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Chapter Text

Really, it was Micah’s fault.

Arthur urged his horse through the East Grizzlies, trying to enjoy the soft golden glow of the field in the morning sun.  His eyes drifted around the area.  The hunting trip had been unsuccessful so far, mostly because of Arthur’s desire to track down another grizzly bear.  According to the trapper who was becoming a regular stop for Arthur, a perfect grizzly pelt could be made into a rather nice, custom fit saddle.  The saddle that came with the tall, dapple grey Hungarian Half-bred he acquired from Benedict Allbright was old, worn, and frankly a little uncomfortable after a full day of riding.  

It was very unlike the horse herself.  Young and vibrant, the mare took to Arthur almost immediately.  She confidently trotted down the trail, and even though she spooked at seeing a snake earlier, she didn’t buck him off, so he counted that as a win.  He named her Dakota, after having to fish her previous owner out of the Dakota River seconds after trying to collect the man’s bounty.  In the end, he received fifty dollars and a new horse for his efforts!

The hunting trip was a suggestion from Hosea.  Two days ago, Arthur left Strawberry bitter and angry from rescuing Micah Bell from jail.  If he had known what was about to happen, he would have left the man to hang!  Immediately after springing the whining, simpering idiot from his cell, Micah turned his borrowed gun on half the town.  Arthur was forced to kill or be killed while lawmen and citizens alike turned their weapons at the two outlaws.  They managed to escape, but not before Micah killed a man and woman inside a house just to retrieve his precious guns.

When Arthur rode into camp alone, as Micah insisting on getting a score as an apology to Dutch, he was quiet and withdrawn.  Dutch asked what happened with Micah, and Arthur snapped a reply about the situation.  Then, Dutch only seemed concerned about where his man was and not what said man had done, causing Arthur to feel even worse.  The anger building since Micah joined the gang was about to hit its peak.  Between the failed ferry robbery (Micah’s idea), the way he reacted to finding Mrs. Adler (literally burned her house down), and now this?  Sure, Dutch seemed to have a soft spot for people who had saved his life, but Micah didn’t fit in with the rest of the gang.  Fortunately, Hosea overheard everything.  He pulled Arthur out of his dark thoughts by ordering him to take some time for himself to relax and clear his head.

Stopping to inspect an old structure, Arthur was immediately struck by the smell of rot.  Two bodies sat just beyond the torn down door, a clear sign of an animal attack!  And a large bear too, according to the paw print just outside.  Arthur took a moment to feel sorry for the poor bastards that had pissed off a grizzly, but couldn’t help but wonder if the bear could still be around somewhere!  Mounting Dakota again, he guided her off the path into field.  Loading his rifle, he kept his head on a swivel for scraps of fur, animal dung, and other trail indicators.  But it seemed he was too late.  The field came to life as the sun continued to rise, with deer, elk, and a small herd of wild horses trampling the red and purple flowers.  Whatever predator lived here was long gone.

There was one last place to check: the small patch of trees nestled near the steep incline of the mountain.  If there was any sign of a bear, he would find a place to set some bait and wait.  If not, it was probably time to return to camp, maybe track down an elk for the camp on the way.  They were still trying to recover from the disaster at Blackwater.  So far, Arthur had brought in money from the monster bear pelt, the O’Driscoll money stashed in the chimney at Six Point Cabin, and the bounty he collected.  But unfortunately, it wasn’t nearly enough for a camp of their size, and any chance to plan for a larger score kept being interrupted.

Rescuing Sean was a good interruption.  Thinking about the rescue of Micah just put Arthur in a foul mood again.

It was in this foul mood that Arthur stumbled on another cabin, though he could barely call it that.  The structure was mostly open, no door blocking its entrance.  He turned Dakota to investigate further, the splashes of color that he could make out from the distance promised possible loot.  But not far from the entrance, Dakota planted her feet.

“Come on girl, it’s alright,” Arthur tried, nudging her sides with his spurs, but the horse refused to move.  She tossed her head, and when he tried to move her forward again, she gave a small buck.  Not enough to throw him from the saddle, but enough to let him know that she didn’t plan to go anywhere.  Wondering if an animal was inside, perhaps the bear he was looking for, Arthur slid quietly from the saddle, rifle ready.

But the cabin appeared empty!  And odd, very odd.  Arthur slung his rifle over his shoulder, eyes widening as he took in its features.  The walls looked like they had been taken over by the surrounding woods, with vines and branches filling the spaces where barriers once stood.  The red pillows that originally caught his eye matched with a red cloth on a table.  Liquor bottles, old books, and a mixing bowl joined the feathers and human skull on the dusty surface.  Curious, Arthur opened one of the books to find weird writing, clearly a language other than English.

“CAW!”  Arthur jumped at the loud noise, hand sliding to his holster as he spun around.  A raven was perched at the back of the cabin, watching him with judgmental eyes.  Unlike most birds, it didn’t fly away when he approached.  It guarded a disturbing collection of animal bones.  One elk skull, with a large set of antlers, stood out immediately.  But there were other bones around, some suspiciously human.  Animal meat, seemingly freshly carved, was left out on a block near many lit candles.  Moonshine was next to herbivore bait.  And, the most disturbing of all, was the bubbling cauldron of dark liquid, left to heat over low flames.

For some unknown reason, he really wanted to drink it.

Halfway to the cauldron, Arthur stopped.  “This is stupid,” he said to himself, and went back to looting the cabin.  Whoever made the brew was probably trying for poison.  He picked up the bait, figuring he could use it later.  He wasn’t a fan of moonshine, like some people he knew, but Charles had recently asked him to bring some back to make fire arrows, and Arthur had kept an eye out for it every since.  It joined the bait in his satchel.  He was about to open the chest near the front, content to get out of there, when the raven screeched again.

“Shoo, get outta here!” Arthur shouted, but the raven stared pointedly at him, then turned its head to the cauldron.  Arthur’s eyes tracked its gaze, mesmerized by the slow boil.  Without conscious thought, he stood and began to move towards it.  Surprisingly, it didn’t smell terrible.  A faint, floral scent filled his nose, the opposite of the black color filling his sight.  But his eyes dropped to the meat, the alcohol, and he shuddered.  Who knew what was sitting in that cauldron!  Perfume aside, it probably tasted terrible.  And, on top of that, it was mysterious liquid sitting in a seemingly abandoned cabin with the world’s oddest bird doing a shoddy job at guarding it.

“What am I doing?” he muttered, even as his hand moved by its own accord to his satchel and retrieved the small tin cup normally used for coffee.  In a daze, his hand dipped the cup into the boiling liquid, but for some reason, the liquid didn’t feel hot and no steam rose from the cup.  As the cup moved towards his lips, he felt no temperature change.  The raven watched him.  He drained the cup and tasted… nothing?

Why did he drink it again?  Hosea would kill him if he knew!

Arthur made it two steps away from the cauldron before the world went black.

He woke with a gasp!  Panic raced through his veins as he picked himself off the bed of wildflowers.  A few feet away, Dakota grazed on the grass, completely undisturbed by the day’s events.  Based on the sun, it was still morning, and Arthur began to wonder if the cauldron existed at all.

He picked himself up off the ground, a little weak and shaky, but seemingly intact.  The small, wooded area was close, so he left Dakota to her grazing and walked, revolver drawn.  He found the cabin quickly enough, but the raven was gone, the candles were unlit, and the cauldron was empty!

“What the hell?”

This wasn’t right!  He couldn’t have imagined it.  He drank the liquid, passed out.  Did more time pass than he thought?  His beard was still the same length at least, and his clothes didn’t seem any dirtier.  Oh, Hosea would kill him if he knew!

Arthur whistled for Dakota, suddenly very determined to get out of the area fast.  He could track a deer or elk in Cumberland Forest for Mr. Pearson’s stew, but there was no way he was staying here!  Dakota begrudgingly left her grass and trotted over, without the previous fear of the cabin.  He mounted carefully, still feeling a little ill, and pushed her to a canter down the road.  Only when they were around the bend and the woods out of sight did he pull back on the reins.  He let Dakota carefully pick her way down the narrow trail off the mountains, deep in thought.

It was well into the afternoon when he found himself in Cumberland Forest, and all thoughts of hunting had left him.  He felt sweaty and exhausted, half paying attention to the trail.  Dakota was still new and probably wouldn’t find the camp by herself.  Still, he slouched in the saddle.  The few other riders he met on the road were careful to avoid him as if he had the plague.  An old, blind beggar turned his cup towards Arthur, screamed, and ran away!  Arthur chose not to think too much about that.  Thankfully, he was still in the saddle when they reached Valentine, and Arthur debating stopping at the local doctor.  But what would he say?  Hey, I drank from a cauldron straight out of a story of witches, can you fix me up?  It was better to go home.  They still had a few medical supplies, and Hosea’s herb knowledge should be enough to cure him.  And maybe he just needed sleep, considering the last few nights contained restlessness and nightmares.  Maybe he even hallucinated the mysterious liquid, a dream made for his tired mind.

Mindlessly, he turned Dakota down the path to Horseshoe Overlook.  “Who goes there!” Lenny said, raising his rifle at Arthur in warning,

“It’s me, kid,” he groaned, feeling on the edge of collapse.

“You look awful.  You okay?” Lenny asked, rushing forward to help, but Arthur waved him off.

“I’ll be fine,” he said unconvincingly, but it kept Lenny at his post.  Arthur pulled Dakota to a stop and slowly dismounted, barely giving the horse a pat before heading towards his tent.

“Hey O’Driscoll!  Could you take care of her for me?” he said.

“N-not an O’Driscoll,” Kieran stammered, but he scampered towards Dakota anyway.  “Sure, Mr. Morgan.”

Arthur shuffled away.  Despite their treatment of him, the O’Driscoll boy had saved his life at Six Point Cabin and taken over most of the camp duties surrounding the horses.  He knew the boy would treat Dakota right.  Normally, Arthur would spend the time brushing her down and feeding her treats, hoping to strengthen the bond forming between them.  But he didn’t feel up to anything else that day.  He barely managed to kick off his boots before face planting into his cot.

“A little tired?” Hosea chuckled, walking over to Arthur.  “I’m surprised you didn’t come back with a deer or something.  Wasn’t this supposed to be a hunting trip?”

“Wanted a bear,” Arthur muttered.  He flinched when a cool hand wiggled between his forehead and the cot.

“You have a fever.  How long have you been feeling sick?” asked Hosea, concern filling his voice.

Arthur weakly swatted at the hand and missed.  “Since this morning.”

“Any clue what caused it?”

Choosing to just lie and shake his head, Arthur immediately regretted it when the action made him nauseous.  Fortunately, Hosea noticed him turning a little green, because a bucket was there when he finally leaned over the edge of the cot and threw up.

“Alright, I think I have some herbs that may help.  Let me make you some tea.”  The bucket stayed by his bedside, just in case.  Arthur rolled himself onto his back, squinting after Hosea as the older man wandered off.  He passed Miss Grimshaw and spoke briefly to her, the contents of the conversation becoming clear when Miss Grimshaw abandoned whatever she was doing to head towards Arthur instead.

“Let’s hope you aren’t contagious, Mr. Morgan.  We can barely afford to have one sick person right now, you especially!”  She said all this with her usual scolding tone, but the hand she placed on him was gentle.  Whatever conclusion she came to, she didn’t comment.  Instead, she began to lower the canvas around his tent.

He smiled slightly, still awake enough to joke.  “Must be dying if I’m bringing out your mothering side, Susan.”

Miss Grimshaw slapped him lightly on the shoulder.  “Don’t you talk like that!  You better not die, or I will pull you from Heaven myself to do camp chores!”

For some reason, the mention of Heaven brought Arthur back to the massacre in Strawberry.  “Think you might need to look lower,” he whispered.  Whatever Miss Grimshaw intended to say about that, however, was interrupted by the return of Hosea.

“Thank you, Susan,” he said as she helped sit Arthur up.  “Now drink this, Arthur.  We’ll have you back on your feet in no time!”

Arthur hesitated at the tea, the slight floral smell reminding him of the mysterious liquid of the cabin, but the light brown color and hot steam helped him push past that thought.  He sipped the tea carefully while Hosea replaced the bucket and tidied his tent.  Arthur watched him in a stupor, eyes blinking slowly closed.  Hosea took the cup from his grasp, and steady hands encouraged him to lay back down.

Just before he drifted into sleep, Arthur said, “Hosea?”

“Yeah, Arthur?”

“Think I drank somethin’ I shouldn’t’ve.”

“What, a bad batch of moonshine?” Hosea asked, a little amused.

“Sure, somethin’ like that.”

“Well, I’m surprised you were drinking at all after that night with Lenny!” Hosea teased before turning serious again.  “Get some sleep, we need you strong and healthy.”

He felt a light blanket being tucked around him as he drifted off.

Chapter Text

He dreamed.

Two men and a teenager wandered from town to town out West.  In a blanket of gold, they robbed from rich folks who deserved it, and only kept what was necessary to survive.  The curious couple and their unruly son, the older man liked to say!  Slowly, their numbers grew.  A few women joined, fitting in like they always belonged.  Then, a young boy joined.  A brother.

The gang grew.  More joined, some good and some bad.  But all had something in common: they had nowhere else to go.  Their faces were a blur, but Arthur felt he could recognize each one.  But then, something changed.  Less money left the gang.  Sure, there were more people to feed and care for, but somewhere along the way, dark greed seemed to enter their hearts.  Money stayed in the camp, a small chest hidden away in the dark woods.  A black hue fell over the scene.

The dream changed.

A man in red and black crouched behind barrels in an alleyway of shadow.  Others were with him, but who they were did not matter.  All that mattered was the man.  A woman walked down the alley, unaware of the hidden outlaws.  She saw him, mouth wide open.  He put a finger adorned with golden rings to his lips, but she didn’t pay attention to his silent order.  She screamed!  He put a bullet in her stomach.  Then another in her leg.  Still, she screamed.  Shot after shot, the man stood over the woman until she screamed no more.  Then, only then, did he continue to move.

The dream changed.

He stood in a field.  On one side, a buck stood proudly in the light of dawn.  The trees, the grass, the pond where bathed in the golden light, and he was drawn towards it.  But on the other side, darkness.  A black coyote stalked through the grass, peering at him with red eyes.  It stared deep into his soul, searching for the evil within.  Between them, a raven perched on a branch.

“Choose,” it said, more like cawed.  Both the buck and the coyote locked eyes with Arthur, and he glanced between the two.  One was a promise of good, a better life.  The buck took a step closer, leaning its nose forward for Arthur to stoke.  But the coyote barked, somehow reminding him of his gang.  Was this his destiny, his choice?  Choose to be loyal, and be worse for it.  How could being loyal be bad?  The coyote stepped forward.  As a coyote, he scavenged for every scrap of money.  It didn’t matter where from or why, the gang needed it.

Dutch needs a coyote right now, Arthur thought.  The gang needed someone who provided, no matter what!  But he turned towards the buck.  It was the reminder of their original purpose, when Arthur joined Dutch and Hosea all those years ago.  They were outlaws because the world was unjust.  They were outlaws because society crushed those who needed help the most.  And that was why they robbed from those who deserved it the most!  They were the Robin Hood of America, and the buck stepped forward.

“Choose!” the raven cawed again, more urgent this time.  Two options for Arthur, and he didn’t know!  Did his life really end with these two phantoms to decide his fate?  Figures appeared near the animals, faint at first.  By the coyote, he saw the man in black and red.  He beckoned urgently.  But there were more people next to the buck, their edges blurry and less recognizable.

“CHOOSE!” the raven cawed a third time, the colors of the dream swirling together as Arthur spun down and down.  He wanted to block it out, it was almost too much!  His body landed horizontal, a blanket covering up to his shoulders and a hand on his forehead.

“You with me, Arthur?” Hosea asked.  Arthur groaned and turned his head away from the bright sunlight streaming in through the gap in the canvas.  “It’s noon, Pearson almost has the stew ready.  Think you can eat something?”

“Sure,” replied Arthur, slowly extracting himself from the blankets into a sitting position.  

“Your fever is gone.  Feel better?”

While still a little dizzy, Arthur mostly attributed it to being passed out all night and half a day.  He remembered the vivid dreams and figured they didn’t mean anything.  They were a weird side effect of whatever herbs were mixed into the brew he drank.  Still, he didn’t want to see another raven for a while.  “I think so,” he told Hosea.

“Good!  But maybe lay off the liquor for a while.  You aren’t as young as you used to be!”

Arthur chuckled before taking a swig of water.  “Think you might be right!  But I’m still not as old as you.”

“You slept more today than Uncle did!  Must be a new record.  Had Susan all in a worry, always stopping by to make sure you were still alive.”  The humor didn’t quite hide the worry, however.  “Seriously though, son, make sure you rest until you are completely better.  I know we need to be making money, but you need to take care of yourself.”

Money reminded Arthur of his dream.  The money they made used to go to others, and Arthur felt that he had helped people.  But even before Blackwater, that wasn’t the case.

“Hey, Hosea?  When did we stop giving away the money from the jobs we did?”

“Well, we can’t exactly give anything away now, can we?  We are barely on our feet as it is!” Hosea began, but a darker cloud passed over his face.  “No, I won’t pretend this is new.  I know the gang has gotten bigger over the years, and it takes a lot of money to feed all these people.  And Dutch and I, we’ve always kept a fund for emergencies, but you are right.  We don’t give money away like we used to.  In fact, it seems we are just greedy and want more for ourselves.  Why?  What brings this up?”

Arthur watched Hosea with sad eyes, certain the their current feelings matched on the matter.  “Eh, no reason.  Just wondering, I guess.”  He wanted to give some form of comfort, say that things would get better and they could get back to their old ways, but he didn’t believe it.  Then, Pearson announced that the stew was ready, and the conversation was over.  

Pushing himself up from the cot, Arthur staggered slightly before getting his feet under him.  Hosea turned to him and, with a slight bow and exaggerated formality, said, “Shall I bring you a bowl, your majesty?”  

“Very funny, Hosea,” Arthur replied, sarcasm dripping off his words.  “I think I need some fresh air.  I can get it myself.”

Arthur blinked against the harsh noon sun.  Mary-Beth and Tilly walked by and waved.  “Feeling better?  I heard you were sick,” Mary-Beth said.

“Right as rain,” Arthur replied.  He ladled some stew into a bowl, disappointed by the smell.  Next hunting trip, he wouldn’t waste his time with witch’s cauldrons and bears.  He would just track a few deer and improve the food for everyone’s sake.  He joined Sean, Javier, Bill, and Charles at the fire, listening to Sean’s increasingly ridiculous tale while Javier debunked it immediately.

“Still trying to make yourself the hero of your own rescue, Sean?” Arthur said, butting in.  “I seem to recall you hanging upside down from a tree for most of it!”

“You think yourself a funny man, Arthur Morgan,” Sean replied, laughing.  “No, we ran into a couple O’Driscoll boys in just outside town yesterday.  There were ten of ‘em-”

“Five,” said Javier.

“I took out half of them before they could blink!”

“You shot one and got knocked to the ground by another.”

“I saved good ol’ Mr. Escuella here!”  Sean wrapped an arm around Javier’s shoulders, only to be immediately pushed off.

“You left me to take care of the rest of them, and the one on top of you!”

Everyone got a good laugh at Sean’s expense, but the Irishman took it in stride.  “Well, those bastards will fear the name Sean MacGuire, let me tell you!”

But soon enough, Arthur’s good time was interrupted by Dutch calling out, “Mr. Morgan!  I think Herr Strauss has some work for you to do.”

Begrudgingly, Arthur stood and walked towards Strauss at the medicine wagon.  He loathed working for Leopold Strauss.  While lending money to folks was legal, beating the debt out of them later wasn’t Arthur’s favorite task.  Especially when the types of people taking Strauss’ loans were the desperate, down on their luck folks Dutch once preached helping.

“Herr Morgan!  I heard you were sick,” Strauss said.

“He’s all better now,” Dutch said, clapping Arthur on the shoulder.

“I have some loans coming due.”

“Already?”

“Well, of course!  And I know how enthusiastic people are to pay back to someone like you.”

“Maybe have someone else collect those loans, Mr. Strauss,” Hosea said, appearing suddenly at Arthur’s side.  “We should probably let Mr. Morgan rest for a day before sending him back out.”

Dutch said, “Oh, I’m sure Arthur is just fine, Hosea!”  He stared pointedly at Arthur.  It was odd, thought Arthur.  Almost as if Dutch were waiting for him to agree and go back to work.  The few tense seconds ended quickly, leaving Arthur wondering if he had imagined it.

“Oh, he doesn’t have to go today.  I just wanted to pass on the information.  There’s a Chick Matthews, works at Guthrie Farm.  A hand, I believe.  Mr. Wrobel, the small holder at Painted Sky, runs the operations there… badly.  Miss Lilly Millet is a ranch maid up at Emerald Ranch.”

Three desperate people who probably barely made a living and now Arthur was to go beat a debt out of them.  If anything, they should rob the owner of Emerald Ranch and give the money to the employees instead!  “And here I thought we were supposed to be helping folk, Dutch,” he said.

“It’s legal work, Mr. Morgan,” said Strauss.

“We all have to do our part, Arthur.  Besides, its good to have other sources of money,” Dutch said in his usual, preaching tone.

“Just ‘cause it’s legal don’t mean it’s right.  Isn’t that what you always said, Dutch?” Arthur replied.

Dutch opened his mouth to say more, but Strauss beat him to it.  “One more, a Mr. Thomas Downes.  Has a small ranch just outside Valentine.”

Arthur took the offered list and shoved it in his satchel.  “I’ll start on this tomorrow.  Give the poor bastards an extra day to get their debts settled.”

Hosea walked off with Arthur, staring at him.  “What?” Arthur asked.

“Just can’t remember the last time you stood up to Dutch about something.”

“I barely stood up to him.  Still seemed to annoy him, though.”

“I think it’s good for his ego!” Hosea said.

Arthur spent the rest of the day relaxing.  He played a few rounds of poker with Bill and Charles, winning a few hands before Charles unexpectedly took the whole pot in the end.  Later, Jack wandered over, eager to share the pretty rock he found in the woods with anyone who would listen.  Arthur indulged the young boy, since he knew John was unlikely to spend any time with his son.

The next morning, he felt back to his normal self.  He rolled out of bed early and prepped Dakota for a long ride.  “Sorry about the other day, girl,” he said as he fed her peppermints.  The horse didn’t seem to mind, and she bumped her nose into his satchel for more treats.

He decided to see Lily Millet first, since Emerald Ranch was the furthest from camp.  Dakota swiftly moved across the Heartlands, and Arthur took a moment to admire their temporary home.  It really was pretty country.  Emerald Ranch was one of the larger establishments, complete with its own train station.  But an old, shot up saloon caught his eye as he continued down the road, leaving him wondering about what went wrong in the otherwise successful business.

“Do you have any idea of the hole I’m in?” a woman said, voice turning shrill as she spoke to the man next to her.

“Oh come on, why’s it always gotta be a goddamn performance with you?” the man replied.  “Now I told you I’d get you the money next week, and I’ll get it.”  Arthur figured the woman must by Miss Millet.

“If you didn’t make it this week, who’s to say you’ll make it next?” Lilly said.

Arthur chose that moment to interrupt.  “Miss Lilly Millet?  You owe us money.”  He tried to put on a mean, gruff performance, but his heart wasn’t quite into it.

“What?”

“That loan you took.  It’s payday.”

“I’m sorry.  I don’t have it right now…” she said.

“Well, looks like we got a big problem!”  Not that Arthur really meant it.  He wasn’t going to beat the money out of a lady.

The intimidation worked, however.  “Cooper, give him what you got!” Lilly said, but the husband or boyfriend or whoever he was shook his head.

“I ain’t giving him nothing, except a lesson in damn manners!”  Cooper came up swinging, throwing a handful of dirt into Arthur’s face.

“Son of a bitch,” Arthur muttered as he pulled his arms up in a defensive stance.  But Cooper’s initial advantage quickly went away.  Arthur was the more skilled fighter, and it wasn’t long before he was pushing the other man back into the dirt, even as Lilly begged them not to fight.

“Alright, alright!” Lilly said as Cooper sprawled backwards, unconscious.  “He has all my money.  I gave it all to him.  Just take whatever you find on him and let’s be done with this.  Please!”

Sighing, Arthur bent over the man who was clearly the cause of most of Lilly’s problems and retrieved the money from his pocket.  He wanted to say something to her, but then a man in a yellow shirt by the busted up saloon yelled out, “Hey!  You know what I do to thieves?  The law’ll hear about this!”

“I didn’t steal that, it’s a debt!” Arthur tried, walking towards the man, only to have him turn and run.  “Oh, dammit!”

Arthur chased the man around the back of the building, yelling, “Stop!”

“Okay, I’m gonna beat the darn tar outta you!” the man said before throwing a punch.  Arthur ducked under it, and brought his fist straight into the other man’s nose.

Great, now he had knocked out two people.  What a wonderful start to the morning!

Fortunately, the second assault went unwitnessed, and Arthur was able to make his way to Guthrie Farm in peace.  He approached the first man he saw, rather young, who was brushing down a horse, asking, “You Chick?  I was told I could find a Chick Matthews up here.”

“Chick Matthews?  Might wanna talk to that feller over there.  I’m just here to work the season.”  He gestured to a man sitting on a log a little ways from the house, so Arthur headed that way.

“You Chick Matthews?” he tried again.

“No, no, not me, sir.  That’s the greenhorn over there,” the ranch hand pointed, and Arthur whipped around.  “Oh, and there he goes!”

The real Chick Matthews mounted the horse he had been brushing and took off in a fast gallop off the farm.  “So long, loanshark!” he laughed.

“Dammit!” Arthur said, running to Dakota and mounting up.  “Hey, get back here!  You owe us money!”  He pushed Dakota up to a gallop, the young mare quickly lengthening her stride.  Warhorses weren’t naturally fast, but Dakota’s long legs ate up the dirt as they followed in Chick’s wake.  Chick led them on a chase around Heartland Overflow and under a small bridge for the train tracks.  “The more I chase, the more you owe!” Arthur called out.

“The money’s mine, I’m keeping it!”

Unfortunately for Chick Matthews, Arthur was quite adept at throwing a lasso.  The rope landed accurately around his torso, and with a swift yank, Arthur pulled him off his horse.  He hogtied the boy.

“Okay, Okay!  I have the money, it’s hidden.  There’s a map to it in my pocket,” Chick said.

“A map?  Really?” Arthur sighed.  “Why can’t you fools just pay?”

With that, he let Chick Matthews go, hating how the day was turning out even more.  Why did nothing ever seem to go right on a job anymore?  He followed the poorly drawn map to the correct tree, took a second to check for snakes in the hollow, and retrieved the money.

Two down, two to go.

Arthur decided against stopping in the Valentine saloon for some decent lunch, considering the fight he had been in a with Javier, Charles, and Bill followed by his drunken behavior with Lenny.  He ended up downing a can of beans and a few crackers to keep himself going.

The Downes Ranch could barely be called that.  It was just a small house and a patch of vegetables.  A frail man raked the soil weakly, not hearing Arthur’s approach.

“Mr. Thomas Downes.”

“Yep, That’s me.”  Arthur recognized the voice.  It was the man who was always raising money for charity.  That put a pause on Arthur’s intimidation tactics.  Here was a man who was poor himself, but still helped others.  A man who also put himself between Arthur and Tommy, the latter who was being beaten to death by Arthur.

Arthur’s tone softened as he said, “You owe me money.”

“Oh.  Oh, no.  Please, I have a family, sir,” Thomas Downes whispered, cowering away.  Arthur felt resigned, knowing he would likely have to beat the money out of this man, too.  A shame, really, but it was his job.  It wasn’t his fault that Mr. Downes chose to help others when he should have been helping himself.  Arthur stepped to the gate to corner the man by the fence, when a large, black bird landed in his path.

Arthur stumbled a step backwards.  It was a damn raven!  It stared up at Arthur with cold, dark eyes, and Arthur stared right back.  

“Sir, Mr. Strauss seemed so understanding,” Downes continued, not seeing that Arthur was frozen in place.  “I don’t have the money yet, but we are working, I swear.”  He let out a few coughs into his fist.  The raven cawed lightly and then flew away, clearing the path to Mr. Downes.

Choose.

From the house, a woman and a boy appeared.  “Sir, my husband isn’t well!  If we could have more time, we can get you your money.  Please!”  Please don’t hurt my husband were her unspoken words.

Arthur looked at the poor, struggling family, at the boy who eyes Arthur with hatred and disdain, at the woman moving slowly towards her husband as if she could keep Arthur away, at Thomas Downes, who was doubled over and coughing again.  Downes wasn’t an angry boyfriend unwilling to help his lady, or a young idiot trying to cheat his contract.  He was just a husband and father, out of luck and out of options.

“Forget the debt,” Arthur said, reaching into his satchel.  Downes didn’t owe much, and Arthur could see they needed every penny.

“What?” Downes said.

“I’ll cover you with Strauss.  Just avoid loansharks like him in the future.”

Mr. and Mrs. Downes exchanged a disbelieving glance, and Arthur dug out twenty dollars and tossed it Thomas’ way.  “Here.  You seem like you need it right about now.”

“Thank you, sir.  Thank you so much!” Mr. Downes stammered, but Arthur turned quickly and mounted Dakota, spurring her away from the ranch.  He didn’t pay attention to where he was going, soon finding himself near Cumberland falls, and sat for a while, listening to the water.

When he went back to camp, he slipped the money the Downes owed in the box with the other debts, then the amount Mr. Wrobel owed as well.  He didn’t quite feel like collecting that last debt.

He dreamed of a buck only that night.

Chapter Text

Arthur Morgan thought himself a bad man.

After the reappearance of the raven and the conscious decision to help the Downes family rather than do his duty to Dutch and the gang, he tried to pay attention to his choices.  It never used to be a struggle, doing good.  When Arthur first joined Dutch and Hosea, he often gave money to the homeless so they could have a warm meal, to working girls so they could get a night off, to young sons slowly killing themselves in hard labor jobs to support their families.  Dutch always taught that the poorest of society deserved a piece of the wealth that rich men stole and exploited, and Arthur took to that lesson gladly.  After all, he had once been forced to beg and pick pockets to survive.  He didn’t really have to ask himself when he stopped noticing the struggles around him.  Finding Eliza’s and Isaac’s graves had changed him forever.

Now, as he rode down the muddy streets of Valentine, he had to remind himself not to just keep his head down and ride forward.

Near the train station, a voice called up from the ground, “Can I get a few cents?”  Arthur turned to look down at the older man, wearing a fraying Union coat and missing an arm.  “Please, I’m real hungry.  Help a feller out?”

Arthur slid off Dakota and reached into his satchel, finding a few bucks leftover.  “Here,” he said, passing him to the veteran.  Slightly dumbfounded, the man leapt to his feet.

“Thank you!  You are mighty kind, mister!” the homeless man said.  “Mighty kind.”

“Sure, just get yourself some food,” Arthur replied, stepping back towards Dakota.

“Uh, are we… are we friends, mister?  My name is Mickey.  What’s your name?”

“Arthur.”

“Can I,” Mickey stammered, “Can I hold you, mister?  Can I?”

Looking around awkwardly, very unsure as to what was happening, Arthur said, “Okay, just quickly.”  Mickey launched himself at Arthur, causing him to stagger back a few steps.  The one arm wrapped tight around his shoulders.

“Thank you, Arthur!  You are a good man.  No one ever talks to me, but you did!  You’re a good man!”

Maybe to Mickey, Arthur was good and kind.  After all, Mickey only saw this one, minuscule part of Arthur’s life that had barely developed.  He still wasn’t sure if the change would last.  How long before he slipped back into his old ways?  But for now, Arthur put those thoughts aside for his trip to the gun store to pick up some more ammo and a quick check at the post office to see if the camp alias, Tacitus Kilgore, had received any mail before heading back to camp.  

People like Mickey made being good easy, Arthur thought as he rode back.  They were folks down on their luck, looking for only simply things out of life.  They gave nothing except kindness in return.  Not everyone was like that, though.

He dropped off the two letters that he collected with Hosea before spying Charles sharpening a knife by his tent.  “What are you preparing for?” he asked.

“The greatest of gifts,” Charles said with a smile.

“An unguarded stagecoach?”

“No, you simple minded fool.  Bison,” Charles said, standing up and putting the knife back in its sheath.  

“Bison?”

“Bison… from which you can get anything.  There’s some over on the plains, I believe.  I saw a couple a long way off, earlier.”

“Huh,” Arthur said.  “Good luck!”  While he had seen a few herds of bison in the distance from all his travels, he had never actually hunted one.  Back when he first joined with Hosea and Dutch, even when their little family started expanding, bison hunting was impractical and wasteful.  They would have never been able to use all the meat!  Then, as the gang grew more and more, Arthur’s role as a hunter diminished.  He ranked higher than the other members of the gang, and with rank came the privilege of avoiding certain chores, or even chores at all.  Also, the gang’s prior run of prosperity meant they bought more supplies than they could afford now.

Charles grabbed his rifle and walked towards Taima before stopping and turning back to Arthur.  “You want to come with me?  I’ll show you how we hunt one.”

“Sure, why not.”  Arthur hadn’t known Charles well before Colter, but he certainly felt a better friendship with the man now.  Charles’ appreciation and understanding of nature rivaled, well more like surpassed, Arthur’s own.  He couldn’t look back on Colter with joy, but he did hold a certain fondness towards the memory of Charles teaching him to use his bow and track the deer.

Mounting Dakota, he followed Charles and Taima out of the trees and onto the plains.  “You know,” said Charles, “it was before my time, of course, but my mother used to tell me stories of how her tribe moved with the bison.  They lived almost as one.  Where the bison went, my people went.  They were the center of all life… we couldn’t survive without them.  They provided us with everything: food, clothing, shelter, tools.  There as a lot of respect.”

He could tell by the way Charles spoke, pride mixed with a hint of melancholy, that his friend missed that part of his life.  Arthur almost wanted to thank Charles for including him in something so personal and sacred, but at the same time, felt awkward doing so.  He settled on a joke.  “Well, I don’t remember much of my childhood, but I think my people moved with the whiskey.”

Charles laughed, “Well, my father did that, too!”

Pushing their horses up to a slow canter, Arthur relaxed and looked around the Heartlands.  He felt comfortable around Charles, in a way he normally didn’t feel with the others in the gang.  Comfortable enough to bring up something that had been bothering him the last few days.

“Charles, do you believe in witches?”

“Excuse me?”

“Witches and magic and stuff.  You believe its real?”

Charles was silent for a moment, then said, “You know, my mother used to believe in some things that could be called magic, I suppose.  Me, I’m not so sure.  Guess I never really saw the proof of it.  Why?”

“Just found a real weird house in the mountains.  Bunch of odd books and bones and stuff.  Looked like something out of a story.”  Arthur wasn’t quite ready to admit to Charles that he drank a potion, though.  It was still too unknown and embarrassing.

Whatever Charles intended to say after that was interrupted by the appearance of a herd of animals in the distance.  “Over there, you see them all?  Incredible!” Charles said.  He began to direct the plan, allowing Arthur the option to take one down.  In a way, it felt wrong.  This was Charles’ hunt, but he had offered to keep the bison ringed in so that Arthur could bring one down.

Charles took off across the field, expertly guiding Taima so that the bison began to gather together.  Arthur urged Dakota forward, breathing slow as he lined up the shot with his rifle.  He chose one with a near perfect pelt, knowing how much Pearson liked to craft camp items with new materials, and aimed for the head.  One shot later, and the bison was dead.

“Well done!” Charles said, a smile spreading across his face.  “I’ll show you how to skin and butcher it.  We’ll take the horns, too.”

They made quick work skinning the bison.  As they worked, Charles explained some of the uses of the different parts.  By the time they were done, Arthur felt that he had learned a lot, both about hunting and Charles.  He mounted Dakota again after they filled her saddlebags with meat and dragged the pelt over her back.

“Ready to head back?” Arthur asked, but Charles wasn’t paying attention.

“Not yet.  I want to check something out.  There are scavenger birds over there,” he pointed out, looking towards Twin Stack Pass.  Arthur didn’t quite mind continuing their ride for a little longer.  But when the three dead bison came into sight, the cheerful mood of the day was gone.  “Look, they’ve been shot and left for dead!”

“Why would someone do that?” Arthur asked, picking up on the anger in Charles’ voice.

“I don’t know, but I see tracks heading in this direction.  I say we follow them.”

The trail led them further into the Heartlands, staying off the main road.  “Couldn’t it have been an animal?” Arthur said, more hopeful than anything else.

“No, they’ve been shot.  I just don’t know why anyone would leave them there to rot!”

Unfortunately, it wasn’t a fluke.  Down the trail was another dead bison, except fresher.  With it, the remains of a camp.  Arthur leaned over the fire, feeling the still smoldering embers.  “Logs haven’t gone cold yet.  Maybe half a day since they left.”

“Bison’s been dead the same amount of time.”

“What do you want to do?” Arthur asked.

“They could still be in the area.  Let’s get up higher, see if we spot anything.”

Normally, Arthur wouldn’t have bothered tracking down these men.  Sure, killing that many animals for sport was excessive, but not a terrible sin in his mind.  But as they crested the hill, he could tell how much this meant to Charles.

In the distance, another campfire was burning.  Hoping it was the men they were after, Charles and Arthur headed in that direction.  “Bastards, killing for fun.  You should only kill when you need to!” Charles muttered.  And his anger exploded when they found more dead bison as they neared the camp.

Two men, half drunk, sat around the campfire without a care in the world.  Charles approached slow and dangerous.  “Did you fools shoot those bison?” he said.

“What’s your problem?” one asked.

“I said, DID YOU FOOLS SHOOT THOSE BISON?” Charles demanded.

The men, of course, chose to aggravate Charles further before proudly admitting to the deed, giving Arthur only a second of warning before Charles pulled a gun and shot one in the head.

“Good god, you’re crazy!” the other said, stumbling back.  “Look, I got a family… a family.  Don’t shoot me!”

Charles raised his gun a second time, but fortunately for the whimpering man on the ground, Arthur was ready this time.

“I’ll get some answers, Charles.”  Grabbing the man by the throat, Arthur leaned in close and asked, “Why were you boys killing those bison?  And then leaving them to rot?”

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Tell us or you’re dead!” Arthur said, punching the hunter in the nose.

“Alright, alright, we were paid to make it look like it was Indians!”

From behind Arthur, Charles said, “Just kill him.”

But Arthur took one look at the pathetic tears, listened to the hunter cry about his family, and decided that he couldn’t do it.  There had been enough death that day.

Arthur leaned in close, speaking barely above a whisper.  “You run on back to those people who hired you, and you tell them that the bison are off limits.  You promise to do that, and you live.”

The man nodded, sniffling, “Of course, just don’t kill me, I have a family.”

“Then get outta here!”

The man didn’t think twice, fleeing into the hills.  From behind him, Charles stomped to Arthur’s side.  “Why did you do that?” he asked.

“He didn’t need to die, Charles.”

“And you think he will stay away?  He’ll come back, with more poachers, and I…” Charles took a long, stuttering breath.  “I’ve seen enough of this.  I’m heading back.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“No.  I need to be alone.”

As Charles rode away, Arthur stayed to inspect the camp for a few minutes.  He found a few more bottles of alcohol, and checked the body’s pockets.

Some men were easy to treat well, like Mickey.  Others were not.

Arthur rode back to camp for the second time that day, less elated, and gave the bison pelt and meat to Mr. Pearson.  Pearson was ecstatic to have new materials to work with, but upon seeing the look on Arthur’s face, he dimmed the excitement down a little.  The camp ate well, though Arthur barely tasted the stew himself.  He wished the day had ended with their own hunt, after seeing the magnificence of the bison herd on the plain and hearing the wonder in Charles’ voice.

Still, his sour mood only got worse when Dutch approached him later that evening.

“I need you to go looking for Micah.  He should have come back by now,” Dutch began.

“He said he was going to get a score.  I’d rather let him be.  Maybe he will get himself arrested again.”

“Arthur,” Dutch said, placing a hand on Arthur’s shoulder.  A firm hand, less comforting than it should have been.  “I know you don’t care much for Micah.”

“And I don’t understand why you do care.  You’ve seen what he’s done.  He don’t belong with us!”

Dutch’s grip on Arthur’s shoulder tightened, and he led Arthur away from the camp towards the edge of the overlook.  “What’s gotten into you, son?  Where’s your faith?”

“What?”

“We will survive, Arthur, but only if all of us stick together!  That includes Mr. Bell.  What has happened to you?  You’ve been different these last few days.”

Now, Arthur still didn’t want to admit to drinking a potion and having a weird dream.  Arthur honestly didn’t know why everything Dutch said seemed to set him on edge.  He didn’t agree with a lot of the decisions made after Blackwater, but lately he didn’t feel the same overwhelming pressure to cave to Dutch’s every whim.  It was being replaced by confusion and anger, emotions that, while being present prior to the witch’s brew, were heightened now.  So, instead he said, “You weren’t there in Strawberry.”

“Excuse me?”

“You didn’t have to shoot half a town because that idiot wanted to get his precious guns back!  You always taught me to be better than that, to not kill unnecessarily, to not seek revenge, but Micah ain’t like us!”

“We don’t leave people behind.”

“But some people we should cut loose.  You’ve done it in the past.”

Dutch’s glare turned more sinister.  “Are you doubting my judgment, Arthur?”

“Dutch?”

“We will survive, we will thrive!  You just need faith.  Loyalty and faith, son.  Now, tomorrow… you will go out and look for Mr. Bell.”

With that order, Dutch turned and walked back to his tent, leaving Arthur dumbfounded on the edge of camp.  When Arthur wandered back by himself, Hosea caught his eye.

“What was that about?” asked Hosea.

“Dutch wants me to go looking for Micah, bring him back to camp.”

“And I take it you don’t agree?”  Hosea sat down on a log and patted the spot next to him, inviting Arthur to sit for a chat.  Arthur did gladly.  Between the mountains and his brief illness, he couldn’t remember the last time he got to sit and talk to Hosea.

“I guess I’m just remembering how we used to be.  Hell, even before Blackwater, we were not how we used to be.  Back when it was just a few of us.  Dutch never would’ve let a man like Micah in the gang, much less call him family.  And he don’t listen when I try to tell him.”

“I’ve told Dutch my feelings on Mr. Bell as well,” Hosea said.  “But you know how Dutch is.  I’m not sure he really listened to me, either.”

“You know the other week, when we took the O’Driscoll out to look for Colm?  The boy said that us and the O’Driscolls were the same.  We robbed and killed and took money for ourselves.  I denied it, but it got me thinking.  I don’t know, its probably stupid, but maybe I’m worried that the kid was right, for some of it at least.  Sure, Dutch is a better leader than Colm O’Driscoll, but what about our purpose?  When did we lose that?”

“I don’t know,” Hosea admitted.  “I just know that right now, we need to help ourselves before we can try to go back to helping others.  I worry that we won’t get the chance to go back to our old ways.  This country keeps getting smaller.  But we still have a chance, and once we have enough money to feel comfortable again we can convince Dutch to get back west and help folk that aren’t ourselves.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“I’m glad you are thinking about this, though.  You aren’t as dumb as you pretend to be!” Hosea joked.

“Eh, shut up, old man!”  Arthur got up, heading towards his tent.  “Guess I should go get some rest.  I have an idiot to find in the morning.  Who knows, maybe he ran like the coward he is.”

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing that’s happened!” Hosea laughed.

Arthur avoided Dutch’s gaze as he returned to his tent and kicked off his boots.  Micah Bell better not be too difficult to track down, he thought.  There was only so much time he wanted to dedicate to the man, especially when there was money to be made.

Chapter Text

Arthur suppressed a groan as he guided Dakota over the river that was her namesake into West Elizabeth. He knew that he needed to keep a careful eye out for bounty hunters, both because of their proximity to Blackwater and the possibility of him being recognized for the massacre in Strawberry. He truly didn’t know how Micah Bell could have survived out here with everyone looking for him. Maybe he did run off. Arthur wasn’t about to complain if that were the case.

Still, Arthur had to put forth some effort into finding Micah, and decided to stop at Wallace Station first. Unlike many of the other train stations in the area, this one had a general store attached to it. Micah would need supplies eventually, and considering that Strawberry was off limits to him at the moment, Wallace Station would be the most obvious place to shop.

“Excuse me,” he said to the store owner, who sighed as he turned towards Arthur. Great start.

“Yes?”

“You seen this man?” Arthur held up a bounty poster of Micah that had been hanging on the board outside. Arthur had noted, with a bit of glee, that only Micah’s poster was there and not his own. “Rides a black horse with a white face.”

“Yeah, I have actually. Not entirely sure where he is now, though. I think he came down off the mountains near Strawberry.”

“Thank you,” said Arthur, and he bought a few cans of food and some oatcakes for Dakota before heading back out the door.

As they trotted up the road, Arthur took a moment to admire Big Valley. He rather enjoyed the large, open fields covered in wildflowers and teeming with wildlife. Perhaps he could bring Hosea out here and they could try for another hunting trip, hopefully one that would be a little more tame than the thousand pound, angry monster from last time. Charles would probably like it, too. Maybe the two of them could go elk hunting here.

Ahead, hitched to a tree, was a familiar brown Morgan that gave Arthur a pause, wondering where he had seen it before. The sounds of a man talking aloud about lighting and wind reached his ears, and a smile spread across his face. Sure enough, as he crested the slight hill, there was Albert Mason, the hopeful wildlife photographer.

“Hello again!” Arthur called, immediately causing Albert to flinch.

“Oh, hello,” the man said, gathering himself after his fright. “How are you, sir? Ah, Morgan, Mr. Morgan. That’s right!”

“Arthur,” the outlaw offered with a smile.

“Oh, I’m sorry… my nerves,” Albert continued. “I’m not quite the outdoor adventurer I thought.”

A few weeks ago, shortly after rescuing Sean from bounty hunters out near Blackwater, Arthur had stumbled across the photographer in a small clearing with a camera and a bag full of meat. He had been intrigued by the man, clearly out of his element and more used to high society, if the clean, green vest and straw hat were any indication. His suspicions were correct when Albert’s meat-filled bag was promptly stolen by a hungry coyote, and Arthur immediately jumped to rescue the item from the creature’s clutches. He decided to do so by not killing the animal, remembering Mason’s speech about wanting to promote the conservation of animals, and simply fired a warning shot close to the coyote’s paw. Frightened, the animal dropped the bag, allowing Arthur to easily return it. With his equipment in tact, Albert Mason decided to pack up for another day.

And normally, that would be it. Arthur often came across strangers in his travels, and while he thought of Mr. Mason as a fine man, he never expected to see him again. He drew the man leaning over his camera, gave a short description so that he would remember the encounter, and that was it. Arthur was quite busy, and a lot had happened to make him forget a little about Albert Mason.

Now, he had run into this stranger a second time. Albert had his camera pointed at a cluster of trees, and this time chose to dangle his meat from a tree instead of leaving it on the ground. Maybe he was learning.

Albert continued, “This is God’s own country, and I feel I’m in purgatory.”

Arthur recalled the last few weeks since Blackwater and replied, “I know the feeling.”

“Oh, I hope not.”

“What’re you trying to take some pictures of? Some more greedy coyotes?” Arthur laughed.

“No, wolves!” Albert said proudly.

“Wolves?” Arthur asked, alarmed. He took in the large chunk of meat hanging from the tree nearby, and how close it was to Albert himself. “Well you really are trying to get yourself eaten!”

“Oh I hope not,” Albert continued, checking his camera once more. “I left the meat over there.”

Not far enough, Arthur thought.

“I thought I’d be safe, given the wind.” Albert was still new to the wilderness.

“Yeah, sure. If you manage to attract the world’s least intelligent wolf,” Arthur said, suddenly realizing that he might have to save more than the photographer’s bag this time. “I’ll stay with you a while,” he offered as Albert sputtered. “If anything comes, I’ll protect you as needed.”

“You are a gentleman.”

“You don’t know me very well,” Arthur sighed, thinking about how protecting Mason would only delay his inevitable search for Micah for a little while.

“Well to me, you’re a gentleman,” Albert said, and Arthur allowed the slight smile to return his face. It was nice to run into strangers for a second time, especially ones as good as Albert. While he may be naive about the outdoors, his interest in nature was genuine. And, he was clearly determined. Truly, Arthur hadn’t been sure that Albert would continue his photography project after his day with the coyotes.

“Trust me, I’ve been worse than the wolves,” said Arthur.

“You’ve had many dealings with wolves, Mr. Morgan?” asked Albert.

“Sure.”

“But you’ve never been eaten.”

“Not through lack of trying on their part,” he laughed. “A while back I helped a friend from getting devoured.”

“Really? That sounds terrifying!”

“Yeah, he got lost in a snowstorm and got found by an angry pack of wolves. Lucky bastard got away with only a few scratches. Could’ve been a lot worse. Usually they are not great fans of man.”

“Don’t say I blame them.”

“Me neither. Hey,” Arthur said, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Here’s one.”

Pulling out his shotgun, Arthur prepared for the worst should the wolf creeping through the trees notice them. For now, the predator seemed fixated on the meat dangling from the tree, but it wouldn’t take the wolf long to figure out what it couldn’t get to the meal.

“Yes, yes, there they are!” Albert said, excited but quiet. A few more pack members followed the first wolf. “Now, don’t do anything. I’m going to take a few photographs.”

A long howl sounded through the forest. Arthur saw Albert freeze slightly in the corner of his eye. Most people didn’t get the close up experience of a howling wolf, usually only hearing them in the distance. It was louder than people expected. “Good boys, hungry boys. Come on,” Albert muttered, waiting for the perfect moment to take the photograph. One of the wolves turned their way, and Arthur shifted nervously. “Stay back,” Albert said. “Can’t have a man in the frame, it will look staged.”

“It sort of is,” Arthur replied. Albert took his first photograph, but the flash caused the wolves to jump and notice them.

“Look at them, magnificent creatures!” Albert said in awe, completely unaware of the danger that was now circling around them. The pack moved towards them, barking and growling, trying to get the perceived threat to back down.

“Yeah, magnificent. Especially when clawing at your eyeballs.” Arthur readied his weapon and made sure the extra shotgun shells were accessible.

Still, Albert remained determined to take his pictures. “Come on, stay still, my beauties,” he said, even when multiple wolves stood their ground in front of him, ready to strike. Behind them, Arthur heard Dakota and Albert’s horse whinny, and he wondered if their was another wolf behind them.

“Mason,” he muttered in warning as the wolves stalked closer and closer, but then Albert set off the flash for another shot, sealing their fate.

“Oh my, they don’t seem to be fans of modern technology,” Albert got out right before the first wolf charged.

“Get behind me!” Arthur yelled, stepping between Albert and the three wolves he had just taken a picture of. His first shot landed accurately on the wolf’s head, downing it immediately. The second wasn’t so accurate, hitting the wolf in the back. Not clean, but that wolf wasn’t getting up any time soon. But the third managed to sink its teeth into Arthur’s right sleeve, and the shotgun slipped from his fingers when the pain had him loosen his grip.

“Mr. Morgan!” Albert cried, but Arthur pulled his knife from its sheath and stabbed the wolf in the neck. Mason was cowering by a thin tree, and Arthur turned to see a fourth wolf creeping up behind him. With no time to pick up and reload his shotgun, he pulled his revolver and fired three rounds in quick succession, and that wolf went down, too. The others, sensing their advantage lost, quickly disappeared back into the woods.

“You alright?” Arthur asked, eyes sweeping over the man to make sure he wasn’t hurt before checking on himself. He winced at bite marks on his arm, though fortunately the coat had taken the brunt of the damage. He would have bruises but no scars.

“My whole futile existence flashed before my eyes,” Albert exclaimed, and Arthur helped him stagger to his feet. A few feet away, the wolf Arthur had only injured began to whimper. With a sigh, Arthur walked over and pulled out his knife. “Sorry,” he muttered, before ending the wolf’s pain.

“What a way to go,” Albert continued. “Literally, a dog’s dinner. Still, worse things happen at sea.”

“Do they?”

“Well, I imagine. Perhaps wolves do better at sea? Are they good swimmers? Well, who knows?” Albert continued to ramble as he packed up his camera and tripod. “You have saved my poor foolish skin once again.”

“Don’t mention it,” Arthur said.

“Is your arm alright?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Well, I can’t begin to repay my debt of gratitude. But know, I am eternally in your debt.”

“I do, Mr. Mason. I do. Take care now!” Arthur started to walk away, then he considered the now setting sun. “Where you heading after this, Mr. Mason? It’s starting to get pretty late.”

Albert glanced up at the sky and then sped up his packing. “I’m staying at the hotel in Blackwater. I should really get going if I’m going to arrive by nightfall!”

Oh. Blackwater. Arthur wondered if Albert had seen one of his bounty posters there. Probably not, considering the photographer let him hang around. Still, he rather liked Albert’s company, and wasn’t ready for it to end just yet. “I can ride with you as far as Riggs Station.”

He helped pack the rest of the equipment on Albert’s horse, then the two of them set off down the road. “So, how did you end up all the way out here from Blackwater. There are wolves all over these woods.”

“Well, yes,” Albert explained. “But I heard about a pack that was often seen near Wallace Station, and I figured it would be easiest.”

“You certainly did find them!” Arthur said, earning a laugh from Albert. “How come you are staying in Blackwater?”

“Bit of a long story.”

“We got time.”

I come from New York originally,” began Albert. “Was taking portraits of mostly rich folk, watched them dress up in their fancy outfits and trying different poses. Dreadfully boring work, I might say. Brought in decent money though. But I had this one regular customer who always went trophy hunting, and then would get the animals stuffed and wanted photographs with them. Went on and on about the places he had been to and the number of animals he had killed. I started to realize that if men like him had their way, soon there wouldn’t be any animals left! So, I closed my shop and came out west. I picked Blackwater because I could get there by boat.”

“Huh, makes sense.”

“I don’t like it very much, though. The place is crawling with lawmen because of a huge robbery and shootout that happened. They are always stopping and checking people and wagons to make sure none of the outlaws are trying to sneak back in for whatever reason. Getting in and out of town is a nightmare! And there’s no train station, either. That’s how I ended up buying Lucy,” Albert said, patting the brown Morgan. “But I’ll probably move on soon.”

They continued to trot down the road for a while in silence before Albert asked, “Where are you from, Mr. Morgan?”

“I was born further out west, but I’ve been traveling around for so long that there isn’t really a place to call home. This is actually the furthest east I’ve been in years,” Arthur said.

“Do you travel alone or with family?”

“I’m with a bunch of folks that may as well be family at this point. I’ve been with them for years.”

The lanterns of Riggs Station appeared in the distance, and Arthur realized that his pleasant day was likely about to come to an end. Back to the reality of looking for Micah Bell. They pulled their horses to a stop.

Albert glanced at Arthur and asked, a little awkwardly, “Where are you spending the night?”

“Oh, I figure I can find a pretty good camp spot around here.” Though probably a little further into the mountains to avoid bounty hunters, not that he could explain that to Albert.

“Well, goodnight Mr. Morgan. And thank you again. You’ve not only saved my career, but this time also my life!”

“Take care, Mr. Mason. Maybe we will run into each other again.” While it was about as unlikely as seeing the man a second time in Big Valley, Arthur held a little hope that it might occur. He set off into the hills, figuring he should get a good rest before beginning his search for Micah again. But he ended up staying awake for a little while, writing about his meeting with Albert in his journal.

The next morning, he rose early and tacked up Dakota, heading into the mountains. Not many people rode the paths in that area, and Arthur considered the places he might choose to hide out. A thin trail of smoke rose in the air within an outcropping of rocks, and Arthur wondered if this was the camp he was looking for.

Sure enough, he saw Micah’s horse Baylock as soon as he rounded the corner, and soon the man himself appeared in his view.

“Hey Arthur, good to see you,” Micah called from beside the campfire.

“Dutch wanted me to come out here and make sure you didn’t need rescuing again.”

Micah laughed. “No. But I got a plan to make that up to you.”

Oh, this was going to be good. “A plan like the Blackwater ferry job, or like you going off scouting and ending up in jail?”

“Dutch said you was a big shadow cast by a tiny tree.”

“I don’t even know what that means,” Arthur replied, but he understood that it was no compliment. He hoped it was just Micah trying to get under his skin, and not that Dutch was talking badly about him behind his back.

“I thought you was a tough boy,” Micah continued. “Not one of those gentlemen, trying to protect his riding clothes.”

“I just know that when things turn real you turn yellow, and lose your head.”

“Yellow?”

“Yeah, that’s what I said,” Arthur laughed, staring directly at Micah’s angry face. Maybe Dutch was a little swayed by Micah’s yes-man attitude and ambition for wealth, but the rest of the gang knew the truth.

Micah swaggered over. “So I guess you won’t be riding with me to rob the banking coach comes about this time into Strawberry? I heard one of the O’Driscoll boys yapping about it while I was inside.”

Arthur sighed. “You and me? Do a robbery? What’s your plan, shoot up the other half of town in the process?”

“You still mad about that? He had my guns, Morgan! Wasn’t about to just leave that be!” Micah walked straight up to Arthur’s face, trying to leer over him. Arthur grabbed Micah by the jacket and pushed him back.

“There are dozens of ways to get a pair of guns back that don’t involve bloodshed and bounties. I know you are new to the gang, but surely Dutch has taught you something by now!”

“You robbing this stagecoach with me or not,” Micah said in a low voice, leaning in and gritting his teeth.

“Dutch told me to bring you back to camp. He didn’t say how,” Arthur said, and he squared his shoulders. “You want to ride your own horse or should a tie you to mine?”

Unfortunately, Micah wasn’t too keen on backing down. “I told you, I ain’t going back to Dutch without a peace offering.”

“Fine,” Arthur said. He took a step back before turning for Dakota. “But I ain’t working with you, Micah. Not after that stunt you pulled. I’ll wait at the river crossing. You ain’t there by dusk-”

“More money for me, then!” Micah brushed past Arthur on the way to Baylock and took off up the hill. Arthur rolled his eyes after him, and mounted Dakota. He figured he should head quickly towards the river, since the robbery was set to go off soon and he didn’t want to listen to Micah complaining if he was late. As he approached the river crossing he passed a few men in the trees, wearing dark coats and green vests…

“Hey, ain’t that one of Dutch’s boys?” an O’Driscoll called out, and more emerged from the trees both on Arthur’s side of the river and the New Hanover side.

“Shit!” Arthur yelled, spurring Dakota forward. Luck seemed to be on his side, as most of the men were on foot and didn’t have horses readily available to chase him. Still, they were shooting at him, and he turned to fire back. A pained shout reached his ears, but soon one came from himself when a bullet clipped his side. Gripping the reins tighter, Arthur ducked his body low along Dakota’s neck until they disappeared into the trees and the sound of gunshots faded away.

“Dammit,” he muttered as he pulled Dakota to a stop and inspected his side. It really was just a scratch, but he was already imagining the shit he would get from Hosea and Susan when they found out. He supposed he could just take care of it himself, but he would have to take care not to draw attention to the injury. Otherwise, Hosea would be on him in a heartbeat.

For the moment, Arthur simply pressed on. Micah was probably finished taking over the stagecoach by now. Of course Micah would get information on a job that already had a gang working it, especially a ruthless and violent bunch like Colm’s men. Part of Arthur really hoped that Micah had failed at the robbery just to knock the idiot down a notch or two, but unfortunately the first coach he saw had Micah sitting proudly on top.

“If you changed your mind, Morgan, you’re too late,” he said, gesturing to the coach below him.

“I didn’t change my mind. Lucky for you I decided to warn you about an O’Driscoll ambush down that way. Seems they’re pretty intent on robbing this coach, too.”

“That so? Guess I’m lucky you still care.”

“Well I don’t want the camp to lose good money to O’Driscolls. We should open it up here and ditch the coach.”

“Might be more than I can carry.”

“I doubt it will take more than just our saddlebags. It’s safer. O’Driscolls might wonder where the coach is soon and go out scouting.”

“Fine.” Micah walked around the back and shot the lock off, then pulled out a smaller lockbox. Fortunately, it was full of cash, and Micah immediately scooped it into his satchel.

“Remember,” Arthur said, “the gang gets its share. And make sure you aren’t followed!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Micah went south, and Arthur went north towards Cumberland Falls. At Wallace Station he stopped to buy some bandages and whiskey to take care of the small wound, and breathed in the pleasant forest air. He was so close to where he saved Albert Mason from some wolves. He wondered if he could write to the man. Albert did say he was staying in a hotel in Blackwater, though he wasn’t sure for how much longer.

Still, it never hurt to try, though Arthur wondered how he was going to explain Tacitus Kilgore to the photographer.

Chapter Text

With Micah Bell back at camp, Arthur was determined to spend as much time as he could out of it.  That meant extended hunting trips in the woods, exploration, and of course, scouting for jobs.  The day Arthur returned, John approached Arthur about a train full of rich folks coming down into Scarlett Meadows, which they could stop with an oil wagon.  He also knew that Karen and Bill were looking into the potential gains of robbing the Valentine Bank, so long term finances investments were well underway.  They still needed a steady flow of cash, however, so Arthur decided to make himself useful by hunting bounties for the local sheriff.

Sheriff Malloy struck Arthur as a reasonable individual.  The day he sent Arthur after Benedict Allbright, Malloy said that you needed a sinner to catch another sinner, and as long as Arthur’s bounty remained a mystery and the man himself didn’t stir up trouble in town, they wouldn’t have any problems.  The man may have briefly locked Arthur and Lenny up for drunken behavior, but sent them on their way after they paid the fine.  Though Arthur wasn’t quite expecting to walk into the office to see Malloy sitting in his chair with another man standing over him, and his hand on the sheriff’s crotch.

“Uh,” Arthur began, and the pair jumped.  “Excuse me,” he continued, and backtracked out the door.  He shook his head as he walked down the main street.  Might as well come back later.  He heard the door open behind him and Malloy call out, “Hey mister, wait up!”

Arthur turned and patiently waiting as the sheriff’s eyes darted to the people nearby before settling back on Arthur.  “Listen, about what you saw in there…”

“I didn’t see nothing,” Arthur said, holding up his hands.  “I just wanted to know if you had any new bounty posters.”

“If you tell anyone, I’ll…” the sheriff may have been able to make a convincing threat if his hands and voice weren’t shaking.

“Who would I tell, the sheriff?” Arthur tried to joke, but it didn’t help the situation.  “Listen, I won’t tell nobody.  Trust me, I know people don’t like… groups of men.”

“Oh, well, you better keep your mouth shut,” Malloy said, pointing a still shaking finger at him.  Arthur was about to walk away when Malloy said, “Oh, and there is a bounty.  Ellie Anne Swan, likes to murder all her lovers.  I’ll get you her poster.”

A long time ago, back when the gang was just starting out, Arthur had become interested in a man in the nearby town.  He knew to be careful, but when he found out that the man, a ranch hand, was just as interested in him, some of that care had been thrown out the window.  Eventually they were caught, and the ranch hand immediately try to claim that it hadn’t been his idea, that Arthur had forced him into it.  Arthur never found out if the lie worked or not, because he escaped to Boadicea and back to camp.  He never told Dutch and Hosea why they had to pack up and leave so quickly, but he always suspected that Hosea knew.

After that, Arthur didn’t try to pursue men, no matter how attracted he was to them.  And he still liked the company of women, but what happened to Eliza and Isaac soured all relationships for him.

He leaned against the hitching post near the doctor’s office, and saw a woman in a gray dress and shoulder length hair pulled back leave through the door.  She was furiously wiping tears from her eyes, and it took Arthur a second to realize where he knew her from.

“Mrs. Downes?”

She looked up suddenly, clearing the last few tears from her face in order to compose herself.  “Oh, it’s you!  Thomas and I never did get your name.”

“Arthur Callahan.  How’s your husband?”  He knew the answer already, but figured it was polite to ask.

“Not well.  You helped us a lot, mister, but…” she trailed off.

“If you need money or medicine, I might even have a few health cures here.”  Something was connecting Arthur to the Downes family, and he wasn’t sure what.  Maybe they were the reminder of his choice, a way to redeem himself for the direction the gang had gone.

“No, it’s not that.  Thomas has tuberculosis.  Doctor says there’s nothing we can do except treat the symptoms.  Of course Thomas doesn’t want us spending money on him.”  She looked to the ground, hands clutching at the edges of her dress.

“I’m real sorry,” Arthur offered.  “You know, I have a friend who is good with local herbs and plants.  Maybe he knows something around here that will help.”

“You are very kind, Mr. Callahan.  Thomas always says there are good people in this world.  He used to run a charity, you know.  Tried to raise money for folks that needed it.”

Sheriff Malloy wandered over and stood off to the side, bounty poster in hand.  “Here you are, sir.  They say she’s sleeping rough over by Cumberland Falls,” he said after a moment, and Arthur tipped his hat at him, and then to Mrs. Downes.  “Be safe, Mrs. Downes.  I’ll send a letter over to y’all if my friend has any advice.”

“Thank you, sir.”

As he walked away, he heard the sheriff begin to ask the same questions about Thomas Downes and the state of their family, and about how they knew his newest bounty hunter.  Arthur mounted Dakota, and rode off towards Cumberland Falls.

It didn’t take much searching to find the woman, sitting under a rocky outcrop with a man, having a conversation in low voices.

“Excuse me!” Arthur called out, ready to spin a tale in order to get close to the woman and her new man.  But it didn’t work.

“That there is a bounty hunter, get him!” Ellie Anne Swan cried out, pushing her suitor towards Arthur.

The man hesitated.  “Listen, Ellie Anne, I’m gonna have to ask you to go with him.”

Before Arthur could intervene, she said, “What kind of man are you?”  She pulled a knife from her skirt pocket and stabbed the man once in the neck.  He choked as he collapsed to the dirt.

“Shit!” Arthur said, pulling out his lasso.  Ellie Anne ran towards him, but fortunately Arthur was faster.  The rope landed around her shoulders and he had her down with a swift tug.  “You are a piece of work,” he said, sparing a quick glance towards her latest victim before picking her up and tossing her on the back of Dakota.

The entire ride back, she talked nonsense that Arthur ignored.  Sheriff Malloy was sitting behind his desk, alone, when Arthur carried her inside and dropped her in a cell.  Malloy placed the money on his desk and gave Arthur a polite nod, which he returned with a tip of his hat.  No need to talk about what happened earlier that day.
 
The sun was setting low over the hills and trees, and Arthur still didn’t want to go back to the camp just yet.  The main saloon was unofficially off limits to him, so he found himself in the more run down establishment on the edge of town.  He figured he deserved to drink with some of his earnings before he donated to the box, under Dutch’s and Miss Grimshaw’s watchful eyes.  The other day, Miss Grimshaw had gotten onto him about putting a little less than usual in the box.  So what if that day he had ten dollars to spare instead of the fifteen from the previous week?  At least he was giving actual cash and not some feathers or a bat wing like others in camp!  How they got away with giving so little and pretending to be good gang members was beyond him!

There were only two other men in the bar, a man slumped drunk over the counter and his better dressed partner trying to prod him into conversation.  “Come on, sir, try to remember!  What really happened at Sylvia’s Saloon back in ‘76?”

The other man looked up briefly and grumbled, “Just a lot of bunk, Plato, it’s just a lot of bunk.”

“It’s not bunk, Mr. Calloway, it’s history.”

“Ancient history, done and dusted.  The dead got off lucky, the living gotta keep suffering.”  Well, there was something Arthur could drink to.  The sober man kept trying to get answers out of Mr. Calloway, but nothing seemed to make sense.  Arthur grabbed a stool and waved at the bartender.  “Whiskey, please.”

With the drunk man falling asleep on the bar, his friend sighed, leaning his head forward into his hands.  “This isn’t going very well,” he muttered.

“Apparently not,” Arthur agreed.

“This is Jim ‘Boy’ Calloway,” the man said, gesturing to the drunk.  “The Jim ‘Boy’ Calloway.”

“Who?”

“The gunslinger,” the man said, raising his eyebrows up over his glasses.  “Fastest left-handed draw that ever drew breath.  He once killed fourteen men in a fight at Lewsey Hollow.”  Jim ‘Boy’ Calloway’s only response was a snore.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Arthur asked.

“How do you mean?”

“Well, I reckon right now, kill him yourself.”

The man’s mouth dropped open, appalled.  “I don’t want to kill him.  I want to deify him!  He’s a god.  I’m trying to write his biography.”

“And how’s that going?”

“I think I’d prefer the duel,” the author said, looking over his notes.  “Either I’d kill him and be able to be Baltimore’s finest ever gunslinger or he’s kill me and I could be set free from ever having to speak to him again.”

“Well, you’re starting to understand something very important,” said Arthur, clapping the man on the shoulder.

“What’s that?”

“The joys of gunslinging.  It’s win-win.  Freedom or glory.”

The author’s eyes seemed to brighten.  “That’s brilliant!  I’m going to write that down, if I may?”

“Be my guest.”

“Theodore Levin.  What’s your name?”

“I don’t have a name.”

“But you are a gunslinger?”

“Not really.  I mean folks who need shooting, I try to shoot in the back.  All that other stuff it’s, well, bunk.”

Levin persisted.  “But you’ve fought duels?”

“Once upon a time, I may have.”  Arthur took the shot of whiskey, suddenly feeling like he might need it.

“And you ain’t interested in fame?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Strange, but you like fortune?”  

Arthur looked up.  “I need money, sure.”

“Okay,” Levin said, reaching into his bag.  “Then forgive me mister, if I seem a little desperate.  I am a little desperate.  This book, I’ve got to make a thing of it, and there’s a whole list of gun fighters.  Legends, every last one.”  He showed Arthur several photographs.  “Emmet Granger, Flaco Hernandez, Billy Midnight, Black Belle.”

“Never heard of ‘em.”

“Maybe you can go and speak to them.  Ask ‘em about Calloway.  Any of ‘em get uppity,” he looked quickly to make sure Calloway and the bartender weren’t listening and whispered, “shoot ‘em.  I can’t believe I just said that but-”

“You want me to go and find some sad, deluded fools like him, ask if he was the greatest, and then if they get uppity, shoot ‘em?”

“Does sound a lot worse than it did in my head.”

“How much you paying?”

“Well, a lot.  Half the proceeds of the book if you help me get it written.”

Arthur honestly didn’t know how much a book sold for, but based on the author’s clothes, it might make a decent bit of money.  “I’ll see what I can do,” he said.

“Ha!” the author said, clasping his hands together.  “Oh, get photos!” he added, handing Arthur a small portable camera.  It wasn’t as fancy or large as Albert’s camera, but it would likely do the job.  “And there are notes on the back of those portraits that should lead you to ‘em.”

“I’ll see what I can find out.”

“I imagine we’ll be stuck here upon your return.  Here or some other flop house.”  Theodore Levin waved Arthur off as he left the saloon.  

Before mounting Dakota, Arthur took a quick look at the locations on the back of the photographs.  Only one was in the area.  Two were down south, and one was back up in the mountains near Colter.  He truly didn’t know if it would be worth the effort.

Back in camp, half the men were drunk or on their way to it.  Micah and Bill were playing poker, and based on their raised voices, they weren’t having a civil conversation.  Javier was playing guitar for Lenny, Sean, and John.  Arthur slipped ten dollars into the donation box, pausing to look over the ledger.  Amongst the list of almost inconsequential offerings, at least Javier had robbed a gold pocket watch from someone and Charles was bringing in game for Pearson’s stew every other day.

“Have a good day?” Dutch asked, not even bothering to look up from his book.

“Not bad.  Did some bounty hunting, but she wasn’t worth too much.”

“We need more money, Arthur.  Now that you are feeling better, I expect you to be out doing your part.”

“Sure, well I guess I can go get… a poor squirrel pelt or something,” said Arthur, reading from the list.  Really, Micah?

“Excuse me?”

“I do my part, Dutch.  Maybe you should have a look at this ledger sometime and see who isn’t pulling their weight.”

That got Dutch to close his book.  “And just what are you implying?”

“I’m just saying that some people in this camp need a reminder to get off their asses and work!”

“What has gotten into you, Arthur?”

Throwing his hands in the air, Arthur replied, “Maybe I’m tired of being reminded to get out and work when I’m the only one bringing in real money right now.”  Well, the only one was a slight exaggeration, but Arthur did consistently bring in more money than anyone else.

“I’ve about had it with your complaining!” Dutch shouted, standing up to face Arthur.  A few heads around camp turned to look.  Arthur held his ground.  He didn’t want to be cowed by Dutch’s disappointment and anger any longer.  Just a few weeks ago, Arthur probably would have immediately left camp to get a peace offering, but this time he was filled with a burning desire to prove to Dutch that he was right.

“Mr. Morgan, I put a letter for you on your table,” Miss Grimshaw called over, which broke up the moment.  Arthur held Dutch’s eyes for another second before heading back towards his tent.  Miss Grimshaw followed, and the others went back to their drinking and partying.  “It’s from that Mary.  I never liked that girl!”

“I know,” he said, quickly locating the envelope on the table.  With a sigh, he slid it open and read the contents.  It was an odd letter, reminiscent of the past and perhaps a little hopeful for the future.  Mary Linton, previously Mary Gillis, was the girl that Arthur once hoped to marry.  They dated back when the gang had just been Dutch, Susan, Hosea, and Bessie one winter after they settled near Chicago.  When the gang needed to move on, he gave Mary a ring and asked her to come with him, but instead of saying yes, Mary asked Arthur to stay with her and leave the outlaw life behind.  Neither would budge, and Arthur left Mary with the ring and kept moving west.  Eventually, Mary married another, a man named Linton.

Oh, he would be a fool to go see her, but he knew that he would.  He went to sleep with his head full of memories of his time with Mary Gillis, both good and bad, and wondering how it would be to meet her again.

The next morning, Arthur took his time shaving the stubble that was rapidly becoming a beard, combed his hard with a bit of pomade, and rode Dakota to Chadwick Farm.  The woman who answered the door was not Mary, and she had a revolver pointed at Arthur’s chest.

“Oh, I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to disturb you ma’am.  Is Mrs. Linton in?”

“I’ll go see,” she said, but the revolver remained steady as she closed the door.  “Mrs. Linton, a caller for you,” Arthur heard her say, muffled through the walls.  The door opened again, and there was Mary.  She wore a fancy turquoise top and a dark skirt, and her brown hair was pulled back to show off her silver earrings.  Like always, she took Arthur’s breath away.

“Hello, Arthur,” she said, stepping onto the porch.

“Mary.  I, uh…”

“I heard you and your friends was around.”

“Okay,” he said.  He gestured to the house and asked, “Where’s what’s his name?”

“Died,” she said, looking to the floor.

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, me too.  Happened a while ago.  Pneumonia.”

“Bad business.”

“Sure.”

A moment of silence passed, neither of them meeting each other’s eyes.  “So, uh, you’ve been made a widow, and you come here looking for me, is that it?” Arthur asked.  Could that really be it?  After all these years, he had given up on seeing Mary again.  Eliza had happened because of Mary’s marriage.

“No, it ain’t like that, Arthur.”

“Oh, okay.”  More awkward silence.  Arthur glanced back at Dakota to make sure she was alright at the hitching post.

“I… my family…” Mary began. “I need your help.”

Even after all this time, Arthur still felt a little resentment for the reasons why Mary hadn’t joined him in the gang.  “You mean the family that always looked down on me?  You want me to help them?”

“It’s my little brother, Jamie.” 

Arthur laughed.  “I always liked Jamie, at least compared to the rest of them.”

“He’s broken daddy’s heart.”

“Daddy has a heart?”  The man once hurled several liquor bottles at Arthur’s head when he came over to collect Mary for a date.

“Don’t make me beg you, Arthur.”

“My money, my life, me… I wasn’t good enough.”

“I’m sorry.  We need your help real bad.  Little Jaime’s joined the Chelonians, that strange religious order.”

“Good for him,” Arthur replied, not entirely sure what the Chelonians were.  Frankly, he was glad that one member of the family made it our from under their father’s thumb.

“They’re quite mad, Arthur!  They’ll kill him!  You’re the only person he’d listen to.”  Back when they were dating, Arthur and Mary used to let young Jamie tag along on their outings, just to get him away from Mary’s father.  Arthur taught the young boy to ride a horse, shoot a gun, and many other things.  But at the same time, Arthur was still upset, even angry, about how the meeting had turned out.  Mary didn’t want him, she just needed to use him for a time.  

“So, I’m too rough to marry into your family, but it’s okay to ask me to help in saving your family.”

“I’m sorry,” Mary said again.  “I understand if you don’t want to help me, but I think of you often.”

No matter what Arthur hoped for the day, no matter how he thought it might turn out, he realized that it was over.  “A long time ago now,” he said.

“I’m begging you, Arthur.”

“Okay.  I can go check on Jamie.  But I think you should be glad that Jamie is living Jamie’s life, and not the nightmare that his daddy dreamed up for him.”

“Jamie’s so innocent, Arthur.  They’re out near Carmody Dell, I think.  I just want him back.  If you find him, please bring him to me at the station.”

“I’ll see what I can do.  But it’s Jamie’s choice,” Arthur said.  He walked off the porch and grabbed Dakota’s reins.

“I’ll owe you,” Mary said, leaning over the railing.

“You already owe me,” Arthur said, mounting up.  He pointed Dakota towards Cumberland Falls and spurred her forward.

Locating the Chelonians wasn’t difficult, in the end.  A local farmer kindly pointed him towards the flat peak of a mountain nearby, and Dakota easily cantered up the steep trail to the campsite.  Near the cliff’s edge, a group of men sat on a log surrounded by several torches.  Each wore a shirt with a turtled sewn onto it.  It had been several years, but Arthur spotted a younger man with short, light brown hair listening intently to what the preacher was saying.

“Gentleman!” Arthur called out.

Several members jumped, and they all flocked to the leader immediately.  “Shell of safety,” they muttered, and Arthur couldn’t help but roll his eyes.  Taking the whole turtle thing a little far, weren’t they?

“Can I speak to the boy?” he said, gesturing towards the one he was pretty sure was Jaime.  It was confirmed when the kid in question said, “Arthur?”

“Hello, son.  Your sister is very worried.”

The head priest or whatever he was stepped forward.  “The boy has chosen a path, sir.  The path to truth.”

Arthur, resisting the urge to roll his eyes again, said, “Well, his sister just wants to speak with him.”

“Arthur, I’ve chosen a path,” said Jamie.

“The boy has chosen a path,” the priest repeated.  “He’s chosen safety.  What path have you chosen, sir?”

“I’m… still searching, I guess.”

“We are all searching.  Chelonianism is about searching!  What do we search for, do you think?”

“I don’t know, safety?”  That was a word the priest had said, right?  “Safety… and meaning?”

Apparently that was a good enough answer, because the priest nodded.  “Jaime knows the truth.  But of course, you can speak to him.”

But Jaime wasn’t as convinced.  “I’m not coming with you, Arthur!” he said, running towards a horse.

“Just talk to your sister!” he called after Jamie, but it was too late.  Jamie was spurring the horse down the hill, and Arthur quickly jumped on Dakota and galloped after him.  Jaime led him on a chase down into the plains, and despite Arthur’s best efforts, managed to stay ahead of him.  He regretted teaching Jamie to ride so well.  In the end, Jamie managed to get over the tracks just before a train rolled through.

“Please, Arthur,” Jaime shouted over the roar of the engine.  “I’ve found something, a calling.”

“You’re just a kid.  Please, just talk to Mary, she’s worried!”

“I’m not taking advice from you.  You’re an outlaw!”  The caboose pulled away, revealing Jamie with a gun drawn.  “I’m warning you, Arthur Morgan!”  He pulled the trigger with the revolver raised over his head, causing his horse to run off.  “Leave me alone!”

Arthur stayed on his side of the tracks, left hand raised towards Jaime.  “Please, kid.  Put that gun down.”

“I’m warning you, Arthur.  I… I… I don’t want to live anymore!”

“Kid, just calm down!”  Arthur’s right hand moved slowly towards the handle of his own gun in it’s holster.

“Leave me alone!” Jamie said, raising the gun to his head.  Arthur had only a few seconds, but that was all he needed.  He quickly drew his own revolver and carefully aimed before pulling the trigger.  The bullet struck Jaime’s gun, causing him to gasp and drop it in shock.

“Now calm down!” he said, crossing the tracks to Jaime.  Once he picked up the gun, his tone softened.  “Let’s go see your sister,” he said, and Jaime launched himself at Arthur and pulled him into a hug.  “It’s okay, kid,” Arthur said, patting Jaime on the back before leading him over to a sweaty, panting Dakota.

On the ride back, Arthur tried to give life advice to Jaime, which mostly involved leaving his father and finding his own path in life.  Ironically, that was exactly what Jamie had tried to do with the Chelonians, though Arthur reminded Jaime to keep a look out for scams and anyone asking for large donations.  They arrived at the train station all too soon, and Mary leapt up to greet them.

“Jaime!” she cried, hugging the boy.  “Come home!  Please, Father’s been very sad.” 

“Father wouldn’t know sadness if it died in his bed,” Jamie said, and Arthur had to smile at that.  “But I’ll come home, for you.”

After both Jamie and Mary got settled on the train, Mary turned back.  “Arthur,” she started, and then sighed.  “Oh, you’ll never change.  I know that.”

Arthur thought about how he felt the last few weeks, how ever since he got sick from the strange liquid that his feelings about Dutch and the gang had been different.  “No, you don’t,” he said.

She paused, holding a breath and looking hopefully, but then the train whistle blew, and he didn’t move to stop her.  She entered the car and took a seat, watching him as the train rolled away.

Oh, Mary.  What fools they were.

Chapter Text

The girls kept glancing at Arthur when he returned, and he knew that the news of Mary’s letter had spread throughout the camp.  Tilly and Mary-Beth seemed to be stalking him, probably planning to corner him into a conversation.  Arthur wasn’t quite ready for that yet, so he stuck to doing camp chores to keep busy.

But then there were the terribly hidden camp arguments Arthur kept overhearing, simply because his tent was located next to Dutch.  Molly accused Dutch of ignoring her, looking at other women… really, a whole multitude of grievances.  Arthur tried to sleep under the noises of the once happy couple descending into a bitter and broken pair, still trying to give the image that everything was just fine.

If that wasn’t bad enough, Molly was occasionally kicked out of the tent by Hosea.  The older man demanded to know Dutch’s plan, insisting that they needed to head back west, but Dutch kept brushing it off.  Arthur had to agree with Hosea, though.  There was a lot of money in Blackwater, sure, but it would be easier to regain the money from the other side of West Elizabeth.

“How are you doing, Molly?” Arthur asked, trying to drown out the sounds of another argument.

“Fine, Arthur.  How are you?”  She pulled out a cigarette.

Arthur lit a match for her, lighting the cigarette after she stuck it between her lips.  “You liking the new camp?”

“It’s not bad, but I don’t know.  Arthur, have you… do you think Dutch is acting odd?” she started to say, when Hosea threw the tent flap back and stormed out.

“Arthur!” he said.  “Would you ride out to Emerald Ranch with me?  I got a line on someone who wouldn’t mind selling items of… unknown origin.”

“Sounds fun,” Arthur said.  “See you later, Miss O’Shea.”

Hosea and Arthur walked to the hitching posts and grabbed Silver Dollar and Dakota.  “What was that about?” asked Arthur, once they were out of earshot of the camp.

“Oh, you know.  Dutch just changing the plan.  Again.”

“Ah.”

“Every time he says we’re gonna lay low, and here we are again.  Making trouble in town and planning robberies when we should be figuring out how to get our money and go west!”

“If this is about me and Lenny in town…” Arthur groaned.

“Well, there was that, too!” laughed Hosea.  “I just want to stick to the plan, for once.”

“Oh, I know.”

“You doing alright?”

Arthur sighed.  “Hosea, I am not going to talk about Mary right now.”

“So you did see her!”

“Fine, I saw her.  Turns out she’s a widow, but before you get all excited, she just wanted me to help with her brother.  Happy?”

“Of course!”  They went back to silence, trotting down the road.  “Real beautiful country, isn’t it?”  Hosea gestures out over the plains. 

“Sure.  I hope we stick around for a while.”

“You know,” Hosea said carefully, “Dutch seems mighty worried about you.”

“That so?”

“You aren’t thinking about running off, are you?”

“No, course not!” Arthur said easily, as he had many times before.

“Might not be the worst thing.”

“What?”  Arthur jerked back on the reins, causing Dakota to toss her head and snort.  “Hosea, hold up now.  What are you saying?”

Turning in the saddle, Hosea stared down at Dakota’s hooves rather than meet Arthur’s eyes.  “It just feels different this time.  Maybe I’m just getting old.  But as I told Dutch earlier, we’ve never had so many bounty hunters and government agents on our tail.”

“So, what?  I should just leave?” Arthur asked, throwing his hands in the air.

Hosea shook his head and said, “I don’t know, Arthur.  But times are changing, and fast.  Dutch is starting to think that the best plan is to just leave the country, find some tropical island with mangoes or some such.  Might not be the worst idea to have a plan of your own, in case things get worse.”

Could he really do it?  Just leave the gang, after all these years?  It shocked him to think that Hosea, of all people, was thinking that it might be best to call it quits.  “And you?  Do you have a plan?”

“You know I’m in it to the end.  But you are still young, for now anyway,” Hosea couldn’t help but tease a little.  “Just keep it in mind, please?”

“Okay.”  For Hosea’s sake, maybe he could give it some thought.

They continued on, with Emerald Ranch quickly growing closer.  Hosea waved to a man sitting outside a worn, red barn.  “Seamus!” he said, the friendly face covering the previously concerned one.  “How are you, friend?  Ready to discuss business?”

Arthur let Hosea talk and spin his yarn.  From what he overheard, they planned to use this man as a fence.  He was able to deal in multiple items, but mainly stagecoaches and wagons.  But clearly, the man wasn’t willing just yet.

While he rubbed circles onto Dakota forehead, he heard Seamus say, “It’s trusting I don’t do so well.”

“I tell you what, let us prove ourselves.  I know you don’t trust idiots, but we’re not idiots.”

“Okay, I’ll tell you what,” Seamus began, voice low, and Hosea motioned to Arthur over by the horses.  “Old Bob Crawford and his boys just bought a beautiful stolen stage coach from upstate.  It’s in their barn.  Now you go get that, and then we can work together.

“Who’s Old Bob Crawford?” Hosea asked.

“An acquaintance of mine.”

“So, you want us to take out your competition?”

Well, he’s not just an acquaintance, but a cousin by marriage.  I also want to see if you boys got what it takes.  Now you survive that…”

“Where is he?”

“He’s in a farmhouse just northwest of here, called Carmody Dell.  It’s just up the train tracks as you’re heading up towards Fort Wallace,” Seamus said, pointing past the barn towards the mountains.  “There’s also some money in that house, but that’s your business, not mine, but don’t kill nobody!  Folks know we ain’t intimate no more and they’ll know it was me.”

“But you’re fine with us robbing your cousin?” Hosea confirmed.

“By marriage.  And yes, I’d love it.”

“You heard the man,” Hosea said, turning towards Arthur.  “Let’s go rob his cousin.”

“By marriage!” Seamus called after them.  Clearly, that was an important factor for him.

Arthur and Hosea mounted their horses and turned down the road.  “Lead the way,” Hosea said.

“Me?”

“You’re the one who’s been out gallivanting around here,” Hosea said, his voice light.

Arthur laughed.  “That’s what you call it.  Clearly you’ve recovered from your bear encounter.”  They left the ranch and turned towards the mountains. 

“You know, it’s a shame we never got to collect in Blackwater.  I always liked working with you,” Hosea said. 

“Yeah, you had them spun up real good.”  Shortly after they arrived in Blackwater, Hosea had caught wind of a piece of land owned by some rich feller who liked to winter in California.  Barely anyone had seen the owner, so when a man from New York came down with ideas of developing the area around Blackwater, Hosea jumped at the chance to assume the rich man’s identity and sell the land with a forged deed.  Combined with Arthur’s role as the other prospective buyer to raise the bid, Hosea and Arthur were set up for a profitable robbery, before Dutch decided to rob the banking ferry, that is.

“You sure about that guy, Hosea?  He’s a bit of a joke.”

“That’s why he’s perfect!  He won’t cause us any problems.  A safe sport to fence wagons and coaches, that’s easy money for us.”

Through the trees, Arthur could make out a house with a barn in the back.  He signaled Hosea, who turned Silver Dollar over to some bushes.  “That should be the place up there.  Let’s go on foot from here,” Hosea said.  They crept forward and crouched down behind a rock, inspecting the place through binoculars.  “I see a barn in the back, stagecoach has to be in there.”

“Anyone around?” Arthur asked, eyes sweeping the yard.

“Yes,” Hosea said, focused on the house.  “Okay, I reckon we can do it now.  I’ll head over, distract ‘em by putting on a little show while you sneak into the house, find what you can, then get the stagecoach.  Or, we can wait until nightfall.”

“Let’s do it now.  I know how you like to put on a show.”

Hosea chuckled and began to walk towards the house.  “Alright.  Don’t follow me.”

Arthur gave Hosea a minute before sneaking towards the back of the house.  “My good man, my good young man,” he heard Hosea call out to the boy on the porch, throwing on an exaggerated posh accent that went with his businessman act.  Arthur let a smile spread across his face as he silently opened the back door and began to go through the drawers.  He moved with urgency but also carefully, remembering to close every drawer and chest he opened.  Soon, he had almost fifty dollars worth of stuff, but it didn’t quite match the value of the nice homestead or Seamus’s promise of money.  Arthur inspected the place, wondering where he would hide cash if he lived there, and focused on the old brick chimney.  He reached his hand up and pulled out nearly two hundred dollars.  Satisfied, he snuck back out and went for the stagecoach.

Arthur heard Hosea finishing his bit as he entered the barn.  It really was a beautiful stagecoach, finely made with a red finish.  Fortunately, two horses were already hitched to it.  Hosea entered soon after.  “How did you make out?”

“Good, covered my tracks so well they won’t even know I was in there,” said Arthur.

“Good, let’s get out of here.”

Arthur flicked the reins and the two horses took off at a fast pace.  They were almost home free when Crawford spotted them and yelled, “What is going on out there?”

“Dammit, they’re onto us!” Hosea said, though he was slightly amused.  Arthur snapped the reins and pushed the horses up to a canter.  Crawford was too slow to take up the chase, and they were out of the area in no time.  

“How much did you get?” Hosea asked.

“A couple hundred.”

“Not bad at all.”

Seamus was waiting for them at the barn in Emerald Ranch.  “Quick, park that thing in here,” he said, opening the doors.

“Hi, Seamus.  We met your cousins,” Hosea said.

“How was it?”

“Fine, nice people.”

Seamus paid them for the coach, and offered to fence any others they might need to sell.  A successful day, in the end.  Arthur and Hosea walked back to their horses.  Hosea said, “I’m heading back to camp, you coming?”

“Day’s still young, old man!”  The early afternoon sun was bright over the Heartlands, and Arthur could think of a few spots he was itching to check out.  “Think I’ll stick around here and do some… what’d you call it?  Gallivanting.”

“Okay, Arthur.”

Dakota shoved her head towards his pockets when he walked up to her, looking for treats.  “There you go, girl,” he said, pulling out a peppermint.  She snatched it out of his hand, and he laughed.  “Greedy, aren’t you?”

Arthur decided to go check out Heartland Overflow, having heard rumors that a herd of bison often, but was immediately distracted by a man hunched over a tripod in a straw hat.  The wide smile spread unconsciously across his face.

“So, you’re still alive!” he called out, and laughed when Albert Mason once again jumped out of his skin.

“Mr. Morgan!” he said, hand covering his heart in relief.  

“How are you?  Finally left Blackwater?”

“I am indigestible apparently, and yes.  I rented a room at Emerald Ranch for the time being.”  Albert adjusted the camera again.

“How’s the project going?”

“Well, this is God’s country, and I am his faithful servant.  Although perhaps not his most talented one.  I have been trying to capture the grace of the wild horses here for almost a week.  Only the buggers can’t stand me.”  Handing Arthur a pair of binoculars, Albert pointed to a small grove of trees with five horses calmly grazing, with one impressive horse standing out.

“That is a silver dapple pinto!” Arthur said in wonder.

“I know, beautiful.  Won’t come anywhere near me of course.  He can smell my stupidity.”

“Well, how about I drive him over?”

“Oh, that might help.  Can you be bothered?  I feel like such a blunderer.”

“Of course, it’s no problem at all.  Just wait here and be ready.”

“At least this time I doubt I’ll get eaten!” Albert joked.

Arthur rode Dakota around the herd, taking in the silver dapple pinto up close.  The stallion eyed Arthur warily, but confidently stood his ground while the others backed off a bit.  “Go on, get over there!” Arthur shouted, and the herd moved towards Albert.  “Let’s make you famous!”  The herd took off in a gallop across the wet grass of the overflow, with the silver dapple pinto perfectly visible in the middle.

“I got it!” Albert said as the flash went off.  Arthur let the herd run off and went to Mason.  “You are a genius.”

“No, but I can ride a horse.”

“Well, in my world that makes you a genius.”

“You’re too kind.  How are the photos coming along?”

“Oh, amazing!  Here.”  Albert dug into his bag and pulled out one of them.  “I have a print of the wolves, before they tried to eat us.”

Arthur stared wide eyed at the photograph.  The black and white wolves stood directly in front of the camera, crouched and snarling.  “That’s real fine,” he said, but that didn’t seem to cover it at all.

“It’s for you,” Albert said.

“Well, thank you!”  Arthur slid the photograph into the pages of his journal to keep it safe, and thought he saw a slight blush on the other man’s face.  Albert turned away before he could be sure, looking at the herd that seemed to have calmed down from being forced into the camera frame.  

“They really are something, aren’t they?” Albert said.  “I bet there will be some beautiful babies from that stallion!”

“Well, not with this lot.  They’re all boys.”

Albert turned to Arthur.  “Wait, really?  I read that wild horse herds were usually one stallion and a group of mares.”

“Sure.  But when the stallions are young, they don’t always find mares right away.  So the boys stick together, safety in numbers.  They’re called bachelor bands.”

“Huh.”

Arthur stood next to Albert, watching the pinto.  “He’s an amazing horse, isn’t he?  Almost looks like a Missouri Fox Trotter.  I wonder what he would be like to ride.”

“Well, he’s wild.  It’s not like you can just walk up and ride him.”  He must have seen something on Arthur’s face because he then said, “Wait, can you?”

“It ain’t easy, but…” Arthur considered it.  He would love to try his hand at that horse.  “You just took a picture because they’re wild.  Feels weird to catch him after that.”

Albert stroked his beard, seemingly torn.  “He certainly is magnificent, and man has domesticated horses for centuries… it’s not like you would be taking him away from a normal herd, after all… if someone had to tame him, I think I would be happy if that were you.”

“Well, let’s wait and see if I can, first!”

Arthur occasionally broke horses when he was younger, training them up and selling them once the gang was near a stable.  That stopped when he found Boadicea.  The young bay filly had appeared to a Turkoman, though they were never sure and she may have been mixed with something else.  She certainly acted like a wild mustang, though, bucking and rearing at first in fear to throw Arthur off, and later continuing in what Arthur suspected to be enjoyment.  It took ages to calm her, but she eventually did, and had been the perfect partner up until she was killed escaping Blackwater.

Arthur started towards the silver dapple pinto, slow and steady.  When he was close enough, he called out, “Hey boy!”  The stallion tossed his head and shifted, but didn’t turn and run like the others did.  “Easy.”  He kept his steps small and slow, pausing when the horse appeared on the verge of bolting.  Soon, he was close enough to reach out and pet the horse.

“Amazing,” Albert, who had followed a safe distance behind, said.

“Good boy,” Arthur continued, ignoring Albert for the moment and focusing on the horse.  He offered him a carrot from his bag, and the stallion took it immediately, distracted enough to ignore Arthur slipping a rope over his head.  Arthur kept up the gentle touches and soothing words while Albert set down his tripod.  

“That didn’t seem too difficult,” Albert said.

“Well, it’s about to get harder,” Arthur replied, running his hands over the stallion’s back.  Before the horse even knew what was happening, Arthur vaulted onto his back.  The horse reared up before starting to buck, Arthur gripping his sides with his legs to steady himself.  “It’s alright, boy.  Calm down!”  It seemed to be working, and then…

POOF!

The flash of Albert’s camera went off, the photographer trying to capture the moment of breaking a wild horse.  But the pinto shied away and took off across the field in a gallop, Arthur ending up leaned forward with his arms wrapped around his neck just to stay on!  This method was successful until the horse skidded to a stop, quickly veering to the right, and Arthur went flying into the water.

Albert abandoned his camera to run to Arthur, shouting, “Oh no!  Arthur, are you alright?  I’m sorry, I didn’t think about the flash!”

But Arthur was laughing when he picked himself up.  “I’m alright, Albert!  Just a little bruised, that’s all.  It’s not the first time a wild horse has bucked me off.”  He scanned the field for the horse and saw him watching them warily from a safe distance away.  “I bet I can get him if I try again.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.  Just don’t take a picture this time.”

Fortunately, the horse let Arthur approach a second time and mount up, and though he did put on another impressive fight to throw him again, Arthur stayed on this time.  Soon, the stallion gave up, and Arthur fed him another carrot from his satchel before guiding him back towards Albert.  The photographer clapped and cheered.

“That was amazing!” Albert said.  Arthur dismounted to lead the stallion to the photographer, just in case he spooked again.  But the horse allowed Albert to pet his head, worn out and accepting of Arthur’s guidance.  “What will you do with him?  Train him?  Sell him?”

“Oh, I think I’ll keep him.  I’ve got a good feeling about this one.  Besides, there’s nothing wrong with having two horses.”

“What’s his name?”

“Haven’t decided yet.  What do you think?”

“Me?” Albert said, glancing between Arthur and the stallion.  “Well, he is certainly magnificent, so he needs a name to match.  Oh, I’ve got it!  Merlin!”

“Merlin?”  The name was vaguely familiar to Arthur.

“Yes, Merlin, the wizard from the stories of King Arthur of Camelot.  It’s perfect!  You’re name is Arthur, and this boy’s coat is almost magical, isn’t it?”

“Sure is.  Merlin.  I like it!”

After a few minutes admiring Merlin, Albert looked at his pocket watch.  “Oh, look at the time!  I should head back to Emerald Ranch.  They are serving dinner soon.”

“I’ll ride with you,” Arthur offered, hopping back on Merlin.  The stallion tossed his head, but allowed it.

“Aren’t you going to use a saddle?” Albert asked.

“I will, just not yet.  Don’t want to scare him too much in one day.  I would ride Dakota, but I don’t think he will follow along just yet.”

Albert grabbed Lucy, and the two of them headed back to the ranch.  Merlin behaved himself well, gaining confidence with each moment.  When they reached the house Albert was staying in, the photographer asked, “Is there a place I can write to you?  I would love to send you these prints once I have them developed.  As a thank you.”

“Uh, yeah.  You can write me in Valentine.  Though you will need to send it to a Tacitus Kilgore, not to my name.”

“Who’s Tacitus Kilgore?  That’s quite a name!”

“He’s one of my… family members.  I travel around a lot, so he collects it for me… sometimes forwards it along to wherever I am.”  Arthur hoped that explanation would suffice.  

“Well, I’ll be sure to remember to do that.  Thank you again, Arthur.  I don’t know how I would get any photographs if it weren’t for you.”

“Take care, Albert,” he said.  He turned Merlin away from the ranch and whistled for Dakota, glad that he stayed out in the Heartlands that day.

Chapter Text

Merlin and The Count did not get along.

When Arthur rode in on his new horse, with Dakota trailing behind, Dutch’s stallion pinned his ears and tried to charge, with poor Kieran Duffy almost getting run down when he tried to get between them.  Merlin reared up, almost dumping Arthur in the dirt, but he was able to get the horse under control.

“Where did you get that horse, Arthur?” Dutch asked, walking over to save Kieran from the unruly Arabian.

“Caught him out in the Heartlands,” Arthur replied.

“Well, you might have to keep him at the stables, I suppose,” Dutch said, trying to calm The Count.  “Or geld him, if he causes problems with the other stallions.”

Arthur chose not to point out that The Count had charged Merlin, not the other way around, and that so far the other horses didn’t seem to have a problem with Merlin.  In fact, The Count had led to most of the stallions being gelded, with the exception of Silver Dollar and Baylock.  Dutch refused to admit that maybe it was his horse’s problem and not the other way around.  Sighing, he hitched his new horse next to Dakota, trusting the mare to keep the peace as The Count bared his teeth at Merlin.

“I see your afternoon was worthwhile,” said Hosea, admiring Merlin.  Karen, Tilly, and Mary-Beth also came over.  At first, Arthur worried that Merlin would become nervous, but the smart Missouri Fox Trotter looked to the relaxed Dakota and stayed calm, too.

“What a horse, Arthur!  He’s almost out of a fairy tale!” Mary Beth said.

“Think you’d be willing to take me into town on that horse?  I bet he’s a nice ride,” Karen said.

“Yeah, he’s pretty great!  Smoothest trot of any horse I’ve ever ridden,” said Arthur.

While the camp fawned over Arthur’s newest horse, the man himself went looking for John Marston.  Things had been… awkward, to say the least.  Arthur was still angry at John for ditching the gang and his family for over a year.  Though, maybe angry wasn’t the right word for it anymore.  Disappointed?  It wasn’t any better than angry, at the end of the day.  He didn’t know how to tell John just how lucky he was to have a family in the first place, when that could so easily taken from him.

John was sitting on the edge of camp.  He looked up from a map of New Hanover and Lemoyne as Arthur approached, and Arthur could see some areas around Scarlet Meadows marked.  “How’s it going?” John asked.

“Good,” Arthur said.  “I think I’ve gotten a good look at the oil wagons that come out of the Cornwall refinery.  They seem to run every day.  I might hit one tomorrow, hide it near the stable over that way.  You?”

“I’m trying to come up with a plan on where to hit the train.  I have a few possible spots picked out.”  John pointed to the road crossings on the map.  “I’m thinking here.  There’s a curve just ahead, but it should give the conductor enough time to spot us and stop.  They will have to slow to take the turn in the first place.”

“Good thinking.  Glad to see you are finally using that brain of yours!”

“Shut up, Arthur.”

Normally, that would have been the end of it.  Arthur would have just clapped John on the shoulder and gone to talk to someone else.  But he knew that Hosea wanted him to try to repair their broken friendship.  And whatever changed happened in Arthur made him realize that he missed his brother.

“So… how are things?  With you and Abigail, I mean.”

John stared at Arthur, eyes narrowing.  “Why?”

“Just asking, Marston.  Don’t mean to start something.”

“Well, alright then,” John sighed.  Arthur pulled two beers out of his satchel and opened them, handing one to John.  When was the last time he had a drink with his brother, anyway?  Hosea was right.  It was probably time to start letting go of the past and move forward, even though the hurt feelings still remained.  “It’s been hard,” John admitted.  “She keeps nagging on me to help, and then other days she doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

Arthur nodded, thinking about how the couple and his own feelings towards John.  “She probably wants you involved, she’s just worried.  She doesn’t want to get her hopes up that you’ll stick around.”

John took another swig of beer, staring off towards Abigail’s tent.  “We are always arguing now.  I just don’t know what she wants.  She seems to want to be a couple, but I don’t ever remember Hosea and Bessie or Dutch and Annabelle being like us.”

“Sure, Bessie and Hosea were a good couple.  Never seemed to fight, though they disagreed on a whole lot of stuff.  But Dutch and Annabelle?  Oh, they fought all the time!”

“Really?”

“Well, they mellowed out a little by the time we picked you up, but when Annabelle first joined us?  They went at it constantly.  Wait, excuse me,” Arthur stood up, trying to match Dutch’s voice and wild gestures with his arms.  “‘It’s not fighting, son, it’s called debating!’”

John laughed, leaning forward onto his elbows and almost dropping his beer bottle.  Arthur laughed too, but kept glancing at Dutch’s tent to make sure the man hadn’t heard them.  Still, it felt good to share a joke with John.

“They loved each other, though,” Arthur said, feeling a little melancholy over their lost gang member.  He nodded towards the large tent, where muffled yet angry voices often bled through the fabric.  “It’s different with Molly.”

They sat quiet for a while, drinking their beer and staring off the edge of of Horseshoe Overlook.  Then, John said, “You think we’ll get out of this?”

“I don’t know.  Seems like we are running out of luck.”

They might have said more, but Abigail came over.  “Can I speak to John?  Alone?” she asked Arthur.

“Sure,” he said, getting up and heading towards his tent.  “I’ll let you know about that wagon tomorrow.”

Early the next morning, Arthur saddled Merlin and took him on his first robbery.  The stallion seemed excited to run across the the plains into the Heartlands, bouncing in short strides before Arthur gave him more rein and let him speed up.  Merlin was probably one of the fastest horse Arthur had ever ridden.  Soon, they were standing on the overlook near the road, waiting for the oil wagon Arthur could see approaching in the distance.

“Hold on, boy.”  Arthur gave the horse a few pats and then fed him a carrot.  When the wagon reached the ambush spot, Arthur pulled up his bandanna and drew his revolver.  “You there!  Stop!”  The lone driver moved to grab his rifle, but froze when Arthur continued.  “One more move and I’ll put a bullet in your skull!”  

He hopped off Merlin, still keeping the revolver leveled at the man’s head.  “Now then, get off the wagon, nice and slow.”

“Sure, sure, mister, just don’t shoot.  I have a family.”  Fortunately for the driver, he chose not to do anything stupid.  Arthur hopped into the seat and drove off, whistling for Merlin to follow.

“Well done, boy!” he said.  Arthur parked the wagon near an old, broken stone structure at Scarlett Meadows.  He decided to do some hunting before calling it a day.  Tracking deer out in the plains was easy, and it wasn’t long before one was strapped to Merlin’s back and he was riding back to camp.

“Mr. Pearson!  Got you some meat for the stew,” he called over to the food tent.  Pearson emerged, smile wide as he took in the deer.  

“Thank you, Mr. Morgan.  We’ve been running low.  And that deer has a rather nice pelt.  You mind skinning it?”

“Sure.”

“I might be able to make something out of that.  Maybe a new satchel?  I still have the bison pelt that you and Mr. Smith brought me.  I think I just need a rabbit to hold it all together, if you can get me one.”

John wandered over from the table.  Before he could ask, Arthur said, “I got your wagon parked over in Scarlett Meadows.”

“It went alright?”

“Just fine!”

“Good.  I double checked in town today.  The train is due through in two nights.”  Arthur kept skinning the deer, and John stood awkwardly.  As the older man finished up, John said, “You should come drink with us after you’re done.”

Arthur looked up and saw Sean, Lenny, and Javier drinking and laughing.  Normally he didn’t partake.  He always believed he had to keep working, since he couldn’t count on the rest of the camp to pull their weight.  But he was tired of being the work horse!  As soon as he was done, he joined the others at the table.  

“Hey Arthur!” the chorus sounded around the table.  

“Glad to see yah joinin’ us for once,” Sean said.

“How have you boys been?” Arthur asked.  “Where’s Bill and Charles?”

“Charles is getting off watch soon.  Bill went into town,” Javier said.

“He better not get himself into another fight, especially without us to back him up.”

“I suppose I can ride into town later and check the Sheriff’s office for him,” Javier laughed.

Arthur felt himself relax, getting to actually talk with the gang and hang around camp.  He looked around.  Mary-Beth and Tilly were talking about the book they shared between them.  Susan yelled at Uncle to do work.  On a sadder note, he saw Abigail talking with Mrs. Adler, the two of them sitting on a rock.  Abigail pressed a handkerchief into Mrs. Adler’s hands.  Then, his eyes drifted to Strauss’s tent, where the man was talking with Dutch, and Arthur frowned when Dutch glanced up at Arthur with narrowed eyes.  But then Sean spilled half his bottle, causing a roar of laughter, and the moment ended.  

“You not drinking, Lenny?  Still recovering from last time?” said Arthur.

“I would, but I’m going on guard duty in a few minutes.  Got to keep a clear head for it, especially if this lot is going to get drunk!  Actually, I should probably get my rifle,” Lenny said.  He slid out of the seat and walked to his tent.

 Arthur then noticed Kieran wandering between the tents, fast with his head down, lugging a hay bale for the horses.  “Hey Kieran, come join us!” Arthur shouted.  

“You are inviting the O’Driscoll?” John said.  Kieran opened his mouth, probably to refute the statement, then thought better of it.

“He did save my life.  And he’s good with the horses.  Basically one of us now.”  Arthur waved to Kieran, and he wandered over, taking the empty chair Lenny had just vacated.  

“Hello,” Kieran said awkwardly.  John and Javier kept glancing between Arthur and Kieran, wondering what had possessed the older man to invite an O’Driscoll to drink with them.  Arthur wasn’t having it, pushing a bottle of whiskey in Kieran’s direction.

“So, how are you liking camp now that you aren’t tied to a tree?”  When Kieran didn’t reply, he continued, “It’s okay.  Bill isn’t in camp, so you don’t gotta worry about those gelding tongs.”  He swayed slightly in his chair.  The liquor was starting to get to him a little.

“Camp’s alright,” Kieran said, gripping the whiskey bottle hard.  Right then, even with the alcohol clouding his head, Arthur wondered whether or not he could protect that boy.  He really was a good kid, just trying to make his way in the world and stay alive.  Then, Kieran said, “You know, I’ve been wondering.  If it’s alright.  How did you all meet Dutch?”

The four of them glanced between each other, wondering who would go first.  “I’ll start,” Arthur said.  “I was fourteen, almost fifteen really.  Tried to pickpocket Dutch, but he saw me and grabbed me before I could get away.  Thought I was done for.  But then he brought me back to camp, gave me a hot meal, which I really needed at that moment.  After a few days, he and Hosea invited me to join them.  Been with him ever since.”

Then Sean said, “Alright, me next.”  He stood up, arms raised and ready for a show.  “The first time I met Dutch, was him with Hosea, and I thought to myself, ‘What a pair of feckless bastards.’  Was up near North Elizabeth, and I was fixated on this pocket watch that Dutch had.  Big fancy thing it was.  I was a greedy bugger.  And hungry too, I hadn’t eaten in three days.  So I thought to myself, I’ll rob this pair of bastards.  So I followed them out of the bar.  It was a dark night and I followed them down this alleyway.  As I pulled out my gun to threaten them with imminent death, they just stood there laughing at me… I felt like a six year old.  Go ahead, they says, shoot us.  So I did.  “Bang, Bang, Bang!”  Sean accentuated the story with his fingers in the shape of a gun.  Kieran flinched a little, since the hand was drawn from where Sean’s holster sat.  “And nothing!  The bastards had spotted me at the bar and taken the bullets from my gun.  So I stood there laughing, and crying and rather than kill me, they took me and got me some food.  And that was that.”

Javier spoke up next.  “I was trying to steal some chickens and Dutch, well, I met him doing the same.  We laughed, he took me in!”

John was last to go, but Arthur knew it was a story he didn’t like to tell.  Arthur had nightmares about it himself, in the first few months after they picked up John.  To see a group of homesteaders stringing up a boy in a tree, pulling him up by the noose, not even hanging him properly (not like a twelve year old boy weighed enough for that to begin with).  John was saved from sharing, however, by Micah forcing his way into their group.  Though saved wasn’t quite the right word…

“What are you boys doing, drinking with an O’Driscoll?  Scram!” Micah said.  Kieran made to scurry away, to leave the seat open for Micah, but Arthur quickly snatched his arm.

“I invited him,” Arthur said to Micah.

“You would drink with this O’Driscoll scum?” Micah scoffed.  “Didn’t know you were so soft, Morgan.”

“I’d rather drink with him than you.  If that doesn’t tell you what I think of you, Micah, I don’t know what will get through to you.”

Kieran twisted his wrist, trying to escape Arthur’s grasp.  “It’s okay, I’ll go.”

“No.  I invited you over.  I didn’t invite him.”  Arthur and Micah glared at each other, then Lenny walked by with his rifle, and Micah’s attention shifted to follow him.  

“Oh look here, a boy with a gun going on watch.  You know, I shot a lot of folk like you,” Micah said to Lenny, walking too close behind him.

“What you mean, ‘folk like me?’” Lenny said, turning towards Micah.  Really, was Micah the drunk one?  Choosing to provoke everyone in camp?

“Oh… you know… cowards,” Micah said.  A thin attempt to cover what he really thought.  

Lenny scoffed, moving to walk away, but Arthur had had enough.  He stood up, marched over to Micah, and grabbed him by the throat.

“Whoa, whoa!  What is the meaning of this, Morgan?” Micah said, eyes wide, fear creeping into them.

“The fuck did you say to him?” Arthur said.

“What you talking about, Morgan?”

“You don’t belong here.  I don’t know how you conned Dutch into thinking you are one of us, but no one else believes it.  I would kill you right now, but I actually give a shit about the gang rules.  Unlike you.  But if you talk to Lenny, or any of them, like that again?  I’ll kill you.”  Arthur’s hand tightened on Micah’s throat.

“Arthur!”  A hand fell roughly on his arm and yanked him away from Micah.  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Dutch said.  He dragged Arthur away from camp towards the overlook, his rings digging into Arthur’s skin.  “Why are you attacking Micah?  You know better than that!”

Twisting out of his grasp, Arthur turned on Dutch.  “You didn’t hear what he said to Lenny!”

“And what was that, exactly?”

“Was saying that he shot people like him.  Tried to brush it off, but we all know what he means.”

“That’s it?” Dutch asked.

“What do you mean?  Isn’t that enough?  He doesn’t just say shit to Lenny, I’ve heard him do it to Charles and Javier, too.  And Tilly!  Why do you even let him stick around, Dutch?  He don’t belong here!”

“I brought him back here, Arthur.  I trust him.  Are you doubting me?”

“About Micah?  Yes!”  He said it before he really realized what word Dutch had chosen.

And it was like he slapped Dutch in the face, the way he reeled back.  “After all these years?  I don’t get it, Arthur.  You’ve changed.  I don’t know why, but you have!”

As much as Arthur wanted to refute it, Dutch was right.  Something about Arthur had changed, and he wasn’t entirely sure what.  He had always been driven to fulfill a purpose, but it was as if the purpose changed.  He didn’t want to just make money for the camp and for Dutch anymore.  It felt like the kind of change one struggled and suffered for, the kind that got beaten into a man through hardship and pain.  But he hadn’t gone through anything, he just drank a mysterious liquid and dreamed of a buck and a raven.  He hadn’t earned the change he felt, and that scared him.

Because Arthur had always been loyal to Dutch and to the gang for years, and he had never stopped to question whether Dutch was loyal to anyone.

“You know what Strauss just said to me?” Dutch continued.  “He said that a Mr. Wrobel found him in town, paid off his debt, and thanked him for the extra time in paying it back!  Now, why would he do that when you said he already paid his debt?”

“Look, I didn’t go to Mr. Wrobel,” Arthur admitted.  “After I went to the Downes, I just couldn’t do it.  Strauss lent money to a dying man.  He couldn’t pay it back, and I wasn’t going to beat it out of him!  I hadn’t gone to Wrobel yet, and after that I just couldn’t.”

“So, you shorted the gang, is that it?”

“No, never!”  Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw Hosea walk over, but he didn’t have time to ponder how relived that made him feel.  “I put my own money in the box.”

But Dutch shook his head, stepping back.  “I expect you’ll betray me in the end, Arthur.  You’re the type.”

“Excuse me?  What is that supposed to mean?”  

“You tell me!”

“Dutch,” Hosea started.

“That’s a strange thing to say,” Arthur continued.

Dutch sighed.  “I didn’t mean it.  I’m just tired, I guess.”  But the voice he used wasn’t the soft tone of comfort, rather it was more theatrical, the one he used to placate people just before robbing them blind.

And Arthur wasn’t about to let that go.  “No, Dutch, you tell me what that means!”

“I don’t have time for this!”

“Do you really have a plan, Dutch?  A real one, not just harvesting mangoes on some tropical island!”

Dutch stepped forward and shoved Arthur, hard.  “I’ve about had it with you!”

Arthur stumbled a step back, not sure why Hosea’s eyes had suddenly gone wide, reaching forward with a shout.  Even Dutch, after a moment, seemed to realize something, but Arthur needed a moment to catch up when his foot met nothing but air, and Dutch’s and Hosea’s faces were replaced with rock.

Arthur yelled in surprise.  His hands moved on instinct, reaching towards the cliff side in a desperate attempt the anchor himself.  Rock scraped against skin, and just when he feared his life would end at the ground below, his hands caught on some outcrop, his body jerking sharply on his shoulders.

Arthur slowly turned his head up to where he had just been standing.  It was a miracle, really, that he managed to stop his fall.  Hosea’s pale face appeared over the edge, a hand reaching down towards him, lips moving in words Arthur couldn’t quite hear.  His ears were ringing.  Hosea probably wanted Arthur to take his hand, but Arthur wouldn’t move.  What if his grip wasn’t steady enough to reach for Hosea?  Or worse, what if he accidentally pulled Hosea over the edge with him?

Then John’s face joined Hosea’s, and Charles on the other side.  John moved back to anchor Hosea, and Charles reached down, too.  He didn’t move, still worried that shifting even a tiny bit would dislodge him from his precarious hold, but he soon realized he didn’t have a choice.  And he couldn’t deny Hosea’s desperate eyes, the way he kept talking and talking even though the words still wouldn’t reach Arthur’s ears.  Slowly, he tested his grip, shifting his hold to the right arm only and swinging his left arm up.  Hosea caught it, his firm hand pulling up and taking the majority of Arthur’s weight.  Confident now that he wouldn’t fall, Arthur reached for Charles’ hand, and together, the two men pulled Arthur back over the edge.

Hosea hugged Arthur close, and the quick rise and fall of his chest made Arthur realize that he hadn’t been breathing this whole time.  He forced himself now, pulling air deep into his lungs and out again, and finally all his senses came back to him, both his hearing and the fact that his hands hurt like hell.

“-fuck is wrong with you, Dutch van der Linde!” Hosea shouted.  The man stuttered through an almost unintelligible reply, but Hosea didn’t wait around for it.  He led Arthur to a rock up the hill and sat him down.  The gang was beginning to crowd around them, but Susan pushed her way through with a bucket of water and some bandages.  

“Here, Mr. Morgan.  Let me wrap up your hands,” she said, and Arthur looked down at the bloody scrapes covering his palms and fingers.  He winced when she poured water over them.  Her eyes shifted over to Dutch and Hosea, and Hosea was tearing into Dutch with a ferocity Arthur had never seen.

“You pushed him off a cliff!  Our son!  You could have killed him!”

“Hosea, I wasn’t thinking.  I didn’t realize where we were standing.”

“You brought him over here!”

“Arthur,” Dutch said, shouldering past Hosea to stand in front of Arthur.  “You know it was an accident, right?  You know I would never hurt you, son.”

Later, it occurred to Arthur that it was the lack of apology that did it.  Dutch never said he was sorry, never begged for forgiveness, just looked Arthur in the eye and expected him to shrug it off like so many things in the past.  And Arthur just needed to get away.

Susan finished bandaging his hands, and Arthur stormed to his tent.  Dutch followed behind even as he pulled out a bag and began throwing clothes into it.

“Arthur…”

Winter coat, winter gloves.

“Son, listen to me.”

A few of his shirts, a change of pants.

“Look at me, right now!”

His pictures, his flower, Boadicea’s horseshoe.

“STOP!” Dutch grabbed his shoulder and spun him around.  “I would never try to kill you, Arthur.  You have to know that.”

Arthur shoved the hand off.  “No.  I don’t.”

He walked past Dutch, past the whole camp staring after him.  He mounted Merlin, whistled for Dakota, and disappeared into the woods.

Chapter Text

Arthur pushed Merlin to a gallop towards Valentine, Dakota running behind, praying no one was following him.  He took one of the winding dirt tracks down to the river before turning west, crossing back and forth across the water and riding in the calm, shallow parts until he was certain he had left the world’s most confusing trail.  Only then did he slow down, giving the tired stallion a break near Cumberland Falls.

Shit.  What was he even doing?

Arthur had no clue where he wanted to go, he had just been filled with the unquestionable desire to leave, get away, get to safety, and the feeling was still there now.  But he needed a place to go, somewhere no one would think to look for him.  Near Wallace Station, he suddenly realized he could probably go to Strawberry.

As far as he was aware, no one had recognized him when he broke Micah out of jail, and a quick check on the Wallace Station bounty board confirmed it.  Besides, he was pretty sure Micah killed all the lawmen.  So he set off, figuring he could do some hunting and explore Big Valley while he figured out what exactly he was going to do now.

Because really, what should he do?  For twenty years, Arthur rode with Dutch and Hosea, always loyal, never doubting.  When John ran off, Arthur had labeled him a coward and treated him like shit when he came back.  Now he had to decide for himself if he was going to disappear for a few weeks, just to teach Dutch a lesson, or forever.  And Arthur was stuck without a plan.

Then he heard a voice in his head that sounded like Hosea.  One step at a time.

A long time ago, when Dutch, Hosea, and Arthur failed at robbing a stagecoach that turned out to have more guards than any of them anticipated, Hosea and Arthur ended up separated from Dutch in the mountains on foot.  Arthur had a sprained ankle and Hosea was bleeding from a bullet graze on his arm, but Arthur spent most of the time panicked about Dutch.  Last they had seen, their leader was being closed around on either side by lawmen, but they were unable to help.  But Hosea pulled Arthur into a hug, let all of Arthur’s fears pour out in rushed words, then said, “One step at a time, kid.  We gotta take care of ourselves first.  Then we can figure out what happened to Dutch.”  Later, once Arthur was safe back at camp, Hosea was able to pull his famous “Get out of Jail Free” trick when he tracked down Dutch at the local jail, which boiled down to getting the sheriff black out drunk.

Right now, the first thing Arthur needed to do was to lay low.  Let his hands heal, since he couldn’t exactly hold a gun well with them wrapped up in bandages.  He dropped Merlin and Dakota off at the Strawberry Stable, pushing a few extra dollars into the stable owner’s hands to give them the extra care package, and walked to the Welcome Center for a room.  After months of running and sleeping on a cot, it felt nice to relax into a real bed for a change, and Arthur was asleep within minutes.

The first day, Arthur explored the town he once helped  decimate.  There really wasn’t much.  Just a few houses, a general store (one that didn’t even sell alcohol), a doctor that didn’t seem to be around, and the jail.  On day two, he met a New Yorker who claimed to be lost in the woods even though he was already on the road that would have led him back to the town, and robbed a crazy man for a treasure map.  Honestly, he had to be crazy if he couldn’t recognize a sketch of Cumberland Falls while staring straight at the real thing!  On the third day, Arthur, getting restless, went looking for the trapper, who sometimes set up his stall near Riggs Station.  Fortunately, he was there, and Arthur was finally able to pick up the coat he asked to be made out of that bastard of a bear he hunted with Hosea.  By the time the morning of day four rolled around, Arthur was ready to get out of Strawberry.

Dumping the papers from his satchel on the bed, Arthur scanned his various maps and papers for a suggestion on where to go.  He didn’t want to aimlessly wander to country without purpose.  The photographs from that author, Theodore Levin, stood out.  One of the old gunslingers, Flaco Hernandez, was supposedly hiding up near Colter.  If there was anywhere the gang wouldn’t track him, it was back into the snowy mountains.  And he could swing by Cumberland Falls on the way!  He unwrapped his hands to check the scrapes and flexed his fingers, confident that they would be fine.

So, Arthur donned his new coat and mounted Merlin, Dakota following dutifully behind.  The treasure behind Cumberland Falls turned out to be another map, with features Arthur didn’t recognize.  Until, of course, riding up near Barrow Lake to get to Colter, he saw the fallen tree creating a bridge to an island in the middle of a frozen lake.  Unfortunately, this only gave him some cash and a third map with a location he didn’t quite recognize, but the building looked almost like a fort, so he figured he could check near Fort Wallace.

In the meantime, he guided Merlin north to a small cabin that housed Hernandez.  “Hey!  Who’s that?  You in the wrong camp, stranger,” Arthur heard from a guard, muffled from the layers of scarves wrapped around his face.

Arthur stood his ground.  “You don’t want to die for Hernandez, do you?  Take me to him, I got some questions to ask.”

“Okay, if it’s just questions.  He’s up in the cabin.  Don’t shoot this fool!  He’s having words with the boss.”  The other guards, who had been hiding behind the trees and crates, didn’t lower their guns, but allowed him to pass by.

Arthur walked up to the cabin.  “Flaco Hernandez!” he called out.  “I don’t want any trouble.  I’m here to speak with you about Boy Calloway.”  

Hernandez walked out and spat in the snow, wearing a wide, gray sombrero with a red rim.  His large fur coat was criss crossed with two bandoleers and a gold engraved gun belt.  “I just want to talk about Boy Calloway,” Arthur said again, keeping his hands raised to his chest.

“Sure, here’s your message,” Hernandez said, hand moving to his holster.  Ah, so that was how this conversation was going to go.  Arthur drew fast, just as Hernandez did the same.  The Del Lobo leader tried to throw Arthur’s aim by jumping to the side, but he was too slow!  Arthur put a bullet in his chest, and behind him he heard the other gang members scatter.  

“Well, I’m off to a great start,” Arthur said to himself, pulling out the small portable camera.  He took a photo of Hernandez’s slack face, hoping that would be enough for the author, and picked up the dead man’s gun.  It was a rather nice piece.  He took a picture of that too, to make up for the fact that he wasn’t bringing back a quote, and decided to keep the gun.  He then looted the cabin, finding some money and, surprisingly enough, another treasure map!  This one had a drawing of a rock that looked like a face, something Arthur didn’t recognize from his previous travels around the Heartlands.  Still, he could keep an eye out.

On the way back down, Arthur went to Lake Isabella.  Hosea’s map included rumor of an albino bison hiding out in the snow.  He had meant to invite Charles, but would he ever get the chance?  He reached the shore, looking for clues, when he saw something white moving out of the corner of his eye.  It was too small to be a bison.  It was… a horse?

The binoculars were out of his satchel and up to his face in an instant.  The white mare was tiny, thin.  Her ribs stuck out against her skin.  She weakly struck her hooves against the ice of the lake, trying to break through to get a drink.  Arthur looked at the concave face, and he suddenly realized she was an Arabian!  Probably some rich man’s horse, possibly having gotten lost in a storm or stuck alone if the owner died.  Arthur approached slow, not wanting to leave the poor animal to starve to death.  She stared at him warily, but didn’t run when he approached, which confirmed his theory that she once had an owner.  “Here girl!” he said slow and soothing, and held out a clump of hay.  She stumbled towards him and stretched her neck to snatch the hay from his hands and retreat, but soon got tempted by the carrot he pulled out next.  This time she got close enough for him to pat, and slowly she relaxed enough for him to slip a halter over her head.  “Come on, sweetheart.  Let’s get you out of the snow.”

She followed along as Arthur led her back to the other horses.  Dakota and the Arabian touched noses.  They had to move slow, since the tired horse struggled through the snow, but just as the sun was going down, they got to Cattail Pond, and Arthur made camp.

His days continued like that, heading east along the Grizzlies.  He successfully tracked and killed a bighorn ram and a wolf from Hosea’s map.  He was able to find three gold bars near Fort Wallace, though he almost missed a jump and ended up dead at the bottom of the canyon.  After that, Arthur swore to stay away from all cliffs forever.

Eventually, Arthur looked up one morning and laughed.  He was near the weird cabin and cauldron that seemed to start this series of events.  He left the horses at the road and checked.  Sure enough, just like when he went back after drinking and passing out, the raven and liquid were gone.  He was alone, without answers, without guidance.

But a little further down the road, he found it.  An old fort, or watchtower, or hunting lodge… he wasn’t quite sure.  It was called the Loft, according to one of the papers he found inside.  The first floor was equipped with a furnace, bed, and cabinets.  A ladder went to a open landing, a roof keeping out the rain and open on all sides, giving Arthur a view as far as O’Creagh’s Run.  He breathed deep, bringing in the smell of grass and wildflowers.  Merlin, Dakota, and the Arabian settled in down below.  This felt like where he belonged, high up in the mountains with his horses, no one the disturb him or drag him away.

And so Arthur stayed.  He hunted in the area around the cabin, and sold the pelts at the trapper just over the border in New Hanover.  He cashed in the gold bars he found with Seamus, the man taken aback by the amount but still somehow able to produce the cash.  There was only one flaw in his new home.  There was a gap in the logs midway between the first floor and the landing that was open, probably meant for a window at one point or another, that Arthur only noticed during the first rain.  He ended up setting up his tent over the bed to keep the mattress dry!  The old cabin creaked and groaned in the wind, and Arthur was afraid the whole structure could blow away!  Outside, Dakota and Merlin huddled around the small white mare, keeping her warm and safe throughout the storm.  Perhaps he could go to Annesburg with the measurements for that opening.  It seemed to be a perfect rectangle, and it couldn’t be that hard to install a window!  Maybe he could build a small barn for the horses in the field.

Wait, what was he thinking?  Was he really planning the stay there long term?  Arthur had avoided that particular debate for over a week now.  Had he truly left Dutch forever, or was this a temporary thing?  He didn’t know, couldn’t know.  Every time he tried to think on his future, his mind managed to come up with a distraction.  A new plant he had never seen and needed to draw, a new bird to study.  He finally found a perfect bear pelt to make a saddle, and dropped that with the trapper.  His map told tale of an albino moose just over near Roanoke Ridge, and he considered going to check it out once the weather let up.

He wondered what it would be like, to stay up in the mountains forever, to be free of bounties and the law.  Could he buy to cabin and the land around it?  Was it for sale, or did someone already own it?  He wondered which bank or town could answer his questions.  The only other person he knew that lived in Ambarino was Mrs. Adler, and he couldn’t exactly go back to camp and ask her.  Plus, it wouldn’t be fair to remind her of the life she had only recently lost.  Really, he was closer to Annesburg than anywhere else, and even though the town was in New Hanover, maybe he could ask where to inquire about the land.  

The next morning, as he was roasting some venison with oregano on a fire, he heard horses coming up the path.  He tensed, his hand shifted to his holster on instinct, like a rattler preparing to strike.  But the silver Turkoman and the Appaloosa that came around the corner were familiar, as were their riders.

“And here he is!  Well done, Mr. Smith,” Hosea said, hopping down and pulling a slightly stunned Arthur into a hug.  “Good to see you again, son.”

“How did you find me?”

“Wasn’t too hard!” Hosea laughed.  “Seamus was complaining about his lack of funds after exchanging cash for some gold bars.  You’ve been holding out on us!”

“Hey now, I found those after I left.”

“Don’t worry, I’m just teasing.  Anyway, you had him craft some trinkets from some odd animal parts.  So we went to the trapper, asked if he had seen you and what you’d been bringing in, and he suspected you were up in the East Grizzlies.  Didn’t take too long to find you, with that pretty horse of yours.  Though I see the herd has expanded somewhat.”

Arthur looked over at his three horses.  The Arabian  leaned into Dakota, eying the new horses and men.  Charles approached slow, whispering slow and gentle, an oatcake in his flat hand.  The horse accepted it, relaxing under his hands.  With a smile, Arthur turned back to Hosea.

“Yeah, found her up in the snow, not far from where we were hiding out.  Poor thing was half starved.  Not sure if I’ll keep her, though.  She’s a bit small for me, and a little skittish.  I haven’t even tried to ride her yet.”  

“You might be surprised.  Arabians are rather strong for their size.  And Dutch has been riding The Count just fine for years!”  Hosea meant it as encouragement, but the mention of Dutch put a dark cloud over the otherwise happy reunion.  Arthur’s face lost a bit of its brightness, and Hosea could tell.  “I’m not here to drag you back,” he said.  “I just wanted to make sure you are alright.”

Arthur nodded slowly.  “Want to come in?” he asked, gesturing to the cabin.  “I got coffee.”

They walked in.  Charles raised an eyebrow at the still damp floors, looking up at the hole in the siding.  “Pretty big leak you got there,” he said, and Arthur laughed, mood bright once again.  

“There used to be window, I think.  Not sure how long it’s been since anyone lived here.”

Hosea started up the ladder.  “I want to see your view!”  Soon, all three of them ended up sitting on the upper landing, sipping coffee out of mugs that Arthur had found laying around.  The fields and flowers glowed gold in the morning sun, and Hosea regaled Charles with stories from growing up in the mountains.  They both asked Arthur about what he had been doing since leaving camp, and Arthur showed them sketches of the animals he had tracked down.  He also invited Charles to go looking for the albino bison at some point.

Finally, dying to know, Arthur asked, “So, how is the camp?”

“Not too good,” Hosea said.  “Tense.  After you walked out, Dutch gathered everyone together and said you were just upset from the accident and needed some time to cool off.  Of course by that point pretty much the whole camp knew what ‘accident’ Dutch was talking about.  How much of a fool is he to forget that you two were standing on the edge of a cliff?  Of course, when I told him that, he just shouted about how he’s been under a lot of stress and has shut me out since.”

“He know you’re up here?” Arthur asked.

“No, he thinks Charles and I are scoping out a lead.  Money has gotten a little tight.  I thought Dutch was going to kick Strauss out when he mentioned that without your regular income we might not have enough for more supplies.”

“Kicking out Strauss might not be the worst thing in the world.  We shouldn’t be lending to poor folks.”

“No, but it isn’t a good time right now.  Strauss isn’t exactly the type of man who I would trust to keep his mouth shut if he ever got picked up.  Same with Mr. Bell, that’s why I’ve been okay with keeping him around.  I would only cut him loose if I could be sure he wouldn’t track us down again.  Of course lately, he’s the only one Dutch seems to listen to!”

“What?  Micah?”

“Yes,” Hosea sighed.  “The way he gets ideas into Dutch’s head… I don’t like it.  But it got worse after a few days when you didn’t come back.  People started asking questions, and Dutch shut himself away even more.  Everyone is nervous.”

“You got any good news?” Arthur asked.

Charles piped in.  “John was able to pull off the train robbery, with me, Sean, and Javier.  Got quite a lot of money from those rich travelers, but it was weird.  The law showed up pretty quick.  I’m not sure if we were set up, or if the law was just lucky.  We were able to get away, though.  Sean almost got his head blown off, but that’s not the story he’s telling.”

Hosea suddenly seemed unable to look Arthur in the eye, his hands tight around the mug.  “What aren’t you telling me?” Arthur asked.

Hosea fidgeted a bit with the mug and took a long gulp of coffee before saying, “Mr. Smith, do you mind if I talk with Arthur privately?”

“No problem,” Charles said, going back down the ladder.  

Once he was gone, Hosea said, “I got recognized near camp.”

“What?”

“I took young Jack down to the river to do some fishing, as a favor to Abigail.  Two men, Agent Ross and Agent Milton, found me.  They offered to clear my bounty if I turned in Dutch.  I thought we should move camp right away, but Dutch didn’t seem to think it was a problem.”  Hosea shook his head.

“But you should go!  If the train job is done-”

“Dutch still thinks there’s money to be made in Valentine.  I don’t think its worth the risk to stay, but my opinion doesn’t seem to matter much these days.”

“I need go back.  I can help protect them, you are still my family!”

“No, that’s the last thing I want.  Part of the reason I came up here was to warn you.  Remember what I told you not long ago, that you should have a plan?  You aren’t the only one I’ve been saying that to.  It may not have been under the best of circumstances, but it might be better that you are gone.  Folks are scared to leave Dutch, but if someone who has been a member of the gang for twenty years can strike out on their own, it might inspire a few others to as well.  But… well, there is one thing I might ask you to do.”

“What is it?”

“I need you to talk to John.”

“Why?”

“He’s been rather angry, and upset, after you left.  After he came back, you were always on him about being loyal to the gang.  Now you’ve gone, too, and it hurt him, Arthur.  You need to talk to him.”

“Of course John wouldn’t understand.”  Arthur stood up and leaned over the railing, looking over the mountains.  “This is completely different.  John ran away from his kid for a year!”

“I know that.  And I think deep down he knows that, too.  But talk to him, please?  You two used to be so close, and to be honest, I’ve been hoping that John will take Abigail and that boy and get out of this life.  But Dutch has been keeping him feeling guilty about leaving.  Maybe you can help convince him to go.”  Hosea joined Arthur, and the two watched a flock of birds take off.  “You know, I could see you living up here.  Raising a couple horses.”

“I never even thought about wanting it until now.”

“I know.”  Hosea draped one arm over Arthur’s shoulders in a half hug.  “I’m going to drag John into Valentine in three days.  Please be there?”

“Fine, I will.”

“Good.  Oh, I almost forgot!” said Hosea, diving into his bag.  “I’ve got some mail for you.  From someone named Albert Mason in Saint Denis.  Didn’t know you knew city folks.”

“He’s a wildlife photographer, met him a few times because he’s been traveling all over.  Thank you,” Arthur said, tucking the letters into his own satchel for later.  “You heading out?”

“Yeah, I figure I shouldn’t be gone too long, or else Dutch will think I’ve abandoned him, too.”  It was meant as a joke, but it fell flat.  Hosea met Charles outside, and the two mounted their horses.  

Charles nodded at Arthur and said, “It was good to see you again.”

“You might see me soon,” Arthur said.  “I still want to go after that bison with you.”

“Goodbye, Arthur,” Hosea said, turning Silver Dollar down the road.  Arthur watched them go, until they rounded the corner and disappeared into the hills.

Three days until he saw John.  Then, he would decide what he wanted to do.

Chapter Text

Soon after Hosea and Charles left, Arthur opened the letter he got from Albert Mason.

Dear Arthur,

I want to thank you for helping me, again! Enclosed are the two photographs from our trip in the Heartlands. They came out beautifully. I do hope that your new horse is treating you well, since he looks rather determined to toss you in the picture. I am going to be in Valentine on Saturday the 10th, and would like to invite you to join me. I hope you get this letter in time, as I would very much like to see you again.

Albert Mason

Arthur wasn’t exactly sure what day it was, but maybe he could still make it! He tilted the envelope and two photographs slid out, the first being a majestic shot of the horse herd galloping across the Heartlands. The second was of Merlin, eyes wide and wild, caught midway through a powerful buck in a desperate attempt to knock Arthur off his back. Arthur admired the two pictures, and tucked them into his journal.

Well, if he had any hope of making it in time, he better leave soon. He packed his various things that were scattered around the Loft. The cabin started to look like a home after several days, but unfortunately Arthur knew that another traveler could move in while he was gone. This time, Arthur saddled Dakota, figuring the young stallion deserved a break. They moved slow. The Arabian, while starting to gain a healthy weight, was still a little weak. She obediently trotted along after them, finally completely comfortable with their tiny group.

Late in the evening, they wandered into Valentine. Arthur got his three horses stalls at the stable, taking a moment to ask the owner if he knew anyone who might own the Arabian. He didn’t. But he did know the date, and it was only the 9th! Arthur got a haircut from the barber at the saloon, since his hair and beard were both getting very long, and started heading towards the hotel in order to get a room for a few nights.

But as he was walking out of the saloon, he noticed some familiar faces! Karen, Mary-Beth, Tilly, and Mrs. Adler were leaving the general store with a load of supplies. He froze, unsure if he should talk to them. But then Karen’s eyes met his and brightened, and she shouted and waved. Mary-Beth, Tilly, and Karen took off in a run, the hems of their skirts trailing carelessly through the muddy streets, and launched themselves at Arthur.

“We missed you so much!” Mary-Beth said.

“You coming back? It isn’t the same without you around,” said Tilly.

Arthur returned their hugs. “Alright, alright, settle down. Let’s find some place to sit down and have a chat. How are you, Mrs. Adler?” he said, and got a gruff, “Fine,” in return.

Karen, leading the way to a corner table in the saloon, said, “It’s about time we saw you! Ain’t too many boys around camp I like.”

“You seem to like Sean well enough,” Arthur chucked, pointing to Sean’s jacket hanging off Karen’s shoulders.

“Yeah, what of it? We ain’t talking about me right now.”

“Yeah, Arthur,” Mary-Beth piped in. “What happened? Where have you been?”

“Been all over the Grizzlies. Even went back up near Colter. Found a beautiful horse up in the snow. You’d like her, Mary-Beth, she’s the sweetest little thing. Haven’t ridden her yet, though.”

The bartender dropped off five beers at the table, and they began to drink in silence. Arthur knew that all the girls had questions, but it might be possible that the normally confident Karen, fearless Tilly, and curious Mary-Beth might be afraid of his answers.

Though, he was mildly impressed with how quickly Mrs. Adler chugged her own bottle.

“How’s camp?” he asked carefully.

“It’s been hard,” Mary-Beth said. “The camp is split in two. Some people understand why you left. Others…”

“Dutch gives a speech about loyalty at least once a night. Like we are the disloyal ones, after what he did,” Karen scoffed. “Most of us are getting tired of it, but people like Bill and Micah just lap it up.”

“Are you alright, Arthur?” Tilly asked, reaching out to take his hands and inspect them.

“I’m fine, sweetheart.”

“So, are you coming back?” Karen insisted.

“No, not yet.”

The girls nodded, much more understanding than Arthur expect John would be later.

“We’ve had rough patches, sure,” said Tilly. “But this feels different, this time.”

“Hosea said he saw you, but wouldn’t say where you were. Dutch was furious. But Hosea… he’s been talking with people. Asking them if there’s anything else we wanted to do with our lives. I told him about wanting to be a writer, and he thinks I should do it. Kind of implied that I should leave the gang,” Mary-Beth said.

“He say this to all of you?” Arthur asked.

“He said it to me,” Tilly said. “But… well… you remember my old gang, the Foreman Brothers? I saw Anthony Foreman in town a few weeks ago. I just don’t think it would be good idea to be on my own right now.”

“I understand. Karen? What about you?”

“He talked to me, but I don’t know. I’ve been a thief so long. It’s all I know. Don’t want to be anything else.”

They finished their drinks with the girls sharing the latest stories from camp. The highlight seemed to be that Uncle had mooned Swanson one morning before robbing a stagecoach in only his union suit, much to the chagrin of Charles and Lenny, who had gone with him. Even Mrs. Adler was smiling at that, which prompted Arthur to ask, “And what about you? You stickin’ around with this bunch of fools?”

“For now. I don’t have anywhere to go, either. My husband… we lived alone up in those mountains for a reason. Not a whole lot of friends or family.”

“She’s been helping Mr. Pearson. Food’s improved a little, but I’m worried she might kill him,” Tilly said.

“Food would be better if he gave me something to do that wasn’t just chopping vegetables. I’d rather be out hunting,” said Mrs. Adler.

“Talk to Hosea, then,” Arthur suggested. “If you prove you can handle a rifle, I’m sure he’ll let you take on different chores.”

It was still early, but rays of light were sliding across the saloon floor, and the girls realized just how late. “We should get back,” Mary-Beth said. “Don’t want them to send a search party out for us.”

Tilly turned back as the others went for the wagon and asked, “Is this it, Arthur? Have you left for good?”

“I don’t know. I won’t lie, it’s been difficult since Blackwater. I was going to stay away longer, but Hosea tracked me down and asked me to swing by town. I’m not ready to talk to Dutch, though. Don’t tell him I’m here. You can tell Hosea, discreetly, but not Dutch.”

“Alright, Arthur. I understand.” Tilly jumped into the wagon, and they left for Horseshoe Overlook.

Arthur woke the next morning to find the sky attempting to drown the residents of Valentine.

The already muddy street looked like a river, with the few idiots and unfortunate horses sinking deep and almost swallowed up. Arthur watched through the window on the first floor, eating an actually hot breakfast that wasn’t a piece of meat roasted over a fire. Any plans of working with his new horse were ruined. He couldn’t even imagine what the still unnamed Arabian would look like if he tried to ride her today.

Merlin, on the other hand, was probably giving the stable hands a rough time. The stallion did not take kindly to being shoved in a box, albeit a warm, dry, roomy box with plenty of food. Arthur, after finishing his food, braved the weather the check on his animals. Merlin shifted around and circled the stall, anxious to get out and run. Maybe if the weather let up a little later, Arthur would be able to get him some exercise. Dakota and the Arabian were both calm and happy, though. Arthur brushed them both and laughed when the Arabian began to shove her small head in his pockets for peppermints. “Greedy girl,” Arthur said, fondly scolding her but making no effort to stop her. “You are a little princess, aren’t you? You need a name. How about Zenobia? She was a queen who fought the Romans.” Arthur vaguely recalled the story from Dutch’s books, since the man liked reading about ancient Rome. “What do you think?” The Arabian bobbed her head and flicked her tail. “I’ll take that as a yes,” Arthur laughed, finally retrieving the peppermint for her.

Just then, the stable door opened, bringing with it the howling wind and rain. A man and a brown Morgan, both soaked to the skin and hunched over against the weather, trudged inside. At first he ignored them, but the man removed his straw boater hat and straightened up, revealing his dark beard and soft brown eyes.

“Mr. Morgan,” Albert Mason said. “I’m so glad to see you! Good gracious, it is really coming down out there. All this from just walking from the train station.”

“Mr. Mason! How are you?” Arthur said.

“Quite well, except for the weather. I was going to try to get some pictures of eagles, but that certainly isn’t happening today. And yourself?”

“Good, I guess. Been traveling around the Grizzlies. My friend dropped off your letter, by the way. Those photographs are quite something!”

“Oh, my letter reached you? I was worried you wouldn’t get it in time.”

Lucy the Morgan chose that moment to shake off the excess rain. Albert tried to quickly dive out of the way, but ended up with a face full of water. Laughing, Arthur grabbed Lucy’s reins and stroked her forehead. “Let me help put her away,” he offered. A stable hand let him borrow a some towels to dry her off and a blanket, and soon Lucy was settled into a stall next to Zenobia.

“Where did you get the Arabian?” Albert asked.

“Found her running wild up in the snow. Poor thing probably got lost up there and didn’t know what to do. She’s getting better, though.”

“That must be a story!” The two men ducked under the coats and made a run for the hotel. Arthur waited downstairs while Albert got a room and changed. When he rejoined the outlaw, the two men drank coffee that tasted slightly burnt and caught up on the last few weeks.

“I rented an apartment in Saint Denis,” Albert began, “so I could just have a place to store equipment and develop the photographs. Bought these huge, black curtains to get all the light out in the one room, otherwise the pictures are ruined. And I thought I could save some money, since I won’t be dragging everything around between hotel rooms. But trains are expensive, too! So I don’t know if I’m actually saving money, but at least I have something of a home to return to.”

“I’ve never been to Saint Denis before. Haven’t been in a city in years. The last one was Chicago, I think. Didn’t care too much for it.”

“No, you don’t seem like the city type. What have you been doing in the Grizzlies?”

“Hunting, mostly,” said Arthur, eyes dropping to his coffee mug. He knew Albert wasn’t the biggest fan of hunters.

“Oh.” Albert suddenly became very interested in his shirt cuff. “What do you do with the animals you hunt?”

“Usually I sell the pelts to a local trapper. There’s one who travels all over this region, and makes clothes, saddles, all sorts of stuff.”

“Well, I’m glad it isn’t trophy hunting. You didn’t see the type,” Albert said, relaxing again.

“He made this coat out of a grizzly bear that almost ate my friend. Real mean son of a bitch.”

“Oh my! That long scratch on the coat, was that a scar on him?”

“Yeah. Had a big one across one eye, too. Weighed almost a thousand pounds.”

“Amazing! It’s a shame, though. I wish I could have seen him and gotten a photograph.”

“If you try to go after a grizzly, I ain’t so sure I can protect you!” Arthur joked, but he could tell that Albert was disappointed in the missed opportunity. He reached for his satchel, remembering the drawing of the grizzly he did, then hesitated. Rarely did he show his sketches to anyone. The last person he ever regularly shared it with was Mary, and that was a long time ago. Occasionally Hosea would ask to see them, but never pressured Arthur into showing him. He was pretty sure John stole his journal several times when they were younger, but not anymore. John knew better.

In a life of constantly traveling with the gang, everyone always underfoot and no quiet place in camp, the journal was the one piece of his life that truly was his own. Writing let his worries and fears slide out, his feelings defined in dark graphite. The drawings acted both as a practical guide to plants and animals and a method of relaxation. When Arthur could feel the stress building in his mind like storm clouds gathering on the horizon, each stroke of his pencil seemed to calm the air and let the clouds drift harmlessly by.

Arthur never willingly shared his journal with the people who pried. But Albert? For once, Arthur wanted to offer up that private piece of himself.

“Here. I drew a picture of him, if you want to see.” He quickly paged through until he found the bear, a little rough compared to his usual drawings, since he had been unable to study the beast before it charged him. Still, the size and ferocity were clear, and Albert’s eyes widened in shock upon seeing it.

“You drew this? You didn’t tell me you were an artist!”

“Barely. It’s nothing, really.”

“It’s amazing. May I?” Albert’s hand froze, ready to turn the page.

“There’s some writing in there. It’s kind of… personal.”

“I won’t read it,” Albert said, but still he waited for Arthur to nod before diving into the pages.

“These are wonderful! Did you ever think about drawing professionally?”

“They aren’t that good.”

“Yes they are!”

“Besides, I never really thought about doing art for money. Drawing in my journal has always just been for myself.”

“I understand,” said Albert. He looked at a few more drawings, lingering a little when he turned to one of himself, then gave the journal back. “It is good to meet another artist out here.”

“So, you’re in Valentine for eagles?”

“Yes! Though I’m not sure how that is going to go. I was planning to set up on the cliff over there and hope for the best.”

“Not too close to the edge, I hope!”

The rain let up a little, but still not enough. When they were hungry, they made a dash for the saloon for some food and drinks. The bartender glared at Arthur, and he sheepishly recalled both the fight with Tommy and his later exploits with Lenny.

“…so we wake up in the jail, no clue what we did the night before. Sheriff said we hadn’t killed anyone, so there’s that at least!” Albert gripped the bar tight to keep from falling over as he laughed. “We paid a ten dollar fine, walked right out.”

“And you don’t remember anything?”

“I think I remember looking for Lenny a lot. I think I found him in bed with a woman, but I might have made that one up! I tried running from the sheriff, and ended up face down in the mud!”

The bartender muttered, “That, and broke a few of my glasses.” Which caused Albert to spit out a mouthful of beer.

“Oh, I’m sorry, friend. Here,” Arthur pulled out a wad of dollar bills and slapped it on the counter. “This cover it?”

“Fine. I won’t ban you from my saloon. But no more trouble!”

Albert stared at the money and slapped his hand down on Arthur’s shoulder. “You didn’t tell me you were rich!” he said.

“Hardly!” Arthur didn’t miss the way Albert’s hand lingered on his shoulder. Or later when it brushed against his knee, a blush spreading to the man’s cheeks. Was Albert… Arthur let that thought go for the moment. It wouldn’t be good to make any drunken moves in public. Besides, the man was drunk as well. It probably didn’t mean anything.

Later that night, when they stumbled back to the hotel in the finally dry weather, Arthur was pretty much holding up the photographer. He dumped Albert in the room next to his own and pulled off his shoes, turning to go. “Wait,” Albert slurred. “Arthur… we’re gonna photograph eagles tomorrow, right?”

“I have to meet with a friend sometime tomorrow, but if there’s time after? Sure.”

“Good, that’s good. You are a good friend, Arthur.” Arthur felt a warmth settle in his chest. It had been too long since he had a good time, just relaxing, with a friend outside the gang.

“You too, Al. Get some sleep.”

Albert mumbled a response, lost in the pillow beneath him. Arthur went to his own room, kicked off his boots, and went to sleep.

Chapter Text

Somehow, Arthur woke up without a serious hangover. A miracle, really, considering his past record over the last few months. He hoped Albert had fared just as well, but he couldn’t worry about that for now. He went to outside with a bit of breakfast and sat down, keeping his eyes peeled for John and Old Boy, since Hosea planned to bring him to town today for a talk.

Not too much later, he spotted the Hungarian Half-bred walking down the street with Silver Dollar and Javier’s horse, Boaz. Arthur stayed on his seat, nervous to meet with John. In his head, he had gone over what he wanted to say to the man over and over, but none of it felt right. After years of being angry at John for leaving the gang, Arthur went and did the same thing. Different circumstances, sure, but he knew John wouldn’t see it like that.

John was trying to get Javier into the gun store. Hosea was trying to get John to continue down the street. And just when Arthur was on the verge of ducking back into the hotel, Hosea caught his eye, waved, and pointed John in his direction. The younger man turned and froze. Arthur didn’t move either, taking in the narrowed eyes, the finally healed scars on his face just making him appear more enraged. He kicked up mud everywhere as he crossed towards Arthur, and Arthur received very little warning before a fist was knocking him back onto the porch.

“John!” Hosea shouted, grabbing John’s arm. John tried to wrestle out of his grip even as Arthur chuckled and got back on his feet.

“Good to see you too, Marston.”

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?” John managed to get his arm back. “You just disappear for days, for weeks, without a word that you are okay?”

And because Arthur wasn’t having his brightest moment, he said, “Well, now you know how it feels.”

And got punched in the face again.

“Will you two quit acting like children!” Hosea latched himself to John, trying to drag him away. Even Javier, eyes wide and confused after walking out of the gun store, tried to jump in and help as Arthur struggled back to his feet for a second time. “Now, I asked Arthur to come here so you two could talk. Do I have to play chaperon?”

“No,” John said.

“Good. Now then, Javier and I are going to get ourselves a drink.” Hosea dragged the still shocked Mexican away, whose eyes had morphed from confusion into something closer to anger. Arthur was disappointed but not surprised. Dutch had found Javier, like many other gang members, at his lowest point. The loyalty created by that took a lot to break.

But for the moment, all of Arthur’s concern landed on John. Now that the two of them were alone, he wasn’t entirely sure how to begin. “I, uh, rented a room upstairs. We can go up there, talk private.”

“Fine,” John said, pushing past Arthur and up the hotel stairs. He paused at the landing, letting Arthur lead the way to his room. “You alright?” asked John.

“Me? Yeah, I’m good. You?”

John sat on the edge of the bed, arms folded in his lap, and didn’t answer for a while. Arthur patiently waited, and then, “So you just decided to leave, is that it?”

“You saw what Dutch did, do you blame me?”

“It was an accident, and you know it!”

“Was it, John?” To that, John didn’t have an answer, and Arthur knew his brother had probably wondered the exact same thing over the last few days.

John sighed. “What even happened? What were you and Dutch arguing about? Dutch wouldn’t tell us anything. Keeps blaming you.”

“I told him I didn’t like Micah. Or debt collecting for Strauss. We got to arguing, and he shoved me. We were standing a little too close to the edge, and you know what happened after that.” He remembered just how terrified John looked when he leaned over the edge.

“You coming back?”

“I don’t know. At first I just wanted to get away, clear my head. Now? This world don’t want folks like us no more. And Dutch ain’t going to change. Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing to just get out. You understand, don’t you?”

“What? No! I don’t understand,” John said. “Ever since I got back, all you’ve done is given me shit about being loyal to the gang and now you are doing to exact same thing!”

“This is different, John! Christ alive.” Arthur stopped himself from just storming out of the room. Of course, John would need this explained to him. “Look, it wasn’t just about the gang, when you left. You have a kid, Marston!”

“That boy might not be mine!”

“So? I know you like Abigail, and for whatever reason she seems to like you back. She wants to raise Jack with you.” John tried to interrupt, but Arthur continued. “And who cares if you don’t know for sure Jack is yours? He probably is! And even if he isn’t, so what? You think Hosea and Dutch ever gave a shit who our fathers were?”

“No,” John whispered, looking for at his hands. The two avoided eye contact for a few awkward minutes.

“Look, you got a chance to have a family. I know Hosea talked to you. You could have a life outside the gang. You. Abigail. Jack.”

“But what about loyalty to the gang? To Dutch and Hosea? They raised us, Arthur. That means something.”

“Be loyal to what matters. Trust me, John. Your family matters more. I know Dutch might not understand, but Hosea will support you.” John didn’t say anything, but Arthur continued. “Just promise me, you’ll talk to Hosea and think about it?”

“I will,” he said. Then he stood up quick, remembering something. “I should go. There’s a job…”

“What’re you boys up to?”

“Sheep rustling. Going to scare off the ranchers bringing in sheep from Emerald Ranch and collect the money for them at auction.”

“You? Herding sheep? That I got to see!”

They walked back down the stairs, relaxed and laughing. Hosea appeared happy to see them, but Javier held a scowl on his face. “You ready?” Javier said, pointedly ignoring Arthur.

John glanced at Arthur, then said, “Take care, Arthur.”

“You, too.”

They mounted their horses and left, and Hosea turned to Arthur. “I take it your talk went well?”

“He better do right by that boy. Make sure he does.”

“Of course. It’s good to see you again, Arthur. I wish I could stay, but I need to pick up some medicine for one of the horses.”

Arthur walked with him towards the stable. “That’s too bad, which one?”

“Ennis. He should be fine, with a little extra care. Kieran has been taking care of him rather well. Of course, that means Sean is lazing about in camp more than he usually does.”

“How is the O’Driscoll anyway?”

“We’ll make a Van Der Linde of him yet! Takes good care of the horses. Said he could make some medicine if he had some burdock root, but I haven’t had the opportunity to go looking for any.”

“Well, I’ll let you know if I find any.” Arthur’s horses perked up when they entered the stable, and so did Albert’s horse. He gave Lucy a few pats as he moved down the line.

“You didn’t get another horse, did you?” Hosea asked.

“Naw. She belongs to a friend.”

“So, where are you going now?”

“Not sure. Back into the mountains, maybe?” Or stick with Albert for a bit. Who knows?

“Please keep in touch. Let me know that you are alright. Help quiet this old mind.”

“Of course. I’ll figure out where to best get letters and I’ll write to you.”

Hosea’s hand landed on Arthur’s shoulder, then after a moment of hesitation, wrapped around his back to pull him into a hug. “I’m going to miss you, son.”

“You’ll still see me, Hosea. I haven’t fully decided that I’m not coming back.”

“I think you have,” Hosea said sadly. “But it’s for the best. The world has changed, and it is time.” They separated, and Hosea headed to Silver Dollar.

“I’ll see you around, Hosea.”

And he was alone again. But not alone, as a hungover-looking photographer stumbled out the hotel door.

“You alright, Albert?” he asked with a laugh.

“I’m not sure if I can take pictures today,” the other man groaned.

“You need food. Come on.” Arthur dragged Albert to the general store. The town was bustling because of the auction, but they were able to squeeze through the door. “Here. Crackers, some fruit cans. What do you want?”

“I want to go back to bed.”

“Oh, come on! You didn’t drink that much!”

Arthur paid for the food, since Albert didn’t look coherent enough to rummage through his own satchel for coins. They sat on the bench outside the store while they ate. Well, Arthur ate. Albert seemed content to listlessly stare at the food despite Arthur coaxing him to take a bite. That’s when he heard a woman arguing with a man, his voice wispy and accented… and very familiar.

“Excuse me,” Arthur said to Albert, heading up the street. His pace quickened when he realized that he recognized the woman, too. Herr Strauss had cornered Mrs. Downes, though cornered wasn’t exactly the right word, since it appeared as though Mrs. Downes towered over the loanshark.

“Your collector said that our debt was taken care of!” she screamed at Strauss. Arthur approached from behind, grabbed Strauss by the suspenders and tossed him away from Mrs. Downes.

“What the hell do you think you are doing?” Arthur said.

“Oh, Mr… Mr. Morgan,” Herr Strauss stuttered, eyes wide behind his tiny glasses frames. “I didn’t know you were… back.”

“I told you that the Downes debt was paid, and it is.”

“Mr. Van der Linde… he said… he said because it was your own money that is was simply a camp donation-”

“No. I don’t care what Dutch says. The debt is paid. You leave this woman alone and her husband.”

He didn’t hear the other man approach. Strauss glanced to the side, and then he heard, “Arthur! That’s enough.”

Arthur turned and took in the black jacket and vest, the red pocket square, the perfectly groomed mustache and hair. Dutch van der Linde stared down at Arthur like a parent breaking up a children’s squabble. “Now, Arthur,” he began. “You know how this works. Strauss lends money, they have to pay it back. Not you.”

“And if they can’t pay it back, I’m supposed to beat it out of them, is that right?”

“I never said you had to-”

“No, not in those words exactly. But you did say get them to pay up. You knew exactly what you were sending me to do. Well, not this time. I paid their debt. It wasn’t a donation, it was their debt money. Leave them be.” Dutch opened his mouth to speak again, but Arthur beat him to it, turning to Mrs. Downes and saying, “You get out of here. I’ll make certain they leave you alone.”

“Thank you,” she said, making a fast exit.

Dutch’s lips pulled back into a smile that was closer to a snarl. “Fine, we’ll forget the Downes debt if that makes you happy. Now if you are finished with your little vacation, there’s money to be made.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“I ain’t going back.” Hosea was right, he had already decided. He decided weeks ago, when he refused to collect the Downes debt in the first place. Seeing Dutch again just made everything more clear.

Dutch’s hand landed on his shoulder, the grip firm and almost painful, as the man he viewed as a father tried to drag him in the direction of camp. “Of course you are coming back, son.”

“I said no,” Arthur replied, twisting out of Dutch’s grasp. He knew that he sounded like a little kid but he didn’t care. And it was finally sinking into Dutch’s mind that Arthur was serious.

“After all these years… loyalty, Arthur. That is all I asked for… loyalty and faith.” For a second, Arthur felt a sliver of fear settle in his chest, but then Dutch backed off. “Fine, you want to go it alone? Think you can survive without me? You’ll come crawling back soon, I know it. They all do! But if you get picked up by the law, don’t expect me to ride in and rescue you!” Dutch turned and walked down the street towards the other saloon. “Let’s go, Mr. Strauss.”

Once they were out of view, Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. He turned back to the general store and saw Albert watching. “You alright?” the photographer asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Who were they? Old friends? Enemies?”

“More like family,” Arthur said.

“Ah, so one in the same?” Albert chuckled, trying to make a weak joke, but it didn’t quite land.

“We had a falling out,” Arthur admitted.

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.”

“I would say let’s drink and forget, but I don’t think I’ll be touching alcohol again for a while,” said Albert. That got a proper laugh out of Arthur. “Come on, let’s talk about something else. How should I go about getting pictures of eagles? You are the expert, after all!”

“How willing are you to cage a small animal just outside the camera frame?”

“Wait, what?”

“Eagles might go for a rabbit, but they’ll fly in fast.”

They sat on the bench for a while, laughing about ways they could get Albert his photograph. A while later, they heard some shouting up the road. Albert ignored it, but something struck Arthur as being off. He strained his ears, trying to catch the syllables floating through the air, but couldn’t reach the meaning.

But the gunshots that followed were clear! A few screams went up from near the gun store, and people began running down in their direction. Arthur moved closer to the sound, his own revolver drawn and ready to defend himself. “What’s going on?” asked Albert, trailing behind.

“Al, get inside,” Arthur said.

“What are you doing?”

“Get inside!” Arthur turned and shoved Albert towards the saloon. Four men moved towards a wagon sitting in the road and took cover behind it. Several more townspeople were still running frantically like cornered prey, and Arthur directed them to the saloon as well. Lawmen appeared throughout the street, both on rooftops and on the ground. The group of outlaws began to push the wagon, using it as cover while taking out the lawmen in their way. Arthur couldn’t believe how stupid they were being! They were at the edge of town. Disappearing into the trees would have been easy!

A woman suddenly tried to run past him. He caught her around the waist. “Go to the saloon, it’s safe,” he said.

“No, my daughter!” she cried. She pointed at a little girl crouched behind a barrel, tears streaming down her face and eyes clenched shut.

“I’ll get her,” Arthur said. He stayed low, running as fast as he could to the barrel and scooping the girl into his arms. As he stood, he caught the eye one of the outlaws pushing the wagon, dressed in all black with dark hair, and a red pocket square. Dutch stared at Arthur, wild and angry. Arthur didn’t have time to wonder what stupid plan Dutch had gotten himself into this time. He had to protect this child from yet another one of Dutch’s mistakes. With his shoulders hunched over to protect her whole body, he sprinted to the saloon porch.

He almost made it.

The bullet hit his back, up near his shoulder, and he stumbled a few steps from the door. Fear and pain crashed through him, he wasn’t going to make it! But hands reached around the door frame and yanked him inside, even as he fell to his knees. People were in front of him. One tried to pry the little girl from his grip. His whole body suddenly felt like lead.

“Arthur! Arthur, are you alright? Were you hit?” Albert’s face was in front of his own, but it was getting dark and blurry, no matter how hard he blinked and squinted, until his entire vision just went black.

Chapter Text

Arthur woke slowly, his head feeling fuzzy. Hushed voices spoke all around him, and someone sat right next to him. His body felt disconnected from his brain, but he could tell he was laying on his stomach. That was odd. He never liked sleeping on his stomach and almost always woke up on his back. Why then… it didn’t matter. He started to shift to turn over, ignoring the nagging thought that it wasn’t a good idea.

Immediately he choked out a gasp, pain flaring through his whole back. Further attempts to simply breathe didn’t bring any relief. Instead he was trapped in the same agony, managing only a small groan, unable to ask what happened or for help.

“Arthur?”

The hand fell on his own, giving it a short squeeze. He flinched, letting out a whimper at the sudden contact. But the hand squeezed his again, grounding him. He knew the voice, too.

“Can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?”

He blinked once, twice, trying to turn the swirling colors and blurry shapes into Albert’s face. The man’s eyes were red, but he managed a shaky smile when he met Arthur eyes. “Hey, you’re okay. Just don’t move, alright?”

“Al?” Arthur croaked. His throat was too dry, his whole body too hot and sweaty. Albert seemed to recognize it, because a glass of water was being pushed against his lips. It was an awkward angle, trying to drink laying down, but Albert helped him tilt his head to the side. Arthur could tell that the pain finally concentrated itself around his left shoulder. Clearly, someone had shot him, but why? He remembered talking with John, then Dutch and Strauss. “What…”

“You were shot. There was a fight with some outlaws. You ran out into the road and saved a girl.”

It was coming back to him slowly. The shooting, the woman trying to run past him. Dutch. What had gone wrong to cause them to take on the entire town? In the moment, it felt like Strawberry all over again, like Blackwater.

“The girl?”

“She’s fine,” Albert said, soft and reassuring. “A little shook up, and no wonder that that! Her mother will want to thank you at some point, I’m sure, but for now you need to rest.”

Arthur felt himself starting to fade away, and he was almost grateful for it. Except questions still nagged at him, and he tried to fight against the pull of sleep. He shifted again, causing another groan to slip out, and Albert’s other hand came to rest on his cheek. “You’re alright. The doctor got the bullet out and we’re going to take care of you. Trust me, you’ll be saving my neck from wild animals in no time.

Arthur sighed, and let go.

He was able to take in his surroundings more and more each time he woke up. They were set up in the saloon, the bar now stocked with bandages next to the liquor bottles. There were several people on cots around them, but less the next time he opened his eyes. He hoped it was because they were getting better, well enough to go home, but Albert’s tired, bloodshot eyes and constant worrying made him believe that those men had died. The photographer barely left him, keeping a cool, damp towel on his forehead and helping him drink water.

There was always activity about in the saloon, and Arthur did his best to ignore it. The doctor occasionally came over to check on his bandages and change them if necessary or give him medicine to help with the slight fever, which fortunately was staying low and well within control. But the lawmen surrounding the area gave Arthur a pause, and he hoped his current position as a victim would keep suspicion away from him.

Albert answered most of the initial questions, and they generally left the pair alone. When he did end up talking to a lawman, it was Sheriff Malloy, who seemed very put out that one of the bounty hunters he intended to send after the Van der Linde gang was currently out of commission.

Mrs. Walker, the mother of the girl Arthur saved, thanked Arthur profusely and offered to pay for all medical expenses. He tried to politely refused, but she insisted.

And most importantly, he heard nothing about the capture or location of the Van der Linde gang. As much as Arthur questioned Dutch’s decisions in Valentine, at least they had gotten away. He couldn’t imagine the law descending on the gang at Horseshoe Overlook, with little Jack and the women all trapped against the cliff, the deaths that inevitably would have occurred after the gang already lost so many.

But for now, his friends were safe. Once he was able, he would send letters to Tacitus Kilgore in the towns nearby to try to figure out where they went.

He was dozing lightly when a pair of boots walked up to his cot.

“That him?” one of the men said.

Albert piped up, knowing Arthur needed rest, “Can I help you gentlemen?”

Shuffling, a short cry as someone was shoved back, and rough hand grasped his shoulder and flipped on his back. The fire spiked in his back and the air he pulled in burned his lungs as a mustached man leaned over and inspected Arthur’s face. “Yeah, it’s him.”

His partner joined, wearing a red vest, gray coat, and shining badge that matched the other man’s outfit. “Hello, Mr. Morgan. My name is Agent Milton of the Pinkerton Detective Agency. This is Agent Ross. We have some questions about Mr. Van der Linde.” He turned to a different, unnamed agent and said, “Get him up.”

More hands pulled him up to his feet, and he stumbled trying to get his weight under him. They didn’t give him a moment to adjust, simply dragging him out of the saloon and into the street. Albert’s voice broke through the panic and pain-induced haze. “What are you doing? He was shot!” Several other voices around the saloon rose up to join Albert, probably remembering what Arthur did during the shootout.

He collapsed on the steps leading off the saloon porch, feet dragging behind him, letting out a low groan when the agents didn’t stop pulling him along. Another voice shouted out, was that Mickey? “Hey, that’s my friend! Why are you hurting my friend?” The agents moved on without acknowledging Mickey, taking Arthur to a jail cell and tying him to a chair right in the middle.

Arthur’s head slumped forward onto his chest, dizzy and exhausted. But a hand attached itself to his hair and yanked his head back, and he blinked up into the steady glare of the mustached agent’s eyes. What was his name? Ross?

“Now, Mr. Morgan. We’ve been hired by Leviticus Cornwall to capture Dutch van der Linde and bring him to justice. You see, Cornwall knew we have been hunting you since the Blackwater ferry robbery, and he was very willing to share the information he’s discovered about your gang’s location. Of course, they were gone by the time we arrived, but it seems they made a mistake in leaving you behind. Now if you help us find Van der Linde, I can guarantee you won’t swing.”

For once, Arthur was being asked questions by the law that he could not answer. He had no idea where the gang was, or where they could even go, considering this was the furthest east they had been in years. “I don’t know. I left the gang weeks ago,” he replied honestly.

The punch landed on his cheek, snapping his head to the side and causing stars to explode across his vision. “Now, I don’t believe that for a second,” Ross said. “You’ll tell me where they’ve gone, or this will be a long night for you indeed.”

Arthur spat out some blood from where he bit the inside of his cheek. “I don’t know,” he said, fully expecting to get hit again. And he wasn’t wrong. Ross landed more blows on Arthur’s face, then ribs, leaving him coughing and gasping even more. Still, Arthur succeeded in keeping mostly silent, only letting a few groans slip out.

Ross walked around behind Arthur, causing him to tense up. He could barely turn his head without pulling on his shoulder muscles. The lawman’s hand brushed across Arthur’s bandaged shoulder, and he flinched as far as he could in the ropes. “That was a nasty wound, I heard.” A knife sliced through the bandages, catching a bit of his skin. “Doesn’t look too bad now. Definitely not what Mac Callander looked like when we found him.” Arthur’s stomach dropped, hearing about their last missing gang member. They found Sean, sure, but never heard anything about Mac. “He didn’t last very long, bled out before we could get information out of him. But you’ll last longer. Wound’s not infected, at least. For the moment.” Ross brought his fingers close, and Arthur tried to stifle a gasp, heart beating faster and faster. “Tell me where Van der Linde is.”

“I told you. I left the gang. Don’t know where they’ve gone.”

“Well, that’s too bad for you,” said Ross as he dug his thumb directly into the bullet wound.

Arthur screamed.

Hours later, he was still tied to the chair, weak and wheezing. Ross hadn’t given him a break from the agony, transitioning from the punches and the kicks to beating injured man with a heavy piece of wood. Several ribs had to be broken. The deputy, who had been sitting in the office when they entered, threw up minutes before Arthur himself, running out to find Sheriff Malloy. The sheriff’s visit was the only respite Arthur got, since the lawman spent several minutes arguing against Ross’s treatment of Arthur. But when Arthur finally slipped into blissful unconsciousness, it didn’t last long. A bucket of ice cold water was upended over his head, and he came back up sputtering and shivering. Then, the interrogation started again.

Arthur didn’t know when he stopped trying to be strong and silent and started begging for relief. Not that it came, ever. Blood from the bullet wound ran down his back, the injury burning, inflamed and angry, the rest of his left arm long since having gone numb. His head was drenched with water and sweat, and his eyes barely focused anymore.

“Where did Dutch go?”

“Please… stop…”

“How do you contact him?”

“I don’t… know… please.”

“Where’s the Blackwater money hidden?”

“I didn’t… only Dutch knows…”

The wood was brought down on his right knee, again and again. He choked and tears fell, eyes clenched shut as he felt the crack deep under his skin. He didn’t have the energy or the breath left for screaming.

He was going to die in this chair, he knew that. Accepted it. It didn’t make the process of dying any easier, though.

“Stop! Ross, that’s enough!” A voice cut through the ringing in his ears, and miraculously, Ross stepped back!

“I was just trying to get information, like you said,” Ross complained, probably annoyed that he had to stop beating on a prisoner.

“Take a walk.”

A canteen was tilted against his lips, the water mostly just splashing against his chin, but he was able to swallow a little. The man then began inspecting his shoulder, wrapping it in fresh bandages. “I apologize for my partner. He can be rather overzealous at times.” The calm but formal voice brought Arthur back to reality a little, relieved to be free from Ross for the moment. “You remember my name? I’m Agent Milton.”

Arthur, barely about to speak, only groaned in response.

“You know, I heard from several townsfolk here in Valentine that you weren’t part of the shooting at all, didn’t help out Dutch or any of the other gang members. In fact, you risked your life to save a kid. Why did you leave the gang, Mr. Morgan?”

That question caught him off guard, so different from the ones he had been answering before. Did this Agent Milton believe him? After so many hours, finally someone had listened.

“Fight,” he slurred.

“With Dutch?”

“Yeah.”

“I bet that made Dutch van der Linde very angry. Interesting, I think, that you were shot when you weren’t aiming a gun at anybody.” Milton finished wrapping Arthur’s shoulder and crouched down in front of him. “Do you think it might have been Dutch?”

Arthur blinked, heart hammering in his chest. That had him awake again. “What?”

“Really, think about it. Who aims at someone running away from a fight? No one! It’s a waste of a bullet. Unless Dutch was aiming at you for revenge. Of course, you know Dutch better than all of us, Mr. Morgan. You would know if he was capable of it.”

And as much as Arthur didn’t want to consider it, he knew Dutch valued loyalty above all else. He had witnessed Dutch punish those that weren’t loyal. Remembered him killing a man in the middle of camp once. But that man had betrayed the gang to the law. Arthur didn’t do that!

“And a fight?” Milton continued. “Was it Dutch’s fault?”

Yes, Arthur thought. Dutch pushed him off a cliff. But he stayed quiet. Talking was still a little difficult at the moment.

“But there have to be ways to find the gang, if you are ever separated.”

He nodded slightly, but that made him dizzy and nauseous, so he stopped. He was going to throw up if he continued.

“Well? How would you find the gang?”

Arthur thought of this for a moment. There were a few ways, of course, but the main one was the mail system. He had planned on using it himself to find Hosea again, just mail to Tacitus Kilgore in several locations until someone responded. Or, of course, just wait for word of a job that seemed to match the gang’s usual targets.

He could tell Milton, and maybe then Milton would let him sleep. All he wanted was to sleep. He didn’t care if he woke up again. Waking up would just bring him back into the same world of hurt he existed in right now.

Milton stepped back in front of him, and his blurry vision began to focus again. He saw the gray jacket, the red vest, the badge… just like Ross.

It was a trick, not kindness. Milton wanted the same information. He was pretending to be a friend to get Arthur to spill information! It was probably all preplanned with Ross, and Arthur almost fell for it. He needed a lie, a convincing lie!

“Change it. When someone leaves.”

“Excuse me?”

“The gang… how to find them… it changes,” he muttered again.

Milton’s kind face changed. The slight smile dropped away, leaving a firm scowl. “Well, Mr. Morgan, that is a damn shame. For me, and more importantly, for you. But I’m not sure I believe you. Maybe you’ll remember more tomorrow. For your sake, I hope it’s before I decide to bring Ross back in.” He got up and called for the deputy again, the poor kid looking pale when he walked in. “Keep him awake, all night. He doesn’t get rest until he tells us how to find Van der Linde.”

“But sir, he’s hurt pretty bad. He needs a doctor!”

“Why? It’s not like we won’t hang him if he lives. Who cares?” With that, Milton left.

“I’m sorry,” the deputy, who Arthur didn’t know well. He gave Arthur more water. “I’m so sorry, this isn’t right. I won’t wake you up unless he comes back. Please, please hold on!”

Arthur didn’t have the energy to talk anymore. He drifted in and out of consciousness, unable to get comfortable with his arms tied behind him, keeping him sitting in a chair. Still, he found himself in a light, restless sleep.

Tapping on his cheeks, light at first but insistent later. He made a slight noise in the back of his throat. Someone was talking, it took effort to make out the words.

“-thur? Arthur, can you hear me?

His eyes opened just a sliver. Everything was blurry. He blinked slow, only seeing a few colors. A bit of green and blue and brown. Mostly dark, though.

“Is he alive?”

“Yes, but I don’t know how aware he is.”

Arthur just wanted to close his eyes, but the other man was insistent. Finally, his vision started to clear. He saw the kind but concerned eyes, the brown beard and hair, the green vest and the blue cotton shirt. “Al?” he whispered, and the man nodded.

“I’m here, Arthur. I’m here. I’m sorry, just stay with me, alright?”

Okay, he thought, but couldn’t say out loud. Someone cut the ropes around his wrists and moved his arms forward, but they were too numb and it felt like pins and needles were poking into his muscles. “The stagecoach is outside. We need to move quickly,” a different man said. Was that Sheriff Malloy? “Tommy? Can you carry him?”

“Yeah, I got him,” a third person Arthur hadn’t noticed said. Albert disappeared from his vision, and he started to panic. His breathing quickened, his lungs suddenly feeling rather tight. Arms shifted under his knees and back before he was lifted against someone’s chest. His eyes slipped shut again, too disoriented to understand what was happening.

He was transferred to a hard surface, but his head and shoulders were propped up on someone’s legs. A hand fell into his matted hair, smoothing out the tangles and a slow, comforting tone reaching his ears. He wanted to open his eyes, but couldn’t. So he tried to concentrated on the voice that was talking, just talking at him.

“We’ll get you help, Arthur. I promise. I promise. You just have to stay with me, alright? Stay alive.”

He sighed, trying to stay awake even if it seemed impossible. Then the surface moved, shaking and bumping and rocking. He squeezed his eyes tighter, leaning into the person under him, the only stable thing in his current world, and let himself fall into a deep sleep.

Chapter Text

The air in the South entered the lungs thick as soup. It was the opposite of the mountains in winter, where the air was so cold it burned. Here, Hosea wondered if he was getting any air at all, or just drowning slowly while he still wandered around working. And yet he kept needing to drink water, because he didn't stop sweating from the second he woke up each morning until well into the night.

Once the initial panic died down after seeing Dutch and Javier ride back into camp with a bleeding Strauss, shortly followed by John's return and the hasty move down to Clemens Point, Hosea felt the anger creeping up his body towards his vocal chords. "What the hell are we doing down here, Dutch?" he asked that first night, angry about Dutch's carelessness, reminding the younger man that Hosea himself had warned against robbing Leviticus Cornwall. But as usual these days, Dutch brushed him off, saying that they would lie low. Then Dutch invited him to go fishing, just the two of them like it was in the beginning, only to have the day end with chasing down a bunch of escaped criminals and meeting Josiah Trelawny. Hosea got the task of galloping after a train with Deputy Archibald behind while Dutch got the easy job of trying to to talk Josiah out of the prisoner transport. It made some sense, since the Count barely tolerated anyone on his back even when Dutch was the one in charge, but it led to an awkward moment when it became clear that Deputy Archibald had no intentions of jumping onto the train himself. Neither did Hosea. His days of leaping from horseback were long over, as the cracks and pains in his joints loved to remind him daily. In the end, they managed to ride to the front of the train and signal to the driver to stop, and Hosea was able to demonstrate his rather impressive lasso skills. At least, Archibald seemed impressed, and Hosea received a minor rundown of the town of Rhodes as they delivered Anders Anderson back to the jail. As a bonus, Trelawny got to walk free, and revealed the talk of bounty hunters looking for them all over.

Great. Just what they needed, more trouble.

Then, when they finally managed to get on a boat and go fishing, Hosea tried to bring up Arthur. He knew from Strauss about their argument over the Downes debt, and that Arthur had refused to return to camp. Dutch downright refused to talk about their son other than to call him disloyal. The fishing trip ended early and poorly, both men giving the other the silent treatment.

Dutch's dismissal of Arthur only increased Hosea's own worry. He didn't know how to contact his son to make sure he was alright. While he was certain that Arthur would have left town as soon as the shooting started, he couldn't stop the gnawing in his gut. He hoped that Arthur would start sending letters out to try to find them, at the very least. While he supported Arthur's decision to leave the gang, he didn't want to lose contact entirely.

He could try writing to Arthur, too. If Arthur went back to the mountain cabin he had been living in, perhaps he would check Emerald Ranch or Annesburg for mail. No doubt Arthur would be looking for clues on the gang's location as well. But that had to wait, because it appeared as though Mrs. Adler was about to kill the camp cook.

"Say whatever you damn well please but I tell you, if I don't get out of here soon, I'm going to kill somebody!" Mrs. Adler said, holding the knife that was previously chopping vegetables at Mr. Pearson.

"And if you don't stop hissing at me, I'm gonna kill you!" Mr. Pearson said, turning around with the meat cleaver in his own fist.

"Come near me, sailor, and I will slice you up!" And that was when Hosea decided it was time to intervene.

"Now, let's not go stabbing people just yet!" he said, getting between them and tossing the few fish he and Dutch managed to catch on the table.

Mrs. Adler threw down the knife and said, "I ain't chopping vegetables for a living!"

"Well, what is it you want to do?" Hosea tried asking, but Sadie Adler turned away, emotions bubbling at the surface. "Why don't we get you out of camp for a bit? Mr. Pearson, do you need anything from the store?"

"Sure, here's my list. And can you post this letter for me while you're there?"

"Of course."

Mrs. Adler knew what she was doing with the horses, at least. She had their two Belgian Drafts hitched to the wagon in almost record time, and they were off towards town. "So I've graduated from chopping vegetables to shopping?" she asked.

"No, this is an excuse to get you out of camp for a chat," Hosea started. "Now, I know it hasn't been an easy couple of months, but I have to ask. What are you still doing with this bunch of misfits?"

"Don't really got no where else to go," she said.

"Well, you are always welcome with us. Dutch is never one to turn away folks, so long as they do their share. Though, some of the men could use a reminder of that."

"I'll work, Mr. Matthews, but I won't take orders from that sweating halfwit!"

"So, what can you do then?"

"Look, my husband and I… we shared the work. I worked in the fields, I can hunt, use a gun."

"Maybe we can take a trip early tomorrow morning, see if we can bring down some game. You prove to me that you know how to handle it, then we can start switching up the chores." Hosea turned the wagon out of the woods and up the way to Rhodes.

"Where's that letter?" Mrs. Adler suddenly asked.

"You reading his mail now?"

"Oh, robbing and killing's okay but letter-reading's where we draw the line?" That got a chuckle out of Hosea as Mrs. Adler removed Pearson's letter from the satchel. "Dear Aunt Cathy," she read, dropping her voice low in a bad imitation of their cook. "I haven't heard from you in some time, so I prayed to the Lord above that your health has not deteriorated further." Mrs. Adler fortunately recognized the more private section of the letter, her voice returning to normal. "Blah blah blah, it's boring. Oh! Wait a sec, listen to this. Since we last corresponded, I have traveled widely, making no small name for myself. Before you ask, I am still yet to take a wife, but I can assure you it's not for a lack of suitors." They both shared that laugh. "He ever actually even talked to a woman he ain't paid for?"

"Look, we're all hiding behind something," Hosea said.

"And what's this? Return to Tacitus Kilgore."

"That is Dutch's idea. All mail to be sent to the same alias. Herr Strauss usually tells the nearest post office to start expecting mail for a Tacitus Kilgore, but I think I'll go ahead and open that up while we are in town."

They pulled up outside the general store, and Mrs. Adler immediately went, "So, what's the plan? I shoot the shopkeeper while you-"

"No, are you crazy?" When did she even grab his pistol from his holster?

"I thought we was outlaws!" she said.

"Outlaws, not idiots! We only rob those who deserve robbing, not ordinary people trying to get by." Well, usually. "So, you head on in there and pay for what's on this list, alright? I'm going to the post office."

Unlike Valentine, where the road was more river than dirt, the dust in Rhodes created red clouds that followed him wherever he walked. The sun beat down on the town, and from what he heard from Archibald earlier, the town was in desperate need of rain.

People kept glancing at him as he passed by, eyes full of suspicion. Some small towns were welcoming to new folk, but this clearly wasn't one of those towns. Archibald explained the feud between the Grays and the Braithwaites, two old plantation owners fighting over gold. Dutch wanted to check out both sides to see if there was any truth in it, with Dutch himself working with the Gray family and Hosea going to the Braithwaites. It was as if the townsfolk knew it, too, waiting with bated breath to see which side of the town they would fall on.

Hosea entered the post office and signaled to the worker. "Yes, can I help you?" the man said.

"I need to post this letter," Hosea said. "Also, I just arrived in town, so I wanted to let you know that you might start receiving mail for Tacitus Kilgore."

"Oh, I was wondering who that was!" the worker said, turning and rummaging through a bin of letters. "I didn't recognize the name, small town you know, so that's one mystery solved. Here you are."

Arthur, Hosea thought, but the envelop he received did not bear his son's handwriting. In the back of his mind, it did look familiar, but there was no return address. That made him suspicious. Had the law figured out their methods?

"Thank you," he said to the man, and slipped the letter in his pocket for later. He quickly made his way back across the street to Mrs. Adler, who stood confidently directing the store clerk in loading their wagon. She had bought new clothes too, wearing black pants, a yellow shirt, and a new hat. A revolver sat on her new gun belt, too, looking like it always belonged there.

"You ready?" Hosea said, and she climbed onto the wagon with him. "Why don't you drive, Mrs. Adler?"

"You know, I would prefer Sadie," she said.

"Alright then. You get everything?"

"I think so."

"You liking the new clothes?"

"Yeah, I do."

The sun was setting low, and they really needed to get back soon. But the soft sound of hooves hitting the dirt echoed behind them, and Hosea realized they were being followed by two men on horseback. Sadie noticed too, flicking the reins and getting a the horses up to a fast trot. Too late. One of the men called out, "Hey there," and pulled his horse up next to their wagon. "What are you folks up to?"

"Just heading home," Hosea said, and that was when the second rider pulled up on the opposite side.

"You're in Lemoyne Raider country. You need to pay a toll to pass through here."

Oh great, another gang. "No, I don't think so," Hosea said, while Sadie tensed next to him.

"You don't think so?" the Lemoyne Raider said. "Well how about you pull over right now?"

"Hey, how's about this?" Sadie said, pulling out her new revolver. Before Hosea could stop her, she shot the Raider that had been talking. As Sadie pushed the horses faster to get away from the other Raiders, that were now emerging from the trees and fields to surround their wagon. Hosea turned and fired at them, downing a few before Mrs. Adler pulled the horses to a stop near some rocks they could use as cover.

From there, they made quick work of the remaining outlaws. Hosea was impressed by Sadie's gun skills, but less so about her lack of restraint. "We really shouldn't be stirring up trouble this close to camp," he told her when the shooting died down.

"What, were we supposed to let them rob us?"

"I suppose not."

"You gonna tell Dutch."

"No," he said. "But I don't think I have to worry about your ability to handle yourself. I'll let the others know that you will do some hunting and protecting. Now, I'm not encouraging joining the outlaw life and getting a bounty on your head, but if you ever do…" He trailed off, but the invitation to join jobs, small ones at first, was clear.

"Thank you," she said, and she drove them back to camp. They delivered the goods to Mr. Pearson, who ribbed Sadie on her choice of pants. But unlike before, Sadie was relaxed when she responded to him, so at least the trip into town had done its job of keeping Sadie Adler from killing to camp cook.

In the excitement, he forgot about the letter until the next morning when he dug through his satchel for him herbs he meant to turn into a tonic. His fingers shook slightly as he slid the letter out, partially from nerves and partially from the cough that continued to plague him months after they got off the mountains.

Dear Mr. Kilgore,

We do not know each other, but I have become friends with a someone you know, Arthur Morgan. I am sorry to have to tell you, but Mr. Morgan was hurt badly recently. The doctor here in Saint Denis is uncertain about his recovery.

Arthur hasn't told me much about his friends, but he has been asking for a Hosea. If you know him, could you please let him know and encourage him to visit. I believe it will help Arthur greatly. I live across from the barber shop above S.E. HELLAR FLORAL ARTIST, second floor, apartment 2.

Sincerely,

Albert Mason

Hosea's heart almost stopped reading the letter, sweating more, and not from the heat. Arthur was hurt! And possibly dying, if he was reading the words correctly and not simply jumping to the worst conclusion. At least he knew where he recognized the handwriting now. This Albert Mason had written to Arthur once before, and Hosea had delivered the letter.

He didn't stop to think. He simply saddled Silver Dollar and rode to the train station, ignoring all the people who wished him a good morning and Dutch calling out that they needed to make plans.

Fortunately, a train to Saint Denis was due within the hour, because he didn't trust himself to make the ride to the unfamiliar city when his hands were already shaking. But it was an anxious hour as his imagination continued to fill him with dread. When was the letter written? Has Arthur gotten better, or worse? The train's arrival didn't help, and Hosea sat quiet, staring blankly out the window and wringing his hands as the hills turned to swamps and then into the smog filled air of the city.

It had to be bad, whatever happened to Arthur, if it brought him here of all places.

After the train pulled into the station, Hosea quickly unloaded Silver Dollar from the livestock car. He asked for directions and learned that the florist and barber shop were on the other side of town, and carefully directed his horse around the many carriages and pedestrians. It took some searching, but Hosea finally noticed the red and white striped pole, and the florist across from it. His heart pounded faster and faster when he found the stairs up to the second floor, found the door marked number two. A deep breath in, then out, and he knocked.

"Just a moment," the muffled voice called out from behind the door, and it opened a few inches. "Can I help you?" a man with a dark brown beard asked.

"I hope so." His voice lacked its usual confidence. "Are you Mr. Mason? I received this letter for Tacitus Kilgore… I'm Hosea."

"Oh," Albert said. "Oh! Come in, come in!" Albert Mason appeared just as nervous as Hosea himself, but opened the door to a cluttered living room, full of camera equipment, drying prints, and very few pieces of furniture. "I'm glad Mr. Kilgore was able to contact you. I'm sorry I wasn't about to say much about Arthur in the letter. It's been a stressful week."

"Is Arthur here? Is he alright?"

"He's here," said Albert. "He's… not great, I suppose. But he's getting better." Albert led Hosea to the bedroom. On the bed, laying unconscious and unmoving on a mountain of pillows, was Arthur! His face seemed like on giant bruise, starting to yellow at the edges. His left shoulder was wrapped and immobilized in bandages, his right leg splinted and raised up on another set of pillows. Hosea choked out a sob at the sight, moving to the chair at Arthur's bedside in two steps.

"Oh, my boy… Arthur," Hosea started, his hands clutching at his son's right hand, the only part of him Hosea could see that wasn't hurt. "Who did this?"

"I take it you are… familiar with Arthur's problems with the law." Hosea nodded, so Albert continued. "We were in Valentine when a shootout started, and Arthur got hit trying to help get people to safety. But then these lawmen, called themselves Pinkertons, showed up, recognized Arthur, and…" he trailed off, gesturing to the bruises, but Hosea got the idea. They tortured Arthur, his own son, for information. And the only reason they caught him was because of a stupid decision Dutch made.

But he could be furious at Dutch later, preferably when Dutch was in front of him so he could shout at him. Right now, Arthur was important. Hosea placed a hand over his forehead, felt the slight heat radiating off the skin. "How long as he had a fever?"

"For a while. It was worse. The bullet wound was infected by the time we got down here. He wouldn't wake up for three days." The fatigue and stress were visible, swirling in Albert's eyes. "The doctor is confident now that he will survive and recover, but he isn't sure if there will be lingering damage in his shoulder and leg."

"But he has been awake?"

"Yes, but he can't stay awake for very long. Why don't I make you some coffee, or tea, and we can talk."

Hosea said, "Yes, thank you," and Albert left him alone with Arthur while he heated water in the kitchen. A bucket of water and damp cloth sat on the bedside table, so he wrung it out and placed it over Arthur's forehead. Arthur let out a tiny groan and shifted under him. "Arthur?" Hosea called, soft and gentle.

The blue-green eyes cracked open slightly and blinked slowly, taking several seconds to focus on his face. "'sea?" His voice was dry, raspy, and quiet, but it was the best thing Hosea could have heard in that moment.

"Hey son. You're going to be just fine, you hear me?"

"How'd you find me?"

"Your friend Albert found me. You told him to write to our alias, and he did."

But that didn't get the response he expected. Instead of clearing up the confusion, Arthur began to panic. His eyes darted around the room, searching for some unknown danger. "Who else?" he asked.

"Who else what?"

"Who did I tell? Did I tell them?" He started coughing, and Hosea grabbed a nearby water glass and lifted it to his lips.

"Arthur, it's alright. It's just me and your friend Albert here."

Fortunately, Albert chose that moment to return with two mugs in his hand, and seemed to recognize what was happening. "Arthur, you're alright. You didn't tell those agents anything. You only told me about your friend Tacitus."

"You sure?" Arthur asked.

"Yes, I'm sure. Just relax."

Several seconds passed while Arthur considered Albert's assurances, and finally the tension started to leave his face. "Everyone okay?" he asked Hosea.

"Yes, everyone is fine, though a little shaken I suppose. We found a new campsite, near a town called Rhodes. It's at-"

"No," Arthur said suddenly. "Don't tell me."

"Arthur?"

"If I don't know, I can't tell anyone… if…" Arthur struggled with the words to explain, but Hosea was starting to understand. Those Pinkerton agents likely wasted a lot of time asking for information that Arthur couldn't give, but the fear was there that if he had known, something might have unintentionally slipped out.

"Alright. But we get our mail in Rhodes now, so you know where to write letters."

"Okay," Arthur said, blinking heavily, starting to fall asleep again.

Albert cut in quickly. "Do you need anything? Food? Water?"

"I'm fine," Arthur said, sinking deeper into the pillows.

"Alright, just try to relax." And Arthur was sound asleep within minutes.

Hosea and Albert sat awkwardly, both watching the steady rise and fall of Arthur's chest. Hosea broke the silence first and said, "There is no Mr. Kilgore, by the way. It's an alias that the gang shares."

Albert let out a small chuckle. "Well, that explains some things. He always seemed confused when I asked about Mr. Kilgore. At least he was able to tell me to send letters to multiple post offices, since he didn't know where you had gone."

"I take it you helped him escape the Pinkertons. How?"

"It wasn't just me," Albert explained. "When those agents dragged him away, it was the first time I really found out that he was… well… an outlaw. I'll admit it was a little confusing. This agent named Milton was showing me bounty posters and demanding to know how I knew Arthur, telling me about all the crimes that the gang that just shot up the town had done. But Arthur hadn't been involved at all in Valentine, and I kept telling him that. Turns out I wasn't the only one who felt that way. Half the town did as well. Apparently Arthur had helped a family there out of debt, the Downes. And everyone saw him run into the road to save a child, that's when he was shot! The Sheriff was the one who approached me. He knew what the agents were doing to him but he couldn't get them to stop. He was also grateful had kept a secret for him, he didn't really explain what that meant. But he came up with most of the plan. A homeless man named Mickey kept watch for us. Some big fellow, Tommy, carried Arthur to a stagecoach, we all pitched in and paid off the driver. The Sheriff and Tommy were going to make it look like Arthur escaped, though I'm not really sure what they did. Even the stable owner helped. He got Arthur's horses on a train to Saint Denis that came through just before we got him out."

"Thank you," Hosea said, reaching towards Arthur's hand and giving it a squeeze.

"I have to ask," Albert said. "Those crimes they are accusing him of… is it true? Is he a member of the Van der Linde gang?"

"Yes, he was," Hosea said. "I've known Arthur for twenty years. Back then it was just me and Dutch van der Linde, scamming rich folks and giving money back to the poor. We liked to imagine ourselves as the Robin Hoods of the West! Arthur was just a teenager when we took him in. But things change, of course. The gang grew larger, we took more risks. At the end of the day, we are still criminals with bounties on our heads, but I think Arthur wants to do better than that now. I want better for Arthur."

They drank their coffee next to Arthur for some time, two people who knew nothing about each other except for the one connection right in front of them. "Arthur told me you are a photographer," Hosea said.

"Yes. A wildlife photographer, at least I hope to be. Arthur has helped me get quite a few shots. And stopped me from get eaten by wolves, on one occasion." Albert jumped up and grabbed a print from the living room, showing Hosea the snarling wolves that had almost made him into dinner. Albert shared the photographs and stories from his few meetings with Arthur, and the two were soon laughing and smiling. Hosea told Albert a few funny moments from life in the gang.

The man himself woke up a few more times, much more relaxed than the first time, but still exhausted and hurting. Hosea ended up spending the night on a cot set up in Arthur's room while Albert slept on the sofa. But the next morning, Hosea knew he needed to return to the gang before anyone began worrying about him, especially since he didn't tell anyone where he was going when he left. While he was reluctant to leave Arthur so soon, seeing him alive and awake had been reassuring.

Carefully hugging Arthur before he left, Hosea said, "I'm going to write to you here. And you better write back! And rest! Don't go pushing yourself and making yourself worse."

"Of course, Hosea," Arthur said.

Albert walked Hosea to the door. "Thank you, Mr. Mason, for taking care of him. Most men wouldn't have risked it."

"It wasn't just me," Albert said. "But I'm glad to have helped. I haven't known Arthur for long, but he has become a rather dear friend."

"Take care, Mr. Mason."

Hosea mounted Silver Dollar and started the journey back to Clemens Point, giving the apartment above the florist one last glance. He decided not to take the train back, instead riding past the tobacco fields owned by the Grays and contemplating just what he was going to say to Dutch.

All too soon, he was trotting down the wooded trail headed towards their camp. "Who's there?" he heard Charles call out.

"Just Hosea," he replied.

"Good, you're back. Dutch was getting worried."

The others in camp greeted him when he dismounted Silver Dollar, the horse happy to be back in a field of grass and not the cobblestone city streets.

Dutch was sitting outside his tent talking to Micah of all people. "There you are, Hosea! I was about to send out a search party. Were you able to find out anything about the Braithwaites?"

"I haven't gone yet. Listen, Dutch, we need to talk-"

"Well what were you doing all day and night then, old man," Micah said, and Hosea had to fight the urge to just smack the smirk off his face.

He decided to ignore Micah instead. "Dutch, you and I need to talk, alone." Something in his tone definitely reached Dutch, and he sent Micah away and invited Hosea inside his tent.

"What's going on, old girl?" Dutch asked.

"It's about Arthur," Hosea began, but that didn't go well.

"I told you before, I am not talking about him!"

"Dutch-"

"If he wants to run off on his own, that's up to him!"

"Dutch! Listen to me!" Hosea shouted, but then took a deep breath. "Listen. Arthur got picked up by Pinkertons after we left Valentine. One of them was Agent Milton!"

"What? How do you know?"

"He escaped, with some help. But he's hurt bad, Dutch. They tortured him, tried to get him to give up our location."

"And? Did he?"

"Is that all you care about? Of course he didn't, he couldn't! It's not like we discussed where we would go next."

"And how do you know?" Dutch asked.

Hosea didn't think it was a good idea to give Dutch information about Albert Mason, so he said, "Arthur wrote letters to the post offices around the area. I found the one in Rhodes the other day, and I went to see him."

Dutch stood up and began pacing the tent. "This, this is why he should have come back to the gang, Hosea! It isn't simply a family, it is also protection! We are stronger together-"

"Oh, don't you turn this into another one of your speeches, Dutch van der Linde. It is your fault he was found in the first place! I know you saw him when you went to Valentine with Strauss. Did you know he got shot trying to help folks get safe when you decided the best escape plan was to push a damn wagon down the main street? They grabbed him because you were being careless!"

Dutch glared at Hosea, cold and steady. "It is not my fault that boy decided to play hero instead of getting the hell out of town like he should have!"

"Well, I for one am glad Arthur still has an ounce of decency left in him after all you've made him do for your plans!"

"Where is he?" Dutch asked, but Hosea turned away, ready to walk out of the tent. Dutch grabbed his shoulder. "Where is he, Hosea?"

"I'm not telling you. I won't have him wrapped up in any of your plans right now. If Arthur ever wants to come back, that has to be his choice! He's hurt, Dutch. He almost died! But he's safe right now, and I'm going to make sure he stays that way!"

Hosea shoved past Dutch and out of the tent, and saw the rest of the gang hastily duck back to their chores and conversations. Hosea had no doubt that they had heard at least some of what went down.

Perhaps their time was ending. But he would be damned if he didn't help his family survive.

Chapter Text

He felt like he was deep underwater. Just floating, steady. No way of knowing how far under he was, but it was too dark to see the surface. It was unsettling, and encouraged him to move towards awareness.

But he regretted it immediately. Deep in the ocean he could drift on a calm current, but at the surface waves crashed and tumbled and rolled. He was dizzy and nauseous and in pain, probably threw up more than once, and quickly retreated to the calm depths again.

Eventually, he found a constant in his confusing reality, a ship anchored near him. Albert Mason was always sitting beside him when he woke up, comforting him, reassuring him that he would be fine, everything would be fine. But it wasn’t enough, not yet. He couldn’t shake the fear that his family was in danger.

He wanted Hosea. Might have asked for him too, he wasn’t certain. God, he just wanted Hosea. He remembered how Hosea used to sit with him when he was hurt or sick, reading to him or playing poker, doing anything he could to distract him and make him feel better. Susan too, who would yell at him to get back to bed if he even did so much as fill a water cup. Even Dutch, he wanted Dutch. Not the person Dutch had become, plagued with fear of failure and doubters, who hoarded every penny because they never could have enough. No, he remembered a softer Dutch, the one who taught him to read, to shoot, to ride a horse. Who would spend evenings sitting around the fire listening to stories and telling his own, smiling and laughing while arguing the finer details of each tale with Annabelle, while Bessie and Hosea shared a private joke in whispers and John got himself into trouble. When they were truly a family.

How he wished that he could go back and stop it from all going wrong. That beautiful moment when they all seemed immortal, when the worst moments of his life couldn’t even be imagined in his nightmares. Keep Annabelle from going to the market by herself that horrible spring day. Be more present and understanding as Hosea lost Bessie to illness. Keep Eliza and Isaac close, or perhaps never meet Eliza at all.

Slowly, the rough waves on the surface began to calm, the storm passing. He still hurt, was still exhausted. But Albert was still there, and then Hosea visited, and finally he felt like he was recovering.

“Arthur? Doctor Murphy is here to check your bandages,” Albert said one morning with a knock on his door. The photographer had finally stopped hovering over Arthur constantly. Not that he had minded that first week, especially since he spent most of it asleep, but as boredom and frustration with his situation set in, the pair were prone to butting heads. It didn’t help that they were both deprived of sleep. Arthur began having nightmares, remembering Ross’s torture and Milton’s questions. Half the time Albert was also awake, too. They quickly realized that they needed some time apart. So Albert, needing to make some money to sustain himself, set himself up as an outdoor photographer, catering to individuals and couples wanting something different from the usual studio photographs. Albert’s experience photographing animals in their natural habitats came in handy, and he had a good knowledge on how to adjust his cameras for various lighting.

“Come on in,” Arthur said, sliding away his journal. Doctor Murphy entered and began unwrapping his shoulder. Arthur had been working on a drawing of the building just outside his window, spending more time on the detail than he normally would. It was that, or read one of Albert’s books or write another letter to Hosea. They had exchanged several already. “Where are you going today?” Arthur asked Albert.

“Just up the street actually. A couple wants a photograph on the patio garden outside the hotel. One of the trees is in full bloom, with gorgeous pink blossoms. It makes me wish some of my colleagues could discover the secret of colored photographs.”

“You think they can do that?”

“Oh, there are ways, but it is not easy! And I do not have the money to buy all the equipment to take or develop prints. But I hope one day! Human progress can be quite incredible sometimes.”

“Ain’t human progress the reason why all your predators are disappearing?”

“We don’t always know the consequences of our actions. Most people go out, thinking they are hunting one bear or wolf. Shouldn’t be a problem, in the grand scheme of things. But one hundred men, all with the same idea? That’s the reason for my project. Education, so that people will understand the need to preserve these creatures and their habitats.”

“But you are taking pictures of rich folks in gardens today?”

“Well,” Albert said, glancing down at the floor. “If my experience on this project has taught me anything, I seem to take better wildlife photographs with you around.”

“One of these days I’ll be able to go along and stop you from getting eaten, if this fool ever lets me up.”

Doctor Murphy looked up from his inspection of Arthur’s bullet wound and said in his dry tone, “That’s Doctor Fool to you, and you should be thankful you still have a leg to walk on.”

“That I am, Doc. You do good work. I’m just itching to get out of this bed.”

“Well, if it has healed enough, you can do a bit of walking around the apartment. With a cane. You can’t rush this, or you could do serious, permanent damage,” Doctor Murphy said, moving on from his shoulder to his leg.

“I know,” Arthur said.

Albert seemed excited by the prospect. “If you can make it down the stairs, I could rent a carriage and we can explore the city!”

“We should. I want to visit my horses, too.”

It was one of the first things Arthur asked about when he woke up. That, and how they escaped in the first place. Albert’s story both made sense, no matter how unbelievable it was that the entire plan worked, except for one key detail.

“Tommy?” he had asked. “Why would Tommy help?”

“Well, why wouldn’t he?” Albert replied.

“I kind of got into a pretty bad fight with him, beat him bloody.”

“Oh, so that’s what the Sheriff meant when he asked Tommy if he would look past your differences. Tommy said you had made amends. Do you know what he was talking about?”

Arthur wracked his brain for any clue. Vaguely, he recalled talking with Tommy that night in the saloon with Lenny. “Maybe, but I think I was pretty drunk when it happened.”

“Either way, it worked!” Albert had laughed.

There was still one conversation that Arthur and Albert needed to have, and one that couldn’t occur when the doctor was still in the room. Albert knew the truth about Arthur. He was an outlaw, had robbed folk, killed folk. Albert helped him anyway, kept taking care of him, and somehow avoided the topic. Not that Arthur wasn’t avoiding it either, but they inevitably would have to talk about it.

Maybe he would wait until he could escape the room by himself if the conversation went badly.

He looked to the doctor, who was still examining his leg. “Well?” he asked.

“It is healing nicely. You can try walking with the cane to build the muscle back up. Short walks only! I mean the length of the apartment at first.”

Arthur sighed in relief. He needed out of that bed. “Thank you,” he said.

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t push it,” Albert said.

Doctor Murphy stayed as Arthur took his first tentative steps around the room, a cane in one hand and Albert supporting him on the other side. “Any pain?” the doctor asked.

“A little. Mostly I’m just stiff.” Arthur hobbled only to the door and back to the bed, but Doctor Murphy seemed satisfied.

“Try doing that a few times a day, then see if you can walk for longer. If you are feeling pain that isn’t just from stiffness or soreness, stop, rest, and if it continues let me know.”

“We will. Thank you!” Albert said as he showed him to the door. Arthur waited for him at the edge of the bed, flexing his legs a little to get used to moving again. He heard the door close and Albert come back into the room. “Now, how are you feeling, really?”

“Alright. It’s good to be up, finally.”

“We’ll be out chasing wild animals soon! I was thinking about alligators!”

“Alligators? Really?”

“Or a grizzly bear!”

“No. No way. If you knew the first thing about grizzlies you wouldn’t even think of it.”

“It will be fine!” Albert said. “And besides, I may be a hopeless fool, but you will be there to guide me!”

But instead of meeting Albert’s enthusiasm, the statement made him disheartened. They needed to have the conversation about his past, even though he still didn’t want to do it. “You still want me to help you?” he asked with apprehensive.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?” Albert replied in a rush. Arthur opened his mouth to clarify, but Albert glanced at his watch and said, “Oh, look at the time! I must be going.” And was out of the room in a flash.

It was normal behavior for Albert, forgetting the time. But the ducked head, the way he avoided Arthur’s eye on the way out, let Arthur know that there was more that Albert wanted to say.

There was a lot he wanted to say, too.

Arthur liked Albert, more than he expected, more than he was ready for. It felt too fast, and in a way it was. Before Arthur was taken by the Pinkertons, he and Albert had only met a few times. Sure, he enjoyed the man’s company, and despite the photographer’s insistence that he was a bumbling buffoon, truly expected Albert to do great things. He liked having a friend to keep an eye out for while he rode along the trails, a friend outside the gang life.

Then Dutch pushed him off the ledge, both metaphorically and literally. Suddenly, he wasn’t simply Dutch’s loyal enforcer. Maybe there was a chance to get to know Albert Mason better. But too soon after, he believed his chance would be cut short by the Pinkertons.

He never counted on being saved.

Albert Mason had surprised him, going above and beyond what he ever imagined. And they spent all their time after pretending that a fundamental part of their friendship, the knowledge of Arthur’s past, had changed forever. It couldn’t last much longer, but even Arthur was hesitant to rush it along.

So, they kept up the pretense and avoided the conversation for a little longer. Arthur graduated from stumbling between his bed and the kitchen to down the stairs. He got himself to the barber shop to cut his hair, which had grown way longer than he liked. Albert did get him to the stable, and Arthur spent a good afternoon with his three horses. Dakota tossed her head happily upon seeing him. Merlin seemed rather annoyed at being shoved into a stable for a long time and demanded many peppermints as payment. Arthur obliged, laughing the whole time. Even Zenobia raised her head a little, though Arthur never got the opportunity to bond with her like he wanted. He hadn’t even ridden her yet! He hoped he would get the chance soon, though Doctor Murphy shook his head when he asked, because falling could be severely damaging at that point. But a few days later, he decided to ride anyway, getting Merlin and Dakota some much needed exercise.

In the end, however, he decided to sell Zenobia. The push towards the final decision was how much Zenobia seemed to love the stable owner, Jacob, and likewise Jacob loved Zen. Arthur watched the two work together and how comfortable she seemed when Jacob rode her. Jacob already owned an Arabian stallion, knew the breed well, and wanted to transition to an Arabian breeding stable once he was able to afford to buy more. He offered a good price, even with Arthur’s lack of papers, and he knew that Zenobia would be given good care.

When Hosea visited again, he asked if Arthur regretted selling one of his horses, knowing how much Arthur loved them.

“Naw, she wasn’t made for the outlaw life. She’ll be happy here,” he said. And he meant it.

“And what about you?” Hosea asked. “Weren’t you leaving the outlaw life, too?”

“I meant she does better at a stable, not out in the wild,” Arthur quickly corrected. “Don’t get me wrong. I miss all of you. But I can’t go back right now. Besides, I would be useless anyway right now.” He gestured to his shoulder and leg.

“Arthur… that’s not what I mean and you know it,” Hosea said. “I want you to be safe and happy. A few years ago, what I thought you needed to be happy would have been life in the gang. But things change. Hell, this whole country is changing. It’s okay if what you want changes, too.”

“I just don’t want anyone else to get hurt… or killed.” He remembered Milton’s uncaring glance as he walked away, promising more of hurt and torment if he didn’t talk. His chest tightened. Breathing was suddenly an arduous task. Thankfully, Hosea recognized what was happened, and he wrapped an arm around Arthur to pull him close. “God, Hosea, they wouldn’t stop. They didn’t believe me, they wouldn’t stop!”

“You’re alright, you’re okay,” Hosea repeated again and again, rubbing slow circles on Arthur’s back, until Arthur began to believe it. Still, he leaned into Hosea, relishing in the comforting hold. “I’m not letting anything happen to you ever again. Or any of them.”

Arthur buried his head into the crook of Hosea’s neck, focusing on steady breathing. “Tell me a good story from camp,” he said.

“I took your cot and tent,” said Hosea. “I could tell Micah was trying to convince Dutch to give it to him, and I wouldn’t stand for that! So I just moved in real quick. Made Micah so mad!”

Arthur laughed a little. For a few more minutes, Arthur stayed as he was, then felt ready to sit up again. “I still don’t know what Dutch sees in him.”

“Neither do I.” They spent the rest of that afternoon talking about the Grays and Braithwaites, and Hosea’s plan to trick them out of their money. Somehow Bill and Micah had become deputies to the law, which was controlled by the Gray family. And Hosea had forced John to serve stolen Lemoyne Raider moonshine in the Gray-owned saloon on behalf of the Braithwaites, with John playing the part of a mute idiot. Eventually, Hosea said goodbye and promised to visit again.

Arthur reached the point of recovery where he was confident in being able to walk far enough that, if his talk with Albert went wrong, he could at least escape to the train station. It was time. They needed to do this, and had put it off long enough.

That night, when Albert returned to his apartment for lunch, Arthur sat waiting at the kitchen table. “Hey. We should probably have a chat,” he said.

Albert sighed. “Yes. Yes we should.” He handed Arthur some food he picked up from a small restaurant just up the street and sat down. One part of the city that Arthur truly enjoyed was the food. Never in his life did he have access to such a variety of flavors and spices, especially after years of Pearson’s cooking. Albert knew many local restaurants and cuisine, and tended to pick what they ate. But that night Arthur picked at the food, wondering how to begin, before deciding to just talk about the gigantic elephant in the room.

“Look, I know we’ve been avoiding discussing the fact that I’m… not exactly an upstanding citizen. I never properly thanked you for getting me out of Valentine. You risked a lot helping me, put yourself in danger and I guess I wanted to ask… Al, are you okay with everything?”

Albert hesitated, then said, “I’ll admit I was a little dumbfounded when Agent Milton showed me your bounty poster. I didn’t want it to be true! And it was easy to pretend that it wasn’t true, for the first few days. But your friend, Hosea, confirmed everything when he visited. He also said you had left that life.”

“Yeah.”

“Why?” Albert asked. But when Arthur looked down at his lap and began picking at a loose string on his sleeve, Albert quickly added, “You don’t have to tell me.”

“No, I want to. It’s just hard to explain.” The loose string broke off, and Arthur began. “The gang’s leader, Dutch, he saved me. A long time ago, I wasn’t even fifteen yet. I looked up to Dutch like a father, him and Hosea. Being loyal to them, that was all that mattered to me. Always thought I would go out with a gun in my hand, fighting for Dutch.”

“What changed?”

“I did.” Quite suddenly and unexpectedly, too. From a potion and some dreams. “But I guess they did too. Had been changing for a while, I just couldn’t see it until recently. Then Dutch and me, we got into a fight, and I left.”

“Do you… do you regret it at all? Leaving?”

“Sometimes,” Arthur admitted. “I don’t believe in Dutch’s plan no more. It won’t work, the world’s changed too much. But I miss the folks still in the gang. I worry about them, too. Hosea is trying to help. Wants them to see that they have options in life. But I’m afraid that what happened to me… it’s coming for them, too.”

They sat silently, and avoided eye contact, until Albert said, “You know, those first few days, I thought for sure you were going to die.”

“Al, I- I never wanted you involved in any of this!”

“I know. But I would do it again.” His cheeks were turning red, he opened his mouth to say more but closed it again.

“Do you want me to go?”

“No!”

“Al, I’m putting you in danger. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“I know, but I don’t care.” Albert stood up and wandered to the window. Arthur wanted to follow, but that was too much effort at the moment. “Arthur, I haven’t said anything, and the reason is because I wanted you to recover without any worry. You’ve been a very dear friend to me and I rather enjoy your company.”

“Well, you’ve been a good friend to me, too.”

“No, wait. I have to say this. I’ve felt this way for a while, but I’ve been waiting to say anything unless you thought poorly of me. I didn’t want you to feel trapped here.” Albert took a deep breath, and said, “I like you. More than just simply friends.”

Arthur froze. Could Albert be saying what he thought he was saying? Could he feel the way Arthur was feeling himself? “Al-”

“And I understand that you probably don’t feel the same way, I mean most men don’t see other men in a romantic sense. But I couldn’t not tell you. I’ll give you time to think about what I’ve said. And I also understand if you aren’t here when I come back.” And Albert was rushing towards the door.

When Arthur finally found the air to speak, he called out, “Al, wait!” But the photographer was already out the door, disappearing into the city streets.

Chapter Text

Arthur scrambled to his feet, grabbing the cane and moving as fast as he was able to the door and down the stairs. But by the time he reached the street, it was too late. Albert was gone.

First, he tried looking in Albert’s favorite places in the city. He tried to art supplier, which carried some items needed for his photography, then the studio where Albert sometimes offered his services. He went to the cafe that sold his favorite French pastries, but no one had seen him there. So he tried the main saloon, wondering if Albert had gone to get drunk, and when he wasn’t there, Arthur trudged to Doyle’s Tavern in the poorer section of town. It was never Albert’s first place to suggest, but if the man was trying to avoid him and be unpredictable, he could have gone there. Plus, the tavern was more Arthur’s scene compared to the fancy food and high buy-in poker games of Bastille Saloon, and Arthur desperately needed a drink.

Doyle’s Tavern was empty, however, save for Doyle himself and a rather loud French man. Arthur took a seat and propped up his now aching leg, the muscles still not used to walking far. The French man noticed him and said, “Hey, buy me a drink, mon ami.”

Arthur huffed, not much in the mood for company, but he knew he wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon. “Sure, what you want?”

“Brandy!” the man said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Two brandies, bud,” Arthur said to the bartender.

“It’s two dollars a glass,” the bartender said.

“Well, it better be good then,” said Arthur as he forked over the bills. He would never get used to how expensive drinks were in this town.

“It’s the best.” The bartender slid them the glasses, and Arthur raised it with the French man before downing it in one go.

“It’s quite a country you’re building here, eh?” the man said.

Arthur raised his eyebrows at the man. “What, me personally?”

“I don’t know, what do you do?”

“Nothing, I guess. I’m… between jobs at the moment. What do you do?”

“Ah, well, mostly I pose, I show off, I complain. You know, I have been all, I have seen the sights, and I have discovered the one eternal truth. That I am a prize, how do you say, whole ass!”

“Asshole?”

“That too!”

Arthur gave a weak laugh. Normally, meeting an interesting and enigmatic stranger would have been the highlight of his day, but his heart just wasn’t in it.

The man noticed and said, “Why so sad? Problems with a woman? Only a lover could cause such distress.”

“Eh, not quite.”

“But it is someone, yes? What’s your name?”

“Arthur.”

“Charles.”

“So this woman you are caught up on? You should tell her you want her. If she says no, bah! Forget her! This city is full of them!” As Charles talked, Arthur ducked his head a little and stared deep into his brandy. It didn’t escape Charles’ notice. As the bartender slipped to the back, he leaned in close to Arthur and whispered, “Ah, I see. It is a man!” Arthur whipped around, eyes wide, but Charles said, “Oh don’t worry. I am not as close minded as these other Americans. Or the other artists in the salons of Paris. They didn’t like what I painted in my little pictures, the women or the men, and thought I should go away, so I went away.”

“You’re a painter?”

“No, I’m a whole ass! I thought we had covered this!” That got a bigger laugh out of Arthur.

“You miss Paris?”

“That smelly, filthy place with old buildings and ghosts and shit and French people? I have that right here!”

“I guess so.”

“You know, Arthur, don’t believe in art, it’s lies. The vagina, that is truth. Breasts is truth!” His voice dropped to a whisper, leaning in again. “The cock… truth! Art, it’s for idiots.”

“If you say so.”

“Trust me, I’ve tried both.” They finished off their brandies. “So, I must be boring you, but here.” He slid over a paper.

“What is it?”

“It’s just a little doodle.” Arthur flipped the paper over to see a sketch of a naked woman, casually lounging on a chair with her breasts on full display. Strong lines formed the shape of her body, but the lack of detail in her face and her nakedness made her seem anonymous. “You know, entirely worthless unless you want to wipe your bottom with it but I wanted to say thank you for the drinks.”

“Well, that’s very kind, Charles. Good meeting you.”

“No matter. Go, Arthur. Go find your truth!”

But upon leaving the saloon, even after a short distraction, Arthur still found that he had no idea where to look to find Albert. He walked down towards the market, lost in thought, and walked straight into a man with a shaved head wearing a dark brown robe.

“Sorry, excuse me,” Arthur muttered.

“You are alright, kind sir,” the monk said. “Will you help the poor?” He gestured to his donation cup. “There are so many who will hungry tonight.”

“Sure,” said Arthur, pulling a few coins from his pocket.

“Bless you, sir.”

Arthur leaned against the wall, his leg throbbing slightly from the sudden impact of walking into another person. “How you getting on, anyhow?” he asked.

“These are a somewhat apathetic lot, I’m afraid.”

“My uh… my old mentor,” Arthur said, not really sure what to call Dutch these days, “said that America is designed to induce apathy in people.”

“That’s wonderful insight. He must be a wise man, your mentor.”

Arthur just laughed. “Lately, he’s been more of a downright fool. We kind of had a falling out recently.”

“That is a shame,” the monk said. “But the thing is I’m, well, poverty will always be with us. But slavery,” the monk peeked over the brick wall to look towards one of the shops tucked into the corner. “I thought we had banished that. But Saint Denis is acting as a staging post for shipping slaves out to some of the islands.”

“I don’t believe you, it’s 1899,” Arthur said, but at the same time, he could see the depravity of some folks causing it to happen.

“Maybe you should take a look for yourself,” the monk said. “I’ve heard that the pawnbroker down the block around the corner, the one with the green door, well they say he sells more than forlorn trinkets.”

At first, Arthur just wanted to keep walking and continue his search for Albert, but then he thought about Tilly, young and sweet, and Lenny, who was proud to be the first of his family born outside of chains. If this was happened in Saint Denis, it could happen to them.

The pawnshop with green door was full of goods and trinkets, left on shelves and stacks all around the store, creating almost a maze. But years of casing stores and houses for robbery made Arthur very good at looking past the clutter to find the places people hid their valuables. On first glance, most people wouldn’t spot the hidden room or basement, but Arthur’s keen eyes picked up the small annex that seemed to only contain a bookshelf. On the floor, however, was a series of scrape marks from the bookshelf being repeatedly dragged out.

The owner, who had been watching Arthur like prey eying a potential predator, said, “Oh, nothing much back there, I’m afraid… just a few old book.” Arthur ignored him and tugged on the bookshelf with his right arm. Heavy, it didn’t budge. His left arm wasn’t much help yet, so Arthur tried a different method.

Drawing his revolver and pointing it at the owner, he said, “I want to see what’s behind this bookshelf.”

“Nothing, sir! Just the wall!”

“Oh, I don’t believe you. Move this shelf! Now!”

The owner scurried over and heaved the heavy bookshelf forward and led the way into the basement. Immediately, Arthur heard several words in what he recognized as Spanish. Two people were chained up in the darkness, and Arthur had to tap down the urge to put a bullet in the shop owner’s skull. It wouldn’t do for the law to come running.

“Keys,” he said, leveling the revolver at the owner again, and a key ring was tossed to him. “Get in that corner now,” Arthur said, and then approached the prisoners with a more gentle voice. “It’s going to be okay, I’m on your side.”

He unlocked the shackles and led the thankful people back to the monk.

“Brother?” he started, realizing he didn’t know the monk’s name.

“Brother Dorkins, friend.”

“Arthur, Arthur Morgan. You were right. I found these two imprisoned in that shop.”

“Oh my! Well, they are blessed to have met you, Arthur.”

“I don’t think they speak much English,” Arthur said, but it seemed that Brother Dorkins knew at least a few Spanish words as he began to lead them to the church.

“Hey, you forgot this!” Arthur said, picking up the donation cup.

“Oh, yes. Thank you, I…” Brother Dorkins briefly took the cup, but then tried to give it back. “Here, as payment. For your services. I could not have freed these men myself.”

Arthur just shook his head. “Give it to the poor, Brother. I was glad to help.”

Arthur watched Brother Dorkins go, not sure where to head himself. The sun was starting to set, and just as he wondered if he should go back to to Albert’s apartment, he heard a voice call his name.

For a second, his heart leapt, but then he realized it wasn’t Albert’s voice. In fact, it was a voice that always seemed to surprise him!

Josiah Trelawny stood in the middle of the Saint Denis street, wearing his usual coat and vest and top hat. On either side of him were two young boys, both with the same dark hair and mischievous eyes. “Arthur, dear boy! It is good to see you since you… left the office.”

“Trelawny! I didn’t know you were in town.” His eyes drifted from the bruises on Trelawny’s face to the two boys, but as always, Trelawny was quick on his feet.

“Ah yes, you haven’t met my sons. This is Tarquin,” he patted the older boy’s shoulder. “And this is Cornelius. Have you been staying in the city long?”

“Not too long. I’ve been staying with a friend.” All these years of Trelawny disappearing and reappearing. Had this been why?”

“Perhaps you could join us for dinner. My wife is making jambalaya, and it is the best in the city, let me tell you!”

“Oh, I don’t know… I should probably-”

“Nonsense! Come, come, it’s right around the corner.” Trelawny grabbed Arthur by the arm and led him the rest of the way, climbing a crooked staircase in a back alley to a modest apartment. “We have returned, my dear!” He swept the woman into a kiss, and Arthur let out a chuckle at the embarrassed and disgusted faces his sons put on. “Arthur, this is my wife, Sophia Trelawny. Sophia, my love, this is Arthur from the office.

“It is nice to meet you,” Sophia said. She had dark brown hair and dark olive skin that the two boys had inherited. But Tarquin’s and Cornelius’ faces were all their father. “Josiah never brings by any of his friends. Please sit, sit!” She directed Arthur to the kitchen table. “Did you run into problems on the road as well.”

“What?” After a second, Arthur realized she was referencing his cane. “Oh, naw, just an… accident. It will heal up pretty soon.”

“Well, that is good news. My poor husband was attacked and robbed! He is lucky not to have been killed!”

Josiah glanced at Arthur, meeting his eye for a brief second. Clearly, there was another story behind his bruises. Arthur said, “Yeah, pretty lucky,” and let the conversation drop.

What did continue started to become the oddest evening of Arthur’s life. He never suspected that the reason for Trelawny’s constant disappearances was a wife and children. And on top of that, one that he suspected didn’t know about Josiah’s criminal business interests. Thankfully, Trelawny was quick on his feet when Sophia asked about Arthur’s work at the office.

“Oh, Arthur here is an expert at land surveying! Knows all about good investments, always steers me right when we partner up. Quite the outdoors man, this one. Of course, he is dreadful at the paperwork. That’s where I come in!”

“That so?” Sophia asked.

“Yeah, I like getting away from town, camping under the stars.”

“Are you like my husband, also running off and leaving a poor woman at home with the kids?” she asked with a smile and patting Trelawny on the shoulder, a light teasing.

Trelawny, without missing a beat, said, “Now dear, I was under the impression you rather enjoyed having me out of the house!”

“No, not married,” Arthur said.

“Really? A nice man like you, no one?”

“Well, there was someone a long time ago, but it didn’t end too well.”

“Don’t give up hope,” Sophia said. “There is someone out there for everybody!”

“Yeah, maybe.” He hoped Albert was in the apartment when he got back. Though as he watched Josiah and Sophia interact, he wondered what would happen if Josiah ever told her the truth about his job. If she knew all about the money and scams he pulled, would she still love him? Sure, Trelawny never killed anyone that Arthur knew of, but he didn’t have to. The gang did the killing for him.

Albert may have heard about the list of crimes Arthur was accused of, but he didn’t know the details. Would Albert still be interested in him if he knew about Strawberry?

Later, Trelawny invited Arthur out on a balcony to smoke cigars and talk business. As soon as the door closed, Arthur turned to Trelawny and said, “So, land investment?”

“It easily explains my constant traveling, doesn’t it? I don’t want Sophia to become involved in my… other business interests. Just in case I am ever caught.”

“How long have you been married.”

“Oh, almost ten years now.”

“And I take it Dutch doesn’t know.”

“And why should he? You’ve known Dutch for a long time, Arthur, do you think he would trust my loyalty if he knew about my family?”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean, Dutch has always demanded loyalty to himself above all else. Having a wife, children? I could see him viewing that as an obstacle.”

Arthur wanted to argue against it, over the last few years, Dutch reacted drastically to any thought of someone leaving the gang. When John disappeared for a year after Jack’s birth, speeches about loyalty became a regular occurrence. “He wasn’t always like that.”

“I’m not so sure, dear boy. I always got that feeling from him. The only difference now is that there is more trouble after you lot.”

“Is that what happened then?” Arthur said, gesturing towards the bruising on his face. “Trouble after the gang?”

“Yes. Some bounty hunters came knocking, asking questions. Roughed me up a little, though not as bad as I heard happened to you.”

“And what exactly did you hear?”

“Hosea told me about those agents in Valentine. He didn’t go into much detail, but seeing you now…”

Arthur sighed, rolling the cane in his hand. “It’s healing. Slower than I would like.”

“Dutch has used your capture as an example of what happens when one of his flock leaves the fold. It has caused a divide, it seems.”

“Yeah, Hosea said something similar to me. I’m glad some people are seeing sense, at least.”

“And perhaps more will, if this continues. They need to be careful about those two families, the Grays and Braithwaites. I’ve told Hosea this as well. I’m not certain the job will be as lucrative as it first seemed.”

Arthur sighed. Another potential failure for his family. “Well, I trust you’ll look into it.” They finished off the cigars, and Arthur slowly started gathering his things. “I should really get back to my friend’s place.”

“Of course, but do keep in touch.”

Arthur paused at the door. “You know, I used to think you were a slippery bastard, but…”

“We all choose our faces for a reason, Arthur. And I trust that you won’t say anything, as I also won’t tell the others where you are.”

“Thank you, for dinner, and for everything else.”

“You’re welcome!”

It didn’t take long to walk back to Albert’s apartment, but each step Arthur dreaded finding it empty. There was so much he wanted to say, and the thought of not being able to say it to Albert was too much to consider at the moment.

The door was still unlocked when he reached the landing, and he opened it slowly to peak inside, too tense, but his shoulders immediately relaxed when he saw Albert sitting hunched over the kitchen table, back to the door.

“Al?”

Albert jumped and turned, mouth hanging wide open. A few seconds of silence, and then he stammered, “I thought… I thought you had left for good.”

“No! No, I actually spent the last few hours looking for you! Well, I did get distracted a little. Where were you, by the way?”

“Oh, just across the way. The Galerie Laurent. The owner is interested in displaying some of my photographs there.”

They stared unmoving and silent, then both spoke at the same time.

“I didn’t mean to put pressure on you,” Albert said.

“I don’t want to leave,” Arthur said.

“…wait, what?”

“I don’t want to leave,” Arthur repeated. “I want to stay. I guess, over these last few weeks, I’ve been feeling the same way.”

“Really?” said Albert. “I never thought… most men aren’t…”

He kept stammering as Arthur sat next to Albert. He leaned in close, still a little uncertain, but it was Albert who crossed the last few inches and pressed his lips against Arthur’s, light, gentle, but enough. And Arthur began to kiss back.

They broke apart after a moment, smiles on both their faces. “Well, I’m glad we cleared that up,” Arthur joked. “But I think… well, we still need to talk a little. There’s still a lot you don’t know about me that you probably should. Some things that are hard to explain.”

Albert nodded. “All right. Let’s talk.”

They stayed up most of the night, and some of the next morning, drinking coffee and eating the leftover pastries. Albert listened and asked questions. Arthur gave honest answers.

And when it was all over, Arthur stayed.

Chapter Text

The mud soaked into his boots, into his pants.  It sucked him down and refused to let him go.  Arthur rolled his eyes and yanked up hard with his leg in order to take another step.  It seemed that Merlin’s bravery did not extend to alligators, and the horse dumped him to run for dryer ground.  He tried whistling, but Merlin refused to return for him.

“Damn horse,” Arthur muttered to himself.  “Damn Algernon Wasp and his damn orchids!”

As Arthur’s leg and shoulder improved, his boredom increased drastically.  The city began to bother him, the noise and crowds pressing in from all sides.  He noticed the problems that Dutch liked to point out.  The rich in Saint Denis sat in their mansions and ate lunch in fancy, private gardens while the poor begged on dirty street corners, the factory workers stumbled home with meager wages in their pockets while the factory owners considered what other expenses they could cut, and orphaned children took to the streets in steal whatever they could while their parents either rotted in the cemetery or drank themselves in that direction.

But with Albert, Arthur could also notice the advantages of the city, the good parts squished between prominent and the impoverished.  After traveling between towns that normally contained a gunsmith and a general store, if he was lucky, Arthur had access to a wide variety of goods.  He bought better pencils to draw with and updated his wardrobe.  He explored several places specializing in shoes and saddles, but ended up putting in orders with the trapper at his main store in the market.

While Arthur was finding some fun, he could tell there was a strain on Albert’s finances.  The photographer was getting ready for an art show, which apparently meant spending time going over prints and negotiating gallery fees.  Albert couldn’t spend as much time taking pictures of paying customers.  So when Arthur stumbled upon the shop of Algernon Wasp, full of rare flowers and the ugliest fashionable hats Arthur had ever laid eyes on, and the man offered him money for the simple task of egret feathers and Lady of the Night orchids, he agreed without thought.  Forgetting, of course, that he would have to slog through the swamps to get them. 

The low growl of another alligator sounded out close to him, and Arthur froze.  Buried in the mud a few feet from him was yet another of those prehistoric monsters that Albert was so keen on preserving.  Arthur understood protecting wild horses and had a respect for wolves, but gators?  He would be glad to see them all gone!  Yet he had lured one out so that Albert could take a photograph not long ago.

“What if I set up on the bank?  Maybe one will swim by and poke it’s head above water?” Albert had asked a week prior.

“Bad idea.  Terrible idea.  They creep up on you, you know.  Don’t want to see you get dragged into a death roll.”

“Now, I know you are not the alligator’s biggest fan, but did you know that in the last fifty years we’ve killed ninety percent of them?”

Arthur sighed.  “You say that like it makes you sad.”

“They are beautiful creatures!”

“And I would prefer if you didn’t get eaten by one.”  Arthur looked up and down the bank, before spotting what he was looking for.  “Let’s take that boat out.  I’ll row, you take your pictures.”

“Really?  Do you think we can just borrow it?”

“We’ll bring it back.  Besides, you need the protection.  The ten percent who survived, they’re the nasty ones.”

“You sure that you can row?”

“I’m fine!  I promise,” said Arthur, picking up the oars before muttering, “Mother hen”

“I heard that.”

They moved out into the water, and Albert swayed slightly to the rocking of the boat,  “Oh, I saw movement to the north of us, oh and to the west, and the northwest!

“Let’s go look, then.”

“When we find one, line me up so I can get the shot.”  Albert’s eyes switched from the lens to the swamp, scanning for the hidden alligators.  “But don’t get too close, you’ll scare them away.”

“Close but not too close, got it.  Just tell me where to stop.”  Turning the boat north, where Albert pointed out the first of the alligators, Arthur couldn’t help but relate to Albert’s excitement.  It was practically seeping off his… friend?  Lover?  Their relationship was still rather new, he didn’t quite know what to call it yet.  A long time had passed since he last even thought about seeking a romantic partner.

And as much as Arthur loathed the idea of comparing Albert to his previous relationships, mainly Mary Gillis, it was hard not to.  Albert and Mary both were from society.  Both were absolutely clueless when it came to nature.

But the difference came in the fact that Albert was willing to try to change.  Albert took Arthur’s advice readily and enjoyed his different perspective, whereas Mary always wanted to change Arthur to fit her world.  Mary always seemed to ask for favors.  Albert never needed to ask.

They also met at different points in Arthur’s life.  Arthur considered himself to be a fool, but he wasn’t that much a fool to not know that Dutch’s opinions did have some influence on his younger self.

“Oh look, on that little beach.  Boars!  If we’re in luck, an alligator won’t be far away.”

Arthur turned and followed Albert’s eyes.  “Saving alligators, but you don’t mind that pork chop getting butchered?”

“Pork chop isn’t in danger of extinction.”

Arthur steadied the boat and got ready to wait, but they didn’t have to wait for long.  Just as one of the boars went to take a drink, and alligator surged out of the water and sunk its teeth into the boar’s neck.  The frightened prey squealed, but it was too late.  Albert’s flash went off as the alligator dragged its meal back into the water.

“We caught him!  In the middle of his dinner.  This is history making, truly.  Nature in all its glory, and cruelty.”

“And to think you wanted to stand on that bank!” Arthur said, turning the boat towards the next location.

“But I didn’t!  That’s why I bring you along.”

Arthur just shook his head and kept rowing while Albert kept talking.  “Did you know,” said Albert, “Last year they brought ten thousand skins out of the swamps of Lemoyne alone?”

“The gators got some catching up to do then.”

“Cases, trunks, shoes, boots, belts… bibles even.  They’ll make anything out of gator leather that the market desire.  Oh, over there in the cane-break!  That’s a likely spot for one.”

Just as Albert had predicted, a gator was swimming across the channel.  Arthur lined them up as well as he could and Albert took the photograph.  “Can you get it?” he asked, and the flash a second later gave him the answer.

Albert stood up from his camera and watched the gator for a few seconds away from his camera lens.  “Excellent.  The beast in repose.  All is calm as the predator lurks.  I think one more photograph should do it, just to be safe.  You know, in the season, there are more alligator hunters down here than, well, alligators.”

“I did not know that.”  One thing Arthur learned about Albert is that the man enjoyed reading fact books.  Arthur took after Hosea when he did read, preferring mysteries and adventure stories.  He didn’t need nature books because he could learn from the real thing.  But Albert never had that opportunity, and while not all the knowledge he gained was practical for survival, it did increase his passion for his project.  Though Arthur was certain that no amount of information would make him like alligators.

“There was even a tour company that let excursionists shoot from the deck of a paddle steamer.  Chugged up the waterways and churned the whole bayous into mud!  Thankfully the state legislature put a stop…”

“A paddle steamer?  Seems safer than this rowboat at least!”

“Seventeen feet, nineteen feet, twenty one feet with a five foot head…”

“What are you mumbling about?”

“They found some big bulls in these parts, surely they did.”

“There’s twenty food gators here and us two idiots are sitting in a twelve food skiff.”

“No, this is in the seventies, eighties… oh there!  No, he’s gone!”

A rather large gator, thankfully not the size of the monsters Albert described, darted back into the brush.  Arthur stopped the boat by the shore while Albert peered into the grass.

“Al, if we stop too long, the locals are going to start getting curious.”

“I know, I know.  But if I could just get that fellow’s likeness, it might just save him from the taxidermist.  Could you, maybe, run in there and coax him out?”

“What!”

“Yes, just get his attention and then get back to the boat!”

Arthur looked at the alligator, with its large teeth and cold eyes, and then to Albert’s eager face.  He sighed.  “Fine!  You are lucky I like you.”

The warm swamp water reached midway up his chest, and Arthur vowed to make Albert do the laundry later.  He really hoped there were no alligators around besides the one he was about to walk up to.  It was laying in the grass looking away from him, but turned too quick when Arthur got close.

“He’s awake!” he shouted, turning and running back to the rowboat.  “I hope you’re slow,” said Arthur, not wanting to look over his shoulder and check.

“In, in, in!” Albert cried, giving Arthur some indication of how close the monster was to eating him.  “Jump in the boat!”  And the flash went off a second before Arthur launched himself over the side and into relative safety.  “Got him!  What a specimen!”

Lungs heaving, Arthur laid along the small wooden bench when Albert turned to look at him.  “I am not doing that for you again,” he said, and Albert laughed.  Leaving his camera on the tripod, Albert crawled over Arthur and kissed him, deep and passionate.

“You are wonderful, thank you!” Albert said when they broke apart.  He leaned in again, but Arthur held him back with a hand on his shoulder.

“Maybe we should wait until we are away from the twenty foot gators,” he said.

“I told you, all the big ones are gone.”

“Some of the locals might disagree.  I’ve heard talk of a huge gator in these parts.”

“Really?  Do you think we could-”

“No,” Arthur said, shaking his head.  He gathered up the oars and started back to their horses, determined not to return any time soon.  “We are not going after that!”

And yet, Arthur was back in the swamp.  Not hunting gators for photography, of course, but near them.  On foot, horseless.  Could he really wish he was back in a city, of all places?  

Considering the sun would start to set in another hour or two, he should really be turning back and finding Merlin.  A few egret feathers and two orchids was all he had found for his efforts, and he was starting to wonder if this venture of Algernon Wasp’s was worth it.

But it was more guaranteed than his job tracking down old gunslingers for that author, Theodore Levin.  Recently, Arthur made the trek up to see Black Belle in her swampland hideout, unfortunately attracting some bounty hunters as well.

Glad that Albert stayed behind in the city that day, Arthur helped defend Miss Belle, but it didn’t seem like she needed it!  The entire place was rigged to explode, and as Arthur hit the various plungers littered around the porch at Miss Belle’s direction, dead bounty hunters went flying through the air.

In the end, he got his picture and a story, but not the one that Mr. Levine was looking for.  Jim ‘Boy’ Calloway sounded like he was a coward, and Arthur wasn’t surprised.  Gunslinger were still alive these days for a reason.

Still, the encounter went better than his one with Billy Midnight.

One morning, Arthur went to Rhodes, thankfully not to running into anyone from the gang.  The helpful station worker let Arthur know that Billy Midnight would likely be in the next bar car that rolled through, and his prediction was correct.  Midnight was slouched over the bar, stinking of liquor and downing even more.  But asking Billy Midnight about his past provoked a sudden and frightened reaction, the man yelling about how he didn’t shoot someone in his sleep.  Billy led Arthur on a chase through the train that culminated on top of a freight car.  Cornered, Billy Midnight attempted to draw on Arthur, but Arthur was faster.  In the end, Arthur jumped from the train to avoid gaining a bounty on the dead gunslinger after taking the photograph, despite the fact that he only shot in self defense.

Hopefully his meeting with Emmett Granger would go better, if he ever got the chance to head back up north.

Evening crickets chirped more, and Arthur began to worry he was hopelessly lost without Merlin.  That’s when he spotted it in the distance.  A cabin!

“Hello?” Arthur called out, but there was no answer.  A cabin in the middle of the bayou, no horses or road to be seen?  It was likely abandoned for a long time, but a single, lone lantern hung lit from the porch rafters.  Arthur did check around the back for a boat before continuing on, but under the house was a rather strange sight.  Bars lined the foundation, almost creating a cage with a dead alligator trapped inside.

The inside was even more weird!  He wanted to run, but at the same time something compelled him to stay, to continue forward.  Red curtains bathed the room in an almost bloody glow.  Paintings of a buck, the same buck that haunted his dreams after he drank from that cauldron up in the Grizzlies, were scattered throughout the room.  In the center of the room, and unfinished painting sat on display, the mass of black paint almost taking the shape of a… raven?

There was writing on the walls too, crudely carved into the wood.  THE MOON WILL SHINE ON IN THE DARKNESS.  THE WATER IS BLACK WITH VENOM.  TOIL AND TROUBLE FOLLOW THOSE WHO DRINK THE WITCH’S BREW.

And the carvings were on the furniture, too.  Arthur leaned forward over a side table.

THERE WAS A MAN CALLED
JIMMY BROOKS
WHO WAS ALWAYS
RUNNING INTO CROOKS
TILL ONE
CHASED HIM DOWN
AND HE HAD TO TALK
HIS WAY ROUND
THAT JIMMY ISN’T 
AS DUMB AS HE LOOKS

He knew that name.  Swore he would remember it.  Jimmy Brooks, the man who recognized him from Blackwater and tried to run away, only to end up dangling off a cliff edge.  Arthur had stood over him, questioned him, considered stepping on his fingers and letting him plunge to his death, but he hadn’t.  He helped the man back up, and Jimmy Brooks swore he wouldn’t tell a soul about Arthur or his gang.

Arthur still had the pen, the steel one that supposedly nice and worth something.  He never sold it, and his hand moved unconsciously to his satchel when he noticed movement in the tall mirror in the corner.

“Arthur Morgan,” a deep voice sounded behind him.  “I never expected to see you so soon.”

Chapter Text

The man had a dark mustache and wore a black suit and a top hat.  At first glance, Arthur could have sworn he was Trelawny, but the voice and accent were all wrong.  Arthur drew his revolver and pointed it at the man, but the stranger only chuckled.

“Who are you?  How do you know me?” Arthur asked.

“Oh, I know many people.  But you?  Clearly, I didn’t know you as well as I thought.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

The man pointed to a chair next to the painting of a buck.  “Please, sit.”

“No.”

The man didn’t sit either.  He just stood watching Arthur, his hands clasped behind his back, completely undisturbed by the gun pointed at his head.  It was almost like he was waiting for something.

Arthur’s voice was close to a snarl when he said, “What is all this?  Those paintings, the writings?  How do you know about Jimmy Brooks?”  And more importantly, though he didn’t say it out loud, how did the man know about the buck?  He never told anyone, not even Hosea, about the dreams he had after he drank from that cauldron.  He never felt the need to tell Albert, seeing as Albert didn’t even know he was in a gang at the time and his new way of thinking was what lead him to leave it.

“The same way I know about you.  The same way I know about many people.  Though your path, your fate, it isn’t as clear to me like it is for others.”

“Explain.  Now!”

“Be patient, Mr. Morgan.  You see, you were teetering on the edge of two paths for such a long time.  Your fate could have gone either way, so I thought you needed a… push towards your true self, whether that my be.  I know you saw a buck, but what was the other?  A coyote?”

“You mean that weird drink in the mountains.  You left that?”

“And you drank it.  You didn’t choose your path as I expected, and it seems that having you choose early has created a new string of events I didn’t foresee.”

Through clenched teeth, Arthur said, “Sorry to disappoint.”

“Oh, it wasn’t a disappointment.  Just a curiosity.  It seems I still have much to learn about life.  When I placed that cauldron for you to find, I expected your fate, your end, to be the same either way.  Small changes would have occurred, yes, but when you left Dutch van der Linde, I knew there was something special about you.  Though I do apologize for what happened between you and the Pinkerton agents.”

“You did that to me?”  Arthur was tempted to shoot the stranger right that second, but he wanted answers.

“An unfortunate consequence.  I do hope the opportunities you have gained make up for it.”

Arthur couldn’t make any real sense of that meant, so he asked, “What do you want with me?”

“Nothing,” the strange man said, walking to the door.  “Nothing at all.  But perhaps there is something that I can do for you, to make up for it.  Fate and destiny… these are funny concepts.  Like with your old gang.  Some of their fates are set in stone, and others could still sway in the breeze.”  He opened the door, letting some of the waning sunlight into the room.  “If you go to the covered bridge to the north, right now, you have a chance to keep some in motion.”

“And why should I do that?  Or believe anything you say?”

“You don’t have to.  It’s up to you.  I don’t mind either way.  But if you don’t, know that the end has already begun.”

The door closed behind him, and after a moment of indecisiveness, Arthur pulled the door open after him.  “Wait!” he called out, but no one was there.  But Merlin, calm as could be, was hitched the to porch railing.

Dare he go to the bridge?  Arthur worried that it was a trap, even though the man had seemingly apologized for his capture by the Pinkertons.  But his curiosity won out.  He had to see for himself!  Arthur ran to Merlin and jumped on his back, turning towards the road.  The horse no longer seemed spooked by the gators and followed his directions well.  They stopped at the end of the covered bridge, Arthur wondering what was about to happen.

Then, he heard horses galloping his way, their hooves loud as they hit the wooden bridge.  Underneath it, he heard a child crying, “Let me go, I want my mama!”  Arthur thought the voice sounded familiar.

One of the riders shouted out, “Shut it, kid!”  But Arthur was already moving forward, selecting a rifle from his gear and shifting his voice to a growl. 

“Hey!  Let the kid go!”

“Shit, it’s one of them Yankees!” the rider said, going for his gun, but Arthur was already firing a bullet into his and his friend’s skulls.

The small boy clung to the saddle horn as the Tennessee Walker reared up and took off down the road.  Arthur spurred Merlin after and quickly lassoed it.

“Easy, easy boy, it’s okay,” he said, hopping off Merlin and trying to sooth the frightened horse, but more importantly, trying to get to the boy still on it’s back.  “Hey kid, you alright?” he asked, getting a better look at the mop of dark hair and tear-stained cheeks.

“Uncle Arthur?”

“Jack?”  He didn’t want to believe it at first, but it was him!  Arthur pulled John’s son into his arms, and immediately Jack buried his head into Arthur’s shirt and sobbed.  Arthur rubbed his back slowly, thoughts swirling around but saying, “You’re alright, Jack.  You’re safe now, you hear me?”

That strange man knew!  He knew, but he kept his knowledge hidden in clues and suggestions.  What would have happened if Arthur hadn’t gone?  And what had happened to the gang?  How could Jack have been kidnapped?  There was always someone watching!  He needed to get back to his family, protect them, save them.

But Arthur didn’t know where they were.  All he knew  was that they were near Rhodes.  The sun had almost sunk below the horizon, and Arthur had heard too many rumors about Night Folk to want to remain in the swamps.  And even if he found the gang, their camp might not be safe for them to return to if someone had managed to be take Jack earlier in the day.

“Hey, kiddo, how about you spend the night with me?  I don’t think you’ve ever seen a city before.”

“I want Mama and Pa!” Jack continued to sob into Arthur’s shirt.

“I know, I know.  But it’s getting real dark out.  And you know your mama is pretty strict about bedtime.”  Jack looked up at Arthur, still uncertain, so he decided to really sell it.  “I’m staying at my friend Albert’s apartment.  He has a really big bed, and I bet he will show you all the photographs he’s taken.”

“Like the ones in your tent?”

“Yeah, he takes photographs of animals.  Albert’s real nice.  I bet you’ll like him.”

The tears seemed to be drying up.  Oh, the resilience of children, Arthur thought.  All he needed was something intriguing and new to draw Jack’s attention.  When Jack nodded, Arthur lifted him up and put him in Merlin’s saddle before mounting up behind him.  But there was still a long way to go before Jack would be back to his normal, cheerful self, so Arthur kept talking.

“Hey, Jack!  You like chocolate, don’t you?”

“Sure!”

“Well, then, I’ll have to take you to the shop down the street from Albert’s in the morning.  They make their own chocolate!  And sometimes, if the wind is just right when they are making it, the whole street smells like chocolate, too.”

“Really?”

“Really.  And the candy?  Well, there’s more flavors of candy than I knew.”

“Like what?”

“Well, there’s orange, lemon, peppermint, vanilla… all sorts.  You’ll see.”

Jack’s eyes widened at the thought, but soon he cast them back down.  He gripped Arthur shirt sleeve with his small fingers, Arthur’s arm wrapped around him to hold him steady on Merlin.  “Is that why you left, Uncle Arthur?”

“What?  Oh, no kiddo, no.  That’s not why.”

“But Uncle Dutch said… he said you didn’t like us no more.”

“Uncle Dutch doesn’t know what he’s talking about, Jack.  Of course I like all of you.  I’ve missed you all so much!  Except for Micah.”  That got a giggle out of Jack.

“Then why?” he asked.

“Well, Dutch… he likes to be the ideas man.  He doesn’t like it when people think different than him.  And lately, I’ve been thinking a lot different than Dutch.  We got into a pretty big fight, he and I both got mad and I left.”

“Mama says that when you get mad at someone you should say you are sorry.”

“Maybe I’m waiting for Uncle Dutch to say sorry to me!”

“I’ll tell him to!”

Arthur laughed, shifting his arm to pat Jack on the shoulder.  “If old Dutch listens to you, you let me know!”

“And then you’ll come back?”

“Maybe, kid.  It ain’t that simple.  I miss the gang, but I don’t know if I want to be an outlaw like your Pa, anymore.  But you know what?  I’ll talk to your Mama, and I bet she will let you visit me.  How about that?

Jack was silent, just looking down at Merlin’s mane.  They were almost out of the swamps and on the main road to the city.  “Hey, how’s the new camp?  I never got to see it.”  Perhaps Jack could at least narrow down the location and make it easier to find.  Arthur planned to spend the morning distracting Jack with the stores and sweets of Saint Denis, and head to Rhodes in the afternoon.  If they had to, they could spend the night at the Parlor House.  Arthur had seen a map of the region, and because of the plantations taking up a large portion of the land, there were only so many places the gang could have set up camp.

 “We are right next to a lake,” Jack said.  “There was this big boat washed up on the beach, it was so neat!  Pa took me to explore it.”

“Really?  Your Pa did that?”

“Yeah.  He takes me fishing sometimes too.”

Had his talk with John back in Valentine worked?  Arthur really hoped so.  Not only did he want Jack to grow up with an involved father, he still held a hope that John would take Abigail and Jack away from the gang and build an honest life for them.  It was exactly what he wished he had done for Eliza and Isaac when they were alive.  He had been so young and stupid back then, too blind to understand that his son came above his loyalty to Dutch.

John at least was taking the first step on a rather long road, and Arthur looked forward to getting to talk to his brother again when he brought Jack back to the camp.

They were getting close to the apartment now, and Jack’s face was filled with wonder at the lanterns glowing in the fog.  Arthur kept his head on a swivel for nighttime robbers, but only spotted a pair of men sitting on their horses, dressed fancy yet armed to the teeth.  Arthur tensed more when one of the men eyed Jack and called out, “You Braithwaite?”

“No, sir,” Arthur replied, hand drifting to his holster, but the other man only sighed and continued to peer out into the darkness over the bridge.  Arthur recognized the last name from his letters with Hosea, but didn’t think anything else of it.  They seemed to be in the clear all the way to the apartment above the florist.  Hitching Merlin next to Lucy outside, Arthur took one last look down the street and led Jack inside.

The second he opened the door, he heard Albert say, “Oh, you’re back!  Finally!  I was beginning to worry.  Did you find those orchids?”  But Albert froze the second he rounded the corner and saw Jack clutching Arthur’s leg.

“I found a few.  But then… well… Albert, this is Jack.  He’s John and Abigail’s son.  Jack, this is my friend, Albert.”

“Hi,” Jack said, feeling a little shy after the day’s events.

“Uh… hello,” replied Albert, still standing in the kitchen doorway.

“Did you save us any food?” Arthur asked.  “You hungry, Jack?  Don’t tell Pearson I said this, but the food here is way better than his.”  The boy let out a small laugh, and Arthur gave him a light push towards the kitchen table.  “I’ll explain in a bit,” he whispered to Albert as he passed.

Al shook himself out of his stupor.  “Yes, there’s some food.  It is a little spicy, though.”

Arthur spooned some of the chicken and vegetables over the rice and tasted a little.  It was a tad spicy.  But Jack seemed to like it well enough, wolfing it down so fast that Arthur had barely made a plate of his own before he was almost done.  “Slow down, kiddo.  It ain’t going nowhere!”

Still Albert stared at Jack, not moving to sit with them.  Arthur raised an eyebrow at him, and finally Albert slowly stepped to the table.  “So, you’re Jack, huh?” asked he.

“Yep!” Jack said between mouthfuls.

“Jack, remember don’t talk with your mouth full!  What would Miss Grimshaw say if she saw you now?” said Arthur.

“Mama don’t listen to Miss Grimshaw no more.”

“That so?”

Jack shrugged and kept eating, and Arthur figured it was best to just leave him be.  The boy had been through enough that day.  As he was finishing, Jack turned his attention to Albert.

“Uncle Arthur says you take pictures of animals!”

“I do.  Arthur helps me quite a bit.”

“Can I see?”

Albert glanced back to the mess in the living room, where prints of varying sizes, some framed and some not, lay strewn around the room.  Arthur decided to step in.  “I have some in my satchel, Jack.  But clean up your hands, first.”  He pulled out his journal and slid the prints out.  He had the one of the wolves and the two wild horse prints.

“Is that your horse?” Jack asked, looking at the herd galloping across the field.

“Yeah, that’s Merlin.  Right before I caught him too.  And this is right after I caught him.”  He showed Jack the picture of Merlin trying to buck him off, and the boy gasped.  He gave a similar reaction to the print of the wolves.

“That looks scary!”

“I suppose, a little.  But we were alright.  I kept us safe.”

Jack started to go quiet, and Arthur noticed his eyelids starting to droop.  “Hey, kid.  Maybe we should get you to bed.  Al, is it alright if he and I stay in the bedroom?  It might be easier and I don’t want him to wake up alone.”  Arthur and Albert started sharing the one bed in the apartment shortly after Arthur’s injuries healed up.  At first, they argued over who would get the bed, with both parties believing the other deserved it more, until Arthur simply suggested they share, and that they didn’t have to do anything more.  Until they were both ready, that is.  

“Oh, yes.  Of course!  I can sleep on the sofa.  No problem at all.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, yes.”

“Okay.”  In more of a whisper, Arthur said, “We can talk after I get him to bed.”

Gathering Jack into his arms, Arthur walked carefully to the bedroom and tucked him into the sheets.  “There you go, is that comfy?”

“Yeah,” Jack said, but he was quiet and unenthusiastic compared to early.

“Hey Jack, you doing okay?”

“Do you think Mama misses me?”

Arthur sighed.  He wanted nothing more than to pick Jack up and ride straight to Abigail, who was no doubt worried out of her mind by now.  “Of course she misses you, and I know you are missing her.  But everything will be just fine.  Think of it like… a vacation.”

“Vacation?”

“Yeah, it’s where you leave home for a bit to see new stuff.  They are fun, or so I’ve been told.”

“Really?”

“Really, I swear.  You try new food and see new places.  And then you will have all these stories to tell your Mama and your Pa.  Then maybe they will come visit out here, too.  Now, how about you go to sleep?”

“Can you read me a story?”

“Oh, uh… I don’t have any storybooks here at the moment.  How about I tell you about how I met Albert?”

Jack nodded and settled back into the pillows.  “Well, it was a sunny afternoon and I was out for a ride…”

Jack fell asleep soon after Arthur started talking, a smile on his face.  Surely, Jack would ask for the ending the next morning, because the boy would need to know about how his Uncle Arthur battled that thieving coyote to get the bag back for his damsel in distress.

Arthur slipped out of the bedroom after he was certain Jack was sleeping and slumped in a chair.  Albert sat at the kitchen table as well, hunched over a mug of tea.  “How is Jack?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

“He’s sleeping.  Poor kid.  I don’t really how to explain what happened.  I think I need a drink.”

“Well, we have whiskey and rum.  And take your time, I’m listening.”

“Well, really, the whole story probably starts a few weeks after we first met.”  Arthur decided not to skip over any details, knowing it would likely lead to more questions than answers.  He talked about stumbling on the cauldron and drinking the mysterious liquid inside, fully accepting the eye roll and light mocking at his idiocy that followed.  He told Albert about how he thought nothing of it after just getting a little sick, but that he did feel differently about the gang and Dutch afterward.  But then he explained the cabin and the strange man inside who seemingly claimed to have placed the drink for him, who then clued him in that something would happen at the covered bridge.

“And then two men rode up, they had Jack,” Arthur said before draining his glass of whiskey.

“And you didn’t see the man again?  He was just gone?”

“Yeah.  Vanished into thin air.  Appeared that way, too.  Suit was all clean and pressed.  There’s no way he could have walked through the swamp like that.”

“Do you… are we safe here?”

“I think so.”

“What if that man comes back and wants something?”

“If he does, then we’ll deal with it.  But tomorrow, I’m going to show Jack a few fun places and then get him back to his parents.”

Albert nodded, and they turned both heard the sound of the bedroom door opening.  “Uncle Arthur?” Jack asked, a blanket trailing behind him.

“I’m coming in Jack, just give me a second.”  He turned back to Albert, who was gathering up the dishes. 

“Sleep well, Arthur.  We’ll figure everything out in the morning.

“Goodnight Al,” said Arthur, and he went to get Jack back in bed.

Chapter Text

Arthur slipped out of bed early the next morning after a rather restless night. It turned out that Jack slept like he was in a boxing match, arms flailing about and constantly tossing around under the covers. By the third time Arthur was jolted awake to a tiny hand slapping him in the face, the dawn light could be seen past the curtains. So Arthur decided to just get up and let Jack have the whole bed to himself. No wonder Abigail was always so tired!

"Morning," Albert said when he walked into the living room.

"What are you doing up already?"

"It turns out having your boyfriend come home late with a child can be the cause of some anxiety. I barely slept! You?"

"That kid does not sleep still. And has a pretty mean right hook."

"You make the coffee and I'll go get pastries and the paper?"

"Deal," said Arthur. Albert left to go down the street and Arthur started heating some water. Once the coffee was ready, he pulled out his map of the area. Based on what Jack said the previous night, the gang had to be camped along Flat Iron Lake. His best bet would be to follow the shoreline from north from the Braithwaite Manor, thought there was a small area just to the south of the property that could serve them as well. Jack did mention a boat washed up on shore, and the boy would probably recognize the fishing areas around camp. It couldn't be too hard to find.

But then Albert returned, grim expression on his face, holding up the latest copy of the Saint Denis Times. "It was a special edition, printed this morning."

SCORES DEAD IN BLOOD FEUD
BRAITHWAITE MANOR BURNED TO GROUND.
SHERIFF GRAY KILLED.
MOST OF BOTH FAMILIES BELIEVED TO BE DEAD.
RHODES IN PIECES.

The article itself didn't give many details, just that a shootout in the town resulted in the deaths of many of the Gray family and that several men then stormed Braithwaite Manor. The writer theorized that the fighting had only taken place between the two families, but Arthur knew better. And by the look on his face, Albert did, too.

"Your old gang. They were trying to rob these families, weren't they?"

"Yeah. Rob, though, not this!"

"Do you think this has something to do with why Jack was kidnapped?"

"Maybe. There were these two men on the bridge last night. One of them saw Jack and asked if I was a Braithwaite. If the gang had any reason to believe they were responsible for Jack, then, well…" Arthur gestured to the newspaper article. "Problem is the gang will have to move after this. The law will be crawling all over Rhodes."

"Where would they go?" asked Albert.

"Don't know. We never planned to end up in the South." He paused, eyes drifting to the bedroom door. "I think we don't have a choice but to keep Jack with us and hope Hosea sends us a letter."

He wanted to feel some sliver of hope, but as he kept staring at the article. There was no description of the men who burned the manor down, but it certainly had been Dutch. Was everyone still alive?

Arms wrapped around him middle, and Albert pulled him into a gentle hug. Arthur relaxed into it. Albert said, "I bet Hosea will come here as soon as he can."

"I know." But Arthur knew he just wouldn't stop worrying. "For now, though, I'll leave a letter in Saint Denis for Tacitus Kilgore. They might be able to track Jack to the city."

They were interrupted by a small thump and a patter of feet heading to the kitchen. "Hi Uncle Arthur!" Jack said, taking a seat at the table.

"Hey, Jack! Ready for breakfast? Ever have a croissant?"

"No, what's that?"

Arthur plopped the flaky pastry onto Jack's plate, smiling as the boy dug in. "You know, Jack," he said, "I think we should get you some new clothes."

"Really?"

"Of course! You've gotten so big. What do you think? New overalls? New boots?" He still had some savings left. Jack nodded enthusiastically, so Arthur said, "Well, when you are done eating, we can go do some shopping."

"Is Albert coming with us?"

Arthur looked to Albert, who jumped in with, "Oh, no. Unfortunately, I have to go to the gallery."

"We can meet up with him after he is done, Jack. What do you have to do at the gallery?"

"All the artists are meeting to go over the exhibit and check the displays before opening. I'm finally going to meet that Charles Châtenay you told me about."

"Just watch yourself," Arthur joked. "If you go out drinking with him, you might have to defend him from some angry husbands!" Arthur learned that lesson the previous week.

While they ate breakfast, Arthur quickly penned two short letters to the gang, one to leave in the Saint Denis post office and one to send to Rhodes. He was extra careful to leave out identifying details, knowing that the Pinkertons would be all over Rhodes soon enough.

Dear Tacitus,

Jack is safe. I found him in the bayou. We are in Saint Denis, H knows where.

A.M.

"You ready, Jack?"

They spent the morning buying new clothes, exploring candy shops, and eventually ended up at a bookstore after swinging by the post office. Arthur didn't particularly mind the amount of money he spent, since Jack's joy and excitement seemed to surpass the fear from being kidnapped the previous day. Though he would need to hurry up and find those orchids and plumes for Mr. Wasp once Jack was back with his family.

Albert met them for lunch. Apparently the managers at the Galerie Laurent found his photographs to be easy to arrange. Charles Châtenay's work? Not so much. "What did you think of Charles?" asked Arthur.

"He seemed to be a kindred spirit."

"Wait, really?"

"Oh yes. He will probably also get killed for his art!"

"Is all his art like that drawing I got?"

"Yes, except they are oil paintings, not sketches."

"Oh, Lord."

Jack perked up at the conversation about art, and asked, "Does he draw stuff like you, Arthur?"

"He does drawings, but they are a bit different than mine."

Albert, Arthur, and Jack got through the day well enough, and Jack didn't seem too concerned when they returned to the apartment for the afternoon. But Arthur's stomach was in knots when night came with no sign of Hosea. Not that Hosea would have even gotten the letter yet, but part of him hoped that Hosea would have run straight to the city to get his help in finding Jack.

They are moving camp, he reminded himself. Hosea, John, and Abigail will be here. They are probably fine.

But every day after that, the knot only tightened. Arthur believed Jack was growing suspicious, too. The boy would sometimes ask about going back to camp and seeing his parents. Hiding information turned out to be just as hard as entertaining the four year old. Arthur couldn't just send him out to play, like they did at camp. There were only two pairs of eyes available to watch him, as opposed to all the people in the gang, and the city had very different dangers.

So one morning, at whit's end, Arthur decided to teach Jack how to ride a horse.

"Isn't he a little young?" Albert asked.

"Naw, he'll be fine. Actually, I wanted to ask to borrow Lucy. She's a little more Jack's size, and she's pretty calm."

"Of course you can. Do you mind if I join you? And take photographs?"

"You better not be after more predators. I can't watch you and Jack at the same time."

"No, I mean, I want to take photos of you and Jack." Albert picked up the print of Arthur breaking his once wild horse. "I've been thinking about doing a series of photos on life in the country. Now that cities and railroads are expanding, it is another thing that will start to die out."

"I ain't so sure society would want to preserve the lifestyle of a gunslinger," Arthur said.

"I disagree. This is America, after all. We hold a love for killers that borders on macabre."

"Sure, but a picture of an old gunslinger teaching a boy how to ride a horse?"

"Well, people should see that there is more to an outlaw's life than robbing and killing."

"Alright." Arthur gathered up his satchel. "I'll get the horses ready. I figure Jack will be up soon. You can ride Dakota."

"Oh…"

"There a problem?"

"I figured that I would ride Lucy out to wherever you planned to give the lesson and then just wait on the ground. Dakota is… rather large."

"Albert Mason, are you afraid of heights?"

"No! Of course not! But falling from a horse…"

Arthur laughed. "You'll be fine! Dakota is as brave as they come. She won't buck you off for nothing."

"I will hold you to that."

"Besides, a Morgan is a little too small for both you and your equipment. You really should get yourself a real horse if you are going to keep trekking out into the wilderness with me."

"You've made your point! Go on, get Dakota!"

Arthur fetched Dakota from the stable and borrowed some smaller, more kid-friendly stirrups from Jacob, giving Zenobia a few pats while he was there. "How's she been treating you?" he asked.

"Excellent, sir. That's quite the horse you found," said Jacob.

"Glad to hear it."

When he got back, Jack spotted him from the window and immediately rushed down the stairs. "You are teaching me riding?"

"That's right! We are going to go a little up the street to the field, and then I'll put you on Lucy."

"Okay!"

Arthur mounted Merlin and pulled Jack up in front of him. Meanwhile, Albert slowly packed his photography equipment on Dakota and eyed the saddle nervously. "Come on, Al," Arthur said. "Dakota's a good horse."

Finally, he hoisted his leg up to the stirrup and swung into the saddle. Dakota shifted under him, probably sensing his discomfort, but Albert gathered the reins and tapped her sides with his boots to follow Arthur, Lucy trailing behind him.

Once they reached the small field near some farm houses a little north of the city, Albert set up his equipment while Arthur got Jack settled in the saddle. Dakota and Merlin wandered off, munching on some grass.

"Now Jack," Arthur began when the boy's first instinct was to grab the saddle horn, "hold the reins in one hand, like this." He positioned Jack's fingers correctly. "And your other hand, that can just rest on your leg."

Arthur led Lucy around the field a few times, letting Jack get a feel for being in the saddle by himself. Albert snapped a few photographs before Arthur let go of the reins, encouraging Jack to take a few laps and practice steering.

In retrospect, Jack probably was a little too small to start riding. Even with the stirrups raised to as high as they could go, his feet barely stayed in them and kicking Lucy's side proved difficult. Also, Lucy just wanted to eat grass, and kept pulling Jack forward onto her neck go grab a mouthful every few steps. Arthur shook his head and stepped in to yank her head up every time, since Jack's arms weren't strong enough, but Jack giggled every time.

They had a very successful day. Albert got some photographs, and explained to a fascinated Jack how photography worked. After going to a restaurant for dinner and introducing Jack to oysters, Arthur and Albert brought a happy but exhausted four-year old to carry back to the apartment.

No one was waiting outside their door when they returned. No notes, either. Arthur tried not to feel worry and disappointment.

"So, what did you think about riding a horse by yourself?" he asked Jack.

"It was fun," Jack said with a yawn. "I can't wait to tell Mama."

"I think someone is ready for bed." Arthur got no arguments to the contrary. "You go get your pajamas on, and then I'll come in in a minute and read you a story." He set Jack down, then whispered to Albert, "If he's still awake, that is."

"Okay. Goodnight, Uncle Al."

"Goodnight, Jack." After Jack left the room, Albert said to Arthur, "Uncle Al?"

"It don't take much for that kid to like you. He's been calling half gang uncle and aunt since he could talk."

"Still, I'm honored!"

"That so?" Arthur said, wrapping his arms over Albert's shoulders and pulling him in close. But seconds later, several gunshots went off outside. Arthur leapt between Albert and the door, revolver drawn.

"That sounded like it was just down the street," said Albert.

"Perhaps I should go out there and-"

"No, let the police handle it. It's their job." A few more shots echoed between the buildings, and Arthur tried to pinpoint where it was coming from.

"Sounds like it's up the street, near the cemetery." They were close. Too close. But then police whistles sounded out along with it, and Arthur allowed himself to relax a little. He then checked on Jack who, as predicted, was fast asleep.

Arthur jolted awake to a pounding on their front door. He was curled around Albert on the sofa, still in his clothes from the day. Apparently, they were both just as tired as Jack. Part of Arthur wanted to just ignore the knocks and go back to sleep, but they were insistent. He rolled out of bed and grabbed his gun, grumbling about who could possibly want to speak to them in the middle of night.

He opened the door to Hosea and John.

They looked horrible. There were bags under their bloodshot eyes, their clothes were rumpled and dirty. Arthur stood in shock in the doorway for two seconds before he yanked John into a hug with one arm, the other reaching for Hosea who quickly joined them. "You're alright, you're both alright," he gasped, unable to stop a few tears from forming in his eyes. "I saw the news about Rhodes." At first John tensed in Arthur's hold, but quickly he melted into him, his shoulders shaking.

"Jack. The Braithwaites took Jack. Said they gave him to this Italian, Bronte."

"John-"

"We tracked him down, went to his house. But Jack wasn't there!"

"Marston, it's alri-"

"He made us do this stupid job for information only to tell us that the Braithwaites never arrived! That Jack was probably dead in the swamp!"

"John!" Arthur pushed the man back, held his shoulders and met his eyes. "Listen to me. Jack is here."

"…what?"

And, with perfect timing, Jack opened the bedroom door and said, "Pa?"

John glanced past Arthur, eyes wide. "Jack!" Arthur let go of John just in time for John to swoop Jack into a hug. "I missed you, son!"

"Arthur, how?" Hosea asked.

Arthur pushed the door open more and said, "Come on in, and I'll tell you everything."

"You must be Mr. Marston," said Albert, and John jumped a little when he noticed him. But Albert waved to Hosea and said, "Good to see you again, Mr. Matthews," which helped John to relax again.

"Good evening, Mr. Mason," said Hosea. Both he and John took seats on the sofa while Arthur pulled a kitchen chair over. "How are you, Jack?"

"I'm fine, I had a great time," Jack said, his words slurred and sleepy. John let the boy snuggle against him.

Arthur began when they were settled. "I tried sending a letter, I'm guessing you didn't get it."

"No, we haven't really had the time, what with leaving Rhodes and trying to set up somewhere new," Hosea said.

"I was out riding in the swamps when I saw two men with a boy that was kicking up quite a fuss. Didn't even know it was Jack until after I confronted them. Was going to try to track you down, but then we saw the news about the shootout with the Grays and the manor burning down. What happened to you?"

John and Hosea exchanged a glance and looked down at Jack. "Why don't you get that boy back in bed, John."

"Shouldn't we get him back to Abigail?"

"It's the middle of the night," Hosea said. "We all need some rest, you especially."

"But-"

"We can talk in the morning, John," Arthur said, and finally his brother relented.

"Arthur, thank you. I don't know how to say it, but… thank you."

"It will be alright now, John. Get some rest."

Once John was out of the room, Arthur turned to Hosea. "What happened?"

"The Grays and the Braithwaites figured us out. Sheriff Gray set a trap in town. John and some of the boys went there thinking they would be working a security job. They… Arthur, I'm sorry. They killed Sean."

"God dammit, how?"

"John said he was shot in the head right at the start. Never saw it coming. Bill buried him near our old camp near Clemens Point. At the same time, the Braithwaites came and took Jack."

Arthur shook his head. It seemed only a few weeks ago Hosea was confidently relaying their plans to play the two families. How did it go so wrong so fast? "And the Braithwaite house?" he asked.

"We went there to find Jack. They refused to tell us where he was and fought back. Killed most of their boys. The matriarch told us that she gave Jack to Angelo Bronte only after we set fire to that house."

"So you tracked Bronte down." Arthur didn't know much about the Italian personally, but he had heard the rumors that Bronte ran the city.

"Yes. Dutch, John, and Micah of all people went to Bronte's mansion and got used. Did some of Bronte's dirty work for him. Of course Dutch doesn't see it that way! No, he's been raving about the garden party he was invited to. But Abigail was distraught. I grabbed John, figured we would come here and get your help searching the area."

"Good thing you did. Jesus, Sean. I can't believe it."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Sean," said Albert, "he was the Irish kid, wasn't he?" Arthur had told many stories about the good times with members of the gang since Albert found out about his past.

"Yeah. Like an annoying little brother to me."

All three of them sat for a moment in silence, Arthur and Hosea both working through their grief and exhaustion. "We should probably get some sleep," Hosea said. "You still have that cot?"

"Yes, let me get it out for you," Albert said, rushing to a closet.

"I'll grab the spare bedroll," Arthur offered, and helped get them settled for the night. Not that Arthur did much sleeping after that. He spent most of the night with his journal open and pencil still in his hand, trying to come up with any words for what had happened and how he felt.

The next morning came all too soon. While Arthur and John got the horses ready, the two brothers finally got a chance to talk.

"There's something wrong with Dutch," John began.

"Well, I could have told you that."

"After he pushed you and you left, he's been acting even more strange. Nothing's ever good enough for him, except for Micah it seems. How the fuck did that snake ever get so close to him? He's only ridden with us for six months!"

"I know."

"You know after Bronte told us he didn't have Jack, Dutch just gave up and moved on! Started talking about the next big job and how to make money as if my son wasn't missing. And there was Micah in his ear, telling him that we had to move on and let the weak ones go."

"You given any thought to taking your family and getting out of there? I heard from Jack that you've been spending more time with him."

"I was. When I saw Sean… my first thought was to grab Abigail and Jack and just go. But when I got back to camp, Jack was already gone."

"And now?"

"I want to," John admitted, "but I don't know how to survive out there, with an honest life. I have a family and I don't know how to support them."

"You can find work."

"Doing what?"

As much as Arthur hated to admit it, John had a point. None of them had done an honest day's work in all their lives, and many of the well-paying jobs required skills they never learned. Even bounty hunting felt wrong, considering the price on his own head, and it was a dangerous line of work.

Arthur sighed. "Just start saving some money. Have something stashed away in case you need to leave fast."

"Dutch keeps saying that all we need is one more good score, and the gang will have enough to disappear."

"And I hope that he's right, but in case he isn't. Just have a plan, John."

Hosea, Albert, and Jack came down the stairs, the boy bursting with energy. "Are we going to see Mama now?"

"That's right!" John said, scooping him up and placing him in Old Boy's saddle.

Arthur turned to Albert. "I'm going back with them. Just to visit!" he quickly added when Albert opened his mouth to argue. "I need to see everyone. They're family."

"Of course, I understand. Do be careful." Albert's glance to Hosea was a clear instruction to keep Arthur out of trouble.

They mounted the horses. John kicked Old Boy forward, but Hosea hung back with Arthur. "I know you never cared for such things, but I approve. Of Albert."

"Don't know what you're talking about, old man."

"You could never keep secrets from me!" Hosea laughed, and followed behind John.

Chapter Text

Jack filled the short ride to the new Van der Linde camp with stories of what he did with Arthur and Albert in the city, with Arthur providing corrections and clarifying details as needed.  John led the way off the main road to a barely visible track, leading to the overgrown entrance of an old plantation house.

“Who’s there?”

Arthur felt a smile spread involuntarily across his face.  It was so familiar.  Lenny on guard duty, trying to sound tough but to Arthur he always sounded young.  Arthur stopped himself just in time from calling out a response, figuring it would be better for John and Hosea to explain.

“It’s me, Lenny,” John said, and the rifle lowered.

“John!” Lenny said.  “Did you-”

“Hi Lenny!” Jack called from in front of John.

“Jack!  Good to see you.  How did you find him?”

“We had some help,” said Hosea, drawing Lenny’s attention to Arthur behind him.

“Hey, Lenny.”

“Arthur!  You’re back!”  Lenny shouldered the rifle and was at Merlin’s side in two seconds.  Arthur dismounted with a laugh and pulled the kid in for a hug.  But the laughter died when he felt Lenny’s breaths shudder as he tried to hold back sobs.

“Lenny, what’s wrong?  You alright?”  Arthur looked between John and Hosea, both confused and worried, too. 

“Sean got killed, Jack got taken, it’s all a mess, I- I missed you, Arthur.”

God, he forgot that Lenny was only a nineteen year old kid, too young to be losing friends like that.

“What’s going on?” Javier said, wandering over to the group.  “Arthur?  Jack!”

And then the crowd started to gather around them, the previously somber camp having been brought back to life.  John parted through with Jack high on his shoulders, calling out for Abigail.

“Where’s Dutch?” Hosea asked.

“Went to the city with Micah,” Javier said.

Further questions were postponed when Abigail appeared at the entrance of the house, running towards them.  John placed Jack on the ground just in time for her to hug him, saying, “Come here, you silly boy!  You got him!  You got my son back.  How?”

“Well, it was all Arthur,” John said.

“Arthur?”  Abigail hadn’t noticed him at first, surrounded by half the gang.  “Thank you, Arthur.  Thank you!  How did you do it?”

“Gather round everyone!  I’ll tell you what happened.”

Arthur told the slightly edited story of how he found Jack, leaving out the strange man in the bayou.  Jack had a touching reunion with Cain, the dog who had apparently wandered into their camp at Clemens Point one day, and Javier got out his guitar to play a song.

“Arthur, where have you been?” Mary-Beth asked.

“Saint Denis.  Been staying with a friend.”

“What’s the city like?”

“Crowded.”

“Give the man some space, will you?”  Miss Grimshaw barged in and immediately invaded Arthur’s space.  “Now, Mr. Morgan, Mr. Matthews said you were hurt bad.  And shot!”

“I’m fine, Miss Grimshaw.”

“I’ll be the judge of that!”

“I rode in here, didn’t I?”

Miss Grimshaw huffed and crossed her arms.  Arthur knew there was no escape.  “Fine,” he said, unbuttoning his shirt. “Left shoulder, got hit from behind.  But it’s just a scar now!”

“And your mobility?”  

“Pretty good.  Aches a little, sometimes, but that’s it.”  Arthur decided to just put up with her fussing anyway as she moved his arm, testing the flexibility for herself.  

“Good thing you are back so that I can keep an eye on you,” muttered Miss Grimshaw.

“Susan… I ain’t back.  I just wanted to see everybody.”

“So you are just going to keep running around by yourself?  After all these year?  Whatever happened to loyalty, Mr. Morgan?”

“I was loyal.  For twenty years.  But that didn’t seem to mean anything to Dutch.”

“He misses you, you know.  He isn’t the same without you around.”

“But he has his new favorite son, Micah, to keep him company.”

“Honestly, I don’t know what Mr. Van der Linde sees in that vile man!”  Finally satisfied that Arthur was fine and not about to drop dead, Miss Grimshaw gave his other shoulder a light smack and said, “Go on, now.  Go see everyone.  I have to see where Miss Tilly and Miss Karen got to.  Though I’m sure I’ll find Karen at the bottom of a bottle.”

He saw Charles Smith next, and was surprised when the man hugged him and then dragged him over to the campfire next to Bill, Uncle, and Javier.  “Good to see you in one piece, Arthur,” Charles said.

“Morgan,” Bill said, the slur of his speech giving away the fact that he was already drinking that morning.  “Heard you ran into trouble ‘cause you left us.”

“Ran into trouble, sure,” Arthur said.  “Wouldn’t have if Dutch could learn to keep a low profile.”  

He expected Bill to lash out.  The man had always been blindly loyal to Dutch, almost to the point of stupidity.  But Bill glanced at Jack for a moment then mumbled, “Glad you aren’t dead.”  Even Javier had nothing to say in Dutch’s defense, but then again, Javier saw first hand the massacre in Valentine.

“So, how have you been making money now that you aren’t here with us?” asked Uncle, probably hoping Arthur had found the secret to monetary success.

“Honest work.  Not that you know what that is, Uncle.”  The older man brushed him off with a roll of his eyes.  “Naw, I had some money saved up.  I sold that Arabian I found up in the snow to a guy who knows the breed, so that money kept me going for a while.  Found some work for an odd feller, too, but I don’t know if it’s worth it yet.”

A blond woman, wearing pants and a yellow shirt wandered over.  “Javier!” she barked.  “Why haven’t you taken over your watch shift yet!”

“Mrs. Adler,” Arthur said with a smile.  “Outlaw life seems to suit you!”

“Would be better if these boys would let me go robbing with them!  Good to see you, Arthur.  I’m glad you found Jack.”

“Good to see you, too.”  

Mrs. Adler grabbed a beer from the crate and went to see Abigail while Javier scurried to the perimeter.  Pearson saw his opportunity to come talk to Arthur, starting with a joke.  “You couldn’t have brought back some meat with you, too?”

“What, having the kid back ain’t enough?”

“I’m telling you, Mr. Smith is the only one who thinks to hunt an animal after finishing a job.”

“Well maybe they don’t like what you do to the meat after it winds up on your table.”

“Oh, don’t you start!”

Reverend Swanson seemed more sober that day when he talked to him.  Strauss only gave him a brief nod, still avoiding him after their last confrontation.  Only two members of the gang seemed to be staying away from the crowd.  Molly sat on the porch steps, and the Kieran Duffy seemed intent on sneaking off with a fishing rod.

He went to Kieran first.  “Not joining the party, O’Driscoll?”

“Not an O’Driscoll, sir.”  After all that time with him away, Kieran still couldn’t look him in the eye.

“Where you off to?”

“A fishing spot up near Ringneck Creek.  Javier showed me.  It’s a bit of a ride, but it’s quiet.”

“Join the party, Kieran.  The fish can wait.”

“Naw, I ain’t in the mood.  Besides, I… it’s my fault Jack got taken.”

“What do you mean?”

“I saw them Braithwaite boys near camp.  Didn’t think much of it, figured they were just there to see Dutch.  Then Jack was just gone.”

“Kid, it ain’t all your fault.”

“If I had just said something sooner!”

“Okay, I get it.”  Arthur had his own share of guilt over things he could have done different.  “No use dwelling in the past now, and Jack turned out just fine.  I won’t keep you if you ain’t in the party mood.”

“Okay, Mr. Morgan.”  Kieran headed towards his horse.

“Hey Kieran,” Arthur called after him.  “I never properly thanked you.  For saving my life up at Six Point Cabin.”

Kieran glanced at the grass and said, “It was nothing, Mr. Morgan.”

“Nonsense.  Enjoy your fishing.”

Molly didn’t look at Arthur as he approached, instead she played with the hem of her sleeve.  “Not joining the party?” he asked her.

“No.”

“Everything alright?”

“I… I don’t know.”  She wouldn’t meet his eye, just kept pulling lightly on a loose thread.  “Mr. Morgan, I love Dutch.  I worry about him, you know?  And he… he loves me back, doesn’t he?”

“I don’t know, Molly.  I don’t know Dutch like I used to.  But what I do know?  Just because you love someone don’t mean staying with them is for the best.”

“But I gave up everything for him!”

“You still have your life, don’t you?  Just think about it, Molly.  You shouldn’t have to give everything to a person for them to love you back.”

And didn’t Arthur know that fact.  Many years ago, when he proposed to Mary, he asked her to give up her entire life, everything she knew, and join him.  Mary turned around and asked him to do the exact same thing.  Often Arthur wondered what would have happened if he had gone with her.  Would he have ended up like Molly, alone in a world he didn’t quite belong in, unsatisfied, unhappy, and clinging to his love like it was his only lifeline?  Would Mary have been the same if she had gone with him?

Part of him wanted to tell Molly these things, but decided not to.  Molly shared some similarities to Mary but she wasn’t Mary.  And Dutch wasn’t like Arthur.

So instead he said, “If you ever need help, or need to get out, Hosea knows how to contact me.  I’ll do what I can.”

“Thank you.”

“Want to join the party?”

Molly nodded, and they walked back to the crowd around the campfire.  Uncle started a song, and most members joined in.  Karen stumbled over, drunk.  Arthur tried to engage her in some conversation, but she just brushed him off.  He knew that she and Sean were close.  Hopefully, she would be alright.

Sitting around the campfire, listening to the jokes and stories, Arthur could close his eyes and pretend that he was home.  That he never argued with Dutch, that he was never found by Pinkertons.  That nothing had ever changed.

But it had changed.  Underneath the smiles was a hint of sadness.  He felt it.  They all felt it.  At the end of the day, Arthur would leave.  The gang couldn’t go back to the way it was.  And that wasn’t a bad thing, but the reminder lingered.

And then Dutch and Micah returned.

“What is going on here?” Dutch asked, his eyes drifting over the celebration occurring in the middle of the previously depressed camp.  Arthur’s first thought was to bolt, even though he had come to camp fully expecting to run into Dutch.

John and Hosea stood up and rushed to Dutch.  “We got Jack back!” Hosea said, and Dutch’s jaw dropped.

After a moment of recovery, he said, “How wonderful for you, John!  How did you find- Arthur?”

All the noise in camp plummeted to almost nothing, save a few brave insects and the stamping of horse hooves.  The gang watched Dutch closely, and did Charles and Uncle just scoot closer to him?

Micah broke the silence by saying, “What the fuck is Morgan doing here?”

“I invited him, Mr. Bell,” said Hosea.  “Arthur here is the reason we found Jack.  He managed to stop those Braithwaite boys in the swamps.”

“Is that so?” Dutch asked, his voice slow and dangerous.  “Have you come to your senses then?”

Arthur fought the urge to roll his eyes and storm off.  “My senses, sure.  But they ain’t the same as yours.”

“I am surprised by you, Arthur.  One would think that after what you… went through… you would understand that staying with your family is safer.”

“Really?  How safe is it?  Sean is dead, Jack was kidnapped.  You really think nothing would have happened to me if I stuck with you?”

“Perhaps.  Perhaps Sean might be alive if you had.”

“Yeah, cowpoke,” Micah said.  “And it seems to me if you hadn’t intervened, we would have found Jack with ol’ Bronte.”

“You would have wanted my son with that snake?  You’re sick, Micah,” John shouted.

John stepped forward, probably intending to punch Micah in the face, but Hosea stepped between them.  “What happened, happened, Dutch.  Can’t change it now.”

“If Arthur isn’t interested in rejoining the gang, then he shouldn’t be here.”

“Arthur has every right to be here!  This gang may carry your name, Dutch van der Linde, but we were never a gang until Arthur joined us.  He’s one of the founding members.  Before Arthur, we were just a pair of con artists roaming the land.”

“He made is choice!”

“And I’ve made mine.  Arthur is always welcome here, and that’s final.”

The whole gang waited, wondering who would waiver first.  Then Dutch said, “Fine,” and began to walk away from the campfire.  The fact that he didn’t check on Arthur’s wellbeing didn’t escape Arthur’s notice.

Uncle leaned over to Arthur.  “Don’t mind him.  He’s just mad that he didn’t get to be the hero this time.”

“I wanted no such thing!  I am glad that the boy is back!”

Micah attempted to make his way to Arthur, but Charles and surprisingly Bill got in his way.  For a second, Arthur thought that Micah might try to push his way through to continue antagonizing him, but at the last second he turned away and wandered off after Dutch.

“Thanks Charles, Bill.”

“That man has been insufferable since you left,” Charles said with a shake of his head.

“How are you, Charles?”

“Not bad, how about yourself?”

“Same, pretty much.  Haven’t had a good hunting trip in a while, so let me know if you are interested.”

“I am.  When are you going?”

“I thought I would get some deer or pronghorn pelts.  Maybe head back north a little.”  Arthur leaned in close and whispered, “Apartment 2 above S.E. Hellar Florist.  You can write to Albert Mason, too.”

“Is that your friend?  The photographer?”

“Yeah, I’m surprised you remember that.”

The party continued for the rest of the morning.  Arthur jumped from conversation to conversation, giving advice or telling stories.  Abigail, once she let go of her son for more than a few seconds, pulled Arthur into a long hug, crying her eyes out.

Around midday, Arthur realized it was time he headed back to the city.  He made the round of goodbyes, which took quite a while.  Dutch didn’t make another appearance, but Lenny got off watch and had to interrogate Arthur for himself.  Finally, Arthur was on his way out of the camp, about to meet up with the main road, when he heard a wagon rolling up behind him.

“Mr. Morgan!  Mr. Morgan, we have a problem, a real problem, it’s Tilly,” Susan said, armed with a revolver and a shotgun.

“What happened?”

“I think she’s been taken by them Foreman brothers she used to run with.”

“The Foreman brothers?  Well, what are they doing here?”

Well, I don’t know what they’ve been doing here but I can tell you what they’re going to be doing here… dying!”

“Sure, of course I’ll help.  Do we need more guns?”

“You and I can handle this, Arthur.  Besides, everyone back at camp is on their way to drunk!”

Arthur got off Merlin and hopped onto the wagon with her.  “Where we headed?”

“I’ll tell you on the way, just get going.”

Arthur flicked the reins, urging the horses up to a brisk pace.  Miss. Grimshaw began to explain the directions, since Arthur wasn’t too familiar with the area around Rhodes.  “You sure this area’s safe, after… well, you know?” Arthur asked.

“They won’t recognize me or you, just keep driving.  The place is called Radley’s House, just west of the town.”

“How do you know?”

“When we first got here, she told me she was worried that our camp was near a safe house that gang she ran with used from time to time.”

“Did you tell Dutch?”

“No.  She spoke to me in confidence, Mr. Morgan.  I don’t tell Dutch everything about those girls.”

Arthur shook his head, and said sarcastically, “I’m sure he loves that.”

“Oh, don’t you start on Mr. Van der Linde.  That man loves you like a son.”

“Yeah, he loves me so much that he pushed me off a damn cliff and got me caught in the middle of a shootout.  Besides, he… never mind.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Mr. Morgan…” Susan growled, low and in warning.

“Fine!  It was just some nonsense that Pinkerton Milton said.  That Dutch might have been the one that shot me.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“I don’t know.  He might as well have.  Don’t sit there and tell me he hasn’t changed, Susan.”

Miss Grimshaw looked down at her lap.  “You’re right about that, Mr. Morgan.  Mr. Van der Linde has changed.  And that Mr. Bell?  He ain’t helping.  But you and I have known Dutch for a long time.  The old Dutch is still in there somewhere.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“Anyway, let’s focus on Miss Tilly for now.”

“You know, I think I saw one of the Foremans hassling her when we were in Valentine.”

“Yes, they probably followed us down here.  You don’t know what happened?  She killed one of them, for good reason, but clearly they don’t see it that way.”

“Tilly?”  Arthur was shocked.  He had known Tilly since she was fourteen and had never seen her kill.  Arthur knew that she had a difficult past with the old gang, but he never knew her reasons for leaving.  Besides that they were trouble.

“Yes, young Tilly Jackson isn’t as sweet and innocent as you might think.  But like I say, she was defending herself.  She fled and fell in with us right after that.  I just hope we can get to her in time.”

They kept going, Susan giving more specific instructions as they got closer to the location.  “I think there’s a guard,” whispered Arthur when they finally spotted the house.

Susan sighed.  “I’ll deal with him.”  Arthur hung back while Miss Grimshaw approached the guard with a signature fake sweetness.  “Kind sir, we’re lost and in need of some help.”

“No, get outta here,” the guard said, holding his rifle up.

“Oh I see that kindly face of yours, and I know that for the right inducements, a gentleman such as yourself could be mighty kind.”

“No, get outta here,” the man repeated, but he made the mistake of letting Miss Grimshaw get close.

“Oh, now you keep saying that, but you don’t mean nothing by it.”

“I said-” the man began, but Miss Grimshaw plunged a knife into his neck.

“You’ve said your last words!”

The guard gurgled as he slumped to the ground, blood drowning his lungs.  Arthur’s eyes widened.  It had been a long time since he had seen Miss Grimshaw kill someone, having been very used to seeing her manage the camp.  “Well, what are you waiting for?  Get in their and find our girl.”

Arthur burst through the front door.  “What the hell?” a man sitting at the table exclaimed before Arthur put a bullet in his chest.  He heard another shout from a room on the right and kicked that door down as well.  Inside he saw Tilly tied up against a bedpost and another man behind her.  Arthur killed him, too, without a second thought.

Arthur cut the bonds around Tilly’s wrists.  “It’s okay, let’s get you out of here,” he said, and once she was free, he pulled her close.

“Arthur?  How did you… I thought they was… I…”

“It don’t matter what you thought, it’s okay.”

“What are you doing here?  I missed you, Arthur.”

“I know, it’s a long story.”

Miss Grimshaw chose that moment to walk in and yanked Tilly away from Arthur with a, “Oh, come along miss!”

“Thank you, both of you,” said Tilly.

“What happened?”

“It was Anthony Foreman.  He thinks he owns me.”

“I remember,” said Miss Grimshaw.  “Where is he?”

“He went out hunting or something.  There were five of them, I think.”

Arthur looked around the cabin, heading to the back door.  “Well, we killed those fellers there.”  As soon as he walked outside, he saw three men on horseback.

“There they are!” Tilly cried out.

“Come on!” Arthur said, running to the Appaloosa still tied to the hitching post.  Miss Grimshaw tossed Tilly a rifle and pulled herself onto the horse behind Arthur, and they were off.

Growing up, Arthur normally did not ride with Susan Grimshaw.  She tended to stick with Dutch when she first joined them, since they were a couple, but after they ended things, she tended to work in the saloons, robbing drunks and playing cards.  Eventually, as the gang grew, she took over managing the camp.  So seeing a bloodthirsty Miss Grimshaw out to protect one of her own?  Arthur was not prepared for that.

As they galloped forward, Arthur heard Tilly say, “The one in front is the boss!  Bring him back alive, I ain’t done with him yet.”

They gave chase.  Susan seemed a little rusty with a revolver.  Arthur knew that she favored her shotgun for many years now, but she was able to help in taking out the two lackeys before only Anthony Foreman was left.

“I think that’s the boss!  Lasso him and let’s bring him back to Tilly.”  A few swings of the rope, and the man was pulled down from his horse.  “Make sure you tie him up real good,” Miss Grimshaw said, moving to take Anthony Foreman’s horse.  She rode back towards Tilly as Arthur placed the tied up man on his horse.

“Do you have the first idea what you’re getting into?  I’m Anthony Foreman.”

“Oh, thanks for the introduction, Anthony.  Is that Foreman with an ‘e’?  I want the undertaker to spell it right.”

“Funny bastard.  Who are you running with?”

“I ain’t running with no one.  But she is.  So you best shut up for now.”

Foreman continued to complain for the entire ride back to Tilly and Susan.  Tilly seemed a little bruised and shaken, but she stood up tall with her head held high when Foreman was dumped in front of her.  “So he’s still alive then?” she said.

Arthur gave him a good kick, which caused the man to cry out.  “I guess,” Arthur said.

Susan bent over Foreman and held up his head by the hair.  “You see this girl?  You leave her alone.”

“She killed my cousin!”

Tilly leaned over him and shouted, “Your goddamn cousin had it coming, Anthony Foreman!”

“I don’t care if she shot your daddy and cooked your momma for breakfast,” said Susan.  “She’s mine, she ain’t yours.”

Arthur cut the ropes around his ankles and stood him up.  “You know an old friend of mine, he always says, revenge is a fool’s game.  Now, you want all your boys dead?  She had her reasons.”

Anthony Foreman pleaded, “We was family, Tilly Jackson.”

“You Foreman boys ain’t no kind of family I want.”

“Kill him, Arthur,” said Susan.

Arthur held his knife to Foreman’s neck and asked Tilly, “You want that?”

“I want him to go away and tell the remaining of his cousins and the clowns he rides with to leave me alone!” Tilly said without hesitation.

“Now, you think you can do that, Anthony?” Arthur asked.  “Or should I slit your throat and just save us all the bother?”

“I’ll leave you alone.  History is done.”

Tilly accepted the answer and began to walk away.  Susan, however, snarled, “History is never done.  It’s your call, Arthur.  But I’d slit his throat.”

But that wasn’t what Tilly wanted.  “Alright you,” Arthur said, removing the knife from Anthony’s neck and cutting through the rope around his wrists.  “Get out of here.”

Susan led Tilly to the wagon.  “Thank you, Arthur,” Tilly called back.  He nodded to her, sure that Susan would explain why he had been there on the way home.  For now, he decided he should get back to the city.  He whistled for Merlin, then paused.  The Appaloosa would surely fetch him a few good dollars from the stable, even without papers.  He mounted up and headed back to the city, with Merlin trailing behind.

Chapter Text

“Why do I have to come to this again?” Arthur groaned while Albert tried to fix his bow tie.

“I was invited to the Mayor’s gala by Mr. Laurent, and it would be rude to refuse.  You are my plus one.”

“And do I not get a say in this matter?”

“You seemed fine about it a few hours ago.”

“That was before you started strangling me with this stupid tie,” Arthur grumbled, trying to tug it a little looser.  Albert slapped his hand away.

“You don’t have to come with me, but it will be rather dull having to deal with high society conversations alone.”

“Oh, you think making me feel guilty will work?”

Albert just smirked and finished with the tie.  Of course Albert’s method would work.  Arthur always found disappointing the man to be difficult.  “Fine, but we are taking a trip out of the city after this.  We’ve been cooped up here for too long.”

“I am sorry about that.  This gallery opening has been taking up all my time.  It is a rather new venue, apparently, and Mr. Laurent is rather anxious about its success.  The only reason I’ve been invited to this party is to promote the show.”

“I knew these high society parties weren’t for fun.”

“Everything is about making contacts,” Albert sighed.  “We will stay long enough to talk to the important people and then sneak out when everyone starts getting drunk.”

“Aw, but it will be more fun when they’re drunk!”

“Oh, stop it,” Albert laughed, then he pulled Arthur into a long, deep kiss.  “Besides, we don’t want to stay out too late.  This is the first time we’ve had the apartment to ourselves in a long time, after all.”

Arthur pulled at the tie again, and managed to loosen it just a little.  “At least you are taking me to dinner first,” he teased.

Arthur and Albert walked to the mayor’s house, a large mansion at the furthest edge of the city from the smog-spewing factories.  They were greeted by a guard, who took one look at Arthur’s hip and held out his hand.

“I’m sorry, but firearms are not allowed.  After last year’s incident, you know?”

“Sure,” Arthur said, but his stomach turned at the idea of not having protection.  Still, he was attending for Al, so he handed over his revolver and continued into the garden.

Only to be met with a sea of tuxedos, champagne, and chatter.

“Well, I suppose we should just pick a group and… introduce ourselves?” said Albert, glancing at Arthur.

“Lead the way.”

Albert approached a group of men, joining in with the laughter following a joke he missed.  The others continued to talk about what seemed like nonsense to Arthur, and whether Albert understood or not, he nodded along, trying to find a way into the conversation.

From behind him, Arthur heard a woman exclaim, “Camilla McClair, where ever did you get that hat?”

Arthur turned and took in the large, dark hat with the tall feathers extending at least two feet above her head.  “Why, that would be telling,” Camilla replied.

“Oh you… you’re always so… stylish.”  The woman managed to used the words of a compliment in the tone of an insult.  Arthur preferred straight insults.  The hat surely was meant to copy the plumage of an exotic bird, but the only bird with a crown that Arthur knew was a rooster.  Too bad the hat wasn’t red.

“It really is a beautiful hat,” Arthur said.  While the compliment wasn’t entirely true, at least it wasn’t a veiled criticism.  Still, he suspected that he knew the maker.

Camilla leaned in to share the secret.  “I got it from Mr. Wasp, he’s the finest milliner in the state.  But don’t tell anyone sir.  The women here are all desperate to know.”

“Is he here tonight?”

“Certainly!  He would never miss the party.  I last say him over there.”  Camilla pointed to the food table.

“Thank you.”  

Arthur headed over, figuring he should update the man on his search for the orchids.  It wasn’t like he had forgotten, he had been busy!

Fortunately, he arrived in time to save Algernon Wasp from choking to death on a peanut.

“You okay?” Arthur asked after the firm smack on the back dislodged the food from Mr. Wasp’s throat.  Mr. Wasp sucked ragged breaths into his lungs.  Even before choking, Arthur thought the man looked to be on death’s door.  Mr. Wasp appeared tall and lanky in his shop, but here his red jacket and vest were pulled so tight around his body he seemed ill.

“Thank you, sir.  Mr. Callahan, good to see you again.”

“You as well.  I am working on getting you those orchids, but finding them in the swamps is taking a while.”

“Hence why I pay well.  Have you had much trouble?”

“Not too much from the gators.  There was a… small family issue I had to take care of, but everything is fine now.”

“Excellent, excellent.  My clients will be most pleased.  I did not realize you knew the mayor.”

“Oh, I don’t.  My friend Albert got invited. He’s a photographer.”  Remembering why they were there, Arthur added, “He’s doing a show next Saturday, if you’re interested.”

“Arthur?”  The voice, normally deep and commanding, hesitated over the word.

Dutch van der Linde stood in the middle of the high society party, hair slicked back under the tall top hat and his mustache curled up above his wide smile, which faltered as he took in Arthur.  Neither expected to see the other that night.

“What are you doing here?” Arthur asked.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

Algernon Wasp glanced between the two, muttered a quick goodbye, and scampered away. 

Now alone, Dutch said, “I am here at the invitation of Angelo Bronte.”

“You mean that snake who was going to hold Jack for ransom?”

“And would have gladly handed him over to us, had you not interfered.”

“Well, excuse me for not knowing the prearranged deal when I saw Jack with strangers in the swamp!”  Dutch was about to turn and walk away, but Arthur wasn’t done just yet.  “Seriously, Dutch.  What are you doing here?  Of all places?”

“You first.”

Arthur huffed, and briefly shifted his eyes to Albert.  His friend finally found a way into the conversation, a huge smile on his face as he talked about his work.  “I’m here with a friend,” Arthur finally admitted to Dutch.

“Since when are you friends with high society folks?  I thought I taught you better, Arthur.”

“You’re one to talk!”

“I am not friends with Mr. Bronte.  He is going to help us get money.  I have a plan, Arthur, but we are going to need a lot of money.

“Bronte is a dangerous man, Dutch.”  Even avoiding high society, Arthur had heard about Bronte’s control over the city.

“Which is why I am using him.”

“Just make sure he doesn’t use you.”

Dutch simply scoffed, as if he could ever be wrong about anything.  “So, which one of these fools is a friend of yours, Arthur?  Certainly not that fancy fop you were just speaking to!”

Arthur did not want Dutch to meet Albert.

“No, but Mr. Wasp is a friend.  Gave me some work.”

“Honest work?”

“Yeah.  You come here alone?”

“No, I brought Hosea, Bill, and Micah.”

Arthur gave his first genuine laugh of the evening.  “Bill and Micah?  At a fancy party?  You’ve finally lost it, Dutch.  I’m glad they took guns at the door.”

“Well, Bill certainly isn’t my first choice.  I would have brought John, if he would remember the gang instead of just playing at family.”

“What is wrong with you, Dutch?  Why shouldn’t he spend time with his girl and son?”

“He has to remember that the gang comes first, Arthur!  Something you clearly forgot!”

Up until that point, Dutch and Arthur kept their argument quiet, not wanting to attract attention to them.  That was about to change, when an enthusiastic Albert chose that moment to appear.

“Arthur!  There you are!  There are someone you just have to meet!”

Dutch reached out and snatched Arthur’s arm, grip tight, preventing Arthur from escaping with Albert.  “And who is this?”

“Albert Mason.  Wildlife photographer,” Albert introduced himself with his hand held out.  

“Good to meet you, Mr. Mason.”  Dutch let go of Arthur to take Albert’s hand.  Still, Arthur wasn’t free, not while Albert was with his once friend and mentor.  “And how do you know Arthur here?”

“Oh, Arthur has been much help with my photography project.  I certainly would not have been much of a success without him.  Or possibly eaten.”  Albert then must have seen the uncomfortable expression on Arthur’s face, because he asked, “What is your name, sir?”

“Oh, how rude of me to not introduce myself.  Dutch van der Linde.”  All charm, but still dangerous.

“Ah, yes.  Arthur has told me about you,” Albert said carefully.

“Not too much, I hope,” Dutch said with a booming laugh.  Out of Dutch’s sight, Arthur mouthed at Albert to go.

“Well, I should get back to my conversation.  I was just checking to see if Arthur wanted to join me.”

“Oh, we’re just discussing business, don’t worry about Arthur here,” Dutch replied before Arthur could use the chance to get away.  Arthur nodded at Albert, who managed to slip away just as another person Arthur wasn’t keen on seeing appeared.

“What’s cowpoke doing here, boss?” Micah asked.  He wore an all white suit and a red vest, standing out horribly amongst the sea of black tuxedos.  

“I was invited.  Not sure who invited you, Micah.”

“Enough,” Dutch said.  “What is it, Micah?”

“I overheard some words about Cornwall.  Figured I’d go check it out.”

“Well done.  Just make certain you aren’t seen.”  Dutch sounded proud.  Arthur rolled his eyes.

“You better watch Micah around all this liquor, Dutch.  You might have to rescue him from jail tomorrow.”

“And I would do so gladly.  He’s more loyal now than you ever were.”

“How can you say that?  I was loyal for twenty goddamn years!  He’s been around for what, six months?  And you think you know a damn thing about him?”

“Oh, spare me your complaints about Mr. Bell.  You left the gang, what does it matter?”

“It matters because there are still people I care about that have to deal with him.”

“Yes, you do still care, don’t you.”  Dutch placed an arm on Arthur’s shoulder, too quick for Arthur to flinch away.  “I heard that you saved Miss Tilly.  Thank you, son.”

“Should give you an idea what Miss Grimshaw thinks of the gang if she still comes to me for help.”

“Yes, and you helped her without a second thought.”  Dutch looked back at Albert, engaged in conversation with a new group.  “But it appears as if you care for that photographer more.  Tell me, Arthur, how do you think that will play out.  Are you going to stay here in the city, become a society man?”

“We are here because his photographs are in a gallery.”

“And after that?  Is he going to travel west with you, camping under the stars and hunting for food?”

Arthur frowned.  He and Albert actually never discussed where they would go after the gallery opening.  Dutch saw an opportunity and seized it.  “You know, he reminds me of that Mary Gillis.  At first, he seems interested in leaving society behind but at the end of the day, he will be locked in that gilded cage!”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“You think that at the end of the day, that man will willingly go with you, live the outlaw life?”

“I ain’t trying to be an outlaw no more.”

“But you aren’t one of these city folk, Arthur.  And you never will be.”  Dutch leaned in close, whispering right in Arthur’s ear.  “One more decent score, Arthur, and we can be gone.  I know you still care for the gang.  Help them be free.  Be free yourself.”  Dutch stepped back, grabbing a glass of champagne and turning back to the party.  “Think about it, son,” he said, then disappeared into the crowd.

Arthur let out the breath he didn’t know he had been holding.  He scanned the party for Hosea but couldn’t find him.  Okay, that was fine.  He knew how to contact Hosea.  Albert waved him over to the group, and worked to release the tension from his shoulders as he joined them.  He hated how genuine Dutch’s words sounded.

“Arthur, this is the Mayor, Henri Lemieux.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Arthur said, shaking the man’s hand.

“I hope you are enjoying my party,” the mayor said with the hint of a French accent.

“It’s quite a place you got here.”  Not Arthur’s kind of place, of course.

“It’s not mine, and the city is horribly in debt but we can still put on a good show.”  The mayor seemed very truthful.  Arthur wondered how much the man drank that evening to admit to financial problems.  A city in debt couldn’t be good for Dutch’s plans of wealth.  But before Arthur could inquire more, the mayor turned to an older man next to him and said, “Do you know Evelyn Miller?”

“My lord, the writer?”

Evelyn Miller seemed incapable of meeting Arthur’s gaze, all too modest.  “Well, we same to have another deranged drunkard on our hands,” he said.

“No, it’s just… a friend of mine really likes your work.  I’ve read some myself, though I ain’t much of  a reader.”

“Well, I don’t consider myself much of a writer, but that is a story for another day.  I would like you to meet Rains Fall, a great chief, and his son, Eagle Flies.”  Arthur shook hands with the two men next to him.  The elder, Rains Fall, appeared weathered and wise, while Eagle Flies stared around the crowd with anger in his eyes.

Evelyn Miller began filling Arthur in on the conversation and the horrible situation that the Wapiti were going through.  After years of fighting and several peace treaties, the government was looking to move the tribe yet again.  Eagle Flies wanted war, though Rains Fall cautioned against it.

“But that’s why I began speaking with your photographer friend, sir,” Mr. Miller explained.  “These senators and government folk, they won’t take a trip to the reservation themselves.  They don’t understand what they are taking away by selling land to these oil magnates like Leviticus Cornwall.  But if we can document it!  Bring the proof to them!”

Arthur was skeptical at first.  In his experience, men tended to see what they wanted, no matter the proof in front of them.  Then again, it was better than doing nothing.  “Doesn’t hurt trying,” he said.

Mr. Miller and Albert were exchanging information so that they could write to one another while Arthur’s thoughts drifted to Ambarino.  He would hate to see the state be turned from the raw, untamed mountains into yet another oil field.  He remembered the little watchtower on the hill, and how he could have stayed there forever.  “Who owns the land up in the Grizzlies anyway?” he asked.

“Most of it is owned by the government, especially in the eastern regions.  They originally seized it to build that railroad tunnel and the bridge near Bacchus Station, but now that construction is finished, the land is mostly for sale.  It isn’t ideal ranch or farm land, so there haven’t been too many interested buyers.  Why?”

“I just ended up staying in a cabin or watchtower or something while hunting up there.  Seemed abandoned.  No one lived anywhere near it.”

“The Army built a few small forts and towers during the railroad construction to watch for possible… attacks,” said Mr. Miller with a slight glance at Rains Fall.  The chief didn’t say a word to dispute his words.

Fireworks exploded in the distance, and the excited gasps that swept through the crowd brought an end to their conversation.  Not long after the show, Arthur and Albert left the party and went home.  He didn’t see Hosea or Dutch on the way out.

Back at the apartment, Albert undid Arthur’s tie and began to pull the suffocating clothes from his body.  Arthur responded in kind, happy to be away from the judgment of others.  But as much as he tried to relax and enjoy the evening, even after Albert fell asleep in his arms, Arthur couldn’t block out Dutch’s words from earlier no matter how hard he tried.

Is he going to travel west with you?

He reminds me of that Mary Gillis.

One more decent score, Arthur.

Help them be free.

Chapter Text

“Find anything yet?” Albert asked for the third time in what felt like five minutes.

“No.  I said I would tell you as soon as I did,” Arthur huffed.  He continued searching for any sign of a fox, glancing through the grass for dung, prints, or broken sticks.  So far though, there was nothing.

After the Mayor’s party, Albert and Arthur made good on their promise to get out of the city for a while.  Supposedly a rare albino fox lived near Mattock Pond, and Albert needed a photograph of it.  Arthur, happy to travel somewhere that wasn’t the swamps, agreed to track to illusive creature.  And illusive it remained.

“Maybe we should just lay bait?” asked Albert.

“Naw, if we don’t know it’s in the area, there’s no guarantee it will show.  We need to find a trail first.”

Albert shifted a little behind Arthur, itching to pull out the camera and set up.  Arthur grinned as he examined the ground once again.  Dutch was wrong.  Albert may be from a city and society, but he was slowly turning into a semi-outdoors man.  He even rode Dakota that day, bring Lucy along to carry supplies.

He reminds me of that Mary Gillis.

Arthur wanted to scream.  The gallery opened soon, and Albert’s purpose in Saint Denis would come to an end.  Where would the man want to go next?  West, to continue his work?  Or back to the comforts of home?

Mary Gillis always ran back home.  Then again, Arthur used to do the same.  Perhaps he hadn’t changed at all, either.  Dutch may have faltered, but could he be right?  One more job, and the gang would all be safe?  Lately, the dream provided some comfort when doubts plagued his mind.

How did he ever believe he could walk away from his family?

“Nothing?” Albert called after him.  Arthur realized he hadn’t been searching for signs of the fox.

He quickly scanned the ground around him and said, “Yeah, there’s nothing here.”

“That’s too bad.  But the day is still young!  Anywhere else you think might be good for photographs?”

“There’s some bison herds near Valentine,” Arthur offered, and Albert perked up for a second.  “But they are difficult to get close to.  And spook real easy.”

“Oh.”

Albert started packing up his things, looking first to the north, then back southeast.  “Perhaps I should head back to the city.  I really didn’t plan on going too far, I just thought that if perhaps we could find this fox, it might be a good addition to the gallery showing.  Mr. Laurent thinks that one more photograph would really round it out.”

But Arthur was not ready to go back to the city.  There were many things he could do, that he needed to do!  Collect a few more orchids, for one, though Arthur wasn’t keen on going into the swamps at the moment.  Even doing some fishing would be more enjoyable than going back to the crowded, smog-filled streets.

Then he remembered Theodore Levin and the gunslingers.  One lived near Flatneck Station, didn’t he?  Emmet Granger, that was his name.  It wasn’t too far of a ride.  And as the last gunslinger on his list, maybe Arthur would finally get paid for that ridiculous job.

“I’ll meet you back at the apartment later,” Arthur told Albert.  “There’s some place I want to check out.”

“Alright.”  But Al seemed disappointed as he turned Dakota and Lucy down the road.

Is he going to travel west with you?

Arthur shook away Dutch’s voice and pushed Merlin into a canter towards Emmet Granger’s small pig farm.

The smell of manure assaulted his nose as he approached the farm.  Several pigs lazed about in a dirty pen, and an equally filthy man leaned against the fence, watching them.  Knowing how his last encounters with these gunslingers ended, minus Black Belle, Arthur cautiously walked forward, eyes trained for a gun.

“Hey, you.”

“What do you want?” the man said.

“Howdy.  You Granger?”

“That’s my name.  My occupation too, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“Weren’t always like that though, were it?”  Despite his current occupation, Emmet Granger kept a holster and knife on his belt.  “You used to be a quick draw guy.  You knew Jim ‘Boy’ Calloway?”

“Used to be is correct, them days are long over.”  Granger’s face, once sinister and deadly, was now wrinkled and tired.  His hair line was receding, his mustache had gone gray.  “And who might you be?” he asked.

“It don’t matter,” Arthur said.  “I need you to tell me about Jim Boy.  Just a quote for a book.”

“A book about Jim Boy,” Granger said, amused.  “Well shit, I can’t talk to you now.  Look at me!  I’m knee deep in hog crap.”

“Well, don’t mind me.  We can talk while you work.”

Granger roared with laughter.  “I ain’t talking and shoveling.  Besides, young man like you would get it done in half the time.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“What’s to know?  You interested in the old days?  You shovel this shit, I tell you some stories.  You keep your hands clean, I don’t give you squat.”

Arthur resigned himself to cleaning a pig pen.  At least this gunslinger was interested in talking and not killing him.

Or so he thought.  Granger said two words about Calloway and began talking about himself.  They were the words of a deranged killer, one who enjoyed his work.  By the time Arthur got all the manure into the wheelbarrow and dropped it off in the manure pile, he about had it with Granger.

“Okay, I cleaned up your mess.  Go on, tell me about Calloway.”

“I said I’d tell you stories.  I didn’t say they’d be about him.”

On a normal day, Arthur could brush off disrespect from old idiots like Granger.  But this wasn’t a normal day.  It was supposed to be a fun day with Albert that got cut short.  It was supposed to be a good day after a week of bad days and doubts about his future and relationship.  “Don’t trifle with me, old man.  You knew him, just give me something, anything!”

“You making a book you should make it about me!”

“I ain’t the one writing the book, I’m just getting interviews.  Give me something to say and I’ll leave you alone.  You owe me that.”

“Hey, you be careful.  A killer like me, it don’t take much to end up on the end of my knife.  One time-”

“You know what?” Arthur interrupted him.  “I don’t think you were anything at all.  Just a crazy old man.”

“I ain’t a killer?  Why, you’d already be hog feed if I hadn’t made a deal with the federals and got this farm.”

“This is your last chance, Mr. Granger.  Give me a quote for the book!”  He enjoyed seeing Emmet Granger cower under his words.

“Hey, hey, hey.  You don’t want to hit an old man of peace, no government witness.”

Arthur let out a chuckle.  “Calloway said you was full of piss but he didn’t tell me the half of it.”

He walked towards the manure pile, listening to Granger’s continued arguments.  “I’m itching to drop you, girly.  Only you ain’t worth my time.  I got too much to lose.”

“Too much to lose?  Well, seeing as I cleaned up this pigsty I figure I’m in my rights to wreck it.  Let’s see.”

Arthur picked up a stick of dynamite from the table, ignoring Granger’s continued protests.  There’s was nothing Granger could say at that point to stop Arthur.  He lit the dynamite and stuck it in the manure pile, casually walking behind the tree just before it exploded, manure flying everywhere!

“You just took yourself a regular shit shower, Mr. Granger!  Boy, that’s real nasty.”

“You earned yourself a killing.  And I’m going to enjoy it now.  Draw.  It’s going to be the last thing you do.”  

Arthur found taking Granger seriously difficult while the man was covered in shit, but as Granger’s hand went for his knife, the situation became serious.  Arthur drew quickly, firing multiple shots into the old gunslinger’s chest, only realizing later how close he came to death when the throwing knife fell from Granger’s limp hand.

“Shit,” he muttered, barely remembering to take a picture of Emmet’s face for the book before quickly vacating the area.  He eventually stopped on top of a hill in the middle of the Heartlands, writing a journal entry while Merlin grazed in the distance.  Weeks ago, Jim ‘Boy’ Calloway, drunken fool that he was, said something right.  The living keep suffering.

The five gunslingers, supposedly once friends, drifted apart.  Some turned to the government for help, some ran.  Had they ever considered themselves a family?  Sat around a campfire at night promising each other of a better future?

In the distance, Arthur could see a campfire and another large group around it, the faint sounds of laughter and shouting drifting to his ears.  Sights like that made him miss the gang.  As the afternoon set into evening, they would likely make dinner and drink beer, sing songs and tell stories.

He was about to leave for Albert’s apartment when a scream swept across the fields.

“What the hell?”  Arthur pulled his binoculars from his satchel and turned them towards the group.  The number of men around the camp increased from the last time he checked.  He crept closer, staying low in the grass and bringing his scoped rifle.

O’Driscolls.  A lot of them, all surrounding one poor fool on the ground.  Arthur wished he could save the man, but there were too many O’Driscolls and not enough cover to hide behind.  At least, that was his thought until he spotted the greasy gray hair, the white-striped shirt under a black vest, and the green tie that stood out from the rest.

Colm.  Colm O’Driscoll was there.  Though Arthur barely knew Colm anymore, he instinctively realized this wasn’t a random meeting.  Colm would never leave the comfort of whatever cabin he chose to hole up in to take part in the torment of someone unless that person was important.  He crawled through the tall grass, needing to know who it was, cursing the O’Driscolls for standing too close together.  The wisps of a voice carried over to him.

“They kicked me out when they moved camp.  I don’t know where they are.  Please!”

One O’Driscoll kicked the man before stepping back, and finally the voice, the man, and the Flaxen Roan Tennessee Walker hitched nearby with its ears pinned back connected.  Arthur had seen Kieran Duffy just days ago!  Kieran said he was going fishing at Ringneck Creek, not too far from where he was now.

Colm sneered, “Oh, but I don’t believe that for a second.  You know where Van der Linde is, and you are going to tell me.  The question is now, or after we start removing pieces.”

It was so reminiscent of Kieran’s start with the Van der Linde gang.  Arthur’s heart jolted with fear.  Last time Kieran had been in the situation, he had snitched on Colm’s prior location.  There were too many O’Driscolls in the camp.  He wouldn’t survive an attack against them now!  And if he started shooting, Kieran would likely be killed. 

But Kieran surprised him, groaning out, “I told you.  I don’t know.”  It was getting dark soon, and Colm never liked sleeping rough.  Eventually he would leave, likely with an escort, and Arthur could use the cover of darkness to sneak in and get Kieran out.

Colm pulled a knife from his belt and handed it to one of his goons.  “You know, I admire your loyalty, Mr. Duffy.  Shame you couldn’t have shown the same to me.”  He patted Kieran on the knee and stood up, stretching his limbs.  “I would take one last look around.  They say the world looks different with only one eye.”

No.  No, Colm wouldn’t.

But Arthur knew that while Dutch only went so far as to threaten, Colm was not above acting on his words.

“You can’t,” Kieran said.

“Oh, but you don’t need eyes to talk, do you, boy?”

There were too many O’Driscolls.

“Please!”

Even if Arthur aimed for Colm, the other O’Driscolls would kill Kieran and him, especially with no cover to hide behind.

“You sick bastards!”

Kieran saved his life, back at Six Point Cabin, and now Arthur felt powerless.

“Tell me where they are, Kieran,” said Colm.  The glowing knife was handed back to him.  “You told old Dutch about Six Point Cabin, did you not?  What’s the difference?”

Kieran’s eyes darted between the knife and Colm, swallowing before he said, “They are better than you.”

Colm leaned in close and whispered something in Kieran’s ear.  A look of horror spread across his face just before the knife plunged straight into his left eye.

The inhuman shriek pierced Arthur’s heart, but he refused to look away.

-

The O’Driscolls didn’t torture unconscious men, and Arthur found himself grateful that Kieran Duffy didn’t move after his eye was taken.

Colm left just after sunset, taking several people with him, saying that he would be back the next day to check on their progress.  Arthur counted five O’Driscolls left, easy for him to handle.  Especially since the remaining gang members were starting to drink heavily.

“I’m gonna take a piss,” one said, stumbling in Arthur’s direction.  This was his chance.

He still had those throwing knives Bill gave him, and they worked the last time.  Arthur stood carefully, pulled his arm back, and let the knife fly into the O’Driscolls neck.  The others couldn’t hear the gurgle in his throat as he fell.  One down.

A second went down near the wagons when he got up for beer.  That’s when the rest noticed, whirling around to find the source, but it was already too late.  Arthur fired three rounds rapidly, downing the three remaining men in seconds.  

He was at Kieran’s side immediately after.  The missing eye left a bloody mess, and the wheezing breaths betrayed other injuries.  

“Hey partner, wake up now.”  Arthur gave his shoulder a light shake.  All he got was a slight hitch in Kieran’s breathing.  “Come on boy, don’t you die on me.”  Now he got a small groan.  “That’s it.  Come back.”

“…Ar…thur?”

A green eye stared up at him.  Just the one.

“That’s good, Kieran.  Stay awake for me, I’m going to get you to help.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Saving your life.  I’m sorry I couldn’t stop them.”

Kieran seemed barely aware of what was happening.  Arthur couldn’t blame him.  He thought about where to take him.  Valentine was closest, but Arthur knew from experience that it was swarming with O’Driscolls.  Rhodes was off limits.  Saint Denis was the best option, considering it was close to the gang and, from Arthur’s own experience, the doctor was rather competent.  

“Alright Kieran, you just hold on now.”  Arthur slid an arm under his shoulders and under his knees, lifting the man to his chest.  He got Kieran up on Dakota, pausing to undo Branwen’s tether so the faithful horse, who found Kieran after he was captured by Arthur himself, could follow.

Arthur kept Kieran in front of him, allowing Kieran to settle onto his chest.  Merlin leaped forward at a tap of his heels, galloping towards the city.

The wheezing breaths returned.  Kieran’s face was slack.  Arthur began praying that he wouldn’t be too late to save the man, who could have been a friend had Arthur remained in the gang.

He burst through the door of the doctor, Kieran draped over his shoulder and blood dripping onto his clothes.  “Good God!” the doctor cried.  “Bring him in here, quick!”

“We made it, Kieran,” Arthur whispered before he set Kieran down in the chair.  Addressing the doctor, he said, “Some bastards stabbed him in the eye.  Don’t know what else they did, but I think they beat him pretty good.”

Doctor Murphy examined the empty socket.  “I have to clean this,” he said, grabbing some bottles and a syringe of what Arthur assumed to be morphine.  The pain medicine entered Kieren’s vein, and knowing Kieran was no longer in pain gave Arthur some relief.

The rest of the procedure did not.  Arthur did not think of himself as squeamish, but watching Doctor Murphy clean the bloody, empty socket turned his stomach.  It felt like hours passed before Doctor Murphy motioned Arthur over, and Arthur helped carry Kieran out of the exam room into a proper bed.

“How much do I owe you?” he asked the doctor.

“Ten dollars should cover it.”  Arthur handed the money over without protest.

“Can he stay the night?  He’s got some friends I can contact to help take care of him after.”

“He should probably stay here, in case of infection.  Two dollars per night, though I understand if that gets expensive.  I’ll do whatever I can in the meantime.”

But Arthur just nodded and said, “Whatever he needs.”

He didn’t get back to the apartment until nearly midnight, after dropping a letter for Hosea to find at the Post Office.  Surely, Kieran would not want to return to the outlaw life after this, nor could he.  Maybe he could help get Kieran a job at the stables!  He always did like working with horses.

Albert sat at the kitchen table, a mug of coffee in his hands, and he jumped when the door opened.  “Are you alright?  I thought you would be back sooner, I-”  Albert stopped when he took in the bloodstained clothes.  Arthur just wrapped his arms around him.

They stood there for a while, until Arthur asked, “After the gallery, where are you going?”

“Oh, I don’t know.”  Albert sounded surprised at the question.  “I guess it depends on whether or not it’s a success.  I might have to expand my portfolio, or maybe someone will want me to bring my photographs to their gallery in another city.  Or it will be a complete disaster and I will be out of money.  I would have to run back home like the buffoon that I am.”  Home, which was New York City, if Arthur remembered correctly.

“You’re not a buffoon.  These folk will love your photographs.”

“What about you?  Where do you want to go?”

“No clue.  But I don’t want to stay in this city much longer.”

When they broke apart, Albert had a slight frown on his face.  “What happened after I left?”

“Nothing good.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

Albert didn’t need to know, and probably didn’t need to know, the reality of Arthur’s world.  If Albert went back to New York… well… Arthur didn’t want to go any further east than he already had.  But giving up Albert?  Was it worth it?

Did he even know what he wanted anymore?

Chapter Text

“Are you sure about the vest? Maybe I should go with red. Or that purple one? Or-”

“Green is fine. It’s really your color, Al,” Arthur said. Today was the gallery opening, and naturally, Albert was a nervous wreck. At least he had chosen a shirt, considering white went with everything, but the tailor had one too many vests of every color imaginable. Arthur selected a slightly nicer blue shirt than his usual wardrobe, a transaction that took all of one minute after walking into the store.

“You sure?”

“Course! Reminds me of that vest you always like to wear, just a bit fancier.”

“But then maybe I should try to change it up a little!”

“Al! Buy the vest!”

“Alright then, it is decided!” Albert paid for the vest and headed out the door, Arthur trailing behind. “Now, the gallery doesn’t open officially until noon. I have to go there early to show my work to reviewers and rich benefactors. You can come with me now, but I’m afraid it will be dreadfully boring.”

“Well, I should visit Kieran this morning. I’m sure he could use some company.”

“And here I thought that Mary-Beth was doing that,” Albert teased. Hosea found Arthur’s letter a day later, meeting him at the doctor’s with Mary-Beth. Arthur chuckled, remembering the doe-eyed Kieran blushing up a storm whenever Mary-Beth visited, and especially when she would read one of her romance novels to him.

“I still have no idea how that happened. The way I heard it from Hosea, Kieran liked her, but not the other way around.”

“Well, love is strange,” said Albert. “I will see you at the gallery?”

“Sure.” Arthur was looking forward to it.

And dreading it.

Because the gallery opening would determine not only Albert’s success or failure, but also where he would go in the future. As much as Arthur hated the idea of saying goodbye to Albert, he couldn’t help but anticipate that future.

Is he going to travel west with you?

Arthur worried that the answer was no.

He trudged to the doctor’s office, the secretary waving to him as he entered. Kieran was still staying in one of the patient rooms thanks to Arthur’s payments. He didn’t mind. The man saved his life by shooting that O’Driscoll at Six Point Cabin, so he certainly deserved comfort while recovering from his injuries. Mary-Beth smiled when he entered. Kieran kept sleeping on the bed.

“How’s he doing?” Arthur asked her.

“Better,” Mary-Beth said. “The doctor thinks he might be able to leave soon, though where we will go…”

Arthur didn’t miss that Mary-Beth included herself in the planning.

“I talked to the local stable owner. He said Kieran could come on as a hand. It isn’t much pay, but it might help get him started. And you, ‘cause you’re staying with him, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Didn’t see that one coming,” Arthur said.

Mary-Beth blushed a little. “I know, it’s all so soon. But I have to give this a chance, Arthur. Otherwise, I never will.”

“Does Dutch know?”

“He doesn’t even know Kieran is here! Hosea kept it from him, for good reason if you ask me. Dutch is… well… you left at a good time, Arthur. I see that now. I told Karen and Tilly that I’m leaving, but I don’t trust the others.”

“That so?”

“Most nights I just stay here or in a hotel.”

Arthur patted Mary-Beth on the shoulder. “Well, at least you found a reason to get out of the life.”

“I did. Thank you, Arthur.”

“What for?”

“If you hadn’t… well… I don’t know if I would have had the courage to leave if it weren’t for you.”

“I didn’t do nothing.”

“Yes you did,” Mary-Beth said quietly. Then, she stood up, grabbing her bag and rummaging through it. “Before I forget, Hosea gave me this letter meant for you. I think it’s from that Mary!” Sure enough, the scribbled address on the front was Mary Gillis’ sloppy cursive.

Arthur stared at the letter in his hands, Mary-Beth watching him closely. “Guess I’ll open this later,” he finally said.

And when later came and he read the letter, it was Mary asking for his help once again, lamenting on her past mistakes and how neither of them would change. He checked his pocket watch. It was only eleven, and the Hotel Grand was just down the street. Arthur sighed. He hated that he needed to see Mary at least once more. He needed closure, if he was ever going to get Dutch’s voice out of his head.

Mary was sitting on the hotel balcony as he approached. “Arthur, you came!” she called out.

“Yeah, I came. So, what do you need?”

“Wait there, I’m coming straight down.” Unlike their last meeting, where they both were awkward and nervous, Mary seemed genuinely happy to see him.

“Hello, Mary,” Arthur said as she exited the main doors.

“Arthur… you came.”

“Sure. Now, what’s wrong.”

“Daddy.”

“Your father? Oh, I’m a bigger fool than I even thought.” He started to walk away. Why he ever thought there was a sliver of comparison between Mary and Albert he would never know.

“I’m begging you, Arthur,” Mary called after him. “I know Daddy was not kind to you, but surely you cannot hate a man for the sin of loving his daughter and wanting better for her than… than…”

“Than me?”

“Than the choices you make.”

But Arthur remembered Mr. Gillis. The verbal abuse hadn’t only been directed at him. The whole family received the brunt of it. In Mr. Gillis’ eyes, Jaime would never amount to a breadwinner to maintain the family wealth, Mary would never grow up from her fantasies and marry rich so Mr. Gillis could profit from the match, and Arthur wasn’t rich enough to be worth using. “You are a fool if you believe your Daddy was thinking about love when he threatened to call the law on me. Even if I did honest work, he never would have accepted me unless I had a stack of cash to line his pockets.”

“That’s not true?”

“Isn’t it? Between your daddy’s drinking and whoring and gambling? How much did Mr. Linton pay for his approval?”

“Barry was good and kind-”

“And rich,” Arthur finished. Mary turned away, tears brewing in her eyes, and that’s when Arthur realized people were watching them on the street. “Maybe we should go somewhere and talk. Get some coffee, or an early lunch, or something?”

Mary nodded. They walked in silence to the restaurant down the street. Arthur tried not to gawk at the prices, but instead pulled out Mary’s chair for her to sit down. Fortunately, they were the only two inside.

“It wasn’t that I didn’t love you, Arthur,” she said. “You know that.”

“I know.”

“We were so very young. Think how different life could’ve been.”

“Yeah, I’ve thought about it,” Arthur said. “And I think we would have been miserable. Either you would have come with me or I would have gone with you, neither of us were willing to build something just for ourselves.”

“And what about now, Arthur? We could still run away together.”

“Mary-”

“It’s not too late!”

“Mary-”

“We can start over.”

“Mary!” Arthur grabbed her hand, putting a stop. “I met someone.”

“…what?”

“I actually left the gang. Not long after we last spoke.”

Mary’s face grew red, and she wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Who is she?”

“Well, he,” said Arthur. Mary was one of the few people he ever felt comfortable telling that his attractions extended to men. He felt that he had to, considering he was planning to ask for her hand in marriage. “He’s a photographer. Actually, he’s got some photos in a gallery that’s opening today, that’s why I’m all dressed up.”

“You’re hardly dressed up,” Mary tried. Arthur gave a weak chuckle in return.

Her eyes were red, and the tears were once again building. Arthur sighed and said, “I know this wasn’t exactly what you were expecting when you wrote me.”

“So you changed? Just like that? Met a man and left your gang?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then what was it, Arthur?” she furiously wiped at her eyes, but it was too late as she started to yell. “Why wouldn’t you change for us? If all this time it just took the right person for you to be a better man, then I guess I wasn’t it!”

“It ain’t like that, Mary. I didn’t just suddenly change because of Albert. Things with Dutch? That changed! Hell, the world is so different now than what it was when we were together. I… you… you always said I was asking too much of you. That leaving your family and your life was too much. Well, back then you were asking me to do the same damn thing!”

She still wouldn’t look at him, so he continued. “Al and I were friends before I left the gang. I was helping him with his photos. Stuff happened, I started seeing things different all of a sudden.” Arthur hoped he was finished with the changes and clues from the strange man in the bayou. “I got into a fight with Dutch, then I got hurt, Al took me here to recover, and things just… happened. I don’t know if it will work out. He said he might be heading back northeast to the cities.”

“And you won’t go with him if he does?”

“I don’t know. City life ain’t for me, that’s for damn sure.”

“You seem to be doing just fine right now,” Mary said with a smile.

“Forget your daddy,” Arthur said. “Grab whatever money you got left, grab Jaime, and find a better life.”

“Maybe you are right. It’s just hard to leave family, even when they’ve done so much wrong.”

“I know.” Arthur thought about Dutch and the gang, and how much he wanted to help them get the money they needed to leave. “Trust me, I know.”

They finished their coffee and food while Mary interrogated Arthur on Albert. He gladly shared the stories of his adventures with wolves and wild horses, and reluctantly revealed the series of events that led to him being in Saint Denis. Eventually he just said, “Do you want to go to the gallery? Meet him yourself?”

The joy and laughter faded, and Mary said, “It might be awkward. At least for now. Perhaps I will swing by the gallery later to see these photographs, but not today.”

“I understand.”

He walked her back to the hotel, and as they parted at the door, Mary turned and said, “I have a lot to think about, but maybe you are right. Jaime and I may be able to find our own way.”

“I’m glad, Mary.”

“But you need to follow your own advice, too.”

“What you mean?”

“I mean I’ve known you for a long time, Arthur. What you have now, make sure you give it a chance. I know how much that gang means to you still, but don’t go looking for a reason to turn and run back to them. Albert, do you love him?”

“I think so.” This was his first time admitting it out loud.

“Then do what we never did. Talk. Find a life where you both are happy. Be willing to compromise a little. Promise me, Arthur.”

“I promise.”

And he really meant it.

As he walked up the stairs to the Galerie Laurent, nearly an hour late but who was really counting, Arthur planned everything he wanted to say to Albert to start a conversation about their future.

And was greeted by a small crowd.

“Damn,” he muttered. “Guess Al didn’t need to worry about his photographs being popular.”

“Welcome to the Galerie Laurent,” the man at the window said. “The show is free today, in honor of our opening. In the first room we are featuring the photography work of Mr. Albert Mason, and in the second we have oil paintings from Mr. Charles Châtenay. I would… stick to the first room, if I were you.”

Albert Mason stood in the middle of a group of people, nervously babbling about his photographs and the reason behind his project. Arthur smiled and waved, and Albert’s face lit up. “Oh, and here is my friend who helped me get these photographs! I would have gotten nowhere if it wasn’t for his expertise. In fact, I wouldn’t have gotten through the first day, considering a coyote tried to steal my supplies.”

Heads turned towards Arthur, taking in the out of place outlaw in the middle of the fancy gallery. But one of the patrons smiled and said, “Oh, he’s the one from that photograph!” And Arthur realized one of the large pictures was of him, his large hat casting a good portion of his face in shadow. If he wasn’t standing next to it, he would be difficult to recognize. Albert grabbed his arm and pulled him aside before too many questions could be asked and said, “I hope you don’t mind. Mr. Laurent wanted another photograph, and he really liked that one and I didn’t know how to say no-”

“It’s fine, Al,” Arthur said, smiling at the photograph. “I forgot you took that one.”

“I don’t think I even asked for your permission! I just pushed you in front of the camera.”

“And look where we are now. A whole room to yourself!”

“And some sculptures. And most of these photographs were taken by pure luck. I’m hardly more than an amateur.”

“An amateur with a crowd of folks asking about your work. Give your skills a little credit, Mr. Mason.”

“Perhaps you are a tad right,” Albert admitted, staring at the people discussing his work.

“Go, tell all of them the stories of how you made me get out of a boat in alligator infested waters so you could get a shot of that monster! I think I’ll go visit Charles in the other room. I’m sure he’s bored out of his mind already.” Albert laughed at that, waving Arthur off and returning to his discussions of wildlife preservation.

Charles Châtenay’s paintings were… well… exactly what Arthur expected from the man. Mostly women, but there was a man or two, and all naked. Charles himself stood in a corner, brooding over the glares and scrutiny of the gallery’s visitors.

“Look at these idiots,” he said. Arthur just laughed as an older woman in a blue dress approached the pair.

“Excuse me, Mr. Châtenay, couldn’t you have painted some drawers on her?” she rasped.

“Madame, I paint her in her natural state as she was and will be in paradise.”

“There’s nothing natural about that.”

“Clothes are civilization, repression, death,” he continued. “To be naked is to be free, innocent, alive! Like Buddha said, you know, we are all just here to fuck.”

The woman made a rather indignant noise. “Well, that explains the decadence of those hottentots.

She likely had more to say but was soon interrupted by a man in the crowd going, “Hey, you got a picture of my wife here… in her… delicates!”

Arthur tensed for a confrontation, then a woman cried out, “Henry! Is that your behind? Why would you be showing it to that man?”

“That’s my momma, as nude as the day she was born!” said another.

“Stop looking at my husband’s buttocks!”

“Stop looking at my momma!”

“Well maybe she shouldn’t have exposed herself like that!”

Arthur just stood back and laughed. This gallery opening wasn’t as boring as he expected. Ironically, the first fight broke out between Henry and the nude woman’s son, but the situation quickly devolved from there. The first blows on Charles himself where from the original complainer, the woman in the blue dress, who beat Charles over the head with her purse crying out, “You filthy little man!”

Women began rushing from the room while the men fought. Albert poked his head in and then said, “Good lord!” Arthur couldn’t reply as he had to stop one of the men from going after Charles. A few punches and he knocked the man out, turning to find a mostly empty gallery.

“Charles, where are you?” he called out, only to find the man crouched in a corner.

“Well, that ended rather abruptly,” Albert said with a huff.

“At least it weren’t your artwork that sent them running,” Arthur teased.

“This show is well and truly over,” Charles said. “Come on, I know a place where I can disappear for a few days.”

Albert decided to follow Arthur and Charles, saying, “Well, at least I was able to make a few good contacts.”

“This way, this way. The exhibition, you can say, it was not boring!”

“That it was not,” said Arthur.

“Art should test people, push them. I thought I was a fraud, a no-talent brush washer. Now I am not sure. We provoke emotions, no?”

Albert muttered, “If those are the emotions we are trying to provoke then I won’t make it far in this field.”

“Your canvases will have punch holes through ‘em if you ain’t careful,” said Arthur.

“I told you I was a whole ass!”

“You did, and you are. Now maybe go be an asshole somewhere else for a while.”

The safe location Charles led them to was, naturally, a woman’s apartment. After a bit of insistent knocking, she let him in. Charles turned back to Arthur. “That picture I gave you. It will be worth something someday. I can feel it! I hope to see you again sometime.”

Albert stared at the door. “He is… an interesting man.”

“So it was a good opening? Even though it was… cut short?”

“I think so,” Albert said. They walked back to the apartment, and now they were at the moment of truth. Arthur’s heart threatened to burst from his chest. “I met several people who liked my work, and want to see more of it. A few people who might offer funding, but…”

“But what?”

“Some of their offers came with too many conditions. Exclusive gallery rights, purchasing rights, that sort of thing, you know.”

Arthur didn’t quite know, but it sounded restrictive, the exact opposite of what Albert wanted. “One man, he works for a wildlife preservation association, wanted me to tour cities on the East Coast. Said he would pay all travel expenses and a small stipend for my troubles.”

Air caught in Arthur’s throat. “Is that what you want to do?”

“No!” Albert said quickly. “I don’t want to be dragged back to city studios and an endless parade of art galleries. I want to stay in the field, expand my portfolio, give my work to art magazines that go to people all over the country.”

“Really?” Arthur said, relieved. “But the other day, you were talking about going to New York or some other city.”

“That’s what I worried would happen,” admitted Albert. “I didn’t know if there would be any interest in my work, and, well I didn’t want the notion to be a surprise. I’ve been so afraid of failing and having to go back home alone because I know you don’t want to go to New York! I don’t want to go to New York!”

Arthur smiled and pulled Albert into a hug. “I don’t want to go to New York, either. But just so you know, I do want to stay with you.”

“Even if I spend the rest of my years as a poor, struggling photographer?”

“Sure.”

“Even if I have to occasionally visit a city to display my work?”

“Well, that depends on the city. If it’s one of those East Coast ones, I’m camping outside of it.”

Albert chuckled into Arthur’s shirt. They stayed in the hug, and Arthur whispered in his ear, “I love you, Al.”

“Really?” Albert said, pulling back in the hug to stare into Arthur’s eyes.

“Yeah, really.”

Albert pulled Arthur into a long, passionate kiss, before saying, “I love you, too.”

Arthur’s heart still beat fast, but it was now from excitement rather than nerves. He and Albert had a chance at a future together. One they were building for themselves.

Then, a few days later, Dutch van der Linde crashed a trolley car on the north side of town.

Chapter Text

Arthur was trying to politely refuse a gift when the loud crash echoed between the buildings to Algernon Wasp's shop at the edge of town.

Arthur had stopped in his shop to deliver some Moccasin Orchids from Roanoke Ridge, the one consolation from his trip north. He just so happened to run into Theodore Levin near the docks one morning and gave the photographs and disappointing tales of the old Wild West days. But when Mr. Levin revealed that he intended to credit Calloway with the killings, the old gunslinger went crazy and insisted his glory days weren't over. Arthur ended up rescuing a state marshal named Slim Grant from the Murfree Brood only to deliver him to Calloway for one final duel to end an old feud. Slim Grant refused to fight and Calloway shot him in the back. Calloway then turned his gun on Arthur to prove his worth, but Arthur was a better draw. Jim 'Boy' Calloway died, and Theodore Levin changed the details to give his book a better ending.

Though the promise of finally being paid for interviewing those gunslingers made up for it.

Algernon had insisted on making Arthur something, for both his many trips into the swamps for orchids and alligator eggs and for saving his life from a peanut at the party. The gift in question was a top hat, one that Arthur could tell was finely made. Flawless stitching blended the colors together seamlessly, matching the plumage from a bird Arthur didn't recognize.

That being said, it was the ugliest hat Arthur had ever seen.

"It's very… exotic," Arthur answered when asked for his opinion.

"I made it for you!" said Algernon, practically bursting with excitement.

"Uh, for me? Naw… I'm just a… it's…" It looked like one of those flower vase paintings, still-life or whatever they called it. "It would be wasted on me, Algernon. It's too fine for a man of my coarseness."

"At least try it on."

"No."

"Please?" Algernon had Arthur cornered against the mirror.

"Fine, here we go." He placed the hat on top of his head and instantly regretted it. He couldn't imaging wearing this hat ever! It clashed horribly with his normal outfit, far to busy with all the colors. "Yeah, it's not exactly me," he shrugged.

"No, you're right, it's all wrong!" Algernon said, snatching the hat back. "I went forte and I should've gone molto adagio. Here's your money for the eggs and the flowers."

"You got anything else?"

"But I've imposed too much already and I'm ashamed of the millinery."

"You pay well," Arthur insisted. Really, the man paid more money than Arthur ever thought flowers were worth. If he had known living an honest life would be this easy… though while things ended badly with Dutch, he wouldn't trade those early memories for anything. "It's easy enough work."

"I do need some more orchids," Algernon began when the deafening scraping and crash that followed shook the displays in the room.

"What was that!" Algernon cried out, jumping to steady the glass cabinet behind him. Arthur wondered the same thing, until the police whistles and distinct sound of gunfire came from the same location. Just up the street. Not far from Al's apartment!

"Stay here!" he told Algernon, and raced out into the garden. What did Albert say he was doing today? It was a meeting with someone. Evelyn Miller, that was it! Was that meeting for the morning or afternoon? And where? He leaned out to make a run across the street, but instantly jumped back when the shooting started just up the way. Which happened to be on Albert's street.

The shooting moved on, and the police whistles followed. Arthur ran around their blockade and into the side alley, leapt the stairs two at a time, burst through the door, and…

"Don't move, I've got a gun!"

"Al?"

"Arthur? Arthur!" Albert dropped the revolver and jumped up from behind the sofa. His eyes drifted over Arthur, checking for injuries, but Arthur crossed the room and pulled him into a hug.

"You're okay, we're okay," he murmured, planting a kiss into Albert's hair, but his heart dropped when Albert suddenly pulled away.

"Arthur… you remember Evelyn Miller, right?"

The writer stood up from behind the sofa and gave a sheepish wave. "Don't mind me," he said. The gunshots were fading into the distance, and Arthur felt himself relax a little more.

"Yes, of course. Good to see you again, sir." He reacher out a hand, and Evelyn Miller's hand trembled as it took his.

"And you as well, Mr. Callahan, was it?"

"…Yeah. I think we're safe now." They could still hear the fighting, but it continued to move away from their apartment. Arthur picked up the gun from behind the sofa and asked, "Is this one of mine?"

"Yes," Al said.

"Do you even know how to use this?"

"Not really, no."

Arthur laughed, "How did you ever think you were going to be a wildlife photographer without me?"

Evelyn Miller cleared his throat. "Well, I hope you don't mind me staying a little longer."

"Oh course not, Mr. Miller. Stay as long as you need," said Arthur. "Did you have a good meeting, at least?"

"It was quite productive, yes. I hope you don't mind, but I intend to steal your friend for a few days to photograph the Wapiti people. Perhaps we can change some hearts here and in Washington."

"Mind if I tag along?" Arthur asked.

"You can certainly come."

"If you don't mind me asking, how did you get involve with helping the Wapiti?"

"Well, that's a bit of a long story. For years now, I've been sitting in a university, writing books and giving lectures on how best to appreciate this country while experiencing none of it! I feel a bit of a fraud, sir. I thought perhaps if I helped somewhere, but so far I've only found failure in that as well."

"You ain't failed yet," Arthur tried.

"No, you are right."

They sat discussing travel plans until Evelyn Miller deemed it safe enough to leave. Then Albert and Arthur cuddled together on the sofa, just holding each other and talking softly, letting their fear drift away.

The knock on the door startled Arthur. He had been napping, arms wrapped lightly around Albert. He untangled himself even as Albert grumbled, "Who's visiting at this hour?" even though the hour was only five in the afternoon.

The knocking continued. "I'm coming, I'm coming," Arthur said and yanked the door open to reveal Hosea.

The older man relaxed and smiled. "Arthur, you're okay! I was worried, they were too close to your street."

"On our street at one point."

"I can't believe Dutch!"

"Wait," Arthur said. "This was Dutch?"

"Yes. Please, we need to talk." Arthur stepped back to allow Hosea into the apartment. "Good to see you again, Mr. Mason."

"And you, Mr. Matthews. Sit down, do you want anything to drink?" Albert asked.

"Some tea, thank you." Hosea settled into a chair, and Arthur sat on the sofa across from him.

"What happened? Why did Dutch start a shootout in the middle of the city?"

"Dutch got a lead from Angelo Bronte, that there were stacks of money in the trolley station. Dutch believed him, but it was a set up. The law was on them immediately."

"Jesus, Dutch believed Bronte? I could have told you there was no money in the trolley station." Arthur never rode the trolley himself, but the fare was rather cheap and the location was too open for a robbery. "Who went with him? No one got hurt, did they?"

"John and Lenny. They're both fine. I think Dutch hit his head pretty hard in the crash, though."

Arthur sighed. "Well, at least no one got killed. Why was John involved? I thought he was trying to get out with his family."

"He is. John's been saving money, and I think Dutch knows it, too. That's why he offered this job to John. Dutch wants to bring him back to the gang, he can't afford another person running off like you and Mary-Beth. So, he offered up the job, told John that he trusted him to do it, even let him pick the third person…"

"That worked out real well, didn't it," said Arthur.

"He's desperate, Arthur."

"Why are you hanging around the city still, anyway?" When Hosea didn't respond, Arthur took a moment to look at Hosea, to really look. Dark circles had formed under his slightly bloodshot eyes, his hands gave a tiny tremor when he reached for the teacup. Classic signs that the man wasn't sleeping enough. So he asked again, "What is the plan?"

"The bank. It's the only place where we can get enough money to get out of this mess."

Arthur sat up in his chair. "You can't! After all that's happened? Bronte controls the police. The Pinkertons will hear about the robbery and be in the city any day!"

"I've run some distractions and scoped out the bank. We can do it."

"It won't matter if Bronte increases security."

"Dutch… has a plan. To take care of Bronte. I don't agree," Hosea quickly added, "but whether I can persuade him otherwise doesn't matter. Either this robbery works, or…" Hosea couldn't finish the sentence.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I came here to warn you. So you can leave the city."

"No. No way in Hell am I leaving now. I can help!"

"No!"

"I don't mean rob the bank with you. I can keep watch, help with the distractions."

He almost missed the whisper that came from Albert next to him, but it was unmistakably there. "Arthur, please don't"

"Al?"

His friend buried his head in his hands. "If you get caught… I can't do that again."

"Neither can I," Hosea said. "Is there anywhere you can go."

"Yes," Albert jumped in before Arthur could. "I was invited to go north for a photography project. We were supposed to leave next week, but given the circumstances, I suppose I could ask to go now."

"This is insane," said Arthur. "After everything that's happened? How are you supposed to rob a bank? You need to get out of the city!"

"What else are we supposed to do?" Hosea asked, and Arthur could see the desperation in his face. "I may not agree with Dutch much anymore, but he is right about one thing. We need money if we want to get out of this mess."

"And John and his family? Are they a part of this?"

"John is. I'll try to talk him out of it, but the bank money would go a long way towards helping his family, and he knows it. Abigail won't be involved though. Dutch originally wanted to pair us together for the distraction, but I convinced him that Mrs. Adler would be a better replacement."

"Mrs. Adler?"

"She's quite the gun, Arthur. All fire and determination. I think you two would get along."

Arthur smiled slightly, but it was gone when he asked, "When is the robbery?"

"I don't know. Dutch seemed pretty determined to go after Bronte first. It was the only thing he talked about when I checked on him. But I give it two, three days tops before Pinkertons are in the city. You need to be gone before then."

"We will be," Albert said, but Arthur shook his head.

"No. Don't do this, Hosea."

"I'm sorry, Arthur. Please, just take care of yourself. Get yourself safe."

Arthur didn't say a word, so Albert took over. "I'll make sure he does. Oh, and here." He pressed a spare key into Hosea's hand. "In case you need somewhere to go in the city."

"Thank you, Mr. Mason. Arthur, I love you. Please be safe."

Arthur surged up and wrapped the man he considered to be a father into a hug. "I love you too, Hosea."

He didn't sleep at all that night.

Albert went straight to Evelyn Miller's hotel the next morning, and Arthur went around the city to say goodbye to some of his new friends. He waved to Brother Dorkins and Sister Calderón, both of whom he usually saw collecting money and food for the poor. He put more money in the basket that day, but didn't tell them why, exactly.

Near the Jade Dragon Restaurant, he ran into Charles Châtenay. Wearing a dress, a wig, and makeup, which covered even the goatee that he refused to shave. He didn't get the chance to tell him that he was leaving, because Charles was already on his way.

"What are you dressed up like that for?" Arthur asked.

"Oh, I am a wanted man, persecuted for my art."

"As bad as it is," Arthur chuckled, "I don't think that the art is the problem."

Charles planned to go to the South Pacific and needed and escort to the docks. A friend driven out of the city by a society that said he didn't belong, though Arthur was less inclined to blame society in this case. Especially when they had to duck around some unfriendly bar owners for good reason.

"You shat on their bar?" Arthur said to Charles.

"But of course! I needed to shit. Hey, come on. My fresh excrement was better than any of the drinks they served in there."

"Remind me to avoid that place," said Arthur as they ducked into the trolley station, operational once again as if nothing happened the day before.

"What's this? Quickly!" Charles said, then locked Arthur into a deep kiss. Arthur struggled to get away, but Charles only released him when he took a another look at the man in the station and said, "Oh, it's nothing. I thought I knew him."

Arthur glared at Charles and said, "Please do not do that again."

"What? I thought you like men."

"And I'm with one!"

"Oh, he will understand."

"Based on the all the husbands I keep protecting you from, I don't think you are the best judge of that."

They almost made it to the ship without incident, not counting the number of sailors who catcalled at Charles. Up close, Arthur could tell it was Charles under the powder and rouge, but the disguise worked well at a distance. In the end, however, Arthur still had to punch out the last few angry husbands to clear the way.

"Charles, you better hope this ship leaves soon."

"Adieu, merci, mon ami."

"So long. Hey, if they don't like you in the islands, just keep going to the South Pole."

"Ah, yes. I hear there the light is really fantastique!"

Arthur just shook his head as Charles disappeared into the ship. He moved fast to get away from the unconscious men before someone reported the assault.

The last place he stopped was Algernon Wasp's shop, to let him know that he wouldn't be able to collect the latest list of orchids for some time.

"Oh, what a shame! I am sorry you have to leave so soon, Arthur. And a shame about those orchids, though I am sure I will find someone willing to collect them. Perhaps not one with the same artistic eye you possess, but still… where are you off to?"

"The Grizzlies. My friend Albert has a photography job up that way."

"Perhaps if you could locate some Dragon's Mouth Orchids you could send them my way?"

"Of course."

"And it is a good thing you stopped by! I have your hat!" Algernon reached down under the counter and pulled out a white hat with a wide brim, and a unique blue, yellow, and orange feather attached to the side with a blue sash. "Inspiration struck last night and I couldn't sleep until I crafted it. I hope it is more to your liking."

It was still fancier than anything Arthur would normally wear, but much closer to his style than the previous hat. In fact, it was the closest a man like Algernon Wasp could get to making something for a man like Arthur Morgan. The design was simple but still elegant. "It's wonderful," he told the man. "You take care, Mr. Wasp."

He wandered to the street and sat on a bench, gazing out past the pedestrians and the horses coming and going as if nothing was wrong. But everything was wrong. He never thought he would want to stay in a city, but he didn't want Hosea and the others to be alone when they attempted the impossible.

"Arthur, dear boy?"

Arthur looked up and nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw the dark top hat and mustache. But it was just Trelawny, not the strange man. "Josiah Trelawny, good to see you."

"And you as well. Hosea told me that you were leaving the city? I'm trying to move my family out of here as well."

"I wish I didn't have to."

"Oh, I know."

"Where are you taking them?"

"I thought we would move up to New York. Someone like me could do well there, I think."

"Probably for the best to get away from the gang for a while."

Trelawny nodded. "Hosea gave his blessing. To leave, forever."

"Not that it really matters at this point, but you have my blessing as well."

"Thank you."

They continued to watch the pedestrians, all anonymous faces in their coats and hats and ties. They bustled about their lives, no one giving them a second glance. It gave Arthur an idea.

"Hey Trelawny?"

"Yes, Arthur?"

"Before you go, can you help me find an outfit that goes with this hat?"

A dark gray coat with a silver lapel. A silver and blue vest with a blue puff tie. Black town pants covering his boots and a crisp white shirt.

"I look like a rich idiot."

"No, you look rather smart. It's about time you dressed well."

"Like Hosea says, you want to con people, you'd better look the part."

"No one will suspect you were once an outlaw, dear boy, I can promise you that."

Arthur tugged at the tie a little, but Trelawny slapped his hand away. He put his new hat on his head to complete the outfit, amazed at just how different he appeared. "I just hope this works. Thanks, Trelawny."

"You are most welcome. Now, I must be going if I want to catch the next boat up the river."

"I understand. Good luck!"

"And to you as well, dear boy!"

On the walk back to the apartment, Arthur noticed a few people staring. But rather than the normal glares of disgust from people judging the cowboy in the city, the eyes drifted up to the hat with mild curiosity and amusement. Upon opening the door to the apartment, Albert gave a slight jump, not recognizing Arthur at first. And then…

Albert covered his mouth in an attempt to hide the snort that escaped, but within seconds he had descended into laughter. "What are you wearing?" he asked between gasps of air.

"It's a disguise!"

"A disguise?" And the laughter died. "You are staying, aren't you?"

"Al…"

"No. You have to come with me. Please!"

"I can't leave. Hosea and John, they're family. And they are in danger. No one will recognize me like this, and we are close enough to the edge of the city that I can sneak out once I know they are safe."

"And if the robbery goes wrong?" Albert asked. "What will you do then?"

"I don't know."

Albert ducked his head and turned away before saying, "I can't change your mind, can I?"

"I'm sorry, Al."

"I should stay, too."

"No. Go with Mr. Miller. I'll join you later."

"You better," said Albert. "If you don't, I'll… I'll never forgive you."

"Come here, Al." Reluctantly, Albert allowed himself to be pulled into Arthur's hold. "I promise you, I will be fine."

"You'd better."

"…there is something else I should probably tell you though."

"Oh, what now?"

"…Charles Châtenay kissed me today."

"What!"

But the story of Charles Châtenay's daring escape to the South Pacific dressed as a woman lightened the mood, and Arthur and Albert were able to enjoy the evening before Albert's trip.

Chapter Text

The explosion rattled the windows, and Arthur jumped up fast to see where it had come from.  Smoke billowed just down the street, women screamed and police blew their whistles.

Shooting immediately followed.  He raced down the stairs and onto the street, where Merlin tugged against the hitching post.  The horse was stuck alone the last few days, since Albert took both Dakota and Lucy north with him.

As much as Arthur missed Albert, he was glad that the other man had left on his trip.  He was anxious enough without having to worry about Milton or Ross seeing and recognizing his friend.  Knowing the Pinkertons, the coincidence would be enough to bring Albert in for questioning, and Arthur knew first hand how the questions were asked.  Yes, it was better to have Albert out of the city.  Arthur kept a lookout for Pinkertons the last few days, and while he hadn’t seen any standing outright in their uniforms, he did see several suspicious men eying the people going about their day.  Fortunately between Trelawny’s taste in clothing and Algernon’s hat, Arthur hadn’t been looked at twice!  

The shooting stopped.  Shouting took its place, a man and a woman.  Arthur leaned around the corner.  A woman in a yellow dress and a giant hat aimed her gun at a mustached man in a gray jacket and red tie, but the man wasn’t doing the same.  The barrel of his gun was pressed into Hosea’s short gray hair, his hand wrapped around the tuxedo lapel.  Arthur knew the mustache, and the sneer that came with it.  Agent Ross.

Ross started to drag Hosea away.  Probably to tie him up and beat him, keep questioning him on Dutch and the bank robbery until either Hosea cracked, which he wouldn’t, or he died.  And Arthur would never let Ross hurt anyone else.

He didn’t hesitate, just stepped out into the street and fired into Ross’s skull.  Chaos erupted as the police and agents accompanying Ross ducked for cover before the man even hit the ground.  Hosea twisted out of Ross’s arms and surged towards Sadie as she and Arthur fired at the remaining lawmen.  

The lawmen fell or scattered within seconds.  Breathing in deep with relief, Arthur turned towards Sadie and Hosea, both of whom were now just taking in the identity of their rescuer.

“Arthur,” Hosea gasped, starting towards him, “I thought I told you to leave the city!”

“Since when did I do as I was told,” Arthur chuckled.

But Hosea stumbled.

He stumbled, and Arthur leapt forward to catch him, sinking to his knees with Hosea wrapped in his arms.

“Hey, ‘sea, you alright?  Where are you hurt?”

Groaning, Hosea shifted his arm towards his right side, and Arthur peeled back the jacket to reveal a growing patch of blood.

“Shit!”  He pressed his hand over the wound.  “Sadie, we got to get him out of here!”  

“They knew we were coming!  This whole thing is a trap,” Sadie shouted.  

Arthur looked around the empty street.  They were close to his apartment, and it didn’t seem like anyone was watching.  “Follow me,” he said, and scooped Hosea into his arms.  He led Sadie through a few alleys and up the stairs to the apartment.  Tried to ignore the way Hosea’s fingers loosely gripped his shirt, his forehead pressed into Arthur’s collarbone, the strained panting replacing normal breaths.

“Hold on, Hosea.”  Arthur set Hosea on the bed and inspected the wound, then released the air he didn’t realize he had been holding.  The gash in Hosea’s side was deep and would need to be carefully cleaned and monitored for infection, but the bullet likely missed the vital organs.  Arthur pressed down on it to help slow the bleeding, saying, “Sorry, sorry,” when Hosea let out a pained hiss.

“I told you to go,” Hosea said.

“I know.”

“And Albert?  You two were going on a trip.”

“Yeah, Albert left.  I couldn’t leave, not while you were in danger.”

Hosea huffed, but didn’t argue.  Underneath the nearby police whistles and shouting was more shooting.  “Dutch,” Hosea whispered, and tried to sit up.

He couldn’t stand the desperation in Hosea’s voice, but there wasn’t anything he could do.  “They’ll be alright,” Arthur said, not really believing it.  “Dutch has a lot of good guns with him.”  He focused on cleaning and bandaging Hosea’s side with Sadie’s help.  The fighting moved, the sounds now faint, and Hosea’s eyes remained fixed on the wall facing the bank.

Sadie was also itching to leave, but for a different reason.  “If they knew about the bank, they might know where the camp is.  I should warn them.  Can I take your horse?”

“Sure, Merlin’s hitched outside.  You might want to change, though.  That dress and hat stand out too much.  You can borrow some of my clothes, but they might be big.”

“I just need them to get back to camp.  Thank you, Arthur.”  She dug through his closet and grabbed a few items.

“They’ll block the roads and bridges,” Hosea said to her.

“On the main road with all the fancy houses, there’s an empty lot.  Got a sign for these pre-cut houses.”  Arthur went to the window and pointed out the direction.  “The gate is narrow, but Merlin can fit through it.  Go behind the houses and into the swamp, and no one should see you.”

He pulled back the curtain after Sadie left, watching to make sure she made it down the street without issue.  Then, he turned back to Hosea.

Tear tracks stained his cheeks.  Hosea wouldn’t look at Arthur, still staring at the wall.  

“Hosea?”

“This is my fault.”

“Of course not.”

“It was my plan and it failed.”

Arthur sat down next to the bed, unsure what to do.  Usually it was Hosea who had to sit at Arthur’s bedside, taking care of the man while he bemoaned a lost score or cursed at bounty hunters.  Arthur didn’t know how Hosea managed it all these years, because at that moment, Arthur felt helpless.

“You couldn’t have known Ross would be there,” he tried.

“They grabbed us immediately, before the explosion went off.  The agent holding Mrs. Adler panicked, that’s how she was able to get his gun.”

“I guess that distraction was good for something,” Arthur said with a smirk.  He got a tiny smile in return, just for a second, and then it was gone.

“You aren’t safe here.  Go.”

“We are safe, Hosea.  I don’t think anyone saw us.  The law were all running from your distraction or towards the bank.”  Hosea huffed, still unconvinced, so Arthur said, “You need to rest.  Isn’t that what you always say to me?”

Hosea remained tense but quiet, though each minute that passed without the law breaking down the door saw him relax a little more until he fell asleep.  Arthur drifted between the windows, constantly checking for danger, but their hideout stayed undiscovered into the night.

Until he heard the scraping of a key in the lock.

Arthur ducked behind the bedroom door frame, revolver loaded and ready.  Two figures, no more than silhouettes in the dark hallway began to enter.  Arthur raised the revolver.

“Not one more step.  Put your hands where I can see them!”

At first, they seemingly didn’t take his threat seriously, but Arthur quickly realized that one man was supporting the other.

“Arthur?  That you?” a deep voice asked, one he hadn’t heard in weeks.  Charles Smith stepped into the light as Arthur’s arm dropped.  He was wearing a maroon jacket that Arthur had never seen before, and his long dark hair was secured behind his head.  But Charles Smith’s unusual appearance distracted Arthur for only a second before he took in the other man. 

Sweat dripped off his forehead, eyes squeezed shut, pale face only accentuating the three parallel scars on his right cheek.

“Shit, John!”

He kept shooting.  There was nothing else for it.  Down one lawman, another appeared in his place.  He hoped that Hosea and Sadie weren’t caught up in a similar conflict, but he couldn’t linger on those thoughts for long.  How did they know?  Who told?  Did anyone even need to tell, after what happened at the trolley station and Dutch killing Bronte?

“John, you still alive?”

“Yeah!”

“Get over here!”  Dutch appeared briefly from behind the center counter to fire his pistols.  John ducked and ran to his side.

“This is insane.  I told you this was a bad idea.”

“Now is not the time, son!  There’s no way we are getting out that door.  Take this, and blow a hole through that wall.”

John rushed to the wall and attached the dynamite to it.  “Everyone get down!” he shouted before returning to Dutch and firing, causing the entire building to shake as the wall blasted out.

“Good, now climb up on the roof and cover us!”

John leaped through the hole and pulled himself up the ladder, trying to ignore the shouts from Javier and Lenny as even more lawmen began to appear in the street.  They didn’t notice his first few shots, but soon their attention was towards the roof.  He kept firing, hoping the distraction would be enough to get the others out.

Javier came up behind him, and said, “We’ve lost control of the bank, the others are trying to hold them off.”

“Goddammit!  Keep shooting.”

Pull the trigger, six times.  Reload, do it again.  Others joined him.  How did the Pinkertons have a whole army at their disposal?  Dutch shouted more from below, and finally it seemed they were clear as Micah, Lenny, and Dutch were the final gang members to make their way up the ladder.

“We need to get out of here, now,” Dutch said.

“What if we try to go across the roof to the other buildings?” John suggested.

“Go, son, take Lenny.  We’ll cover you.”

“Come on kid,” John said, and took off running.  The path was open in front of him, they could make it!  But two men stepped in front of him, and he only managed to shoot one before he staggered.

Suddenly he blinked his eyes open, not remembering how he got on the ground.  Couldn’t understand what had caused the agony tearing through his shoulder, or why Lenny was trying to pull him back up.  Took a few seconds for the ringing in his ears to clear.

“-him up, dammit, we need to move!”  Why was Dutch shouting?  Someone else hauled him up and half dragged him to the edge of the roof, hands under his arms.  Oh god, they were going to toss him over, Dutch was finally done with him!

John definitely knew why he blacked out that time.  The few seconds in the air ended with someone else grabbing him when his legs hit the other roof and collapsed.

He came to draped over someone’s back, moving fast, too fast.  The buildings blurred together, the jolts from each jump shocked his body.  The light faded, and then he was sat up against a wall.  Dutch was in front of him.  His face was determination mixed with fear and confusion, and focused on his right shoulder.  John got a glance in before Dutch grabbed his chin and pulled his head back up.  It was soaked in blood.

“We need a plan.  Somewhere to go,” Dutch was saying.  
“If we go back to camp, they are going to get every last one of us.  They’ll be watching the roads.”  He began to pace back and forth in the room.  John’s eyes lazily tracked his movement.  “I got it.  A boat,” Dutch announced.

“What about John?” asked Lenny.  “He needs help.”

“I don’t know.  I’m working on it,” Dutch said. 

His eyes began to close.  “Hey, no.  Stay awake, John!”  Forcing them open, he took in Lenny right in front of him, tapping his cheek.  Poor kid, he was having a rough time lately.  First the trolley robbery, now this.

Despite everyone’s attempts to keep him conscious, John kept drifting in and out.  He noticed the concerned glances, the whispered arguments, the elongated silences.

“He’s not going to last much longer.  I can get him to help.”

“I won’t split us up!”

“He’ll die if he gets on that boat!”

Someone was pulling him upright again, one arm wrapped around his torso.  “I’m getting you out of here, John, just hold on,” Charles said.

“Where?” he asked, the word slurred.  That was important, Dutch never said where they were going.

“Arthur’s place.  He told me about his apartment near the florist.”

He reached for his pocket.  “Hosea gave me a key,” he said.

“A key for what?”

“Arthur.”

Hosea, earlier that morning, pressed that key into his hand and made John promise that if the bank job went south, he would get himself out and get safe.

At least Charles was helping him keep that promise, because John wanted to just lay down and sleep.

Charles dragged him along the streets, pausing at each intersection before continuing on.  They didn’t run into anyone, fortunately.  It seemed that the Pinkertons finally ran out of soldiers.  They went up a flight of stairs, Charles shifted his hold so he could open the door, and…

“Shit, John!”

Another set of arms supported him.

“He alright, what happened?”  Was that Arthur?  No, it couldn’t be, Hosea said Arthur left the city and went north.  The apartment was supposed to be empty.

“He was shot, right shoulder.  Seems pretty bad.”

“What happened to the others?  You get separated?”

“Dutch had an idea to escape on a boat, but I didn’t think John would make it without help, so I left.”

Charles and Arthur carried him into the apartment and placed him on a sofa, and Arthur began to inspect John’s shoulder.  “The bullet still in there?”

“Yes.  We didn’t have any supplies.”

A faint voice, from another room, called out, “Help me up.”

“Hosea?”  Charles left his side while Arthur cut away the jacket and shirt.  Shame, it was a rather nice jacket, nicer than most of what he owned.  But those thoughts disappeared when Arthur carefully prodded the wound, and he couldn’t stop the shout.

“Hey, easy John, you’re alright.  Try to keep quiet, okay?”

Right, he had to stay silent.  Lawmen were still looking for them.  Hosea was leaning over him now.  It was getting hard to focus on what was happening around him.  Faces blurred into the dark background, and his eyes failed to follow their movements.

Something was shoved between his teeth.  Charles shifted to hold down his arms, but Hosea simply held his hand.  Arthur locked eyes with John, almost apologetic, then dug into his shoulder.

John struggled against Charles, crying out even as Hosea tried to comfort him, until the black spots completely encompassed his vision. 

John passed out before Arthur managed to remove the bullet, and for that he was grateful.  As much as he hated listening to the weak, strained breathing, at least his son was getting a brief respite from the pain.  Something Hosea was all too familiar with at the moment.

His side throbbed with each heartbeat, but he kept holding John’s hand.  He hoped he was just imagining the heat beginning to radiate off John’s skin, though a fever would be a normal reaction and the least of a series of terrible outcomes that could still occur.  He probably had a low fever himself, considering he was also dizzy and nauseous.

“You doing alright, Hosea?” Arthur asked, trying to bandage John’s shoulder.

“I’m fine,” he said.

“You should rest,” Arthur insisted.  “I’ve got this from here.”

“No, not yet.”

“Hosea…”

“You’ve got a cot, don’t you?  I’ll sleep out here.”

Hosea couldn’t leave John, not yet, not until he knew for certain that he would recover.  Arthur shook his head but didn’t argue.  Turning to Charles, Hosea said, “Tell me everything that happened.”

As happy as he was that no one else had sustained serious injury, hearing about Charles’ argument with Dutch put him in a fowl mood.  Dutch had been willing to  drag John onto a boat to an unknown destination, probably to his death.  He used him to rob the bank, and now was discarding him.  The warning signs had been there, especially the way Dutch dragged John away from his wife and son to remind him that the gang, and making money, were the priority above anything else.

His son deserved better.  They never left a man behind.  But maybe that wasn’t entirely true.  If Trelawny never found them in Valentine with news of Sean, would Dutch have ever looked for the young Irishman?  Would they have ever looked for Mac, had Milton not found Hosea at the river and shared his fate?

He kept holding John’s hand, thumb rubbing circles into the back of it.  Arthur had done a good job taking care of John, but the painful reality remained that John could still die.  His eyes grew heavier and heavier, but when a hand lightly shook him, he managed to sit up.

“We’re going to move him to the bedroom.  You, too.  Bed’s big enough.”

Hosea grunted in acknowledgment as Charles helped Arthur carefully lift John.  He took in the bloodstains on the sofa.  “Sorry about the furniture,” he said when Arthur returned to help him up.

“Oh, it’s fine.  You and John can pay for it from your share if the landlord gets mad.”  Hosea would have found the idea funny, his unruly, outlaw son dealing with landlords over damage complaints, if his and John’s blood hadn’t been the cause of it.

Arthur laid him down next to John, and now he could feel it, and see the growing flush on his cheeks.  John had a fever for sure, and Charles had already taken it upon himself to drape a damp cloth over his forehead.

“Rest, Hosea,” said Arthur, noticing the concern etched on his face.  “We’ll take care of John.”

The day’s exhaustion caught up with him the second his head hit the pillow, but one nagging thought followed him into oblivion.

He failed to protect his family.

Chapter Text

Despite Arthur’s initial success the first night, it was impossible to get Hosea to rest.  Dark bags formed under his bloodshot eyes, and even when exhaustion dragged him under, his worrying would jolt him awake within an hour.

John wasn’t helping the matter, either.  His fever quickly spiked, requiring constant care to keep him cool and calm.  Arthur was able to rouse him enough to take water and medicine, but otherwise John remained in a fitful sleep.

Finally, after Charles slipped out of the apartment to find the rest of the gang, Arthur had enough.  He brewed a cup of tea, ironically a blend given to Albert by Hosea himself to help Arthur sleep after his own injuries.

He carried the steaming mug back into the bedroom, pausing at the door.  John’s lungs continue to shudder with each labored breath, and Hosea watched every one with tears in his eyes.  He looked up when Arthur knocked on the door frame.  Taking a whiff of the beverage, he asked, “Is that my-”

“Your knock-out tea?  Yep,” Arthur said, smiling.  He shoved the mug towards Hosea, but the older man wouldn’t take it. 

“I can’t.”
 
“Yes, you can.”

“I have to watch John.”

“I can take care of John.”  Still, Hosea shook his head no, so Arthur tried a different method.  “You ain’t going to be able to help him if you can’t keep your eyes open.  I’ll wake you up if anything is wrong.  Please, Hosea.”

Reluctantly, Hosea took the mug and began to drink.  The effect was slow, but eventually the calming effects of the tea became enough for Hosea’s eyelids to droop and his head to fall back onto the pillow.

Now, Arthur could focus all his attention on John for a few hours.  He checked the cloth over his head and decided to replace it with another.  Maybe it was his imagination, but John’s fever seemed down from before.

John shifted, letting out a small whine.  Arthur was used to this now.  It meant John was surfacing just a little, and he might be able to get some water down his throat.  He started to prop John up on more pillows when his eyes opened just a sliver.  They weren’t nearly as clouded as the last few times and stared straight at Arthur.

“Hey,” Arthur said giving his uninjured shoulder a small squeeze.

John opened his mouth, and Arthur thought he was about to say something.  Then John coughed once, turned his head, and threw up.

“Aw, gross, Marston!” Arthur exclaimed, but he reached forward and helped turn John to his side.  The gagging and choking subsided after a minute, and John was able to squint up at him.  

“Arthur?” John said.

“Yeah, it’s me.”  Arthur grabbed the cup of water from the bedside table and lifted it up for John, who gulped it down.

“How did you get here?”

“You’re in my apartment,” Arthur said, amused.  “Charles brought you here, remember?”

“No?”

“Not surprised.  You’ve been pretty out of it.”

John sank back into the pillows with a groan.  His eyes drifted down to his heavily bandaged shoulder.  “How bad?”

“Could’ve been worse.  You had a bad fever, but you seem to be healing now.”  Arthur watched as John turned his head to the other side, eyes widening when he took in Hosea and the bandages sticking out from under his shirt.  “Hosea got grazed by a bullet, but he’ll be fine.  He wouldn’t rest because he was so worried about you.  I had to give him some of his tea.”

“That nasty stuff that makes you tired?”

“Exactly!” Arthur laughed.  Hosea looked so peaceful, finally, that Arthur hated the idea of waking him up.  But he knew how much Hosea needed to see that John was okay, so he leaned over and gave Hosea’s shoulder a gentle shake.  “Hey, Hosea, wake up now.”

Several seconds went by, but with encouragement, Hosea managed to open his eyes.  “Arthur, what’s wrong?” he asked.

Arthur’s grin spread wider as he said, “John is awake.”

Hosea sat up fast, probably too fast considering the groan that followed.  He pushed through the pain and turned to John.  Tears began to flow from his eyes.  He wrapped John in a hug, mindful of both their injuries, and said, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry.”  

“What are you sorry for?” John asked.

“It’s my fault you got hurt.  I was an idiot thinking we could rob that bank!  I’m sorry,” Hosea said.  Both Arthur and John tried to protest, but Hosea wouldn’t budge on his opinion, so they soon gave up.  John quickly melted into Hosea’s hold, almost to the point of falling asleep again.

But without warning, John stiffened and asked, “What happened to Dutch?”

“We don’t know,” said Arthur.  “Charles said Dutch wanted to hop on a boat, any boat, to get out of the city.  The law hasn’t said anything about capturing them, so I assume they made it.  To where, I don’t know.  Could be the islands, or Europe…”

“Or Tahiti,” John muttered.

“Where?”

“I don’t know.  Some place Dutch always talked about, said it was a paradise.”

Hosea sat up a little, running his fingers through John’s long hair, saying, “It doesn’t matter right now, John.  You just rest.”

“What about Abigail?  And Jack?  They alright?”

“Sadie went to warn them and move the gang to a different spot.  Charles went out to see if he could find them.  They’re fine, I’m sure of it,” said Arthur.  Not that he wasn’t nervously awaiting Charles’ return, but John didn’t need to know that.

Hosea gave John a critical look and said, “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” John said with a yawn.

Arthur smiled and said, “Alright, go back to sleep.  Both of you.”

Hosea hugged John once more, then settled back onto his side of the bed.  Arthur watched as John shifted slightly and settled into pillows.  He thought he was asleep, but then John whispered, “You’re a good brother, Arthur.”

The words warmed Arthur’s heart.  The years follow John running from the gang and his son left their relationship tense at best.  Even when he was advising John to take his family and leave the gang, they were nowhere close to repairing their friendship.  “You’re a good brother, too.  I’m proud of you, John.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re worried about that boy, aren’t you?”

John nodded slightly.

“Once Charles gets back, we’ll get you to Abigail and Jack.  I promise.”

John was asleep a few minutes later, and Arthur was able to get a little rest as well.

The next morning, Charles returned.  He found the gang in a small, abandoned swamp town called Lakay, and brought a wagon for John and Hosea.  It seemed that the law believed Dutch and the gang slipped out of the city already, because they were no longer carefully patrolling the roads.  Still, they threw a cover over John and Hosea until they got out of the city, just in case.

The short but strenuous travel seemed to put John in more pain.  Small whimpers slipped out at every bump and drop.  As they approached the town, the half-collapsed buildings and giant mosquitoes were rather worrying.  But the smile that spread across John’s face when they arrived at the camp, growing even wider when Abigail called out, made the trip worthwhile.

“John!  You got him.  You got him!” Abigail shouted, abandoning the chore she was doing to run over to the wagon.

She started to climb into the back to hug John, but Arthur quickly said, “Careful, Abigail.  Idiot got himself shot.  Hosea too, though not as bad.”

“I know, Charles told me.”  She carefully wrapped her arms around John.  Then, she jumped up and hugged Arthur as well, saying, “Thank you!  You saved him, thank you!”

“Of course.  Now, let’s get these two fools in bed, shall we?”

The other members of the gang began to gather around, so Arthur enlisted their help in setting up room for their two injured friends.  Charles and Arthur grabbed John, while Mr. Pearson and Reverend Swanson helped Hosea walk the short way into the cabin.  Once they set John on the bed, Jack came running over.  “Pa!” he shouted, and Arthur grabbed the boy before he could launch himself at John.  

“Careful,” he said.  “Your Pa hurt his shoulder.”

“He’ll be alright, Jack,” Abigail said, adding with a mutter, “He better.”

“You can bring him here,” said John, holding out his uninjured arm towards Jack.  The boy seemed unsure after hearing that his father was hurt, but John reassured him with, “I got hurt, but Charles and Arthur saved me.  I’ll be better in no time.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Arthur stepped back towards Hosea, both men watching the Marston family.  John had come a long way since Jack was born, and no matter what happened next, they both wanted them to have a chance at a fresh start.

Hosea soon turned to Susan.  “Did Dutch ever tell you where the chest was hidden?”

“Never, Mr. Matthews.”

“We should get it if we have the chance.  Arthur, got a map?”

Hosea pointed out the location and described the markers for the gang’s savings, repeating over and over that if he saw Pinkertons in the area to leave immediately.  Fortunately, Arthur was not bothered as he traveled down near Shady Belle, collected the money, and returned to Lakay.

When they counted it out, the gang had over seventeen thousand dollars.

“This should keep us going for a while,” Miss Grimshaw said to Hosea, Arthur, and John.  The four of them were figuring out what to do.  “At least until those boys get back.”

“If they get back,” Hosea whispered.  The days since the bank robbery, Hosea seemed in a sour mood.  He often spoke of the gang’s future sarcastically, and ignored most words of hope and faith.

John was quiet, too.  He confessed to Arthur that he was looking to leave.  But Miss Grimshaw didn’t know that yet, so she turned all her ire on Hosea.

“What is with you lately, Mr. Matthews?  I never thought you would begin doubting!  Charles reported that they got the money and got out of town-”

“And it doesn’t matter if a few people die along the way?”

“Mr. Marston will be fine.”

“John could have died!  Would have died if Charles hadn’t dragged him away from Dutch’s escape plan.  And maybe he wouldn’t have been shot in the first place if Dutch hadn’t listened to Angelo Bronte… and then murdered him!”

“What happened with Bronte anyway?” Arthur jumped in.  The newspapers were not clear what happened that night and never even reported Bronte’s death.

“Dutch brought us to Bronte’s house,” John said.  “We grabbed him, thinking Dutch was going to try to ransom him.  Instead, he fed him to the gators.”

“Jesus,” said Arthur.

“I shouldn’t have pushed Dutch to rob the bank after that,” Hosea said, shaking his head.  “I should have told him to pack up and move the gang somewhere else.  But I thought… I hoped… it was just so much money and it would have solved all our problems.”

“And it will,” Susan insisted.  “They will be back.”

“When?”  Susan didn’t have an answer for that.  “And the gang just has to wait?”

“So what’s your plan then, Mr. Matthews?”

“Divide the money.”

“WHAT?” both Arthur and John shouted.

“We divide the money,” Hosea repeated.  “Let them decide what they want to do.  If the want to stay and wait for Dutch, they can.  But if not…”

“How could you suggest that?” Susan asked.  “We just take the money and abandon Dutch, is that it?”

“We’re not leaving them with nothing.  How much did they get in the bank, do you know, John?”

“Not an exact amount, but they grabbed a lot.  Over twenty thousand, I’d say.”

“And five of them escaped with that money,” Hosea said.  “Five people splitting over twenty thousand dollars, and the thirteen of us splitting seventeen?  We’re the ones taking a loss here.”

“Wait,” Arthur said, counting on his fingers.  “I only saw twelve people here, unless you’re counting Jack.  Speaking of, where’s Molly been?”

“I’m counting you, too,” said Hosea.  “You were a part of this gang for twenty years.  John and I might not be alive without you.  You deserve the money.”  Susan did not argue against that.

“No.”  Arthur shook his head, backing away slightly.  “I did my work, kept my half, and gave my half to the gang.  I never expected any of it when I walked out, and I don’t expect you to give me some now.”

“And from your half, how much did you donate to the box all these years?”

“That was my choice,” Arthur said.  “And if you’re giving money to me, what about Mary-Beth and Kieran?  And Trelawny?  They all left, too.”

Hosea sighed.  “We’ll decide how best to divide it later.  But those people out there?  They are scared, Miss Grimshaw, and I don’t blame them.  We’ve had government on our tail for months, folks got killed, and now Dutch is gone.  If they want to go, they deserve something to help them get by.”

Susan still resisted, saying, “If people want to go, they can go!  But the gang savings belongs to the gang!”

“Well maybe there shouldn’t be a gang, Susan!”

All three of them stared at Hosea like he was crazy, their eyes wide.  While Arthur knew that Hosea had been pushing some members, like John and Lenny, to pursue other livelihoods, he never expected that Hosea wanted an end to the gang.  “Hosea,” John began, “I know we’ve been talking about me leaving, but you want everyone to go?”

“How could you say that?  We’re a family,” Susan said.

“Yes.  I’m sorry, Miss Grimshaw, but it’s over.  Our time passed a while ago, and we’ve been barely holding on.”

“Well, we’ll see what the others say about this,” Susan said.

And so they did, later that day.  Everyone gathered into the cabin.  Arthur found out that no one had seen Molly for at least two days leading up to the bank robbery, and he couldn’t help but be worried for her.

The gang looked between Hosea and Arthur expectantly, despite the fact that Arthur was sitting off to the side.  It was Hosea who spoke.

“Everyone, we don’t know when or even if Dutch will return.  There are lawmen in the city and the area looking to arrest us.  I know all of you are loyal to Dutch, but if you want to leave, I understand.  We’ve counted the gang’s savings, and if you want to take your share and build a different life, you are welcome to do so.”

No one said anything at first, no one even moved.  But John and Abigail glanced at each other, and John said, “We would like to go, and start our own life.  Once I’m healed, of course.”  Hosea nodded, and marked them down on a piece of paper.

The dominoes began to fall.  Uncle was next.  “It’s been a real pleasure, Mr. Matthews.  Miss Grimshaw.”

Strauss avoided looking at Arthur, but said to Hosea, “Perhaps my work will do better elsewhere.”

Tilly had a few tears in her eyes when she said, “I think I’m going to find Mary-Beth in Saint Denis.  I do hope you keep in touch.  I would like to see Dutch again.  Karen?”

Karen took a long swig of the bottle she was holding.  She had been drinking for a long time, or so Arthur heard.  Pretty much ever since Sean died.  “Doesn’t matter,” she slurred.  “I can stay, or go.  Don’t even want the money, I don’t care.”

“Karen, come on now,” Tilly said.  “We’ll find Mary-Beth, it will be just like old times.”

“No, it won’t.”

“Do take the money at least.  Please,” Hosea said, leaning forward to take her hand, but she yanked it away.

“No, it doesn’t matter,” she repeated.  “Let someone else have it.”

“She’d spend it all on booze anyway,” Susan complained.

“Enough, we’ll settle this later.  Mr. Pearson?  Reverend?”

“Dutch has always been good to me,” Pearson said.  “But I don’t want to wait.”

“If it seems that everyone is leaving, then I will as well,” Reverend Swanson said.  He seemed sober.  Perhaps he had been for some time.

Arthur could tell how dejected Miss Grimshaw felt at more than half of the remaining gang choosing to take the money and leave.  “Charles?” Arthur asked.

“I was assisting the Wapiti tribe and Chief Rains Fall in Saint Denis.  If the gang is breaking up, then I think I would like to go north end help them more.”

“That’s where Albert is right now.  He’s doing a project with Evelyn Miller.  I’m heading up there once everyone is settled, if you want to ride together.  Mrs. Adler?”

“Ain’t no reason to stick around,” she said.  “Don’t know where to go, though.”

Finally, it was just Miss Grimshaw.  “Susan?” Hosea said gently.

“Shame on all of you for abandoning Mr. Van der Linde!” she cried.  “And you, Mr. Matthews?  Where are you going to go after leaving your friend?  What would you say to him?”

“I don’t know,” Hosea admitted.  “I’d say that I’m doing what I think is right.  Or that our time has passed and it was the only way to save them.  Either way, it’s decided, Susan.  We’ll divide the money.”

And so they split it into thirteen piles, a little over thirteen hundred dollars each.  Hosea insisted on giving money to Arthur, whether he felt he deserved it or not.  That afternoon, he and Charles went boar hunting, bringing back a large portion of meat for Mr. Pearson to prepare.  They all sat around the campfire, laughing and drinking and telling stories of the good times with the gang.

But the next morning, Karen was nowhere to be found.  Her money sat in an envelope on the table, deliberately placed.  Charles and Arthur looked for her, but she had simply vanished.  They waited, as Mr. Pearson, Strauss, Swanson, and Uncle made their way out of camp, but Karen never returned.  Arthur quietly slipped her money to Tilly, asking her to deliver it to Mary-Beth instead.

Finally, there were only a few people left.  Charles, Sadie, Hosea, Susan, the Marstons, and Arthur sat in the cabin deciding what they wanted to do.

“We need a place to rest for a while,” Abigail said.  “The money would help us get a hotel, but I’m worried about John being recognized.”

“We’ll figure something out,” Arthur reassured her.  He was hoping to get back to Albert as quickly as possible, but refused to leave John and Abigail without a plan in place.  “What about you, Hosea?”

“I don’t know,” he said, staring off at the wall.

Abigail reached out and took his hand.  “You can come with us,” she said.

“Got room for one more?” Sadie asked.  “Just for now.  I figure you could use some protection while those two recover.”

“Susan?” Arthur asked.  “Do you have somewhere to go?”

“I want to be with Dutch when he returns.  Until then, I suppose I will stay here.  We left notes at Shady Belle and the post office that will lead him here.”

“Alone?” Arthur asked.

“Come with us,” Hosea said.  John nodded along.

“But Dutch!”

“Send more messages.  Leave a letter here letting him know how to find you.  You shouldn’t be alone, Susan.”

She sighed and agreed.  “But where are we going?”

John, Abigail, and Hosea remained silent.  Arthur’s thoughts turned to a small watchtower in the mountains.  The fields had enough grass for their horses, and the large rock formations would hide the wagons.  Sure, it needed new windows, but the structure was sturdy, and it was right in the middle of government land that hardly anyone traveled through.

“I’ve got an idea.”

They left the next morning.  Charles agreed to ride up to the watchtower with the others before he and Arthur went to the Wapiti Reservation.  Susan left a simple letter on the table telling Dutch to write to Annesburg in order to find her.  Hosea also left a much longer letter, and while he wouldn’t say what he wrote, he was crying by the end.

Chapter Text

The journey north took a few days, especially with two of their party still recovering from the bank robbery.  John and Hosea were riding in a wagon, slowing their progress on the more steep and narrow paths of the Grizzlies.  Even without that, they were traveling with a kid, a dog, and six extra horses.  The gang’s horses had run back to Shady Belle as soon as the shooting started, and Arthur felt terrible with the idea of leaving them behind.  Once Dutch contacted Susan, they would deliver the horses back to their owners.  So The Count, Brown Jack, Boaz, Baylock, and Maggie trudged along behind the wagon.  Dutch’s Arabian almost refused to join them, as he was still harboring hatred towards Merlin.  Then there was Old Belle, who Karen left behind with everything else.  Arthur didn’t know what to do with Old Belle yet.  Perhaps Susan could take her.

But eventually they reached the cabin, still empty from the last time Arthur stayed there.  He jumped down from Merlin and went inside with Susan.  There was minor water damage and a raccoon may have taken up residence at some point, but they had certainly lived in worse places.

“We can stretch some canvas over those gaps to keep the rain out,” Susan said.  “We have more than enough.”

“Sure, that would help,” said Arthur.

“This is a nice spot.”

“Yeah, I found it after… well, you know.”

Abigail led Jack inside, Cain bounding on his heels, and the boy immediately ran towards the ladder to the top.  “Hold on, Jack,” she said.

Arthur reassured her with, “There’s a railing, he’ll be fine.”  The two went up the ladder as Charles and Sadie walked in supporting John and set him on the bed before turning around to get Hosea.

Arthur sighed as he watched the group bustle about to turn the cabin into a home.  He was itching to get to the reservation and Albert, but Hosea’s silence over the last few days concerned him.  Arthur knew just how difficult it was to say goodbye, to Dutch, the gang, the life they knew.  And to do it when Dutch wasn’t there?  That was worse, and Arthur didn’t know if anything could fix that.

John shifted on the bed, trying to get comfortable.  “You alright?” Arthur asked.

“Riding in the wagon wasn’t great going up the mountain,” John replied.  “But I guess it was worth it.  This place seems quiet.”

“It is.”  

John glanced over at Hosea, slouched in the chair where Sadie and Charles left him.  “You think he’s okay?” John whispered.

“No.  But we’ll do what we can.”

The cots were set up and the canvas was hung over the windows.  Charles caught a few rabbits for Susan to cook for dinner.  But soon everyone was pushing Arthur out the door to find Albert after they interrogated him for stories on the photographer.

“We’ll be fine!” Abigail said.

“I can protect these idiots,” Sadie laughed.

Arthur looked towards Hosea, who quietly said, “It’s okay, son.  Go.”

“We won’t be too far.”  Reluctantly, Arthur went out the door and mounted Merlin.  Charles was already waiting on Taima, and they set off towards the reservation.  Arthur stared over the rolling fields of wildflowers, his eyes drifting to the patch of trees hiding the small cabin that started all of this.  He was almost tempted to check for the cauldron and the raven, but he doubted anything would be there.  Besides, he wouldn’t want anything to change now.  He managed to save his brother, his father, and many of his friends.

And, while the strange man in the bayou didn’t seem interested in meddling in his life more than he already had, Arthur didn’t want to risk things taking a turn for the worse.

“Not far, now,” Charles said as they wound their way down the narrow mountain path to Donner Falls.

“So, you were helping Rains Fall in Saint Denis?”

“Yes.  Remember Cornwall?  Apparently, he is trying to take their land.”

“Why?”

“Oil.  He sent prospectors up a few months back.  I broke into the refinery in the Heartlands and found proof.”

“Think that Mr. Miller can convince the government to do anything about that?”

“No.  Men like Cornwall just take what they want and pay off the government later.”

Arthur knew the situation with the Wapiti was bad, as it was for many tribes across the country.  But he had never been to a reservation before, and seeing it made him wonder why the government considered them to be a threat.  A few tents were thrown up between the rocks and trees on a land not suitable for farming.  Broken wagons and half torn-down buildings littered the ground.  The people Arthur could see were either young children or elderly, the men of the tribe having been killed during the war that forced the Wapiti into the mountains in the first place.  There was no point in the government or Cornwall bringing an army up here, other than to stamp out the last embers of an almost forgotten memory.

And in the middle of it all, a writer and a photographer worked to breathe life into it.

“Now just hold right there,” Albert said to a small group of women, who appeared rather annoyed that Albert was slowing down their work.  Arthur stood behind him for a moment, just watching with a wide grin across his face.  The flash went off, and the women grumbled as they were released from photography duty.

“Al!” he called over to him.

Albert turned and let out a squeak.  Abandoning his camera, he rushed over to Arthur and threw his arms around him.  “You’re here!” he said.  “You’re okay and you’re here.”

“Yeah, sorry it took so long.”

“We heard the news about the robbery, but nothing about any deaths or arrests.”

“Everyone is alive.  I got John, his family, Hosea, and some others staying up at a cabin near here.  Dutch and most of the others that robbed the bank got out of the city, the rest went their separate ways.”  He was about to turn and introduce Charles when he realized the other man wasn’t standing next to him anymore.  Charles talked with Rains Fall on the other side of the reservation, so Arthur let him be.

“How are you, Mr. Miller?” he called to the writer standing awkwardly on the other side of the tents.

“I’m well, quite well.  I believe I have almost everything I need to make a case in Washington.  Mr. Mason’s photographs will be most helpful.”

“I suppose we will have to leave soon to get them developed,” Albert said.

“Or, I could take the film back to Saint Denis to get it developed myself.  If I need more photographs, I will send a telegram.  You can stay here and don’t need to drag your equipment back and forth,” he said, glancing between him and Arthur.

“Mighty kind of you, Mr. Miller,” said Arthur.

“It is no problem at all.  Thank you for your help, Mr. Mason.”

With that, Evelyn Miller left to talk with a few more folk, and Albert packed his photography equipment.  “I missed you,” Al said.  “I was worried I would never see you again.”

“Hey, I’m fine!” Arthur said with a weak laugh.  “I missed you, too.”

“So, everyone is okay?”

“Well, no… uh… John and Hosea got hurt but they’ll be fine.  It’s been a tough few days.”

“Perhaps I can come with you to this cabin?  I would like to see Mr. Matthews and Mr. Marston again.”

“Yeah, that would be great.”  Arthur was glad that Albert was willing to stay.  He didn’t want to leave John and Hosea just yet, and perhaps Albert’s presence would cheer Hosea up a little.  The two did get along rather well.  “Though… it is getting late.  We could head there in the morning.”

Albert smirked.  “Trying to get some alone time, are you?”

“Maybe.  Where are you staying?”

“I was staying in that building over there,” Albert said, pointing at one of the few still standing structures.

“I have my tent.  We can set up away from everyone.”

“Sounds perfect.”

They made camp on the other side of the ravine, though Arthur did most of the work while Albert admired the orange sunset behind Bacchus Bridge while their three horses grazed in the long grass.

“Still hoping for color photography?” Arthur asked.

“Yes.  But how would you take a picture of the sun?  The whole photograph would get washed out!”

“If anyone can figure it out, you can, Al.”  Arthur held out his hand.  Albert took it and allowed himself to be led into the tent.  Arthur began to pull off his coat and unbutton his shirt.  And then the next shirt underneath.  And then… “How many layers do you have on?”

“It’s cold in the mountains!”

“Not that cold!”

“Oh, stop,” Albert laughed before leaning in for a kiss.  Arthur met him halfway, pulling him down to the bedroll.

They woke late the next morning, wrapped in each others arms.  They stayed that way for a while, Albert telling stories of his time up north and Arthur explaining everything that happened down south.

Later, when the sun was higher in the sky and the temperature a little warmer, Albert and Arthur rode back to the cabin.

“Uncle Al!” Jack cried out, the first to spot them coming around the bend.

“Hi, Jack!” Albert said, sliding off Dakota and letting the boy run up to him.  Abigail wandered over and introduced herself, quickly followed by Susan and Sadie.  All three of them wore flower necklaces and crowns.

“How do you like the new camp, Jack?” Arthur asked.  

“It’s great!  It’s so pretty.”

“I see you found all the flowers.”

“Yes, he did,” Abigail sighed.  “I’m trying to keep him near camp.  We saw a bear across the way.”

“A bear, you say?” Albert asked.

“Al, no.”

“So, this is the wildlife photographer I’ve heard so much about,” Susan said.  “Tell us everything.”

Before Arthur could stop them, Albert was dragged away by the three women.  He meant to follow, but Jack said, “Uncle Arthur, you need a necklace, too!”  He stayed outside and watched Jack pick more flowers, though he convinced the boy to make the necklace inside.

John was wandering around the cabin by himself now, and seemed much happier for it.  Hosea still sat in a chair.  His eyes brightened a tad, just a small spark, when Arthur entered.  In the next second, it vanished.

This became a trend as the days went by.

Arthur and Albert traveled around the area, looking for animals to photograph.  They did end up finding the bear with little difficulty.  Fortunately it was just a black bear.  Arthur helped Albert set bait that wasn’t a hunk of raw meat, placing both themselves and the camera on top of a small abandoned building.  The angle wasn’t the best, and Arthur knew they had only one shot before the skittish black bear ran off.  He whistled, the bear looked up, and POOF!  The flash went off and the bear fled into the woods.

“You get it?”

“I think so.”

“Finally dragged me after a bear, huh?”

“Yes.  Though, while we are up in the mountains, I thought about getting pictures of eagles!  I never got the chance after Valentine.”

“Sure, eagles shouldn’t be too hard to find up here.”

Arthur returned to Wapiti a few times, both to visit Charles and to check for messages from Mr. Miller.  On one trip, he managed to convince John, Jack, and Hosea to join him for fishing at the lake.

Arthur was beginning to worry that Hosea would never come back from the sadness that had overtaken him.  Even Albert, barely knowing the man beyond a few meetings, noticed the change.  It grew worse with each unsuccessful trip Susan made to the Annesburg post office.  Either Dutch was unable to send a letter, or the worse thought, unwilling after what Hosea had done.

Arthur believed the reason to be the former.  As angry as Dutch likely was, he would need to say something to Hosea.  And he would never abandon The Count.  Nor would Bill leave Brown Jack, since that horse was the only thing he seemed to truly love.  

He tried to give all the horses the love and attention they deserved.  And exercise.  They were getting restless.  The Count was as moody as ever, and Arthur didn’t even attempt to ride him.  Maggie was a sweetheart, always begging for treats from Albert, especially once she learned he always caved to her begging.  But the horse that Arthur pitied the most was Baylock.  He never paid much mind to the stallion before, considering in the beginning Micah would run off for days at a time.  At first, Baylock didn’t like Arthur getting close to him, ears pinned back and teeth bared.  But eventually he won over the horse and found the scars all over Baylock’s side, deep gouge marks from spurs used too harshly and frequently.  “Oh, you poor thing,” he said, rubbing Baylock’s white forehead as he finally relaxed into Arthur’s touch.  There was no point in making a horse fear its rider, and Arthur continued to wonder just why Dutch was willing to keep Micah around.

He rode Baylock to the lake that day, and Baylock seemed quite joyful as he pranced down the dirt path.  Behind him, John rode with Jack on Old Boy.  John tried to convince Jack that fishing was not a boring experience with fun stories from their youth, which normally would have triggered a series of tales from Hosea.  It didn’t.

“Here we are, Jack!” Arthur said as they dismounted near the water.  “Now, pick a good spot.  I bet you will get a bigger fish than your Pa!”

“Really?”

“Hey!  I heard that,” John said.

They baited the hooks and cast out into the water.  Arthur quickly noticed that Hosea was just letting his bait bob in the water, not even bothering to move it about.  He should have told the story of Arthur buying the fish from the market by now.  Oh, how he always teased Arthur about being a poor fisherman.  But today?  Nothing.  There was no Dutch to aid in the joke.  After more than twenty years.

“Hey, I got a fish!” Jack shouted, tugging on the line.

“Nice, Jack, now hold it steady.”  The fish struggled on the end for a bit, then went still.  “Now reel it in!  Quick, while he’s tired.”

Jack’s arms were dragged about as the fish fought for its life.  Arthur let John take the lead in encouraging the boy, and they were rewarded with the smallest pickerel Arthur had ever seen on the end of the line.  “Well done, Jack,” he said.  Maybe they could let Cain eat it as a snack.

“Yes, but I still bet I’ll get a bigger one,” John teased.

“No way!” Jack said.  “I’ll get a bigger one first.”

They kept fishing, with Jack filling the silence whenever he saw an interesting bird or wanted to tell Arthur a story from camp when he hadn’t been there.  Then John tugged harshly on his rod.

“I got something!  It’s big, I can feel it.”

“Really?” Jack said, the competition briefly forgotten.

John tried to reel it in, but it wasn’t budging.  Odd, there wasn’t much struggling at the surface of the water.  He heaved back, and whatever was caught began to move slow, it’s weight evident, until it was close enough to shore for John to step forward and pick it up.  He proudly lifted the water logged boot on his hook!

John stared at his catch, jaw dropped.  So did Arthur and Jack.  All three of them turned at the sound of snickering.  Hosea watched them wide-eyed, and within seconds gave up trying to cover his laughter.  Any other time, John would have been embarrassed, but that day he joined in.

“And here I thought we had one good fisherman in the family,” Hosea wheezed.

“At least I never caught a boot,” laughed Arthur.

“Did I win, Pa?  I caught the biggest fish.”

“Of course,” Hosea said before John could answer.  “You caught the only fish.  At least someone will be able to feed all of us.”

It was a start.

In the days following, Hosea began to brighten.  Sure, some moments the sadness pulled him back under, and he would sit gazing off the mountain towards the city in the distance, it’s faint light barely reaching them on a cloudless night.  But Arthur could see the small progression with each passing day.  Hosea would help Susan with chores, give Jack reading lessons, and sometimes tell Albert stories about growing up in the mountains.

The letter they received from Tilly and Mary-Beth helped as well.  The two women were able to reconnect in the city.  Hopefully one day, after lying low, they would be able to visit.

And as Arthur and Merlin trotted down the path, exploring the area on their way to visit Charles, Arthur realized he was rather content.

Then he spotted a man in a dark coat and top hat standing on a hill, and Arthur’s blood ran cold.

He wanted to turn and run, but what was the point?  The strange man found him again.  Whether intentional or not, he and Arthur were bound to run into each other.  He kicked Merlin into a canter and went up to join him.

“What are you doing here?” Arthur asked.

“I see you have rejoined your family,” the man said, not answering Arthur’s question.

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“Oh, it’s not a disappointment to me.  I just like to keep track of my accounts.  I am an accountant, of sorts.”

Arthur didn’t know what to say to that, so he looked out towards the west.  Below him was an odd house built into the hill that he explored one day, and not far was a cave with some statues that seemed to form some sort of puzzle.  The man said aloud the same thought in Arthur’s head.  “This really is a fine spot.”

“It is.”

“A nice spot to rest, perhaps.  Or not.  That is up to you.”

Arthur swung his head around, but the strange man was gone.

Chapter Text

“We need eggs for sure.  I miss having those chickens around.  Always fresh eggs when you wanted them.”

“And even when you didn’t.  I don’t miss the chickens, making noise and wandering around camp.  Woke me up all the time.”

“That’s because you would come back in the middle of the night and sleep all morning.  Some of us kept regular schedules!”

Arthur laughed at Susan’s grumbling.  “You got me there,” he said.  Supply runs into Annesburg were a regular occurrence, seeing as their main goal was to check the post office for letters from Dutch.  Sometimes others would join them, mainly Albert looking to explore the area, but that day it was just Arthur and Susan.

“We need more canned fruit as well,” Susan reminded him.

“I know, I know.”

While Arthur enjoyed getting out of camp, he absolutely loathed Annesburg.  Plumes of smoke blanketed the sky, permanently blackening both the land and the lungs of its many workers.  The workers coughed regularly as they trudged past rows of tiny houses to the mines, their faces resigned to their fate while their wives and mothers pleaded for a reprieve.  And rumor had it that Cornwall was planning to buy the factory?  They, and the rest of the world, seemed incapable of escaping Cornwall.

Susan walked to the post office, leaving Arthur to pick up the shopping.  Fortunately, the store owner had a pretty good idea those days as to what Arthur would be needing.  They finished loading up the wagon when Arthur heard some shouting in the distance.

“Meredith!” a woman cried, pulling a disheveled girl into her arms, but Arthur wasn’t looking at either of them.  Equally disheveled, with dirty pants and shirts that were once fine suits, the Mexican took the bills offered by the woman while the black man just shook his head.

“Javier?  Lenny?” 

They both turned at the same time, eyes wide and jaws dropped.  “Arthur?” Javier whispered, stunned.  “What are you doing here?”

“Supply run,” he said.  “Are you two alright?  What happened?”

Javier’s eyes narrowed, anger creeping across his face, a boiling furnace preparing to explode.  But Arthur still preferred that over Lenny, listlessly watching the scene and not saying a word.

“We got back a few days ago, found some notes leading us to Lakay.  But when we got there?  It was empty!  The gang wasn’t there.”

“I know.  I’m sorry, Javier.”

“Wait… how did you know?”

“I was there when everyone left.  Hosea didn’t think folks should wait around for Dutch if they didn’t want to.  Gave them some money, and most went their separate ways.  Susan left a letter for how to contact her.  Hosea, too.”

“There weren’t any letters when I got there, though I was last back.”

Arthur shrugged at that.  Dutch probably just wanted to keep them to himself.  

“And then the Pinkertons showed up.”

“What?”

“Came looking, shouting for Dutch.  We crawled out the back and into the swamp.  I think they left soon after.  We didn’t have any horses or supplies, they must have thought we weren’t there.  But Bill never showed up.”

“He’s probably dead,” Lenny said, barely a low grumble.  It was the first time he spoke since seeing Arthur.

Arthur glanced between Javier and Lenny, a million questions racing through his mind, starting with what could have caused Lenny to be so distant.  But Susan’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Boys!  You’re back!  Now where is Mr. Van der Linde?”

“An abandoned house down south.  We were up here looking for a new camp,” said Javier.

“Well, I suppose you’ll have to drive the wagon back yourself, Mr. Morgan,” Susan said.

Arthur looked at the thin Tennessee Walker Javier was holding, and the tiny Morgan trailing behind Lenny, remembering, “Hey, we have your horses.  They’re up in the mountains.”

“Good,” Javier said, an ounce of tension falling from his shoulders.  “It will be nice to have Boaz back, I missed him.  Lenny, why don’t you take Miss Grimshaw back to camp on my horse, and me and Arthur will get the horses and meet you at Beaver Hollow.”

“Sure.”  With only that word, Lenny took the Tennessee Walker’s reins and walked over to Miss Grimshaw.  Arthur watched them leave before leading Javier to the wagon.

“What happened to Lenny?”  The boy always had something to say.  A quiet Lenny was unnerving.

“A lot.  I’ll tell you about it on the way.”

Arthur climbed into the wagon, waited for Javier to get on, then flicked the reins to urge the horses out of the small town and its oppressive shadow.  Though the cloud lingered over their conversation.

“So, y’all got on a boat?  After the bank?”

“Yeah.  And it sank.”

“What!”

“We were able to get off the boat and ended up on a sugar plantation island called Guarma.  Some local militia offered to help us find a boat so long as we helped them.  Not entirely sure what Dutch and the others did, though.  I got shot and captured by the military.”

“You alright now?”

“Sure.  Got hit in the leg, but it healed well.”

“And Lenny?” Arthur asked.  “What happened to him?”

Javier opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again.  He stayed silent for a little longer as the wagon creaked and groaned up the mountain.

“I’m not sure,” Javier finally said.  “He seemed fine at first, after the accident.  But after Dutch rescued me?  He was different.  I don’t know what happened.  Then there was what happened today.  Dutch sent us up to Beaver Hollow to set up a new camp, and… are you familiar with the Murfree Brood?”

Arthur nodded.  He fortunately had never run into them, but the stories he heard were disturbing and gruesome enough.

“We cleared out a bunch of them, and found a girl from a stagecoach that went missing.  The things they did to her, and the others?  No one should have to see that.”

“And then Pinkertons showed up as soon as you got back?”

“Yeah, like they knew we would be there.”

“Jeez.”

“Dutch… Dutch suspects Bill.  He’s the only one that didn’t make it back.  Well, he suspects everyone that wasn’t on the boat.”

“And what do you think?”

Javier sighed.  “I’m not sure.  Bill has always been loyal, but not always the brightest if you know what I mean.  He might not have been able to find us, or let our location slip by accident.  We haven’t seen him since.  No word about arrests in the papers, either.”

“If I see him in Annesburg, should I point him your way?”

“No,” Javier said, rather resigned.  “Tell him to run.”

“I’ll keep Brown Jack with us, then.  If you see Bill, feel free to send him my way,” said Arthur.

The cloud grew darker for the rest of the ride up to the cabin, neither man speaking.  But as soon as they approached the area and Javier got a glimpse of Boaz grazing in the field, his face lit up.  

“Hey Hosea, John, get out here!” Arthur called out.  The door opened, and everyone poured out of the cabin.

“Javier!  How are you, son?” Hosea asked, genuinely relieved.

“Still alive,” Javier said, looking past Hosea at John.  “Glad to see you made it, Marston.  You weren’t looking too good after the bank.”

“Good to see you, too.”

Javier hugged Abigail, ruffled Jack’s hair, waved at Sadie at a distance, then threw his arms around Boaz.  Hosea grabbed a plate of food and offered it to Javier, who graciously accepted.

“Where’s Charles?” he asked.  “And who is that?”

Albert, who had been hanging back, gave a small wave.

“Charles is over at the Wapiti reservation.  He’s been helping them out.  That’s Albert, he’s my… friend,” Arthur said, deciding to leave his explanation of Albert simple.

“Is that why you are up in the mountains?”

“Part of the reason.  I found this place a while back, knew it would be quiet.”

Hosea was all smiles when he asked, “How much money did you get from the bank?”

And the smile immediately fell at the look on Javier’s face when he said, “We lost the money… the boat we escaped on sank… there was barely anything left.”

“I’m sorry,” Hosea said.  “If I had known… I should come back with you.  Talk with Dutch.”

“Maybe don’t, not yet anyway.  Dutch hasn’t been too pleased that you weren’t waiting in Lakay.”

“I left a letter,” Hosea said quietly.

“I didn’t see it,” Javier replied.  “Maybe Dutch did, it’s just… Dutch thinks someone ratted us out at the bank.  It seems like he suspects everyone, except Micah.”  Javier spat out the name.  “Micah is the only one Dutch listens to these days.  And then he let Micah bring in these two new boy.  I don’t like the look of them.”

“I’ll help Javier take the horses down to their camp,” Arthur said.  “I’ll see how Dutch is.  I know you want to see him, Hosea, but Javier might be right.  Now is not the best time.”

Hosea hesitated, then conceded.  “We should probably leave soon,” Javier said, looking towards the sky.

“I’ll grab the other horses.”

Arthur easily fetched Maggie and The Count, but hesitated at Baylock.  The stallion had mellowed into a rather sweet horse over the last few weeks, and he truly didn’t know what would happen to him once he returned to Micah.

“What’s wrong?” Javier asked.

Arthur brushed his hand along the scars on Baylock’s side.  “Micah ain’t kind to him.”

“I bet Micah wouldn’t question it if you said you didn’t find him,” Javier said.  Arthur patted Baylock on the shoulder and unclipped his lead, letting him wander back to graze next to Silver Dollar.

As they left the area, Arthur looked back at their now smaller herd.  “I hope Bill is alright,” he said, focusing on Brown Jack.

“It’s Bill,” Javier said.  “He’ll turn up.”

They took their time riding back, as Javier joined the many other gang members who interrogated Arthur on his relationship with Albert.  Javier seemed lighter, being back on top of Boaz, like the last few weeks could now fade in his memory.

Roanoke Ridge opened up before them, and with it the sounds of bird chirping, squirrels rustling through the leaves, and the water crashing over the falls.  Arthur could imagine the area in a few short months when autumn turned the leaves, covering the hills brilliant shades of red and gold.

Then, under that, there was the faint sound of sobbing.

“Who’s there?” Javier called out, drawing his gun.

“Javier?”  The voice was quiet, broken, and unmistakable.

“Lenny!” Arthur cried out, jumping off Merlin and running over to him.  “What happened?  You alright?”

Arthur could barely understand Lenny between the chokes and sobs.  “I brought Susan back… thought Dutch would be happy… you know?  But he wasn’t… said she betrayed him!”

“Where is she, Lenny?”

“Beaver Hollow.”

“Let’s go!” said Javier, urging Boaz forward.  Arthur dropped the horses leads and kicked Merlin forward, not bothering to see if they followed.

They rounded the corner to see the mouth of a cave, the area surrounded by broken crates and blood stains.  In the center was Susan, gun to her head.  Micah held it, all too gleeful.  And in front of her, Dutch paced back and forth.

“I won’t tell you where they are!” Susan said.

“Dutch!” Arthur shouted, leaping off Merlin, revolver loaded.  “What are you doing?”

“Oh, look here, friends,” Dutch said, smooth and dangerous.  But there were no friends in the crowd, just two strangers and Micah.  “The first one to betray me.”

“Dutch.  Let her go, she didn’t do anything.”

“Oh, really?  You mean she did not allow the gang, our family, to break apart?  She did not help divide our money?”

“Where’s our share, cowpoke?” Micah asked.

“Hosea figured that y’all would be fine with the bank money.  The five of you would be able to go wherever you wanted.  If we had known…”

“And where is Hosea?  He didn’t come back with Miss Grimshaw.  My oldest friend… my brother… betrayed me, too.”

“Dutch, listen to me.  You have no idea how much it hurt Hosea to leave like that, but what choice did we have?”  He glanced at Miss Grimshaw.  She glared at Dutch, angry and defiant.  Micah shifted the gun away from her head, directing it more towards Arthur while addressing Dutch.

“What do you want me to do with him, boss?”

“I’m not sure.”  Dutch’s hands shook at his sides.

“Don’t you dare touch him, Dutch van der Linde,” Susan growled.

“Dutch,” Javier started to say, but was interrupted by a voice behind him.

“Dutch, stop!” Lenny called out, riding up on Maggie.  Dutch and Micah both turned, and Susan made her move.

She elbowed Micah in the stomach before running towards Arthur.  But a loud bang echoed off the rocks.  Susan staggered, falling into Arthur’s arms.

“What are you doing?” Javier shouted, getting between Arthur and Dutch, but it didn’t seem to be necessary.  Dutch blinked, turning towards Micah with a question or demand on his lips, so Arthur moved fast.  He picked Susan up and lifted her onto Maggie, urging Lenny to go, and took off after them.

Minutes passed with them galloping away.  Arthur focused on where they were going, though he couldn’t block the pained noises from Susan and the desperate pleas from Lenny.

“Here, let’s stop, check on Miss Grimshaw.”  The roar of Brandywine Drop covered her shout when they pulled her down off Maggie, and Arthur’s stomach dropped at the amount of blood covering both the mustang and Lenny.

“I’m sorry, it’s my fault, it’s my fault,” Lenny repeated again and again.  Arthur inspected the wound on her back, still gushing blood and staining the grass red.  Too much red, and he knew she wouldn’t make it.

“Hush, you silly boy,” Susan groaned.  “Not your fault.”  Lenny took one of her hands in his, and she gave it a light squeeze.  “Arthur, you keep them safe now, you hear?”

“Of course.  You know I’ll look out for them.”

“Good.”  Susan smiled before her eyes slipped shut.  Arthur kept holding her, listening to her slowing breaths and Lenny’s crying, until her heart stilled.

They buried Susan Grimshaw on top of a hill near the cabin.  Charles came back for their small ceremony.  Arthur wrote to Tilly and Mary-Beth, just to let them know.

After, Hosea stayed by the grave with Lenny, talking with the distraught kid.  They sat for hours.  At one point, Cain ran out and crawled into his lap, letting Lenny hug him close.

Arthur sat on top of the tower and drank well into the night.

The strange man told him in the bayou that some fates were set in stone, and others could still change.  What had Susan’s fate been?  Was she always meant to die, shot by Micah at Beaver Hollow, with the man she followed and loved believing her to be a betrayer?  Or did Arthur cause it the day he stormed out of camp, the day he refused to collect debt from Thomas Downes, the day he drank from the cauldron?

He wondered if the cauldron was there again.  Curiosity itched under his skin.

This was all Micah’s fault.  Micah took everything from him: the gang, his mentor’s trust, the woman who had been a part of his family for years.  Micah had to be stopped.  Arthur had to stop him.  And perhaps not only him.

“Arthur?”  Albert climbed up the ladder to join him.  “Just wanted to see if you need to talk, or anything.”

Arthur took a long swig from his bottle of whiskey and said, “I need to kill him.”

“Micah?”

Arthur didn’t answer.  A raven cawed, and a pack of coyotes barked in the distance.

Chapter Text

Early the next morning, Javier showed up at their camp.  And to everyone’s surprise, he had Bill Williamson in tow.

“Bill!  Where’d you find him?” Hosea asked.

“Van Horn.  I ran there after…” Javier said, glancing at Arthur.  “Is she?”

“Susan is dead.  We buried her up there,” Arthur said, voice tired and gruff from his night of drinking.  His head pounded every moment, but it didn’t change the determination still building inside him.  He was going to kill Micah.  And maybe, depending on what happened after, he would have to kill Dutch.  Whether he wanted to or not.

Problem was, Arthur didn’t want Dutch dead.  Not truly.

Dutch helped raise him, taught him to read, made him feel like he had a purpose in a world that never seemed to want him.  Because Dutch welcomed him and gave him a family.

So he worked hard, stayed loyal, earned his keep.  It was enough for Arthur to have that family, a place to belong, a tent and a cot to sleep on at night and folks to spend the evening with sitting around a campfire.  But that was never enough for Dutch.  Dutch never stopped searching for more.  More money, more jobs, that one last score that would never come.  And Arthur was certainly angry at Dutch, though not enough to outright want him dead.

Arthur simply feared that Dutch would never leave him and the others alone.

“What did Dutch do, after we left?” he asked.

“I didn’t stay for long.  Told Dutch that Susan was loyal and that we don’t shoot family.  Then Micah started yelling, so I ran.”  Javier shook his head.  “At least I found Bill before they did.”

They didn’t shoot family, but Dutch seemed quick to turn and call Susan a traitor.  Just like he had done when he found Arthur in Valentine, minutes before Arthur got shot in Dutch’s escape plan.  Had Milton been right when he said Dutch shot him?  Milton couldn’t have known for sure, the man simply hoped the possibility would be enough to make Arthur spill the gang’s secrets.  But more and more evidence pointed towards Dutch putting down a betrayer.

“You alright, Bill?” Arthur asked.

“I looked everywhere for you fools.  Asked everyone I knew.  No one had a clue where you’d gone.”

“I guess we did too good a job hiding,” Hosea chuckled.

“Brown Jack is up with the other horses behind the cabin,” Arthur said, and Bill jogged over to him.  Brown Jack perked up immediately, his ears forward on Bill, and the giant Ardennes lumbered over to meet him.

“Thanks for taking care of him, Morgan,” Bill said, taking a step back when the horse bumped him with his giant head.

“What’s your plan now?”

“We’re going to go west.  I figure the two of us can sneak past any bounty hunters between here and New Austin,” Javier explained.

Hosea briefly disappeared and returned with a stack of cash.  “Here,” he said, shoving half the money at Javier and the other half at Bill.  Bill took it without question, but Javier hesitated.

“This is your share, isn’t it?”

“That doesn’t matter.  I wish things had turned out different with the bank money, but it’s done now.  You and Bill deserve something to start a new life with.  Besides, I got these fools looking out for me, I’ll be fine!”

After a second, Javier also took the money.  Abigail and John met them outside with some extra supplies for the road, and then Javier and Bill said their goodbyes.

Arthur was glad Javier was able to get out when he did.  He wasn’t sure what he would do if he had to stand against a friend at Beaver Hollow.

While the others continued chatting, he went back to cleaning his guns and loading his bag with ammunition.

He turned at the knock on the door.  “Hey,” Albert said, wringing his gloved hands.  He wore his heavy coat, dyed green like his favorite vest, ready to spend a day outdoors.  “Can we talk?”

“Sure.”

“I thought I would go to the cliffs over the Dakota River, try to get pictures of golden eagles.”

Arthur gave a short grunt to acknowledge it and kept checking his equipment.

“You could come with me, you know.”

Silence.

Albert sighed.  “Are you really going to kill that man?”

“You know what he did to Susan.”

“And you think you can just walk into their camp and shoot him?  That you aren’t going to get shot, again?”

“Well, what am I supposed to do?  Let them get away with it?” Arthur asked, voice rising to almost a shout as he threw down the rag of gun oil he had been cleaning his revolver with.

“Them?  You mean to go after Dutch.”  Albert wasn’t asking.

Arthur pondered his earlier dilemma.  “If he gets in my way,” he decided.  “What do you want, Al?”

“I want…”  Albert brought his hand up to his forehead, seemingly massaging away the ache forming behind his eyes.  “I want you to come with me while I take pictures of eagles and call me a buffoon when I get too close to the edge like I’m just going to walk off and tell me that I have the wrong bait and just not have to worry about the Van der Linde gang!”

“And I’m supposed to do nothing about Micah?”

“Every time I think we’ve found a small corner of this world just for us, your gang comes along and destroys it.  Valentine?  The bank in Saint Denis?”

“Hey, that’s not fair!  I was protecting folk, protecting family.  That was different.”

“You’re right, it is different this time.  Now you are running off to kill someone!  For what, revenge?”  The last few words came out in a choke, and Arthur realized that Albert’s hand was covering the beginning of tears.

“Al-”

“I feel like I’m losing you.”

“What, no!” Arthur said, getting up, but Albert held out his hand to stop him.

“You didn’t listen to me in Saint Denis, and yes, I know things worked out for the best, but I was up here alone and scared.  I went to bed every night and couldn’t sleep because I was imagining all the ways you could have been killed.  Now you are running off again!”

Arthur tried to take a step forward.  “You aren’t losing me, Al.”

“Well, maybe you’re losing me,” Al said, stepping away.

“Al-”

“Do whatever you want.”

Arthur froze.  He watched from the window as Albert walked towards Dakota and Lucy.  Charles was waiting for him on Taima, a question on his lips, but Albert waved it off.

Continuing to watch out the window even as they disappeared from view, Arthur was torn.  He wanted nothing more than to run out to Merlin and chase after them.  But he also wanted a safe future for himself and Albert, for the Marstons, for Hosea.  If Micah or Dutch came after anyone else in his family, he would never forgive himself.  He grabbed his gun belt and went out the door.

Arthur whistled for Merlin, but the horse didn’t appear.  “Where’d you go?” he muttered under his breath before finally spotting the stallion over near Silver Dollar.  “Hey, come here!”

Merlin stamped his hooves and pinned his ears.  “None of that now,” Arthur scolded, but the stallion still misbehaved.  “I’ll take Baylock,” he threatened, and finally Merlin reluctantly stepped over, still wary for some reason.  Could he sense the anger brewing inside Arthur?  Did he know where they were going, what he meant to do?

He kicked Merlin into a gallop, the gait choppy compared to normally smooth ride.  A voice drifted after him, possibly Hosea or John, but Arthur didn’t stop.  Instead, he urged Merlin faster, trying to outrun the shouts calling him back before he faltered from his path.

They didn’t slow down until they were approaching Beaver Hollow.  Arthur slid off Merlin, who danced a few feet away.  With his trusty Cattleman drawn and hammer pulled back, Arthur crept towards the entrance of the cave.  But the campsite seemed… wrong.  Dutch’s tent was half set up with The Count hitched next to it, but there were no other tents or horses.  Perhaps they were in the caves.  But while Arthur scanned the area for people, he missed the pair of eyes already watching him.

“So, you’ve come back,” Dutch said in his slow drawl.  Arthur swung the revolver around, but Dutch had no weapons in his hands.  He eyed the gun, but stayed slouched in the chair half-tucked behind the canvas.  “I wondered if you would.”

“Where’s Micah?” Arthur asked.

“You’re not even here for me.”

“Dutch…” Arthur said with a snarl.

“Micah’s gone.  Everyone is gone.  Javier.  Bill.  All of you betrayed me.”  Dutch spoke nonchalantly.  Gone were the passionate speeches powered by the raging inferno in Dutch’s heart.  Now he was cold, empty, indifferent.

But Arthur didn’t come there to fix Dutch’s feelings.  “Where did Micah go?” he asked again, raising the Cattleman to aim directly between Dutch’s eyes.

“I don’t know.  After what he did… he tried defending himself, but I realized that family, loyalty, didn’t exist anymore.  She’s dead, isn’t she?  Miss Grimshaw?”

“Yeah… after what he did… like you didn’t drag her into the middle of camp and call her a traitor.”

“Is that what you’re here for?  Revenge?  It’s a fool’s game, Arthur.”

“You would know so well, wouldn’t you?  The way I see it, if Micah is dead, he can’t hurt my family no more.”

“And what about me, son?”  Dutch stood, and despite his previous indifference, Arthur didn’t miss the way his hands rested next to his Schofields.  “Am I a danger to your family?”  He took one step closer.  “Who is your family nowadays?  That photographer perhaps?  What was his name?  Albert, that’s it.”

Arthur tightened his grip on the Cattleman, his finger inching towards the trigger at Albert’s name.  But then he paused.  He thought about Al, taking pictures all alone in the mountains because Arthur had to have his revenge.  He thought about how Al admitted to being scared.  And now here he was in front of Dutch, who was goading Arthur into a fight to cover just how lost and alone he was, too.

Breathing deep, Arthur relaxed his arm.

“You’d like Al,” he said.  “The man throws himself in front of hungry gators so folks can learn about them and not hunt them to extinction.”

Dutch blinked once, twice, staring at the lowered revolver even as Arthur slid the hammer forward.  “Is that what you were doing when you left?  Helping him get photographs?”

“Mostly I stopped him from getting eaten,” Arthur laughed.

Dutch let out a small chuckle, and his shoulders relaxed just a hair.  “He did seem like he fit in better at the Mayor’s party than he would in the outdoors.”

“He’s from New York, kind of grew up in society.”

Dutch shook his head, and his smiler grew wider.  And genuine, for the first time in who knew how long, like he was remembering a private joke from their past.  “Who’d have thought?  Arthur Morgan, hanging out with society,” he said.  “Is that what you wanted?  When you left?”

A dark cloud returned over Dutch’s face.  Arthur sighed, “We changed, Dutch.  The whole world is changing, I know, but the way we were going?  It was wrong, and I didn’t want a part of it.”

“I see.”

“I tried telling you, Dutch.”

“But it wasn’t just you, was it?  You dragged everyone else away, even Hosea.”

“I know.”  Hosea would never have suggested leaving the gang if Arthur hadn’t done it first.  He would have kept up his suggestions and quiet conversations, maybe would have gotten Uncle and Reverend and Mary-Beth to take off, but not many of the others.  Certainly not John, not without the clear support of his brother.  “It broke his heart to do it, Dutch.  You have to know that.”

With a huff, Dutch half turned away.  Arthur waited to see if he would say anything, but he was interrupted by the sound of horses thundering down the trail.  “What the hell?” he said.

“Van der Linde!  This is Agent Milton of the Pinkerton Detective Agency!”  Both Arthur and Dutch dropped down behind the tent canvas, a poor cover should the agents start shooting.  “Come out!  I know you’re here, and it seems you are not alone.”

Arthur looked around the area, but they were back against a wall.  “There a way out through those caves?” he whispered to Dutch.

“Not sure.  It gets twisted back there.  We might be able to find better cover,” Dutch said.

“But will we make it without them shooting us?”

“Van der Linde, come out!” Milton shouted again.

Dutch stood up.  “Follow my lead,” he said, and stepped out from behind the tent.

“Are you crazy?” Arthur whispered as loud as he dared, but then realized he didn’t have a choice.  He had to follow Dutch’s plan, and hope it wasn’t suicide.

“Ah, there you are,” Milton said.  “And Mr. Morgan!  I didn’t expect to find you here.  Last I heard from you, you left the gang, did you not?”

Arthur’s fingers itched to hold his gun again, but Dutch had walked out unarmed, as if he could talk his way out of an arrest.  He had to wait, as much as it pained him to see the smug look on the face of the man who ordered his torture.

“And here I thought we would be finding only one man today,” Milton continued.  “Though perhaps Morgan can tell us where Matthews has gone.  You two are hiding together, are you not?”

Arthur stiffened and stayed silent.  Still, it was enough for Milton.  “You are.  You’ll talk this time.  And there will be no one to help you escape.  We could never prove that you were helped, but I know you were.”  Milton turned back to Dutch.  “As for you, Mr. Van der Linde, you’ll hang in Saint Denis.  Next to your old pal no less, Colm O’Driscoll.  Should be quite the event.”

Arthur and Dutch exchanged a quick glance.  Word of Colm’s arrest was news to both of them, and Arthur was glad for it.  After what Colm did to Kieran, he deserved worse than a hanging.  Hopefully Colm’s death would bring Kieran some sense of safety.  Providing he didn’t escape the noose again.

“Mr. Milton,” Dutch said coolly, “you arrived awfully fast for a government man.”

“It seems that loyalty amongst your ranks is something you struggle with, Mr. Van der Linde.  Mr. Morgan here is not the only lost soul to stray from your teachings.  Mr. Bell took our offer quite eagerly.”

Dutch’s eyes widened.  “Micah?” he asked, trying to mask surprise and failing.

“We picked him up after you boys returned from the Caribbean.  Thought he had crossed us when we found Lakay empty, but then he crawled back with these letters.”  He held up two pages, and Arthur’s blood turned cold.  “One was rather short, just pointing us to an alias, but the other was quite touching.”  He held up Hosea’s letter.  “I love you, Dutch, but I cannot lose our sons to a dream that is no longer possible.”

Arthur clenched his fists.  How dare he read Hosea’s words, how dare he mock them!  He risked another glance at Dutch, and his former mentor’s face was a swirl of rage and confusion.  “And what did you offer Mr. Bell?” he asked.

“Immunity.  A portion of your bounty.  Whether we trust him to become an upstanding citizen after this?  Well, we’ll make that determination after he fulfills his end.  Though he did say he would help us get Matthews and Morgan here.  He seemed rather eager when we told him about that photographer friend of yours.”

“What?”  Arthur couldn’t contain his shock and fear.

“Some of Cornwall’s men spotted a man fitting Morgan’s description and a photographer up at the Wapiti reservation.  I knew there was something off about the man when I interviewed him in Valentine.  He helped you escape, didn’t he?”

Arthur snarled, “If you or Micah hurt him…”

“Mr. Bell’s task is to find you.  How he does so is… irrelevant.  Besides, given the report from Cornwall’s men, your friend should hang anyway for his certain… preferences.”

Arthur went to move, but was stopped by Dutch’s hand on his shoulder and the silent command to stay back.  Dutch instead slowly, casually stepped towards Milton.  “So, this is the great civilized world you preach.  You would use this lawlessness you abhor to attack an innocent man and hold him as bait.  Tell me, Agent, how does that make you any better than me?”

Milton opened his mouth to defend himself, but in a flash Dutch’s hands dropped to his Schofields and drew them.  Milton fell from his horse with two bullet holes in his chest before he could utter a word.  “Shit!” Arthur shouted as the other agents began to open fire.  He barely managed to draw his own revolver and begin firing as Dutch tugged his arm to lead him back to the caves.  “You couldn’t have warned me you were going to do that!”

“I thought it was obvious!  You are losing your touch, Arthur.”  They moved deeper into the caves, winding through the dark tunnels.  Dutch led the way, pausing occasionally to consider which path to take, all while the shouts of Pinkertons echoed after them.

“We can’t see where we are going, much less what we will be shooting at!” Arthur complained as he squinted against the minimal torch light.  Then, he noticed a faint light reflecting off the walls, and Arthur tried tracing it to its source.  “There!” he said, pointing at a tiny gap in the cave ceiling with a ladder leading up to it.  “We can get out!”

Arthur easily bounded over to the first ladder, but Dutch ambled on, often peering over his shoulder towards the oncoming Pinkertons.  “Go on, son,” he said, his breathing a little harsher than normal.  Arthur didn’t have time to argue, so he climbed up, pausing at each landing to make sure Dutch was following.

The shouts were getting closer, but Arthur and Dutch were higher up now.  “You first,” Arthur said to Dutch at the last ladder.  The Pinkertons were just rounding the corner as Arthur leaped up the ladder to relative safety.  They both whistled for their horses and took a moment to breathe.

“You good?” Arthur asked.

“I’m fine,” he said, “but we need to move.”

Merlin and The Count trotted up.  “I’ll take you back to the cabin I’m staying at,” Arthur said.  “Hosea is there.”

“No, we need to go after Micah.”

“We don’t even know where Micah is!  Besides, I need to warn Al!”  Albert, who went somewhere over the Dakota River, who begged Arthur to go take pictures of eagles with him.  The sun was starting to set, Albert would have to head back.

“Fine,” Dutch said.  They weaved through the trees as fast as they dared, constantly listening for other horses or shouts from Pinkerton agents.  But soon they were in the clear, and Arthur led the way into the mountains and back to the cabin.  

He saw Taima, Dakota, and Lucy outside, and breathed a sigh of relief.  But then he noticed two horses he didn’t recognize, and a foreboding feeling crept into his heart.  “Al?” he asked when he pushed open the cabin door.

Everyone was crowded inside.  Rains Fall and Hosea stood over a bed where Charles was resisting rest, though his eyes were half closed and his face was covered in sweat.  Hosea looked up when he entered, and he gasped, “Dutch?”  But Arthur ignored him as Charles noticed his arrival.

“Arthur… I’m sorry… I didn’t see him.”

“What happened?  Where’s Al?”

“We were stopping by the reservation on our way, but Micah was waiting.  He shot me from behind.  Grabbed Al.”  Charles clutched his arm, wrapped in bandages.

“He insisted on returning here, Mr. Morgan,” Rains Fall said.  Arthur then noticed Eagle Flies as well, bow out and checking for intruders out the window.

“Micah kept me alive and told me to deliver a message,” Charles said.  “He wants you and Hosea to meet him at Six Point Cabin.  Alone.”

Chapter Text

“Arthur.”

He kept walking, out the door and to the horses.

“Arthur, stop!”

His entire body had gone numb, his stomach a frozen pit spreading its chill to his hands and feet and head.

“Stop and listen to me!”  A hand fell on his shoulder, warm and firm.  It momentarily pulled him out of his shock long enough to realize he was next to Merlin with the reins in his hand.

“He’s got Al,” was all Arthur could say.

“I know.”  Hosea squeezed his shoulder.  “But you can’t just charge into Six Point Cabin guns blazing to get him back.  We need a plan.”

“How is a plan going to help?  We don’t know how many men he’s got or how long he’s going to wait!”

“And I seem to recall him wanting both of us in exchange for Albert.  And Micah doesn’t know how many fighters we’ve got, either.  Just come back inside so we can talk about this.”

Reluctantly, Arthur dropped the reins and let Hosea lead him back inside, arm draped around him.  Everyone stared as he entered, even Dutch.  Sadie shoved a mug of coffee into Arthur’s hands, and John stared at him with a look of pity.  They probably heard the fight that morning.  He should have gone with Al, protected him.  Then maybe they would be on their way back from a nice afternoon of photography, better yet Micah would be dead after daring to pick a fight with Arthur.  Or the other way around, but Albert would be safe.

“Alright, how many men does Micah have?” Hosea asked Dutch.

“At least those two boys, Joe and Cleet,” Dutch said.  “But he’s working with Pinkertons.  A deal for immunity if he turned in me, you, and Arthur.”

“How do you-”

“Milton showed up at Beaver Hollow.  Almost cornered us, but we managed to escape.  I killed Milton.  I don’t believe any Pinkertons would be with Mr. Bell.  It seemed that finding you and Arthur was his job alone.”

Hosea perked up at that.  “With Milton dead, the Pinkertons are probably in chaos.  Micah’s deal is probably off.”

“And he doesn’t know it yet,” Dutch continued.  “We can use that.”

“How?” Arthur said.  “What’s to stop him from just killing Al and running?”

“We draw him out first,” Hosea said.  “Pretend to give ourselves up.”

“There’s a lot of cover around that cabin,” John added.  “Remember?  We were able to sneak up and take out those O’Driscoll guards with no problem.”

“They were also drunk,” Arthur reminded him.

“But we can bring more guns.  I can hide in the bushes and provide cover.  Get a good look at the place before you and Hosea step out.”

“John…” Abigail began, but the others interrupted her.

“I’ll go,” Sadie said.

“Me, too.  I want to see that bastard dead,” said Lenny.

“As do I,” Dutch said.  “And I know, the goal is to get your man back, but as soon as you do… that traitor doesn’t deserve to live another day.”

“What about Abigail and Jack?  And Charles?  Someone needs to stay with them.”

Rains Fall stepped forward.  “They may return with us to our home for the time.  Charles has been kind and helpful to us.  We would be glad to return the favor.”

Arthur was shocked when Eagle Flies spoke up, his voice angry and full of fire.  “I would like to join you,” he said,

Rains Fall shook his head and said, “No.”

“Father, this man attacked a friend near our home.  Do you honestly expect me to not fight?”

“You should protect your people,” Arthur insisted.  “This isn’t your battle.”

“No, I want to help.”

As they walked out the cabin and to the horses, with Abigail taking Jack on Old Belle, Arthur turned to Eagle Flies and said, “Thank you.”

“No need.”  He paused, looking at Rains Fall, then said, “I do not agree with my father that the project with that writer and your photographer friend will do us much good, but he agreed to help and wouldn’t accept money.  This is how I can repay him.”

They took off at a gallop, down to Bacchus Station where they separated from Rains Fall, Charles, Abigail, and Jack.  The others turned southwest into Cumberland Forest.  It was getting dark fast, the sun setting past the trees casting long shadows in front of them.  “I think we should go in the same way Kieran showed us.  Approach from the back,” said John when they halted at a crossroads.  

“Perhaps Arthur and I should go around to the other side.  Could draw their attention while the rest of you sneak up,” Hosea replied.

“That could work,” John said, but Arthur was uncertain.

“Maybe just me.”

“Arthur, Micah wants both of us, remember?”

“I know, but…” he trailed off, knowing that Hosea was right while still hoping to protect the man he nearly lost weeks ago.

Hosea reached over from Silver Dollar to put a hand on his shoulder.  “It’ll be fine.  He will want to take us alive for a higher bounty.  No reason to shoot either of us if it looks like we are surrendering.”

Arthur hoped so.  Micah was a loose cannon, though.  He remembered Strawberry all too well.

Then Dutch spoke, and unlike his usual speeches with their grand flare, this was merely a quiet suggestion.  “What if I go up to the cabin?” he said.  “Perhaps Micah will leave your friend alone.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Arthur asked.  “I’m not risking Al for your revenge, Dutch.”

“We should make camp, wait for dawn.  We won’t be able to see what we’re shooting at in an hour,” he continued, ignoring Arthur’s protests.

“I ain’t waiting that long!”

“Please, son,” Hosea said.  “We may only have one shot at this and we have to do it right.  For Albert.”

In his head, Arthur screamed and cursed and fought against waiting another second to go get Al back.  But Hosea was right, they all were right.  Going in blind, in the dark, when Micah would surely be holed up in the cabin with the advantage was suicide.

He barely touched the can of food John shoved into his hands, listlessly staring into the fire.  Lenny was the same, until Hosea forced the two to lay down down in their bedrolls.  Sleep didn’t come to him, not that he expected it to.  Still, the cracking of wood in the fire and the insects chirping in the forest formed a lullaby, and he found himself drifting in the moments when his exhaustion overpowered the anxiety in his chest.

“I never saw your letter.”  The whisper reached his ear from over by the fire.  “Micah arrived at Lakay first and kept it from me.”

“Do you want to know what it said?” Hosea asked.

“I know a little.”

For a moment, only the fire and the insects filled his ears.  Then, “I wish we could have built that ranch, all of us together, safe.  With Mac and Davey, Jenny, Sean.  I know something spooked you about that land we looked at in Montana, but I wish we would have taken the risk and done it.  Because Blackwater was much worse.  And everywhere we went after that, every time we talked about lying low you went and caused a whole lot of noise again.  And that dream just slipped further and further away.  I started talking with some folk, like Lenny and John, telling them maybe it was time to move on.  And then after Arthur left and got hurt… oh Dutch, if you had seen him… I know I kept him from you, but I was afraid you would try to drag him back and I couldn’t let that happen.  And after the bank?  John was hurt, dammit I was hurt!  And you were just gone.”

“They were searching the city for us, Hosea,” Dutch said.  “I didn’t have another choice but to get on that boat.”

“We can’t change what’s past.  We’re old men, Dutch, but I knew I could give our boys, and everyone else, a chance at a future.”

“And what future is that, exactly?  One where they follow the whims of those lawmen and degenerates like Cornwall?  One where they are chained to the monsters of so-called civilization?”

“One where they get to live,” Hosea said with a sense of finality.  “Tomorrow, I need you to promise me something.”

“What?”

“I know you are only here for Micah, but please… for our son, don’t do anything that could jeopardize Albert’s safety.”

“I don’t intend-”

“I know you don’t, but I know you.  Sometimes you only see your own goals and not the consequences.  Arthur and Albert, they have something special.  Promise me.”

“… I promise.”

Arthur closed his eyes once more, trying to find a moment of rest while ignoring the stinging tears building in his eyes.

The stage was set.  Arthur, John, and Lenny lay flat against the ground on the hill to the right of the cabin, relying on the thick bushes to hide them from view.  Arthur carefully aimed his rifle between two trees, the scope giving him a perfect view of the front door.  “I see one guard,” he said, keeping his voice low, the man’s appearance vaguely reminiscent of one of Micah’s friends.  He looked over the rifle and focused on the area he knew Hosea, Sadie, and Eagle Flies were planning to go, both parties ready to converge on Dutch should the plan go amiss.  And didn’t the plan always those days.

“MICAH BELL!  COME OUT!” Dutch shouted at the cabin, his voice cracking under the strain of his high volume.

“Oh shit,” Micah’s friend said, the exclamation barely reaching Arthur’s ears.  “Boss, we got trouble.”

Joe or Cleet or whoever it was raised their rifle, but Dutch was faster.  He drew his gun and fired in a single instant, downing the guard.  “What the fuck?” Arthur said, about to rush down, but John threw his arm out.

“Wait,” John said.  “He wants to draw Micah out.”

“COME OUT HERE, NOW!” Dutch shouted at the cabin.  The door swung open, but it wasn’t Micah who exited first.  The first man staggered, walking in slow, stunted steps, and seconds later Arthur realized why.  Micah was pushing Albert forward, gun to his head with his wrists tied together, and John had to physically restrain Arthur from rushing down to him.

“Arthur, stop!  Stay down!”

“I knew this wasn’t going to work.  We never should have listened to Dutch!”

Lenny took up the rifle because John was practically laying on Arthur, and yet Arthur still tried to drag himself forward.

“Dutch,” Micah began.  “To what do I owe the pleasure?”  Dutch stood still, gun pointed at Micah, but Micah said, “Ah, ah, ah… you wouldn’t want to hurt Morgan’s friend, would you?”

“Let the man go.  This is between you and me.”

“No, can’t do that.”  Micah tightened his grip on the back of Albert’s neck, and Arthur struggled more against John.

“You thought you could betray me?  Turn me over to the law?”

“You survived, didn’t you?” Micah said.  “Besides, I thought I wasn’t part of your gang no more, just for killing that old woman.”

Micah began to shift, turning his body to more easily disappear into the woods, and Arthur got a glimpse of Albert’s face.  His eyes were wide, darting all around him.  Arthur wished Al’s eyes could find him, just to know that he was there, waiting, ready to put himself in harm’s way to get him away from Micah.

If only John would let him up.

“The way I see it, Mr. Mason here is my bargaining chip.  I was going to use him to draw Morgan out, but he’ll do for now.  Because you could never do anything to hurt Morgan, could you?  Even after he walked out, that’s all you talked about in Saint Denis.  Arthur this, Arthur that… made me want to track him down and kill him just to get you to shut up!”

“I shot your pal Milton,” said Dutch.  “You won’t get paid.”

“Oh, I’ll get paid.  Plenty of sheriffs and Pinkertons still around.”

“Not if you are arrested, too.  And you will be.”

“No, I like my chances,” Micah said, then turned his gun on Dutch, firing quickly.  Dutch leapt back and around a tree, sending off a few wild shots that missed.  Purposefully, Arthur wondered.  Dutch was a way better shot than Micah.  He was keeping his promise.

John rolled off him, and Arthur charged down the hill after Micah.  Shouts came from the other side of the cabin, with everyone attempting to converge on Micah.  A second man appeared out of the cabin but was downed quickly with an arrow in his chest.  But the trees that served as their cover were now their disadvantage, as Micah began pulling Albert back through the woods to his stolen horse.  They couldn’t shoot without risking Albert, but Micah kept up a steady stream of firing so that they had to duck and hide more often than not.

“Dammit, he’s getting away!” Arthur shouted, then he whistled for Merlin.  As the woods quieted around them, the loyal horse galloped up to him.  “Let’s go boy,” he muttered as he mounted and began chasing Micah, ignoring the shouts of protest from the others.

Easily he followed the hoof prints of Micah’s horse, freshly dug into the soft dirt of the trail.  Micah’s maniacal laughter echoed in the trees, high off his supposed escape.

“Micah!” he shouted, and a curse answered.  “Stop!  It’s over, you fool!”

Arthur rounded another corner, and the horse ran past him in the opposite direction without its rider and captive.  He glanced around the area, wondering what Micah’s plan was, but then he spotted a slightly concealed trail, not wide enough to ride a horse down, leading towards the river.  That had to be it!

“Micah!” he shouted again, jumping off Merlin.  He could hear Micah struggling through the bushes, still pulling Albert along.  He continued on after him, knowing he would catch him soon, then stumbled out onto a plateau high above the raging rapids of the Dakota River.  There was Micah, still pointing a gun at Albert’s head, but looking at the broken remains of a bridge that would have been his escape.

“Oh, hey there, cowpoke,” Micah said.  “Knew you’d come for your man here.  Didn’t think you’d team up with Dutch to do it.”

“Arthur?” Albert said, tensing even more in Micah’s hold.

“It’ll be okay, Al.”  Arthur addressed Micah next.  “You’re backed into a corner.  Let him go.”

“Why?  Can’t shoot me now, can you?  Even if you do manage to shoot first, me and your boyfriend are just going to fall down right into the river.”

“Fine.  You want to walk out of here?  So do I.  Let Al go, and I won’t shoot.”  He hated making that promise, still desiring revenge for Susan.  But he needed to shove that down for Al.  He should have done so yesterday in the first place.  Besides, there was only one way out, and he hoped the others had found their way to it.

“And why should I believe you?” Micah sneered.

Arthur flipped open his holster and gingerly withdrew his revolver with two fingers loose around the handle, eyes on Micah the entire time.  He tossed it several feet behind him even as Albert shook his head minutely.  He knew the dangerous position it put him in, but with Al’s life at stake, he would risk it.  He wasn’t leaving himself completely unarmed, he still had his second revolver in the offhand holster.  But drawing that before Micah fired would be nearly impossible.

If Micah decided to shoot him, maybe he would still let Albert go.

Micah’s eyes widened and he shifted his stance.  Arthur could barely breathe.  Behind him, he heard someone, possibly John, shout his name.  Time was almost up.

“Sorry, cowpoke, money’s too good.”  Micah shoved Albert back as he raised his revolver to Arthur.  Albert’s eyes widened, his mouth dropped open in a shout as he plummeted off the cliff edge.

“NO!” Arthur shouted, starting forward even as Micah’s finger pulled the trigger and-

Click.

Arthur didn’t stop to question whether it was a misfire or if Micah had simply lost count of his bullets.  The traitor stared at his gun in shock.  Arthur didn’t consider grabbing his own revolver and killing Micah.  Albert had fallen to the river, his hands still bound.  Even as the John and Hosea burst through the bushes with a shout and Micah looked up, Arthur ran past to the edge, barely giving himself a second to consider the height.

And then he jumped.

Chapter Text

All the air rushed out of Arthur’s chest as he plunged into the icy waters of the Dakota River.  His arms flailed, bringing him to the surface for a breath before the rapids pulled him under again, the river’s grip ceaseless and inescapable.  His body smashed into a rock, and his gasp at the pain in his ribs allowed the unruly water into his lungs.  He was coughing the next time he surfaced, barely able to shout Albert’s name.

He struggled to stay afloat, but finally the river leveled off.  The water still deep and rushing on to the next set of rapids, but he had a moment to search.  He shouted again and again, his eyes darting until he caught sight of a green coat, Albert’s favorite, its owner barely struggling anymore.  He swam towards Albert, arms circling his waist, and pulled his head out of the water.  Water escaped his mouth as he weakly coughed.

“I’ve got you, Al, I’ve got you.  Just hold on.”  Now Arthur just needed to swim to the bank, a daunting task bordering on nearly impossible.  He remembered fishing Benedict Allbright out of the river the day he got his horse Dakota, and he tried not to think about the rapidly approaching rocks and the waterfalls farther down.

But one of the rocks he worried about turned out to be his savior.  Kicking his way to safety, Arthur was able to catch hold.  The action wrenched his shoulders as the river tried to drag Albert away from him, but he held on.  He heaved himself and Albert onto the long, flat surface.  From there, it was a simple step onto the safety of dirt and grass, but Arthur collapsed onto the rock with a groan, exhausted.  

More coughing from Albert roused him, the man laying awkwardly on his side.  “It’s alright, let it out,” Arthur said, patting his back to encourage more water out.  “Guess I should have gone with you to take pictures of those eagles,” he continued with a nervous chuckle.

A few more coughs, and then Albert quietly groaned, “Bugger the eagles.  Let’s go home.”

Deciding to ignore their precarious position on the rock a little longer, Arthur pulled Albert up into a hug, one hand supporting his back and the other tangled in his hair.  “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.  Did he hurt you?”

“No, but he did talk incessantly,” said Albert.  “Actually, my wrists hurt.”

Arthur moved to inspect Albert’s bound hands.  Fortunately his knife was still in its sheath on his hip.  He cut through the ropes and rubbed Albert’s wrists to get the blood flowing again.  But soon Albert started shivering, so Arthur pulled him back into a tight hug.

His eyes drifted up to the cliff they both had been on just minutes ago.  A man stood there, barely visible, but Arthur knew who it was by the distinct top hat.  The strange man waved, like he knew Arthur would be watching.

“Arthur!”  The shout came from a path, and smiling wide he turned in time to see Hosea and Silver Dollar.  Hosea caught his eye, blinking at the rock and the two men on it, before laughing.  “They’re over here!” he called behind him.  “They’re okay!”

Arthur glanced back up at the cliff, but the strange man was gone.  And in a way he knew that would be the last time he saw him.  Then John and Sadie appeared, and Lenny and Eagle Flies, and then finally Dutch.  His anger towards Dutch began to melt just a little at the fact that the man came back to find him, the first few cracks on an otherwise frozen lake.

Hosea stretched out his hand, and Arthur helped Albert to his feet just long enough so they both could sit on the grass.  Noticing that Arthur was shivering as well, Hosea began ordering everyone around to get a fire started, fetch blankets, help those boys out of their wet clothes.

“I never, ever, in my life want to see you jump off a cliff again!” Hosea said as he wrapped the blanket around Arthur’s shoulders.  “In fact, stay away from all cliff edges!  You’ve given me enough heart attacks this year.”

“You saw that?”

“Yes!  Came around the corner just in time to see you disappear.”

“And Micah?”

“Dead.  John saw to that.”

“Unloaded my whole cylinder into him,” John said.  “Left him up there for the vultures.”

Arthur looked up at Dutch, hoping that was enough to appease the man even if he didn’t get to enact the revenge himself.  But Dutch simply said, “Good.”  Lenny nodded as well from where he was crouched over the fire.

Snaking an arm out from under the blankets and around Albert’s waist, Arthur leaned in close to the other man.  Albert’s head bobbed against his chest as he nodded off, and Arthur found himself quickly following.  Soon, Hosea was encouraging him into some spare, dry clothes and onto the back of a horse.  Arthur tried to help pull himself up, but there wasn’t much he could do half-asleep.  He drifted off on the ride leaned back against John.

Arthur woke up late the next morning under a pile of blankets with Albert snoring at his side.  His muscles were sore, the side that hit the rock was bruised and throbbing, but none of that mattered to him.  He could happily sleep the day and the pain away so long as he stayed next to Albert, warm and safe.

“You awake, son?”  He was so tired he hadn’t noticed Hosea was sitting with him.

“Barely,” he muttered back, cracking his eyes open just a little.

“Good.  We wanted to head back to the cabin today and it will be easier if at least one of you is conscious.”

“Where are we?”

“The Wapiti reservation.  Chief Rains Fall kindly let us spend the night, but I want to get back to our place.”

“Overstayed our welcome, have we?” Arthur joked, but there was an uncomfortable look on Hosea’s face.  “What is it?”

“Dutch… is being Dutch.  Talked with some folk about Cornwall, the government.  Now he’s talking to Eagle Flies, and I think it’s best for everyone if we just move on.”

Arthur sighed.  Sure, he wasn’t as angry with Dutch anymore, but that didn’t mean he could trust him.  Dutch looked for opportunity everywhere, especially in places he shouldn’t as of late.  “We can sleep in a little longer though, right?”

Hosea chuckled.  “Don’t worry, the others are taking their time collecting the wagon.  You have at least an hour.”

“Good.”  Arthur closed his eyes and snuggled into Albert, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.  Albert sighed and curled his fingers around Arthur’s hand, still fast asleep.

A little over an hour later, Hosea returned, and Arthur took that moment to shake Albert awake.  “Arthur?” Albert asked with a slight wheeze that turned into a round of coughing.

“You okay?” Arthur asked, a little frantic as he rubbed circles into Albert’s back.  Hosea came around and checked.  His response was calm and reassuring.  Just a cough from getting water in his lungs.  They would watch it, but it would likely resolve itself in a few days.

“I’m surprised you don’t have one either, or a cold!” Hosea said.

The coughing stopped, and Albert was able to sit up.  “Are we leaving?” he asked.

“Just back to our cabin until we decide what to do,” Arthur replied.

“I doubt we’ll stay too long.  John is itching to move on with his family now that his arm is healed,” said Hosea.  “Abigail wants a home of their own, maybe a small ranch.  I have half a mind to go with them!  I love John, but that boy will need some help.  He’s just learning how to be a father and he wants to add ranching to that?”

They walked out of the tent and were greeted by Sadie on top of the wagon and Dutch on The Count.  The Marstons and Lenny were already back at the cabin.  Despite his many protests, Hosea forced Arthur to sit in the back of the wagon with Charles and Albert, their horses following behind.  But before he left, Arthur thanked Rains Fall and Eagle Flies, wishing them the best going forward, though knowing that their story would not have the happiest of endings.

Charles stared back at them as the wagon rolled over the wooden bridge.  “I’d like to stay and help them, once my arm is healed.”

“Those bastards, the Army, think they can walk all over them,” Dutch said.  “This is what’s wrong with the world.”

Arthur and Hosea exchanged a glance.  They didn’t say anything though, not yet, deciding to keep the ride peaceful.

They reached the cabin a few hours before sunset, and immediately Hosea said, “Okay, you two, back to bed.  I don’t want to see either of you until dinner.”  Arthur laughed at that, and couldn’t bring himself to argue, either.  

But once they were laid down in their bedrolls, just inches apart, Arthur said, “Can we talk for a minute?”

“Sure.”  Albert brought his hand up, his fingers brushing through Arthur’s hair.

“I’m so sorry, I wish I had listened to you, gone with you.  I wish… I just… I was so scared for my family that I didn’t realize I was scaring you.”

“I told you, though,” Albert said.  “A few times.  It hurt knowing that you could get killed because of that gang.  I want us both to be safe.”

“I want the same-”

“But do you?  You always worry about others and never yourself!  And I love that you care so much, but please have some self-preservation.”

Arthur grinned.  “So no jumping off cliffs?”

“Well, I can’t be too mad over that.  I would have drowned for sure.”

“It was Milton who sent Micah after you.  Some men watching the Wapiti reported seeing us to the Pinkertons.”

“If they know about us, does that mean… do I have a bounty?”

“No idea,” Arthur said.  He couldn’t imagine Al having a poster.  “Milton and Ross were the ones who knew you, and they are both dead now.  But we should probably leave the area to be safe.”

“And go where?”

“Wherever you want.  You’re the one with a job, remember?”

Albert hesitated, and said, “I just want to be sure that wherever we go, whatever we do, the gang isn’t going to follow us there.”

“There ain’t even a gang anymore.”

“I thought that last time.”

“I know, I’m sorry, but this time it’s for real,” Arthur promised.  “The Marstons have plans to leave, Bill and Javier are gone.  I don’t know what Lenny is planning, but I hope he goes with Hosea and John.”  At least until he was back on his feet.  Lenny always was too smart for the gang.

“And Dutch?”

“I have no idea what his plan is.  But it won’t involve us.  I promise.”

“Does he know that?”

“If he doesn’t, he will.”

Albert continued running his fingers through Arthur’s hair, which was almost free of tangles now.  “You need a haircut.”

“Is it really that bad?”

“Yes.”

“We okay?”

“Yes, I think we are,” Albert said.

They stayed in bed, lightly dozing, until Hosea collected them for dinner.  The meal, however, was an awkward affair.  Dutch’s presence put a damper on their normal conversations.  It became clear early in the evening that Dutch believed the gang could be reborn.

“Look at us!  You, me, our sons!  It’s just like it was in the beginning.  And that Sadie, oh she has a fire in her, I can see why you recommended her for jobs with us, Hosea.  All of us together, we are unstoppable!  This conflict between the natives and the Army, if there’s a whole lot of smoke and chaos we can get some money and slip away!”

Arthur breathed in deep, about to shatter Dutch’s hope, but John beat him to it.  “Dutch, I’m taking my family and buying some land.”

“What?”

“We want to settle down, raise the boy right,” Abigail jumped in, one hand around Jack’s shoulders and another petting Cain.

“And I want to take care of the O’Driscolls.  Those bastards will pay for what they did to me and my husband,” Sadie said.

Dutch brightened a little.  “Did you hear the news?  Colm will hang in Saint Denis!”

“I would like to be there to make sure he does,” said Sadie.

“As would I,” Dutch replied.

The camp grew quiet, since Lenny wasn’t talking to Dutch and Hosea would likely let Dutch down gently later.

“You shouldn’t get involved with the Wapiti,” Charles said bluntly.

“Excuse me?” Dutch said.

“They’re good people.  I won’t let you involve them in your plans to make money.  They don’t deserve that.”

“Now you-”

“Dutch, stop,” Hosea said, grabbing Dutch’s arm and leading him off.  Arthur followed.  “It’s over.  The gang.  I know you don’t want it, but we’ve all decided.  It’s time to move on.”

“How?  How can you say that?”

“Dutch,” Arthur said.  “We had a good run.”

Dutch sighed and shook his head.  “I’d like to speak to Arthur alone, Hosea.”

Hesitating, Hosea asked, “You okay with that?”

“Sure.”

They both ignored how Hosea hung back only a few meters.  But they stood in silence for a few moments, Dutch pacing in a short strides and Arthur kicking the dirt.  Finally, Dutch asked, “When did you decide it was over?  That you were never coming back?”

“I started seeing things different when Strauss sent me debt collecting.  But I decided probably about a week after you pushed me,” Arthur said.  “I was up here, hunting and exploring.  Part of me wondered if I could do that forever.  Wanted to do it forever.”

“I know you were angry about Strauss and his work, but you did change!  We all saw it.  It wasn’t immediate, but a few weeks later, after we rescued Sean.”

“It was after Strawberry,” Arthur decided to say.  No need to tell Dutch about the strange man or the cauldron, since he certainly didn’t need that lecture.  And the massacre led him to this part of the mountains to begin with.  “Micah killed all those folk in town just to get his guns, and you didn’t care.  You just shrugged it off.  He was a bastard that only looked out for himself and didn’t believe in your ideals, like not killing innocents and helping others.  You seemed surprised that Micah betrayed you, but I wasn’t.  And no one else was surprised, either.  Hell, I don’t know why you never saw it.”

Dutch nodded slightly but didn’t say a word.

“There is one thing I want to know, though,” Arthur continued.  “It’s just… naw, it’s stupid.”

“What?”

“Probably nothing, but in Valentine, you didn’t… what happened?”

“With Cornwall?”

“No, while you were pushing the wagon.  I got shot.”

Dutch’s eyes narrowed.  “And you think that was me?”

“No!  Well, not at first.  But after what happened with Susan, I started to wonder.  And we had that fight right before.”

“Arthur,” Dutch said as he put his hand on Arthur’s shoulder.  “Son, I would never.  Now I know I was angry with you, but I would never shoot you.”

Arthur swallowed and nodded.  He hoped Dutch was telling the truth.  “Just a stray bullet, then.”

“Of course!”  Dutch patted Arthur’s shoulder and walked back to the others.

Their dinner continued, and Dutch intelligently did not bring up the Wapiti again.  But at the end of the night, Dutch announced, “I believe it is time for me to go.  I have some business I wish to take care of before Colm swings.”

“Stay the night, at least,” Hosea insisted.

“My staying may make some uncomfortable,” Dutch said slowly, sending a not so subtle look towards Charles and Lenny.

“It’s dark, there are Pinkertons!”

“Dutch,” Arthur said, “If you don’t want to stay in the main cabin, I get it.  We have tents, bedrolls.”

“I’ll stay out here with you,” Hosea offered.

“It’s fine, Hosea,” Dutch said.

“No, it’s not,” replied Hosea.  “I’m not ready to say goodbye to you just yet, Dutch van der Linde!”

“You did it once before.”

“And I wasn’t ready then, either.  We’ve been partners for over twenty years.  Even if it’s just a promise to write, I need something.”

“How will we even write to each other?” Dutch asked.  “None of you know where you are going!”

They needed a central location, Arthur thought.  Some way to get each other’s permanent addresses.  He jumped up suddenly, digging through his satchel for a letter he knew was there.  “Here, this is Mary-Beth’s address,” he said.  “She and Kieran got an apartment in the city, and she opened a box at the post office.”  She gave them a return address when she let them know Tilly found her.

“Leslie Dupont?” Dutch asked.

“I’ll have to ask her where she got the name from,” Arthur laughed.

“We can stop by and ask her,” Albert said.  “We have to return to Saint Denis to close my apartment.”

“And then what?” Dutch asked.

Arthur looked at Albert, who smiled back.  “I was thinking bison,” Albert said.

“I might be able to track a herd in New Hanover for you.”  Arthur draped an arm over Albert’s shoulders and pulled him in close.

“I thought we were getting out of the area,” Albert said with a small chuckle, leaning his head into Arthur.

“Oh, get a room, you two!” said Hosea.

Arthur, in a sarcastic droll, said, “We had one, then we got a lot of guests.  Busier than a damn saloon.”

“But you are staying, right?” Hosea asked Dutch.

“For tonight, then I’ll go,” Dutch conceded.

“Let me get the tent.  It will be just like old times!”

“Just like old times?” Dutch asked with a playful smirk.

“Oh, stop it!”

Albert watched them leave, wondering aloud, “Were they ever, you know, together?”

“Probably,” Arthur said.

Their goodbyes the next morning were short, with Dutch promising to send them some letters just to let them know he was alright.  Normally, Arthur would just read the newspaper looking for the next big train or bank robbery, but this time he wasn’t sure.  Perhaps Dutch would actually lay low for once, being on his own.

A few days later, John Marston packed his family’s belongings in their wagon under Abigail’s watchful gaze as Cain and Jack took one last run through the fields.  Arthur watched too, Hosea at his side.

“Don’t you worry about them,” Hosea said.  “I’ll make sure they’re alright.”

“Oh, I’m more worried about you, old man,” Arthur teased.

“My job is finding John a nice piece of land and teaching Jack reading and writing.  Those boys can do all the physical labor.”  Lenny joined John in packing the wagon, the two of them arguing on how best to stack the extra food.

“You ready for this?  Bank loans and land deeds and selling at markets?”

“After all these years?  It’s like another adventure!”

Hosea patted Arthur on the shoulder and went to add his own things to the collection, though he didn’t have much more than a few pictures and books.

Finally, it was time to say goodbye.  Hugs were exchanged, tears were shed.  But they were all happy tears for a family moving forward.  They were all moving forward.

“Ready, John?” Arthur asked when it was his turn to hug his brother.

“I think I am.  You’ll visit, right?”

“Of course!  You won’t be able to keep us away.”  Arthur looked over towards Albert, or should he say Uncle Albert, talking with Jack.  They may be avoiding the gang, but they would never avoid family.

After the wagon disappeared over the hill, Arthur turned to Albert, Charles, and Sadie.  “Ready?”

They rode with Charles back to the Wapiti reservation before going to Saint Denis with Sadie.  Albert’s camera equipment was spread between Lucy and Baylock, and the stallion seemed to enjoy simply carrying baggage and not a rider.

When they reached the city, Sadie and Albert went to the post office and the apartment while Arthur looked for Mary-Beth and Kieran.  He were met with a surprise at the door.  Molly O’Shea sat with Tilly at the kitchen table, her eyes red and makeup running.

“We found her in Doyle’s Tavern, completely drunk,” Mary-Beth whispered to Arthur at the door.

“Hey Molly,” Arthur said gently.

“Oh, hey Arthur,” she said.  A stained handkerchief was clutched in her hands.

“What happened?” he asked.  “You weren’t with the others after the bank robbery.”

“He didn’t come looking for me,” she muttered.

“Who?”

“Dutch.  They kept me for days, those Pinkertons.”

“What!  They didn’t hurt you, did they?” Arthur asked, his eyes sweeping over her for bruises.

“No, they just asked questions.  But Dutch, he never came for me,” she sobbed.

“I’m sorry, Molly.  Things got difficult after the robbery.”

“I was there for days before!  They kept asking me, I never said, I thought he would come,” she cried.  “They let me go after.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I wanted to tell them.  I wanted to hurt Dutch, but I didn’t.  I swear!”

“I believe you, Molly.  It’s going to be okay.”

He left Molly with Tilly, who attempted to console the poor girl in vain.  To Mary-Beth, he said, “You’ll take care of her?”

“Of course.  It may take her a while to get over Dutch.  What happened, anyway?”

“What do you mean?”

Mary-Beth held up the day’s newspaper, and the front page article said it all.

CORNWALL MURDERED!

DRAMATIC DEVELOPMENTS IN STORY OF THE TRAGEDY.
ASSASSIN AMBUSHES RICH MAN IN ANNESBURG.

“It was Dutch, wasn’t it?” Mary-Beth asked, and Arthur just knew.  So much for laying low.

He sat down with all three of them, and they talked about everything that happened, from their time up in the mountains, Dutch’s return and Susan’s death, and finally what happened with Albert and Micah.  Midway through the story, they were interrupted by Kieran’s return from his job, the man managing fine with just one eye.

“And now Albert and I are down here to grab some things from his apartment, and then we’re off.”

“You think they’ll catch Dutch?” Kieran asked.

“Maybe,” Arthur said.  “He did want to watch Colm hang.”

“Perhaps I’ll see him there,” said Kieran.

“Just be careful.  Knowing the O’Driscolls, they will have some folk in the crowd to try to spring him.”

“Where are you going, Arthur?” Tilly asked.

“No idea.  Guess we will wander looking for wildlife to photograph.  What about all of you?  You staying here?”

“I think so,” Kieran said.  “I like my job at the stable.  Thank you for that!  I really love that Arabian you found in the mountains.  She’s going to foal next year!”

“That’s great news!”

“I’ve started writing,” Mary-Beth added.  “Not much, just silly romances.  I’m want to publish them, but I’m going to use a pen name, Leslie Dupont.”

“I was wondering about that on your letter.  Speaking of, I gave your address to the others.  I was hoping you could collect them all and send us everyone’s permanent addresses.”

“Of course!”

“And Tilly?  What’s your plan?”

Before she could reply, Mary-Beth jumped in and said, “Oh, there’s a man!”

“Really?”

“Yes,” said Tilly.  “He’s real nice, a lawyer.”

After chatting for a while, Arthur realized it was time to depart if he wanted to get dinner with Albert.  By the time he arrived, after standing at the door saying goodbye for what felt like an hour, Albert had most of his equipment packed.

“Mary-Beth and Kieran alright?” Albert asked when he entered.

“Just fine.  You get any mail?

“Yes!  Copies of the photographs from Wapiti and payment from the gallery sales.  They said if I expand my portfolio they would be happy to display my work again.”

Albert passed Arthur the pictures.  “Mighty fine,” Arthur said.  “I think you can stop calling yourself an amateur now.”

“You know, after the bison, I was thinking about New Austin.”

“New Austin?  Really?”

“Where else will we find rattlesnakes?”

“Al…”

“And I heard about this cougar.”

“NO!”

They were riding near Flatneck Station when Albert spotted it.  A gorgeous buck with huge set of antlers.

“Mind if we stop?” Albert asked, already getting off Dakota and grabbing his tripod.

“Not at all.”  Arthur began digging through his own satchel, looking for some bait, but the buck didn’t run.  It grazed calmly while Albert set up, and raised its head at Arthur’s whistle.

At the flash, the buck darted away into the bushes, and Arthur and Albert stood side by side watching it go.  

“Ready for the next adventure?” Arthur asked.

“Yes, I think so,” Albert said, taking Arthur’s hand and giving it a squeeze.  They returned to the horses, and rode onward. 

Chapter Text

A few years later…

“Seriously?” Arthur said, brushing clumps of mud off his pants.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“You pissed off a mother moose with her newborn babies!  You are so lucky there was a convenient ditch to jump in.”

“I’m sure the picture will make up for it.  As long as the camera didn’t get trampled,” Albert added as an afterthought.

“One day they are going to find our bodies next to your tripod and people will say, ‘Well at least their last photograph was nice.’”

“Death by moose,” Albert groaned.  “Of all the ways I thought I would go.  I didn’t think they would be so big!”

Arthur picked up the camera, checking for cracks along the case.  “Now you know.  And with luck, those magazine readers will, too.”

“I think I sprained my ankle.”

“Of course you did,” Arthur laughed, reaching out a hand to pull Albert up.

After traveling all around the western half of the United States and showing photographs in small city galleries, Albert Mason was approached by a wildlife and nature conservation magazine based in San Francisco.  So with Arthur as his hired guide, as they always put it, Albert was sent on assignments to locate and photograph various animals.  Which was why he and Arthur were currently up near the Canadian border, covered in mud.

Albert limped towards Dakota, giving the horse a few pats before saying, “I might need a leg up.”

“It really hurts that bad?”

“Yes!”

“Fine, I’ll even pack the equipment for you,” Arthur said, boosting Albert up onto Dakota before attaching the last of their equipment to Daisy, the newest addition to their herd.  Arthur caught and broke the mustang only a year ago on their second trip to New Austin.  It was out of necessity after Baylock was injured by a cougar.  The brave stallion charged the big cat as it stalked an unsuspecting Arthur.  Baylock even killed it, but not before suffering long scratches across his back.  His days of carrying riders and bags were over, and he now enjoyed retirement at the Marstons’ ranch as their main breeding stud.  Lucy was also there, being a little too old to be trudging all over the country.  Albert gave her to Jack as his first pony, and Jack showered her with love and attention.

At least Jack finally grew big enough to fit in the saddle.

“Let’s get back to the hotel and wrap that ankle in something,” he said, hopping on Merlin and turning towards the town.

“And then we’re off to deliver these to San Francisco.”

“I thought we were stopping by the ranch first?”

“Right, of course!  At least it is on the way this time.”

Months after they all parted ways, Arthur and Albert finally received their first bit of news from John and Hosea.  After much arguing over land across many miles and states, they all agreed on a homestead in Oregon, planning to raise some cattle, sheep, and horses.  Arthur and Albert rushed over to see them and were immediately roped into constructing the newly purchased pre-cut house and barn.

Once Albert got his job with the magazine, the Marston ranch quickly became a common stopping place, and their mailing address for the other ex-gang members.  Mostly, they kept in contact with Mary-Beth and Tilly in Saint Denis.  Lenny still worked on the ranch doing the majority of accounting and purchasing, and Charles eventually found his way there after helping the Wapiti relocate to Canada.  They occasionally heard from Sadie, though the conversations were short and often one-sided because she was constantly on the move.  They found out she took up bounty hunting, and was apparently quite good at it, chasing criminals all across New Austin and West Elizabeth.  She did visit, though it was rare and unpredictable.

He didn’t hear from Dutch.

Shortly after Arthur and Albert left Saint Denis, the newspapers were abuzz about Colm O’Driscoll’s escape attempt being thwarted by a woman in a yellow dress shooting him in the chest seconds after a sniper fired clear through the rope attached to his neck.  The woman and a man in a police uniform quickly dispatched the rest of the O’Driscoll gang involved in the escape before disappearing, no one having a clue who they were.  But Arthur knew.  Dutch and Sadie, both getting their revenge.

And then, nothing.  No robberies, no arrests, no deaths.  Dutch van der Linde simply vanished.

Arthur hoped that he would at least write to Hosea, and if he did, Hosea never said a word.  The older man seemed fine, too, enjoying the retired outlaw life on a ranch.

He was looking forward to seeing his family again, and after stopping by the hotel to gather the rest of their belongings and wrapping Albert’s ankle, the two headed towards the train station that would get them to Oregon, barely catching the last train of the day.

“I’m excited to get back to the ranch,” Albert said.  “Jack always loves seeing my pictures.”

“Just as long as they aren’t looking the expand the ranch again.”

“That barn did take forever to build.”

Arthur laughed.  “Remember me and Marston arguing about which pile of wood was for the frame for an hour and then Hosea comes up with the instructions it was neither of them?”

“I remember John taking off on his horse and leaving us to put it together!” Albert said.

“But then the horse came back and we were about to send a search party when he comes wandering back in saying the horse threw him over a squirrel!” Arthur finished, and the two descended into giggles that sent stares in their direction.

“We shouldn’t laugh too hard,” Albert said.  “John is doing a rather good job with the ranch.”

“And I believe we can thank Hosea for that!  But you are right, John’s doing right by his family.  Got a really good place set up.  Saw him teaching Jack how to milk the cows last time we were there.”

The sun set past the hills as the train rolled out of the station, and soon Albert was asleep on Arthur’s shoulder.  Arthur didn’t sleep, though.  He always kept his guard up on trains after years of robbing them himself.

But the ride was quiet, as always, and Arthur shook Albert awake at their stop in Oregon.  They unloaded their three horses and headed towards town.  “Should we spend the night at a hotel?” Albert asked.

“I’m sick of hotels,” said Arthur.

“But it’s the middle of the night.”

“I know.  They’ll be annoyed, but then they’ll be excited.”

As predicted, when Arthur banged on the front door to be let in, much grumbling and cursing was heard from within the house.  But as John Marston flung open the door, still dressed in his union suit with a shotgun in his hand, his face lit up.  “Hey everyone!  Arthur and Albert are here!” he shouted into the house.

Feet stomped down the hall.  Hosea rubbed his eyes and said, “Arthur!  Glad to see you, but did you have to wake us all up?”

Arthur rolled his eyes and hugged the man.  “Glad to see you too, Hosea.”

“You boys want some coffee?  Tea?”

“I think we both need bed,” Arthur replied.  “We were almost killed by a moose today, well yesterday now.”

“Where were you at?” Charles asked, appearing from another room.

“In Washington near the Canadian border.”

“Well, you know which room is yours,” Hosea said.

“Sorry for waking everyone up,” Albert said with a yawn.

“Not everyone,” Arthur laughed.  “Did Abigail and Jack sleep through all our racket?”

“Uncle Arthur?” Jack called out.

“Back to bed, Jack.  You can see them in the morning,” Hosea said.

“Aw.”

“See you in the morning,” John said, patting him on the back and going back to his room with Abigail.

“So, what’s the news,” Arthur asked when they all gathered for a late breakfast the next morning.

“I was thinking about expanding the fencing along the eastern side of the ranch,” John said, and Arthur groaned in response.  “Could use an extra hand while you’re here.”

“I’m not a damn rancher,” he said.

“We’ve got a letter for you from Tilly, probably the same as the one we got,” Abigail said, passing the envelope to Albert.  Since they arrived at the ranch, Hosea taught Abigail how to read as well as Jack.  They practiced every morning after chores, with Abigail following along with Jack’s books and then Hosea giving her more difficult material after the boy got bored and ran off to play.

Arthur slid opened the envelope and pulled out the letter, his eyes scanning the fancy calligraphy of the invitation rather than Tilly’s flowing cursive.  His smiled widened as he passed it to Albert, and he said, “So they’re finally getting married?”

Tilly Jackson would soon be Tilly Pierre.  Arthur met the lawyer when Tilly brought him to the ranch.  Which happened to be for Kieran and Mary-Beth’s wedding.

The wedding happened just after Mary-Beth published her first romance novel, and it was hosted at the Marston ranch.  Arthur, Albert, Sadie, Charles, Tilly, and her then boyfriend all joined them for nearly two weeks, completely filling the house.  Molly didn’t attend, having gone back to Ireland soon after Dutch disappeared, but her letter of congratulations eventually reached the happy couple.

Three novels sat on the bookshelf in the main room of the house now, signed Mary-Beth instead of Leslie Dupont at the end of the personalized notes.  Arthur stored his copies at the Marstons’ place as well, just his were kept in his permanent bedroom at the house.

“So, we’re all going down to Saint Denis this summer?” Albert asked.

“Is it safe for all of us to be there together?” said John.

“I think so,” Hosea said.  “It’s been a few years.  Though maybe we should stay in different hotels, just to be sure.”

“So, about that fence,” John said.

“Fine!  Let’s go, Al,” Arthur said, getting up to grab his work boots.

“Oh, well, my ankle still hurts.  I think I should rest it for today,” said Albert.  

“Really?  Because it’s barely bruised and you seemed to be walking alright after we got off the train.”

“In fact,” Albert continued with a smile, “it would probably be best if I stay in here and show Jack the new magazine issue with my photographs in it.”

“You got a new one?” Jack said, jumping up and running to Albert.

“Looks like it’s just us,” John snickered.  Arthur threw one of the boots at him.

Fortunately, John didn’t have too much expansion work for them to do, especially since they were joined by Charles and Lenny.  Still, it wasn’t long before Arthur’s arms began to ache from carrying the wood panels around.

On his break, Arthur wandered over to Baylock laying in the paddock.  “Hey, buddy,” he said, scratching him behind the ears.  The scars healed nicely, but the horse moved a little gingerly at times.

“He’s so gentle now.  I can’t even believe he was once Micah’s horse,” John said, coming up behind him.

“Amazing what a difference a good owner makes.”

“You know, the first foal by him is due in a couple months.  Bet it will be quite the looker.”

“You might make some good money off of him.”

“Best thing Micah gave either of us!” John laughed.  “Want a beer?”

“Always.”  He waved Charles and Lenny over from the other end of the fencing.  “New horse?” he asked, gesturing to the thoroughbred grazing nearby.

“Yeah, that’s Rachel.”

“Rachel?  Really?”

“Oh sure, like you could come up with anything better.”

“I bet Jack could, with all those books he reads nowadays.”

“We taking a break?” Lenny asked, finally joining them.  “Good, I’m tired.”

“When are you going to leave these fools and get yourself a real job?” Arthur asked Lenny.  Hosea often spoke to Lenny about becoming a lawyer.  Or a banker.

“When I save up enough to move East.  That’s where all the good colleges are.”

“East?  Like New York?” Charles said.

“Takes forever to get there from here,” Arthur said.  “Days and days on a train.  Worst trip ever.”

“Wait, when did you go to New York?” John asked.

Arthur sighed, staring up into the sky while he thought.  “Two years ago maybe?  That magazine wanted Al to do a show out there.  We got to visit his family, too.”

“So what’s the city like?” Lenny asked.

“Horrible.  Packed with people, horses and wagons.  Could barely walk two feet without bumping into somebody.”

“Sounds terrible,” Charles said.

“At least Al’s family is nice,” said Arthur.  As they finished up their beers, Abigail called them in for lunch, a rather generous spread given the extra guests.

“How was building fences?” Albert asked innocently.

“Fine, how was sitting inside avoiding work?”

“Oh, we had a splendid time,” Hosea answered for him.  “Al was telling us all about your most recent adventures.  I must say, I miss riding around in the mountains.  I don’t get out much anymore.”

“Not sure you’d enjoy all the cold nights.  We had a few nights camping in the snow because we couldn’t get back to town in time.  I remember what the winter does to your lungs, old man.”

“Not as much now.  It seems having a roof over my head and walls to keep in the heat have improved things for me.”  Arthur, for the first time, realized he hadn’t heard Hosea cough the whole day.  In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he had.  “But you are probably right.  I think I’ll stick to my chair by the fireplace.”

“How long are you boys staying?” Abigail asked.  “Sadie went after a bounty not far from here, said she would be back in a few days.”

Arthur and Albert turned to each other.  “I think we can stay a week,” Albert decided.  “Then we should probably get to the city to turn in the film.”

“And get our next assignment,” Arthur said.  “It’s spring.  They like to keep us busy.  Just as long as they don’t send us after bear cubs or something like that.”

“Good,” Abigail said.  “Jack likes it when you visit.  Where is that boy, anyway?”

“Probably out back reading, or something,” John said.  “He’ll come in when he realizes he’s hungry.”

“But he should join us, it’s a family meal,” Abigail continued, and Arthur felt the grin form on his face.  John and Abigail.  Their family start was difficult, to put it mildly, but now?  They were simply disagreeing over whether Jack had to come back inside the house they built together.  Like two pieces from one of Jack’s puzzles, shaped differently but they fit together with ease.  

Within minutes, the door opened and Jack ran inside with a book in his hand, Cain at his heels, and John raised an eyebrow at Abigail as if to say, ‘See?  Told you.’

The glare he got back caused Arthur to choke on his food as he tried to cover a laugh.

They spent their week just like that, doing farm chores and relaxing with friends.  Sadie showed up a few days later, with a couple more scars and a lot more guns than Arthur remembered.  But she was also more relaxed, even happy.  

“Sure you don’t want to come with me some time?  I wouldn’t mind an employee, and we could go after the really high bounties,” she said.

“I think I prefer tracking wildlife to bounties these days.  They don’t shoot back,” Arthur said.

“Though a goat did knock him over once,” said Albert.

“That was one time!” Arthur grumbled.

Finally, the end of the week was drawing near.  Arthur and Hosea sat alone on the porch, smoking and drinking whiskey.  Albert was inside, helping Abigail clean up.

“You sure you don’t want to come with me and Al on a trip?” Arthur asked.  “He can ask to go somewhere warm with good air, it’ll be fun!”

“Oh, I think I’m fine right here,” Hosea said.  “I learned after we hunted that huge bear near O’Creagh’s Run that I am a bit too old to be out in the wilds with the game.”

“That was quite a time, wasn’t it?” Arthur said.  “Money still good?”

“It’s been a little tight sometimes, but we’re surviving.”

“If you need any-”

“Arthur, we’re fine,” Hosea insisted.  “We are able to keep up with our bank loan and even have some savings.”

“Just making sure,” Arthur said.  He stared out into the cloudless sky, taking in all the stars.  “I wonder where Dutch is, sometimes.”

Hosea took a large gulp of his whiskey.  “Would you like to know?”

“He wrote to you?”

“He wrote to you,” Hosea said, pulling out the letter.  “Got it a few days ago.  I recognized the hand writing at the post office, so I didn’t share it with the others.  Figured I’d give it to you when we had a moment alone.”

“Didn’t he send you one?”

“He did, has for a while now.  Mostly they’re short, just letting me know he’s still alive out there.”

Arthur took the envelope, weighing it in his hands.  It felt more like a brick than paper.  “Why now?  What does he want?”

“Only one way to find out,” Hosea said.  He reached over to squeeze Arthur’s hand.

Arthur sighed, and slid it open.

Dear Arthur,

I’ve thought about writing to you a hundred times but for the first time in my life, I couldn’t find the words.  Hosea eventually talked some sense into me.  I couldn’t admit that you were right back then, and I suppose I was waiting until I could prove you wrong.  I failed at even that.

But you managed to live a better life than I imagined.  I try to find your magazines whenever I am in a town.  I even saw Albert’s display in a gallery in Denver, though I made certain to attend on a day neither of you would be there.  Not that I didn’t wish to see you, but rather to avoid any awkwardness from an unexpected meeting.  I truly believe Albert’s work is making a difference, and that more people in this country have respect for the land and nature within it.  You picked a wonderful man to spend your life with.

I don’t want anything other than to let you know I am still alive.  And to say that I am proud of the man you’ve become.

I hope that you are happy.

Dutch

Arthur sat staring at page.  “You okay?” Hosea asked.

“Yeah,” he said.  He looked at the page again, and noticed an address in the corner.  “Manzanita Post?” he asked.  “That’s near Blackwater.  Why the fuck would he go there?”

“I think he’s after the money,” Hosea said.  “He hid the ferry money in town, remember?”

“There’s no way it’s still there.”

“I agree.  But try telling Dutch that,” Hosea joked.

“Should I write back?”

“That’s up to you.  I’m sure he’d be happy to hear from you, just as I feel you were glad to hear from him.”

Arthur sighed, and slipped the letter into his pocket.  “I’ll think about it,” he said.

But really, he needed to talk to Albert first.  For years they’d existed peacefully far away from any mention of Dutch van der Linde.  Dutch didn’t seem to want to bring the gang back together, after all he’d been writing to Hosea for a while.  But it was still a risk, bringing Dutch back into their lives.

That night, when he and Albert crawled into bed, he pulled the letter out again.  “This came for me.  From Dutch,” he said, letting Albert read it in silence.

“I’m… shocked,” Albert finally said.  “After all these years?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you going to write back?”

“I don’t know.  I wanted to make sure you were okay with it, first.  After everything.”

Albert hesitated, staring at the page again.  “It’s been years.  I know that your life as an outlaw is long over.  If you want to write back, I think you should.”

“I don’t even know what I’ll say.”

“You’ll think of something.”  Albert said.  “Are you going to write it now?”

“I might try.  I don’t know how long Dutch is going to stay at this address.”

“Just don’t forget to blow out the candle when you are done,” Albert said sleepily, settling back against the pillow.

Arthur took Dutch’s letter over to the desk, reading it one more time.  Perhaps Dutch was finally changing.  Just a little, but enough for him to reach out.  Though if he was after the Blackwater money… Arthur shook his head.  But maybe Dutch finally accepted that Arthur would lead a different life than him.  And he had, at times, missed Dutch over the years.

Arthur smiled, and picked up his pen.