Things were slowly getting back to some form of normalcy within the camp and for Arthur. Spirits were raised and it was almost like the past few weeks hadn't happened at all.
With every day Arthur got stronger, and he kept to his word. Taking things slow and easy, didn't need people worrying over him anymore than they already did. Making sure he didn't over exert himself, taking adequate breaks, drinking plenty of water and eating when he came back to camp. He went on hunting trips with Hosea and Charles, fishing with Dutch, riding around Lemoyne with John and Javier. When he was in camp he began to participate in light chores and even started to play cards and dominos with anyone who had a spare few minutes. He spent the rest of his time either chatting to the girls as they worked, playing with Jack by chasing him around, playing with sticks or letting him read to him. Even helped with his writing and gave him pointers when he asked about drawing.
Jack always loved watching his Uncle Arthur draw, especially when he would draw him his own very special pictures. He had his own small collection in a book that his Uncle had given to him. Abigail was grateful for the time that Arthur spent with Jack, especially when John was still so reluctant to even tolerate the boy for more than a few minutes at a time.
Arthur knew what it meant to be a father and that was one of the reasons he hated John and what he had done when he left. He was throwing away his opportunity to be a father. In ways, it made Arthur jealous. If John even took a step into his shoes then he would think twice about grimacing when the boy hugged him, or throwing him aside when Jack asked if he could play with him.
Once Arthur's shoulder had somewhat healed, his hand able to grip more, he began to practice shooting when he went out with anyone. Mainly Dutch or John. Setting up bottles or cans. With his side arms, he was fine, just a little shaky with his left hand but his muscle memory certainly hadn't withered and neither had his aim. It was supporting the heavier weight of the long arms that he struggled more with But that was all part and parcel of healing and practicing. After all, it had only been four weeks since he had been found. Most of the camp were even surprised that Arthur was doing anything at all. Micah took to antagonising him about such things when Dutch wasn't around, most likely to save himself from getting yelled at more, although, Arthur could stand up very well for himself. And he certainly wouldn't care if he had to kick Micah to the floor if need be.
However his tiredness never seemed to go away. He always made sure to come back to camp each night, sitting by the main fire and enjoying the home comforts. Javier playing his guitar, the girls singing, soft laughter of others humming and only joining in the bits that they knew. It was nice and comforting, Arthur himself would join in for a few songs before he would begin to doze. The warmth in his stomach from eating the freshly prepared stew, warmth of the fire and the warmth of his heart lulling him into a peaceful slumber.
When Dutch or Hosea would catch sight of him starting to slump over, they would walk over, waking him gently enough to guide him back to his lean-to. Back to the comforts of his cot. He put his tiredness to the fact he was still healing. Much like the occasional aches or cramps he would get. Either healing or too much activity, or even sitting down for to long. Either way, he didn't believe anything was wrong.
One afternoon, a little after one, he decided to ride into Rhodes. He wanting to check to see if his alias of Taticus Kilgore had any mail. Probably, if anything, another hunting request from the taxidermist who lived up near Strawberry, or perhaps a reward for helping those strange, odd people for finding one of them bone or carving sites. No idea why they wanted them, but guess if they pay well Arthur wasn't one to turn down more honest work than robbing folk.
He made sure to tell the camp, more importantly Dutch where he was heading and walked over to his horse. Patting her neck gently and giving her a few slices of apple before climbing up into the saddle. A gentle smile on his lips as he sung a song softly under his breath as he left the camp. It was a very warm, sky cloudless. The reddish dust kicked up from the slight breeze in the air. There were a few locals about, he greeted them with a tip of his hat. Always polite unless anyone gave him the reason not to be.
He let his brows slip into an uneasy frown when he saw three people sitting at the stairs of the bank. A scowl on his face as he recognised them to be Sean, Bill and Micah. This couldn't be good. He didn't believe that they had any good reason to just be sitting around all the while Bill and Sean carried around their long arms. Didn't they know that Dutch didn't even want their guns out when around Rhodes. Not while they were acting as deputies of Sheriff Gray.
He dismounted his horse, hitching her beside the bank and walked over, arching a brow. About to ask why they were there, looking so damn suspicious, when Micah sat up more, "Been waitin' for ya Arthur," he piped up, standing himself up and shaking off the dust from his black leather jacket.
Arthur looked at him in disgust, "Well I'm sorry to have kept you," He hissed, "What the hell you doin' here anyway?" He asked as he stood there in the middle of the road. Sean resting his double barrelled shotgun on his shoulder, following closely behind Micah. Bill then bringing up the rear with Arthur.
"C'mon then, let's get goin'. Them Grays spoke to Bill about a job. Needin' security."
Arthur scowled heavily as he took up the rear, glaring daggers into the back of Micah's head, a bad feeling twisting and rolling his guts painfully, "After the farce of stealin' them horses, why we doin' this?" he asked, watching the people on either side of the street. The town didn't exactly seem like its usual self. Some people talking to others before heading into their houses.
"Cause we need to stay in with them and they're paying," Micah responded, looking back at him with a scowl of his own.
Arthur didn't like this one bit but went along anyway. Not like he had a choice and he would rather he be there if something went wrong than leave and hear that everything went belly up. He sighed heavily, "So what kinda security they want?"
Micah seemed impatient with Arthur's valid questions as he inclined his head a little to the side. Those sharp eyes, visible and staring directly at Arthur. As if his own little warning to just shut up and quit asking questions, "We're about to find out. Now c'mon."
This whole idea was rubbing Arthur up the wrong way. He turned and looked to Bill, "This seem legit to you, Bill?" he asked. Watching him with calm eyes, ready to catch on if this was actually Micah's idea. If so they needed to get the Hell out of there.
"Sure does Arthur," Bill shrugged, holding his repeater with one hand as they walked up the deserted street.
Before Arthur could question further, Micah chimed in, "Well while you've been on your sickbed Arthur, Dutch said we was to keep on dealing with them until we find this gold. You'd be more in the loop had you been back to work sooner."
Arthur wanted to punch him in the mouth right now, but thought better of it. However in his mind, dealing anymore with the Grays and the Braithwaites was a waste of time. They caused too much damage, stealing them horses, burning them tobacco fields. It all seemed terribly wrong to keep going any further with them. He didn't think there was any gold. Or if there was, no one knew about it. However, being ever loyal to Dutch, he kept his mouth shut and did as he was told.
Sean looked to Micah, worry in his eyes, "Can we trust 'em?" he asked in a hushed voice. Arthur cut off Micah before he could answer, "Can we trust anyone?" He kept an eye on the boy and Bill. Looking around at the locals around him. He didn't trust them and they was setting him on edge.
Bill looked between the Irishman and Arthur, his brows pulling together. Even Bill was uneasy, "They said there was some big misunderstanding about them horses."
"And... what about burnin' their fields?" Sean asked, some concern in his voice. The way his tone pitched a little higher than normal. Kid was scared, but trying like Hell not to show it.
Micah glared at Sean, looking like he would cuff the boy over the head for speaking so loud, "They don't know we had anythin' to do with that."
"Oh is that so?" Arthur asked in disbelief. The Grays weren't that dumb. They had to know that their string of bad luck recently, just like the Braithwaites, had to do with the sudden appearance of the gang.
"Yeah, they think it was the Braithwaites," Bill said, pausing a little as he looked to Arthur, trying to reassure him, "Listen, I know these Gray boys a bit now. This is on the level." He sounded excited about this. Excited Bill weren't always a good shooting Bill if it was needed. And with Micah in on this, Arthur could fell this here walk was about to go sideways. Not to mention those Gray boys could tell Bill anything and he'd probably believe them.
"We're stuck in the middle of some ancient feud, but instead of playin' both sides we're bein' used by both of 'em." Of course Arthur was correct on that. His senses were always right. Never wrong.
Bill turned, frown on Arthur, "You've been outta the game too long, Morgan. Now they was sayin' that Catherine Braithwaite..." Arthur held his hand up as he glared at the three with him, "Hold up, this don't feel right," Arthur said in a hushed voice. Finally having enough of the mounting bad feeling in his gut, churning and knotting itself to the point where Arthur felt physically sick. There weren't many people around at all. It was near enough just them and a few deputies around the Sheriff's office. This felt all kinds of wrong and Arthur didn't wish to get shot a second time.
His shoulder twinged in pain as he shot glances between Bill, who had stopped beside him, and Micah, who had his resting on his belt buckle. His face angry, "Quit your whinin' Morgan," he grouched.
Sean slowly turned around, shotgun still resting on his shoulder as he looked to Arthur, "Now it don't feel right, I could'a told you-" A deafening crack exploded through the air, Sean's head exploding with a spray of bright crimson blood as he teetered and collapsed down to the floor. His mouth left agape, his eyes staring up at the sky above.
Arthur cursed loudly, "God damnnit! Get down!" he yelled as a spray of bullets rained down on the remaining three. Arthur's gut feeling having come true as he took cover behind some barrels as his eyes settled on the stillness of Sean's body, his fingers twitching every now and then. Arthur punching the barrel before drawing his schofield revolvers. Bile rising in his throat as his guts churned violently. Pain hidden deep within his eyes as his rage bubbled up and boiled over. Poor damn idiot kid didn't deserve that. To get shot in the damn head, his skull splitting open and having whatever was left of his destroyed brains spilling out onto the dusty road.
Arthur growled, "I'll kill the whole damn lotta you!" He yelled as he retaliated against the Gray boys and deputies in Rhodes with a blind fury. Occasionally yelling at Bill and Micah for being so damn stupid to trust those bastards. Micah. Micah was the damn problem. First Blackwater, then Strawberry, Colm, his little stunt in Valentine and now this. Arthur knew Micah had to answer for what he'd done. How many more gang members were going to get shot to Hell following this prick. Sure he weren't present in Valentine when him and Dutch shot the place up when Cornwall showed up, but he heard about the ruckus he caused when both Micah and Bill were meant to be finding him, how Micah had gotten half drunk and threatened to shoot up the whole damn town. He needed to answer for it all and Dutch needed to damn fix it before they lost more.
Hails of bullets rained down on him and the other two. Micah seemed to be enjoying himself. There was no damn regret in his features. He had no care that one of their own was dead. No all he cared about was the clear pleasure and enjoyment he got from putting bullets into those who were fighting against them. A few bullets sailed past Arthur's head, narrowly missing him. Thankfully he had been practicing, even with his left hand, he was able to either mortally wound or outright kill whom ever dared shoot or get close to him.
When the shooting subsided, only him and Micah were out in the street. Arthur shook off the dust that settled on his dark navy scout coat and pinned Micah with a glare as they walked up to the Sheriff's office. Sheriff Gray yelling out orders, having dragged Bill who had taken a bullet to the thigh, well grazed it more like. Big damn baby.
Micah smirked as he came to stop outside the Sheriff's office, holstering his guns as he chuckled darkly, "Sheriff Gray! You need'a get a hold on this town. It's goin' to Hell," he called out. His idea of some sick joke.
There was silence for a few moments before the very shaky sounding voice of Sheriff Gray called out. Arthur's hands hovering over his guns that were now holstered. Bill was making a few pained noises inside.
"Who do you think you are? A bunch of two-bit thugs from God knows where? You're so dumb to think we didn't know what you been doing."
Arthur could tell Sheriff Gray was scared and most likely sober. The man normally drinking confiscated moonshine from the Braithwaites. Or at least that had been the case every time he saw him. Not attending to business unless it would make him bad not to.
Micah smirked more, hands resting on his belt buckle as he leaned forward, eyes on the door with that God awful sneer Arthur hated so damn much, "C'mon out Sheriff! It's over."
"We put down far worse than you. A hundred times over. This is the Grays' town. Always has been, always will be!" His muffled voice came from the other side of the door. Arthur was tempted to see if there was a way round back and flush them out that way, but as much as he didn't like Micah, he trusted him with this one.
Micah laughed, holding his stomach as he looked around, arms raised wide, "Only Grays I see left around here, is you! Rest've been made buzzard food!"
Arthur prepared himself, hands resting on his guns as he watched the white, splintered door open roughly. Bill in front, Sheriff behind him, his head poking over Bill's shoulder. Gun to his head and arm around his throat. Three deputies with their guns raised, "Guns down now!" They all yelled. Bill yelling at them not to do what they said.
"You know we can't do that. You put your gun down Sheriff!" Arthur yelled as the Sheriff continued taunting him. Arthur had about enough of this shit. Quick as a strike of lightning, Arthur had raised his gun and shot the three deputies and the sheriff himself in the head, all before Micah could even blink or even pull his guns out of their holsters.
Bill having flinched and ducked, smirked and looked over to the pair, "Shit! Morgan's still got it!"
Arthur didn't have the time nor the patience for them as he holstered his guns and walked over to Sean's body. Crouching down as he closed the boy's eyes and bowed his head in shame. He could of saved him. His heart painfully skipping a beat as a pit formed in his churning, twisting guts. Working hard to swallow past his nausea. It weren't the first time he'd seen the dead body of a friend. But it always brought regret. The regret that he could have treated him more pleasantly. The regret that he always told the kid to piss off because he was annoying him. Either about his Da or he was just sick of hearing that damn accent of his. Sure he could be annoying, but he was like a little brother. Just wanting attention and to learn the ropes of being a gunslinger from the best.
"He was a good kid," Arthur's voice pained. His head still low, hiding the angry tears that gathered around his waterline. Quick to blink them away as he sniffed a little.
Bill took immediate offence, glaring at him with his arms spread wide, "Well how the Hell was I to know?" he growled, walking over.
Arthur threw him a glare, his face cast in dangerous shadow from his hat, "Let me see, they set us up once before! They didn't like us! We destroyed their farms, should I go on!" he yelled, advancing on Bill. Tempted to beat him down fully as this had been his fault, had he a lick of damn sense he would have seen it was a damn trap and would have high tailed it to Dutch to let him know the Grays were onto them. Then they could have figured something out. No Bill with his no brained attitude, enlisted the help of Micah and got the damn kid killed and shot up the god damn town when they was meant to be lying low.
Micah slowly walked over, leaning back a little as he kicked Sean's body. The utter disrespect as he turned on Arthur, "Go easy on him Morgan. He was doin' a damn lot more than you were while you were lazin' at large. He was tryin' to find a lead. Same as you, same as Hosea. All you do is complain when things don't work out. Except when its your own goddamn fault," Micah defended Bill, not trying to pacify Arthur. No he was just trying to antagonise him futher.
"You don't know what you're talkin' about," he hissed, advancing on Micah, ready to punch his damn lights out if he kept pushing him any further. Arthur's outburst wasn't entirely out of character. It was well known if something went wrong, he made sure those responsible for it bloody well knew, especially when they were running away from the Pinkertons. But the normally emotionless mask Arthur wore was cracked, emotion hiding deep within his eyes and the way his brow lowered in a dangerous glare that normally told anyone to run and don't come anywhere near him until he had calmed down. "You don't give a damn about no one but yourself!" he yelled in Micah's face, slowly moving over to Sean, taking his arms and hoisting him up onto his shoulder. Bad one mind you, he was able to support the weight of the kid, even if it was painful. Anything to stop the numbness that was growing in his chest. They needed to bury him. Some place nice.
Micah smirked as he walked alongside Arthur, "Oh, actin' so high and mighty, but you're no better than the rest of us. I ridden with you boy close on what... six months now? An' all you ever done was complain. You can fight, but you can't think. Actually surprised you can still fight with how soft your gettin' and how long you played sick with Dutch an' Hosea playin' nurse maids. All while the rest of us had to pick up your damn slack," he jabbed. Each bard slipping past his normally hard shell and piercing him deep. He was right on some of it, but not all.
Arthur sighed, probably not the reaction Micah wanted, probably wanted a rise out of him. But he ignored it. Ignored the painful twist in his chest. Ignored the bile rising higher in his throat, salivating more, "Yeah well you can't do either," he said in defeat. Giving up against him.
Micah laughed, taking the piss as he tried to mimic Arthur's deeper tones, "Okay cowpoke."
Arthur was done being in their company, needing time alone where he could have time to think. Ordering Bill to take Sean's body and Micah to stay the Hell away from him. Watching them as they trotted away.
Arthur stood there alone. His broad shoulders slumping a little as he dragged his hand over his face and whistled for his horse. The animal having gotten spooked from all the shooting but not having gone far. He heard her thunderous hoof beats drumming on the parched ground. His eyes glancing down the street of Rhodes. Crows picking at the still warm corpses while buzzards began to circle above. He muttered insults and profanities as he mounted up onto Athena. Patting her neck, praising her as he rode away from the bloody massacre.
Arthur didn't get as far as he had wanted from the main road before he threw himself off his horse. Coughing as his feet hit the ground. Too much saliva in his mouth as he doubled over and retched. Heaving his guts up onto the side of the road. Anyone who passed just ignored him, figuring he was sick and best keep away. There wasn't much in his stomach to throw up though. Just some still undigested parts of his meal from the night before and some canned peaches he had that morning. He felt his tense, still healing muscles clench tightly as he banded his arm around his gut. His ribs protesting as he coughed and tried to take a deep breath.
Feeling his vision start to swim and blur. He grimaced as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Frowning a little. He had never felt so rotten after losing someone before. He had never been sick or felt he was going to at the thought of a bullet tearing a hole through someone's skull. Maybe because it was Sean, maybe it was because it was one of his family. But he never felt like this when he saw Davey's dead body.
He waited for the nausea and dizziness to subside enough so he could mount back up and ride on down to the river. The fresher air and the water making him feel somewhat better as he moved over. Crouching himself down and cupping his hands into the refreshing cold water. Taking a few tentative sips before gulping another few handfuls. Washing away the taste of bile that had irritated his throat. He then moved his hands back into the water and splashed his face and dampened his feverish neck.
Cursing as he pulled his satchel off from around his back and popped the buttons of his coat, throwing it off his body. Leaving him in his blue shirt. Unbuttoning the top few buttons as he felt like he was being constricted, like everything was too close to his neck. He whined and held his head, letting himself fall back onto his backside as he rested the heels of his hands into his eyes and tried to slow his stuttering breathing. His back leaning gently against his mare's strong feathered leg.
Her head moving slightly, her muzzle damp from grazing the grass at the riverbank. She rested her muzzle softly against his cheek, her lip moving affectionately as she nuzzled him. Sensing his distress and discomfort.
Arthur sniffed, moving one hand, palm wet and exposing the tears that were falling down his cheeks, "M' alright girl. Just... this is a damn mess eh. Can't ever get a damn break from all this shit," he whispered. His heart heavy as he looked up to her kind eye, removing his hat to rest his forehead against her cheek.
They were making a damn mess of everything. Soon it would only be a matter of time before it all caught up with them. Probably get them all killed in the damn process. What a damn mess.