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Hunting didn't sound like too much of a bad idea.
Arthur hadn't been quite sure about taking Isaac hunting : there were jobs to do, leads to follow, chores to finish... But he needed a break, and the kid was starting to get bored out of his mind back at camp. So when he ran the idea through Hosea first, the old man couldn't approve more and nearly shoved them both out of camp as soon as they were ready.
And if Arthur referred himself to the expression on the teen's face, he had made the right call. Arthur had to look back at his son every now and then, making sure he didn't run into anyone with his horse, as the kid was amazed by the sights of Big Valley.
Isaac had this sparkling in his eyes, the one that came with the innocent curiosity of a child discovering the world.
Arthur felt like a weight was taken off his shoulders, seeing his son like that. The boy was barely 15, and Arthur tended to forget how young Isaac actually was, behind the hardened facade forced on the kid as a consequence of their lifestyle.
Arthur had tried to shield the kid from it all as long as he could, but there was no denying it all. Not with the boys boasting about their takes and what they did to the last poor bastard who tried to pull one on them. Not with Arthur coming back to camp with blood that wasn't his plastered all over his clothes.
Not with Blackwater.
Blackwater had been a violent wake up call.
He realised that day that there was no shielding or pretending they were Robin Hoods possible. Not anymore.
But he also realised that Isaac had grown. He was becoming a young man. And Arthur was seeing himself in that young man. He didn't know if he liked it or not.
When he had heard the first gunshots, his blood had ran cold, and all he could think of was Isaac.
And when he had seen Isaac, with a rifle, in the middle of this whole damn mess, covering the others as they were fleeing with the bare necessities, he thought he was gonna have a heart attack right there and then.
At least he had made the right call, teaching the boy how to shot early on.
"Are we still far away? My ass's getting sore." A voice called behind him, pulling Arthur out of his thoughts.
"Nah, just around the corner on the road ahead we'll arrive to the lake, then we'll just follow the road deeper into the forest. That's where we'll found most of the game." Arthur answered, vaguely indicating the path ahead.
"But I want you to stay close, ya hear ? Rabbits and deers ain't the only things in those woods, there's bears and wolves too — and we had enough with Marston getting half his brain eaten."
There was a snort in response. "Yessir." Isaac said, a hint of amusement in his voice.
Arthur didn't worry much. Isaac could joke around and tease — much like any kids would for the sake of making their parents' hair turn grey prematurely — but Arthur trusted Isaac. He knew the kid had a good head on his shoulders, and knew when to be serious.
They spent a good chunck of their afternoon scouting out the area so Isaac would get familiar with those woods.
Arthur handed his vermint rifle to the teen, encouraging him to take a shot at taking down some rabbits, and he swore he heard the kid mutter something about a shotgun under his breath. Goddamn Hosea...
He also tried to teach the boy to use a bow, though he was no Charles, and he made the mental note to ask the man to tag along with them next time they'll go hunting.
Then, along their way, Arthur brought Isaac to a landmark he had found on a previous trip — a native burial site. At least, that's what Charles thought it to be. Arthur had drawn it down in his journal to show him, and that was about as much Charles could tell him about it, given the man didn't know much about the culture of his own tribe to begin with, he knew even less about the rituals other tribes might partake in.
Arthur was examining the site once more, being careful not to move any stones or knock down anything, trying to compare it to his last visit. Maybe he'd learn something new.
As for Isaac, he was on his horse, a few paces behind, on a small slop towering above the surrounding areas, taking in the sights.
It was... peaceful. Not much sounds, save for the wind and the ruffling of grass as squirrels or rabbits ran around near. For once, Arthur felt relaxed. Far from the chaos of civilization, of the mess with the Pinkertons, of the gang — as much as he loved their little family, if he had to hear one more of Dutch's speeches about faith he would-
"Pa!" Isaac whispered-shout all of the sudden.
"What ?" Arthur answered in the same tone of voice, looking at his son above his shoulder.
When he saw the worried look on Isaac's face, he frowned — surely, his face mirrored the same expression.
"Wolves." Isaac mouthed, as he stared down the hill to Arthur's left.
Fuck.
"How many ?"
"Two."
'Manageable..' Arthur thought. He craned his neck, staying in his crouching position, trying to catch a glance at what Isaac was seeing from his own position.
Surely, he spotted them. Just a few feet away, down the hill, two grey wolves. And they were staring straight at him.
Fuck.
"Isaac. Listen to me, boy. I want to to get down your slope and head right back to the path, alright. Just walk, I don't think they'll see you, it might not startle them-"
"What ? No-" Isaac protested in a whisper.
"Isaac." Arthur hissed. "Cross the river along the path and head up to the small waterfall up north-west. There's a trapper stall.. You'll be safe there." Arthur was keeping an eye on the two wolves, and so did they. They weren't moving yet, patiently waiting for their prey to start running. They were doing to hunt him down, that much was sure.
"What about you ?" Isaac asked, sounding a bit panicked.
"They'll be startled as soon as I move. I'll keep them away from you till I can get rid of them. I won't be far behind. Now git, boy !" He commanded.
Arthur heard the hooves of Isaac's horse coming down the slop and walking away in a slow canter above the buzzing sound of his blood in his ears. When he deemed it far enough, he took a few slow steps backward, seeing the wolves tensed up as his heartbeat started to get louder and louder.
He took a slow breath in. And out.
Silence.
Then he made a run for it. As soon as he got a foot in the stirrup, he heard the dreaded howling resonate behind him, the sound of claws scratching the dirt, as the wolves started their hunt.
As soon as he was down to the path, Isaac spurred his horse into gallop. He didn't know if the sound he was hearing was the hooves beat of his mare or the beating of his own heart in his ears, but it made it hard to concentrate.
As he crossed the river, he glanced above his shoulder. There was no sign of Pa. His hands tightened on the reigns as he felt his stomach clenched.
What if the wolves got him ? Shouldn't he go back to help him ? But he had told him to— But what if he hadn't been able to get on his horse— No, Pa had to be fine— Why weren't there any gun shot ? God what would he tell the gang—
He nearly fell off his horse as it tripped on some rocks. Shit. He couldn't afford to get himself messed up like that. He had to pull himself together.
He reigned his horse to a stop for a moment, allowing both their breathing to settle. He had to think.
Think.
His father had told him north-west. Waterfall. Trapper. That's what he should focus on. He only had a revolver and a vermint rifle on him, ain't going to be of much use against wolves if he went back.
Whether or not his father was safe, he had taken upon himself to be used as bait so he could be safe, he wasn't about to throw that away by being reckless.
Trapper it was, then.
Waiting for his father to show up felt like an eternity, when it couldn't have been more than a few minutes.
The trapper was talking to him — probably trying to reassure him — but Isaac didn't hear any of it, as he stared into the distance, scanning the trees for a sign, any sign, of his father.
He was desperately trying to quieten his thoughts, not wanting to think about the worse, about him being an orphan, about what he would tell the gang, god it was his fault he couldn't-
He swear he nearly fainted of relief when he recognised his father's white mare through the trees, his father on her back, looking whole and fine.
"Pa !" Isaac called out, jumping to his feet.
"You okay Isaac ?" Arthur immediately called back — of course his father would be worried about him when he was the one who was nearly teared apart by wolves.
"All fine ! You ?"
"Struggled to get them off my tail but I'm okay." As Arthur dismounted, walking towards Isaac to pull him into a one arm hug.
Relief washed over Isaac again, and at that moment, he silently thanked a god he wasn't quite sure he believed in.
Arthur thanked the trapper for looking over Isaac, which the man brushed off as nothing. They talked a bit before parting ways, as Arthur and Isaac made they way back to camp.
They might only come back with a few rabbits, but now the prospect of camp was much less boring, and the idea of chores much more enticing.