Charles was first to notice that something wasn't quite right that evening. While he couldn't rightly put his finger on what could possibly be wrong at the present time, he knew deep within himself that it was something that would shake the higher members of the camp to their core. He wasn't a guessing man, and he certainly wasn't a man who would blindly make assumptions on bad feelings unless they were completely warranted, however this uneasiness, well everyone in camp was feeling it. Even if some of them were trying to get rid of those feelings with the devils drink.
He was standing watch, just within the trees, close enough to hear if there was trouble in camp, but far enough to see if there was anything or anyone coming down the road just in front. Bow slung across his back and a carbine repeater resting in his hands, he was ready for anything. And to the white folk at least, because of his heritage and the size of him, he was quite the sight. Most would probably piss their briefs before even thinking of taking a shot on Charles. Not many people messed with him, unless your name was Micah Bell, then you got thrown over a table in anger. Served the bastard right.

Charles was always very good on watch anyway. Being an experienced hunter meant he was good for it. Able to easily spot or sense trouble before it was even close to camp. Whether it be a wild animal or some lost soul whom he would show the way rather than get violent. He wasn't like Bill or Micah. He wouldn't choose violence over compassion. Not always anyway. Seemed lately, he tried everything not to choose violence, but it didn't always pan out like that. At least Arthur seemed to be taking a page from his book. It hadn't gone unnoticed that Arthur was helping a lot more people these days when he was on his own. Of course with the gang, Arthur was constantly in scrapes, constantly gunning people down. But Charles could see the difference in him. Had done since they began to run East from Blackwater. It affected him, more than it used to.

The low-bearing sun slowly began to set over the horizon, setting the sky ablaze with colour. Reds, pinks, yellows and oranges. To the East, blues and purples began to set in. As if a blanket was slowly being pulled over the sky. The clouds slowly began to gather, casting everything in dark shadow. No stars tonight, would be lucky if they could see the moon. There had been the promise of rain on the wind since this afternoon, so no doubt the heavens would open in the late hours of the night. Charles didn't mind the rain. It was calming. Peaceful and seemed like it could wash away a man's sins. He often enjoyed standing out in the rain, even if it weren't for too long. He didn't want to catch cold. None of them did. But with the air out here so moist and soupy, humidity clinging to everything for dear life, probably wouldn't take any of them long to air dry. Even in the dead of night.
Not to mention the peace the night itself brought him. Better than sitting around one of the fires and listening to one of Uncle's very tall tales that would often be interrupted by someone claiming it weren't true, Sean's annoying talk about his Da and what he used to say when he was but a wee lad, or Reverend Swanson's drunk singing. Always the same damn song too. No, this was enough for him. The peace that nature could bring. The soft chirping of crickets, the soft glow of the fireflies, the distant yips of coyotes. The trees swayed softly in the breeze, the wood creaking softly. Small animals either settling down from another tiring day to rest for the evening, or just waking up and sniffing around their found home, ready for a full night of foraging or hunting. This was true peace.

It was quickly broken by the distant drum of hoof beats on the hard clay like ground. Two by what Charles could make out from sound alone. They were much further up the path, waiting for a moment before stepping out and, cocking the gun so the butt rested against his shoulder and his eye down the sights, "Who's there?" he called out. His voice deep and menacing as he came into view on the barely there trail.

"Only us Charles, Dutch and Micah," The leader answered as his horse's gleaming coat came into view. Even without the assistance of moonlight, The Count was an easy horse to spot, a rare albino Arabian with a calm temper when around Dutch, but a moody bastard when others came near him. Micah's horse, Baylock, a black Missouri fox trotter, had a unique face, again easy to spot from the bald white face and stockings. Their riders weren't as easy to spot in the darkness, but judging by their tones, something wasn't quite right.

Charles grunted in reply as he lowered the gun and rested it back on his shoulder, "Welcome back, Arthur not with you?" he asked, having noticed earlier on that afternoon, that Arthur had gone with the two as either a guard or gun. Charles hadn't been paying attention to when they had been talking, however he did hear talk around camp, well more doubts that talk, that this parley would ever work. However it was strange now, that Arthur was no longer with them. Perhaps they split up so they couldn't be followed and Arthur would be back later on, or maybe Arthur told Dutch he had some errands to take care of. All entirely possible, Arthur was a wanderer after all.

However judging by the displeased sound Dutch made as he slowed The Count to a walk next to Charles, Micah not caring to stop as he continued on the path through toward the camp, that this wasn't the news he had been expecting. He could hear the frown on his voice, "No and I would have thought he would be back by now, should've been back before us," he didn't sound impressed at all, "Keep an eye out for him, would you Charles?" Dutch asked. His gaze cast down onto Charles, his dark eyes on his.
Charles grunted again in response and gave a brief nod, whether he saw it or not, he couldn't exactly tell. He felt strong claps of Dutch's hand on his shoulder, the metal rings on his fingers biting a little at his skin as Dutch clicked his tongue and The Count began to move obediently into the thicket of the trees.

The fact that Dutch didn't know where Arthur was, that was highly concerning, and to Charles at least, didn't make a lick of sense. Even when Arthur had gone to protect Dutch in the past, he always came back with him, or told him otherwise. Arthur never left unless someone knew to tell Dutch he was going to be away for a while. Something wasn't right, and that settled deep into Charles' stomach. He couldn't just leave his post and try and track Arthur down. So for now at least he remained where he was, watching the night sky and hoping that Arthur would be along soon.

Arthur never appeared. Arthur was known to often come back to camp in the wee hours of the morning, having brought back money or valuables for the ledger that sat outside Dutch's tent, or an animal that he had killed, ready to be skinned and butchered by Pearson to become their meal for the next few days. Often a deer or some turkeys or rabbits. Sometimes on the rare occasion if he had enough money, he would buy prime beef cuts or even pork when passing by a town's local butcher, just to change things up a bit. Only then would he turn in for a few hours before starting some early morning chores which would always rally those around camp who actually participate in chores to get their arses in gear.
Arthur was known to be gone often days or even weeks at a time. Sometimes one of the camp would go out to look for him, just to make sure that Arthur was okay and just got caught up in odd jobs and errands, anything to make a few bucks at least so he could have something that was worth his time to give to the camp. But this... This was different. Arthur always told someone. He would make sure to collar whoever is on guard and inform them he was heading out. And that applied to jobs as well. If he separated for whatever reason, he always made sure that he told them he would see them shortly at camp or to tell Dutch and Hosea that he would be a little while away if they needed anything. This right here, what was happening right now, was out of character for Arthur.

Charles kept a watchful eye out all night for Arthur, right up until Javier gently patted his shoulder to relieve him of his duties so he could rest. Charles looked to Javier, worry marring his features as he told him to keep a sharp lookout in case the wandering Arthur Morgan returned. Only when Javier gave a nod, did he head back into camp, sitting down heavily on his bedroll before removing his gun belt and bow so he could sleep more comfortably. If that was possible at least.
Not many were up at this time. Only the few who wanted to keep on drinking so they could eventually pass out and let their dreams run wild.

...

Even Dutch was still awake inside his tent. Flaps closed and clipped into place for privacy. Laying on his cot, his eyes on the canvas above and his ears listening to the quiet melodies of the night. Arthur's lean-to was beside his so he would hear him if he came back and laid down for a few hours sleep. Then maybe Dutch would be able to sleep peacefully until he could give the boy a what for in the morning. A serious damn talking to for not meeting them in the damn fork like he said he would. They had only left because if they didn't, well who was to say that there weren't O'Driscolls about, waiting to take a damn shot. He wanted to know where his boy was. Hell Dutch wasn't one to worry about Arthur and his whereabouts. That boy could go gallivanting across the whole damn country and Dutch wouldn't worry simply because, Arthur was his son and he could take care of himself. But this state of unknowing, for him at least, was torture on his poor overworked mind.

Micah had been the one to make the decision to leave. That Arthur was taking too much time. Dutch didn't want to leave. Leave his boy in possible danger. But he knew that Arthur had gotten himself out of some tight scrapes. Not as well versed as Hosea, but he had taken enough from watching him con a man to giving him his lively hood and talk his way in or out of any given situation that he was sure Arthur would be alright. So with that passing thought in his mind, that it had been him and Hosea who raised Arthur into the fine man he was, that allowed for his already drooping lids to sink further and let sleep take him over.

…

Hosea had been observing the camp all damn morning since his aches and pains from sleeping on a bedroll on the ground, kept him from being able to sleep much longer. He spent his time, sitting just outside Dutch's tent, cup of coffee in hand as he studied his surroundings. He was very quick to spot that Dutch and Micah were back, their horses grazing together by the trees, not to mention the sounds of Dutch's soft snoring. However he didn't see Arthur. This alarmed him immediately, sent an unsettled chill down his spine as he kept his light brown eyes on the tree line in the hope that he would spot that familiar bulky mare with his brute of a son within the saddle.

No such thing happened. So when he heard movement come from Dutch's tent, he walked over, hand resting on his revolver as he sighed heavily, "Dutch, you awake?" He wasn't so rude that he would barge in and wake the man. No matter how high his concern was running right now.

"Not now Hosea," Came Dutch's tired reply, followed by a soft groan. Clearly, by the sound of it, Dutch had only just woken himself up. Unusual for him to sleep so late. Normally he was first up around the crack of dawn, already standing at the entrance of his tent, cigar between his teeth and hip resting against the wooden pole that supported the front entrance. Like a king surveying his proud kingdom. Well if you could really compare Dutch to a king anyway.

Hosea, not having any more patience, opened one of the flaps and walked inside. Letting the canvas fall before frowning at the dark haired male sitting there on his cot, rubbing the sleep from his exhausted eyes. He was still in his clothes from yesterday. White pinstripe button up, black vest with the soft velvety back and his black pinstripe trousers. His boots resting near the entrance and his black velvet hat resting against some of those Evelyn Miller books Dutch was always reading. Hosea frowned more, watching as Dutch continued to scrub his hands over his tired face, enough to leave red marks along his forehead and cheeks.

"Where is Arthur, Dutch?" He asked in annoyance, staring him with a sharp intensity that would make even the infamous leader of the Van Der Linde gang shudder. No one got on Hosea's bad side. And if you did, well you best hope to damn God that you're able to make it up to him lest you want death glares and mistrust to follow your walks of life. "He say he was headin' out again after the Parley?"

He could see that Dutch wasn't exactly welcoming to the intrusion, a deep frown carved into his forehead. Brows furrowing deeply as he saw the realisation come across Dutch's face as clear as day. He had hoped Arthur would have come home that night. Hearing the news that he hadn't set fire to more worry within those deep brown eyes as Hosea rubbed his neck and scowled. They would have to double check with Charles and Javier that Arthur had definitely not been here before jumping to any sort of conclusions as to where their boy was. Dutch quickly rose to his feet, pulling on his boots and placing his hat upon his head as he looked to Hosea and walked out of the tent, all of a sudden very awake and alert.
The pair made their way over to Charles, who hadn't much sleep either last night by the look of his tired eyes as he sharpened a blade. Dutch was the first to speak before Hosea could even form the words, "Arthur make it back last night?" he asked, his voice concerned as he looked down at the fellow below.

Charles looked up at them, frown furrowing deep, his brows knitting together as he shook his head. Standing up from where he had been sitting. Hosea watching as the man walked over to Arthur's lean-to, crouched down and checked around the area, "Cot hasn't been slept in and the grass hasn't been disturbed in a few days at least," he said as he looked back at them.

Hosea scowled, his wrinkled features marred with worry as he turned his gaze to Dutch, "Where'd you leave him? Let's go take a look at least, ease our minds," he said in a calm voice. Trying not to let his concern waver into his tone. It worried him that no one knew where Arthur was. And the last people to see him, one of which was standing in front of him while the other, probably snoring his damn head off or annoying folk.
See Hosea loved Arthur like a son. Ever since they found him as a young boy, starving, and scavenging for even the slightest bit of food. A street orphan who was more bone than skin. Hell, Hosea had been worried that a real strong gust of wind would just snap the boy in two. They took him in, fed him, bathed him, clothed him, taught him all he knew. So naturally when he was nowhere to be seen and no one knew where he was, he grew concerned. As any good parent, or found parent should. Sure Arthur could hold his own and take care of himself, now being in his early thirties, but still. Worried and concerned for his boy, he was.

Dutch nodded and sauntered off, "Mister Smith, ride with us," he said in a voice heavily laden with annoyance and anxiety. Dutch wasn't one to get anxious unless one of his sons were involved. Didn't matter how old they damn were and Hosea was no different. It was clear he wanted to make sure nothing had happened to his right hand man, or if something did then he would find the bastard who hurt his boy and make the son of a bitch pay.

Hosea trailed behind Dutch and observed cautiously as the man readied his horse. Throwing his saddle onto the back of Silver Dollar, the animal none to pleased when the girth strap was tightened. Stamping his hind hooves, ears pinned back as his mouth grew tight and looked back at him. With a sugar cube and a mint, that seemed to settle him as he then pulled the bridle on over his head, removing any trapped mane from the leather straps before setting his foot in the stirrup and mounting up. Charles was already mounted on his Appaloosa mare Tiama, while Dutch fussed over his own girth strap. The Count not being as cooperative as he normally was.

They were just about to head out on the trail when Hosea saw the hunched figure of Micah slowly stalk over, like a predator who had set his sights upon his prey. The greasy blonde heading over to Dutch, never once looking at the others, "Where you off to Boss?" he asked, hands on his guns.

Hosea never liked Micah. Too much damn trouble than he was worth. Never working in camp, antagonised the men and came onto the women, always bringing in scraps for the ledger, occasional scores with marginally decent takes that weren't worth the amount of blood spilt over it. He had the same feelings as Arthur did when it came to him. He was a bad influence and something wasn't quite right in his head. Shooting up a town like Strawberry, all for guns... Had he been anyone else, Dutch wouldn't have tolerated them. Would have escorted them out of camp and their lives. But no, he kept this snake for some unknown, god-forsaken reason.
Hosea knew he needed to go. Be cut loose. Maybe because the Pinkertons were so hot on their trail, it was too dangerous to cut him out in fear he would talk. Even so, he was a danger to everyone here. Steering Dutch the wrong damn way. Sinking them farther and farther into something none of them would survive.

"Goin' to check the hill Arthur was on, see if we might find him," Dutch said as he looked over to Micah, patting The Count's neck gently.

Micah arched a thick brow, stroking a hand over his bushy moustache, angling his head up so his eyes were visible over the brim of his hat. Gently shrugging his shoulders, "Surely Morgan has gone wanderin' like he always does. No need to look for him now, not yet anyways. Be a waste of manpower," he suggested as he looked over to Charles and Hosea, "Morgan goes missin' for a few hours and you need to go to his rescue. He'll turn up, always does, don't he?"

Hosea glared at him, his hat casting his face in shadow as he looked down at the smaller man, "That maybe so but it's unlike him to go without tellin' nobody he's headin' out. We don't need your damn permission so shut your damn mouth," he growled, protective of Arthur. Very quick to notice that Micah didn't seem to want Arthur to be found.

Charles looked to Hosea, no one would want to be on the receiving end of that glare and silver tongue, "He's right Micah. Better to be safe than sorry."

Micah shrugged again as he held his hands up in surrender, "Whatever you say, you is the boss. Just didn't think it was worth a search party goin' round while Pinkertons are chasing our tails."

Dutch eyed Micah for several long moments, a deep scowl on his face as he watched Micah meander back into the main camp, squeezing The Count's sides with the heels of his boots and looking to the pair in front of him, "C'mon, let's ride."

Hosea followed on along side while Charles headed in front, so he could keep an eye on the trail ahead, "I gotta bad feelin' Dutch," he said as he looked to him, his jaw set. What Micah said really digging at him.
Dutch nodded softly in response, rubbing the back of his neck before patting his hand softly on Hosea's shoulder, "You're not the only one Old Gal, trust me on that. But we will find him," he said as he gave a gentle reassuring smile. Most likely to try and ease Hosea's mind as they cantered out of camp, careful not to draw any attention to themselves. Heading toward the open plains of the Heartlands, in search of their poor, lost Arthur's whereabouts.