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Winter had a way of quieting everything, slowing it down. Made it feel as you were the only real and alive thing for miles. As high up as they were in the mountains, with this storm cooking it was rare to see anything but themselves. No deer, birds, rabbits. People. With this wind ripping these past few days Arthur hadn’t seen or heard anything at all. He’d been damn lucky though. He found an old mining town out in this mess. At least one building with four solid walls they could all hunker down in. That Davey could die in. Once everyone got settled and he got Isaac tucked away in the cabin with Abigail and Jack, Dutch informed him they were to set out to find Micah and John. Isaac wouldn’t let go of his coat though, his small hands gripping the blue fabric tightly. “I’ll be back soon son, hang out with Jack by the fire and get yourself cozy huh?” “But we just got here, you’re cold too.” The boy argued, glued to him. Abigail gave him a pitying but understanding look from above the boy’s head, coaxing him away from Arthur saying, “You look freezing sweetheart, let’s get you warm and your pa will be back in no time.” Arthur thanked her silently while the boy was occupied. She gave him a tired smile and Arthur slipped out the door. He’d asked Dutch about the weather, but he brushed him off after his rallying speech to the gang, saying they wouldn’t be out long. Charles brought them horses, offering his own for Arthur to use. He didn’t know what to think of that. Charles clearly treasured this animal, but was offering her for Arthur to borrow, someone he barely knew. They’d mounted and left quickly, Dutch shouting at Charles to get indoors and get warm. They’d rode through the deep snow and wind, barely able to see five feet ahead of em. They talked of Davey, Jenny. Mac and Sean. “Is that a rider coming towards us?” Dutch asked aloud. Arthur could barely see, let alone smell anything with the wind whipping around. He could see a mite better in the dark than most, but not with all the snow flying and making a white sort of screen all around them. A lantern came into view slowly. Then the face of a rider, then a horse. Micah. “Gentlemen.” Micah greeted in a tone that grated Arthur’s ears.  “Found anything?” Dutch asked, his voice reedy from the cold. “I think so. Found a homestead down that a way.” Micah cocked his head to the side.  “Okay!” Dutch exclaimed, some hope seeping in, “Anyone home?” “Sure… the place is blazing with light and noise, sounded like a party.” Micah said in a sing song way. “Let’s go see.” Dutch already kicked his horse into motion. “Follow me,” Micah turned his horse around, starting off up a hill in between the trees. Micah and Dutch talked about their losses. Dutch informed Micah Davey had died. The man didn’t sound too surprised. To be honest, neither was Arthur. Davey had a slim chance as it was, let alone having to fight against the elements.  “Ask him if he’s seen John!” Arthur yelled out ahead of him. Dutch asked and passed along Micah’s answer. He hadn’t seen him. Arthur huffed to himself, “He’ll be fine. Things always turn out right for that boy.” If only he had such luck in life. “I hope Mac and Sean are still out there somewhere.” Dutch called back to him. Dutch slowed his horse a bit, telling Arthur to bump up by Micah. No doubt trying to get them to talk, befriend one another. Dutch already knew how he felt about that idea, but he pushed his horse to Micah’s pace regardless. “You sure about this Micah?” Arthur shouted in the man’s direction , the lantern swinging between the two of them, casting them both in bright yellow glow. “Mr Morgan,” Micah grinned, “I never thought I’d be so pleased to see your face.” He seemed sarcastic, but Arthur could never tell with him. One of the things that bothered him about Micah. Could never tell what angle he was playing at. He’d be almost warm one minute, then flip like a coin the next, “Been awful lonely out here. Where are the others?” “Old mining camp, back up the hill.” Arthur told him simply. “Huddled around the fire waiting for daddy to put food on the table.” Micah didn’t give him much time to respond to that comment, telling him and Dutch to keep it down soon after. Arthur snuffed out his lantern at Dutch’s request and took in the scene from atop the hill. The homestead had a good size cabin and what appeared to be a barn. A small corral out in front of the house as well as a small side building. Light came from the windows, as well as music. They shuffled down the hill in a zig zag pattern to avoid the horses slipping. They hitched their mounts just inside the gate behind the trees. Out of the worst of the wind and out of sight. Arthur could hear what sounded like someone playing the fiddle from inside the house. As well as some hooting and hollering. They trudged through the knee high snow towards the house. The snow getting into Arthur’s boots, sure to cause him problems soon. Dutch wanted to approach the house alone, telling Arthur and Micah that it wouldn’t be as intimidating as the three of them showing up at the door. Arthur, a bit unsure of the idea agreed, and hid behind the shed, close enough to keep eyes on Dutch but out of sight. Once Arthur and Micah were hidden Dutch called out, standing a ways away from the porch. The sound of the fiddle abruptly stopped, some shouting and quick words to keep quiet came from inside before someone opened the door. Dutch introduced himself, explaining their situation and that they needed help, emitting any details of the law or who they were. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Micah, lifting a tarp that was thrown over a small wagon. The wind blew the smell his way and told him what he needed to know before Micah said anything. “Arthur…. Arthur we got a problem here.” Micah whispered breathless, “There’s a corpse right here.” He fiddled with the tarp, deciding to drape it back over the man he’d found, “Arthur… there’s a body… in the wagon.” Micah continued, getting riled up. “I know just…” Arthur looked from Micah to Dutch, to the now three men standing outside, “Just keep an eye on Dutch.” “I think you should go now buddy.” One of the men said, sounding impatient. Arthur readied his revolver, making sure it wasn’t frozen solid. “Now friend… I ain’t asking for much…” Dutch spoke, truly sounding desperate now. He watched as another man came out of the house, and decided to act before anything got worse. He shot the first man closest to Dutch, the man dropping to the ground quickly. He continued firing, Dutch and Micah pulling their weapons, making relatively quick work of them. There were about 8 of them in total, one straggler tried to run off into the woods. Arthur chased him before shooting the man in the back. All of them were men. This place was not occupied by homesteaders, at least not anymore. “Arthur! I said I’d handle this!” Dutch screamed at him as he hopped the fence and ran back towards the house. “Well it didn’t seem to be going well!” Arthur shouted back. “Goddamn O’Driscoll boys here!? Why?” Dutch shouted to no one, standing behind one of the out buildings before they both started towards the house. “Maybe same reason as us!” Micah called out. “I’ll go get the horses!” Dutch and Arthur walked into the cabin. Arthur was immediately overwhelmed by the smell. “Smells like a party in here…” He said to himself. The room stank of whiskey and beer, and the smell of men who haven’t washed in a while. Blood.  “Turn this place upside down Arthur.” Dutch said to him already tearing the house apart,” We need the essentials. Food, Medicine… Whiskey.” Arthur chuckled to himself at the last word, keeping his comments to himself. He started putting things in his pockets, his satchel, whatever he could carry. “God I’m starving.” Arthur grumbled, mostly to himself but Dutch piped up from the opposite side of the kitchen, “You should eat something now, get your strength up for the ride. I need you strong son.” Arthur almost felt giddy with the thought of food, the next can he grabbed, a can of beans, he cracked the lid open and ate it as quickly as his body would allow him. He usually considered beans boring and bland, only to be eaten when absolutely needed, but right now it felt the lord had blessed them himself. His gnawing hunger calmed for the moment, he continued to look around the house. He found a large patch of blood on the floor. “There’s blood here, probably from the poor bastard that lived here. Micah found a dead body in the wagon outside.” “I saw the blood earlier,” Dutch told him, stuffing cans into a sack he found. Arthur nodded and continued putting things he thought could be of use into his pockets. The photos on the mantle caught his eye, causing him to pause. It was a man and a woman on their wedding day. The man in a black suit, and the woman in a white lace dress. “Looks like the poor bastard was married, at some point.” He said quietly.  “If we cannot eat it or drink it, put it down.” Dutch hauled the sack over his shoulder heading for the door, “You keep searching, I’m going to get this on the horse.” Arthur hummed in acknowledgement and looked back at the photos. The door slamming after Dutch. It was silent in the house for a moment. Still. Then he heard something. Some sort of quiet, muffled crying. Arthur walked towards where he thought the noise was coming from, standing on a rug near the dining table. Out of place. The muffled noises stopped, as if whoever was making them were holding their breath. The acid stink of fear came up from the carpet, as if soaked into it. It smelled like a woman. He could never describe it, but men and women smelled different. Subtle differences maybe others noticed, but a difference strikingly apparent to him. He flipped the rug back and the smell of fear seemed to permeate the house further. The breathing was quieter, but faster now, below the trap door he now stood atop. Arthur thought about how he wanted to do this. He didn’t want to leave whoever was down there, what with him and Dutch and Micah taking everything. He also didn’t want to get shot simply because someone was scared half out their mind. He took a deep breath and tried to gentle his voice from the growl it usually came out as. “I don’t want to hurt ya. I know you’re scared.” He paused, and the breathing paused with him, “I’m gonna open the door slowly now.” He grabbed the latch of the door and pulled it open. The wood was thick and heavy, he had to heft it up and open. The barrel of a sawed-off is what greeted him. He froze, staring down the barrel of the gun. The barrel stared back, unmoving and cold. He unglued his eyes from the gun to the person holding it. The woman from the photos on the mantle. Looking strikingly different, hair unkempt, eyes wild and red from crying, white wrinkled nightgown, but it was her. Arthur slowly showed his palms, he had to do this carefully. One wrong move and his head could get blown off. He liked his brain in his skull, thank you very much. “My name is Arthur.” He said quietly, slowly. The woman’s eyes were locked on him, steely and wrought with hurt. She was shaking, the gun with her. “What… the hell… are you?” She rasped out, voice rough. Well how to answer this question. Arthur was lost for a moment. An outlaw? A killer? Now wanted man, running in the mountains… “Your eyes…” The woman continued, seemingly hardening herself, her shaking lessened, “Ain’t seen any like that before.” Oh, that. Well this may just be the thing that gets him shot. If the fact that he is in her house uninvited and taking her things wasn’t enough of a reason. “Just, born that way.” Arthur said, lamely. Not knowing how else to answer without scaring her, setting her off. “I figured that.” Her voice hardened, still raspy and rough, but stronger sounding. And then Dutch, always one for timing damn him, chose that moment to burst through the door shouting, “If you’re about finished now-“ The woman jumped out of her skin, the barrel of the gun moving just enough for the bird shot to miss Arthur’s head and embed itself into the wall behind him. Arthur reached out and grabbed the gun by the end of the barrel, directing it into a corner away from him and Dutch. He pried the gun from her fingers, careful not to hurt her hand too badly. “Arthur what is this…” Dutch asked confused. Arthur could barely hear his voice over the ringing in his ears. “Found her, she’s the wife to the poor bastard outside.” He answered quickly, not taking his eyes off the woman. She had scrambled to the other side of the table, screaming at them. Now Micah’s turn to enter the house, as if summoned by the chance to cause chaos. “Ooo Arthur what did you find!” Micah all but bellows, rounding the table and stalking towards the woman. She starts screaming and throwing whatever she can get her hands on, keeping the table between them. “Wild thing ain’t she! She’s one of them O’Driscolls!” Micah grins, ugly and all teeth, and makes a grab for the woman again before she finds anything else to throw at him. “She ain’t Micah look at her!” Dutch pleads, but there’s no arguing with a madman. Micah gets frustrated with the table and manically flips it over, taking joy in the woman’s fearful screams. The lantern on the table falls and shatters open, the flames taking to the dry floorboards quickly. “Micah you fool!” Dutch shouts at him. Arthur grabs him then, nearly throwing him into the kitchen counter. He bares his teeth and snarls at him, “Get yourself outside before I make you. You ain’t helping none.” Micah blinks at him a second, eyes wide and blank before his face hardens. His brows pull down and he looks for a moment like he might say something, but smartly thinks better of it. He pulls himself up, straightening his coat before grumbling something under his breath and stepping out the door. Arthur turns around and finds that the woman had found a knife. She was holding it shaking, standing as far away from the door as possible. “Miss! Miss we mean you no harm-“ The woman lunges towards Dutch weakly with the knife, but Dutch redirects her arm easily, holding it away from him carefully. “Miss, It is going to be okay. We mean you no harm.” The woman looks around, breath coming in quick pants. Arthur walks up carefully, landing a hand on Dutch’s shoulder. They needed to leave. “Come on,” Dutch coaxes her, taking the knife and dropping it out of the way. Arthur looks around quickly, smoke slowly choking the air. He finds some boots and a shawl by the door and grabs them. He walks up to the woman slowly, who is looking around frantically holding onto Dutch’s arm. “We need to go,” he says gently, gently as he can. He sets the boots down before her and holds out the shawl to her, not wanting to touch her. Her eyes lock onto his again, not moving. She slowly reaches out and takes the garment from him before putting it on, watching him all the while. “It’ll be okay,” Dutch soothes her again and she puts the boots on. “We need to get out of here, and quick.” The fire was climbing the walls now, smoke dark and heavy. Dutch held the shawl over the woman’s shoulders as he guided her out of the burning house, Arthur close behind. “Are you okay miss?” Arthur asks as they’re making their way down the stairs. “They came… three days ago. My husband they-“ Her voice cracks, and breaks. “Okay miss, you are safe now.” Dutch holds her around the shoulders, guiding her to his horse, “-and you can’t stay here so… you come with us… Arthur!” Arthur slides up beside them, taking Dutch’s lantern and the woman’s arm, steering her towards Dutch’s horse as he climbs into the saddle. “Miss, Its okay now,” He tries to reassure her, panting through the harsh wind stealing his breath, “We’re bad men, but… we ain’t them so…” They round Dutch’s horse and he hands the lantern back to the man sat atop it. He picks the woman up at the waist and sits her behind Dutch, her eyes watching him warily. “We’ll keep ya safe, until ya figure out what ya want to do.” A crash makes Arthur snap his head in the direction of the sound, a part of the house was weakened enough by the fire, causing it to fall and crumple in on itself. The flames were bright and angry against the white snow and dark sky. He looked back up to the woman now on Dutch’s horse. Her face crumpled, her eyes full of pain. She didn’t look away.  They get out of there quickly. Arthur gets onto Taima and leads the painted walker Micah found in the barn, behind him. Dutch, from what Arthur can make out, makes some sort of conversation with the woman on the way back. He finds out her name, what happened to her home, her husband. They arrive at camp, lanterns with people coming around to greet them. Dutch explains the situation so everyone can hear. The homestead they found, the O’Driscolls they found after, and Mrs. Adler they found after that. Dutch asks Tilly and Karen to see to Mrs. Adler. The woman looking about, unsure of herself. Mrs. Grimshaw tells Dutch and him that they’ll be in the same cabin and Micah that he’s with the men. “Thank you Mrs. Grimshaw,” Arthur pants against the wind, his throat feeling tight and near frozen. He cannot feel his face, his mouth hardly listening to him, It’s a wonder he can speak at all. “Your boy is in there with Mrs. O’Sea,” Mrs. Grimshaw tells him, “He’s sound asleep last I’d seen him.” Arthur nods stiffly, saying thank you with his eyes before he trudges towards the cabin, spent. Micah, never one to just shut up and keep quiet, complains, “What- Oh well how come Arthur gets a room while I have to have a bunk with Bill Williamson!,” he then quiets his voice and whispers, “-and a bunch of darkies!” “Get yourself to bed!” Hosea hollers at him, too tired and too worn down to deal with him. Arthur walked into the cabin with Dutch and let the door slam behind him. He felt frozen. He walked tiredly into the room Ms. O’Sea directed him to, and closed the door quietly. There was a fireplace in the room, thank the lord above, and it was burning bright. He looked over the small lump in the bed, little tuffs of blond hair peaking through the blanket. Arthur tiptoed quietly and pulled it back. Isaac’s face was slack and he was sound asleep. His little hands resting against the pillow. Arthur’s heart warmed just at the sight of him. Safe. He tucked the blanket up around Isaac’s chin, stepping quietly away from him. He used the light to undress himself, hanging his wet garments over an old chair and nudging it next to the fire. He toed his boots off and set them as close as he dared to the heat coming from the flames. He sat tiredly on the worn bed, scrubbing his face. His stubble had grown out into what could now be called a beard. As annoying and itchy as it was he had no plans to shave it. It was uncomfortable but it did offer some protection from the wind and cold. He laid down heavily, careful not to wake Isaac. A single blanket had been set out for him on the bed and he gladly made use of it.He was probably asleep before his head even hit the pillow.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Colter was dreary. Cold as death and just as quiet.  Arthur shoved through the cabin door sometime in the morning. As far as he knew Dutch was still asleep which was good. Dutch needed it. They all did really.  Isaac was gone when he woke up. It scared him a moment but where he slept was still warm, and he wasn’t in the cabin. He must’ve went to the other building with Mrs. O’Sea.  He wore the worn repeater over his shoulder. Making quick work tending to the horses, as he didn’t have the time last night, before stalking over to the cabins. He ran hot. Wolves typically did. However this cold had a bite to it that made his feet freeze in his boots. His clothes had thawed and dried thoroughly by the fire last night, which he was grateful.  It made him want to change, the cold. To have his thick fur instead of his wool coat. It just wasn’t the same. He didn’t have the time, nor the energy to do so now however. They needed him, walking and talking on two legs. Changing always took it out of him too. Made him tired, hungry. Enough to eat a whole doe by himself. They didn’t have food like that to spare now, and he couldn’t go hunting in this.  Arthur went into the big cabin, the one where all the women and Hosea slept, to check on everyone. The wind slammed the door behind him, making most everyone look up to see who came in. He propped the repeater in the corner before stalking over to the fireplace.  “Pa you’re up!” Isaac ran over to him, bumping into his leg. “Hey kiddo,” He ran a gloved hand down his son’s back looking down at him. The boy looked up, a twinkle in his dark eyes. He had his mother’s eyes, Eliza’s. A light brown, honey colored, almost matching his hair.  They looked like human eyes. Arthur didn’t know how his eyes looked as a kid, but his mother never told him about the possibility of turning. He always noticed how he looked since then. He was scared for Isaac, not wanting his son to have to deal with what he did. Another target on his back, besides the life he chose.  “-ain’t been seen in days, and the weather ain’t let up. He’s smart and strong. Well, strong at least…” Abigail’s voice floated to his ears.  Arthur tossed another log onto the fire, the embers flying. He could see his breath in the cabin, and the cold was starting to burn the tips of his ears. Everyone in here smelled of stress. The two kids too, but it was fainter. It was a bitter smell. Not that he could blame them for it. Everyone had been through hell these past few days.  He felt eyes on him and looked to the window. Mrs. Adler sat between Tilly and Karen, looking at him with… Arthur wasn’t sure. Confusion? Some sort of anger… maybe a lot of things. Poor woman had been through hell and back in the last 3 days.  “Hello Arthur.” Abigail came to stand next to him at the fire, tearing his gaze away from Mrs. Adler. “Abigail.” Arthur said quietly, focusing on the fire, rubbing his gloved hand up and down Isaac’s back.  While he was human, he looked human. However he was told there was always something that put people off. Something not quite ‘right’. His eyes were the wrong color, golden with pupils too reflective of the light. His teeth Just a little too big and a little too sharp. His hair too soft, fur like. A stripe of it went from the nape of his neck and down his back.  From a distance he looked to be a man. Up close though, if people were paying attention, they’d notice something was off. When others smiled with their teeth, he’d growl or duck his head. He rarely looked people in the eyes unless it was to threaten them. His voice came out more of a growl than actual speech. Mrs. Adler noticed something off about him quick enough. Extremely quick actually, now that he thought of it.  It could have been the light in the cabin, his eyes reflecting the lantern just right to alert her something was different. Could have been when he spoke. Could have been something else. He’d have to keep an eye on it.  “Arthur… how ya doin?” Abigail asked, awkwardly.  “Just fine Abigail, and you?” Arthur asked, suspicious, keeping his eyes on the fire. The flames danced in a dull orange, like even the fire didn’t want to fight the cold. Abigail danced between her feet for a moment, “I need you to-“  Arthur sighed. Loudly.  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry to ask but-” she looked away quickly but he knew her. She was ready to argue or beg him into going.  “It’s little John,” Arthur interrupted, “he got himself caught in a scrape again.” The damn fool.  “He ain’t been seen in two-“ Abigail raised her voice, but thought better of it. “Two days.” “Your John will be fine.” Arthur drawled, annoyed at John for making Abigail worry. He coaxed Isaac away to go and play with Jack. The kid didn’t seem too invested in the conversation anyways, “I mean, he may be as dumb as rocks and as dull as rusted iron,” He continued turning to fully face Abigail now, “but that ain’t changing because… because he got caught in some snowstorm!”  It was John’s own fault for going out like this, in this weather. He could’ve waited to abandon his family at a more convenient time.  “At least go take a look.” Hosea piped up. “Javier?” “Yes.” Javier answered, sounding as if he were on the cusp of sleep before Hosea called his name. “Javier will you ride out with Arthur, to take a look for John?” Hosea asked. Hosea had a way of ‘asking’ you to do something, and you just weren’t able to tell him no. More like being volun-told, “You’re the two best fit men we’ve got.”  “Now?” Javier asked, a bit of disbelief seeping into his voice. The man’s teeth almost rattling with the deep chill in the cabin.  “She’s… We’re all pretty worried about him.” Hosea continued, looking between Abigail and Javier.  A few moments passed before Javier got up. “I know…” He grabbed a sawed off shotgun laying on the table, “if the situation were reversed he’d look for me.” He stopped in front of Arthur, holding the shotgun out to him. Arthur sighed and grumbled to himself, but took it.  Truthfully, he’d look for John anyway. However, his shit was getting old. Running off like this, during this weather, was asking for trouble.  He said a quick goodbye to Isaac, telling him to behave for Abigail.  “Thank you!” Abigail said quickly, Arthur followed Javier out of the cabin.  Just…damn it.  Arthur and Javier got the horses out of the sorry excuse of a barn, Arthur taking Mrs. Adler’s Walker, and headed off in the direction John left.  The painted horse he was riding was no Boadicea. This horse was timid, spooked by him. Not used to him, and Arthur doubted the chances of that changing. Boadicea he’d had since she was a yearling. She was a skittish handful at first, fearful of the predator in camp. However, Arthur kept coming around her, and nothing she must’ve been afraid of happened. She was a terror from then on. A little shit who’d steal the hat right off Arthur’s head, prancing away with it. Not one bit afraid of him. That horse was brave. Arthur could shoot from atop her and she wouldn’t move an inch.  “Over here Arthur!” Javier shouted over the wind. “Tracks!”  Right. The task at hand. He can reminisce about his poor dead horse later. Javier and Arthur followed the tracks for awhile. Arthur’s sense of smell still dulled, the wind blowing scents every which way. He could smell Javier, could smell their horses, could smell the fresh snow and the pine trees. He couldn’t much smell anything much father than them. The tracks ran in and out, fresh snow blown over them. They came almost to the top of a ridge when he smelled it. Blood.  “This way.” Arthur tapped his horse to continue to the top of the ridge.  At the top there lie John’s horse. It smelled of him faintly.  “That’s the horse John was riding when we left Blackwater.” Javier commented, getting off his horse to inspect John’s more closely. “That’s…” The horses entrails were scattered across the snow, turning it red and pink.  “Let’s see if he can hear us.”  Javier fired a few shots over his head, the horses jumping. It made Arthur’s ears ring. “Hey! Help! Over here!” John’s voice faintly carried over the wind.  “He must be up ahead this way, I don’t think we can take the horses much farther.”  Arthur nodded, dismounting his horse and grabbing his shot gun.  He followed Javier around the large rock formations. They were basically on a cliff.  “Mierda we’re high up here.” Javier huffed, slipping and fighting through the snow.  “You’re telling me.” Arthur followed close behind, keeping an eye on the ledge. John’s yelling being heard all the while.  “It drops down here, watch yourself.” Javier jumped down about a four foot ledge. Arthur was careful with his footing, going slow. One slip up and he’s sure he’d fall for minutes. They traversed as far from the edge of the cliffs as they could. Over, under and around the rock formations. How John even got himself lost out here Arthur had no idea. The idiot clearly had no bounds.  “How you doing Arthur?” Javier checked in with him.  “I’m miserable.” Arthur said bluntly, continuing behind him.  If it was possible it was even colder. The wind had no trees or valleys to slow it down, cutting down to his bones.  “John we’re coming!” Javier yelled.  “I’m here! On the ledge!” John called out, sounding much closer now.  “I’m here!” “Alright alright pipe down Marston!” Arthur peaked over the edge, John sitting on a small outcropping just big enough for two people.  “You got quite a scratch there.” Arthur commented. Three scratches tore across John’s face, the skin looked red and irritated, one of his eyes swollen.  “Never thought I’d say this, but it’s good to see you Arthur Morgan.” John ground out. Twice people have said that to him now. The fact that Micah and John’s words were so similar bothered him.  Arthur slid down onto the ledge next to John, looking him over. His lips were blue, face bright red and swollen. John wasn’t shivering anymore, which was a bad sign. Arthur could hear his heart going slower than it should. He smelled of dried sweat, stress, despair. Though the last one was lightening up. “You don’t look so good.” Arthur grabbed John’s arm and hauled him up over his shoulder.  “I don’t feel so good.” John groaned as Arthur sat him up on the ledge and Javier pulled him the rest of the way up. Arthur climbed up from the ledge and looked John over again. He was standing with the help of Javier, but just barely. Looks like one of his legs took some damage as well.  “Come on compadre…” Javier turned John and Arthur hauled him over his shoulder. Hopefully carrying John would make him warm up a bit. John didn’t have any bulky warm clothes on. It made him easier to hang onto, easier to carry. Arthur was once again dumbfounded as to why John would try to leave in this weather. He wasn’t even dressed for it.  They had to take another way out. John being unable to walk, and Arthur not going to fit through all they had to traverse with him on his shoulders.  Eventually, they made it to where they could see the horses. John’s little friends had arrived though. Three wolves stood atop of an outcropping near their horses. No doubt the cold and lack of wildlife because of it having the same effect on them as gang. Starving and cold.  “Arthur you take care of them, we’ll head for the horses.”  Arthur silently passed John over to Javier, and stalked towards the wolves that were waiting for them.  The wolves, snarling and howling started walking up to him. Arthur growled back, loud enough to be heard. He bared his teeth and didn’t stop walking. The wolves stopped, uncertain of what do to now that he wasn’t running from them. Arthur growled again in warning, lower this time. Two of the wolves seemed to have changed their minds, the other one however, still didn’t move and continued to snarl, dribble spilling from its teeth. It’s hunger outweighing good sense. Arthur shot that one, the rest quickly ran off after that.  The ride back was fine, quicker than the ride out. There were a couple more wolves who wanted to try their luck, but they got shot too.  They rode in the water awhile as to not attract more of them to camp. Arthur ribbed John about needing a a better story for his scar, mostly just keeping him awake, even if Arthur did enjoy teasing him.  They finally made it to camp. John was helped into the cabin, Abigail fussing over him the whole time.  “Thank you Arthur,” Hosea came up behind him, “Thank you both,” Hosea patted Javier on the shoulder.  “You got anymore lost maidens that need saving?” Arthur blew into his gloved hands, trying to thaw his fingers. “No not today.” Hosea chuckled.  Once most everyone was tucked away inside Arthur turned to Hosea. “You and Dutch figure out how we’re gonna get out of this mess?”  “Well I was just asking to Herr Strauss here, and once the weather clears up, we think we’ll head east.”  “East? With all that, civilization?!” Arthur didn’t quite yell, but it was close. The more people, the easier it would be for someone to find them, to recognize them. Other people were worse for Arthur especially. Maybe even Isaac, though he wasn’t sure of that yet.  “All of our problems are in the west. We think for now it would be best.”  Arthur just nodded, thinking to himself.  “Thank you again Arthur,” Hosea clapped him on the shoulder before heading inside. Strauss parroted his thanks and followed close behind him.  Arthur watched them go inside. He stared at the door a moment before a chill ran through him. He needed a break from this wind.  He checked his horse over in the barn, Javier had brought it in for him. Once he was satisfied with the state it was in, he went back to the men’s cabin. The wind slammed the door shut behind him again.  Lenny and Micah were arguing, not even pausing to look to the door when he entered. More like Micah was picking on him to entertain himself, and Lenny wasn’t giving him the satisfaction. Good for him. Micah seemed to get more agitated by the minute.  Arthur lit a cigarette and sat in a rickety chair in by the fire place. The smoke burned his lungs, giving him the illusion of it heating him up from the inside.  As he watched Micah and Lenny argue, he ruminated on a conclusion he already knew. He didn’t like Micah. Not a bit.  Besides the man’s way of talking to those deemed below him, or his way of walking, weaving and overconfident, like a snake… there was something else about him. Spineless. Changing shape with whatever fit him best for the situation. He was a predator who wouldn’t stalk those his own size. Not in an overconfident brave way, like a wolverine, but a fox in a henhouse. Sly and cunning, but would run and cry the moment it met resistance from the farmer keeping watch. Tucking tail as if saying, ‘look I’m harmless’ to those who could actually do it harm. Occasionally the fox would get brave, like now. The way he was speaking to Lenny, he’d never dare speak to Dutch that way.  Micah carried on, talking about how they were all ‘long faced’ and how he thought they liked action.  “A couple of days on the lam, and you lot have all turned yella”. Micah continued talking, even as Arthur snatched the bottle of booze from his hand, “Oh apart from you, of course.” Micah eyed Lenny.  “Shut up Micah.” Lenny rolled his eyes and took a drag from his smoke.  “I guess folks just miss them, that fell.” Bill said thoughtfully, a far away look in his eyes as he smoked.  “Well when I fall,” Micah said seriously, “I don’t want no fuss.”  “When you fall, there’ll be a party.” Lenny said cheerily from the top of his bunk.  A snicker went through the cabin. Javier coming through the door, shivering.  Bill repeated, “A party…” and laughed to himself.  Micah stood up, sauntering over to Bill sitting in his chair, “That funny huh?”  “Sure…” said Bill, still laughing.  Micah punched him quick, knocking Bills hat off.  Bill roared and soared up out of his chair, knocking it back. Micah walked away slowly knowing Arthur and Lenny would step in and hold Bill back.  “I don’t feel like being laughed at by the likes, of you two!” Micah yelled at Bill and Lenny.  “Stop it! All of you!” Dutch walked through the door, shouting at them over something that hadn’t really had a chance to get started.  “You fools punching each other, while Colm O’Driscolls needs punching, hard! You wanna sit around waiting for him to come find us?” Dutch continued, Arthur was already out the door, fresh smoke already lit.  “You sure about this Dutch?” Arthur rubbed his hands together as the others filed out between them, “Folks been through a lot recently, we hardly back on our feet yet.”  “And the last thing we need,” Dutch leaned into his personal space, teeth bared and looking him in the eyes. Arthur knew he probably didn’t know what he was doing, but he hated when he did it all the same, “Is to get bushwhacked by Colm O’Driscoll. Come on,” Dutch grabbed his arm roughly and pulled him towards the horses.  “I know you hate him Dutch,” Arthur tried to placate.  “He’s here for us.”  “I doubt that,” Arthur retorted quickly. There ain’t no reason Colm would go through all this thoroughfare to get to them. Much easier ways to do so.  “Nope. You’re just doubting me.” Dutch didn’t look at him, checking the weapons on his horse.  Arthur was speechless for a moment. “I-I would never doubt you Dutch you…” He took a breath, “ You always said, revenge is a luxury we cant afford.”  “This is the right call Arthur. Take this,” Dutch handed him the repeater from his saddle, and Arthur looked it over. “And this is about more than revenge for business long ago. They were talking about trains and detonators. Here, “ Dutch handed him a rope and got onto his horse, “Colm always had, good information.”  Arthur responded, exasperated, “And you think now, is the right time to hit a train?” He climbed up into the saddle, watching Dutch do the same.  “Now you, might fancy living on deer piss and rabbit shit… I-“ Dutch looked at him, seeming to change his mind about something, “I am getting too old for that life.”  Dutch called out for Hosea, Charles and Pearson, informing them of their departure and that they would need to look after things in their absence. Informing them that “There are O’Driscolls about!” Before kicking his horse into a run. Arthur, Bill, Micah, Lenny and Javier following dutifully behind him.  Dutch asked Arthur for directions, based on what the O’Driscoll Micah ran into in the Adler’s Barn had said. Supposedly, before Micah killed him. He didn’t like going off of information Micah had gotten, especially since there was no one around to confirm they’d heard the same thing he did.  They went down the mountains a bit. The wind wasn’t so bad here, just soft flurries of snow drifting slowly to the ground. Dutch informed everyone of where we wanted them posted outside the camp, while he and Arthur took a look from the ridge top. Arthur left his horse behind, trudging through the snow to the top of the hill where he could see below them. Dutch followed on foot behind him.  There were horses and figures scattered about the camp. It appeared to be an old depot or station of some kind.  “That’s definitely them,” Dutch commented to himself from over Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur pulled out his binoculars and peeked through them, following one of the figures in particular. The odd gait to his step, his hat… “Yeah that’s him. Colm.” Arthur confirmed. Could it be coincidence they were so close to them, all the way up here.  “Who is he talking to, he don’t seem happy.”  “No… I think they’re leaving.” Arthur followed the figures with his binoculars, watching as they mounted their horses.  “Let’s get down here. Better to rob Colm of his prize without him knowing about it.” Dutch slapped him on the shoulder and they made their way back to their horses. Arthur grabbed the rifle Dutch gave him from his horse before following him.  “We’ll go down this way, same as Micah and Bill. We’ll wait unit Colm leaves, then got for it. Like you said, revenge is a luxury we can’t afford.”  “Yeah just… wasn’t sure you agreed with me.”  “Arthur. Arthur… have you completely lost faith in me?” Dutch asked out of left field, causing Arthur to slow his inspection of his weapons, listening. “Our needs right now, are supplies and equipment and a way outta here. Everything else, including Colm, can wait.”  “Okay,” Arthur nods, continuing his trek down the hill.  “There’s enough of those bastards down there to deal with as it is, now come on.” Dutch surges ahead of him, onto narrow walkway of an outcropping, footprints already left behind by Micah and Bill.  “Watch out, it’s a bit steep.” Dutch warns him after losing his footing. They aren’t so high up as when he and Javier went after John, but the steep drop off made him think of it regardless.  Finally they made it to flat ground with lots of tree cover.  “Maybe I should take the lead on this, they’ll be gunning for ya.” Arthur tries to offer, some sort of apology for making Dutch angry somehow.  “Well they ain’t got me yet-“  “No, but with the way our luck’s been running-“  “Hush, let’s just get down there first.” Dutch quiets him, and Arthur shuts up, following down near the tracks.  An Irish lilt reaches Arthur’s ears, upset and shouting. Something about who is supposed to be on guard duty.  They walk under the shell of the old train tracks, maybe a bridge at one point.  They meet up with Micah and Bill, all of them hiding behind the rotten wood.  “So, what are we doing Dutch, I can take this if you want?” Arthur waits, crouched down. Watching.  “Just make the call.” Dutch looks down at him from where he’s standing, impatient.  Arthur looks around, tires to get a number on how many men they’re looking at.  “Just make. The. Call. You wanna take the lead? Go.” Dutch’s voice is quiet, but there’s a heat to it Arthur doesn’t like.  “Ok fine, on me.” Arthur doesn’t look at Dutch, and takes the unlucky man standing nearest to them. They all spring into action at once. Firing at the men fast and quick. The bodies start dropping like flies. With all the guns going off Arthur’s ears ring like someone put a pot on his head and smacked it with a spoon. He does his best to ignore it, block it out. Focuses on what he can see and smell instead. He smells the gunpowder, the burning smell only a gun can make. He focuses on the O’Driscolls running about, like ants whose hill just got introduced to a steaming kettle of water.  Once the first shack is clear, Dutch runs ahead of him. Arthur jumps up from his crouch and follows, hot on his heels.  It goes on like this. Building by building they clear, and move onto the next. The shouting and gunfire never lets up once. Until the whole ordeal is over.  Once they’re sure they’ve gotten all of them, Arthur takes a moment. He slings the rifle over his shoulder and presses his hands over his ears, making it quiet. The ringing never quite stops, but it gives him a moment to collect himself. He feels off balance almost, the ringing making him squeeze his eyes shut in an effort to make it go away.  Then Dutch starts up his godforsaken yelling. They strip the bodies as they go over them, collecting what they can. Some medicine here and there, silver rings, buckles. Whatever is useful to them or sellable. Arthur climbs onto some sort of boardwalk to loot another body when more shots ring out.  “More bastards, coming from the trees!” Dutch hollers, and Arthur pulls his rifle from his back, levering it before finding his newest target.  This was turning into one long day.

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Made some Art 
https://www.tumblr.com/bayon-ett/778033386930487296/damn-your-love-damn-your-lies-the-chain 
 …        There were lots of dead O’Driscolls.  How Colm has so many men, and the money to pay all of em is beyond Arthur.  They pick off a bunch of them that were coming from the trees, shooting men right off their horses. After about five minutes or so, with the O’Driscolls not making any ground, the remaining men left.  His eyes got caught on one of the stragglers running. He’d already started forwards, an urge to chase pulling him along before Dutch’s orders to keep searching for supplies interrupted him.  Arthur, put out by his hunt being interrupted, continued gathering supplies from the downed bodies. Ammo, medicine, coffee. Whatever he found he took with him. He found some food, some crackers or whiskey. He ate some of what he found as he went, the sluggishness of not eating enough bothering him.  He had lost weight over these past few weeks. The stress, the never ending running around. He’d had to go down a loop or two with his gun belt so it didn’t feel like it was slipping off of him. He’d forgone eating when there wasn’t enough to go around. He’d give his portion or part of it to Isaac and Jack. It wasn’t good for the boys to go without food, especially when they were growing. He is not excited for the days when they’re teenagers. Sometimes he’d share or give his portion to Hosea, claiming he’d eaten something out of a can earlier.  Hosea was getting older now, frailer. Arthur didn’t want to think of him that way, but lately… He had this cough that never quite seemed to get better, he’d looked skinnier, the gang’s current predicament not withstanding. His hair was more silver than not now, no longer the pale blond it once was, like Isaac’s. Arthur worried for him.  Arthur was still searching the bodies in the trees, lost in his thoughts when Dutch called out to him, “We’re waiting on you Arthur!”  Arthur sighed and finished rifling through the mans pockets in front of him. The stink of blood permeated the air, a dark patch crawling through the snow from the wound in the man’s chest.  Arthur dropped the man back into the snow, wrinkling his nose. He wiped his hand off on the mans jacket, trying in vain to get the smell off himself.  He trudged through the snow back towards the rest of the men were waiting. Dutch had them all search through the buildings, looking for the detanators and explosives Micah’s little informant supposedly told him about.  Arthur is digging through a crate in one of the outbuildings when he finds it. The smell of unlit gunpowder.  “Here!” He calls out, and Bill comes jogging over to him. “What do ya think?” He hands Bill a roll of the dynamite he found, tightly packed.  “Oh this is good,” Bill takes it form him, sniffing it,” Smells good.” He laughs to himself.  “If you say so, here” Arthur handed Bill a small crate with a long fuse cord piled in it, which Bill took happily.  “Got everything?” Dutch asked the lot of them as they all reappeared from the buildings.  “I think so Boss,” Micah drawled, sauntering up to Dutch with a large map, “I found this on one of em, this is perfect.” Micah stood back from Dutch’s horse with his hands in the air, a smug look on his face.  “Interesting…” Dutch looked the map over, he unfurled it like a pirate’s map. “This was something about the train they was gonna rob… a Mr. Leviticus Cornwall.”  Arthur looked to Dutch and to Micah. That name didn’t seem familiar to either of them.  “Mount back up, let’s keep moving.” Dutch tucked the map away into his saddle bag and started his horse forward. “Let’s get outta here, I’m proud of you boys, not a man down.”  “Good work fellers,” Bill chimed in, kicking his large horse into a lumbering gallop.  “Not too bad, for some starving down and outs,” Dutch began, “They can pummel us, hard as they like, but we will always get back up and fight. That’s who we are,” Dutch turned in his saddle to look Arthur in the eye then, “Outlaws, for life fellas.” Dutch was a quiet a moment, then continued, “Just wait until we have John, Mac, Charles and Sean back riding with us- and I believe, I know they will all be back.”  “Well ya didn’t get Colm, but his hit will hurt him a lot more than any bullet in the head will.” Arthur encouraged. He wanted those boys out riding with em again too.  “And after we rob this train,” Dutch chuckled.  Arthur laughed, “Well I guess we’ll see about that.”   “Oh indeed we will.” Dutch turned his head towards him, smiling without teeth.  “You know,” Arthur started, pensive, “he will come after us.”  “Oh of course he will,” Dutch rolled his eyes, “Just like all the rest. But we’re gonna stay a step ahead of them. Make sure we know where they are, before they know where we are. We allowed ourselves to get a step behind in Blackwater,” Dutch looked at him again, making sure he had Arthur’s attention on him before continuing, his voice steely “That, wont happen again.”  They rode hard for awhile, all of them wanting to get back to camp and settle for a bit. They rode along a river, the stream dark and black looking as it cut through the fresh bright snow. About ten minutes in Arthur smelled something. Someone. A person, and a horse.  “Slow up a second here Dutch,” Arthur said as quietly as could be heard over the horses.  “Dutch slowed his horse, holding his hand up for everyone behind him to wait, giving him a questioning look.  The wind was lighter and blowing towards them gently. It carried the scent of a horse, an almost earthy and grass smell all horses had. The other was undeniably human. A man. “What is it Arthur?” Dutch asked quietly from next to him.  He focused his eyes down the bank of the river, following it. Far up ahead, there was a faint silhouette. A horse and rider.  “There’s someone up ahead.” Arthur whispered quietly, spurring his horse forwards gently.  “It could be one of those O’Drisscoll boys, be careful son.” Dutch whispered from behind him as Arthur steered his horse into the river. “And bring him back alive to camp….please.” He added as an afterthought.  Arthur mumbled to himself, “No promises.” The hunt was on.  He kept his horse in a slow walk. He was downwind of the figure, the unknown persons horse wouldn’t smell him. He wanted to have fun with this.  He got close to the figure, almost comically close behind him. Too easy. The green coat was a dead giveaway.  Arthur cleared his throat loudly and the figure jumped in his saddle, craning his neck to look at him. They both just stared at each other for a moment.  Arthur smiled slowly, showing his teeth, “Boo.” And the O’Driscoll was off to the races.  Arthur kicked his horse forwards, chasing close behind.  “You got the wrong feller!” The O’Driscoll shouted over his shoulder, urging his horse along.  “What ya running from then?” Arthur called to him, grin on his face. He grabbed his rope from his saddle horn, readying the loop.  As soon as his horse was close enough he tossed the loop around the man’s shoulders and pulled.  The O’Driscoll landed in the snow with a shout, quickly followed by swearing.  Arthur sauntered up and stood over the man. More of a boy really. Barely older than 18 or… maybe 21 if Arthur was being generous. If judging by his patchy beard and scrawny build that hadn’t had time to catch up to his height was anything to go by. The boy stared up at him, frozen with wild eyes that watched him like a hawk. Arthur reached for him and the spell was broken. The boy came alive and started kicking and grabbing feebly at the snow. Arthur knocked his boot aside when he kicked out at him, using his weight to keep him still, straddling his midsection. He was fighting Arthur like hell but there wasn’t much strength in it. No anger either. More like a rabbit caught in a trap.  “Quit yer squirming boy.” Arthur grunted. The boy swiped at him but Arthur caught his arm, twisting. He looped his rope tightly around one wrist before going for the other.  “Listen mister you-you got the wrong guy I ain’t…”  “What? An O’Driscoll?” Arthur almost laughed, rolling the boy over easily and beginning to tie his ankles.  “Yeah yeah-NO! No mister I ain’t… I ain’t no O’Driscoll!. Never met em!”   Arthur got up and shoved the other over roughly. “Why you wearing O’Driscoll clothes then?” He bared his teeth fully. The boy cowered away, ducking his chin and trying to make himself sink deeper into the snow. “Yeah.. about what I thought.”  Arthur whistled for his horse and it came trotting over, blowing hot air out its nose.  Arthur grabbed the boy and stowed him behind his saddle, the horse dancing back and forth on its feet, not sure how to feel about the new addition that refused to settle. Unfortunately for Arthur, the boy just would not shut up the whole ride back to camp. It grated Arthur’s ears. The more he snapped or tried to scare the boy, he’d quite down for about 3 seconds, before the begging and the whining started up again. Louder and higher pitched every time. Good lord.  “Are you… are you gonna eat me?” The boy asked, interrupting one blissful moment of silence.  “Am I gonna what?” Arthur actually turned in his saddle, making the boy recoil.  “I don’t mean to… I… well..” The boy trailed off.  “Am I gonna eat you…” Arthur repeated to himself, laughing quietly.  A lot of folks, those who didn’t know any better… seemed like most people these days. They believed him an animal. Ruled by nothing more than instincts. Be it Hunger, anger, lust. Although some things may be true… Arthur did need to eat, like any thing else in this world. He needed to protect himself, he may have felt a pull to do things that strictly human people did not, but he didn’t consider himself an animal. He could reason, as poor as he was at it sometimes. He could think, he could love. Isaac was proof enough of that. 
He wasn’t an it, wasn’t some wild thing.  
 It took Hosea and Dutch a time to learn him. When Arthur was a boy. They didn’t understand a lot of what he did, or why he did it. Dutch less so than Hosea. Though Hosea seemed to make more of an effort. He’d ask Arthur why he’d chase things, why he didn’t like wearing shoes, why he’d circle the camp at night. Hosea made a point to understand. Made a point to accept Arthur, as he was. He let him do as his instincts bid him to, but he also cultivated the human part in him. He taught him how to speak clearly, as clear as he could with sharp teeth and a rough voice. Not to mention the accent he was never able to get rid of. He taught him to read, taught him to write. Bought him his first journal to write down what he was thinking, feeling, what he saw. He still did that to this day thanks to him. He had a lot to thank Hosea for. Dutch though… he wasn’t sure about. Dutch seemed to think him something to be controlled, contained. Every now and then he’d do something to yank on Arthur’s metaphorical chain, almost to remind both of them that it was there. A guard dog was only a good one if it obeyed its master.  He hated that. To think that Dutch saw him that way. He didn’t want to believe Dutch saw him like that. So for the time being, he wouldn’t. He didn’t. He… couldn’t.  He’d made it to camp, praise the lord.  “Here we are! You sack a shit…” Arthur claimed down off his horse and grabbed the boy’s shoulder, bearing his teeth, “Let’s introduce ya to the boys.”  “Don’t hurt me please,” The boy’s warbled, tense over Arthur’s shoulder.  “Aw don’t worry, they’re real nice…” Arthur antagonized.  Arthur made his way to the barn, smelling where Dutch was waiting for him.  Dutch poked his head from around the corner, cigar in hand, “Found the little shit did ya?” He barked a laugh.  “Yep…” Arthur tossed the boy into the snow none to gently, “I got em.”  “Welcome to your new home,” Dutch stood over the boy as Arthur untied him, “Hope you’re real happy here.”  Arthur grabbed the boys collar, hoisting him up to standing, “You want me to make him talk?”  “No, all we’ll get is lies…” Dutch didn’t even look at the boy, calling out for Uncle and Bill to get the boy tied up somewhere.  Bill and Uncle took over for Arthur, and he stepped aside.  “We’ll get him real hungry first…” Dutch looked to the boy then, “I got a sayin my friend. We shoot fellas as need shootin, save fellas as need saving, and feed em… as need feeding. We are gonna find out…. What you need.” Dutch stated coldly… staring the boy down.  Dutch burst out laughing then, making the boy jump, “I can’t believe it! An O’Driscoll in my camp!”  “I ain’t an O’Driscoll mister!” The boy shouted desperately as he was dragged away by Uncle and Bill, “ I hate that fella!”  “Oh whatever you say son!” Dutch called after him.  “Well done Arthur.” Dutch turned to him, quieter now.  “I’m just sorry we missed out on Colm.” Arthur shook his head.  “Oh there’s plenty of time for that…. Now, I gotta figure out if we can hit that train!” Dutch hollered over his shoulder as he headed towards their shared cabin.  “Okay.” Arthur said in answer, just loud enough for Dutch to hear. Once Dutch had his mind set, there was no changing it. He followed him to the cabin. It was time for some damned rest.  …  The next morning was the same as all the others in these mountains. Overcast and cold.  He’d sat with Isaac for a bit by the fire in the big cabin, rocking back and forth in the rickety chair. He’d shared a can of peaches with his son, though the boy ate most of it. There was plenty of coffee to go around though, so he used that to fill himself up. He’d felt kind of sick with it, coffee on an almost empty stomach. But it was hot, and his son got to eat something. Arthur would live.  He’d left Isaac under Tilly’s watchful eye, Abigail too preoccupied with taking care of John. He’d surely start something with Jack to pass the time.  He trudged though the knee high snow over to where Pearson was set up. Arthur knew they were low on supplies. Dangerously low. He needed to figure out what he needed to do.  Their ammo was limited and needed to be used sparingly. Especially if they were to be robbing a train soon. As bad of an idea as Arthur thought that to be, it wasn’t his call.  He could change, track some game. It would be easy work, but bringing it back would be another story. The horse he has would probably bolt from him. Not to mention how hungry he’d be afterwards. That would just create more problems….What to do…  “We’re gonna starve to death up here Mr. Morgan.” Pearson rumbled, huddling close to the glowing coals under an empty spit.  “We’re okay…” Arthur sighed. They weren’t and he knew it.  Pearson huffed, “We have, a few cans of food and a rabbit. For what? Ten-twelve people?” He shook his head, digging through a crate, “Then there’s you, you could eat a horse by yourself most days.” Pearson sighed, “When I was in the navy-“  “I do not wish to hear what you got up to in the navy Mr. Pearson, “ Arthur interrupted, walking over to the hot coals and holding his gloves over them. The leather creaked, heating up his hands.  Pearson began vigorously chopping something, tossing it into the well worn cast iron, “We were stranded at sea for fifty days-“  “And you unfortunately survived…” Arthur cut him off again, louder now. Pearson was always one to complain. Somehow relate what they were going through to one of his big ‘adventures’.  Pearson struck his cutting knife into the log he was using as a cutting board, tossing his hands in the air, “When we ran away from Blackwater I wasn’t able to get supplies in.”  “Well when government agents are hunting ya down,” Arthur followed Pearson around the fire as he picked things up and moved them around, “Sometimes shopping trips need to be cut short. We’ll survive, we always have…” Arthur stopped by the fire again, watching Pearson walk to and fro across the makeshift cooking area. “If needs be we could eat you,” Arthur grinned meanly, showing teeth, “you’re the fattest.”  Pearson stopped for a moment, staring at him. Arthur raised his eyebrows and whatever he was thinking he smartly snapped out of it, “I sent Lenny and Bill hunting” Pearson gestured outside with a large soup ladle, “and they, found, nothing.”  “Well Lenny is more into book learnin’ than huntin’, and Bills a fool.”  Arthur could hear the crunch of Charle’s boots in the snow before he saw him.  “Unless those mountains are full a game that wanna read it ain’t no wonder they found nothing.” Arthur noted Charles walking up to him, expression stern.  “Enough of this,” he spoke coldly in that quiet voice of his, “We’ll go find something. Come on Arthur.” Charles turned to leave before Pearson caught his attention.  “Wait a second… hold on,” Pearson jogged over to a crate in the corner, tossing a can to Arthur and Charles each,, “You’ll need something to eat out there.”  “Assorted salted.. offal…” Arthur said slowly, trying to read the half rubbed off label, “Starving would be prefferable.”  “Come on let’s go.” Charles didn’t roll his eyes at him but it was close.  “You can’t go hunting look at your hand,” Arthur waved towards the off white bandage wrapping Charles’ palm.  “And I can’t stay here listening to you two.” Charles met his eyes, not looking away, “Look if there’s game in those hills I’ll find it, and you can kill it.”  “You need to rest Charles,” Arthur tried.  “You think this is rest?!,” Charles snapped, his voice sharper but no less quiet. “Come along,” Charles turned on his heal and headed for the horses, his tone leaving no room for argument.  Arthur followed him out. Charles pulled a bow from Taima’s saddle, holding it out to Arthur. “You take this, I can’t use it and you’ll have to.”  Arthur looked at it dumbly for a moment before taking it, “Aw you’re joking…”  “Use a gun, and you’ll scare off every animal for miles around,” Charles explained, climbing onto his horse, “You’re never too old to learn,” he smiled down at him, “I imagine.”  Arthur felt Charles watch him as he put the bow around his shoulder, studying him. “You know… You could change if it would be easier for you. Doesn’t really matter how we get the game as long as we get it back here.”  Arthur stilled for a moment. This was the first Charles mentioned this part of Arthur, the first time actually acknowledging it. It wasn’t with judgement or fear as far as Arthur could tell. It wasn’t an off color comment or a dig. It was just, a statement.  Arthur looked at him then, sat atop his horse. He looked down at him with kind eyes, expression open, waiting.  “I would but…” Arthur looked out at the distance behind Charles, the white blanket of snow, “It’d wear me down more than I am right now, make me a hell of a lot hungrier too…” He climbed onto his horse, eye level with Charles now, “I think I’d be more of a problem than a help like that right now.”  Charles considered him for a moment before nodding, steering Taima out of camp, “Looks like you’re learning something new today then.”  Arthur chuckled to himself, “Looks like it.”  He’d be surprised if he didn’t learn more than how to shoot a bow today.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

They rode out on their horses into the snowy mountain scape. It was still colder than sin but the wind was calmer, more like a breeze. The sky was still gray but it seemed to let a little more light through.  “How’re you holding up Charles?” Arthur asked after a few minutes of quiet. The only sound being their horses breathing and the stomp of their hooves through the dense snow. “I’m okay, apart from this hand. Stupid mistake.” Charles ground out.  “Still bad?”  “It will be fine in a day or two, I just can’t pull a bow right now.” Charles looked over at him. “Well, sure hope I can. Never really got the hang of it.” Arthur looked away.  “You’ll be fine.” Charles drew out the last word, wanting him to quit fretting over it.  “So,” Arthur shivered, “You reckon we’re gonna find something to kill that ain’t an O’Driscoll?”  Charles huffed a laugh, “There’s meat up here for sure. Pearson doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Now that the weather has eased off a bit, they’ll be needing to feed.”  “Been a hell of a couple days for sure...” Arthur couldn’t imagine going out hunting the day he looked for John. The only thing that seemed to be out was wolves. Wolves, other than him, he supposes, “That ride north from Blackwater…gettin stuck in this storm…going out for John,” Arthur rolled his eyes, “That whole deal with the O’Driscolls…”  “You’ve had a lot put on you,” Charles looked at him seriously then, “I wish I could’ve done more.”  Arthur felt his stomach sink a bit, “Oh I didn’t mean it like that just…” He scratched at his growing beard self consciously, “a lot to think back on.”  “I still don’t really know what happened on that boat.” Charles stated, his gaze asking Arthur if he had the answers.  “Me neither… Javier told me a bit but… It sure weren’t good.”  They rode for a while in silence, neither of them having much else to say to each other. They crossed a shallow part in the river, near where Arthur picked up that O’Driscoll boy, before coming near a clearing.  “Let’s leave the horses here,” Charles said quietly, climbing off Taima and leading her behind a tree. Arthur followed suit with the walker.  “This way, quiet now,” Charles made his way through the trees surrounding the clearing, dropping into a crouch. Arthur mimicked him, trying to minimize the crunch his boots made in the snow.  Charles had a grace about him that didn’t match his frame. He stepped lightly, fluidly. Moving like he was made to do this. Color Arthur impressed.  Charles stopped, touching the ground. He glanced back at Arthur and nodded to the ground in front of him.  Arthur moved forwards slowly until he was next to Charles, their shoulder’s brushing.  “Tracks.” Charles whispered, barely loud enough for Arthur to hear.  Arthur took off his glove and touched the pads of his fingers to the deer track, lifting them to his nose. The smell was faint, but it was unmistakably a doe. He looked at Charles to find him watching, his eyes curious.  “How do you usually hunt?” He asked quietly, a curious twinkle in his eye.  “Usually by scent, but with this weather it… dampens everything, waters smells down,” Arthur answered awkwardly, putting his glove back on. He tried to make his voice quiet like Charles, but wasn’t quite successful. His voice came out more growl than not most days, whispering seemed to make it worse.  Charles nodded slowly, looking at the tracks, “Try to just use your sight this time, follow the trail,” Charles raised his gloved hand and gestured further into the trees, “Then, you won’t have to rely solely on scent in the future.” Arthur looked to him and Charles nodded, waving him ahead.  Arthur went ahead of him, following the trail closely. He lost it once or twice, the scent too faint for him to pick up, and Charles redirected him patiently.  Charles was surprisingly patient, gentle, for such a large man. It was rare Arthur came across men of his stature that were this way. Typically they were brash, loud, like Bill. Maybe even Arthur if he was honest with himself. Charles was… different. He was different in a way that was unexpected, and almost refreshing.  A thick smell made him snap out of his thoughts, snapping his head in the direction it came from. He heard Charles stop in his tracks behind him.  “What is it?” Charles whispered.  “It’s just over that hill there, the deer.” Arthur pointed slowly, not taking his eyes off where he knew the deer to be.  “How can you tell?” Charles came up next to him, squinting down where he was pointing, not seeing anything.  “I can smell it, clear as day.” The breeze was blowing gently on his face, carrying the musky scent of deer right towards him. It was strong, meaning the animal was close.  “Alright take the bow off,” Charles directed him, and Arthur did.  “Which arm is stronger?” Charles sat on his heels next to him, watching.  “My Right,” Arthur rubbed his thumb over the polished wood of the bow, watching Charles in turn.  “Hold the bow in your left hand, you’ll pull the string with your strong arm,” Charles gestured for Arthur to lead the way and he did.  They came right to the edge of the clearing, still hidden in the shadows the trees cast. Arthur could see the deer down by the water, about 50 yards away. A medium sized doe, probably more bulked out by her winter coat than actual muscle. “Knock an arrow, I’ll show you what to do.” Charles said from his left, close enough the warmth from his breath tickled the shell of his ear. It made a shiver go down Arthur’s spine, having nothing to do with the cold.  Arthur put the arrow in place and readied himself.  “Draw back, slow.” Charles said and Arthur did, though it was awkward, his arms and back not used to the movement.  “Here…” Charles moved his arms slightly, adjusting his elbow, “Pull the string back so it’s touching your cheek.” Arthur did, his arms protesting. “Put the deer just above where your left hand grips the bow…”  Arthur adjusted, the deer now above his gloved hand and next to the wood of the bow.  “Take a deep breath in, let it out then fire.” Charles coached.  Arthur inhaled deeply, letting it out slowly, his breath fogging the air.  The snap of the bowstring was quickly followed by a squealing sound.  “You hit it!” Arthur lowered the bow to see Charles beaming at him.  Charles slapped his shoulder and got up quickly, “Let’s go.”  Arthur followed him through the snow to where the deer was. It jerked around, crying out. Charles went up to it and sliced its throat, putting the animal out of its misery.  “Well done Arthur,” Charles grinned up at him, running his fingers through the doe’s thick fur, “You did well for your first time using a bow.”  Arthur couldn’t resist smiling back, careful to keep his teeth hidden, “Wouldn’t have done so well if I didn’t have you for a teacher,” He looked to the ground, kicking his boot through the snow.  “Nonsense, you’re a natural.” Charles removed the arrow from the doe’s hide, handing it back to Arthur, “Let’s see if we can’t find one more.”  Finding the second deer was a mite easier. Charles made him follow the tracks until the scent was too obvious for Arthur to ignore. He took down the second one cleaner than the last, the arrow killing the animal before they walked up to it.  They whistled for the horses, their whinnies in the distance signaling that they were on their way.  Arthur went to hand the bow back to Charles, but he held his hands up, “You keep it. I won’t be able to use it for a while, and I can easily make a new one.”  “What- you sure?” Arthur asked, dumbfounded, looking down at the bow. It was well crafted, even Arthur could tell as much.  “I’m sure Arthur,” Charles’s eyes smiled, “How else are you supposed to keep up on your skills?”  “Oh beginner’s luck,” Arthur huffed, but he couldn’t help the small smile that pulled at his lips as he looked at Charles under the brim of his hat.  Their horses galloped over the hill, sliding to a stop a few feet in front of them. Arthur gave the walker a sugar cube for listening to his call.  “Let’s get these back to camp,” Charles hoisted one of the does over his shoulder before securing it to Taima.  Arthur trudged through the snow to where the other deer lie, picking it up with a grunt. He whistled quietly and the walker trotted over to him. He secured the doe behind his saddle. Blood soaked into his blue jacket, down his sleeve. He’d have to wash it out before Isaac or Jack saw him.  “There should be enough food here to feed all of us for a couple days, I knew you’d be okay with that bow.” Charles called out to him, leading Taima closer.  “Well it’s easier when they ain’t shootin back,” Arthur laughed a bit at his own joke, checking over his horses cinch and brushing snow off the saddle.  “We’ve seen enough of that. Ready then?” Charles questioned from atop Taima.  “Yep,” Arthur grunted, as he climbed into the saddle. He felt weaker, slower. This food would do them all some much needed favors, “Lead the way.”  On the ride back it was quiet, but not uncomfortable. A silence that you had in someone’s company when you’ve known em for years. It was a swift change, but not an unwelcome one.  “Charles…” Arthur said quietly, stopping his horse.  Charles stopped without needing to be told, turning in his saddle, “What is it?” Arthur nudged his walker forwards gently, so he was shoulder to shoulder with Charles. He pointed down by the river bank, near a copse of snow covered trees.  “A winter bear, that’s not good.” Charles commented quietly.  “How’s that any different than a regular bear?” Arthur narrowed his eyes incredulously.  “Because,” Charles leaned towards him, “Bears usually sleep all winter. If they wake up in the middle that means they didn’t eat enough in the fall, and they’re hungry.”  “Alright…” Arthur let his gaze set back on the bear, watching it sniff and huff around the water’s edge. They were down wind of it by some miracle. Two men, bloody game, and a hungry bear sounded like the start of a bad joke.  If it came to it, he could change…Arthur thought to himself. Lead the bear away from Charles and the food for camp. Even he was no match for a grizzly bear though, he was smart enough to know that. He could most definitely out run it though… He felt eyes on him and looked to see Charles watching him, again. The man didn’t snap his eyes away or anything like some people in camp did when he caught them watching. Charle’s dark eyes just met his, “We should go a ways around him, don’t want him picking up our scent. He shouldn’t be able to follow us back to camp once we cross the river anyways,” Charles looked back at the bear before tapping his horse forwards, “Come on,”  Arthur spared one last glance at the bear before gently urging his horse after Charles, up the hill into the trees. They led the horses in a short half circle through the trees and down back to the river, giving the bear a wide berth.  “What do you think about what Dutch has planned? He said we’re heading east now?” Charles commented in a normal volume now, no longer hunting and no longer within earshot of the bear, “But even when we do eventually get out of these mountains, we still have a big price on our heads.”   “I don’t know…” Arthur rubbed the leather of the reins between his fingers, “This is a big country, we’ll find somewhere to lie low. Dutch and Hosea will have a plan.” Arthur waited a beat before changing the subject, “You notice how Pearson has had a bottle in his hand ever since we fled Blackwater? We give the camp cook five minutes to grab the essentials and go, and he don’t grab a crumb of food!” Arthur didn’t shout, but anger was clear in his voice.  “Good that we caught more than one,” Charles nodded, “We’ve only been up here a few days and we already have two more mouths to feed.”  “One more,” Arthur corrected, “We ain’t feeding the O’Drisscoll a damn thing -cept maybe that can of salted offal that Pearson was oh so kind enough to give us.”  “The girl…” Charles shook his head, looking to Arthur, “She has a wild look in her eye. She’s been watching you like a hawk too.”  “Yeah I noticed…she lost her husband, her home, everything she had. She’s shook up and angry. Doesn’t surprise me that she’d find me to be something stressful and new to be around, what with everything she has going on.”  “What do we do with her?”  “Well once we get out of here and back on our feet we’ll see. She might have family somewhere.” Arthur hoped she did anyways. She needed to be with people she knew, people she trusted right now. Not with a group of rag tag misfits with the law on their tail.  “Who knows, maybe she’ll deal with the O’Driscoll for us.” Charles smiled at him.  Arthur let out a hearty laugh, “I know who my money’s on in that fight. He’s weak, but that makes him much more useful. Maybe we can get to them before they get to us.”  “What is it with the O’Driscolls?” Charles asked, sounding genuinely lost.  “You ain’t delt with them?” Arthur was the one confused for a moment before remembering, “Well I guess we ain’t delt with them much the past six months… especially over this way.”  “I’ve heard a lot of talk about em.” Charles looked at him questioningly, urging him to continue.  “We’ve been scrapping over scores with them for years.”  They urged the horses over a steep slope. The animals huffed as they climbed through the deep snow, steam rising from their bodies.  “Hey Arthur, you awake back there?”  “Yeah just… thinking. We ain’t ever talked that much, you and me,” Arthur studied Charles ahead of him, his big bulky coat and black hat, bundled against the cold, “How long you been with us now? Five… six months?” “Something like that.”  “I bet ya didn’t expect this…” Arthur chuckled at the absurd situation they were all stuck in.  “Expect what?” Charles looked over his shoulder, brows drawn down.  “Any of this…” Arthur gestured broadly with his hand, as if that explained it.  “Sooner or later a job is gonna go wrong. Nature of life.” Charles shrugged, keeping his eyes forwards.  “Just thought that… you might a moved on by now.” Arthur said sadly. It’s not like Charles was getting much out of being with them. More the opposite.  “You… want me to move on?” Charles brows drew together.  “No no!” Arthur hurried, “Not at all I just… I know you could run it alone no problem-“  “I’ve done that before, for along time,” Charles cut in, “I’m done with it. Always wondering if someone is gonna kill you in your sleep…”  “Oh I still wonder that most nights.” Arthur understood though, what Charles meant. The west was a dangerous place, the whole world was really. Especially alone. Especially for people like Charles, or himself. For different reasons really but the feeling was the same.  Charles laughed then, a deep rich sound. It was nice, “I reckon you’re okay. This suits me. Sure I could fall in with another gang but Dutch… ya know… Dutch is different.”  “Oh yes… Dutch is certainly different.” Arthur said in fondness, as much as the man aggravated him some days.  “He treats me fair, and for a man with a black father and an Indian mother… that ain’t normally the case.”  Arthur nodded somberly. He never quite understoood how people could be so cruel to one another, based solely on what they looked like. Arthur could understand though when it came to himself. He wasn’t human, didn’t look it either. He was other to them somehow. But Charles? He was human, he was… kind. Kind in a way a lot of men weren’t these days. “Well we need you now, more than ever I think.”  “Good,” Charles’ gaze found his again, studying him. For some reason his dark eyes felt like they punched a hole in Arthur, and could see him through it. Like he saw behind a wall Arthur put up.  “And how long have you been with these boys? Why haven’t you run off?” Charles watched his face and Arthur fidgeted, uncomfortable with the direct attention.  “Me? Ohhh twenty years? Something like that. Since I was a boy.”  “Twenty years?” Charles gasped, his eyes widening.  “Yeah… taught me to read,” Arthur admitted bashfully, “John too. Taught me a few other things, Dutch and Hosea.”  “Huh, I’m sure.” Charles looked at him, somewhat amazed maybe?  Arthur cleared his throat at they crossed the river, “Dutch saved me… saved most of us. We need to stick by him through this. He always sees us right.”  His horse whinnied under him, upset. Arthur gave him another sugar cube, patting his thick neck. The horse accepted it gratefully.  “How’s that new horse?” Charles asked, looking at the animal.  “He’s alright, will do for now. He ain’t used to me though, doubt he’ll ever be.” Oh how Arthur missed Boadicea, “I appreciate you letting me take Taima the other night.”  “She’s a strong one,” Charles said fondly, “Its been as hard on the horses as it has the rest of us. I don’t know what Dutch would do if something happened to The Count.”  “Same with Bill and Brown Jack…” Arthur shook his head, “He’s a drunk miserable bastard but… He loves that horse.”  Charles smirked, “I hope they all make it.”  Unbidden, a pretty funny story came to mind and he felt the urge to share the memory with Charles, “You know… I tried to ride the count once…” Arthur tried to keep from laughing but wasn’t successful, “He bucked me faster than a bull. Won’t take no body for a ride but Dutch.” Charles laughed, turning in his saddle to look at him, the corner’s of his eyes crinkling, “You Arthur are something else.”  Arthur could only shake his head and look away.  “Brought some food back y’all!” He hollered once they got back to camp. Charles and him hitched their horses and carried the deer over to Pearson’s hut. “Thank you again Charles, for showing me how to use a bow properly.”  “I only showed you a little,” Charles huffed under the weight of the deer, “It takes a lifetime of practice to master. Keep using it.”  Charles dropped his deer onto the butcher block counter and Arthur dumped his on the ground, happy to be rid of the weight.  “What a surprise,” Arthur stood and rolled out his shoulder, “to find the camp rat loitering in the kitchen.” Arthur dug at Uncle, the old coot sitting against the wall.  “That any way to greet an old friend?” Uncle cried, face flushed and Whiskey bottle in hand, “I feel like we haven’t spoken for days.” Arthur stepped over to the spit and warmed his hands over the hot coals, “I do my utmost to avoid you.”  Uncle spoke to Charles, “Aw he loves me really, it’s just his sad way of showing affection.”  Arthur caught Charles eye, an amused expression on his face, “No it isn’t!” He barked at Uncle, “Now shoo, get lost.”  Uncle groaned like he was dying as he stood up from his bench, “See you gents later.” He took a swig from his bottle and hobbled away towards one of the cabins.  “See you got on just fine.” Pearson commented, gesturing to the deer.  Arthur inclined his head to the man next to him, “Charles is a wonder.”  “Have a drink boys! You earned it.” Pearson chipperly handed a brown bottle to Arthur, the liquid somehow not frozen.  Arthur looked at it skeptically before taking a swig. It burned like no other, “Jesus what is that?” Arthur coughed, barely able to speak, handing the bottle off to Charles.  “Navy rum Sir,” Pearson said proudly, “It’s the only thing… The only thing!” He laughed jauntily, taking the bottle back, “Keeps ya sane it does!”  “Seems to have done a treat on you…”Arthur deadpanned, keeping his eyes on the dull orange coals, “You go rest that hand Charles.”  “It’ll be fine in a few days,” Charles didn’t move, keeping his hands over the warm coals. “You mind helping me with the skinning Mr. Morgan, It would be easier if we do it together,” Pearson took another swig of the poison he insisted was rum, waiting.  “Do I get to skin you?” Arthur tilted his chin up, showing a little bit of teeth. Some of that healthy fear, in Arthur’s opinion flashed in Pearson’s eyes before he choked a little on his drink. Arthur didn’t want the girls to be scared of him, they had no reason to be. But if Pearson, Uncle, Bill… Hell hopefully Micah were a little fearful? That sat just fine with him.  “Always one’s with the jokes aren’t ya?” Pearson cleared his throat, slowly getting up.  “Well this isn’t a job for a man with a burnt hand,” Charles said self deprecatingly, “I’ll see you both later.”  “Later Charles.” Arthur watched him leave.  Today was a little better. All things considered. He’d have to go check on his boy, soon as he was done with this. Isaac was probably missing him.