Chapter Text
The ferns parted, and between the leaves, a pair of eyes glowed in the low firelight. Arthur caught his breath, tried to rear away and found his hands tied behind his back and feet bound with rope.
Thrashing on his back, he caught sight of a pair of bodies swinging overhead. He took a second glance and caught their faces in the low light of the fire, he recognized them as travelers who passed him on the road earlier.
Not even a sliver of setting sun colored the clouds rendering the fire the only real light to see by. The sky looked inky, entirely without stars. He could feel the rain coming, felt it in his bones and in the newly healing tissue in his shoulder. He shouldn’t have strayed too far from camp, at least not right after that run in with the O’Drisolls, but he’d been too eager to get out and moving. Now, his head ached, and he was tied to a tree stump with some predator eyeing up his prone flesh.
A wet gurgling sound made his head snap to the right. But he could only glimpse the hanging travelers, their flesh a violent shade of blue and green in the firelight. No, they wouldn’t be making a sound ever again.
But an explanation for the noise soon followed, as a man dropped to his knees with a thump. From the corner of his eye, Arthur could clearly make out one of the Murphey brood now lying dead on the trampled grass. Shreds of rough-hewn shirt shone through the tattered overalls of the new corpse, blood still gurgling forth from his throat.
Arthur blinked, staring at the body while his pulse picked up. If those Murphey boys were his captors, where was their killer? He squinted in the dark and couldn’t see anything beyond the gleam of the fire and the blood glittering and pooling in the dew heavy grass beneath the body.
He was usually calm in these instances. It wasn’t like Arthur to feel unmoored in a sticky situation, but here he was, a boat bobbing away from the dock. His eyes flitted around, trying to catch a hint of how many men were still guarding the camp and why they hadn’t killed him yet, like the other two hanging above.
A small, dark shape raced through the brush and Arthur’s eye caught and held it as it crept up behind a pair of advancing Murpheys. The shape shot up to full height, an arm sliding past the neck of the Murphey in one quick motion and then disappearing once again into the brush to the left of the pair. The remaining member of the brood stopped mid-sentence, turned and found his comrade dead in the dirt.
“Phillip,” the man whispered in panic, his toothless mouth forming the word strangely.
He dropped to his knees, hands dipping to cradle the body close. And then he was gone too, tipping back as the shadow slipped forward and dove the knife through the vital parts in his neck. Arthur could see it hesitate, a small, shadowed outline against the rough line of light from the fire and the tall grass on all sides. His mind finally settled on a new kind of panic, as he could clearly see the shadow was looking at him, waiting and watching him.
It took a step forward, confident, but terribly short strides carrying the little body slowly into the light of the fire. Arthur’s thoughts raced, wondering just what could kill all those men so silently. He cast an eye around, catching more bodies on the ground than he had seen the thing take down personally. He caught sight of a pistol in bad shape, a leaving from one of the brood, just a little ways away.
He flung his entire body forward and onto his belly, his weight nearly knocking the wind out of him. He twisted his hands, caught the pistol on his finger and drew it to him. He gripped it in one bound hand, turned on his side, cocked it and fired it into the night, knowing that it wouldn’t prove very intimidating to the slowly approaching shadow.
The thing stopped anyway, faltering. A pair of hands shot up, all five fingers splayed in the fire light, casting long shadows over the canopy of leaves above.
“Don’t shoot,” a woman’s voice echoed through the small clearing. The dark figure moved closer and Arthur’s hazy mind finally started to make sense of what he was seeing. It was so small because it was female. She stepped forward into the firelight and he could see she was armed to the teeth, throwing knives strapped into little holsters all up the line of her leg, a pistol on her left hip with a pearl handle, a bow and a notch of arrows slung across her back.
“I’m here to help,” she finally supplied, and Arthur relaxed a bit. Perhaps this is how fate would smile on him: all those times he’d helped passer’s by on the road or sucked venom from a snake bite for a stranger were finally paying off.
After assessing her small arsenal, his eyes bounced back up to her face and he was shocked to see it was somewhat cherubic in nature. Waves of curls drifted and corkscrewed around her sharp cheek bones. Big eyes reflected fire light and glittered while pink lips parted with sharp, quick breaths. She bent down then, pulled that big hunting knife from her scabbard and sliced the ropes wound three at a time around his boots in a couple of hacks. She must keep it terribly sharp.
He dropped the pistol then, and spread his hands wide for her to snap the binding clean off, too. He sat up, pulled the gag from his mouth and breathed a sigh of relief.
“Thank you,” he muttered, his voice gruff and disused.
“Sure thing,” she nodded and took a seat on a log across from him at the fire. She stared at him for some time and he was perturbed at how hard it was to understand her expression. He prided himself on being able to, generally speaking, get a good read from people. He boiled it down to fear tainting his thoughts, his racing blood must be limiting his sense of perception.
“I’m sure I was next,” he motioned with his chin to the still hanging bodies.
“I don’t think that’s true,” she shrugged.
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Not familiar with the Murpheys?”
“Sure, I am. But even they have an appreciation for the monetary value of some of their captures.”
“The monetary value?” Arthur asked, his hand snaking toward that rusty pistol he’d set aside before, hoping she wouldn’t notice. Who knew how fast he could be without his wits about him.
“The bounty on your head sure is pretty. Even to them that don’t often bother with money.”
“Is that what this is about then?” he growled. “You could have just left me bound up if you were so sure. I’d probably be a bit easier to manage.”
“I get the sense that you’re never very easy to manage, Arthur Morgan,” she whispered.
Arthur’s instincts told him to kill. But he hesitated. Why cut him free and then mention the bounty? Clearly this woman wasn’t stupid. She was much smaller than him too, so she likely didn’t have much in the way of pride associated with her finesse in fisticuffs.
“Funny, isn’t it?” she questioned and a small smile graced her lips that made her look like a mischievous child than a woman grown. “I’ve saved your life and you’re still debating whether you should kill me. Don’t bother shooting that gun, you’ll just offend me. It’s empty.”
Arthur weighed it in his hands and flipped it open to be certain. Sure, was empty.
“Get to the point?” he snapped, impatient, hungry and tired.
“Sorry, I just, didn’t think I’d actually stumble across one of you. It’s a wide world.”
“One of us?”
“The Van Der Lindes,” she explained. “Forgive me, I’ve been rude. My name is Evangeline Heron.”
She stood then, and made a flash of a movement that made Arthur jump a little, but she was just offering a hand up. He took it and heard his bones creak and crinkle as he took to his feet. He looked down then, and was struck by just how very small she was. Surely, she must’ve been shorter than any of the other women in camp. Even little Tilly was bigger than her by at least a couple of inches.
“I'd introduce myself but,” he shrugged. Rendered suddenly awkward by his exhaustion and uncertainty of the woman.
“You need rest. Come back with me,” Evangeline stated and turned her back on him as she began to pick her way silently up the hill.
“I’m afraid I shouldn’t, they’ll be expecting me back.”
She paused and turned, only a black, hard to see figure among the ferns and bushes.
“I can offer a warm bed and shelter for the night, and food. You’ll need it.”
“What’s the date?”
“I don’t rightly know,” she shrugged and he followed her forward after kicking out the fire and throwing a glance at the pile of bodies around the camp. She must have cleared out nearly 5 men by the time he had finally awoken to catch a glimpse of the last kills. A part of him wished he had seen it, just to appreciate how she’d managed it.
“You haven’t been missing for more than a day,” she explained as he followed.
“How’d you find me?”
He drew level to her, crossing the ground that had taken her leisurely steps so long to cover in only a few of his.
“A family of Germans saw you taken. Apparently, the Murpheys grabbed you right in front of the homesteader’s property. They came and told me about it. They didn’t think they could do much, personally.”
“Told you about it?” Arthur smirked despite himself, sending this tiny woman to go and save him seemed truly absurd.
She looked up at him then, and he could see the furrow in her brows as she watched him. He couldn’t help but chuckle just a bit.
“Lucky they did, eh? Or else you might’ve died before your time.”
“My time is my time.”
“Sure, but I don’t think you care to let the Pinkertons make that distinction.”
He bristled at that and stopped and grabbed her shoulder. Like he thought, she was rather light weight. He could feel the tension and strength of her small arm beneath his fingers, and though she was armed, he thought it wouldn’t mean much if it really came to hand-to-hand.
“Just how am I supposed to take your kindness when you keep bringing that up?”
She glanced down at his hand on her shoulder, but he wouldn’t relinquish his grip.
“You’re going to have to, at least until we find your horse. Which we can do tonight. I wasn’t just kidnapped and suffering a head wound-induced black out for several hours. I feel fine. We can go searching now.”
Head wound. Arthur could feel it now. Lower than he expected, nearer to his neck than the top of his skull. At being mentioned, it started to make itself known with the throbbing he’d been ignoring before.
“You drive a hard bargain,” Arthur shrugged. “How do I know you don’t already have my horse? And you’re just leading me into a trap? It’s not as if you could lift me yourself. I doubt you could get me onto the back of a horse if I were still out cold.”
“I guess we’re lucky you’re not still out cold then, aren’t we?” She looked up at him in the dark, the low light glimmering still in her eyes as it reflected in the clouds above. “Look, Arthur, I know you don’t want to believe me, and that’s just fine. You don’t have to take my hospitality, I gathered your belongings from the camp before I came back to get you, as it could’ve gotten messy, and I didn’t think they should have access to the absolute arsenal you carry around. You can feel free, once we reach the top of this hill, to leave me and go on your merry way. But if you’ll let me, I’d like to help you and that gang.”
“Help us?” He cast an eye over her slight stature again and she visibly bristled.
“Yes, some people have more to offer than just pure brawn. Besides, I think I proved myself more than capable in the name of violence back there.”
She reached up and patted where he was still holding onto her.
“If you need help climbing the hill, you can give me your arm and I’ll take some of your weight. I realize you’re not feeling too great after all of that.”
He pulled his hand back and shook his head slowly, peeved that she was implying he’d need to lean on her. As if that were even physically possible. She shrugged.
“Let’s speak of it all in the morning, after you’ve gotten some real rest, yeah?”
“Yeah, alright,” he agreed. They reached the top of a hill and a growl echoed around them, along with the quick snap of menacing jaws.
The woman made a small noise with her mouth and held out her hand. A large dog trotted out of the brush around the horse and wandered nearer. She nudged Arthur and he offered the uncertain dog his fingers to sniff and scrubbed it behind the ears a little.
“This is Caraxes,” she explained and climbed into the saddle.
“What kind of name is that?”
“It’s from some books I like. Don’t worry about it.” She offered a hand down to him.
“I don’t wanna pull your arm out of it’s socket, scooch forward and gimme a stirrup.”
She huffed, but offered his request and he pulled himself up onto the horse. His body groaned at the strain and he could tell the adrenaline was starting to drain away, it would leave him sleepy and worn thin in only a few moments. All those familiar aches would be back, then he’d be out seeking that rush again in the morning, just to lessen the load of his thoughts. His mind wandered as she trotted along under the stars, his hands holding the back ridge of the saddle as they went. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had to ride like this. Sharing a saddle with someone, trying desperately to keep a little distance between their bodies for propriety's sake.
“There anyone else waiting where we’re going?” he asked, trying to keep the tiredness from his voice.
“Yes,” she nodded as the approached a little cabin that he’d never seen before, though he’d rode past on this stretch of road hundreds of times. “A little boy named Benjamin is there.”
“He yours?”
“No, but I took him in.”
“Why didn’t you lead with that?”
“What do you mean?”
“That you’re supporting a child,” he explained.
“You’d trust me more if I had a child with me? Seems a little stupid on your part.”
“You’re just a woman with a boy.”
“Sure, who killed all the men who had held you captive.”
He shrugged, and though she couldn’t see it. He was certain she could feel it.
She hopped down and led the horse into a small lean-to. Arthur stepped down after her and he caught sight of another large dog approaching from the shadows.
“Whose this?” Arthur asked, forgetting that he actually didn’t care about the names of the dogs. He held out a welcoming hand and at a nod from the owner the dog proceeded forward for a pat.
“Vhaegar.” She replied as she lit a lantern with a strike of a match and poured warm yellow light over the front stoop and drive leading up to the cabin. Arthur caught full sight of the dogs now. They were bigger than most he’d seen, almost like wolves, with long snouts, but with German Shepherd coloring. Probably some strange basterdization that a rancher dreamed up to protect his cattle. Good thing the little woman managed to get a few from the litter to protect her, too.
“If you’re so tough how come you need these big animals with you?” He couldn't have said why he wanted to pick at her, except for that he wanted to see her stumble over her words. Wanted to witness her just a little less sure footed.
“I’m still a woman alone in the woods, Mr.Morgan. I’m hardly invincible, and I’m not very formidable if I don’t have the element of surprise on my side. As you’ve so eloquently observed multiple times.” She shot him a small smile, and it made her face seem so welcoming he simply had to return it.
“Forgive me,” he mumbled and took the lantern as she held it out to him. She retrieved his two guns from her saddle and then his satchel as well. She traded him, and led the way toward the small cabin.
“Nothing to forgive. You’re just curious. It’s not a crime.” It was just a turn of phrase, but it still forced Arthur to smother a scoff. As if anything being a crime ever stopped him or made him seek forgiveness.
When she opened the door, Arthur caught a glimpse of the well-lit area and found it to be larger than he thought. It was still a one room, but it was spacious, with two beds and a nice big kitchen table in the center.
“Build this yourself?”
She laughed and shook her head. It was a big, boisterous laugh and he got the sudden impression that she used it to make up for her size.
“No, I’ve no skill as a builder. I found the place around a year ago and cleared it out."
“Who was in here?”
“O’Driscoll’s. The net they cast is getting awful wide lately.”
Arthur mumbled his agreement and stepped inside. He finally noticed the small boy sitting at the kitchen table with some trepidation in his eyes. He had a thin face with an intelligent gaze for a child, he wasn’t quick to smile, anyone could see it upon meeting him.
“Ben, this is Arthur. He’ll be staying with us for the night.”
Ben nodded and went back to his reading, nonplussed by the big, burly visitor.
Evangeline pulled a pot from out over the fire and ladled a brown stew into a bowl for Arthur. He drank it in one gulp and sucked the water she gave him down eagerly. With food in his belly, his drowsiness started to settle in heavier than before.
She glanced at him after taking his plate away and refilling his glass of water.
“Go on, we’ll chat in the morning. There’s a bed made for you right over there.”
He followed the line of her finger and found a small twin bed with a red coverlet that must have usually been the boys before this.
“I won’t take his bed.”
“It’s fine, he’ll sleep with me. You need the bed more than him now.”
Arthur shrugged and settled himself on the mattress after setting his things on the floor. He fell asleep watching the dog sniff at his satchel, lick his fingers and then curl up to keep him company in his rest.