Arthur had spent days rehearsing what he was going to say. How he would say it, who he would say it to... Mentally sorting through every eventuality and outcome. He spent several more days working out what he should do after that. Should he leave so as not to infect the others? Or stay and make sure everyone had everything they needed? And every day he was away from camp, Arthur considered who he should give his most prized possessions to.

Hosea would get his journal, John would get his hat and Dutch would get his guns. It seemed poetic somehow. That in some unspoken way, they already had a claim on those items.

Hosea had been the one to give him the journal in the first place. His attempt to inspire and encourage a hopeless boy outlaw. His way of letting Arthur know his voice mattered, that he was of importance, someone worthy of being recorded. That he wasn't just a gun. Now that it was filled with his thoughts and drawings, there was a symmetry in leaving it to Hosea. Tho Arthur didn't express himself in words quite as well as Hosea may have hoped, Arthur's secret drawings showed a bit of how he saw the world, what he valued and who he loved. and perhaps even proved that Hosea was right, that Arthur did have more to offer.

John would have his father's hat. Arthur smiled to himself at the memory of a 14-year-old John trying to steal it off his head at random. Though Arthur didn't appreciate it at the time, he knew now John did it to provoke a reaction. His dumbass way of getting attention. But the direct correlation was glaringly obvious as the more time Arthur spent with John, the less likely he was to have the boy take his hat. A day or two of fishing would keep his hat safe for a solid week. Sometimes, when Arthur was feeling like a mischievous child himself, he'd hold off on a fishing trip just to test how fast and how creative John could be in getting the hat from him.

And Dutch, well, Dutch had always had his guns... it was fitting he be able to permanently keep them as his own.

Arthur spent another full week coming to grips with his own fate. Tho he still grew angry with himself as he thought of Thomas Downs, the source of how he had contracted TB. But the restlessness within him was dying down, making way for eventual acceptance... tho admittedly, he still hadn't reached that point yet.

It was reaching the three-week mark when he decided he had stalled as much as he possibly could. It still wasn't enough time for his liking... especially to return without something of value. But he needed to return home and tell them the truth.

He owed them that much.

He felt the tension of the bow as he drew it back.

The buck, unaware it was being watched, silently nibbled on a bit of tree bark. Arthur took note of its smooth features. The innocent dark eyes, bright and young.

He aimed for the head.

Hesitated.

He thought back to the dream. The golden deer, serene and peaceful, content in a way Arthur had never know. Then it made eye contact and Arthur felt like it was an extension of his soul. His spirit looking back at him. It unnerved him, rattled him but also soothed him.

Frustration and guilt rising to the forefront, he dropped the bow with a weighted huff. He hadn't been able to bring himself to kill a deer since his dream and it seemed nothing had changed. So he settled for a ram.

It was mid-morning when he finally made it back to camp. Everything looked normal but he himself felt far from normal. He was bone weary and weak.

"Welcome back Arthur." Tilly greeted as she did the laundry.

"Morn Mis Tilly." He tried to sound like his usual enthusiastic self but it just came out breathy and labored.

"You alright there Arthur?"

God, not this again he thought "Yeah, I'm..." he trailed off. It was all too easy to fall back into old habits. He swallowed hard. "Um, where's Dutch, I mean, he in?"

"I think he's talking to Strauss by Pearson's cart."

Arthur nodded his thanks and heaved the large ram over his shoulder. He struggled beneath its weight. It shouldn't be that heavy but it was. Perhaps the toll of his sickness was greater than he realized?

Arthur pushed the thought aside and made his way over to the three gentlemen. He rounded the tent and saw Dutch and Strauss had their backs to him, too embroiled in their own conversation to notice his approach. Pearson on the other hand, straightened up as he drew near. Something like relief flashed across his features.

"Pearson" Arthur greeted with a quiet rasp. He coughed a few times to loosen his throat before he began again. "I brought back a ram. Hope there's something you can do with it." He dropped it heavily beside the wagon.

Pearson beamed and opened his mouth to express his usual appreciation but was cut off by Dutch.

"Is that all you brought back?" Dutches words were quiet but held an underlying strain that promised vengeance.

Arthur cautiously turned to meet the barely concealed rage of Dutch. His eyes burned and mouth twitched. Anger so thoroughly engrossing that it must have been simmering for a long time. Arthur, unfortunately, must have inadvertently been the last straw.

He cursed mentally. How had he managed to misread the tense atmosphere that horribly?

"Ah, that's all I..."

"You mean, after weeks of being away... all you bring back is a ram?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Strauss slowly slink away. Wise move on his part.

"Arthur!" Dutch roared like a dam bursting open. " A single ram? When the camp is starving and in desperate need of money, you bring back a single ram?!

"I..." Arthur began, as elegant as John in a lake.

"I need you to quit gallivanting around, going god knows where doing god knows what, when everyone else is working! I sent Micah away because you asked me to and THIS is what I get in return? We need money!"

The words were as harsh as a gunshot. "No Dutch, I just wanted... to tell you..."

"Well WHAT Arthur? "

Arthur looked at Dutch. Really looked at him. He had circles under his eyes, his skin was gaunt and sickly. He wasn't well. His fist shook like he was barely able to hold himself back from clocking Arthur good. Like he deserved.

Arthur knew he couldn't fully comprehend the weight of leadership Dutch carried with him at all times. It wasn't his job. It was his job to ease that burden, and selfishly, he had abandoned his duties. Not just to the gange but to Dutch.

A suffocating shame welled up within him. He had failed spectacularly.

"I wanted to, to... tell you I found a, a... treasure map. Think there's real gold on the other end." God he hoped there was real gold, otherwise it would be better for everyone if he just didn't come back.

But the promise of money caused Dutch to relax, if for a moment. His clenched fists eased open and his shoulders drooped subtly. Not enough for the others to notice, but Arthur was right in front of him.

"Good" Dutch said. His words dripping with a false bravado that normally wouldn't have been noticed. Dutche's facade of control was crumbling and the underlying struggle was shining through. Arthur felt an extra twinge of guilt.

And in that moment he resolved to never tell Dutch or anyone the truth. He would work hard from now on. He'd give everything he could to his family. Giving his last full measure of devotion.

A calmness fell over him as he finally excepted his fate fully.

He reached his arm out and gently laid in on Dutches shoulder. The contact startling Dutch into genuine confusion but Arthur offered up a warm smile in response. "It's ok Dutch, you'll work it out. You always do." His words were sincere but also felt a bit like a farewell.

Turning back to his horse he kept his head up high. His family was suffering, struggling, it wasn't a new concept to outlaws but Arthur was seeing things differently now. It was unavoidable, he was going to leave them. But at the very least he could use the last time he had to ease that suffering. There was so much work to be done. He needed to take care of those he loved.

"Arthur?" Lenny asked as he climbed up in the saddle. "You're not going to say for supper? It's almost-"

"Naw Lenny. I've got some work to do. Catcha later then." He tipped his hat. A warm smile graced his face but his blue eyes held a well of sadness.

Lenny watched him go.

"Something's off with him." he said absentmindedly.

"So you've noticed too?" Charles said coming up beside him.

Charles had been gone off and on about as much as Arthur had. Tho he wasn't bringing in the large game he used to. Lenny really didn't know what Charles had been up to these past few weeks but Dutch seemed to view his constant absence as one less mouth to feed so he never voiced a complaint as long as Charles still brought in the occasional funds.

Lenny looked at Charles who focused on Arthur as he disappeared like smoke through the trees.

"Lenny, I'll need your help with a job. If you're interested."

"Sure what is it?"

Charles nodded walking over to Taima. "Once we leave camp I'll tell you."

They swiftly tacked up their horses in silence. Charles was never a verbose person but this was different. He looked, worried. As they left camp they kicked up into a gallop, passed the railroad tracts and turned east.

"Alright," Lenny said breaking the silence. "what's the job?"

"We need to get something from Saint-Denis." Charles low voice murmured.

"Um, ok. Sure what is it?"

"The cure for TB."