Arthur Morgan knew this was a bad idea from the start.
He stared in annoyance at the leader of the Van Der Linde gang as he turned his back and headed toward the horses to head out toward the Heartlands. He knew this was a bad idea. Hell he knew it was a bad idea as soon as Pearson, the camp cook walked over all excited like, whatever was about to go down was a very bad plan. And Dutch had had many bad plans in the past. Just look at Black Water. Didn't help nothing that Micah, that god damn slimy rat, damn his soul to the very deepest pits of purgatory, was goading Pearson on. Perhaps it weren't even Pearson's idea after all, even if he did make a song and dance of it all. Perhaps, all this time, Micah was whispering into more ears around camp than just Dutch's.
Either way, Arthur knew meeting up with Colm O'Driscoll was a very, very bad idea. However no matter how many times he said it, no matter how much he pleaded with Dutch not to take the bait, he knew that there was no way Dutch would pass up the opportunity to see his old rival. Even if it were a trap, which everyone, even Hosea, hell even Uncle who was passed out drunk over under one of the trees could sense it was a trap, Dutch wouldn't listen. Maybe he would finally listen when Colm put a bullet in his gut, maybe then he would realise that something wasn't right with how Micah just kept siding with every bad plan. Arthur wasn't one to doubt Dutch, never. But the string of bad luck that they had been having recently, well... he knew for certain that Micah had something to do with it. Had that feeling ever since he got back from Strawberry after shooting up half the god damn town, and for what... to break Micah out of jail, only to make a damn house call and murder a man and his girl for his damn guns.
There was too much history, too much blood, too much hate for the feud between Dutch and Colm just to be quietly swept under the floorboards. It would only be a matter of time before someone flips and starts killing again. Bringing back the feud in full force. Why Dutch couldn't see that was beyond Arthur's understanding. See Colm never really liked his brother, therefore, apart from the fact that he was blood, Arthur couldn't find any evidence that Colm actually gave a damn. But Dutch... Dutch loved Annabelle. Loved her dearly and truly and honestly. Dutch ain't never loved anyone else like that. And what Colm did to her, well Dutch weren't going to forget something like that. Dutch never forgot those who wronged him. So why... Why the hell he agreed to this stupid farce of a Parley, Arthur would never know or have the capacity to understand. Sure they had greater problems and the distant promise of having one less person on their tails was something to go grasping for with both hands, but it seemed too good to even be true. And with Micah supporting it, well Arthur knew better. He knew things were going to go wrong. But Arthur wasn't brought along to be the voice of reason, or to understand Dutch's motives behind going. No, not at all. He was just meant to the be the silent gun lying in wait in case everything went south. The gun that would protect Dutch with everything he had.
Not even the calming breeze, or the sound of his horse's hooves drumming peacefully on the sun-parched earth could bring him out of his thoughts. Dutch having already given his lecture as had Micah. Well screw what Micah had to say. Micah was nothing and he didn't pay a single thought to what Micah had to say, and he never would. He watched as the sun rose to its highest peak in the sky. Out here, nothing could hide. There were not many, if any trees to hide behind. Sure there were rocks but they weren't exactly very good cover when fighting an unpredictable gang like the O'Driscolls.
Micah stopped a little way off the road and turned to look at Arthur, pointing up at a small raised plateau on the hill opposite where himself and Dutch were meant to meet Colm. Arthur tilted his head a little, his face cast in shadow from his hat as he eyed the spot. Not much cover but if he kept himself low enough he wouldn't be spotted. No trees for the O'Driscoll boys to be hiding in wait. Guess that was a good thing, just a smattering of dried brambles and cacti.
"However this shakes out, meet up by the fork in the road once this is done," Arthur said in a gruff voice as he looked between Dutch and Micah, who all but agreed. He dutifully watched the pair as they cantered back onto the road and headed toward the meeting place. Dutch even casting a glance back to Arthur and giving a gentle nod before disappearing out of sight.
Arthur sat there for a few moments, adjusting himself in the saddle as he thought about the whole business. There was no going back now.
With a click of his tongue against his cheek, he flicked the reigns gently. His trusty mare, Athena, an Iron Grey Roan Ardennes, slowly began to trot up toward the plateau. This horse, well in ways, Arthur liked to believe that his old mare Boudica was guiding her on how to best take care of her rider. Even when he first bought her, back when Hosea and him went passing through Valentine a while back to go to O'Creigh's Run to hunt a bear, she was kind and gentle. Always having a nice eye, never once threw him in the midst of danger, taking it well in her stride. She was a strong, brave horse, took no guff from no one, almost the personality mirror image of her rider.
Arthur dismounted his mare just a little way from the edge of the plateau. Watching as she walked herself over to a slightly less brown patch of brittle, dried grass before lowering her proud head to graze. All the while he and his bolt action headed over to the edge. Crouching into the dusty ground. Good a spot as any. Got a good view. And enough to be out of sight should Colm look over, but enough that if needed, he could spring into action and take out any armed assailants from killing Dutch. He was the best gun that Dutch had, bar himself and Hosea. After all he had learnt from the best. Arthur rarely ever missed his target, and if he did, well count it as your lucky day and get the hell out of there before he had the chance to take another shot. Maybe try your hand and see if the stars really were smiling down on you and win a couple of hands at high stakes poker while you're at it.
Arthur reached his hand into his satchel, pulling out a pair of binoculars and began setting his sights on Dutch and Micah. Both now on foot, as the Count and Baylock looked on before turning their heads down to the ground to find any good grazing. Didn't take too much longer before he watched three riders trot in, the three dismounting their horses and walking forward a little way. Even from up here, Arthur could hear the dulcet, baritone voice of Dutch carrying on the subtle breeze.
Shifting his weight, he put down the binoculars and raised the rifle, staring down the scope. He could see very well, finger resting against the trigger, ready to squeeze should Colm make one wrong move. Ready to put a bullet right in Colm's temple.
Dutch had made an advance on Colm. Standing a few feet from the other gang leader while Micah stayed back. It got slightly heated but after a few choice words, settled back into what seemed like negotiations. Or at least from what Arthur could tell. He wasn't much for reading lips so he couldn't tell exactly what was being said, nor could he hear all too well up here.
A twig snapped behind him, Arthur turning slightly to hush his horse, only to gasp as he got the butt of a shotgun to the face. Knocking him out and leaving Dutch and Micah defenceless with no eyes to see if there was trouble coming their way.
...
Arthur slowly became aware of voices around him. Perhaps it had been a dream. Dutch wouldn't be so stupid to actually take Micah and Pearson's advice to see Colm O'Driscoll in a stupid parley. He was tempted to tell the voices to piss off and annoy someone else, however he never really got that far. He took a moment to really listen to the voices before being able to discern that they were not the voices that he was accustomed to. They weren't the voices from around camp, talking too loud to prevent him from sleep. As he listened to the sharp tones, some with a more Irish twang to their accent, others more American, he realised all too quickly that he was not back at Clemen's Point. No, he was surrounded by none other than the nameless faces of the O'Driscoll boys.
Difference you got to understand between Dutch and Colm was how they took people into their gangs. Everyone within the Van Der Linde gang was known by Dutch. Some more personally than others, but Dutch took the time and patience to know you. Figure out quickly whether to let you stay and join the oddity of a family that was the Dutch Van Der Linde gang was, or to help you enough to get you safely on your way. Obviously making sure you wouldn't talk about the gang in the process. He was a man of convincing words. Didn't matter who you were, lawman, outlaw, law-abiding citizen, everyone had to admit that he had a way with his words and a way to make you feel as though he personally cared about your problems when he probably didn't.
Colm, on the other hand, recruited anyone and everyone. Owe him a debt and you'll be in the gang, working you into the ground but never would you work off a damn cent, while others just wanted to live the life. Experience what it meant to be an outlaw in a world that no longer wanted or welcomed you. Colm doesn't care about his boys. Not at all. All nameless faces in his army of a gang.
Arthur knew immediately that he needed to be quiet as a damn mouse in order to get away from these men. Slowly he managed to crawl, keeping his eyes on the men as they chatted amongst themselves, nothing but pointless words and even one that seemed to have gone yellow and wanted to go back home. He managed to get far enough away to roll onto his front and stand, clumsily running through the brush. His whole head ached. No doubt he would have bruises in the morning if they hadn't already come out now. His vision heavily distorted and hindered. Seeing two of everything, and it all being fuzzy really weren't helping him at all. And even if he was able to get away, there weren't no guarantee he would be able to tell where he was or locate which way Clemen's Point Was.
Arthur heard as one of the O'Driscoll boys noticed that he was getting away from them, stumbling around. The others giving chase while one pulled out his revolver from his gun-belt, probably the homesick one to prove he wasn't going yellow and aimed at the escaping Van Der Linde boy. He took a few shots. Missing several before Arthur found himself thrown forward with the force of the bullet grazing his shoulder. He yelled out in pain and rolled onto his back, looking at the boys that swarmed him. All angry and smiling at how they had managed to over power him.
Arthur held his shoulder, his flesh feeling alive with the sting from the metal bullet that grazed him. Blood slowly oozing out of the wound. Thankfully nothing deep or life threatening. Still a bitch of an injury as grazes often stung more than other wounds. Bit like a papercut.
One of the O'Driscolls looked to him, slight worry on his face. He weren't meant to kill him it seemed, just incapacitate him, "Did I kill ya?" He yelled, almost worried but also excited from the thrill of shooting his gun.
Arthur almost didn't fight the urge to roll his eyes. Course he wasn't dead, or he wouldn't be holding his shoulder, breath whistling through his teeth as he tried not to move or make matters worse, "Not yet," he groaned out as he looked up at the men surrounding him. Like damn vultures surrounding a dead corpse on the prairie.
Another man smirked as he almost laughed with the others, seeming not to care about his orders as he moved to aim his own revolver at Arthur's shoulder, "O'Course not, but I will," he hissed as he fired the gun, smoke escaping the muzzle as the bullet ploughed through the tissue and muscle of his shoulder. Tearing through everything in its path. He yelled out in agony but was very quickly met with the inky depths of unconsciousness, having passed out to cope with the damage and stress his body was under. It was almost comforting with warmth as he let himself slip further into its embrace. Letting go and sinking further and further into oblivion until he could no longer hear the excited but angry yelling voices over the rushing of the blood flooding his ears.