Chapter 1: The Man From Blackwater

The Van Der Linde gang had only been out of the mountains for two weeks and there were already whispers of trouble in the area. Sightings of lawmen and bounty hunters were becoming increasingly common for the gang. Any who ventured too far into the camp grounds were promptly dealt with by whoever was on guard – a boring job, but everyone knew the bounties on their heads after Blackwater. Everyone was on edge, even Dutch had some faltering moments where he let his charade down. Luckily, no one had noticed except Arthur, who found himself idly staring at the older man on occasion.

Arthur was sitting on his bed writing the events of the past week in his journal. His body ached from the day's chores. The camp was waiting for Dutch to come up with the next big plan, so Arthur spent time hunting for food, chopping wood and maintaining the horses. Anything that needed doing, Arthur was on it. Sleeping was not on the cards for Arthur the past few days, his mind wouldn't allow it. He was struggling to come to terms with everything that happened, but he'd be damned if anyone found out. Putting the journal away, he stretched his tired muscles. He could see Micah and Dutch going over a map at the camp's table.

Arthur glanced over at Uncle. The scruffy, old man was as stiff as a wooden plank, snoring louder than the horses beside him. Arthur made his way over to him, grumbling at the lack of work ethic instilled in the older man. His boot collided with Uncle's leg, earning a startled, groggy grunt from the old man.

"Careful not to work yourself to death there, Uncle." Arthur shook his head waiting for him to come back to reality. Uncle blinked his eyes hard trying to adjust to the light.

"Arthur, I have a lot on my mind you know." Uncle was standing now but with a sway and unsteadiness. That explains why the camp was low on alcohol.

"I'm sure of it." He nods sarcastically, glancing at the wagon. "You wanna head into town? Start actually workin'?"

Arthur didn't wait for an answer as he made his way over to the horses in front of the wagon. Karen and the girls asked if they could come along. Arthur hesitated, but ultimately agreed. They needed to get away from the camp for a while. With everyone settled in and a whip of the reins, they were off to Valentine.

After some songs from the girls and a runaway horse on the way over, the men visited the general store while the ladies went off to find leads. Uncle had bought alcohol, and some weird mouth instrument that Arthur didn't bother questioning. He was glad to see some kind of normalcy again, even if his company wasn't too great. He couldn't remember the last time things felt normal. Maybe when he was a child. Maybe back in the day when it was just Dutch and Hosea he had to worry about. Maybe it was when he found Mary. Arthur was sitting outside the shop waiting for Uncle when he slowly dozed off.

The women had run into some trouble, requiring a half-asleep Arthur to apply some elbow grease on the unsavoury men. They had all returned to the wagon when a man across the road was eyeing the group, particularly Arthur. Tilly had questioned the stare but Arthur tried to brush it off.

"Hey, you!" The man shouts, readying the reins on his horse to turn around. "Ain't you from Blackwater?" Arthur frowns at the stranger, the group sharing worried glances with each other.

"No Sir. Ain't from there." He turns back to Uncle and the girls, figuring the stranger would leave it be. Of course, with Arthur's luck he wouldn't.

"Yes, you were. I remember you with a bunch of fellers. You're a criminal!" The stranger starts to retreat, squeezing his horse's sides to start galloping down the street in haste. Arthur groans and pinches between his eyes in annoyance. He was over running, over the constant covering of tracks. Every day he wished for an easy life, but he knew he was kidding himself.

"Arthur, this is bad. What if he-" Uncle starts, getting cut off by Arthur grabbing the nearest horse and charging after the stranger. The girls murmured with each other in worry, hurriedly getting on the wagon with Uncle joining them. Uncle figured Arthur could handle it, and reassuring the girls, they headed back to camp.

Arthur chased the man to a cliffside, where he was begging for Arthur's help. The stranger had nearly ran his horse off the cliff and was hanging by what little earth his fingers could grip. Arthur didn't hesitate to help him. He was trying to change his ways. Trying to make a better life for himself and gang, despite Dutch's plans of crimes. A stern talk and a few threats later, Jimmy stumbled over to his horse and took off. Arthur shook his head and made his way back to the owner of the horse. This horse was fast and strong. It seemed so in tune with Arthur already that he contemplated stealing the mare. He had to keep reminding himself to do good.

"I'm sure glad to see you mister!" The owner of the horse paced towards him. He appeared to be a man of high stature, in his late forties perhaps. His look was equipped with a curl-tipped moustache, well-groomed hair with a fancy hat and a suit and tie. He dressed like he had money and wanted people to know about it. Arthur silently scoffed at the man. What was a man of high society doing in Valentine? The man seemed jittery like a spooked horse.

Arthur dismounted the horse, patting the silver coat shimmering in the sunlight. The mare stomped her front legs and flicked her head, enjoying the pats. Arthur always loved horses since he was a boy. Their service and companionship to man were unparalleled. Arthur wouldn't have minded a visual upgrade like the silver mare in front of him. He didn't notice he was being watched.

"Thoroughbred." The man's voice broke into Arthur's distracted thoughts. "You into horses, mister?" Arthur nodded lazily with a shrug, hoping to avoid conversation. He was exhausted, his sleepless nights now catching up with him.

Arthur took a quick glance down the street to see if Uncle and the girls were still in town. "She's pretty fast, I'll give 'er that."

The stranger hands him a business card. "If you're interested, I breed them. She's for sale. The name's Pierre Thompson." He did a slight bow, and adjusted his suit with a smile. He was quite anxious, but charismatic. "Finest horses in the country. I'm sure someone of your kind would find good use for one." The man quickly checked over the mare for any signs of injury. The horse seemed indifferent to him.

He had better things to do, let alone deal with pompous rich men like this guy. He took the card anyway. He figured the gang can steal the horses later, or get Dutch to work with him. Arthur muttered a thanks for borrowing the mare and started to leave when he was interrupted by Pierre rushing in front of him over to a young woman carrying a heavy sack of apples.

"Scarlette! My dear, let me help you with that." Thompson hastily grabs the apples off the lady, stowing them on the mare. The girl brushed dirt off her long black dress that met her ankles. The dress was adorned with gold, delicate trimmings and the usually long sleeves were bunched up to her elbows. Her waist-long hair was in a messy braid and a sandy brown colour from the sunlight. Arthur noticed her icy blue eyes on him, kind but stern and wary. She couldn't have been more than sixteen.

Pierre feeds the thoroughbred an apple, then climbs into the saddle, helping Scarlette on as well. The woman stayed silent. "We best be off mister– er - I didn't catch your name, Sir?" They both stared at him.

"Arthur." He had hesitated, but didn't want to seem a dishevelled fool in front of the kid. They didn't look related at all, not to mention the slight accent on the older man. Arthur figured he had taken a younger wife. Pierre nodded and tipped his hat towards the man, his smile had faded and he was fidgeting with the reins.

"Good day to you, Arthur." The silver mare cantered down the street and out of sight, the lady glancing back at him.