Chapter Text
Lightning carved ragged slices into the night, the roar of thunder barely audible over the cacophony of his own heart pounding against his eardrums. He wasn't a coward, and he wasn't afraid of much, but right now, he was terrified.
Everything had gone wrong in mere moments, and he was still trying to piece together what exactly had happened.
They'd warned Dutch it was a bad idea to go after that boat in Blackwater. It didn't matter how much money there was or how easy the job seemed; there were too many risks. But Micah, damn that slippery piece of shit, had weaseled his way into Dutch's ear, whispered sweet promises and poisoned webs until the choice had been made. Arthur wondered if he had been there to say otherwise, maybe he'd have been able to talk Dutch down, but in his heart of hearts he knew nothing would have stopped him from going after that boat.
Dutch had a way of speaking that could make rolling in horse shit sound like something glorious. And when he set his mind on something, not even the Devil himself would stop him. So as many times as Dutch insisted that Arthur was a son to him, it was doubtful he’d ever listen to anything he had to say. Especially when there was such a hefty sum of cash on the line.
Still, he and Hosea had tracked down their own promising lead and had rode back to Blackwater to hopefully swing Dutch their way. It might not have been as much cash up front as the boat, but it was far less risky since ambushing a caravan out on the road meant they could take off West before the law even knew what happened. Time, fate, whatever god was waiting up in heaven to damn them, nothing was on their side, though. Because they made it back to Blackwater just as shit hit the fan.
The entire town was shaking as bullets fell from the sky like rain. Blood ran down the gutters and screams and explosions tangled into a symphony of agony. Arthur fired wildly, but the swarm of lawmen and Pinkertons just kept coming, waves crashing onto an already crumbling shore. Somehow they managed to carve a path through the chaos that the surviving members of the gang could flee through, and leaving behind a sea of corpses, they tore off north and into the mountains.
It felt like it had been an eternity ago by now, even though it had only been days. Maybe it was because he never really got a chance to stop running. They'd lost the law, but a day after they'd set up camp in Colter, the choking snow of that frozen hell killed whatever morale they had left. Three of their number never made it out alive. A few were missing. And even after all that, they didn't even have the goddamn money.
"They knew we were comin'," Dutch kept saying. "How the hell did they know we were comin'?"
Theories were passed around, suspicions shared in hushed tones. Micah kept whispering his sycophantic lies into Dutch's ear; Hosea and Arthur hadn't been there on the ferry. They'd been off doing god knows what, only showing up when the deed had already been done. They'd all had prices on their heads for years, so who's to say they didn't sell the rest of them out to make sure they didn't swing?
The seed planted, sprouted, choked out rational thought. Arthur and Hosea protested their innocence, reminded Dutch just who the hell they were, their loyalty not only to him but the rest of the gang as well. It didn't matter. Dutch was convinced they were rats, and he would put them down as such. They were lucky to have made it out of Colter at all, let alone unscathed. Hosea mentioned a livestock town not far from them, Valentine, that they could regroup in, figure out their next move. They couldn't stick around this area for too long, that was for sure.
Dutch wouldn't let them live that easily.
But no sooner had Arthur made it past the mountains than the sky opened, cracked like a mirror, curtains of rain slashing down as the wind roared around him. The poor horse he'd nabbed to make his getaway nearly bolted with each crack of thunder, but Arthur bent low, murmured encouragement into its ear. He and Hosea had gotten separated in the dark and the rain, but hopefully they'd be able to meet back up again once he made it to town.
Truthfully he had no idea where the hell Valentine was - he didn't know this area all that well - but he followed the road, collar turned up against the wind, and eventually he saw lights up ahead in the gloom. Thank god; he didn't know how much longer this horse would hold out.
The roads were reduced to a thick sludge of mud, and Arthur prayed his boots wouldn't be sucked off his feet when he dismounted. He clicked his tongue and led his horse by the reins and into the stable, the poor beast still breathing hard and looking terrified. One of the stable hands came over to lead the horse into a stall, and Arthur barely had time to thank him before another came over to take down his name.
"I ain't gonna be in town for too long. A day or two at the most." Arthur fished around in his pockets and pulled out a couple dollar bills. "Hopefully that'll cover it." He tipped his hat and set off in search of a dry bed and maybe even a hot meal.
He'd barely stepped out of the stable when he saw Hosea leading his own horse inside.
"Oh Arthur, thank god you made it." The man sounded relieved. "I got worried when we got ourselves split up back there. Glad to see you found your way all right."
Arthur scoffed. "Didn't seem like it for a minute there. Damn horse kept acting like he was gonna throw me every time he heard the thunder." He waited under the stable lean-to while Hosea put up his horse, and then the two of them walked across the street and to the hotel. It wasn't extravagant - this was just a livestock town, after all - but it was clean and dry and warm. A better place than they'd slept in a good long while. Arthur forked over another few dollars to secure himself a room for the next three nights, just in case, and even ordered a hot bath. He was hungry, but far too tired to try and scrounge around for something to eat.
Still, he and Hosea stood out on the front porch of the hotel, sharing some cigarettes and splitting a bottle of bourbon while Arthur waited for his bath to be drawn. They were quiet for a while, listening to the rain and wind and music from the saloon before Hosea sighed.
"And just what are we going to do with ourselves now, Arthur?" He sounded miserable. Of course he sounded miserable; they'd both been completely fucked over.
"Not sure. Dutch was always the one with the plan." Despite himself, he couldn't help but crack a grin, though it just as quickly died on his lips. "Shouldn't stay here for too long, though. I don't wanna stick around to find out whether or not he considers us loose ends that need tyin'."
"Sound reasoning." Hosea nodded, leaning back against the wall. "Still thinking you want to push west?"
"Seems as good an idea as any. Maybe I'll just ride until I hit the ocean."
"You're going to need a better horse if that's your plan."
"Feh. I need money for that, Hosea." He lowered his voice. "And all that money from the boat is somewhere in Blackwater, ain't it?"
Hosea flicked the ashes from his cigarette. "That's right. I was with Dutch when he stashed it. No one else knows where it is except him and me."
"I'd suggest we grab it on our way out west, but I'd wager the place is crawlin' with Pinkertons now."
They were quiet again for a spell, Hosea's brow furrowed as it was clear he was thinking hard about something.
"There were too many of them that showed up. Somehow they knew. They had to have known. But who would have told them?"
Arthur scoffed, dropping his cigarette and crushing it under his boot. "My money's on Micah. You ask me, that bastard's got his fingers in too many pies." He crossed his arms, staring after a man who hurried down the street, cursing as he tried to shield himself from the rain with his arms. "I still don't know how he got Dutch to turn on us so quick, though. Not sure I wanna know. Loyalty's all I've ever known and look where it got me. Got us."
"Dutch likes to be in control, Arthur, you know that. And when you strip that illusion of control away, he panics. Doesn't matter anymore who's who, or what they've done for or with him. From the little I heard from the others before we had to run, things went very, very wrong on that ferry. Dutch killed a woman who didn't need killing. Micah hasn't been riding with us for long, but he's a cancer; grows fast, leaves nothing but rot and misery in his path."
It was the truth, but despite it all Arthur still laughed. "Well I'll be damned; didn't know you hated him as much as I do, Hosea. Good to know I ain't the only one who saw through his bull-"
"Mr. Callahan?" The door to the inn opened, spilling a pool of warm light out into the darkness. "Your bath is ready."
Arthur nodded to the innkeeper in acknowledgement, giving Hosea a pat on the shoulder. "Don't stay out here for too long, Hosea. Don't want you catchin' nothin' out here in the cold." Chuckling, he stepped back inside, taking off his hat as he followed the innkeeper up to his room.
"Your bath is in the washroom just across the hall, there." The man handed him a small brass key. "There are clean linens inside as well." Arthur thanked him and used the key to unlock the washroom, which was noticeably warmer than the rest of the building. A massive tub stood in the center, steam wafting from the surface of the water.
He couldn't even remember the last time he'd had a proper bath. Most of the time he had to resort to washing in some creek or river, the water freezing and the experience altogether unpleasant. He needed this, in more ways than one. Arthur hung his hat and coat on a peg beside the door, stepping around the puddle spreading from the soaked garments to sit and tug off his boots and socks. Every piece of rain-drenched clothing removed made him feel lighter, but there was still a weight on his shoulders.
A flash of lightning from outside reflected off of a mirror hanging on the wall, and he caught a glimpse of his face on the glass. Dark circles hung beneath his eyes, the skin on his cheeks and over his nose dry and sunken. Remnants of dirt and sweat and other things he didn't want to acknowledge were smeared over his jaw and in his beard. In short, he was a mess, inside and out. It was good, having Hosea here with him. At least then he wasn't alone.
Hunting, fishing, staking out a homestead to rob, those were all things Arthur could do - and had done - alone, but there was always someone to come back to. The gang was his family. He had always trusted them to be there for him, and vice versa. But now, even if he waited for Dutch to cool down to talk to him, there was no going back. When Dutch's mind was made up, there was nothing anyone could do to shake him. And beyond that, if the lies Micah had spread had permeated the rest of the gang, no one would trust he or Hosea again.
Maybe it was karma finally catching up to him.
Whatever it was, it hit him like a runaway train; in the end, no one had really cared about him. Not even Dutch.
Arthur scowled as he lifted himself up and into the tub, sinking into the hot water until it tickled his chin. He made a mental note to find a barber in town so he could get a shave sometime soon. Really, though, he just stewed in his thoughts while he soaked, his muscles slowly relaxing as the water lapped away the dirt from his skin. Too bad he couldn't clean the inside of his flesh. Scour away the sins, the disappointment, the betrayal. A bar of hard yellow soap sat next to the tub, which he used to scrub at his skin until it turned shiny and pink. Once his entire body was clean, he sank back down into the water, closing his eyes as he let his mind drift away with the steam.
He hadn't realized he'd dozed off until there was a knock at the door. Instantly awake, he pulled himself up and out of the tub, grabbing for the towels.
"Arthur? I'm off to bed. I'll meet you at the saloon in the morning." It was Hosea.
Arthur slung a towel around his waist, using another to wring the water from his hair. "All right, good night." He heard footsteps on the other side of the door and waited for a moment before gathering up his still-wet clothes in one arm and holding his towel in place with his free hand, peeking out into the hallway to make sure no one was there and scurrying to his room. His wet things were spread out to dry overnight, and, more out of habit than anything, he placed his revolver on the table next to the bed. Just in case.
Towel discarded, he all but collapsed into the bed, cocooning himself up into the bedclothes. The storm still raged on outside, wind whistling in the windows as the rain poured against the roof. But the sound of it was oddly soothing, like he wasn't alone in his misery. It didn't take long for his eyes to grow heavy, the distant call of thunder lulling him to sleep.
Morning came too soon for his liking, and Arthur untangled himself from the sheets, grumbling the whole time. But his stomach was grumbling and he knew Hosea would be waiting for him, so he forced himself up from the mattress and stretched, groaning as his shoulders and knees popped. Thankfully his clothes had dried overnight, and he tugged them on, strapped on his holsters, and tucked his hat under his arm to leave. He greeted the innkeeper briefly and stepped out into the bright morning.
The sky was an innocent shade of cornflower blue, the angry black clouds of the previous night chased away by the golden sun. Other than the fact that there were still puddles and the street was a muddy mess, one might not have thought it had rained at all. The town had come alive as well, with people going here and there at their own pace, and Arthur placed his hat on his head, picking his way through the muddy street and to the saloon. Music wafted from within, accompanied by the smell of stale tobacco. Hosea was already seated at the bar, chatting pleasantly with the bartender while he ate.
"There you are. Good morning." Hosea waved Arthur over and the bartender set down a bowl of porridge for him.
"I see you didn't wait for me to eat," Arthur quipped, sitting down and wasting no time before tucking in.
Hosea just laughed. "Can you blame me?"
Arthur was too busy eating to answer. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until now. He only partially listened in on the conversation Hosea and the bartender were having about hunting in the area when the saloon doors swung open and a tall man strode in, spurs jingling softly with each step. The collar of his beaten leather jacket was turned up, face obscured by the brim of his black hat as well as the maroon mask he wore.
"I'm here to settle my tab from last night." He pulled a money clip from the pocket of his jeans, tugging a few bills free to pass over to the bartender.
"Leavin' town already?" The bartender sounded almost disappointed as he waited for the man to count out his cash.
"Yeah, I got business to tend to out East a ways."
"East? You ain't goin' to Blackwater? I know the town's a goddamn mess right now, but that gang has a pretty decent price on their heads." Arthur and Hosea exchanged looks and turned back to their bowls, trying to look nonchalant. Was the man a bounty hunter? If so, then they'd managed to overstay their welcome here, even in a single night.
The man just laughed, though, finishing counting bills before tucking his money clip away. "I'm flattered you got that much faith in me, but I ain't fool enough to go after Dutch's boys. Especially not by myself. Doesn't much matter how big a price they got on their heads; that money ain't worth it if I get one between the eyes. I don't have time for that shit."
Breathing a sigh of relief, Arthur glanced over in the man's direction just in time to make the briefest eye contact. He tried to play it off, flashing a polite smile, but the man's eyes narrowed, though he didn't say anything. Just tipped his hat and turned to leave. For a moment he paused as he pushed the doors open, glancing back over his shoulder at the bartender.
"Heard that part of West Elizabeth is crawling with Pinkertons and lawmen. If any of Dutch's boys go back looking for that money, they'll be pumped full of bullets before they reach town."
With that he left, Hosea and Arthur watching after him, wide-eyed. After a second they collected themselves enough to pay for their breakfast and head back over to the hotel. They both knew they needed to get out before anyone else came sniffing around.
"I saw you look at him; do you think he recognized you?" Hosea asked, holding the door open for Arthur, who shrugged.
"I don't know," he replied. But that wasn't what bothered him; he swore he knew who that masked man was. "Either way, we gotta get the hell outta here." He followed Hosea up the stairs, scowling.
"About that." Hosea sighed, opening the door to his room and pausing in the doorway. "I think it best if we split up for now, Arthur. We're less likely to be recognized if we aren't together, and we can travel faster."
Arthur froze, blinking a few times as he tried to figure out what to say. It made sense, but that didn't mean he liked it. Hosea was the only one left. And even though his survival instincts told him it was the best course of action, something inside of him, a side of himself he tried like hell to keep buried in his bones, didn't want to be alone. He swallowed hard and nodded, shifting his weight onto his right hip.
"I think you're right."
They finished packing up the few belongings they'd left in their rooms and headed towards the stable, both of them silent. When they'd gotten their horses saddled up and ready to go, Hosea gave Arthur a small, sympathetic smile, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving it a squeeze.
"The world isn't as big a place as it used to be, Arthur; we'll cross paths again."
"I sure as hell hope so," Arthur said, forcing a grin. "I still owe you for that game of poker."
"We'll settle up next time." Hosea swung up into his saddle. "Be careful, Arthur."
"You, too, Hosea."
The man clicked his tongue, his horse setting off at a trot, and Arthur watched after him until he was a smudge on the horizon. He pulled himself up into his own saddle, giving his horse a pat on the neck before he started off himself. As much as he wanted to go West, vanish into the few remaining untamed parts of the world, he knew it would be best if he stayed as far away from West Elizabeth as possible. At least for now.
For now he rode East, mind trailing off to think of ways he could make some quick cash. Just enough to live off of for now. But then he remembered the bounty hunter from the saloon, and his stomach clenched. Even though he'd been wearing a mask, Arthur was certain he remembered those eyes. No use dwelling on it now, though; he had other things to worry about. Like the fact he was alone. Truly alone.
Again he patted his horse's neck and sighed. "Least I got you, huh, boy?" he chuckled. The horse just snorted.
Arthur wondered how long it'd be before the horse left him, too.