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Charles and Arthur, two men whose grumpiness could probably power a small town just with their expressions alone, were hobbling down the trail near Big Valley, the air thick with fog, moonlight glinting off their tired faces and sore backsides. And no, before you get any ideas, it wasn’t from anything else, they’d just been thoroughly rejected by their horses.
Those 'reliable' steeds had decided that the slightest rustle from some bush was basically a personal insult. So naturally, both men found themselves flying through the air like ragdolls, landing somewhere between 'ouch' and 'why even bother?'
Whatever was rustling in those damn bushes, one thing was crystal clear; Arthur and Charles were both sore, pissed off, and about ten times grumpier than when they started.
Arthur muttered through clenched teeth, stomping the ground like a toddler denied his candy. “Goddamn mule. I been workin’ that horse up for a year now. That damn critter’ll take a bullet to the face without even blinkin’, but a bush? Oh nooo, that’s where it draws the line." His words are grumbled, eyes on the ground as his boots draw up dust from the dirt. "I’d have better luck saddlin’ Cain himself and teachin’ him to ride.”
Charles just shook his head, laughing. “Well, maybe the horses just knows better than us what’s out there. Y'know, 'don’t mess with whatever the hell that is.’”
Arthur grumbled, “Yeah, a warning that says ‘You’re about to get your ass bucked off, y' pair of bastards.’”He kicked a rock sideways, looking like a man deeply betrayed by both nature and livestock.
And just like their stupid horses, Arthur and Charles got spooked. There it was again, that rustling noise coming from the bushes on the little hill just a few meters away. They both froze mid-step, eyes locked on the offending foliage like it’d suddenly sprout teeth.
Charles glanced at Arthur, eyebrows raised, silently asking the question neither dared say out loud: what the hell was that? Arthur’s jaw tightened. He gave Charles the exact same look right back, half 'are you hearin' this too?' and half 'i swear to God if that’s a rabbit I’m gonna lose it.'
Neither moved a muscle, both silently willing whatever it was to reveal itself… or at least make a run for it. But now, only Arthur gets startled, Charles' soft sigh making him jolt, the man continuing to walk. "Probably a squirrel."
"Do squirrels come out at night?" Arthur follows closely behind Charles, looking over his shoulders, ignoring the way the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
“Who’d have thought the big, bad Arthur Morgan’s scared of a little wildlife,” Charles teased, glancing back with a crooked smirk that said, I’m definitely not scared… much.
Arthur shot him a glare sharp enough to cut rope, his lip sticking out just a tad, like a grumpy kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Oh, shut your damn mouth before I stuff it with dirt,” Arthur growled, sounding way more pouty than threatening.
Charles just chuckled, eyes back on the bushes, mischief dancing in his gaze. “Maybe it’s a ghost. You know, the kind that haunts dumb outlaws who jump at every leaf.”
Arthur gave a shudder that was definitely not from the cold and jogged to catch up with Charles. “Ha. Real funny. Actin' as if you ain't scared neither.”
Charles scoffed, a faint, cocky smile tugging at his lips as he faced Arthur. “I ain’t-” His words hung in the air, brimming with false confidence… cut off by a low, guttural growl rumbled from just behind them.
Both men swallowed hard, the bravado draining faster than a saloon at closing time. They exchanged a quick 'well, shit' look, then slowly, hesitantly glanced over their shoulders. From the shadowy, fogged out depths of that damn bush, two glowing eyes stared back, ferocious, hungry, and downright unfriendly.
Arthur’s voice was barely a whisper. “That’s… that’s not a squirrel.” Before Charles could spit out some half-baked comeback, another low growl rolled through the air, followed by a fresh rustle from the bushes. This time, whatever was hiding didn’t wait for an invitation, it launched itself out, glowing eyes piercing through the thick mist like twin lanterns of doom.
Arthur and Charles didn’t hesitate. Curses flew out of their mouths like bullets, and their boots hit the dirt, pounding the trail as fast as aching legs could carry them.
“ITS A DAMN COUGAR! RUN FASTER!” Arthur barked between gasps, sprinting as fast as his old boots could take him.
Charles didn’t need telling twice, he was already fifty yards ahead, wondering if he’d ever live down the day he got eaten by a goddamn cougar.
But then, tragically, over the snarls and hungry growls of the cougar, Arthur’s loud thud echoed through the fog. “GO WITHOUT ME, CHARLES!” he yelled, voice cracking with equal parts fear and dramatic flair, sprawling flat on his stomach like a man resigned to his fate. "YOU... YOU WERE A GOOD FRIEND." Words shaky, fear clear in the way his voice cracks like a boy going through puberty.
Charles barely caught the words through his own ragged panting, but when he did, his heart dropped like a sack of rocks. Then came Arthur’s scream, sharp, panicked, and absolutely blood-curdling. He spun around, eyes straining through the thick fog, desperate to spot his friend.
“Oh God…” he muttered, feet suddenly glued to the dirt. There was no way he could just leave Arthur to be turned into mince meat, was there?
The screams suddenly stopped. Silence stretched out like the calm before a storm.
Oh God, he’s dead, isn’t he?
Charles hesitated only a moment before sliding the bow from his shoulder. He notched an arrow, every muscle tense, and took slow, careful steps toward the spot where Arthur had fallen, squinting through the mist and trying to guess exactly where the fight was happening.
Finally something comes into sight. Is he... Petting the goddamn cougar?
“Arthur?” Charles called out, voice low but a little urgent, inching cautiously toward the blurry shapes through the fog.
From the ground came a grudging admission. “It’s… a dog,” Arthur muttered, scratching behind the creature’s ears, like he was trying to reassure himself. His jeans were smeared with dirt, and his pride wasn’t looking much better.
Charles let out a breath, a mix of relief, laughter, and a hint of exasperation. His heart was still pounding like a drum, but at least the worst was over. He shoved his bow back over his shoulder and sauntered over to Arthur and the… dog.
The dog’s tongue lolled out, tail wagging enthusiastically, looking about as threatening as a toddler with in a bear suit. Definitely more interested in friendship than turning anyone into a snack.
Charles shook his head, a crooked grin spreading across his face. “Well, I’ll be damned… we keepin’ it?”
The dog barked sharply, like it knew exactly what was being said, and maybe even found the whole situation hilarious.
Arthur sighed, staring hard at the dirt to avoid Charles’s humoured smirk. “I guess... yeah.” He grumbled through clenched teeth.
Guess that's another addition to the ever-growing, chaotic gang. Damn mutt will fit right in.