Apologies for any grammatical errors or spelling mistakes. I do try to comb through and get the ones I can see. However some still manage to slip through the cracks. Just be aware some may not be grammatical errors as I am trying to mimic how Arthur/Dutch may have thought or even spoke. Support is always greatly appreciated and I thank you for the kind words. You guys are awesome. ~X~

Finding where Arthur had been stationed as a lookout and sniper was pretty simple for Charles. After they left Clemen's Point, Dutch had taken the lead and retraced his steps all the way back to The Heartlands where he had met up with Colm O'Driscoll. It took him a moment or two to find where exactly they had seen Arthur last before he let Charles take over to try and track, perhaps find Arthur and Athena. Escorting Dutch and Hosea up the harsh terrain to the small plateau, which Dutch confirmed was meant to be the place where Arthur was to take watch the previous day.

Arthur's proud steed was easier to track than say the Count or Silver Dollar. She had a much larger, longer stride, not to mention hooves the size of dinner plates. So picking up the track was far easier. Climbing down from Tiama, he studied the ground, pushing aside any foliage so he could figure out roughly which direction they were heading.

Dutch and Hosea both looked to Charles with soft gazes, both of them equally worried, "Well Mister Smith, you find anythin'?" Hosea asked softly. Covering his eyes with a ever-so-slightly shaking hand to shield his aged eyes from the vicious onslaught of the warm sun's rays.

Charles looked up and grunted softly, nodding once, "Seems to have been a struggle, and I'm guessing that from the colour of these flecks here, Arthur or someone was bleeding when they left," He explained, gesturing softly with his hand. Dutch could see the dried brownish flecks and scowled softly, if someone had hurt his poor boy, there would be absolute hell to pay. But for now, he held faith that maybe the blood on the ground weren't Arthur's. Yet if Arthur had gotten out of this as the victor, surely he would have given a signal to inform them of the attack.

Dutch pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut tightly as he heard Charles move away. Following the strange trail. It was heading off into further South and then veering off to the South-West, toward a small wooded area. Not too far away, but far enough that Dutch and Micah wouldn't have heard any commotion going on.

Dutch could see Hosea's concern. Hell he could feel it. As strong as the headache that was settling deep into the backs of his eyes. It made his chest tighten painfully as he knew that if anything happened to their boy, he wouldn't be too kind to him. Micah neither. Probably go after Pearson for suggesting this stupid damn farce. Both slowly began to follow Charles as he mounted back onto Tiama and followed where the trail lead. Occasionally stopping them so he could lean down to make sure he was travelling the right way. Listening to his soft mumbles as he mentioned a change in direction or pace. He told them that one of the horses seemed to be carrying a heavier load, due to the deeper depressions in the ground. Hind legs only it seemed. Some one either sitting heavily or draped over the rump.

Dutch paid close attention to every word that was said. Sinking him further and further into his worrisome thoughts, filled with all the different torments he could thing of that Arthur could be going through. Watching as he pointed up at what seemed like very soft wisps of smoke. Nothing too out of the ordinary out here. However hopefully it was Arthur, camping out with whatever injuries he had. But as they broke through the trees, they noticed an abandoned camp fire, the coals still smoking a little but were still warm to the touch.

"Looks like they were camping here. Couldn't have left any longer than a few hours ago at least. Must have had Arthur here," Charles stated as he pointed to a large depression in the grass. Something clearly having been laying down on the ground for quite a while without moving, "Looks like... he regained consciousness, tried to get away," he continued on. Dismounting Tiama and followed the clumsy trail. The boot prints seemed almost all over the place. That was until he came across what seemed to be quite a fresh puddle of blood. Decent enough amount to leave a nice trail that they could follow.

Charles looked up to Dutch and Hosea, clear worry in his eyes as he eyed the pair. Hosea looked as though he would punch Dutch, while the latter, with that vein pulsating against his temples, looked as though he were going to explode. Nostrils flared angrily as he met Charles' gaze, "Could be anyone's blood, might not be Arthur's," Charles stated, as if to bring some hope to the situation with some artful misdirection to ease their worry plagued minds. However Dutch knew it was Arthurs. He knew if it hadn't been Arthur's, that he would have been able to over power his attackers and get away from them. It was Arthur's, nothing could change his mind on that.

"Where does it lead?"

Charles clicked his tongue so his horse would follow, tracking the riders once more through the thicket and onto what looked like a small path. Not well used to be known by every one, but enough that it was easy to follow the four sets of hoof prints. Spots of blood dotted every now and then, showing that they were heading in the correct direction. However as they came to a river, the Dakota if Dutch's memory served. Traces of blood were gone, swept away by the light current.

Both himself and Hosea remained on the river bank while Charles rode ahead to search along both sides to see if he could pick up the trail once more. Seemed these bastards were smart enough to use the river to their advantage.

Charles spent a good half an hour searching but came up completely empty. There were plenty of tracks everywhere, varying sizes, even wagon wheel grooves, but no blood to hint where they might head to next.

This frustrated Dutch, the man staring out over Flatiron Lake. Where could Arthur be? He could hear Hosea seething beside him, "You best hope Arthur walks his backside back into camp, Dutch," he hissed before turning to Charles, "C'mon, let's get back. No use followin' nothin'. We can make a plan when we get home."

Despite his frustration, Dutch could only agree. He flicked the reigns and steered the Count toward the main road. The ride for Dutch, was filled with regret and pain. He could feel Hosea burning holes in the back of his head. Doubting him again. Losing even more faith in him. He could only imagine horrible outcomes for Arthur now. Sure he was smart, real smart when it came to situations such as this, believe it or not. But his mind couldn't help but wander to Annabelle and the utter state he had found her in all those years ago.

There was no question in his mind. Arthur had been taken by the O'Driscolls. For what, he couldn't quite grasp at the answer. If it were to wound him further, then there was no point in keeping Arthur alive. Well he could only assume he was alive, had to be or they would have found his body discarded some place close to where that first camp had been.

All he did know, was that he needed to find Arthur and make the son of a bitch pay. God he hoped to be the one to gun down Colm. Either that or lead the Pinkertons right on him so he could watch the bastard swing. Problem was, he had no idea where he was meant to be looking. No where to even start. His mind quite literally blank as he tried everything to come up with some sort of plan in finding him. There was tell of an O'Driscoll camp up near Big Valley, Hangin' Dog Ranch, at least that's what he thought it was called. But that was most likely too far, not to mention they'd probably not have the brains to not cut through Strawberry and end up with the law on their backs.

Didn't mean he couldn't take some of his own boys up there and have a friendly old chat with the occupants to find out where Arthur was being held.

With all his deep thinking of the situation, he had barely even realised that they were back at camp. He left his horse grazing while he headed over to the shore and pulled out one of his cigars. Fine cigars. After all he only smoked the best. He wasn't going to smoke the cheap crap that some of his boys took a liking to. Especially Bill. Shove anything in his mouth and he'd be damn happy.

He struck a match against the sole of his boot and lit the cigar, taking a deep inhale as he planned. Taking in the calm as his mind whirred with thoughts. Picking through every little scenario. Every fine detail. There could be no mistakes. Arthur was his strongest gun, the others were fine gunmen too, but Arthur was the best. Losing anymore of them would be an absolute tragedy, then they'd have absolutely no hope of getting Arthur back.

He listened to the noises of the camp, Pearson chopping up meat, Uncle snoring his head off, the girls twittering away as they did their chores. Javier plucking the guitar strings, Bill antagonising Kieran, the O'Driscoll boy they picked up in the mountains, Abigail yelling at John and little Jack off playing with Cain. All noises he welcomed. It was almost peaceful, up until he heard the familiar clink of spurs. Looking briefly over his shoulder, out of the corner of his eye to see Micah skulking over.

Dutch studied him for a few moments, a frown on his face, the lines that marked his forehead and between his brows deepening. Micah was not that much shorter than himself, but with how he hunched himself over, made it seem as though he towered over him. Not exactly a muscular fella, and had the good startings of an alcohol gut that could be seen even through that ever so slightly baggy burnt red button down he always wore. A large white hat sat upon his greasy, stringy blonde hair. Most of his face cast in shadow, but Dutch could quite easily make out his angry icy blue eyes, not to mention the way his thin lips curled into that signature sneer below that thick horseshoe moustache.

"What d'you want Micah?" he asked impatiently, turning his gaze back onto the calm waters in front of him. His own eyes dark as he took another puff on his cigar. His rings glinting in sunlight. He didn't want much to do with the man right now. Fearing he would most likely snap his damn neck. Against his better judgement he had listened to Micah. Listened to him that they were better off heading back to camp, despite him wanting to stay longer to wait for his son. Against his better judgement he had listened to Micah over his son and now Arthur was missing and presumed injured.

"Heard 'bout what you fellas found while searchin' for Morgan. Thought maybe we better go find him. Couple o'the boys are willin' to ride out. Perhaps start askin' around," Micah suggested, holding his hands up in defence, "Morgan saved me once, back in Strawberry. Might as well repay the favour. Don't much like owin' people."

Dutch turned sharply, eyeing him for a long minute. His jaw tense and the muscle flexing every few seconds as he gnashed his teeth together. Stopping himself from yelling and throwing accusations at the subordinate who stood beside him. There was no way Micah wanted to find Arthur of his own accord. The pair had too much of a disliking for each other for that, they could barely tolerate each other in camp. Always hurling insults at each other. Hell he had to practically beg Arthur to even go ride up to Strawberry to save Micah from the noose, so no doubt someone or something put him up to this. The first seed of distrust against the man already starting to plant itself and grow.

"Who's goin'? And where you gonna look? We don't have any leads. No idea where they was headin'," he grumbled angrily. His eyes flashed with anger, raising a calloused hand to rub his aching temples.

"Some of the boys were gonna head toward Valentine, while another lotta us were gonna go to Flatneck. Ask around. Morgan has to be about some place. An' I'm sure he ain't hurt that bad."

Dutch scowled as he took another deep inhale on his cigar. Smoke escaping his mouth as he spoke, almost like an angry dragon waiting to set fire to everything, "I said, who's goin'?"

"John, Javier, Bill, Hosea an' Charles," Micah said as he eyed Dutch for a few moments, easy to read that he was very angry.

They had no clue where Arthur was being held, but they might as well go and see if he had been at least spotted by the locals.

Dutch tossed the end of his cigar into the water, hearing the satisfying sizzle as it extinguished. Taking a step toward Micah, his eyes still rather deadly. Best he weren't anywhere near Micah for the time being, "You an' Bill will head to Valentine, no stops at the Saloon ya hear. I don't need or want a repeat of Strawberry. The rest of us will head down to Flatneck. Perhaps even over the river," He ordered, "You find anythin', you come get the rest of us. Understand?"

Micah tipped his head in response before turning and walking to his horse, "Oi Bill, you riding with me!" he yelled out before the pair cantered on out of camp. Meanwhile Dutch joined up with John, Javier, Charles and Hosea. He mounted up, sitting down in the saddle before facing the camp. The Count shaking his head, snorting softly, "Lenny, Sean guard the camp, rest of you, keep your eyes sharp and get your work done. No one is to leave camp until we get back. We might be gone a day or so."
Of course Miss Grimshaw would look after the camp, quickly turning to the others and yelling at them to get back to work.

Dutch turned to the remaining men who'd be joining him, "Let's ride!"

It was the same damn story over and over again. Dutch didn't know how much more he could take as he listened to Javier and Hosea question a couple more of the nice fellas around Flatneck station. Four had already given their stories. John and Charles were taking a look over by Bard's Crossing, seeing if they could see anything over the other side of the Dakota. He turned a little, listening to the conversation between the two men who were still in a game of poker.

"Fella like that was round here."

"Yeah remember, he played poker with us when the drunken Clergyman stopped."

"Oh yeah, the same guy helped the Clergyman from dyin' on the tracks, but that was near two-three weeks ago now."

This frustrated Dutch more than anything and he was losing the last threads of his patience. He didn't want old news of where Arthur's wanderings took him. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily. He just wanted something. Anything that would give him a damn indication as to where Arthur was. It was pissing him off, so much so he had to separate himself from his boys in case one of them said the wrong thing and he took his anger out on one of them.

Dutch did look up as John called him over. Maybe they both had more luck than the two inside. "Dutch c'mere!" he yelled, he could hear the urgency in his voice. Dutch stormed his way over, heavy footsteps as he placed his hand heavily on John's shoulder, "What is it, my boy?"

John turned to look at him, holding a pair of brass binoculars, pointing just below them and clear of the tree line to the road. Even from here Dutch could make out the shape of a horse and rider. He took the binoculars and peered through the lenses. Able to the almost silver stocky mare, rider only in what looked to be a rust red union suit. Half sitting up, half slumped over the animal's neck. Even from here he could make out the muscular build, the locks of sandy brown hair. He gasped audibly, "Arthur." It had to be him. He hadn't seen many horses around with such a unique roan coat.

Very quickly, he whistled for his horse, "Hosea! Javier! Quit your stallin' and get out here!" he yelled as he threw himself into the saddle, "Charles, Javier, head to Valentine and get Bill and Micah. John head to camp and make sure they know we're comin'. Make sure Miss Grimshaw and Swanson are ready for us when we arrive! Get goin'" he ordered as he cantered down the slope, not bothering to wait for the confirmation of those orders. Silver Dollar right at the Count's heels as they caught up with the mare, dutifully walking her way toward Lemoyne.

Dutch could see Arthur wasn't secure in the saddle. His bare feet barely in the stirrups and his body slumped more heavily over her neck. He was teetering, probably minutes from falling into the dirt. It was only when Dutch slowed the Count beside Athena when he saw the sheer state of his boy's face. Heavy dark bruises under and around his eyes and the bridge of his nose. Nostrils clogged with crusted up dried blood. His lip split open and swollen. His neck black and purple, clear definition of fingers encircled his throat. A shadow of the man who had been choking him. Hosea notified him of a nasty looking gunshot wound to his shoulder.

"Christ alive," he hissed, seething rage burning deep within Dutch's gut as he studied Arthur. Committing each injury to memory so that when he caught the bastard who did this, he would mirror the torture that Arthur had been dealt. The man raising one hand to take the reigns from Arthur's limp grip, "Hosea make sure he doesn't fall."

He clicked his tongue against his cheek, "C'mon girl," he said gently, steering the mare to follow him.

Dutch had concern etched deep within his face. Corners of his mouth pulling down, eyebrows furrowed together into a scowl. He kept glancing over Arthur, noticing his eyes flutter every now and then. Drifting in and out of a fever driven unconsciousness. But he didn't expect to hear his gruff voice, dripping heavily with pain, "T-told you it was a set up Dutch..." he wheezed painfully. One hand resting on his painful looking shoulder.

"Dutch turned to look to Arthur, deeper frown carving into his forehead, "What, my boy?" he asked, his voice cracking, not having quite understood what he was talking about. He could feel the holes Hosea was burning into the back of his head, but he paid him no mind. Dutch already knew he would be in deep shit when they got back to camp.

"They... they got me... but I got away..." He wheezed once more.

So this was Colm's idea. Oh how he wanted to rip his heart out from his chest with his bare hands. Why didn't he just damn listen to Arthur's warnings in the first place. Guess he really deserved the 'I told you so'. Even in Arthur's own little way of saying so, it hurt to hear, especially since he knew Arthur was in serious pain with his injuries. He had never seen Arthur so wounded before. This could have been so easily avoided had he just bloody listened to him. It would be a regret that he would hold with him for a very long time.

"They was gonna set the law on us D-Dutch," he whispered as he began to lose his strength and consciousness.

Dutch couldn't help but scoff as he shook his head, glaring daggers into his saddle. He then moved his gaze back to Arthur, his eyes settling on his smoothing expression. His own slowly smoothing out as he moved his hand, leaning over to stroke the sweat drenched tendrils of sandy brown hair off his forehead, "Course they were, but don't you worry about that now Arthur. You are safe now my boy," he said in a soft voice. Dutch wasn't often soft with anyone, but right now, with how hurt Arthur was and how tight his heart was squeezing in his chest, he could afford to show the fondness he held for him.

Sweat droplets slid down Arthur's feverish skin as he tried to open his eyes as a soft smile spread across his cracked, dried lips. Blood at the corners of his mouth as he wheezed a pain filled laugh, "That's pretty Dutch... real... p-pretty..." He lost consciousness as Dutch stroked his forehead, his temperature spiking more fear into Dutch's already weary heart.

He knew Arthur was safe now, but problem was, as safe as he was with his found family, his injuries looked bad. And those were only the ones he could see. Just how bad were they? He knew Arthur was strong. He knew he could fight. Fight to stay alive. But it didn't stop him from worrying. However he had hope in the fact, Arthur would be okay. Complete and undying faith.