Chapter Seventeen: Ending

The laughter was easy to hear even from here. He pulled King to a stop, dismounting, watching the group from a distance. Hosea was one side of the fire, a grin on his face, the two boys across from him. John was dressed in something far too big, sleeves hanging past his hands, the tail of the coat dragging in the dirt, but it was the hat over his head that seemed to be causing most of the hilarity. His head was tilted back, trying to see out from under the rim; it fell off at one point, Arthur reaching down to pick it up. Stuck it back on the boy's head, purposely dragging to forward to cover his face.

"How about that?"

"I can't see!" John protested, hands fumbling to grab the hat. A feat made all that much harder by the long sleeves, fingers trying to grab something through all the fabric.

"Then it's an improvement," Arthur chuckled. Dutch found himself smiling; it had been too long since he had heard that. He left King where he was, could tend to him later. Right now he wanted to be with the rest of them, wanted to join in.

"What are you boys up to?" he wondered as he approached. He had to admit it was unnerving, the way the laughter died, a more serious mood all but replacing it. Well, this was awkward...

"Just messing around, Dutch," Hosea was the one who answered. "Some of the stuff we got Arthur for that botched robbery...he wasn't a fan, so I figured I'd try them on John, just to see how it looked. What do you think?"

Even though John had managed to push the hat back the boy still had to keep his head tilted back to see anything. The duster coat all but drowned his figure, and ultimately he looked ridiculous. Still Dutch chuckled, putting forth a smile.

"Give it a few years and I reckon he'll look just fine. Especially that hat, once it fits."

"His head ain't gonna get any bigger," Arthur retorted, "Got not brains in there to begin with; just going to shrink."

John stuck his tongue out, reaching out and giving Arthur a shove on the shoulder. Or at least he tried to, had missed for the most part, only the sleeve of the coat striking him.

"Be nice to your brother," Hosea reprimanded them.

"Who?" Arthur wondered.

"Both of you," the man shook his head, glancing up at Dutch. "How'd you get on?"

It took a moment, but he caught on to what Hosea was asking. Referencing his earlier town trip. He nodded, clearing his throat. "Good...just fine. Things look good."

It was a surprise, he had to admit. A rather pleasant one. There was talk of the robbery in town, not that in itself was a surprise. But they didn't seem to have a suspect. There were no posters hanging about, no talk of who may have done it. Loose rumors that it had been a town drunk had been the most he had heard. All in all it seemed to have been chalked up to ill luck, and a poorly executed trap.

It seemed to ease Hosea's worries, the man relaxing with a nod. He cleared his throat just then, nodding towards John. "Why don't you and I go for a walk?"

"Now?" the boy protested, fumbling with the hat still. "I thought we was gonna play dominoes?"

"We will," Hosea reassured him, moving to his feet. "We're just gonna take a short walk; we'll take Copper with us, get him to chase some sticks, how does that sound?"

He didn't need to be convinced. John hiked up the coat, falling into a funny run after Hosea as the pair headed out, Copper grudgingly pulling himself away from the fire at their persistence. It left just the two of them now, and Dutch did not miss how quiet it was, nor the fact that Arthur hadn't looked his way once. He let out a sigh, easing himself down on the log near him.

"It's good to see you up," he started, "I was starting to worry a little."

"Sorry Dutch," Arthur apologized quickly, "I didn't mean to sleep so late."

"Well, getting stabbed can be an exhausting ordeal," he reassured him. It hurt him a little that Arthur's first response was to apologize for being hurt. Dutch tried to shake the unnerving feeling, doing his best to stay positive. "You look better than yesterday, at any rate. Got more color in you, and well, you're awake so I guess that's a start."

Arthur frowned, looking at him. "What you talking about? I was plenty awake yesterday; between the stage and you...and Hosea stitching up that damn wound. Would have preferred to have slept through that if I'm being honest."

"Oh Arthur..." Dutch shook his head with a little laugh. The man was watching him, a frown on his face.

"What?"

"You've been down for almost two days, son," he leaned forward, watching him. "Don't you remember?"

There was a pause, a slight shake of his head, a bit of apprehension on his face at the realization of lost time. "Dutch, we came back last night..."

Dutch let a sigh, a sad smile gracing his lips. "You were pretty out of it. Hosea brought something back for the fever and something else to help with the pain, and well, I guess it was a little stronger than he thought it would be. But you were hurting, and we just wanted you to be able to get some rest."

Arthur didn't say anything in response. Simply sat there, elbows on his knees, a pensive look on his face as he tried to sort things out. Arthur had slept through that first night, and then most of yesterday, had still been sleeping earlier today when he had taken off for town, and despite Hosea's reassurances that he would be fine, Dutch had still been worried. Seeing him not only awake, but up, had alleviated his earlier concerns. And now? Now they were here, sitting together in awkward silence, and Dutch was struggling to find the right thing to say.

"I am...so sorry, my son," he breathed finally, the words slow and heavy. They were far more difficult to say than what he expected, laden with the guilt and remorse that had been eating away at him since his confrontation with Hosea. He had been wrong, a downright fool, so convinced he already knew what had taken place that he hadn't even considered the possibility of anything else. He knew Arthur, knew the man wasn't that reckless, should have trusted him more...

"It's alright," the response was almost immediate, but quiet, accentuated by a shrug of his shoulders as though it was of no importance. How willing he was to forgive and forget. But Dutch knew it wasn't that simple; he didn't deserve forgiveness that easily.

"No it's not," Dutch countered him. "I judged you unfairly, and made assumptions without even giving you the opportunity to explain, and well...that was wrong of me," he paused, drawing in a breath, "I just want you to know that I am sorry. And I want to say thank you, for going after John, for keeping him safe."

"Of course I went after him," Arthur frowned, meeting his gaze. "He's my..." he paused, fumbling with the words as he cleared his throat. "He's just a kid, and well...I kind of like him, that's all."

Dutch couldn't help but laugh. Arthur had tried his damndest to not say what had been lingering on the tip of his tongue, attempting to hide behind a facade of indifference. The relationship between the two boys was peculiar, a mixture the squabbles and facetiousness overshadowing the true sentiment that was there, and Dutch had no doubt in his mind that that bond would grow over time.

They sat there for a time in uneasy silence once more, the awkwardness of it all too apparent as Arthur fidgeted, trying to find anything to focus on and pretend that he was busy, like a child trying to hide something. Watching him now he could understand to what Hosea had alluded to in their earlier fight, and the guilt hit him all that much harder. Memories of when they had first met Arthur flashed through his mind. Remembering how dirty and disheveled he had been; scared and angry, all too eager for a fight, a result of how cruel the world had been towards him.

It had taken time, a lot of time and just as much effort to coax him out of the shell he had buried himself in, but once they had, Arthur had shot past all expectations. He had been a fast learner, eager to please, undeniably loyal. He let out a sigh, turning away.

"You know, you've grown so much since we first met," Dutch told him, staring at the fire now. "You've learned a lot, and you are capable of more than you give yourself credit for. It's been a long while since I've had any reason to worry about you. Sometimes I forgot that you are not as grown as I assume you are."

Near him he heard Arthur scoff. "I ain't a kid anymore, Dutch."

"I know," he nodded, giving him a gentle smile, "but you're still young. I forget that, and that's my fault, not yours. It's...shameful, that it took something like this for me to understand that. It was wrong of me, to not trust you...and I...I was just so scared, Arthur," it was a poor excuse of an apology. Blaming his faults on little more than fear.

Still he fumbled with the words as the memories returned, a shiver racing down his spine, knowing how close he had been to losing them both. They were always in danger, always at risk given their choice of how they were living. But having that knowledge in the back of their minds, and actually facing it were two vastly different realities.

"You were scared?" Arthur huffed at his latest comment, "You weren't the one being shot at."

Dutch found himself laughing. Leave it Arthur to lighten the situation. He reached up, clasping him on the back, the tension easing as they fell into a silence. Not as awkward as last time, rather one that was comforting, just the two of them sitting there, enjoying each others company.

"You know," he cleared his throat, once again being the one to break the silence. "I was in town earlier, checking out some of the wagons they had for sale."

"What for?" Arthur frowned at him, "We already have a wagon."

"That we do," Dutch nodded, "But we can really benefit from having a second one." Wasn't that the truth. As it was, they were making trips to town almost twice a week. A single wagon simply wasn't enough for the five of them, not to mention that between Arthur and John the boys were consuming rations like half-starved animals. A second wagon would allow them to stock up better, not just on food but other supplies, would allow them sanctuary in the wilderness for longer breaches and not have to set so close to towns all the time.

"At any rate," he continued on, "I figured that once you were healed up, We'll head into town, see what we can get."

"With what money?" he seemed skeptical.

"We always have extra money stashed away, don't you worry about that," Dutch couldn't help but chuckle. They always took a cut from their jobs, hid it outside of wherever their camp for times of necessity. It had proven invaluable more than once, and it was a practice he fully intended to keep as time went on.

"We'll find something decent, and it can be yours. We'll find a cot or something too; figure it's about time to get you off the ground, give you a decent place to sleep."

"Not Hosea?" Arthur wondered, eyebrow raised.

"Tried that before," Dutch shook his head. "That man prefers sleeping on the ground for some ungodly reason."

Dutch had been all too eager for a proper bed, had spent funds on one as soon as he had been able to. Had been determined to do the same for Hosea, but the man had declined, and continued to decline the multiple times after. It hadn't taken Dutch long to finally relent despite not understanding the appeal. But that didn't mean Arthur was the same.

"So, what do you think?" It was a meager offer, a way of reassurance that Dutch not only expected Arthur to stay, but that he wanted him to stay. He still felt guilty, the mere thought that Arthur believed he was being kicked out eating away at him. That had never been his intention, had never even entered his mind. He wanted so much to explain that, but for some reason couldn't even begin to find the words to do so. And so this is what he had to offer.

"Sure, I guess," the man shrugged. He seemed indifferent, not as excited as Dutch had hoped for him to be. He swallowed, almost nervous as he suggested the next best thing.

"Well, you know, when we get the new wagon, we're going to need a strong horse to pull it."

That caught his attention, the skepticism clear on his face. Followed by a hint of irritation. It was a risk, he knew, bringing this up, knowing how Arthur felt about it all.

"Now, I know you don't want charity," he defended himself quickly.

"I don't," Arthur agreed, voice betraying the displeasure there.

"So don't think of it as that," Dutch cut him off. "Think of it as...a reward." More like a bribe, but he would do everything in his power to deny that.

"A reward?" Arthur was frowning. "For what?"

"For saving John's life."

To that, he scoffed, shaking his head. "I ain't done no such thing."

"If you hadn't gone after him, they would have taken him, and we would have been none the wiser," Dutch pointed out.

"Maybe," Arthur shrugged, "But you and I both know that it weren't me that saved him. That was you. If you hadn't found us..." he trailed off, unable to finish.

"Don't sell yourself short, son," he chided him. John had told him what had happened, had spared no details. "You took on six armed men; beat half of them down with your fists alone. There are few men who can say they've done the same and lived to tell the tale."

"I was lucky, that's all. And like I said, if you hadn't shown up, I'd be dead. That last bastard was choking the life out of me," he reached up with a hand, fingering the fading bruises that lingered around his neck.

"I have no doubt in my mind that you would have gotten the best of him," Dutch reassured him. "Given enough time; you're a right fierce bastard yourself. Last thing I would want in this life is to face you in a fight, that is for sure."

"I ain't never gonna fight you," Arthur reassured him. "You saved me...and not just there, but...well I owe you; I'll always be loyal to you, Dutch.

"I know you will, son," Dutch reassured him. "And loyalty has it's own rewards. You did well, so reap the benefits, and let's get you a damn fine horse, alright?"

"If you insist," he replied finally. There was less animosity in his voice this time, though he still seemed unsure. There was a slight hesitation, the words soft when next he spoke. "What about Clover?"

"Well, I spoke with a stable hand. Seems like we might be in luck. There's a fella in town that's looking for a smaller horse for his son to teach him riding. You know as well as I do that Clover is good with kids, and I suspect we can fetch a decent price off her."

"I suppose," he shrugged, fiddling his fingers, twisting his hands, almost anxious. "But what if...you think she'll be okay?"

Oh heaven help him did Arthur ever have a heart. Dutch found himself laughing, leaning forward. "I reckon she'll be just fine. Spoiled rotten, no doubt. She'll have her own place, be fed as many treats as she can eat, and grow fat and happy in her old age. A far better life than being on the run with us, I assure you."

It took a moment, Arthur seeming to contemplate over things, but eventually he nodded, the smallest of smiles on his face. "Alright. Why not? Let's do it."

It was good to hear. Dutch knew that things were not fixed that easily, but he reckoned they were far better than they previously had been. It would take time, and effort, just as it had before, but Dutch felt certain that they would be alright. They would survive, they would learn from their mistakes, they would grow stronger. And everything would be just fine.

The End

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