The next few days go by relatively quietly, no unexpected visits and few stand offs in the streets. Arthur was accompanied by the saloon regulars, going about his business as normal. Despite spending the evenings wondering what Matthew had meant by being this outlaw's next 'meal', during the day he did not spare it much thought. He could not afford to, and he was sure that the man would not be in town any longer, so he doubted he would get a returning visit. Unperturbed by the news, Arthur just shrugged it off and smiled, no normal person would 'prey' on others. That was just... wrong. The Briton quickly brushed away those thoughts as Matthew sent him a questioning look, waving him away even though an itching feeling in his mind told him that the stranger was no normal human being. These feelings came often over the next couple of days, much to Arthur's distaste.
It was late in the evening that Arthur finally closed up the pub for the night, shutting the doors behind a bunch of rowdy ranchers. They'd spent most of the afternoon laughing and joking, and the man couldn't help but listen in to their conversations. They were not exactly being discreet, after all. So, while cleaning some glasses and leaning on the bar counter with his back turned, he had listened in. Not eavesdropping, that was un-gentlemanly (and Arthur considered himself a gentleman).
"Hey, ya head about that one guy who stole ol' Joe's horse?" One of them said, taking a swig of the beer in front of him.
"Apparently he got chased out of his own town for the same thing. He's a flippin' menace. Killed a man an' all to get away." Another added, raising his own glass. "An' now he's here."
Arthur listened closely, his ears strained in hopes to catch the information.
"An' he gets away with it all by wooin' the ladies. Girlfriends, even wives! And the occasional guy too, from what I've heard. Gets around an' all that."
"Not surprised, he's quite the looker." the first said, and the others mumbled their agreements.
Arthur bristled, and surprised himself by it. So he wasn't the first, of course he wasn't. And that disappointed him in a way. So he get out of trouble by flirting, huh? It was understandable, he certainly had the build and smirk to help in this... endeavour, if it could even be called that. Though he didn't even know if it was the same man as before.
"Blue eyes, blond hair, ego the size of America. An' probably a little more." Yes, it was him. But who was 'him', anyway?
Later that evening, Arthur decided to take a walk through the town after closing, jacket pulled around him and his hands in his pockets. He walked towards the town hall, the place where most of the events were recorded before written in the telegrams and news. He spotted Matthew standing outside by the door and waved, walking over.
After a friendly greeting and a little small talk, Matthew moved to the side to reveal a small notice board. On it was a yellowing, weathered piece of paper. It was an old Wanted poster, curled at the corners and ripped in a few places. The face was roughly sketched, but it was unmistakable. From the carved jaw and nose, to the dark eyes and grin which seemed to challenge anyone. The cowboy hat on the man's head rested at an angle, showing his light coloured hair. It was /him/. With a reward of $5,000, dead or alive, the name beneath it in capital letters seemed to etch itself into the back of Arthur's brain, 'Alfred Jones' with an 'F' carelessly scrawled over the top.
"Alfred F. Jones, eh? The one who calls himself the Eagle." he scoffed, glancing at Matthew, who wore a similar expression. The grin was burned into his eyelids, Arthur remembering the same grin worn by the outlaw when he first set foot in the saloon. It was teasing, mocking, as though he knew he was being admired. It was not one that could easily be avoided, nor an expression worn by anyone else in the same way. It suited him, if that was the right word.
"I guess so," he nodded, rolling his eyes. "Modest, much?" he added, drawing a quiet laugh from the both of them. The town was almost asleep now, and Arthur could afford to lower his stoic expression for a little while and relax, instead of keeping his business under control. The sun was setting, the darkened sky casting shadows over the dusty ground, seeping into the older buildings between the woodwork, rustling the dry brush and weeds. A small wind had picked up and Arthur subconsciously drawing the collar of his coat around himself.
"Five thousand dollars over his head, and the man has the cheek to turn up here?" he said, raising an thick eyebrow. Too bad the sheriff's out, or he'd be a dead man as soon as he set foot in the gate. And on a stolen horse? Man, he sure did have style. An irritatingly arrogant one at that.
Suddenly, a faint sound broke the silence, the steady pound of hooves against the dry ground. The peaceful night air became restless, like everything was cowering or running to hide in fear. A lizard skittered past Arthur's feet, darting, dashing and scampering out of the way. Though the two men couldn't see much at all, they knew that something was wrong. He strained his eyes, trying to make out anything that moved in the darkness. Thankfully, the moon lit up a fair part of the ground, a few of the buildings and the occasional cowboy coming home from a day out of town. But then it stilled once again.
As the sound of hoof beats grew louder, Arthur noticed a figure turn around the corner, sitting atop a black horse, as dark as the sky behind them. Though he knew exactly who it was, the moonlight illuminated their features both gracefully and ominously; piercing blue eyes and a familiar smirk.