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Charles didn’t think he’d be coming back to America so soon, it had only been four months since he left, so much had already changed. The Wapiti had mostly settled, he would’ve stayed longer but when he heard about Arthur he knew he needed to leave before there was nothing left of the man. Rains Fall understood, he thanked Charles immensely before he had left, and then Charles was alone again.
Charles didn’t sleep much, he was hellbent on getting to Arthur’s body before it inevitably decomposed entirely. He knew the body would be hard to find, there’d be no tracks for him to work with, he didn’t know where Arthur was either. But he’d look, no matter how long it took, he’d look for Arthur.
When the news about Arthur first reached Charles, he didn’t know exactly what he felt. Of course he missed Arthur, of course Charles longed for the feeling of his hand accidentally brushing against Arthurs, but Charles knew he wouldn’t be seeing Arthur again when he left with the Wapiti, Charles watched Arthur get sick, his friend was dying and everyone knew it. Charles didn’t cry, he had just sat by the fire milling over all the times he and Arthur had spoken and all the other stories the gang members had told of him. There was an unease in Charles’ stomach, he was no stranger to loneliness, but this kind was different.
And it hurt going back through the Grizzlies and New Hannover, knowing that the man who he had once passed through that terrain with was no longer breathing. The man who he had taken bison hunting, the man who had his back, the man who had only ever been good to him, he was now just a memory. A memory so fresh in his mind but at the same time so vague, like a memory from his childhood or an old story. There would be more important people that would come into his life, Charles knew that, that’s just how life and people work, but there’d never be another person quite like Arthur. There wasn’t enough time for Arthur and Charles, Charles would die knowing that, and he’d be lying to himself if he said he wouldn’t wonder how different things would’ve turned out for them if they were given just another day.
When Charles finally returned to Beaver Hollow, the decaying body of Miss Grimshaw greeted him. He had looked around the caves for a while just to see if Arthurs body was there too, but he wasn’t there, Charles would have to look longer for him. Charles had taken Miss Grimshaws body and buried her south west of Elysian Pool, he hadn’t known her well enough to know how or where she would’ve liked to be buried, but hopefully being far enough away from the odd locals of Butchers Creek was enough. Burying Grimshaw was calming, in a way. He always had his thoughts, sometimes it was one of the only things he had, but digging Miss Grimahaws grave brought his mind to a stand-still while his hands gripped the shovel, digging deeper into the earth.
Burying her had taken about half of the day, by the end of it he was caked in dirt and sweat, his back and arms aching. That night he had allowed himself to rest, he knew it would be a lot harder to find Arthur than it was to find Grimshaw.
Charles isn’t fully sure how he had managed to find Arthur. It had taken him another two days, but he followed little bits of dried blood and dirt on rocks, hoping he was heading in the right direction and not just following a hurt animal. But two dead horses at the bottom of a mountain, one Arthurs and the other Johns, told him he couldn’t be too far. After that, it took him another three hours to find Arthur's body, he would’ve missed it if he hadn’t decided to look over the cliff.
Charles had stared at Arthurs body for a few minutes, choking up a bit at the sight of the man's body, before he moved to lift him. Arthurs body was cold to the touch, his skin was pale and felt odd, his body had swelled slightly, and some animal had taken a few bites out of him and decided the taste of his flesh wasn’t satisfying, leaving him to decay. Arthur’s clothes were dirty and his body smelled rotten, Charles didn’t mind all that much, he doubted he looked and smelled much better. Charles carried Arthur back down the mountain and put him on the back of Taima, he covered Arthur with the blanket he had brought with him in hopes that it would be able to help him avoid the suspicion of trail-riders.
Charles remembers the first time he met Arthur, he had thought he was handsome but treated him like any other stranger he had met. Arthur had offered Charles a small smile and a handshake, which Charles had returned before Dutch continued showing him around camp. Chales wouldn’t talk to Arthur much more until the gang was in the cold of the Grizzly mountains, but once they did start talking, Charles had wished they had spoken sooner. Arthur is still handsome and rotting and his eyes had gone gray after staring off into the sunrise for the past few months, Charles would’ve liked to see those sunrises with him.
Charles had ridden for hours before he had found a place he viewed fit to bury Arthur. Charles could see past Twin Stack Pass, even in the night. He thinks that if Arthur was able to see this view he would’ve stopped to take in the view, Charles knew he wanted to face the west.
Burying Arthur had been more painful than burying Miss Grimshaw. Tears had stung at his eyes with each shovel-full of dirt he dug, time seemed to drag on the more he kept digging, maybe he kept digging to keep himself from saying goodbye to Arthur for the very last time. His mind swam with the things they had done together and even things he had overheard Arthur tell others, there was a kindness to him that wasn’t the same as the other gang members. If anyone had deserved this death, it wasn’t Arthur. Arthur wasn’t the most righteous man in the world, but he had always been there to help, he was so close to getting out of the gang. Charles thinks if he had been the one to die instead of Arthur, that he would’ve looked for him too.
Charles didn’t know what he’d do after Arthur was buried, maybe he’d go back up to Canada and never come back. But Charles didn’t think of that until he was waist-deep in the ground, gripping his shovel as tight as a bear-trap and panting. He kept himself from having to move Arthur into his grave for another two hours by making an extravagant cross for Arthur's grave. Charles had always been good with wood, he hated to keep Taima waiting there for him for all those hours, but he needed to make Arthur’s grave with care, even though no one else would ever see it.
When Charles lowers Arthur into the ground, he runs his hand over Arthur’s eyes to close them forever, letting him rest. Charles adjusts the collar on Arthur’s shirt before he starts dumping dirt onto him. Blisters sting his hands and it feels like his throat is closing up on him as he stares at Arthur’s dead face, he still looks so sick.
Charles sat at Arthur’s grave for a long time before he decided it was finally time for this to be over. There was an ache in his heart he had never felt before, he could hear Arthur's voice on the wind and in the chirps of the birds, he couldn’t decide if he hated it or if it was a lovely thing, but he hadn’t cried much and he hated himself for that. Charles had never told Arthur how he really felt, but he hoped he knew, he didn’t even know if he would’ve been able to make things work for the two of them. But Arthur is dead and Charles is alone, some things could’ve been worse.