Arthur waited until it was nearly sundown before he headed off back to camp. He spent that time calming down from the events of the afternoon and wallowing in his own sadness. He was always one to go off by himself when he was sad. He always would head somewhere he knew the gang wouldn't find him and spend the time contemplating what he could have done different. This time was just the same.
Writing in his journal about what transpired, making sure not to leave out all his feelings, every little one that Sean's death caused him. Arthur may be the strongman, but he was still a human being. He didn't show much in the way of emotion or let others know quite what he was feeling, but he always made sure to jot them down in his journal.
Arthur may be a man with little to say to a person's face, but in his journal, it was like he was a different person. Detailing everything from the slightest pains of anger to all the sadness threatening to swallow him up. He wrote so much and kept his journal away from people because he knew no one could judge him or call him weak. However there were quite a few at camp who wished he would speak up.
He rode back to camp, noticing the outright panic. A whole mob of the gang's boys were surrounding the opening of Dutch's tent. Could Arthur truly get no damn break from it all? No time to properly mourn the loss of a camp member. His arm throbbed from carrying the boy's body, even if it was only for a short distance up to Bill's Ardennes, Brown Jack. Sure Arthur had been gone for several hours on his own, but it didn't seem like it was even enough. Not to mention after being so violently and suddenly sick, all he wanted to do was lay himself down and try to rest.
Seemed the universe had other plans.
Arthur slid off his horse, leaving her out in the open as she lowered her head to graze the lush grass. Arthur patted her shoulder softly and frowned at the tone that Dutch's voice was taking. He could hear it even over by the hitching posts.
"Now calm down. Everybody just relax, we're doin' all we can," Dutch said, holding his hands up as if to pacify the angry camp members who were surrounding him. Like wolves surrounding a damn elk. Teasing it and taking quick nips before they would strike the killing blow.
Dutch was quick to notice Arthur and rushed on over, his brows raised in concern as he barrelled through the mob to get to him, "Arthur, you seen that boy? Jack?" he asked. His tone at least one octave higher than normal and he was worried. Arthur had never seen Dutch so worried before. Well maybe a few weeks ago when he had just woken from his fever, but this was a different kind of worry.
Arthur frowned heavily, shrugging his shoulders gently. A deep fear striking deep within his heart. A pit opening in his stomach as he felt old memories stir. Ones that he wanted to keep buried. "No why?"
Dutch scrubbed his hand across his face as he turned a little, as if asking of God to give him damn strength just as Abigail came tearing around the corner of the tents. Fear, distress and anger in her eyes and voice as she stopped short of the two, "Where is my goddamn son? Where is he? Where is my son?" she cried out, looking from Dutch to Arthur.
Arthur's chest seized as he looked to Dutch with a frown and then back to her. The image of those two crosses and a ransacked house coming to the forefront of his mind. He rested a hand on her shoulder, rubbing it softly to try and ease her, "Who took him?" he asked as he looked to Dutch just as Hosea came around the corner. Having been following Abigail.
Hosea looked out of breath and tired, like he ran across camp to bring them the news, "We think the Braithwaite woman took him," he paused for a moment, leaning over a little before looking to Dutch and Arthur. His hand resting on the small of Abigail's back, "That Kieran saw a couple fellas sound like Braithwaite boys."
Tears fell down Abigail's face as she clenched her hands into fists. Arthur knew all too well that the love and protective instincts a woman held for their child is undeniable and unbreakable and, well if this didn't get sorted, Abigail would most likely slit all of their damn throats and go find him herself. "Where's my son? If anything..." She trailed off and wiped her eyes before glaring at Dutch straight in the eyes, "Where is my son Dutch van der Linde?"
Arthur cast his eyes to Dutch, wondering what his plan was as Dutch cast his gaze down to her, his eyes full of conviction as he reassured her. Hosea rubbing her back in soothing circles. "We will find him. We will bring him back to you and we will kill any fool that had the temerity to touch one hair on that boy's head," he said, his voice a deep, very angered rumble, "Abigail, you have my word on that."
Arthur could tell he meant them words with every fibre of his being. More than anything in the damn world. They all might have been thieves, murderers, conmen and some of the lowest scum in the world. But none of them would ever think of harming a young child. There was no damn good reason to and any that did were met with scrutiny and possible banishment, even execution.
Arthur looked over as John, angry as all Hell barrelled through. Unable to look Abigail in the eye. All of them were all kinds of furious that such a thing had happened. Especially Arthur. Hell couldn't leave camp for more than five minutes without another catastrophe happening.
Abigail didn't quite care for empty words, even if Dutch's were anything but. All she wanted was her son back. She glared at him and pushed herself away from Hosea and Arthur's comforting hands, "Just get me back my son!" she hissed, glaring Dutch square in the eye before walking off to find somewhere she could sit and worry in peace.
Dutch stood there for a moment, fury sweeping across his features, a deep scowl carving into his brow and pulling the corners of his lips down before he angrily began to advance on his horse. Arthur took that as the immediate indication to leave and followed directly behind Dutch, whistling for his horse, who looked up and snorted softly. Arthur could see the pain deep in Dutch's eyes. Hell even he looked to Dutch and rested a calm hand on his shoulder and squeezed. Knowing Dutch needed to keep his head. They needed to be smart about this. Dutch looked back to him, eyes softening slightly and nodding in quiet understanding.
What he did know was whoever was on watch, was in some deep shit. Must have been sleeping on the damn job to let some fellers walk into camp and take Jack all without being spotted, well almost. Didn't make a lick of damn sense.
Arthur followed behind Dutch, ignoring the bile rising in his throat as Dutch called back to Abigail, "I will get that boy back, so help me God. Right now!" Bill, Javier, Charles and Lenny tore around the corner, storming over to Dutch who slowed his pace and inclined his head toward them. Bill looking worried as he looked to the leader, having only just come back from burying Sean, "We just heard about Jack. You need some extra guns?" He asked, which Dutch only accepted.
He did pause for a few moments when he noticed how unbothered Micah seemed. The greasy blonde shaking his head as he moved past a tree that he'd been leaning against and headed toward the table. Perhaps to get himself a drink and laze back for a while. After all he had been involved in a hairy shootout earlier. Could have had a bullet hole in his perfect white hat.
Dutch glared a little and mounted himself up on the Count, Arthur right next to him on Athena, as he turned the horse. He was still very much in the tight grasp of a rage, "Micah, Kieran! Anyone strange turns up, you kill 'em. Rest of you, let's ride!" With that he turned his horse and began to head toward the pathway that was the quickest route to the Braithwaite manor.
Arthur had never really seen Dutch so angry before. Sure there were momentary lapses where he would rage or kill someone. But never had he seen him in such a state. Arthur rode right next to him, visibly swaying a little in the saddle. Catching Dutch's wary eyes, "You alright, my boy?" he asked, leaning over a little and resting his hand on his shoulder.
Arthur looked behind him, noticing the others had yet to break the tree line and gave a tight nod, "Yeah I'm fine. Focus on gettin' Jack back. Not me," Arthur grumbled as he rode along side Dutch. The man only needed to give him a warning glance before nodding, retracting his hand as the others came barrelling out of the trees and behind them. Dutch spurring the Count on into a gallop, the horse snorting and tossing his head. He was built for speed and didn't like going slow.
Arthur squeezed his horse's sides and pushed her so she was next to Dutch. Hosea just the other side of him while the others trailed on behind them.
"Must have figured out what we was doin' Dutch," he said in a tight, worried voice.
Arthur nodded, agreeing with Hosea as he recounted the shootout in Rhodes. How the Grays had been onto them and killed Sean. Of course Micah had been the one to tell Dutch. Making it out that it was all Arthur's fault. Thankfully Dutch knew better, and had learnt better over the past few weeks to know that it certainly wasn't Arthur's doing or his fault. Arthur could see that losing another gang member was very painful for Dutch. Clear in his voice and how he spoke. How his voice cracked.
It wasn't long before John began passing the blame around. Of course he was angry, he was allowed to be. But blaming this on Hosea weren't fair. Arthur could see that. They genuinely thought there was good money within the two families, just things ended up going wrong. He knew that the boy's father was just scared and angry. Had every right to be. Arthur himself was angry and terrified for Jack's wellbeing. If anything happened to that boy, he would kill every damn Braithwaite and Gray that he saw. And he was sure that John, Dutch, Hosea, maybe even Abigail would join him on such an excursion.
As they drew closer to the Braithwaite manor, Arthur felt the lump in his throat get harder to swallow past. Beads of sweat forming on his brow, sliding down his temple as he rubbed his aching gut. Ever since he came out of Rhodes, even after his rest, he had been feeling funny. Feeling so damn sick. However he couldn't let young Jack down, so he pushed through the urge to throw up, pushing it until it settled like a rock deep within his gut. At least until the time when he was alone once more. Then he could retch as much as he needed to rid himself of this horrible feeling.
The sky had settled into a deep inky black. The moonlight filtering through the leaves of the trees that lined the road down to the magnificent structure that was the Braithwaite manor. At the archway Arthur could see that there were no guards. Most likely having been pulled back in the anticipation of the boy's protectors coming to his rescue. Just better not be another damn trap like Rhodes.
Everyone dismounted at Dutch's command by the trees on the outside of the archway. The boys still arguing amongst themselves. Arthur pulled his bolt action out from his saddle holster. His schofields at his sides. His horse settling with the others as he watched Dutch, one custom made, pearl gripped schofield revolver raised as he checked the coast was clear before looking to everyone, "Follow my lead," he said, anger burning brightly in his voice as he held the revolver so it was visible, "Both these redneck families think they can ruin us, I don't think so," he said in a low hiss.
The boys all followed after Dutch. The man leading in the front with Hosea and Arthur by his sides. The others forming a line. A mighty terrifying sight to see if one hadn't been prepared for an angry gang of outlaws to come a knocking.
Arthur glared at the structure, noticing already that there were quite a lot of them boys hiding up on the balcony. His blood boiling in rage as he tried to figure out what sick person took a boy. Dutch even voicing his thoughts. Arthur was no saint himself, but he drew the line at hurting women or children. He wasn't a monster and neither were the people he ran with. Well with one exception.
"Get down here now! You inbred trash!" Dutch yelled as he walked ahead of the others. The line halted a little way behind Dutch as two of the men came storming down the porch, repeaters raised as they glared at the outlaws.
"We've come for the boy. You must've known we would," he hissed as he kept his revolver raised. The line tightened their holds on their firearms. Arthur watching for any sign of movement, any sign that this was about to turn into a damn blood bath.
"Shouldn't have messed with our business now should ya?" One of the men hissed, looking to the visibly very angry leader as he scowled at them, "Now get off our property before we kill ya."
Dutch glared at them, taking a deep breath. Arthur had seen that look before. He was a hairpin away from losing it and killing everyone, "Whatever complaint you have with us, alleged or otherwise... that is a young boy! That is not the way you do things. Hand him over!" He growled.
Arthur watched as the doors opened at the top of the of the balcony and on the porch. More men spilling out of the place until it seemed they were outgunned. Guess now it was a fair fight. Na not even then. Not by a long shot.
Dutch took one look back to his men and then hummed softly, shrugging his shoulders, "If you ain't gonna be civilised about this..." he smirked, making very quick work as he shot and killed both in front of him before diving forward to get into cover. Arthur and the others taking aim and spreading out, bullets raining down on them while pained shrieks filled the air as bodies of those inbred hicks started dropping.
Arthur, using his bolt action took out several of the damn bastards that were hiding on the balcony and behind the pillars. Taking great pleasure in shooting them in the head and watching their blood paint the house red. Crouching back down in cover next to Dutch as another hail of bullets came his way. His stomach twisting and rolling uncomfortably, forming a tight knot.
Dutch proceeded to give orders to everyone once the outside had been purged, turning to the rest of the gang, "You boys keep an eye out for anymore visitors. Arthur, John and Hosea with me!" he yelled as he took the stairs two at a time. A very hard, swift kick to the double doors and they were in, "Get in there and find Jack. And bring me that Braithwaite woman!" Dutch hollered.
Glass panes shattering against the wooden floors, crunching under foot as they entered. Arthur slung the bolt action back around his shoulders and favoured his side arms as he stormed through the house. While posh, it was horribly tacky what with the countryside wall paper in garishly bright colours. An inbred bitch pretended to be of high society. Not to mention the place reeked of some disgusting perfume that really tickled Arthur's throat and rolled his guts painfully. His insides having their own internal battle on whether to vomit violently or not. He couldn't, not now when John, Jack and Dutch needed him most.
Arthur went from room to room down stairs, John the opposite side of him, calling out to the boy. Dutch and Hosea, seeing they had the downstairs covered, headed up stairs. Their heavy footfalls thundering from room to room until they got to one door that Dutch and all his strength, couldn't get past alone. Both him and Hosea trying the bust into the room, "Arthur! Get up here and give us a hand!" Dutch yelled.
Arthur took the stairs, two at a time, seeing the two men shoving their shoulders hard into the door until a shotgun blast nearly tore through both of their sides. Arthur stood there in shock before looking to them both, "You alright!?" He questioned as more gunfire ensued outside. He cursed and rushed over to find cover. John having been quick on his heels coming up looked outside, "More of them dumb bastards," He yelled. Running outside and took cover behind one of the pillars.
Arthur cursed and followed John as Dutch and Hosea tried to use their combined strength to push whatever the Hell was behind the door out of the way. This must be where they was holed up. Arthur frowned as he pulled his rifle from his back and began giving the boys down below cover fire. Arthur ducked as plaster and wood rained down, above him, the wooden railings taking a beating as John moved around the side. They were coming in from the fields. Arthur growled and moved quickly, watching as blood painted the grass. The moon detailing every body that collapsed and laid there bleeding.
Arthur looked to the door that John was sheltering near and nodded, "Must be the other side, gimme a hand," he said as he pushed his shoulder into it. Arthur scowled as he pulled his schofield out. No doubt they would be in for some trouble as soon as they got inside. He quickly pulled back the hammer before looking to John. Both of them pushing hard before the dresser gave and the door burst open. Arthur quickly took the shot, killing one of the sons and wounding the other heavily. Dutch and Hosea near breaking the large set of double wooden doors off their hinges.
Catherine Braithwaite was hiding within the closet, curling away when Arthur and the raging Dutch both burst. Arthur taking a step back into the room and aiming his gun at the live son's head as Dutch dragged her out by the arm. Thrusting her up against the wall as she yelled profanities at them, "You want me to kill you too, old woman?" He hissed, glaring at her with hate filled eyes.
She glared at him, hurling insults at them. All the while Hosea aimed a gun at her head, "Where is the boy?" Arthur could see Dutch and John were losing their patience as the woman snivelled, "You killed my sons!" She snapped at them, her dark eyes narrowed as she looked between Hosea and Dutch.
Dutch leant into her, "Oh, and I'll surely kill the rest unless you start talkin'," pulling the hammer back and pressing the muzzle of the gun to her throat. If she knew what was good for her, she'd best shut her whining and tell Dutch what she knew or Arthur could see him redecorating her room with the nice shade of red and splattered brains. He got close to her again, his mouth curling into a snarl as he paused on every word, his voice murderous, "Where. Is. The. Boy?"
Catherine Braithwaite glared back at him, having the gall to spit in Dutch's face, but otherwise held her tongue. Arthur watched as he saw Dutch wipe the saliva from his face with his sleeve. Having about enough as he pulled back, grabbing her so her back rested against his chest, her hands feebly trying to pinch and scratch and dig in her nails against his arm. Maybe some hospitality from him and her home engulfed in flame and ash would loosen her tongue.
While she watched, he aimed his revolver down to the remaining son's head and fired. Blood splattering against the wood and across Arthur's boot. The floor splintering from the close range shot.
She screamed out in agony and anguish as she fought against Dutch as he dragged her from the room. Arthur following behind Dutch. His own revolver in his hand as he took the stairs. The woman trying desperately to crawl up the stairs, holding onto the banister supports, until Dutch grabbed her by her collar and physically dragged her down the stairs. Her body thumping down each step. The woman screaming over Dutch's bellows as he ordered for every room to be doused and set ablaze.
The joint scent of gun smoke, blood mixed with the building flames and that god awful perfume was making Arthur feel worse. Utterly retched. His guts churning more as he looked behind him at John. Arthur was too pleased to head down the steps into the fresh air. Trying desperately not to gag. Dutch following suit as he waited for the boys to get out, "Jack definitely isn't here is he, Arthur?"
"No. Searched every room," he stated as Dutch hummed in displeasure as he tossed the hag onto the ground, not being gentle about it at all. Arthur leant on the wall next to him, feeling dizzy. Black spots dancing in his vision. Silently gulping down the fresh air as if he had been drowning. Dutch noticed, but kept his eyes on the woman as she coughed and snivelled in the dirt, "I never liked you!" she hissed at Hosea, staring at him with her wild eyes.
Hosea bent down, glaring at her, "Why'd you take the boy, Mrs Braithwaite? Boys are off limits!" He snarled as she started to recount all the wrong doings against them like it was a justifiable reason to snatch a child, "Ain't no rules in war Mr Matthews!" she hissed at him. Slowly rolling over onto her side, to sit there in the dirt as the gang of outlaws bristled angrily at her.
"I ain't gonna ask again! Where is the boy?" Hosea asked. He really wouldn't ask again. His patience, which was known to be almost limitless, was coming to an end.
She glared up at them all, a smirk on her face, "My sons gave him to Angelo Bronte. So my guess is Saint Denis. Either there or on the boat to Italy!" She snarled at them. Watching as several of them, including John and Hosea growled in frustration. Hosea throwing his arms into the air and steering the majority of the boys toward the horses.
Arthur cursed and scrubbed his face with his hand as he shook his head. Trying to remove the sweat from his brow. He could tell he was not looking good by the way Dutch studied him. The dancing glow of the burning house casting shadows on his face as he walked over, stepping over the woman, "C'mon son, you look like you're about to pass out." Arthur felt like he would. His guts were clenching painfully as he turned to the woman as she scrambled up and ran. Crying, howling in pain as she took off and ran into the burning building. He made no effort to stop her. He didn't care if that beastly woman burned to death.
The scent of burning flesh and wood was thick in the air. Arthur, walking along with Dutch paused, feeling his stomach violently flip, shrugged out of Dutch's grasp and headed over to one of the trees. Doubling over. One hand rested on the trunk, unable to really get purchase on the smooth bark, violently dry heaving before bringing up scorching bile.
Dutch scowled after him before looking to the others, "Get back to camp! We'll catch up! Hosea, pull out the map and start plannin'," He yelled.
The sound of thundering hooves slowly fading away into nothing more than a distant rumble as Dutch walked back to Arthur who was now on his hands and knees, throwing up violently in the grass. The smell wasn't pleasant, but he stepped closer and knelt beside him, placing a hand on his back. Arthur immediately flinched, shrinking away from the contact. Scared, wide eyes on Dutch's dark concerned ones before settling once he knew he was safe.
"What's wrong Arthur?" he asked, his voice distant, soft. Having lost all the malice it held when talking to the Braithwaite woman. Arthur could hear her screams of pain in the background and he dry heaved again. One hand banding around his tight abdomen as he coughed for a few moments. When he was sure he wouldn't retch again when he opened his mouth, he sat back on his heels and spat the bile out from his mouth, "Just felt sick is all, Dutch. M' fine."
He managed to stand himself up, swaying dangerously as he tripped back. His head feeling like it was stuffed with cotton. Dutch's panicked gaze on him as he caught him in time before he could crack his head on the cold hard ground. Arthur groaned as he stared up at the trees. His eyes so unfocused and dizzy, the trees spinning around. Dutch was in his line of sight. His face distorted but he could make out that Dutch was trying to talk or yell at him. Shaking him by the shoulders. His mouth was moving but nothing was reaching his ears. He could hear his blood rushing past his eardrums, blocking everything out. He felt like he was underwater.
Arthur panted as he looked to Dutch, trying to reach out to him, "Dutch..." he frowned as his lids drooped and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. Drowning his world in a sudden pitch black veil. Having blacked out in Dutch's distressed arms.