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The Departure
“I would hope the ‘expected result’ of my request would be obvious, Arthur,” Dutch said, arms crossed over his chest and chin turned in just the way he hated. As if Arthur was the one being unreasonable for scoffing at the suggestion of yet another wild goose chase.
“Sure Dutch. Just reckon it won’t be as easy as you’re thinkin’. I don’t even know what direction Granton went.”
“So take Mr. Smith, I’m sure he could offer some insights. The man could track a deer a hundred miles with a blindfold.” Arthur bit back another retort, at least he’d get some fresh air.
“Don’t get your hopes up but I’ll talk to Charles.” He turned to find the man in question before Dutch could tack any more onto his day.
“And Arthur?”
“Yeah.” He peered over his shoulder, pausing mid-step to wait for whatever last moment barb the man had for him. Dutch had been in a mood lately. Ever since Blackwater it was like there was a fire burning in his eyes, a deep anger that could break free at the oddest moment and get unleashed on any of them.
“Don’t come back until you find him, alright? This isn’t an excuse for you to pick flowers and jump in puddles.” There it was.
“Whatever you say Dutch.”
It was a nice day at least, the camp dried out following a week of rain, new growth lining the edge of their camp and creeping in along the pasture. The horses were getting back some of their weight, coats regaining their shine.
Finding Charles wasn’t hard, the thud of an axe finding its home in the wood block guided him across the camp. The pile of wood spilling over from the block was almost ridiculous- Charles seemed to be doing his best at cutting down the whole damn forest. And he’d hardly broken a sweat through it, looking perfectly at ease as he brought the blade down cleanly through the center of another log before flicking it into the pile. He was either so engrossed in the process that he hadn’t noticed his audience or was just waiting for Arthur to announce himself. It was only after another three logs that Arthur stepped closer, making a little grunt of greeting and trying to fight off a smile at how Charles immediately turned to him.
“Arthur.”
“How are you at goose chasin’?”
Charles gave him a furrowed brow, burying the axe back into the block with another resonating thud. “Usually I leave geese alone, why? Dutch have another job for you?”
“Somethin’ like that. Remember Granton? He told me to bring you along and get our money back from the bastard. To help with some impossible trackin’ job and apparently to stop me from pickin’ flowers all day.”
Charles just laughed, incredulous. “He does know I’m the one who asked you to pick all that oleander doesn’t he?”
“Probably not.”
Arthur helped him neatly stack the pile by the side of the clearing- enough for at least a couple days. Excitement and annoyance refused to make peace, the task of finding Granton at all was ridiculous really but running across the heartlands with Charles… it might even be worth the struggle.
Day 1: The Art of Tea Brewing
Hosea hadn’t been able to muffle his cough well enough. He could see Dutch from across camp, all sympathetic noises and worried looks. Hosea waved them all off as he blinked himself into wakefulness. ‘I’ll be okay,’ ‘it’s not too bad,’ he’d had months of practice at this game.
But Dutch didn’t seem convinced today, fretting about the tent for a good fifteen minutes before Hosea was able to calm him down.
“I’m not about to fall over dead, if that’s what you’re worried about Dutch,” he said, straightening his clothing and doing the best to look healthy and spry. But from the way Dutch glared back, he’d hit a nerve- that was just what he was worried about. “It’s just a rough morning.” Dutch didn’t say anything, for a time. “On second thought, I’ll take some of that tea you’re offering.” It was like a switch was pulled, Dutch immediately lighting up like a child on Christmas. It was endearing really, that even after all these years, the countless burdens that’d descended on both their shoulders, Dutch could still make such a face. He wasn’t a man to wait and accept fate, raging ahead at any threat or challenge with all his energy. If he needed to make Hosea tea to feel useful, so be it.
Hosea raised the cup to his lips and took a small sip of the steaming liquid minutes later. The warmth was a relief for a second, then the taste hit his tongue and he barely stopped himself from spitting it right out into the dirt. It tasted like a flowerbed, all the same herbs from Charles’s recipe, but somehow a world away in flavor. Luckily, Hosea had almost fifty years of practice at bullshitting.
“Thanks Dutch, just what I needed!”
“Good, great! Just keep it easy now and I’ll be back later with some more.” Hosea gave him a big smile and waited till he was halfway across camp before dumping the tea out into the dirt and swallowing down another cough.
Day 2: Horse Tack for Dummies
Kieran no longer spent his days wasting away against that dirty tree, now he got the pleasure of getting followed around and poked by whoever happened to be in camp. Taunted by Bill Williamson maybe, threatened with castration by Sadie. Maybe on a good day given a morsel of food by Arthur or Uncle, but those were far and in between. But while he might not be in as dire a situation as weeks before- pissing his small clothes while hugging a tree, he was still very much an O’ Driscoll to these people.
The first time he’d approached the pasture in awe of the white Arabian he had promptly gotten steel pressed to his temple.
“What are you doing boy?” He’d shivered at the dark voice, their leader Van der Linde himself at his side as if from nowhere.
“Nothing sir! Just looking at that horse. I wasn’t plotting nothing, I swear!”
“Did I say you were plotting something, or are those your own words?”
Kieran didn’t answer, probably wouldn’t be able to get the words out even if he’d had the right ones. Van der Linde saved him the trouble though, continuing with a barrage of questions. “Which horse did you say you were looking at?”
There was only one horse this side of the pasture and Kieran could only point at the unconcerned horse, nibbling at a tough collection of grass stalks.
“My horse then?” Dutch asked, feigning surprise.
“Was just looking at him,” the silence reigned between them and Kieran got the distinct impression that Dutch was waiting for something more. “…Um, he’s real pretty is all. Looks well taken care of.” There were a couple brambles lodged in his tail, a few wild strands of mane, but flattery had always been the fastest way from Colm’s ire.
“And he’ll bite your hand off if you take one more step closer, that’s the only reason I haven’t taken matters into my own hands. Keep your hands to yourself and away from the horses.”
“Yes sir.”
“I don’t want you even looking in their direction,” he paused until Kieran dared meet his eyes again, “is that clear?”
“Yes sir,” he repeated, putting the most pitiful face he could muster on. It wasn’t hard, not with all the practice he’d had. He’d made a good effort of it too, kept his eyes and hands to himself for a couple weeks now.
-
Until tonight when he jerked awake to the sound of a horse in pain. He heard a second whiny from the pasture and pulled himself up from the thin bedroll Arthur had all but thrown in his face a week before. ‘All your damn tossin’ and turnin’ is bothersome,’ he’d said before stalking off.
Bill was asleep a way off from him, snoring loudly into his hat, shotgun fallen at a truly concerning angle. But with all the threats concerning his own parts, Kieran couldn’t be too bothered with it.
His heart was about beating out of his chest as he pulled himself up and across the camp towards the horses, each step a risk taken on his toes. Some small, self-preserving part of him screamed out, warned him of the quick death he could be claiming for himself. But the horse continued its pained groans, stomping and shifting just out of sight.
“Sweet,” he greeted the horse, moving closer only after the horse noticed him. “What’s wrong?” he whispered, hand extended to her snout. She tried to shift closer towards him and immediately stumbled over something. Kieran couldn’t help the sympathetic noise that broke free from his throat, freezing in fear the second it was out. The mare was hobbled messily, a cord of wire crossing across her legs so tightly Kieran could see the pull of metal digging into both ankles. Who would leave a horse like this overnight?
“Here, let me help you.” He bent down and crawled closer, toolless but determined to get the offending metal free of her ankles. The hair must have been white at some point, but now it was a mess of tacky red. At the first touch across her leg, she tried and failed to buck up, thrashing something awful and sending Kieran crawling backwards on his hands. It took longer to get her trust the second time, but eventually he found himself stooped by her side again, untwisting the wire by hand and cursing whichever gang member left their horse to pain and indignity. There were hitching poles in abundance all about them if someone was worried about her running off. Or if nothing else, a length of rope that wouldn’t cut through her skin like butter.
“Just a little bit more,” he whispered, close to tears as his hands got more and more saturated with the mess. “It’s okay now.” With a final pop the final cutting metal was off and she was free. He wiped his face and tried to stabilize his breathing as she skittered from leg to leg, reveling in her newfound freedom as her savior remained dangerously low on the ground. He wanted her to run, to turn her back on them all and head into the woods under the full moon, tearing out away from this place. He wanted to follow her out. But even without the hobbles she didn’t make to wander far, only testing her legs within the limits of the camp. Then the tears did come, silent as they snaked down his face and into the thick grass by his legs.
Before he turned in for the night, he brushed her down with a spare brush and whispered all manners of apologies into her mane. Maybe it was his imagination, some desperation for any means of companionship, but he thought he felt her nuzzle up against his hand at that. “I’m sorry.”
-
The next morning he was awoken again, this time to the bellow of a man.
“Where is my damn horse?” Micah cried out into the woods, murder in every word. Kieran shut his eyes tight while trying to regulate his breathing, stuck between joy and horror. She was gone.
“Should have tied her up like Charles always does, she was skittish.” Someone said to him, annoyed.
“Like Charles? She was tied by the legs- she weren’t going anywhere on her own. Someone must have stolen her,” Micah spit out behind Kieran’s shaking back, a mantra playing though his head at an alarming rate: he knows, he knows, he’ll kill me. “I’ll kill them.” Another shiver.
It was a better day after Micah stormed off into the woods in search of his escaped mare. And an even better day when he returned horseless and drunk enough to pass out immediately. Until he heard his named barked out an even more intimidating voice.
“O’Driscoll?”
“Yes sir?” he said, fingers playing with his hemline as he resolved to meet their leader’s eyes again.
“You know how to tie a horse properly I take it?”
Was he looking for evidence against for Micah?
“Yes…”
“I have a job for you.”
Day 3: A Bountiful Feast
Micah was mad, horseless, and fucking hungry. He’d spent all morning nursing a hangover only to be awarded with a putrid meal of slimy canned fish and some undercooked carrots. He’d somehow resisted throwing the slop right back into that hog of a man’s face but now he needed to eat.
“What you got there boy?” he called over to Javier, “more fish?” He spit on the ground, narrowly missing the man’s shoes and receiving a heated glare for it. “You’d best show some more respect.”
“Or what?” the man snarled right back, immediately raising Micah’s temper faster than any bitching woman or barking dog could. The man’s clothing, his hair, everything struck Micah as wrong.
“Or I’ll break your teeth out.”
-
The fight hadn’t gone well, Javier had played dirty and thrown dirt into his face at some point. Had cheated his way into a false victory, taunting Micah over his bloody nose with some unintelligible words that lit his blood with an anger so strong he’d almost just drawn on the man. He’d get him back one of these days though, the smug bastard wouldn’t be smirking then, not one bit when he was broken down, hair slashed off. But for now, he needed to eat, to get some relief from the burning of his broken nose.
All these fools ate the porridge and bland fish like a bunch of sheep, accepting their lot with such resignation that Micah could only roll his eyes and blot at his nose in scorn. They might be content living like beggars in the woods, but he sure wasn’t. He cursed when his pockets came up empty of change, as did his bedroll- he’d been using more than he’d realized the last couple days. But the woman had been expensive, and he’d been drunk enough to allow it, paying her nearly half what she’d asked for.
He peaked out from the lean-to. Dutch was already tucked away for the night with his woman, the rest of the little birds locked up behind the bitch Grimshaw. Bill was still at the campfire, as was Swanson but they both looked rather drunk. With one final survey of the field Micah took off, steering around corners with a practiced dance. This wasn’t the first time borrowing from the collection box and it wouldn’t be the last. Two nickels here, a broach there. He could get even more when some fool decided to use a pencil to scrawl down their offerings instead of ink, a quick amendment to the text his ticket to riches. He’d taken a whole twenty dollars the week before, rubbing away the offering under Arthur’s name and carefully filling in ‘three bat wings’ with a practiced hand. Arthur had handwriting too flowery for a man and it pained him to even attempt the unnecessary flourishes, but he was nothing if not a professional.
This time he got five dollars for his efforts, enough for a nice steak and a tall glass of beer in town. While the rest of them ate shit, waiting for a deer to stumble into camp and get struck down by the power of God.
Micah crept back into camp the following morning still full of his meal. He didn’t bother hitching Bill’s horse, the O’Driscoll rat would take care of it.
“I’m so hungry,” Karen screeched later, staring down into the limp cornmeal porridge. He was just able to school his face into something neutral, he’d be full for days after the feast he’d had.
Day 4: Timber
The axe swung in a high arch and crashed down on the first log with a sickly crack, not quite through the thing but close. Karen heard a snicker and raised the axe again, breaking through the log and a good four inches into the block with the blow.
“You got a problem Bill? She asked, turning on him with the axe not quite brandished but positioned between the two of them all the same. It was uncomfortable, the way the sweat was dripping from her face and behind the stifling heat of her dress, but she’d keep chopping all day if she could wipe that look straight off the man’s face.
“No. Just wondering what was going on out here.” He sounded hesitant now, as if surprised she’d even talk to him.
“He was wondering how a little thing like you managed to heft an axe so big, but he’s too afraid to say it to you outright.” Micah called out from across the firepit.
The next log split evenly. “Ridiculous,” she muttered, all these men gaping at as if she was doing something wrong. “If someone other than Charles and Arthur bothered to do this, I wouldn’t have to emasculate anyone else with my weak arms.” Another slam of the axe as Micah spluttered out his rage. The results might not be as uniform as Charles managed, but they’d burn just the same. Arthur’s crooked logs sure seemed to.
“Emasculate?” Micah asked, crowding closer, only to get the threat of an axe swing to the face. It came concerningly close to him, much closer than Karen had intended, aiding by the way the man had rushed her. She hadn’t missed the flash of fear in his eyes, clearly he didn’t want an axe gash to add to his wrecked nose. “Crazy bitch.” And then he was gone, leaving a gaping Bill staring at the display and then looking away quickly when her gaze turned to him.
“Guess I could take a turn when you’re done.” Karen considered the offer, reveling in the meekness of it. She almost just laughed in his face, but she had been cutting for hours while Bill had been snoozing away over the remnants of last night’s whisky bottle. Perhaps it was his turn.
But what really sealed the deal was the sudden realization that Sadie Adler was staring at her from across the camp, looking more amused than Karen had seen her, skirts bunched up under her on her log without a care. It was a good look on her and Karen gulped before thrusting the axe at the man and heading over to check in with her. For the first time in a while there seemed to be conversation on the other woman’s lips and Karen could use any distraction that wouldn’t turn her arms to rubber.
“Reckon I should get myself one of those for when Pearson tries to get me to peel potatoes again,” Sadie said in greeting.
“Couldn’t hurt, you sure look strong enough to use it proper.”
Sadie looked down at herself a laughed a bit, tugging at the puffed sleeves of her dress. “Surprised you can even tell through all this cloth. I never bothered with dresses much when I lived up north, but now…” she glanced around at the camp. Karen gave a sympathetic noise, now that she considered it, Sadie would look natural wearing a good pair of jeans and something that complemented her arms rather than hiding them.
“Nothing stopping us from wearing what we want out here, especially not if you’re carrying a weapon. Like an axe.”
“Maybe… may not just be the men taking issue with it.”
“I think it would suit you, maybe with a braid to the side. You’d look a proper gunslinger.” Sadie looked almost embarrassed then, but there was some genuine smile behind it and Karen rejoiced at seeing it.
“I think I’d like that.”
“Well just let me know if you wanna go shopping one of these days.” Sadie nodded and Karen tried to calm her excitement under the other woman’s cool gaze. “Haven’t felt more alive in days, seeing Micah cringe back like that made me in excited in ways a man seldom can.”
“What?” Sadie asked, confused.
“Oh nothing. I’ll get out of your hair then Mrs. Adler.”
“Sadie.”
“Right,” She smiled at her and darted off. There was work to do, a perfect excuse for the way her cheeks flushed.
Day 5: Horse Play
“Where’s Arthur,” John asked, eyes darting over the camp in search of the older man only to come up on a neatly made bed and empty table. “Hell, he just got back and now he’s out again?”
“Surely he’s got better things to do than put up with your constant badgering,” Abigail said from beside him, unhappy, though why John had no idea. He’d eaten dinner with Jack just two days before and given him one of his old knives last month.
“Pot and kettle,” he muttered, bracing himself for another verbal assault. When she just gave him a biting glare before disappearing into the tent he couldn’t help but miss the theatrics, she always got a healthy glow when the rage sunk in. But ignoring him completely? “Come on Abigail, I didn’t mean it like that…” but the ties were already pulled tight. He needed a drink.
He kept an eye on Abigail’s tent as he nursed the bottle pillaged from Arthur’s stash, checking in every couple hours and disappointing himself each time. Swanson greeted him at some point, Dutch uttered something about watch duty but really, he had more important things to consider.
“Alright Dutch,” he waved him off.
Charles always stepped up for guard duty when the others were occupied, surely it’d be no different today. The man seemed to like it really, always heading out after a quick dinner at the firepit, not one word of complaint. Jack, that would be the best way to get readmitted into the tent. He scanned the camp in search of the boy.
-
“That’s not how you do it.”
“What?” John asked, exasperated.
“You’re supposed to act like a horse. Uncle Arthur always does it right.”
“You’re telling me Uncle Arthur lets you treat him like an animal?”
“Yep! Said he was a ‘workhorse so it’s fitting’.”
John could only shake his head in horror at the idea of getting down on his hands and knees and letting this child ride him around. How in the world did the boy convince a proud man like Arthur do that? It was ridiculous.
“Maybe I’ll just go back and dig for more bugs…” Jack said, arms bunched up now, hesitant under the glare.
“Fine Jack,” he sat down beside the boy who seemed to cringe back even more now. He forced the scowl from his face and schooled his voice into something lighter. “Just tell me how Arthur did it.” It took a little while, the indecision clear on Jack’s face as the seconds passed, but eventually he hesitantly crept closer and climbed onto John’s back, swaying a bit and nearly tipping himself right over.
Through the quiet instructions and an uncomfortably tight grasp on his shoulder John eventually warmed to the game, refusing to fully commit to the act but willing enough to turn with the boy’s instructions, encouraged by the light laughter that rose up every time he crawled faster.
“Giddy-up,” Jack squealed, holding onto his shoulders and laughing madly. Hell, John had never even heard such a happy sound coming out of the boy before, like he had discovered a million dollars. Certainly not from anything John had done for him. He couldn’t help a little embarrassed chuckle of his own as Jack kicked his sides a couple times in time with his orders. He hurried up, sore knees completely forgotten as he tried his best to impress the little rider. Surely Arthur’s old decrepit knees couldn’t match pace with him.
It was when he turned sharply that he slammed to a halt in shock- Abigail was watching him with some unknowable expression, peering out from the flaps of the tent. Jack seemed suddenly shy as he dismounted, but he was clearly still happy enough with his role in muddying John from head to toe in mud and grass stains.
-
“Did you do all that to win me over?” Abigail asked later over dinner, suspicious but at least present. Out of that damn tent.
“Hell Abigail, you really must think I’m a conniving fellow. Is it so hard to believe I just wanted to do something with the boy?”
“Perhaps… but I suppose I’m just glad Jack had fun.” She looked over at him with that same confusing expression, “he’s had to deal with a lot recently, more than any child should.”
“Yeah, reckon he does,” John admitted with a sigh, rejoicing as Abigail allowed the arm around her shoulders, even leaning towards him with a sigh of her own.
-
Screaming drew John from his comfortable sleep, wrenched him out of it like a fish on the line. Abigail gasped awake beside him, clinging to him and making a startled noise when he shook her off to grab his gun and burst out from the tent. A gunshot echoed out from behind him, then another, the sound of confused sleep addled screams rising around him.
“John, after him!” Dutch yelled. John could only whip his head around in confusion before locking onto his prey, a slender dirty man running from camp with a lopsided gait. The women were all gathered around a distraught Mary Beth. He took off after him.
They barely made it to the tree line before he caught up, barreling into the man at full speed and slamming him into the ground. His already sore knees screamed out as they struck the earth beneath them but he pushed on, securing the man as best as he could with an elbow to the spine.
“Bastard, let me up!” came up from under him through a flurry of thrashing limbs and his nose was assaulted by stale sweat and urine. “She was askin’ for it, she was- sleepin’ exposed like that.” And just like that John saw red, forgoing the usual interrogation for a quick bullet to the head, slumping over awkwardly as the body went instantly still.
“Shit.” He backed up in a daze, face covered in a fine mist of blood and dirt from the scuffle. “Who the hell is this?” A little collection of bystanders joined him to stare down at the vagabond. A quick perusal of his bag yielded a pair of binoculars, a rope, a knife. They could only stare in horror at the morbid bounty there, the soft crying tricking through the leaves and hanging over the campsite like a fog.
“He’s dead Mary Beth,” John called uselessly as he approached the little group. “Are you-” He cut himself off, she didn’t look okay at all, shivering and sporting a bloody nose and ripped bonnet.
But she seemed to understand him all the same, nodding back. “He didn’t… I broke his fingers,” she said even through the tears, a bitter laugh forced out like it took all the effort in the world. “It was like he came from nowhere.”
“Think he’s been creeping around here for a while from all the litter back in those trees,” Javier offered, pointing over to the woods beside them. “Looks like he set up a little camp of his own.”
“What? Who’s been on watch duty?” Dutch asked enraged and red faced, eyes flicking to John.
“Charles?” John asked, but even as he said it, he felt like an idiot. Charles would never have missed a man like this creeping around their perimeter.
“Charles has been gone for days!” Dutch shouted, armed crossed and foot tapping in irritation. “Hell, he went with Arthur on Monday!” Silence reigned then, the camp a mess of overturned bedrolls and frazzled folk. “I want two men on duty from now on in case there’s anyone else out there. No sleeping or drinking on the job. That means you too, Bill.”
Day 6: Miles Away
“Think we should head back?” Charles asked, gazing up at the clouds.
“Mmm,” Arthur said from beside him noncommittally, only bothering to turn his head a couple of inches. “Reckon we should. Not lookin’ forward to it much though. Not with how Dutch’s been actin’.”
“Maybe a hunt on the way back then?”
“By a ‘hunt’ do you mean stalkin’ moose all day and gettin’ ourselves cut up in the undergrowth or…”
“Well,” Charles turned onto his side to give Arthur an amused glance, appreciating the slight blush that still managed to grace the man’s face when they were alone like this, “I don’t know how many moose we’re bound to find roaming around in the heartlands. Maybe deer?”
“Mmm,” another unconvinced noise.
“Rabbits?”
“Would you just get over here? You can’t just invite me ‘to hunt’ in that voice and not follow through, makes me look a fool. I don’t wanna hunt any damn rabbits and you know it.” Charles snorted, he hadn't used any sort of voice beyond his normal tone. But he scanned the clearing in the grass all the same- it was just as empty as it’d been the past week. He could see Arthur’s point as he crawled over him, pulse quickening as Arthur pulled him closer and closer. He’d find a deer tomorrow.
-
“Arthur!” He turned around in surprise at the relief in Dutch’s voice.
“Dutch? Everything good?” He looked around the camp in concern.
“Of course, I’m just happy to have you back son!” He supposed he probably looked not unlike a fish as he gaped back at the man claiming him as family and giving him a hardy pat to the back. Dutch didn’t even mention Granton, the man he’d sent them after days before. “Is Charles with you then?”
“Sure, he’s just getting the deer off his horse now. Figured I’d come find you with news of your man. Granton, he’s dead- found him out north.”
“Venison… Good man. Tonight will be an easy night I’m sure. Why don’t you come by the fire and have some whisky then?”
“Uh… sure Dutch.” Something was off, but after a quick inspection of the brimming wood pile, the brushed down horses, Arthur couldn’t quite place his finger on it. Everything seemed to have gone fine without them. Still, there was a weird energy in the air. Micah and Bill both glared at him as he passed, Karen winked at him with a pointed glance in Charles direction. Sadie looked deep in thought. Even weirder was how John was seated near his son, how he handed him an apple with only a little exasperation on his face.
-
“Is everyone actin’ a bit odd, you think?” Arthur asked to Charles later that night as they smoked from the edge of camp, simmering down from a calm night of sipping whisky by the fire.
“John offered to take watch tonight and Uncle helped me carry the water for once in his life. So yes.”
“What do you think it all means?”
“I think we need to go on more hunting trips.” Arthur’s mind filled with images of their past week returning in a wave of heat. His back must be a mess with how many trees he’d been pushed up against the last week. They’d both known better than falling down together in that damn leaf pile near the deer trail. He was still pulling brambles from his socks. Dutch would have a fit if he knew about how much time they'd spent lost to such things.
“Who am I to argue with that?”