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Arthur hadn’t even wanted to take John fishing in the first place. It had been a long day on horseback and being saddlesore had put the boy in a foul mood. Besides, Arthur was near twenty now. Far too old to be stuck babysitting. But in the end Dutch got his way, as Dutch always did.
As Arthur lay bleeding out in the grass, he wished he’d stood his ground a little better. His head ached something awful. In the back of his mind, he vaguely remembered Boadicea throwing him from the saddle. Now, his horse was nowhere to be seen. Arthur slowly lolled his head from one side to the other, surveying his surroundings through blurry vision.
It was dark enough that it must have been nearing dusk. The sky above him had faded to a deep navy. Rising up around him was a forest of old snags. The dead trees twisted around him skeletally, as if caging him in. A ways off to his right lay some dark heap of fur. Arthur couldn’t quite tell what it was, but it was big.
He needed to sit up, Arthur decided. Get a better look around. He moved to push himself upright.
Fire lanced across his shoulder and back. Arthur fell back down with a shout. Something inside his shoulder moved in a way it shouldn’t. Stars burst across his vision, the edges of the world fuzzing away for a moment. Arthur grit his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut tight. The pain began to dull, and with it a strange heaviness settled into his limbs. When he finally opened his eyes again, one or two stars had faded into being in the night sky above.
Arthur grunted, and squinted down at himself in the fading light.
There was blood, soaked across the front of his cotton shirt from his left shoulder outward. Now that he’d seen it the scent was impossible to ignore, acrid and metallic. Where the shirt wasn’t stained it was torn to shreds. Miss Grimshaw was not going to be happy about that, a small part of Arthur pondered.
Long gouges were carved across the front of his chest, wrapping around his shoulder and down his back. Those were clearly the source of all the blood. But, the wounds themselves were wrapped tight in some fabric. Marston had done that, Arthur was pretty sure.
But now the boy’d vanished, too.
Arthur dropped his head back, taking a moment to breathe as a wave of nausea rolled through him. The moment passed with a couple hard swallows, but a new chill had settled under his skin.
Where had John gone? Another quick scan of the perimeter confirmed it. Arthur was completely alone, and in a real bad way.
Maybe John had gone to get help. But they were a ways from camp, and unless he’d been able to catch Boadicea, Marston would be on foot. Rescue wouldn’t be coming quick.
He needed to get up. Learning his lesson from earlier, Arthur moved slowly. It still hurt like hell, but he grit his teeth and pushed through. He sat up, then moved to a crouch, and slowly made it semi upright. He staggered on his feet, his vision swimming, and he lurched into the nearest tree for support. Arthur swore he could feel his pulse beating in his shoulder and his head, pain spiking through them.
His knees shook beneath him, and distantly he knew he was going to lose the fight with gravity sooner than later. But, his gaze drifted back to that lump of fur, not before he got some answers.
With a grunt, Arthur pushed himself off one tree trunk and stumbled towards the next. He collided into it, catching himself with his good arm. It was anything but elegant and it left Arthur winded. But it was effective enough. He tried his best not to jostle his shoulder, but it was near impossible. The pain radiating from it was quickly sapping his energy.
He slid down the trunk in a semi-controlled descent, thudding hard against the ground. He could feel the pain taking over his thoughts. Whatever energy he’d summoned was gone now.
He hadn’t even made it all the way to the animal. All he’d done was move himself farther away from the trail.
He had gotten close enough to finally identify the carcass.
A cougar. One that had been all shot to hell, too. Arthur leaned his head back against the tree trunk. He let his eyes drift up to the sky as he focused on breathing, on ignoring the throbbing fiery pain and regaining a little strength.
That cougar had gotten the drop on them, he remembered now. One second Marston had been snapping at Arthur from the back of the horse. The next, the hellcat was staring them down from the middle of the trail and Boadicea was bucking wildly in fright.
They’d both been thrown, and John hadn’t gotten up quick enough. He’d been dazed from the fall. The cougar had lunged at Boadicea as she sprinted away and missed. As Arthur staggered to his feet, it’s attention turned to easier targets.
It was on him as his fingertips brushed the hilt of his knife.Long claws slicing across his back, throwing him to the ground. He was going to die. He’d been certain of it.
But that was all he knew. His thoughts were still a swirling, foggy mess and he couldn’t piece together any more. Arthur found he was starting to drift off. His vision was dim towards the edges. He found the pain in his shoulder had dulled, but that chill he’d felt before had settled into its place.
The drumbeat of horse hooves slowly registered over the ringing in Arthur’s ears. More than one rider by the sound of it, and coming in fast.
“We was just around here, somewhere!”
”Arthur? Can you hear me, son?”
”Stay here with the horses, John. Dutch and I’ll have a look around,”
The voices that drifted over to him were familiar. He wanted to call out to them, but when he tried all that came out was an anguished moan.
They were traipsing through the brush now. One set of footsteps moving farther and farther away. But the second, blessedly, was moving in somewhat the right direction.
“Arthur? Arthur! Hosea, over here!”
Someone came running closer. Arthur pried his eyes open as a calloused hand landed on his shoulder, then his jaw, gently patting him awake.
Dutch’s face swam into view. He was leaning in close, eyebrows pinched together with worry. He gave a small, relieved smile as Arthur stirred.
”That’s it, son. Seems you’ve gone and picked the wrong fight.”
”Du’ch?” Arthur slurred.
Dutch’s attention had drifted to Arthur’s chest. His hands hovered over the injuries, like he didn’t even know where to start.
Hosea was quick to appear at Dutch’s side. He sucked in a quick breath as he took in the carnage and dropped to his knees.
“It’s alright, my boy. We’re here now,” Hosea murmured. He leaned across Dutch, gently shouldering the other man out of the way, and to better inspect the injuries.
Each poke and prod sent a fresh jolt of pain across Arthur’s nerves. Despite Hosea’s soft apologies, and Dutch’s steadying hand on his shoulder, Arthur found himself starting to drift away again.
“Stay awake now, Arthur.” Hosea gave his good hand a quick squeeze.
“I’m hurtin’, ‘Sea,” Arthur muttered.
“I know, my boy. I’m sorry. Just hang on a little while longer,” Hosea pleaded. Arthur nodded. He would try his best.
Hosea had reached the makeshift bandage and was slowly working at the knot. Dutch was carding his fingers through Arthur’s hair. Arthur tried to focus on Dutch, on the soothing sensation across his scalp. But it was hard to ignore when Hosea tugged at the fabric, tugging at the wound that had stuck fast to it. Arthur yelped, and Hosea stopped.
He said a few words to Dutch, low enough that Arthur couldn’t hear. Dutch nodded. He raised a finger to his lips and whistled, loud and clear. The Duke and Silver Dollar came trotting over, joined by a shaken looking John Marston. John carried Arthur’s hat, clutched tightly in his hands.
“Is he alright?” Marston asked nervously.
”Not right now. But he will be,” Dutch said, definitively. And if Dutch was saying it, it must be true. Arthur could take a small amount of relief in that, even as he felt that darkness continue to threaten to pull him under.
“Alright, Arthur. You’re going to ride with Dutch back to camp, you understand?” Hosea was staring at him imploringly, so Arthur nodded. Even if getting on a horse seemed like an impossible task. Let alone riding one.
Dutch lowered himself down to Arthur, taking his good arm and looping it around his shoulders.
“On three, ready Arthur?” Dutch asked. Arthur nodded again. He could stand up. He stood up every day.
“One, two, three!” Dutch rose, and Arthur scrambled to get his feet under him. He couldn’t find his balance, and the sudden shift in position had sent his vision spinning again.
He started to fall. His vision grayed out as someone grabbed his injured arm. He shouted in pain, but it came out more of a mangled groan.
There was a flurry of movement, of voices speaking too fast for him to follow. Someone was trying to get his attention, but Arthur was too far gone. Whatever they needed could surely wait. Arthur was just so damn tired. He didn’t mean to shut his eyes, but he didn’t protest as darkness enveloped him.
Hosea was going gray, and it was all because of these boys of his. At least, that’s what he told Arthur, as he sat vigil at his bedside. They’d hauled him back into camp two days ago, deathly pale and unresponsive.
Together, Hosea and Miss Grimshaw had stitched Arthur back together. They’d washed him, dressed him in a clean union suit, and had been working around the clock to stave off infection and keep him comfortable.
Hosea couldn’t shake the lingering fear that had gripped him when John had come sprinting back into camp, covered in blood that wasn’t his own. Shouting that Arthur had been mauled by a cougar.
And the dread he’d felt when they’d finally found Arthur. The boy had been too still, his chest torn open looking to the world like he’d been the monster’s dinner.
When he’d first laid eyes on him, he was certain Dutch was going to tell him that Arthur was gone. That they’d been too late.
But now, Arthur was tucked away in his cot. Hosea leaned forward to check the bandages, something he’d been doing habitually, and was pleased to see they were still clean and neat.
Hosea settled back into his chair. He took out his book, and with one more glance at Arthur’s slack face, began to read aloud.
When Arthur finally did come round, Hosea had fallen asleep upright in his chair. Arthur fought his way to consciousness, past the warm murkiness that had settled over his mind. He awoke to warm clean sheets, a deep full body ache, and a pair of beady little eyes staring at him past the tent flap.
“Marston?” He mumbled. It felt like he had cotton stuffed in his mouth.
John, having been caught, stayed frozen for a moment. Then he slunk in, standing at the foot of Arthur’s bed with his arms crossed. He refused to look Arthur in the eye.
”You alright?” Arthur’s voice was horse from disuse. John shot him a glare.
”’Course I’m alright.” He hissed, quiet enough not to wake Hosea. After a beat, he added, “Are you?”
Arthur shrugged, but quickly decided that wasn’t the wisest move as pain sprung from his shoulder.
“What-“ Arthur cleared his throat, “Happened? To the cougar?”
“Shot it,” John answered.
“You shot it?” Arthur said in disbelief.
”Yeah, what about it?”
“Where’d you get the gun?”
”Fell out of your saddle,”
”I just didn’t think you could hit the broad side of a barn. Let alone a wild cat,”
”I saved your life!”
”I think I’m just lucky you didn’t hit me instead,”
”Well, next time maybe I’ll let the cougar finish you off!”
“Ah, come on, Marston. I didn’t mean nothing by it,” Arthur backed down. He didn’t have the energy to argue.
John looked uncertain, but seemed to begrudgingly accept the olive branch Arthur extended.
“Yeah, I know,” John begrudgingly admitted, “I saved your hat, too. Know you like it,” He pointed to the small table, where Arthur’s hat sat pristinely amidst the photos and the medicine bottles.
Arthur stared at it for a moment, a swell of emotion bubbling in his chest. He cleared his throat, looking down at his hands.
”Thank you, John. I, uh…” Arthur trailed off. He’d never been good with words. John shifted from one foot to the other.
”Oh, for heavens sake,” Hosea muttered, from under his hat, “Give the kid a damn hug, Arthur,”
Arthur muttered some excuse about how he’d been getting around to it and waved John closer. John latched onto Arthur’s good side in an instant.
It wasn’t a long hug, and the movement reignited some of the dormant aches in Arthur’s shoulder, but it said what neither of them could. I’m glad you’re here.