreed, sitting on down near him. “Guessin' you talked to Dutch?”

Seems like he had, especially with the way his brow furrowed and he grimaced. Guess it hadn't gone all that well and Arthur was near afraid to ask, but he did anyway.

“So?”

“Well I told them about what the girls learned—the rumors about the gold being gone.”

“Take it he didn't care for that all too much.”

Which he knew the man wouldn't. Dutch was a demon when it came to rumors like that. Drove his claws in deep and refused to let on up till he damn near bled every resource dry. Be more surprising if he had listened.

“He thinks it's a red herring—a distraction, if you will. Believes the gold is buried somewhere to keep it hidden from the other family, but...I don't know. My gut is saying we should pull out before we get in too deep, but Dutch feels we're close to finding something. Says we need to push a little more, to have a bit of faith—”

“That's not how I heard it,” John scoffed, inviting himself in. Man was throwing the rabbits onto the flames, watching them smolder. Looked like supper was gonna be a touch crisp.

Hosea let out a sigh, “John offered to come along earlier. That went about as well as you could imagine.”

There was a scowl at that. “Sorry, but I ain't just standing around when Dutch says—”

“Dutch ain't right about everything," Arthur reminded him, interjecting. Didn't seem to deter the man, however.

“He called the lot of us simple-minded and weak."

Hearing that didn't surprise him in the least. “Course he did; thinks anyone who disagrees with him is that way. Just how he is, you know that.”

And he was. He'd been that way for a long time now, for just about as long as Arthur knew him. He didn't always pick up on it, but Arthur had learned that well enough as he'd gotten older and the gang had gotten bigger. Loyalty was big for Dutch, for all them, he supposed, in a way. For a time, Arthur'd felt that loyalty was the only thing that mattered, but lately he ain't been seeing it all too well. It'd been a struggle since Blackwater, since being left behind and seeing the same happen to the others. To John, to Lenny, to Tilly and Sean...lot of folk seemed to have been pushed aside, forgotten.

And Dutch—well, Dutch ain't always been that way. There'd been a time where he'd been better and not quite so much a fool. He'd say it was pride driving that stubborn fool, but eventually a time would come to prove that it weren't necessarily that. When, Arthur couldn't say, but he guessed it would come soon enough.

Hosea waved away John's petulance, acting as though all this was normal. “Dutch'll simmer on down; just need to find something else to catch his attention. Something that's away from here.”

“Where?” Arthur wondered, watching him. “Don't got many options left, Hosea—had those bounty hunters find Trelawny of all people, clear down here. Give them enough time, they'll find us too.”

“We're well hidden, here,” Hosea reassured. “Just have to keep our eyes peeled, our ears open. We'll catch wind of them first, that way. Crew like Stoudemire can't keep quiet enough to slip through a town like Rhodes without drawing attention.”

“They got Trelawny easily enough,” Arthur pointed out.

“No offense meant, but I don't think it's kind to say he was fair game. Trelawny has his talents, but he's easily snared. He's not like the rest of us; just keep our heads on straight and we'll do fine.”

Arthur guessed that were true. They'd been hunted before, had been hunted these past dozen years or so. They'd made names for themselves in many states in various regions. Being followed like this? Well, that was nothing new for them. And Dutch and them—we'll, they'd be alright. Charles had gone on ahead, gone back to Dutch for the while. He'd tell him of the hunters they'd come across and no doubt Dutch would laugh it off, but at least he'd know. Least he'd be aware.

And he figured that might be the end of that worry, if not for the next moment.

Of when they'd heard thundering hooves come tearing on in, the short, raspy breaths of a panicked steed and the thin cry that rattled them all to the bones.

“Pinkertons!”

Charles.

That were Charles racing in.

All wide-eyed and rattled.

And all Arthur could think was that it seemed as though their luck had finally run out.

Chapter Text

It weren't Clemens they'd found, but Dewberry Creek.

Guess they'd come up on them out of nowhere. Charles said it was like Blackwater all over again; nothing one moment, surrounded the next. Most them were fine, or so he gathered. Javier'd gotten hit in the arm and Swanson had knocked himself right on head, tripping over debris during the chaos. Turns out the Pinkertons weren't so lucky; most of them were dead, left scattered across the dried up riverbed, while several more gotten away. But they'd be back sooner, he guessed, rather than later and that sounded about right.

Charles said that was the reason Dutch and the others were packing and working to get out of there quick as they could with intention of coming up this way. He'd come ahead to warn them, but to also say Dutch had wanted to clear out of this place altogether in attempt to put more distance between them and the law. He wanted them to work on finding someplace new to stay.

Wanted Arthur to, that was.

It was a quiet irony and if Arthur weren't so jittered over the situation, he might be annoyed by it. Annoyed by the fact that Dutch ain't even consider the last two places they'd stayed, but that he was now expecting him somehow to find another place, just like that with no warning nor preparation. Cause where in the hell was he supposed to move some twenty-odd folk on a moment's notice?

“I might have a place,” Lenny had offered, hearing him complain.

Kid had been one of the first to his feet, weapon in hand and ready when Charles had come riding in. He was still tense, still on edge; guess they all were a bit, cause nothing made them sweat like the mention of being pinned down by lawmen. Arthur turned to him, studied him a moment before he nodded. Kid was smart, proving himself time and time over and Arthur trusted him well enough.

“Where's that?”

“Place I was telling you about,” Lenny said, hoisting up the rifle for him to see. “Where we found all these guns. It's a big enough place, hidden back in the woods. Folks call it Shady Belle; it's an old plantation house; plenty of room for everyone. Plus, Sean and I cleared most those crazies out. Can't be too many of them left, if any.”

Sounded like a good deal—maybe the only choice they had. “How far is it?”

“A few hours south of here,” Lenny reassured, “not too far. It might not buy us much time, but it should give us a few days. Maybe a week, if we keep quiet enough.”

Might be enough, he reasoned. He turned to Hosea who was standing near, seeing what the man thought. Hard to read that one was, always seemed to have that same, stern look on his face.

“Give us a few days to figure something out,” he finally admitted. “Alright—Arthur, you and Lenny head on over, clear out any folk that might be lingering. Charles, you go on, get Dutch to divert to that plantation Lenny was talking about. We'll meet you there. Rest of you, start packing.”

Was hardly a need to announce it. They already was on top of things, breaking down camp in a manner that they was used to. Weren't the first time they'd had to run on short notice and Arthur doubted it'd be the last. Folk often tried their best to slip free of work on most days, but here they knew better and there weren't no worry of having to keep after anyone.

Which was why it was easy to leave them to it.

Arthur taken Bo', Lenny mounted on Maggie as they tore on out of there, the kid leading the way. Roads were quiet as they sped past Rhodes and pushed their way towards the swamps. Good thing that; the quiet. Meant that the Pinkertons hadn't quite found them down here yet. That or they hadn't recovered from licking their wounds.

Ground on him that still did. A rage burning hot in his ears. He let out a grumble, voicing his frustrations as they cantered past Bolger Glade.

“I told Dutch, told him he was playing a risky game, but he ain't want to listen. The damn fool—least nobody was killed this time. From our side, at least.”

Cause the way Charles told it, it'd been a massacre on the other side. Bad luck that was, killing lawmen. Killing folk that deserved it were one thing, but killing those from the law, even spineless ones like them, seemed to stoke a fury that could only be quenched in blood. Their blood—Arthur was sure the prices had grown thrice in the short time he'd last been cornered by them. Doubt they would stop, seeing as they was in this area. They ain't got much time anymore.

They'd been sloppy, what with the messes they'd made. He could still see the smoldering fires of the tobacco fields even from here, and it wouldn't take much effort to poke about and hear about them missing horses or to the new characters that suddenly and helpfully popped up in town.

He should have known.

Stoudemire's boys had nearly found them and Arthur should have guessed that if bounties were on their heels like that, that Pinkertons would have been close behind too. Kicked himself for not considering it, too. Guess that was why he was so angry.

“Kinda feel bad, for not being there,” Lenny admitted, “but at the same time, I'm sort of glad I wasn't. You know what I mean? Blackwater was...well, I'm not sure what it was, but we lost folk there—good folk. And well...guess I'm just sort of glad we didn't lose more.”

“Yeah,” Arthur agreed, understanding. “I know what you mean.”

He did—though Lenny didn't say it, he could hear the longing in his tone. Knew the kid was referring the Jenny. Poor girl; she was just a kid herself. Surely didn't deserve to die like she had, but Arthur'd thought that Lenny had moved on from that. Guess he hadn't and he kinda understood that as well. Been in similar situations himself, after all.

“Just...I don't know what Dutch was thinking. He's normally not like this, he's—well, I guess there's no point in worrying over it. What's done is done and now we need to move on.”

“Literally,” Lenny laughed at the poor taste in his joke. “But this place, I think it'll be good. I mean, the wildlife leaves something to be desired, with the gators and all, but there's plenty of space and it's well hidden. Plus an actual house? Don't even remember the last time I stayed in something that had four walls and roof.”

He chuckled at that, “Yeah—back when we just starting to run together, when it was just us and a few of the ladies; we'd stay in places like that all the time. Move from town to town, find someplace that'd been forgotten in the woods somewhere, turn it into a home. Was nice; course that was decades ago, back when I was your age. Younger, even, I think.”

And it were. If he thought well and hard he could remember what it was like. When it was just him and Dutch and Hosea; Bessie and Annabelle and Susan. When they was just a few of them, instead of the lot as they were now. Could go weeks, if not months without making a stir. That weren't the case no more, not with how much they'd grown. Hard to keep as many folk as they had quiet and hidden.

Impossible, even, one could say.

“We had a place of our own,” Lenny mused, “before everything went down. Not a big place, but it was enough for us. You know, one of these days, I'd like to have something like that. Place of my own—when we're not too busy running from the law, of course.”

“Sure,” Arthur mused.

It was a pretty enough dream. Simple, yet near unreachable for folk like them. World looked down on them, seemed as though they were no longer welcome, as it were. Least for him; Lenny...well, he guessed if any of them had a chance, it might be him. He was young still, smart and clever. One of the best of them—he deserved it, if no one else.

But perhaps it weren't just him. Perhaps there was something to this—to all of this for all of them. It were a thought, an idea that was sown in his head, waiting and wanting to bud and bloom into something more, but he weren't quite sure what. Troubled him still, bothered him like prickly spines from a nettle plant.

Didn't have much time to worry over it, really. Shady Belle came up on them soon enough and there were some characters there still. Made quick work of them, they did, between him and Lenny. Kid knew where to hide and where to go, took care of the outside while Arthur gone in and dispatched the rest. Necessary evil it was, but it weren't like those folk were any sort of saints. Most likely done a favor, they did, in clearing that type of scum out.

Least the gators were good for one thing.

Hungry, mean bastards they was. Happy to dispose of their corpses; they'd have to do well to keep away from the water's edge, it seemed.

As for the place; it would work. Lenny had done well in finding it; there were enough rooms for a few of them on the inside, plenty of space for the rest outside. He sent Lenny on his way to bring the others in while he set about cleaning up what he could and making room for the wagons that would draw in.

Which they did, later that day in spades. Hosea first, along with John and the rest of the folk from Clemens. Ain't run into no problems on the way and that was good to hear. Figured the others weren't too far behind and so he'd helped in unloading what they'd done brought in while they waited.

And sure enough, the first of the wagons came cantering in, the horses well spent and tired from the long haul. It were Grimshaw and Pearson driving, which seemed odd cause Dutch was normally one to ride atop. Left him wondering to what the man was up to now, if maybe he'd held on back to follow on in, but once again that weren't really his motive. Holding back weren't his thing, really. Left that sort of thing to others is what he normally did.

But his questions were answered soon enough. Soon as they drew on close enough for Susan to holler at him. Barking out orders as though she were in charge of the damn place and Arthur might have bothered by that if not for what she was all hollering about.

“Mr. Morgan, Mr. Matthews! Get on over here and lend a hand! Damn fool took one to the gut and didn't bother to tell anyone; least not till he collapsed in the dirt halfway not two minutes down the road!”

“Hell you going on about?” Arthur frowned, walking on over towards the carriage. He weren't quite sure what he was hearing, unable and unwilling to believe what he thought it was she was going on about.

Barely brought the coach to a stop before she was jumping on down. In a hurry, a damn near rush she was, moving on towards the door, fumbling with the handle. He was right behind her as she opened it; the sharp tang of blood and death assaulting his nose, the crimson staining the floor below as he took it all in.

Dutch.

It was Dutch who'd been shot.

Chapter Text

They'd gotten him inside; settled him down in one of the rooms upstairs.

Dutch weren't awake for any of it and Arthur figured that was a good thing cause it sure looked as though it hurt. Bullet'd gone deep in his gut and the wound was thick with gelled blood and it were bleeding all the more as they went about cleaning it. Susan told them that she'd more or less slapped a bit of cloth into Molly's hands and hollered at her to keep him from bleeding out till they got somewhere he could be seen after proper. Was the most that could be done for the time and she'd done an alright job seeing as the man was still alive, even if he were a bit pallid. Her hands and dress were well stained and she was a right mess, on the verge of losing herself and so Arthur'd sent her away with Abigail so that they could work uninterrupted.

Or rather, Susan and Hosea.

It weren't really his thing, patching up folk. Arthur'd done his own work when required and he'd be willing to step in if needed, but this were more the work for them. For the reverend as well, but he were still nursing a right old headache from where he'd battered himself. That or it was a good cover for a withering hangover. Either was a possibility, but whatever the case, they ain't need the fool in here tripping over things and making it all the worse.

So they let him be and did the work themselves. Arthur kept close with a lantern held high so they could see proper. Night'd come by then and there weren't much a way of seeing what was going on. Knew it was gruesome work though, watched as they cut away flesh in order to fish the bullet on out.

Real good thing the man weren't aware for this.

And after, once it was cleaned and stitched and they could all breathe a sigh of relief, did they actually talk about what'd happened. Susan—now she were a mean one at times, stern and imposing, protective of her own, but that ain't stop her from launching into a tirade at them. Calling them both foul and vulgar names in attempt to shame them for what'd they done.

Or rather, what they hadn't.

“It ain't like that,” Arthur had protested, but it were Hosea who'd taken on the mantle. Known the woman long as he did, so it weren't about that, not really. Rather it was an ode to the fact that with Dutch being how he was, Hosea was the one who was running things now. Was just how it worked.

“Now, Susan—let's not get ahead of ourselves. Dutch knew the risk he was running, with the Pinkertons about. His luck just ran thin, is all. But there's no need to worry. He's going to be fine, we'll see to that.”

Weren't sure just how calm he was able to keep himself. Arthur's heart still ticked heavy in his chest, his nerves still tense to the point they were starting to hurt. Made it worse by her demeanor; Susan always been sort of like a mother to him in a way and he ain't like the vehement disappointment that rolled off her tongue.

“Has nothing to do with luck, Mr. Matthews,” she said curt, still holding onto formalities, “but rather more of the pair you pig-headed fools running about, stirring up trouble and all but inviting those damn fools in.”

“Hell you mean by that?”

She turned to him, stern and stiff. “Stealing horses, burning fields, not to mention causing that row back in the saloon in Rhodes—don't think I didn't hear about that one. Then not only do you leave Dutch like you did, but you go on and entice those lazy turncoats to sneak away and abandon us all.”

It were true that most their mischief this time had come from them. They knew it was bound to bring trouble even before they delved into it. But delve they did still, because temptation was too hard to resist. Old habits never really did die, it seemed. Yet they weren't the only ones to blame for what'd gone on. Especially not with the ladies.

“Dutch was causing a stir too,” Arthur pointed out, “his damn charade, parading about like a lawman? And we ain't entice nobody; they came on their own accord and I can't blame them, seeing the place he done picked out. Even you'd have to say that he couldn't have picked out a worse one if he was wandering about like a druken fool.”

“You'll do well to show some respect, Mr. Morgan—”

“I'm here, aren't I?” he cut her off, challenging her. “I've been taking care of folk where I can, Lenny and Sean and Tilly—weren't no one else that went after them, was there? I warned you all too, about how that place were no good and when shit came down, I got on and found a place so we can have a few more days before we're found again. Coulda just left you all, seeing as you all feel what you're doing is best, but I didn't. Still care about all you fools, though now I'm beginning to wonder why.”

Seemed to hit a nerve on that one. Something changed, softened in her. Was like she was suddenly tired and there was a sigh.

“I know, son—I know, it's just...hasn't been the same without you boys around. Without all of you. These past weeks have been hard on all of us, Dutch especially and he...he's done his best and I'd appreciate if you'd do well to remember that.”

Arthur guessed that much were true. He'd heard from Charles and others the same story before. Dutch was always good in coming up with plans and on getting them out of messes, but seemed like this time things had been different. And there was the guilt again, come pooling up in his gut, calling him a fool because he couldn't help but feel that maybe things been different if only he had been willing to stay around instead of running off and doing his own thing.

“Think we're all a touch exhausted,” Hosea cut in just then. A way to ease the tensions in the room. “We've had a long day; be good to get some rest. Susan, you go on ahead, get yourself something to drink, you deserve it. Arthur, why don't you stay a while, help me keep an eye on Dutch?”

“Sure,” he knew full well that Dutch ain't need any extra watch. Hosea wanted to talk—that or he was hoping for some support on the off chance the man woke. Be no telling what he'd think, or do, or even how'd he react. He knew Dutch well enough and for long enough to know it wouldn't be anything all that good.

“You boys come fetch me if anything changes,” she warned. “Don't care what time it is; drag me on upstairs if you must.”

“We will,” Hosea reassured her, pulling a chair on up near the bed as he waved her away.

Arthur gave her a moment, before leaning against the wall, listening to the steps fade. Was quiet for a time, room filled with nothing but heavy breaths and the stench of too close a call to death. Arthur cleared his throat.

“You really think he'll be alright?”

“Long as infection don't set in,” Hosea reassured. “It's deep, but...well, Dutch is stubborn. You know that.”

That he did. He crossed his arms, staring out the window into the dark. “Think we made the wrong call, leaving him there on his own?”

And Hosea was quiet, hands clasped and not really moving. Then he shrugged, gave his head a slow shake. “I don't know what to think, Arthur. You and I know that Dewberry Creek was no proper place to lurk. We'd gone there, could be one of us laid up in this bed. Or buried six feet under.”

That much were true. Could have been them, or the women, or Jack even. Hurt to think of it like that. Made him angry as well that Dutch were so flippant with it all. After all, it weren't him who sent folk away, but rather the folk who'd crept out from under his watch while he weren't aware. Arthur was glad they'd had; was too worried in thinking of what might be had they not.

Was worried more about what was to come. Only be a matter of time before they was found again. Shady Belle was hidden well enough, tucked far away in the swamps as it were, but it sure weren't invisible. Wouldn't be long before folk'd start come nosing around and find they was here. Word would get out, back to Rhodes or the nearby city and they'd be tracked down.

They was stronger now, big as they were. Had more guns to them and more eyes and ears to keep watch on the place and see an attack before it hit, but knowing those fools already did shoot did not bode well. Gone was the time for negotiation and the chance to talk themselves out of the corner. Arthur worried to what they'd bring next to see the job done. Worried, too, about what their next move was. Wondered as much out loud.

“Where we go from here?”

Hosea was quiet as he answered. “Not quite too sure on that, Arthur. Not sure if there's anyplace much left for us to go. I had hoped—figured we'd left all that nonsense up north, but they seem determined to hunt us all down. Fitting price to pay, I guess, seeing all we've done.”

“You giving up?”

It was a wonder. Situation was grim, bleak even. But he ain't know Hosea for simply rolling over. He were like Dutch in that way. Determined. Stubborn—guess they were all a bit of that. Reason they was still here. Been many of times where things were tough and they came out alright in the end.

“Course not,” Hosea reaffirmed. “I'm just don't see a way all of us come out ahead in the end, that's all. The world's changed and it's closing in on us; there's too many of us to simply disappear and it seems as though the Pinkertons and the law aren't willing to forget about us this time. We've been chased from the desert to the plains, now clear down here in these god-forsaken swamps. Where does it end?”

“Plenty of places to go yet,” Arthur reassured him. “We just keep going till we lose them. Ain't the first time we've been chased, you know.”

“I know,” Hosea agreed, “but this time feels different. Whole lot of us draws too much attention; there's too many of us to keep quiet. Feel like no matter where we end up, we'll be in the same situation, and it's only a matter of time before our luck runs out.”

He were right on that. Right on the fact there were too many of them. Arthur'd known that. Known that for a while, but he weren't sure on what the answer to that was. Cutting folk off, kicking them out—that weren't right. Nor was packing up and just leaving them all behind despite their differences. There was a reason, he supposed, that he'd stayed close even when they weren't in agreement. Leaving now, might as well forget these past weeks. Might have been better if he and Hosea'd just gone their own way when they was back in West Elizabeth.

Funny thought, that. Of what might have been had they just stayed there. Wouldn't have happened, he knew. Was far too loyal to just turn away and Hosea were too old a friend to just ignore it as well. That was why they was here now, watching over him as the man slept. Fool had made many of poor choices, bad calls and all that, but they both still cared for him. Done a lot for them, that man had. For him at least; taken him off the streets and taught him everything he knew. Dutch ain't deserve to be left nor forgotten, no matter how much a fool he'd been as of late.

But it left him thinking all the same. That strange thought settling in and refusing to give way. Because felt like there might be a chance if there were just a few of them, instead of the lot. Be easier to disappear, to let the legacy of the Van der Linde Gang fade away and in turn forge their own destinies.

How though, were the real question. More importantly, who—John and Abigail and Jack, they was easy enough to figure out. Sean and Karen, chances were they'd stick with one another. Mary-Beth sure was fond of that Kieran fella, O'Driscoll or not. Charles—well, he'd ran on his own before, same with Lenny, but he weren't sure if they'd be willing to go at it alone again.

There were other folk too; Swanson, Pearson, Bill, Javier—no telling what'd they think or how'd they decide or if they'd even agree. Maybe though, they didn't need to. Maybe it were enough to just send some folk on their way. See them to safety; the women and Jack, at least. John too, cause the fool needed to be with his family no matter what he thought otherwise. If they could manage that, manage to get the group down to far smaller than it were now, they might have a chance.

But before that chance could happen, they needed money. Was like Hosea said; they'd had some from what they'd done before, but it weren't enough. Not enough for a large group like them and surely not enough to dole out to smaller groups and set them right. Cause if they were to send folk off, they'd have to give the means to make their own way, and to do that, they needed money.

Felt like they always needed more money.

He let out a sigh, caught Hosea's attention at that. The man watched him close, quiet for a moment before he wondered.

“What's on your mind, Arthur?”

He watched Hosea in turn for a while, sorting through things in his head. Wondering if he should share or if his idea was just as foolish as it it sounded in his head. Then decided he didn't care much about making a fool out of himself in front of the man.

“Think I might have a plan, is all.”

Looked interested at that. Gave a nod, encouraged him to share.

And so, Arthur took a breath, and told him everything.

Chapter Text

The talk went well enough.

Hosea listened till he was finished, even though there was a bunch of rambling involved. Arthur'd never been quite one for words and he sure felt foolish while trying to explain it all. Yet, once he was done, Hosea said it was interesting. HE supposed maybe it was pandering, but the man seemed genuine in his support.

The problem was the money. Of not having enough. Was too, the concern of getting the rest to join in on the idea. Dutch especially—Hosea felt, and rightly so, that the man would not agree. Chances were he'd see it as some sort of betrayal. Arthur figured as much and suggested they not tell the man and simply keep quiet about it.

Hosea wouldn't agree to that. It annoyed him some, but in all fairness the man had a point. Weren't right to turn on Dutch like that and fool him; be easier too, in the end, if they was all on the same agreement to get folk to comply.

Most would be scared to go. Arthur ain't blame them on that—he had his own concerns about the idea, even though he'd often gone on his own before. Guess it were the the thought of making it permanent that bothered him so. Couldn't imagine how'd that be for the rest of them. Of where they'd might go and to where they'd end up.

But they wouldn't be going nowhere unless they had the means to do so. Small jobs and the like would earn them petty cash, though nothing close to what was needed. They needed a bigger job, a score that could set them and the rest for life. As to where and what—well, that was what they was discussing when Dutch first came around.

Saint Denis were not too far away. A large city in the likes they ain't been close to a while. Could have opportunity abound and Hosea had mentioned something of a bank when the groan came through the air. Drew them both to a halt, their conversation withering as they turned to see the man shifting.

he'd been out for hours now, so was a sort of relief to see him open his eyes. Still weren't wholly aware, Arthur could tell, seeing his eyes searching the dark in vague confusion. Settled once they landed on the pair of them. Uncertainty was masked quick, held under a guise of mild irritation.

“Where are we?”

Was Hosea who answered. “Shady Belle.”

A grunt; maybe a huff. Hard to tell. “And where is that, precisely?”

“South Lemoyne; near the Lannahechee. Some of the boys found this place; figured it might be best to hide up in here while the law simmers down.”

“Law don't simmer,” Dutch argued, trying to sit himself up. Didn't get far; mostly cause Arthur pushed him back on down, but also cause he hurt too much to try and fight.

“You just done got yourself shot up,” Arthur warned. “Just—take it easy.”

“So kind of you to express concern,” Dutch grunted, sarcasm heavy in his thin voice. “Perhaps if you'd shown that earlier, we could have avoided all of this.”

“Saying it's my fault you ended up with a hole in your gut?”

Curious thing that, though Arthur had already been holding that blame a bit. Felt like he might have been able to do something if he'd been around. Still, he didn't like that the man narrowed in on that, as though he could sense it. He shot Hosea a look, one of frustration or perhaps a silent plea to help. Liked that Hosea could sense what he was asking without having to say a word.

“How are you holding up?” Hosea cut in.

A distraction. Worked too, seeing Dutch grimace. “Ain't the first time I've been shot. Doubt it'll be the last. Those bastards got me pretty good, but it's going to take more than a bullet to put me down.”

Arthur huffed. “Next time might be more.”

Cause he felt as though it would be. Bullets ain't stop them the first time, so chances were they'd show up with something heavier the next. Could get ugly; didn't know when nor where the arms of law would stop, nor how far they'd reach to achieve their goal. He heard Dutch snort.

“We're here, aren't we? We're living,” the man argued, “while the rest of those bastards are rotting in some dried-out creek bed. Don't think we have to worry too much about them, anymore.”

“The same dried-out creek bed that we done told you was a bad place to stay?” Arthur reminded him.

He got a glare for that. “Shut up, Arthur.”

“Ain't gonna,” he returned, he truly he weren't. There were times he know when to keep quiet and not agitate him, seeing as he'd been running with him for so long, but now was not one of those times. Instead he was willing to push, to set the man right and get him to understand much as he could to how much a fool he'd been.

“I mean, out of all the harebrained decisions you'd done made in the past, this by far was the worst of them. Way I see it, you lucky you's the only one who got shot up.”

“Watch yourself,” Dutch warned, though his voice lacked vigor. Probably on account of the fact he was still so weak. Anger was there, all the same even without the usual edge.

“Been watching myself; watching out for others too. Guess that's the reason why we all still alive. Ain't no telling how things woulda gone had we joined up with you as you wanted.”

“They'd gone better,” Dutch argued, trying to sit himself up again. Made it only halfway before he sank back down. “Could have used you boys back there.”

“Not trying to pick sides,” Hosea said all careful, watching them both, “but Arthur's got a point. I've known you for more than twenty years, Dutch, and I trust you with my life; but I also know well enough to understand when you've made a bad call.”

“We've all made mistakes, Hosea.”

They had. Arthur among them. Weren't a single fool out of them all that were guilt-free. Had a lot of demons resting on their shoulders, weighing them down. Suppose it was luck they'd gotten this far along, but felt as though recent times had gotten worse. That Dutch had gotten worse. Think they was all reluctant to say it, even if they was all thinking it.

“We have,” Hosea admitted instead, “but I feel it's high time that we admit what worked in the past, isn't working anymore. We used to be able to keep ahead of things; now it feels like we're struggling to just keep our heads above water.”

“We ain't finished yet, Hosea. I mean, I ain't even played my final move. Soon as I...soon as I get my strength back, we'll be at it again. All of us, now that we're together again. We'll show Cornwall and those mediocre Pinkertons of his what messing with us entails. They want us—so they're going to get us, I promise you that.”

Arthur ain't much like the sound of that. “Sounds like you trying to start a war.”

“War's already here, son,” Dutch spat out loosely. There was a grimace. “Those sons of bitches started it, but we sure as hell are going to finish it.”

“Ain't no winners in war, Dutch,” Hosea said soft. Gentle. “Just losses, until one side concedes and it seems as though the Pinkertons and the law have an endless supply of men to throw at us. We can keep fighting, but there's no winning; least not for us.”

“Don't remember you being so craven,” the man tutted, glancing his way. “Your time away addle your brain, Old Girl? Have you lost all faith, so easily?”

“Nothing to do with faith, Dutch,” Hosea replied. “Just sense, is all. We took some risks that didn't work in our favor, now we're doing our best with what we have. Lost some folk along the way and unless you want to lose more, we need to change tactics.”

There was truth in that he couldn't deny, even if he wanted too. Arthur could see the frustration brewing, simmering just under his skin. Could tell in the way his jaw clenched and how his eyes narrowed, though maybe that was due more to the pain that was surfacing.

“Suppose you have some sort of profound solution?” he wondered through clenched teeth.

This was where he exchanged looks with Hosea. Cause this was where things got interesting, if one were to say. Talking about it with each other was one thing, seeing as they seemed to both agree and could discuss it rationally. Dutch was another thing altogether, seeing as he weren't always the most reasonable. Came down to pride, in the end. As well as the concept of accepting defeat—yet another thing Dutch did not take to all that easy.

Were Hosea who started. He leaned forward, arms resting on his knees and took a breath. Approached it all cautious like, as though Dutch were a critter all penned up and liable to strike unwarranted.

“World's changed Dutch; times ain't like they used to be. Place isn't suited for a group, large as we are. Best bet, we think, is to cut our losses and go our own way.”

Silence, to that. Dutch's face was pallid, though not from the lack of blood. Rather from shock, his voice thin as he whispered back.

“Go...our own way? You want...want to cut folk loose? Cast them out?”

“Not like that,” Hosea tried to explain. Didn't get too far.

“You have truly lost what shreds of sanity you have,” the man seethed, face red now. “Not only do you have the gall—the audacity, the cold heartedness— to abscond on your own and leave the rest of us starving and vulnerable, now you come back just to further wound us? To take from us what little dignity we have left? That’s all we got— dignity. Dignity, and each other, and I ain’t about to give up any goddamned part of that. Not for nothing. You’d suggest that we—we scatter like roaches and return to a life of servitude and filth? We go to die in gutters and throw away every goddamned thing we’ve worked for! Everything we’ve bled for? I'll never, never—”

Tirade ended with a fit, man coughing so hard that Arthur thought'd he turn blue. Worried him a bit; not so much his outrage because that was to be expected, but moreso how it seemed as though he couldn't breathe. Hosea didn't seem as concerned. Watched more with a thin expression, his voice curt as he tutted.

“Oh, calm down, before you kill yourself.”

“Ain't nobody's dying,” Dutch rasped, settling down. “And ain't nobody being cut loose.”

“That ain't what we're talking about,” Hosea corrected him. “This'd be more like...getting them somewhere safe, giving them a chance to live. If they stick with us, keep with this life? They'll be dead before the year's out.”

“Cast them out to the mercy of society and they'll flounder in a week,” the man argued, irate still. “Of all people...I-I never thought it'd be you. That you would even suggest something so—so ludicrous. After all these years; what's happened to you, old friend? You've changed.”

“Could say the same for you,” Hosea responded, hardly fazed by the accusations. “The Dutch I know would have done anything to protect the folk he claimed to love. He'd stand by them, support them—even in those times they weren't around. This Dutch, the one who's willing to drag folk to their death to prove some bull-headed point of his—this isn't the Dutch I know, or remember. Or maybe it is, and Arthur and I've just been too blind to see it, until as of late. So maybe it is us that's changed; though one might argue that it's for the better. Real question is, if you're willing to see it for yourself.”

Kept him quiet that did. Seemed like Dutch were processing things, mulling over what'd been said. Or maybe he was stewing, simmering in his own anger. Dutch was often like that, frustrated and agitated with self-conflicted emotions. He'd rant and carry on about things Arthur could barely comprehend at times. Usually during those times, Arthur left him well alone. Give him the space to work it all out. Weren't like they had the luxury of that here.

“We just want folk safe, Dutch,” Hosea said after a span. “Running these past weeks—guess it's made me see things different. Like things are going opposite of what we always said we was gonna do. We always talked about finding a place, but there ain't no place out there that's big enough for us all, is there?”

“Not here,” the man grouched. Least he was talking again. “And even if there were, we still need money. We just—just have to keep pushing, is all.”

“Running out of time for that,” Hosea reminded him. “Give us a few days, a week, maybe, before they're onto us.”

“That's—that's fine,” the man hummed. “A few days is all I need, I'll—I'll figure something out. We'll find a place, somewhere I—just let me think on it. A few days and if I don't—if I don't, then we'll talk about...about whatever it is you two want.”

A few days. Would take that long for him to heal on up anyhow. Wasn't like they'd have much going on meanwhile. So they could afford that. Arthur and Hosea exchanged looks, came to the quiet agreement.

“I hope for everyone's sake that you're right in this, Dutch,” Hosea said as way to concede. Was quiet a moment, then he stood, stretching. Rested a hand on Arthur's shoulder. “Think I'm gonna head on down, let the others know how he's doing. You alright up here on your own?”

His own—cause Dutch seemed to have drifted off. Guess that was for the best; man needed his rest. Maybe once he had, he'd come to something. Some sort of conclusion or thought that'd get them back to where they needed to be.

Because Dutch always had. He'd like to believe that he still would. Maybe that was old habits, once again, refusing to die.

And Arthur hoped they were doing the right thing.

Chapter Text

Next days were long. Felt long, at least, seeing as not much were going on.

Dutch was resting up and in the times he weren't, he was scheming. Planning on what their next big move was to be and muttering all quiet like to himself in a manner that made him seem as though he'd done lost his mind. They was used to it though. Dutch'd been like that for a long while and they knew well enough to leave him be in those times.

As for the rest of the folk, tensions were high. There'd always been a sort of pettiness between them all, but it felt as though it'd gotten worse. Maybe it had, or maybe it was simply because Arthur'd been away from it all for a time and forgotten. Their small group, for what it had been worth, had gotten along well enough. Weren't the same for the rest. Was too many different thoughts and opinions, and now there were new grudges introduced into the mix, what with some folk blaming them for running off and others blaming the rest for staying—he'd done his best to keep out of the worst of it.

Shady Belle ain't offer much a place to ruminate, though.

Was a right dismal place, what with gators on their doorstep and the air heavy and soupy that left it hard to breathe. Wasn't like he could just take off neither on account of all that was transpiring. Had to keep close to help Hosea keep an eye on things and keep folk from getting too heated with one another. Already done busted up a few fights that was brewing and working to keep folk in line. Last thing he needed doing was to be up and leaving, save for the one time he'd gone to the city for supplies.

Saint Denis was loud and full just as any city should be. Repulsive, as Dutch liked to call it and it were, with skies that were thick with soot and the streets that were drowned out in the din of chaos and all it was far too overwhelming for the likes of a simpleton like him. Almost left Shady Belle feeling like a paradise, even if the swamps were dour and company to be had was worse. Which is why he found himself straying a bit once he returned, skulking about the perimeter round an old fishing shack that had fallen into disrepair.

Was where John found him. Man had brought a smoke, offered him one the same which he took. Lit it up like it was some sort of comfort and he guessed it were cause it helped calm his nerves. Sun was setting, casting the area into darkness and shrouded in fog so there weren't much to see. Still they stood there a while, staring out across the water. And John were the first to speak, wondering.

“You heard anything from Dutch? About getting out of this place?”

“No,” Arthur answered, heavy, exhaling smoke. “Hosea's been with him; ain't been down since this morning.”

They'd been talking. Arthur heard them; he'd taken a room upstairs, not far from his. Walked on past earlier that day, but he ain't stop to loiter. Figured it was best if he gave them some space, and he simply ain't want to be around that sort of drama. Had enough of his own, mingling with folk down here. Still was getting the cold shoulder from Bill and Javier and a few of the others that had stayed thick with Dutch. Damn fools, the lot of them—to blind to see anything else, they was.

“You really think there's a way of getting out of this?” John wondered.

He didn't. Weren't nothing to do with faith nor trust, rather more facing the harsh reality. Entwined in the swamps as they was, they were safe. But they couldn't stay here forever and soon enough they'd have to venture out to find work, and soon as they stirred the pot he figured law would be right back on them. Was only a matter of time now and each day that passed put them in a worse spot. Best they acted sooner, rather than later, but he knew Dutch wouldn't hear of it.

He ain't say that though. Said something else instead. Something what he hoped would be reassuring.

“Give it some time. Dutch and Hosea will figure something out.”

The plan of theirs had come up again, though never agreed upon. He and Hosea, they'd come to an agreement, that nothing would be said until Dutch was onboard. They'd give him the chance he done asked for and after they'd move on if it'd come to that. So if anything, he needed to give them the benefit of the doubt. Had to pretend as though he trusted them to do what was right by them all, lest he start stirring something unwanted and sowing further disquiet amongst the group.

He discarded his smoke, and went to leave, stopping as John called out after him. “You really think that, friend?”

Sounded something like a challenge. An accusation maybe. Arthur turned back to him, saw the disgruntlement on his face. Anger there was enhanced by the scars that had long healed. Weren't that he was scary, necessarily, but something pressing was bothering him enough to pause. Cause wrong as it felt to turn on Dutch like that, felt more wrong to lie to John. Most certainly since it involved more than just pride, but lives—his and others.

He let out a breath, came back up alongside him. Kept his voice quiet too, even though they were the only fools out there.

“You know what I think? I think you should take your woman and your child—and get lost.”

Watched him long and hard on that one. John responded, a simple: “Do you?”

“I don't see no way outta this,” Arthur returned. “We in too deep to dig ourselves out and there's no place left for us to go; best thing you can do is give something to them that we can't.”

“And what about loyalty?”

“We always was loyal,” Arthur reminded him. Which they were, for the most part. John had strayed and hell, maybe Arthur had too for a time—but loyalty was what had them here. It was what had brought them back and tethered them down. What was choking them now, leading them to an early grave. Made him think on that. Made him say as much.

“Maybe it's time to be loyal to our ownselves.”

“And where is that we'd go?” John wondered with a scoff. “Don't exactly imagine us living up in high society back in the city.”

“Maybe not,” Arthur agreed; reckoned there weren't many of them that could. “But there's plenty of places out there you could find. Get some place on the outskirts of a town, find some work—leave all this nonsense behind.”

“And how's that supposed to happen? To get anywhere we need money; that's one thing we don't have.”

“Don't remind me,” Arthur grumbled. It was a fact already well known and a question he didn't have an answer for. There was the bank Hosea had talked about, but banks were always a risk and Saint Denis was far too large a city to simply hit it and disappear. Banks of the like in Rhodes and Valentine could provide a sum and were far easier to hit, but they'd long ago burned those bridges. Weren't no going back, least not for them where they were too well known.

“If only we held onto the Blackwater money,” he muttered, leaning up against the shack. “Did all that work and have nothing to show for it? And it's just sitting there, waiting for anyone to go after it.”

“Ain't no use in dwelling over that now,” Arthur reminded him. “Money's good as gone, cause we're dead men if we tried to go in after it.”

Dutch had stashed it somewhere. Somewhere in the midst of Blackwater and that was about all they knew. Even if the man was willing to spare the location, weren't like it'd be of use to them. The moment they showed their faces, any of their faces, it'd be long over.

“Us, maybe,” John agreed. “But it ain't like we're all there is.”

He stared at him hard. “What you going on about?”

“Just—been thinkin' is all.”

“Well, that's dangerous.”

Got an eye-roll for that, but he continued just the same. “We got folk running with us that never set foot in Blackwater; some folk that weren't even with us when we hit the thing.”

“So?”

“So,” John went on, quiet still. “What if we were to send them in, instead? Couple of the women—get them dressed up like one of Dutch and Hosea's games and let them do their thing. You know Karen could handle it and that Mrs. Adler seems like she'd do fine—”

He held up a hand, cutting him off as he thought it over. His heart quickening as he sorted through the details. Planning shit weren't really his thing; that he left to others, did well to show up when and where he was asked to be and that was about it. But he and John; they'd done many of things of their own when they was younger. Some had come out in their favor, others were stories they'd rather not rehash. But this...this were...

“That's kinda brilliant, for you. Think this is the first time you might have come up with an actual idea.”

John did not seem to find the humor in that. Shot him a glare, but he didn't take much stock in in. Arthur clasped him on the shoulder, told him to keep himself quiet on the matter while he spoke with the others.

Because suddenly, things seemed to be turning their way.

Chapter Text

Been a while since he'd been up this way.

Air was crisp and sweet in all the ways it weren't down south. Was refreshing, if he were being honest. Same as the river was, rushing by as they drove on through it. Bo' cantered beneath him, following the wagon at a distance, tired and worn but pushing all the same at his request. They'd ridden hard to get on up this way. Been riding hard the last few days now. Hadn't stopped more than a spell to rest the horses, as well as themselves before they was at it again. Their efforts had not been in vain; it'd taken them thus far, right to the heart of West Elizabeth.

Found themselves in the trees before they came to a stop. There was a patch not too far from the road where they all pulled in, the group of them collecting into one mass. Was him and John—Charles as well. The ladies; Karen and Sadie and Mary-Beth. Just the six of them who'd come up this way.

It was a risky venture and Dutch hadn't liked it at first. Still didn't like it much, but there was little he could do about it, and some of that was on the account he was still laid up in bed. He'd wanted to come with, no doubt to take lead or make sure they weren't gonna do him dirty and run off and maybe that notion should have bothered him, but it didn't. Had too many other things to worry about as it were.

Cause coming here was a risk.

John were right in his thoughts; the ladies hadn't gone into Blackwater and it weren't them who were known as thieves. Overlooked, mostly they was. Would be now, with any luck, seeing them dressed up all fancy and fine in ways not even Arthur would recognize them. Still was a risk though, a chance that somebody might notice them regardless. That they'd be caught and killed, or used as bait to lure the rest of them in.

Were many things that could go wrong.

Dutch ain't hold back on any of that neither. He'd sputtered out a tirade that was fit to have him tied and it were only Hosea who calmed him. Got him squared away and convinced this might be their chance—their only chance to move ahead as it were.

That money from Blackwater was their salvation. With that, they could go most anywhere. Do most anything. And once Dutch had seen that, his eyes had sorta lit up as though he were a child let loose in a candy store. A mischievous gleam on his face as he clambered onto the idea as though it'd been his in the first place. Let him think that, they did, just cause it weren't worth the fight. And it'd been fine up until Hosea said he couldn't go.

Was too dangerous, firstly, for him to be anywhere near here. Too well known he was and too easily he be picked out in a crowd and the entire ploy given away. Not to mention there weren't no way for him to travel safe neither, not with that hole in his side. So he'd been left behind and Arthur figured that was where most the animosity had come from. Least that was what he convinced himself cause he couldn't stand to think of where else it might have arisen.

Least it'd been easier to convince others to come.

John'd been onboard seeing as it were his idea. Karen weren't no chore seeing as acting were sort of her thing and Mary-Beth had been eager enough as well. Mrs. Adler—well, she'd more or less invited herself before he could even ask.

As for Charles—that'd been who Dutch wanted to send. Trusted the man, he did and wanted him with. Arthur saw no reason to complain, seeing as they got along. They worked well together and between the three of them, they should be able to keep the women safe. Up till now, that was.

Cause from here on—they was on their own.

“You remember the plan?” Arthur asked, though he'd already done so a hundred times. He saw Karen roll her eyes.

“Course I remember; we get in, drop the wagon off down the street and book a room at the saloon. Come night, we get folk drunk and start a row—while the law's dealing with that mess, we load up the stash and pull on out.”

“And meet at the basin,” Arthur reminded, seeing as she left that detail out.

“Of course; were else you think we fixin' to go?”

“With you, there's no telling,” he returned. Didn't quite like not being able to go with them; felt strange and almost wrong, but he knew as well that they wouldn't be welcome there. Guess this was where the trust came in.

“Just—don't go causing unnecessary trouble, you hear? Get the money and get yourself on out of there.”

“Don't worry, Arthur,” Mary-Beth reassured him, “we'll be fine.”

Hope that were the case. Still, he pulled Sadie to one side, told her quiet to make sure things ain't go wrong. Hadn't ran with her long, but in the times she had, she'd shown what she was capable of. Trusted her more than he ought to, he figured, but was glad she was on their side.

She promised they'd come back safe. Then they'd gotten on the wagon, and left them there. And now, all there was to do for them, was wait.

They sat themselves up on the plains there that overlooked the town. They was sheltered by the long grass and left their horses up near the trees and went without any sort of comfort in the hopes it wouldn't draw any attention. Kept with them a pair of binoculars to keep an eye on the town. Wasn't much they could do from here, but if trouble kicked up, they could be there in but a few minutes. Still, eased them all the same, watching the wagon roll on in till it disappeared.

Waited with bated breathed, they did, for something foul to spring up. But it didn't; town was quiet even if it were thick with patrols still.

Word was they was checking wagons. Heard that from Trelawny when they'd discussed this prior to leaving. Made a slight hitch in their plans, but hope was they'd be distracted by the fuss in the saloon and the women could slip by unaware. If not—well, they'd be there to get them out hopefully.

Heart still sped in his chest, angry and vicious the whole while and the sweat he spent was from more than just the sun. Talk was idle between them, quiet and mundane as the day ticked on by, ever so slow. Wasn't till late afternoon that John said something that caught his attention. Something small, but profound all the same.

“Talked to Abigail; she's open to the idea.”

Took him a moment to catch on. Arthur turned to him, surprised there. “Is she now?”

Charles was ever more confused. Couldn't blame him on that, seeing how this ain't been discussed before. “What are you two going on about?”

Could keep it a secret, but felt as though there weren't much point anymore, seeing as John had let the cat out of the bag, so to speak. Sides that, it weren't like Charles was about to go around, ratting on them. So he told him, bout how there was talk of the gang splitting up and each of them going their own way. Of how it might be safer, better that way.

Charles; he were quiet for a time. Seemed as though he were mulling things over and Arthur was almost afraid of what he might say. Charles had told him once that he weren't a fan of running on his own, given he'd done it for a long while. Liked Dutch too, he did, respected him despite the things that had gone wrong. Figured he might not be as open to the idea, so it were a surprise to him answer how he did.

“Back when we were near Valentine, I ran into some natives; the Wapiti. They're up north—talked with their chief, Rains Fall; sounds like they're in the same position we are. Hunted by the government, chased and beaten, ridiculed. They're good folk given a bad hand in life.”

Hosea had told him some about that while on their travels. About how the Indians were chased away from the lands and herded up into reservations. Charles, he knew, had history of a sort there. Wasn't a surprise he'd connect with them. What was a surprise was the fact he was telling him. Didn't feel like it had much bearing on the conversation. That was at least till he spoke again.

“Been thinking that I might go up with them. Help them out where I can.”

Been on his mind a while then. Weren't sure how to feel about that; felt as though he should be glad the man had some place to go. Felt strange, also, hearing he'd been thinking about going his own way, even before this discussion came about. Wondered too, if others were thinking the same. Maybe this idea of his weren't his alone.

“Not sure where we'd go,” John said in response. Was honest about it, “We just...the both of us feel it's the right thing to do. For Jack, I mean. Give him a chance to live an honest life, instead of—whatever this is. Don't really want him to go through the same thing we did.”

“It weren't all that bad,” Arthur protested. “I mean—we never really were kids, but it weren't like we suffered. Dutch and Hosea, they did right by us. Right as they could have done, I suppose.”

“I guess,” John agreed, “but it's like you said; that time is over. Now we have to do what's best for ourselves, before it's too late.”

Before it was too late—that were the important part. Lost a lot of folk recently; all those folk wouldn't have the chance to do thing different. To do their best, to get out of this life. The rest of them, they had that chance.

They had that chance, and Arthur guessed it were only fair that they were given it. Was a firm resolution he made, cause he knew Dutch wouldn't see it the same way. But he had to. Had to try. Once they got the money, once they got out of here, he was gonna get folk the hell out of this life.

Or he was gonna die trying.

Chapter Text

Luck seemed to be with them that night.

Felt as though they waited forever for something to turn, but in reality in was nothing more than few short hours. The girls stirred up some right trouble in the saloon shortly after nightfall with false drunken brigades and a few well placed insults. Even from the plains, the commotion could be heard. Night out there was quiet and sound traveled real well, putting the rest of them on edge as they watched from afar, tense and ready to fight if need be.

They needn't be, it seemed. Karen told them later that the whole thing was a right mess in the saloon. What patrols were left coursing the streets had been drawn in to help subdue the fight and in the meantime, they'd slipped out and gone right for the money.

That was the interesting bit, in Arthur's mind. There'd been a lot of theories as to where Dutch might have hidden the stash. Caught as they were in the firestorm that had taken place within the town, it weren't like he had many of options. Some whispers alluded to the riches being lost within the waters, chained tight to the pillars to keep it from floating away. It was impractical as it sounded.

More allusions also led to the prospect of it being buried within a grave - Dutch's mother's to be exact, though disturbing the dead seemed unlikely for the man an improbable for the circumstances they'd been faced with. Mildly, Arthur wasn't even sure if the man even knew of the grave's location, given his indifference towards the woman. Still, those rumors were abound within the gang prior to their departure, cast off only by Dutch's eventual confession.

The money it seemed was hidden in an alleyway. It was a forgotten passage that had fallen in disrepair and was vastly unmaintained. It was a narrow jaunt, apparently, with a turn that led into a wall as well as a dead end. Arthur could recall it vaguely in his travels prior, and from what he guessed, that passageway was once open, only to be closed off as more buildings were added onto the town.

And at the end of that alleyway was a narrow portion had been bricked over, save for one small section that had been passed over; that or worn away from time.

It'd been there that Dutch had buried it all. Set it shallow into the land, covered it with the debris and refuse from the clutter that had been left about. Guess it looked like nothing but trash all stuffed in them bags and the girls had made quick work in stocking it up fast. Drove that wagon on with nary a challenge and left Blackwater behind.

Arthur and the rest of them followed on out once they'd cleared the limits. They still stayed a fair distance behind in case there happened to be wayward stragglers coming along, but there weren't. And in the morning, they'd met at the basin like was planned.

And the take was good.

Was real good.

Arthur ain't even remember last time he'd seen such riches. Bills and bars and trinkets all stuffed in them sacks, spilling out across the ground. There was a celebration too—Sadie done swiped some bottles from the bar just 'fore they left, a token of spoils to celebrate a job well done. It weren't enough to get proper drunk, just a nice buzz which he supposed were the best because it still were a long way to get it on home without rousing suspicion.

He ain't like driving a wagon all this way. Been hard enough to get it here unsuspecting, but felt double that to get it back home, laden heavy with riches. All it took was one pompous fool or wayward eye to get suspicious and draw the law onto them. Avoiding the roads seemed a must, though the terrain wasn't always friendly to such a burden.

Still, the route had been set by Hosea. It was a trail that took them along the shores of the lake and kept them from the likes of town where they might be spotted and draw suspicion. It took a few more days of heavy travel, of long nights and the soreness set in quick and soured some moods. Though the prospect of their success, of what they'd accomplished, was what kept them going until at long last Shady Belle rose up before them.

Dutch were out waiting for them. Hosea too—the pair sat out near the fountain as they pulled on in. A mix of worry and concern and relief marring their features all at once. Others were there too, came on out quick to see what the fuss was about, and rejoiced once they saw for themselves.

He saw John gather up Abigail, pull her to one side. No doubt to discuss what it was they'd talked about. Charles went his own way and the women were welcomed back in by Susan who was glad to see they were well enough. Hosea'd come up to him, had pulled him into a quick embrace as though to shave of the worry set deep in his muscles. Seemed younger after, at ease.

Dutch, in the meanwhile, had come up, set a hand on his shoulder as he rejoiced. Launching out into a monologue that no doubt had been planned in their absence.

“Friends! Fortune has smiled on us once again. These fine men and women have walked into the jaws of death and have come out unscathed and triumphant! Our troubles are over, ladies and gentleman! Pearson, cook up a fine supper, Susan throw some music on, we are going to celebrate tonight!”

Then to him, calm and quiet, something genuine in his voice. “I had—had my reservations about you, Arthur, given our recent...disagreements, but you—you've proven yourself here. I'm—I'm proud of you, son.”

Interesting that. Cause in the same way it felt good, it also burned. Hurt something somewhere deep and he shot a glance at Hosea. Was something stern there; a warning. One he heeded well and wisely kept his mouth on shut, uttering nothing but a simple thanks as he fiddled with his hat.

Dutch, he ain't stay long, too focused on sifting through the fortune still sitting splayed in the wagon. Laughing all the while as he rehashed the events of that night so many moons ago now. Most everyone was pressed in close, fawning over it and celebrating already even though the party ain't quite kick off.

Hosea motioned, a nod of his head, indicating him to come along. He did, following up behind and around the corner, so they was out of sight from the others. The man kept his voice low still, a shared secret between them.

“Tried talking to him, about sending folk off again. He wouldn't listen; the fool's got it in his head to send us all across the ocean instead.”

“He what?”

Insanity, that was. Didn't seem safe nor sane. Aside from that, there weren't no way they could find a boat nor captain willing to take the lot of them across the seas. Weren't sure he even wanted to go; knew nothing about what was even out there.

Still couldn't help but wonder. “Where?”

Hosea only shook his head. “Some island—or Australia, as Strauss suggested. Got it into Dutch's head that it's a fine place for folk like us to start fresh. And I don't know, Arthur—maybe he's right. Maybe our time in this country is up and there's fortune waiting for us somewhere new, but it feels...”

“Feels wrong,” Arthur finished for him. “Like we just be running again, just somewhere else.”

“Maybe not at first,” Hosea offered, “but eventually. It'll be the same thing, just new territory that we don't know, and I can't help but think that's not a good thing.”

It weren't. But he weren't sure what could be done for it. If anything. Dutch always had the last say in things. Arthur gestured loose, letting out a sigh.

“You tell him this?”

“I did,” Hosea confirmed.

“What'd he say?”

Hosea's silence told him enough. Was something along the lines as what they heard before. The charade of faith and trust and sticking to the plan. The plan that kept changing to suit his whims, his desires. Left him angry, that did. Anger he barely swallowed.

“So, what we gonna do?”

Fair question that. Good he asked too, cause Hosea already had an answer.

And Hosea told him exactly what it was, that they were going to do.

Chapter Text

They all drank that night. Got proper drunk and celebrated as one should after a successful heist. Arthur'd let himself indulge, something he ain't done in some time. He figured there weren't much harm in it, seeing as nothing were going to change just then. Hosea'd shared his plans, but those plans would take some time in setting in motion, so for now there weren't much to do but wait. In the meantime, Dutch would go on being a fool and Arthur would go on pretending to comply to keep things subdued until things came to a head.

Be a nasty business when that came to it, he figured, unless they were able to convince him otherwise. Be a problem for another day, and last Arthur remembered was the burning warmth of the fire he sat around, as well as the one that burned in his chest of comfort, a slight buzz, though memories were fuzzy to recall.

He woke up that morning feeling sour and Arthur figured it were from more than just that indulgence. There was a heavy weight on him, thick in his chest and burning strange in ways he ain't quite enjoy. An indecisiveness he couldn't quite pin down, the unease that came with difficult decisions. Those thoughts were heavy in his head and it sure didn't help that Dutch had invited himself on into his room 'fore he was even properly awake, carrying on about all the things they needed to do.

Or more precisely what it was he wanted Arthur to do. The man had plans, a long list of deeds that needed doing and seemed as though Dutch had fallen back into that habit of old in relying on Arthur to see it through. It was punctuated by a lengthy monologue of faith and loyalty, of almost being free and embracing a new world for all of them. Feeling miserable and not wanting to cause any further grief, Arthur had agreed, if only to shut him up.

Was how he found himself here, in the slums of Van Horn, hiding away as he waited on a delivery. Guess there was a shipment of some explosives or another coming up this way—Arthur wasn't too sure, if he was being honest. How Dutch even knew of it was a mystery beyond his understanding, but he figured the man hadn't been all that passive in their time apart.

No, truth was he'd most likely been working this plan for a time now, only to divulge the more intricate parts now. Or some of it, at the very least, seeing as Dutch ain't exactly say what all these explosives was needed for, Instead, he was much more keep to keep on changing the story, droning on about how he was busy doing all the work and how the rest of them needed to get their act together and help carry the burden of it all, layering that guilt on thick.

Arthur hated how well that tactic worked. On how that guilt seemed to seep into the think cracks wearing away his gruff charade. Weren't much to be done about it, though. Not with where they was and what they was planning and even that worried him some because he weren't sure how it was they were gonna pull it off.

So he tried not to worry about it. He'd come on up this way instead, doing what it was that Dutch bade of him until he heard otherwise. Arthur had armed himself, now just ready and waiting to steal that wagon once it'd come on by. Best position, he figured, was  He sat out here by the lighthouse, though a part of him felt something like a fool. And a quiet part of him knew he was.

Knew he was because this ain't make much sense. They already had the money; there weren't no reason for them to be doing shit like this. Not anymore. He had tried to point this out to Dutch as well, wanting to know why. The man refused to explain, and the only response he got was something along the lines of needing to make noise. What noise, for what reason, was left to speculation.

Arthur didn't much trust that. Didn't trust this new plan of Dutch's, and part of him ain't even want to go along with it. Didn't seem as though it'd end well. They had enough heat on them already, what with the business of the Pinkertons hot on their trail. He figured they had days till they was found and shit like this was just wasting more time. But he'd promised Hosea to not mettle in things till he was ready. So he'd kept his head down, had agreed, had dragged himself out this way. 

Still, he found his thoughts wandering. Arthur kept on thinking back to what he and Hosea had agreed on, of going their own ways.Left him nervous, that did. He'd been running with the gang for long as he could remember, but where he was now, he ain't see any other way out of this. Least not one that ended well for all of them. Arthur had wanted to talk with Hosea more about it all before he left, but the man hadn't been around that morning. Was no telling where he'd gone on that and it left him stewing all the more. He let out a sigh, muttering a bitter curse under his breath.

“Christ, if I'd known you was gonna be this pissy, I'd stay back at Shady Belle with John.”

That were Sadie, chewing on him like usual. He glared at her. “Well why didn't ya? I don't recall inviting you along.”

And he hadn't. He'd gotten halfway here before he even knew she was trailing him. He'd tried sending her on back, but her retort was a simple 'Try and make me', which he knew was an argument he wasn't going to win, so he ain't even try to bother. Rather he'd just bitten back to not fall behind, because he weren't of the mind to wait for her.

Seemed like she wanted to cement that point even further. “You ain't need to worry about that; don't much care where we go, long as I'm not stuck back there with Grimsahw.”

Didnt get along, those two. Were like oil and water, always arguing and having different opinions. Arthur weren't sure why those two got at each other; guessed it was because Sadie weren't quite like the other ladies. More rough and tumble, she was. Aggressive. Guess Grimshaw didn't much like that neither, seeing as she saw herself as being in charge of them ladies.

“She ain't all that bad,” Arthur said in soft defense, “she's tough, I'll give her that much. But she cares; more than you can say for most folk, I guess.”

“Ain't care for me,” Sadie argued, “and the feeling's mutual. Sooner I'm gone from that woman, the better it'll be.”

Curious that. He huffed, “And where's it you plan on going?”

There was a shrug. “Wherever Marston's going, I guess.”

He stared at her.

She stared back at him. “What?”

He huffed, “Since when is John and you planning to run off together?”

Her face soured at that. “Don't be an idiot; Abigail asked me along. Said they was getting out this shithole and I agreed. Think we gonna head west, out toward New Austin or somewhere. I don't mind much, long as it's not back north. Too many bad memories, if you know what I mean.”

He mostly did, even if he didn't know much the personal details. Had heard some of what she suffered at the hands of them O'Driscolls, and knew how cruel they could be. Arthur guessed it was why she was so angry all the time. Or maybe she just always was and this was just an excuse to show it; no way of telling, really.

“Yeah, I understand," he agreed, "but we ain't going nowhere now; least not without Dutch's say so.”

And Dutch weren't going to say so. That much he learned, long ago. Worried him, much as it annoyed him, but there weren't any real point in debating that. Just had to deal, as he always did. They'd be alright, for a time—and when they weren't...well, guess that was a deal for then.

Sadie huffed in disagreement. Not a surprise seeing as she ain't hold the same sort of loyalty the rest of them did.

“Hell does Dutch have to do with it?”

“Everything,” Arthur returned. “Seeing as he is in charge.”

“In his own head, maybe,” she snarked. “But he ain't got no say in how we use our money.”

“Our?”

“Well, sure. We done did the work to go and get it,” she argued.

“Don't make it ours,” Arthur explained wearily.

They'd get a cut, something to keep them tethered, but the gang's share went to Dutch. Were that way to secure funds for them all, or so Dutch liked to say. He'd taken it sometime in the night. Gone to hide it someplace safe. Someplace quiet that only he knew of it so folk wouldn't be tempted.

Told this much to Sadie too, trying to get her to understand. Her response was curt, after a moment of silence.

“Hosea knows where it's at.”

“Oh yeah?” he wondered, curious. “How you figure that?”

Because if one thing were true, it was that Dutch refused to share those sort of details with anyone; even Hosea. But there was a strange look about her, a smugness on her face.

“Hosea followed him out; asked me to keep watch on things while he kept an eye on Dutch.”

It didn't much sound like Hosea; but in a way it sort of did. Man was clever and he hadn't really told Arthur what it was he were up to. Plus he hadn't been in camp that morning, and nobody seemed to know where he'd gone. Left him wondering to what he was up to. It made sense, in a way. A strange sense that left him worried and yet hopeful all the same. Because if Hosea knew, then well, maybe that changed things.

Maybe there was a better way, after all.

“What?”

She wondered; clearly she saw he was musing. He ain't answer though. The speculations that danced through his head were slippery fellas, unwilling to be caught. This weren't the time to muse on it. The wagon they was after was coming up the street now. Be easy to turn and leave it, but they was here, and ready. So he motioned, caught her attention so she'd be ready as well.

And Arthur were suddenly glad she'd come along to help.

Chapter Text

They'd gotten the wagon just fine.

Well, fine enough, if one didn't count the bodies floating off the docks of that shit-hole town. Weren't no law in Van Horn; 'stead it was a place for miscreants quite like themselves, but honestly the place ain't need any seeing how volatile the drunken populace was. Caused quite a stir there, they did.

In the end, it could have gone better; could have gone worse and least the pair of them had gotten out alive. Wagon they took was in good shape too—as were the dynamite stowed on the back. Crates of it; apparently for some mine work up north. What Dutch wanted to do with it was anyone's guess and it weighed heavy on his mind, cause he doubted it were for any good.

Wasn't the only thing that sat heavy with him. What Sadie said about Hosea did as well.

Turns out, she weren't lying about Hosea having followed Dutch and finding out where all that money was.

Man had told him the moment he'd come on back. He'd pulled him to one side beneath the shade of a tree. Told him all about how he'd gone out after Dutch and waited till he was gone to move the share and figure on how to split it all up. Was a surprise that, coming from him most of all. Hosea, now he ain't always agree with Dutch, but for him to go behind his back like that—well, weren't going to be anything pretty once Dutch found out.

“I won't just stand on by, let him run good folk into the ground,” Hosea said in defense. “We lost too many already; took too many chances in Valentine, then the stint back in Dewberry and now whatever he has planned with this,” he motioned toward the wagon. “We have the money, Arthur. We have the means to keep everyone safe and I reckon that's just what we'll do. Unless you think this high-seas adventure of his will work out, that is?”

“Course not,” Arthur frowned. Truth was, it left him nervous. Weren't sure what Dutch was planning and it all seemed more fantasy than anything else. But still didn't feel right.

“Just—ain't like going on behind his back, is all. What happened to what you said, about Dutch deserving to know?”

Cause Hosea had been firm on that and rightly so. Infuriating as the man was, doing him dirty like this felt wrong. Was wrong, he supposed, in many ways. Felt like maybe there was another way, but then again, maybe there wasn't. Maybe he was just pining, longing for the days when times were simple and they all got along for the most part. But Dutch—he weren't the same no more. No matter how much he tried to refute it otherwise, he'd changed. Weren't sure why or what had caused him to change, or if maybe he'd been changing even before then, but it were too late to try and pretend otherwise.

“We're well past that, I'm afraid,” Hosea told him quietly. “Now we've gotta do what's best for folk. Get them out of here before it's too late, and you know as well as I do that won't happen if Dutch catches wind of what we're stirring up.”

“I suppose,” Arthur agreed. Still felt wrong, but he understood. “But...how's we gonna go about this?”

Keeping it quiet from Dutch, he meant. Weren't going to be easy, sneaking about camp, under the man's nose, all the while pretending nothing weren't wrong nor different. Hosea might be able to cough up an act, but Arthur sure weren't the same. Figured Hosea might have a plan—though if he did, he weren't going to hear it on account of the shadow that fell over them just then.

They both turned to see him there.

Now Dutch, he were a force to be reckoned with. Like a coiled rattler, venom seething in his veins and burning red on his cheeks could make most fellas quake in their boots. Even for Arthur, in all the years he'd known him, could feel that twinge of apprehension that he long ago subdued.

Now though—now it was foreboding; pressure building like the prelude to a storm. Cause Dutch stood there, his features taut and pulled firm, that stark red set firm on his cheeks. There was a sneer on his lips as he stared the two of them down. His words crisp and solid. Staunched.

“Go. About. What?”

Seemed as though their ruse was up. Still he turned toward Hosea, as though the man, clever as he was, might come up with some story to hide their misdeeds. And for his credit, he stood there, uncowed, though his own face was taut with pained emotion.

“Now, Dutch—”

Ain't get to finish that. Man turned, quick on his heel, storming on back towards the front as though he couldn't get away quick enough. Hosea and Arthur exchanged troubled looks, followed after just a quick, as though they might somehow be able to mitigate the impending tempest that was about to be unleashed.

“Dutch, now hold on a minute—”

“No,” Dutch cut sharp, the anger still clear in his voice. He came to a stop, turned stiffly around. “You don't get say that—to think, after all this time, after all these years, this is what it has come to?”

He stood there, in the center of the yard near the fountain. Thing was long dried and fallen into disrepair, cracks lacing through crumbling craftsmanship, an echo of its former glory. Perhaps a cruel irony mocking them, a reflection of what they'd become as well.

Their disagreement ain't gone unnoticed, either. Caught the attention of others, folk who were busy or least those who tried to look busy, shifty glances cast their way to see exactly what was unfolding and how. Arthur ain't much like the attention. Could be bad, for the lot of them, if they didn't get things cleared on up and quick.

Dutch though, he ain't seem to be one to be simmered.

“Now, I have had enough of this—this treachery, this blatant betrayal of everything that I—“ he paused here, gesturing broad to those about them, “that we have worked for. We are out there, all of us are going out there, killing ourselves, trying to make sure there is a future for us, and here you are, the pair of you—running around behind my goddamn back, scheming and whispering, undermining all of the blood, sweat and tears these people have given for this gang. But no more—I will not stand for it. So tell me, old friends, are you with me, or are you against me?”

Struck him down to the core, that did. The accusation, insinuation, that they were the ones in the wrong, turning on him like they did. Might have been it burned so deep on the account of it being true, but it sure didn't make it all the easier to swallow. Left him to bristle, to go about arguing it as though it might somehow save face.

“Ain't like that, Dutch.”

Placation, 'stead of provocation. Simmer him on down, as opposed to riling him up. Wouldn't do no good, wouldn't gain no favors for them if they tried. Best to play dumb, act as though it weren't nothing more than some misunderstanding for now.

“Then how is it?” The man wondered, not buying the act for a moment. “Cause it seems to me, that's exactly how it is.”

“Dutch,” Hosea tried next, voice withheld and on the quiet side. “Why don't we go on inside, finish discussing this proper and quiet.”

“Anything you have to say, friend, can be said right here, in front of all these fine folk,” he challenged, gesturing to the others loitering about.

Drawing closer, they were. Some of them, at least. The brawn and muscle of the gang, the ones who ain't had much in trouble shooting first, and asking later. That were Bill and Javier, as well as Marston and MacGuire, come trudging up bit by bit, watching intently, a myriad of emotions caught firm in their eyes. Not too far behind them were others—Lenny and Charles, Mrs. Adler as well, more intent on skulking about the shadows but ready to intervene if that come to be the case.

“Thought we talked about this,” Hosea returned, voice still low as though he might hide what was being said. “Thought we'd come to some sort of agreement.”

“As did I,” came the response, cold and calculated. Cutting deep, it seemed. “Seems you don't care much about the past, do you?”

Angered him, that did. Weren't fair to call Hosea out on this, seeing as it was more his idea than not.

“Now, hold up a minute,” Arthur tried. Tried, and failed, seeing as Dutch was on him in just the next moment.

“Oh please, Arthur, as if you aren’t just as bad as him! After all these years, after everything I gave you, that I have done for you, and you have the gall to turn on me now? In favor of him, who didn’t even goddamned want you in the first place? I thought better of you, Morgan, and god help me, I don’t know why I did.”

Burned, that one did. Stirred something small and bitter in him cause there were a truth to that, though those transgressions had transpired ages ago. Was back when they all was younger and not near as wise. He and Hosea ain't always get along, and Arthur suspected it was cause they were somewhat the same, but he could well remember those early days when Hosea had all been in favor of dumping him off at some orphanage for all the grief he done gave them.

It were Dutch who'd fought to keep him, and won out in the end, but it where Hosea who'd come to understand him more, felt like. Felt all the more the same here, when the man reached out, laid a hand on his arm as though to reassure him. Give him the courage he needed to say what needed to be said.

“Ain't about picking sides, Dutch,” he finally spit out through ground teeth. “It's about doing what's right, about doing what's best for folk.”

“Don't you think that is what I'm trying to do here? You think that I'm playing some sort of game, instead?”

“Are you?” Hosea wondered, bitter now.

Dutch let out a growl.

“You— neither of you—have any place to be judgin’ me. You ain’t suffered and struggled like I have. You ain’t had to break your backs and risk your lives just to give some other folk a future. I took you in, all of you,” he gestured wild to the folk loitering about, “I turned you all from degenerates into men, into women of character and now the question remains—which of you is willing to stand with me now?”

Stirred something, that did. A murmur rousing up amongst the folk who were still drawing near. Uneasy glances exchanged between the lot of them, as though they were coming to terms with the situation. Rising up to the challenge, or perhaps, standing against it.

Because Dutch had made the ultimatum. Had laid the choice before them, a statement that warranted some sort of response. To stand with him...or against him.

And Arthur weren't sure he quite liked how things were going to end.

Chapter Text

Dutch was standing there, a solid force that couldn't be denied and the rest of them were facing the same suit. Arthur could see the rigidity in his posture, the way his hands rested on his hips, a hair's breadth away from his Schofields, a whisper of a warning that things could turn bad with so much as a poorly emphasized exhale.

Weren't like him, to start things in camp. Not really.

Usually tried to avoid business such as this, but there'd been times where they couldn't. One time as far as a soul ending up dead, one who'd been branded a traitor and so rightly had deserved that condemnation, but with careful consideration Arthur understood that the pair of them weren't too far from a similar fate. Needed for him to calm down, for all of them to temper, to talk things out like reasonable folk might, but it seemed as that weren't in the cards. Not with how the others were crowding about.

Bill and Javier both aligning themselves with Dutch, the other two mirroring them alongside him and Hosea. The rest of them, drawn closer—though not too close, guns held lose and at the ready should they need to be called for.

And Arthur—Arthur couldn't help the draw that swayed his hand. Instinct, he supposed, for fingers to brush along the worn metal, to skim over the rough leather of his holster. For his breath to slow and heart to beat firm within his ears. For the world to narrow down to what was right before him.

His motions were interrupted only by that of Hosea, who seemed to read him before even he could. To pause his actions before they couldn't be undone. A gentle hand on his, breaking through his concentration. Though it weren't him who spoke.

That were Javier, eyes narrow, watching them close. “Why you doing this?”

Guess it weren't a surprise to hear from him. He'd already spoken his part, in the time they ridden together back when they was rustling those horses. Unhappy he was then, just as he was now, and still chewing on the remnants that were left behind it seemed. All too happy and eager to blame what'd gone wrong on them, rather than placing blame on those rightly at fault.

“Now,” Arthur breathed, chest heavy and tight from the apprehension that was brewing there. “Think we all just need to calm down.”

“Last I checked, you weren't in charge, Morgan,” Bill challenged, gripping his repeater tight. “Think all this running around you been doing on your own has led you to think different. All talk, and no action, going around and messing things up.”

Fool always was an idiot, far more brawn than brain, all too eager to throw his weight around. Hand to hand he weren't a threat, nor was he the same with a gun, but he sure were quick to anger and that alone could cause things to go sour. Done it more than once, he had; let his anger get the best of him and turn nothing into something. And here, all it'd take was one finger too itchy to turn it into a row.

“That what you think?” Sean wondered, pushing into the fray. “Funny, 'case the way I see it, you's the one who's made mess of things. I remember how it was on the ferry, with you all shooting as you were. Made a whole mess of it; messed many things since we been running together now that I think on it—least Arthur here has the sense to finish things, 'stead of starting them.”

“How come every time something goes wrong, everyone's wanting to blame me?” Bill spat out. “Weren't my fault those damn Pinkertons showed up, but you know what? At least I was there—same as you, but you know who wasn't there? The same two trying to stir up shit now, now ain't that right, Morgan?”

“No, we weren't,” Arthur agreed, sharing a look with Hosea just then. “We were off, doing our own thing.”

“Arthur and I had a real lead,” Hosea added in, “we were onto something, something that coulda been big and you boys went and ruined it all. Chasing fantasies and taking risks that weren't worth taking.”

“There are always risks,” Dutch argued, voice soft, just shy of lethal. “Ain't never been any such thing as easy money; you of all people should know that. The money you have, the money you've taken, snatched out of the hands of these fine folks; that money was the result of our sweat and tears. And they've taken it—”

This part said with a raised voice, in addressing all the others so that they may hear, so that they, too, might be roused by his anger. “They've taken it for their own nefarious schemes, so that they may prosper and leave the rest of us to wither in destitution while they prosper off of our hard work!”

There were murmurs at that. A muddling of anger, of contempt—though towards them, or towards the fallacy that was being spouted, he could not tell. Anger, no doubt, come from those who stood behind Dutch—dubiety from those that come up to stand near them. Disgruntlement buzzing through the lot of them.

“The same money you took and hid from the rest of us?” Hosea wondered, challenging him. “The money that can see these folk to safety, to give all us the chance to start anew? While you chase after delusions of grandeur that you, and only you, desire? When will it end, Dutch? How many folk are you willing to sacrifice in order to achieve this impossible dream of yours?”

“Ain't no one going to die,” the man spat out.

“Other than those that already have,” Hosea pointed out, “other than those that might have, had Arthur here not snatched them from the jaws of certain death. Sean, Lenny, young Tilly, even.”

More murmurs that, approval, understanding. Though it weren't enough to quell the flames that had already been stoked.

“You always assume the worse. Doubters, the pair of you—been doubting for as long as I can remember, though I guess I was just a fool to assume it would just change. You act as though we abandoned them—as though I—we turned our backs on them; but that is further from the truth, old friend.”

He turned soft then, placating, hands held aloft as he glanced to those in question. Sean, Lenny first— “We were coming for you boys. Soon as we saw you were missing. We just were waiting for the right time, and Tilly,” a glance her way, “Tilly, my dear, soon as we heard what happened, I had the boys mount up and prepare to go out for you, but then Arthur—Arthur here told me you were safe and that was all I needed to hear. We would have never let any harm come to you.”

“And what of me, Dutch?” John challenged just then. He'd come up alongside him, standing firm. “You gonna say you came out looking for me as well?”

“Of course, son,” he reassured. “We looked—we did, but the storm—”

“Went days in it,” John cut him off. “You sent me on ahead, and just let me suffer out there, knowing that? Let me wander around, blind, without so much a clue as to where you'd all gone? I nearly died, Dutch.”

“Don't be dramatic, son.”

“What about those that did?” he wondered, “Jenny, Mac, Davey? You gonna say they was just being dramatic as well?”

“That's enough!” he huffed, nostrils flaring. “There ain't nothing to be done for it, and I won't stand for these accusations.”

And it were Bill who moved; Bill who were angry and reckless and acted, more often than not, without reason. Arthur seen him throw a punch over a mishap and not even blink for it. Guess it weren't much a surprise to see the same sort of reaction here. A snarl on his lips as he brought his gun up.

“This is getting old; words ain't solving nothing here!”

Ain't get a chance to fire, though.

His aim was met with that of others. Of Arthur, of John, of Sadie and more. Javier and Dutch each freeing their own, drawn and primed, ready to unleash. His heart pounded steady in his chest, a drum in his ears, the weight of the gun all too familiar in his hands, but feeling wholly wrong here.

His mind raced, trying to figure out where it'd gone so wrong, to how it'd come to this. But more so, if there was any coming back from it all.

Probably not.

“Ain't have to end like this,” Arthur warned, thought it felt more like a plea than anything else. Weren't sure he could follow it through. If he could do what needed to be done. A lifetime he was taught; us or them. They was always the ones on the winning side, a reason why the others could not prevail. First time it'd come to folk he knew, folk he long ran with and protected.

And then—

Gunfire.

Ripe and rich, close enough to make his ears scream. The echo reverberating though him, causing him to flinch.

Not from him.

Not from them.

From her .

Mrs Grimshaw.

Storming into the fray, the shotgun in her hands, barrel held loft to the sky. Her face marred in a vicious scowl, one that'd leave him to scamper off and hide in the days of his youth. One that no doubt did the same to the ladies, when they were skulking about.

“Put down your damn weapons, you ingrates,” she snarled, pushing her way between the severed groups, “or there'll be several of you needing the Reverend to see after you.”

The threat clear, though laughable in nature. A force, she was, that woman. Vicious and unrelenting, though she seemed like a spring shower against a hurricane. Still, she had split the tension, had swayed their hands long enough to clarity to seep in. For them to realize the precipice they stood on, and near were ready to topple over.

“Downright feral, you've turned,” she carried on. “You should all be ashamed of yourselves.”

“With all due respect, Mrs Grimshaw—this don't concern you,” Dutch warned, his voice cold.

“It's in my camp,” she shot on back, “think it concerns me plenty.”

Interesting to see how this might all play out. To see who might the reckoning force here. To see where this might go and how it might end. It weren't something they was meant to see. Not with the stirring and murmurs just beyond the woods.

The telltale hum they was all too familiar with. A stampede, the quickening of hooves tearing into mud, come clambering on down the path towards them. The warning shouted just before the first shot rang out.

“We got trouble!”

Trouble indeed it were. Cause it seemed as though the law had just caught up to them.

Chapter Text

The atmosphere was heavy with the echo of gunfire, both stagnant and rigid; the quickened tap-tap-tap of bullets being shed with the draw of laden wagon wheels alluded to the certainty they'd brought heavy artillery along with them.

“Everyone, get down!”

He found his own cover; a bit of respite offered to him in the form of a makeshift table turned on its end, the plank of wood thick enough to provide some protection against the spray of bullets, if only for a moment.

Hosea mirrored his actions, taking to one of the barricades left by the former occupants of the land. Dutch held in similar fashion, as the rest were, each hunkering down where they might find some sort of protection as what seemed near a literally army poured forth. Weapons were drawn from their side, Arthur clutching his own as though it were salvation, and in a sense, it were.

“This is Agent Milton with the Pinkerton Detective Agency,” came the call, a touch of jubilance backing those words. “We tried to play nice before, but now we are done with such games. Consider this to be your retirement.”

Milton—Arthur could remember well that name, the nuisance of a fool popping up far too often for his liking these past months. A lingering of regret there, not putting him in the ground all that time ago when they met along the shore. Might have saved him the trouble, saved all them the heartache of what was transpiring now. Still—

“How the hell they find us?”

That part was a mystery, unknown and unable to answer, his heart beating too quick to rightly still and thundering all the same in his chest. Even so, he swore he heard the growl come from across the way, the vehemence apparent in Dutch's voice.

“Could be anyone's guess, son.”

Odd emphasis on that last bit. Felt like an intentional sting and Arthur'd been around long enough to know better than latch onto it. Still did, all the same, a scowl marring his own features as he leveled his gun, picking off a few of the bastards.

“Hell you saying, Dutch?”

“Chances are they followed you from Van Horn,” the man elaborated, firing off shots of his own, “seeing as you were too busy caught up in the details on how best to drive the knife into my back.”

“Now I know you've gone crazy,” Arthur sputtered, hastily reloading. “Ain't nobody follow us on back.”

Long and true was that sentiment, a instinct driven into him since the early days of his youth when he started to run with them. To always cover his tracks, to always look back to ensure he weren't being followed. Arthur had long taken the mantle in coming up the rear, of splitting off to shake whatever law might be following.

Done the same here. Least, he was sure they had. True, he'd been distracted with the knowledge Sadie had shared, the murmurs of Hosea's doing, but surely it had not been enough to keep him from his vigilance.

Had it?

“Seems unlikely,” Dutch scoffed, “tell me, just how quiet was that job you pulled off?”

It weren't. Hadn't been—been instead a right mess that left half a town dead; if one could call it a town, even. Place was swarming with vagrants and wholly unwelcoming. Arthur doubted there was a lick of law even close to that area, but Dutch were right in the oddity of it all, of the law showing up mere moments after they'd come in.

“That's enough, both of you! We have more important issues at hand,” Hosea cut in, tearing through his thoughts.

He was right on that. Rife was the air with gunfire, calling attention to the desperation of their current situation. Scattered yells and screams followed behind, of those who were falling to well placed shots and more reacting to those that were too close for comfort. Shady Belle was being torn to shreds, the spray of gunfire eating away at what precious cover remained. Arthur watched this unfold, shifting on his heels, mind racing for an answer—any answer of the sorts.

Pinkertons blocked the way north—to the south was the river, the swamps to the east. Might have a chance if they turned west, lose themselves in the trees. But wide open was the gap from here till there and too perfect of an opportunity for folk to be taken down. Seemed as though the chance to make it was far more naught, than ought, for the lot of them.

He found himself swearing, shifting weight back to his heels, craning his neck to look out over the crates. Were only so many bullets he had, surely not enough to hold off an army—surely not enough to survive here, but neither was he willing to give in. Die he may, but he'd go down fighting if that be the case.

“What's the plan?”

Because they'd been in worse.

Or so he liked to tell himself.

A pretty little lie that assuaged his worries and clung to what little morale he had left. His thoughts were flippant, erratic like that of a mosquito flitting about, drawn to whatever course seemed easiest. Shoot first, ask questions later, and suffer the consequences that were wrought was often how he dealt with things.

That wouldn't work here—but here, he weren't on his own. There were others, others that even though were feuding, would stick with him, thick or thin, battling an enemy that was all their nemesis.

“We kill all them fockers,” Sean offered up, as though it were any sound and sane solution. Kid had pressed himself alongside a different barricade, clutching firm to his repeater.

“The hell you think we're trying to do?” Bill countered, downing a few others.

Wave was pressing closer, that much Arthur could see. Men crouched low, creeping across the bridge, scampering through the ditch. He put down one fool who had been too hasty in clambering up the other side. They was running out of time, that much was for certain. Their positions here weren't going to be safe for long.

“We need to get folk inside!”

Inside where they might stand a better chance in holding their own. Inside where they might get a chance to breathe, to organize themselves in a way they might actual turn the tide against this assault, and come on out ahead.

“We'll be trapped,” Javier argued—man had a fair point. Were only a few ways to get on out once they was inside, and vindictive and viscous as these monsters were, chances were they might just set the damn house ablaze, smoke them on out. Scurrying indoors proved just as much a problem as it did a solution.

But it were better, he reasoned, than sitting out here like ducks where sheer numbers would eventually pick them off, one by one. Arthur glanced over, turned his gaze at Dutch, as though waiting for him to the make the final call. Was needed, even with the fractures that had occurred. No man wanted to make the decision on their own, not with how fragile things were.

“Women and children inside!” Hosea pressed, taking charge when no response came. “Rest of you, hold your ground. Dutch, Arthur, you with me on this?”

“Always,” Arthur cast him a glance. First him, then Dutch, watching the scowl cross his face at that, as though offended by the unremarked insinuation.

“Why I ain't surprised on that is beyond me,” he tutted, the bitterness strong in his voice. “The two of you in cahoots, planning this from the start, it seems.”

“You saying we wanted for all this to happen?”

Man truly has lost his mind if that were the case, first for thinking they'd go on and betray folk and serve them up as good as dead, but secondly for letting themselves get caught in the fray if that were the case. Be easy enough to avoid all that mess, to avoid shedding their own blood by leading them astray, if such acts were what they intended.

“You tell me, son,” came the blatant reply.

“We can argue over particulars once we're not in danger of dying,” Hosea prompted. “We need to flank these bastards if there's any chance for us. Arthur, you think you can get on around to the left of them?”

“Might be able to,” he reasoned, taking quick stock of his surroundings. Though he didn't much like his odds, seeing the open spanse before him, but he also knew Hosea were right. It they was to get the upper hand, they had to somehow creep around them. He could do that, if he pulled on back and provided he had enough cover.

“Charles, you with me?”

Odds were better with two of them, rather than one and the man weren't too far from where he crouched. Found himself sheltering behind a towering tree, the trunk wide enough to protect him from the onslaught of the worst of it. He met Arthur's eyes, nodded in agreement, answering his question without so much a word.

Brave man he was, seeing he were willing to risk his life—maybe it had more to do with the simple fact they was all dead if they didn't try something. Still, Arthur was glad to have him watching his back; trusted him more than some of the others at the current moment.

“I'm with you too, Arthur,” John called out as well. Encouraging as that was, he refuted it.

“No—you stay here, keep watch on the house. Don't let these bastards get past the bridge.”

Wouldn't be of any use if that fool got himself shot up. Not when he had his boy, his woman to keep after. They'd come this far to have it all lost now on a risk that weren't rightly needed. Him and Charles were enough, in his mind.

“Boys and I will take them on the right,” Dutch called out, laying the groundwork for the rest of the maneuver. To creep around them, hit them from all sides in attempt to level the field. To pick away at their numbers and drive them from here. Least long enough for them to get their wits. Long enough for them to figure out where it was that they stood, and more importantly, where it was they were to go.

“We need to take the gun out first,” Lenny warned.

A truth in that; the maxim was deadly in its own right, the spray of bullets scattering across the entirety of the expanse. Arthur hoped them folk who scurried inside were keeping their heads down. Chances they were—Grimshaw had ushered them on in, had shuttered the doors. He trusted that she was smart enough to see that they would.

Still, out here, they were pinned down. So much as move and they'd risked turning into looking like swiss cheese, what with all the holes that would be left in them. Think they knew that too, the entirety of the reason they'd brought the gun along. What fury Dutch and the others must have wrought in their last meet, to drive them to such measures.

Still, he clutched his revolver tight, sucking in a breath, steeling up his resolve. Quiet was the air about him, despite the rancorous din that enveloped the area, his ears trained, focused the on the repetitive tap, on where the spray of bullets were directed. The moment they turned, pulled away from his end, onto the other—that was when he moved.

Arched up and over the makeshift barricade, sights trained on the miserable fool who'd been tasked with such a brutal undertaking. A clean shot—just one; no need to waste what precious little bullets he had.

Were enough though—the bastard fell, slumped forward onto the gun, the assault paused if only for a brief moment. A respite, long enough for them to act.

“Let's move,” he gave the holler, turning to move, pausing as he saw her there. Sadie, atop the balcony, rifle in hand. Swore there was a scowl on her face as well.

Seems she'd been ushered back to the house as well, but she weren't hiding like the rest. Her frame pressed tight against one of the pillars, the red stark on her yellow shirt which left him to wonder what was hers and what had been theirs. Time to wonder on that later, he knew. For now, she would serve another purpose.

“You keep them off that gun, Mrs. Adler,” he hollered, blunt but brief and prayed she'd not argue with him on this one. Long as that gun were down, they held a chance. Took nothing more than a moment for another fool to mount up on it though and turn favor away from their fortune. This much he knew.

He saw her affirm, then he turned to Charles, and with a nod they, moved on out.

Chapter Text

They crouched low, moving south first—enough to give them the space they required, as well as a bit of respite. Arthur could hear that damn bastard—Milton—spewing on still. Calling for justice and dues to be paid, the air still rife with gunfire though the steady tap had failed to revive, a promise that Sadie was upholding her end in keeping that damn gun unmanned.

Then when they'd cleared enough of a distance between them, they turned west—slinking off towards the shadows of the forest that lay beyond. Well beyond that was, but in-between were rolls of hills that moved with the land, their crevices littered with refuse of battles that came before. A testament that this was not the first fight this old plantation house had seen, nor endured.

He kept low to the ground, skirting over uneven terrain as he slowly turned towards the north. Charles kept pace, quiet just as he was, slinking along with the shadows. Shady Belle was near vanished in the fog that had come with the low light of the evening drawn to a close. Its silhouette was still easy to see, as were the pops of light with each discharge and the smaller figures that drifted down below, the bellows of battle still burning rich above the still of the air.

They'd made it to the trees.

Tall gangly things that stretched out in the darkening light, the tops of branches lost in the accumulating fog. A godsend for them, Arthur decided. Another layer to mask their movements though as thus far, they had yet to be noticed. And the rancorous drum that permeated the area gave yet another, the sounds of their quickened movements unnoticed, urging them to hurry all the more.

He came to rest against stone. Smooth and solid, though these remnants were all the remained. Used to be something grand, he figured, just as Shady Belle had once been. An entrance that stretched wide and far though it faltered through the years and had been lost somewhere in that time. It was enough for them, however. The each of them pressed up against one of their own, Charles watching him from across the way, waiting for his signal to move.

Arthur peered over his shoulder, into the fray, eyes picking out those who were friends and those who were foes. Hosea, John—still holding firm. Shadows flicking on the balcony—Sadie no doubt, perhaps some of the others joining the fight was well. Sean, just there to one side. Marking in his mind for later to which was each, but more importantly, noting who was not there.

Absent were the shadows of Dutch, of Bill, of Javier—those who'd taken off to the right. That much he expected, but more so he expected them to materialize in the forest beyond. Or perhaps on the verge of the swamp that lay just that. Might have been the fog sheltering all this from his view, or might that have been because nothing was there to see?

Dismal that thought was. The notion that more men lost lay scattered amongst the refuse that was spread out across the yard gnawed deep at his bones, leaving him unsettled. Not just any men neither, but Du—no.

No.

He could not let his thoughts drift and linger like that. Not here, not now - not when there were others depending on him. Milton and the others would continue this mad charade until each and every one of them were dead and rotting in the ground. There would be time later to dwell, to question, to rationalize and reason.

Before him, Shady Belle was still obscured in a sea of fog, locked in the continuous din of gunfire. it might be the reason behind how'd they'd so easily snuck up and around the others like they had. Risky business that had been, but necessary in Arthur's mind, seeing as this might the be the very thing that'd turn the tide in their favor.

They was outnumbered—of that there was no question, but they'd held strong against odds such as this before and come out ahead with just the right amount of luck. Though not all of it was due to mere chance, but competence when it came to the art of marksmanship. After all, many of them had long run this dubious path, toeing around the law and their rendition of justice, a lifetime in which they'd been given nothing but the opportunity to learn to survive or perish, each encounter only bolstering their tenacity to prevail once more.

The same would happen here. Arthur could feel it in his bones, thrumming through his veins and humming just beneath his skin. Adrenaline, it might be called, but it gave him the solidity he needed as he peered over the scene before him.

Between him and them were a sea of Pinkertons, the artillery they had brung with, the shapes and shadows marred in the fog. Among them—the outline of the wagon earlier possessed, sitting primed full of explosives and yet somehow untouched by all the rampant fire.

A miracle, yet also a boon.

A distraction that might be enough to garner them the time needed to draw the assault to their favor. Causalities there would be, though doubtful on their end, because there would be no fool among them to try and take shelter behind such an awaiting calamity. Still, he drew in a breath, hollered with all his might to give them the warning, brief though it may be.

“Clear the wagon!”

If he was heard above the clamor, that was unknown. Arthur hoped it was enough, prayed his intuition was solid, then leveled his aim. Took two shots, the first too low, the second, driving right into one on the crates packed atop, and a sudden flash enveloped the area. The deafening sound that followed was nothing shy of what'd he hear from Dutch once the dust had settled, but damn that wagon and the so-called wanted noise the fool hoped to unleash unto whichever poor unsuspecting fool. They could always obtain more come the following days if need to be; his focus was on the here and now.

Arthur could feel the heat graze his skin. The wave of Pinkertons before him were blindsided, knocked to and fro, crouching and dodging, flames roaring just beyond. The continuous din of bullets had subsided, replaced with shouts and hollers, curses and cries as they stumbled about. Arthur, emboldened by the situation, stepped free of the barricade, his sidearm leveled, zeroed in on one single, solitary target.

Milton—the leader of this brigade, the instigator who had herded and chased them thus far, who refused to relent and in his cruelty had brought this hellish nightmare down on them all. The one the rest of these damn fools were following, and now paying the unfortunate price for his arrogance. It was time to put this to a end, all of this.

What was it that Dutch liked to say? Cut off the head of a snake and the body will die?

The man liked that one; spouted it off a lot back in the younger days, back when he preached the idea of an Utopian society. That was when Arthur was young and foolish and willing to believe his dream might somehow become a reality. Now, older, though hardly any of the wiser, he understood that was more delusion than anything else.

Because there'd be no society like that for folk like them. You didn't get to live a bad life, and expect good things to happen to you. A truth he knew all too well.

But they could survive. Them—the rest of them folk who weren't as mean and nasty as he'd come to think of his own self. There was hope for the lot of them should they be able to pull out of this unscathed, and it was to their own welfare that Arthur held no concern for himself, nor the fools who'd come stumbling into the snake pit.

Sever the head—or rather, a bullet, neatly punched through his skull.

Until then, until that final moment, Milton had been spouting off something or another of justice. What he said was well lost, his words silenced by the newly found hole between his eyes. He stood a moment, staggered, then dropped silently to the ground. There was a fray of panic to that—a new scurry as bullets went tearing through, the understanding that they'd been encircled, that there were enemies on all sides.

Charles had joined him, favoring a repeater as opposed to the comfort of his shotgun. Better here for the first, than the latter, given the space between them and their enemy. Charles was quick in his work regardless, dropping several more, moving ahead in a ruthless manner he'd seen in the times they'd fought side by side, shoulder to shoulder.

Arthur reloaded, gun primed and ready, scanning the fray, searching the crowd for the other. For Ross; the second head of the proverbial snake. A mess it was, between the fog and smoke and fading light, a jumble of figures he couldn't rightly tell apart. Man was gone; disappeared, it seemed. That or already dead, it was too hard to tell. Too chaotic to take note, and nowhere the time to investigate. Arthur shook away the notion, turning his focus back to the matter at hand.

Chewed through them, they did. He and Charles from the rear. And from across the way, John and Hosea, pushing forward to meet them. Sean and Lenny right behind. All of them and others, working to close that gap and put an end to this matter once and for all.

Though still no sign of Dutch and the others. Arthur hoped they were alright. Hoped they were simply lost in disarray, or laying low only to pop up once things were back in their control. Wouldn't surprise him, that—though that felt a more favorable outcome than other possibilities taking hold in his mind. The though grim, though holding fast as he fired the last few rounds from his gun.

He let out a long, thin breath. Something more akin to a wheeze as he looked about. Shady Belle was quiet, the fog murky, brown in nature from the hue of moonlight not yet able to punch all the way through. Bodies lay heaped over one another in the muddied terrain, too many to dispose of, far too much to attempt to cart away.

Though there wouldn't be much point in trying. Shady Belle was no longer their sanctuary. Gone was the protection they'd sought and though Arthur knew their time here had always been temporary, it felt far shorter than they'd hoped. There'd be no choice but to move on, to pack up and flee as quick as they might be able to muster.

To where?

But more importantly how?

Questions he did not have answers to.

Arthur holstered his gun, wiping the sweat off his brow as Hosea drew near. The man reached out, rested a hand on his arm, a grim wash of relief on his features. His voice, just a dismal.

“You alright?”

“Fine,” Arthur reassured, inquiring the same in return. “What about the others?”

“Women holed up in the house alright,” Hosea nodded, “John—why don't you go check on them. Let them know it's safe, for now.”

Ain't heard a lick of protest at that. Seemed John had the grace to show a bit of maturity, or perhaps he too, was worried for his woman and his son. As he should be. Arthur let out a sigh, shaking his head as he nudged a body with the toe of his boot.

“What a god damn waste,” his muttered, taking in the young men who would fail to return home this night. Briefly he wondered if they had families of their own, though he was quick to dispel that dangerous thought, knowing from experience there was nothing good to be gained from it.

'Stead he looked up, fingers looped over his belt, eyes scanning the midst of the swamp. “You see Dutch and them?”

“No,” Hosea confirmed, “not since they split off.”

“You think they—?”

He wasn't able to finish that thought. Though with Hosea, there didn't seem a need to do so. He watched as the man shook his head, standing near him, staring through the murkiness.

“Not sure, Arthur.”

“Well...,” he sighed, drawing out the word, “guess we best go take a gander. I'll take Charles with, see what we can find.”

“Don't take too long,” he cautioned. “I'll have some of the boys help pack, work on getting folk out of this mess. I have a feeling it won't be too long before the law starts poking around.”

Another truth he knew. The Pinkertons were only the start—with the ruckus they made, it wouldn't take long for word to spread and draw down new problems. Arthur gave him a nod, turning to Charles, waving the man over.

“Come on then, let's find out what's gone down.”

And Arthur could only hope, that despite all that had gone on between them, that his intuitions were wrong.

Chapter Text

They never did find them.

Not for the lack of trying—their efforts all for naught, scouring that murky swamp in throes of darkness, wary of alligators and panthers patrolling the borders all the while. Hours spent, only to find a set of tracks that led up and onto a nearby road, becoming too tedious to track past a certain point. Seemed they was gone; vanished, without a trace.

Arthur hadn't wanted to believe it. Denied it even, spouting off defenses of how them fellas must have gone towards the road to gain purchase, to swing back around, only to have been held up somehow, somewhere. Not even the disappearance of The Count, Brown Jack and Boaz was enough to set that speculation in stone for him.

Those following days, before the last of them split off their own ways, Arthur scoured the likes of Saint Denis and Rhodes both, saturating himself in errant conversation, listening for whispers that might indicate their presence. Hours spent in the darkest recesses of saloons, of loitering in the shadows of the sheriff's, and even strolling through the graveyards or the gallows, in the chance things had happened swift—all of it had led him to nothing.

There was anger after the denial wore away. Bitter and strong, something akin to a monster that rose up in his chest that clawed desperately for release. A piercing pain of regret, of sorrow, that suffocated and burned far more than he thought possible. Because loyalty was everything—or at least it had been, once.

So he thought.

Seemed to him that Dutch thought differently, and yet, Arthur couldn't help feel a stir deep in his gut of uncertainty to which of them had been first to break that code. True, he'd held firm by Hosea's side, had helped hold that mantle of what it was they were fighting for and protect those they'd taken in and sworn to protect, but in doing so, had he truly been the one to abandon first?

And if so, was this not a just reward? Was this not him reaping what he had long ago sowed?

Troubling speculations those had been, hanging heavy and ominous over his head all the while they'd gotten out of dodge. Or at least, the others had, seeing as his focus was elsewhere. In his absence, Hosea and Grimshaw had gathered the others and driven them north and away from that hellhole. Lot of noise they made, and with Pinkertons knowing of their residence, it was only time before the rest of the law came in to finish what had begun.

They'd found safety deep in the swamps, a busted hovel by the name of Lakay that gave them a brief respite. From there, while Arthur had been off scouring the rest of Lemoyne for any traces of Dutch and the others, Hosea had taken charge in allocating the acquired funds from Blackwater.

That take was good—Arthur knew just how good, seeing as he'd been there to whisk it on back to Shady Belle after the liberation from the west. Split between the all of them, there'd been a sizable fortune, enough to set them good and see them well.

Hard it was still, to see them off. Arthur missed the most of them leaving, another new pain of regret and wasted opportunity, though wait they could not given time was not of their favor. If Hosea disapproved of his efforts, the man never did say, nor did he chide him neither, though a sound chiding might have been what he needed to get his mind back to the focus on what was important.

John was the only one who waited. Awkward that was, seeing him ready to leave once again, though this time with his family, 'stead of without. Shouldn't have been a surprise, seeing it was what they talked about, but Arthur hadn't been sure it was something they'd really see, given the circumstances of things. Felt strange, sending him off and knowing they most likely wouldn't see one another again. Truth was that he'd disliked him to start with, had held that disfavor of him for many of years, though a touch of fondness had slithered it's way in somehow and set up residency, overshadowing that annoyance as time went on.

He and John? Well, they was brothers, no matter what blood said otherwise. Arthur told him as much, mustered up the best of a speech as he could to bolster him, though words weren't much his forte. He'd done told him to take his family, to head off and keep them safe, told him to be a man.

Gave him his hat too.

Why, he weren't sure, though it felt right. Arthur'd taken it from his pa, all them years ago, when the fool had been hanged. Had held onto it for all these years like some sort of sentimental token, and Arthur felt as though it were time to pass it off once more. Give it another story to tell, he supposed.

Where they went, Arthur weren't sure. Hadn't heard from them, nor anyone else since they'd taken off. A decision, hard to make, though sound enough in reason. Safety—Hosea had said. Weren't no telling who was still sniffing around, looking for clues or traces. Letters hanging about would only invite trouble in the long run, of that he was sure.

And Dutch...

Well, there was no telling what he might do, had he happen to find one of them.

He was still around—they'd read as much in the papers of him. Law still called them the Van der Lindes, Dutch's Boys, though who was all still with him, and if there were new folk picked along the way, Arthur couldn't say. There weren't much to read about in them papers that Hosea brought back from town. Far as they knew, man had gone out west and was stirring up trouble out there.

There was a pain in that. The steady burn of betrayal had faded into something numb in the passing years, always there, always constant, but dim. Like a candle that had done burnt up. Still didn't help the questions that flitted through his mind, the 'what if's of each scenario. Of where they might be had they just stuck together.

Dead, most likely.

But maybe not—been a lot they'd gone through, worse things they'd come out of, stories to tell about the fire. Something to look back on and laugh at the absurdity of.

All that was gone now. But not all of it was lost.

The coffee was warm. The heat long gone in the crisp autumn air, the sun slow in rising to chase away the morning fog. Place they'd found was a cabin near a lake, long forgotten and crushed by a fallen tree. It'd taken some work to patch up and make it a home, though well worth the efforts.

Emerald Ranch was a quick jaunt to the south, ushering them into some semblance of civilization. Seamus, the old fool they'd done work for in the past, kept them in constant supply with goods from the city, provided they acquire select wagons in return.

Try as they might, Arthur and Hosea couldn't truly leave behind their way of life. Though one might say they'd adapted well enough. Simple cons, easy jaunts. Underhanded schemes—nothing that would draw the attention of the law, who were far too busy to deal with petty thefts and most folk in the area were too proud to admit they'd been fooled.

Arthur set the cup down, clearing his throat as he watched the colors dance across the surface of the water. Didn't even look up as Hosea came on out, sat on down in the chair next to him, holding a cup of his own.

It'd been decided without words that the pair of them were going to stick it out together. Ain't been anything agreed, nor argued on that matter. Guess it were something that had been long decided, and a good thing that, cause there weren't no way Arthur was gonna head on off, leave the old man behind. Not after all they'd been through, not after all the man had done to get them here.

“So, what's on the plan for today?”

It went as it always did. Starting the day together, either making plans to head someplace together, or to cut off on their own and meet up later. Sometimes there were jobs to be had, supplies to fetch, work to be done—but today. Today was a different story.

“Was gonna head on over, catch up with Hamish—he's talking about hunting a bear that's been hanging around the place. Big old mean one; you interested?”

Hamish—he were a fellow they'd run into one day, a few months back. A veteran; man had fought in the war and lost his leg for his troubles, but it ain't slowed him a bit. Fella had good stories to share, good drink, and knew a bit of lay of the land and where all them beasts like to lumber. Made for some fine hunting; a great way to pass the day.

Hosea chuckled, a grin on his face. “You think an old fella like me could take down a thing like that?”

Arthur rolled his eyes, “Come on, Hosea—you ain't any older than Hamish. You don't see him cowering, now do you?”

Fast friends, those two had become, even if the man refused to admit it. Felt good to see it, too. All that had gone on, all that had happened—it'd taken a toll on him. In some ways, seemed as though Hosea had lost more than Arthur had, seeing as he'd been there from the start. Dutch and him had gone way back, had been friends before any of the rest of them had come along, and for it to end how it did...well, it weren't pretty, by any means.

Yet Hamish seemed to fill in the gaps that had been left. In times they weren't otherwise occupied, Hosea would often head that way, leaving Arthur to his own devices. Not that he minded; was plenty to do to keep himself occupied in the meantime.

He watched Hosea though, watched as the man hummed thoughtfully, before unleashing a smile. He gave Arthur a nod, taking one final sip of his coffee.

“Alright, then—let's go hunting.”