"You did realize when you volunteered me for this mission that I couldn't use a bow because of my burned hand, right?" Charles commented as they saddled up. It wasn't an accusation, more of a bland observation. In the few months the man had been running with the gang, Arthur got the impression that he was generally even-keeled.

"I realized that the other boys needed to get ready for the raid, that you weren't comin' on account o' yer hand, and that I can't hunt with a bow for shit. Hell, I prob'ly can't even find an animal to shoot at! But, that just means yer gonna hafta teach me, is all. I know you're real good with that sorta thing." Arthur hoisted himself on his Tennessee Walker once his bow was secured. "You got any experience teachin' idiots to hunt?"

Charles actually laughed at that as he mounted Taima. "Can't say I have, but I get the feeling you're a quick learner, Mr. Morgan. And despite what Pearson says, there's plenty of game if you know where to look. They'll all be coming out after the snowstorm to find food. The only reason Bill and Lenny couldn't find anything is because they're probably worse than you claim to be! Lenny'd find a deer faster in the dictionary, and Bill couldn't find a hat on his head." Charles nudged his horse forwards, leading Arthur from the camp. "We'll head out a ways into the valley and then start tracking."

As the pair rode in silence, a question burned in Arthur's mind. He wasn't all that close to Charles, being that their paths had rarely crossed in the months prior, but he could already tell that the man was far more trustworthy than Micah, who had arrived around the same time. He figured he'd just bite the bullet. "Hey, Charles, what exactly happened at Blackwater? You know Hosea and I were out workin' on another plan when Dutch took all you guys with 'im. Somehow, I've yet to hear how everything went to hell."

There was no response at first, and Arthur couldn't decide if Charles was pretending not to have heard him or if he was just contemplating the proper response. "That's the weird thing, Mr. Morgan…"

"Arthur. Call me Arthur," he amended, interrupting his narrative. He supposed Charles felt the need to be formal after he'd done the whole leader thing earlier that morning. Not if he could help it.

"As you wish. So, the weird thing, Arthur, is that nobody can agree on how it went down. It seemed like things were going fine. We had the money in hand and everything. Suddenly, Pinkertons, everywhere, like they were waiting to spring the trap. It must have spooked Dutch, because Javier says he…" Charles paused, unsure of how to break the news to Arthur. Arthur was, after all, one of Dutch's closest confidants. Had been in the gang for twenty-some years, and loyalty like that wouldn't like what he was about to say.

"He what?"

Charles inhaled. "Do you want the truth, Arthur?"

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "Why the hell do you think I'm askin'?"

"Dutch shot a girl. An innocent bystander. In the head."

Suddenly, Arthur understood why Charles hesitated. The news punched him in the gut. "That ain't like 'im at all!"

"No, no it wasn't. At least, not from what I've heard about him from all of you, and what I've experienced in my short time here. In any event, after he shot her, the crowd seemed to focus on bringing him down. It gave the rest of us an opening to escape, though even then we obviously lost a few members. It was all we could do to get out, much less grab any money. That's it, really. Karen was out on the streets spying for us, and when she saw everything happen, she brought word back to camp and we all rendezvoused outside of town."

Arthur didn't know what to make of it. He was still stuck on the idea of Dutch killing an innocent. He'd always said that sometimes innocents got caught in the crossfire, but the way Charles, or Javier, or whoever had phrased it, it didn't sound like he should have been firing anywhere near that direction. Unless he slipped in the panic? But then what were the odds of a head shot? This insight did make it easier to understand why he'd been targeted, that and the ridiculously large bounty on his head, but it still made him sick to think about. It reminded him too much of Isaac.

"Thank you for tellin' me, Charles," he finally managed. "I appreciate yer honesty."

Charles could sense his comrade struggling with the news, and tried his best to diffuse the situation. "Maybe you won't after I'm done critiquing your hunting performance." He was correct, this did earn a snort of amusement.

"So, how'd you burn yer hand?"

He gave an annoyed hum. "In the confusion, I grabbed my gun by the barrel after firing it. Amateur mistake."

"I won't tell a soul," Arthur promised. "I'm sure that-"
"Shh! I see tracks!" Charles interrupted, waving for his companion to be quiet.

Arthur squinted, but he couldn't see a thing on the snow. "Where the hell do you see tracks?" he hissed.

This earned a deep sigh. "We've got a lot of work to do before we make a hunter out of you!"

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

The kills hadn't been all too clean, and he highly doubted he'd be able to find a deer on his own if it didn't jump in front of his horse, but ultimately Arthur got the job done with Charles' tutoring, and two healthy-sized does were dropped before Pearson in his make-shift kitchen. If all went as planned, they'd have some venison steaks waiting for them by the time the raiding party returned from Colm's camp. Arthur made a mental note to watch Charles work once he was better; it was a skill set they were going to desperately need until they came into the money again. He had to wonder if his Native American mother, who he'd mentioned on the ride back, had shown him a few tribal secrets on tracking and shooting before she was taken from him. Wasn't that how it always went for outlaws like them…

Arthur did pause between his hunts to finally eat something for the first time in over 24 hours. He hadn't been hungry since the tragedy in Blackwater, and he'd pretty much forgotten to eat with all the things he had to get done. Hell, he hadn't even had enough time to get good and drunk yet, and that had been high on his priority list! Arthur might have gone even longer without food if his stomach hadn't finally growled loudly in front of the old navy cook. Despite Arthur's frequent digs at his expense, Pearson threw a package of crackers at his head after hearing it. He'd pass out if he went raiding on an empty stomach, he'd warned. Christ, when Pearson, a man who saw fit to take more liquor than proper foodstuffs when told to flee, had more common sense than him, that was just sad.

Finally, it was time to ride out. He found his four accomplices ready and waiting, horses pawing at the ground eagerly. "'Bout time, Arthur! Our bullets can't wait for some O'Driscoll blood!" Javier called with a big grin on his face, waving his rifle around in excitement.

"Well, we'll scout out the camp first and see if we've got the numbers to pull it off. I ain't takin' any big risks, not after losin' five of our guns," Arthur warned, guiding his horse to the front of the formation. "If we go down doin' somethin' stupid, the gang is screwed."

"That's what happens when half yer gang is useless," Micah growled, leading his horse up next to Arthur. "Always gotta worry 'bout keepin' their sorry asses afloat instead of goin' for the big jobs. And another thing. Where the hell did you get that information 'bout Colm? We shot up every bastard on that farm 'cept for the woman. Did she…?"

"There was another one hidin' in the barn. I got him to talk real quick." Arthur started his horse at a trot, hoping they could just get this hunt underway.

"I didn't hear another gunshot, Morgan!" Micah followed, with the others hanging back unsurely. "Don't tell me you fuckin' let him run?"

Arthur sat ramrod straight in his saddle, stopped his horse, and looked Micah dead in the eye. "Dutch always said that once they talked, it was MY decision what to do with 'em. Man was a coward, not worth the bullet. He ain't runnin' back to ole Colm, that's for sure; Colm makes his traitors endure fates worse than death."

"Mebbe so, but you don't know that fo' sure. If we ride out there and there's a fuckin' ambush waitin' for us, all 'cause you were too yeller to pull the trigger…"

"Hey, can we just get on with this?" Bill bellowed impatiently, interrupting the power struggle.

"Yeah, let's." Arthur shot Micah another death glare before tearing off at a gallop. Day one as visible leader and already he was having issues with Micah. Right now, it was more annoying than anything, seeing as the man wasn't well liked by most of the others in camp, but if he got to spreading the dissent… No, he'd have to keep Micah too busy to run his damn mouth, starting with this job. Arthur just hoped it would work out, because if they ended up turning back with nothing to show… He wasn't quite sure, but he figured it wouldn't be pretty.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

"Hell yeah, run you miserable bastards!" Lenny hollered at the retreating backs of the few O'Driscolls remaining. Luckily for them, they were too far out of range to be picked off at this point. About twenty of their colleagues were not so fortunate, and even now the team was hastily picking their pockets clean.

It had all worked out in their favor. Maybe Reverend's cryptic scripture reading before they set off had earned them some goodwill from God, if he was really out there. When the group arrived at the camp, Arthur pulled out his binoculars to spy from the ridge above. Colm, after hollering at some poor stable hand and slapping him around, rode off with a few men. It hurt to watch Dutch's sworn enemy ride off without sniping him, but he remembered his mentor's words: revenge was a luxury they simply couldn't afford. Too much was riding on this for him to overreach. With the O'Driscolls split up and completely unaware, the five snuck in and started shooting up the place. The element of surprise was enough to tip the scale in their favor despite being severely outnumbered.

"Start lookin' in the houses. We need everything we can carry," Arthur commanded as he ducked into one of them. It didn't take long to realize that besides the usual supplies, Colm was packing a LOT of dynamite in a large chest. "Hey, Bill, get over here. I found some explosives. I need an expert opinion." Once the large man had lumbered over to his side, he held a sample out to him. "What do ya think? Are they any good?"

Bill sniffed it, for what Arthur had no clue, but he quickly nodded in satisfaction. "Smells fine to me."

"But why's it here? For the train robbery?"

"Of course for the train robbery. They've got it all here on these plans they drew up!" Micah must have overheard their conversation from outside, and he was looking incredibly pleased with himself as he waved a rolled-up piece of paper, no doubt found in one of the other cabins. "Looks like we've got ourselves the makings of a heist."

Arthur frowned. "Do we know when the train is scheduled to arrive?" He was hoping it was later rather than sooner, so he'd have time to talk it over with Hosea. Attacking a train so soon after a foiled ferry robbery didn't seem like a sound plan, not that Micah would ever hear that from him.

"Says here two days from now. That'll give us plenty of time to prepare." He walked over to his horse and tucked the plans into his saddlebags. Clearly, he had no intention of handing it over to the leader. "Good. These boys need to get their heads outta their asses and start lookin' forward, not back. They're all too damn mopey, and it's a disgrace!" Without waiting for the others he began to ride off. Probably a good thing, seeing as his colleagues were not amused by his commentary.

"What the hell is wrong with that son of a bitch?" Lenny muttered under his breath, pulling himself up into the saddle.

"Can't wait for the day he loses his cool and gets what's coming to him," Javier agreed, taking some of the dynamite from Bill for his saddle bags.

There was so much Arthur would have loved to add, but he knew it would be better to keep his mouth shut and bide his time. "Ne'er mind 'im, Hosea and I'll talk over these plans and see if it makes sense to try and pull off. Let's just head back. They'll be waitin' for these supplies, and that's what matters most right now."

So, they did just that, taking off at full gallop across the valley, and Arthur was certain his action-filled day was finally drawing to a close. No more shooting things, no more fighting with people, no more making decisions, just him and his journal and a bottle of whiskey…

"Hey, Arthur, isn't that the O'Driscoll Colm was yelling at before?" Javier pointed out.

His eyes followed to where Javier was pointing. Aww shit. It was.

Arthur heaved a weary sigh. "Looks like it. I'll go rustle him up so we can get some information outta him. You three head back to camp and start unloadin' the supplies."

By the time he'd given his orders, the scrawny figure, who was letting his horse drink from the river, saw him. The words "Oh shit!" could be heard all the way from his position as he scrambled onto his horse. He had that right.

Arthur spurred his horse to action, flying across the open stretch as he reached for his lasso. It didn't take long to catch up to the rogue O'Driscoll and snare him, sending him tumbling from his horse as it kept on running.

Almost immediately, he was barraged with a stream of jumbled words. "Shit, please mister, I ain't nobody important, I swear, please let me go, you'll never see me again, shit…"Arthur frowned as he began the process of binding his prisoner hand and foot, all while pressing him into the snow with a boot planted firmly on his back. What the hell kind of O'Driscoll was this? He was more pathetic than the guy in the Adler barn, and that was saying something!

"Shut up. Yer comin' with me, O'Driscoll. We got some things to discuss." Before he pried him off of the ground, he began to feel around in his coat pockets for money. The coat was several sizes too big for the kid, and from what he could feel, he was all skin and bones. Was this how Colm treated all his lackeys, or just the really useless ones? He then picked up his victim easily, seeing as he weighed next to nothing, and slung him over his horse. He hadn't stopped whimpering the entire time, and Arthur was seriously considering shoving a rag into his mouth to spare himself the headache. Ultimately, he decided against it, thinking he might get some information from this easy-to-break wimp and save himself time later. He really wanted to lock himself in his room as soon as possible.

"What's yer name, boy?" he growled as he climbed onto his horse and set him to a brisk canter. Too fast and he'd lose his cargo.

"I-I don't know…"

"You don't know your own name, boy?" Arthur scoffed. This wasn't going to be as easy as he thought, he could tell already.

"I'm K-Kieran."

"Kieran what?"

"Duffy. Kieran Duffy."

"Well, I ain't gonna lie to you, this is a real bad day for you, Kieran Duffy."

"Where are you takin' me?"

"Somewhere you ain't gonna like."

The panic in his voice rose exponentially, as if he had remained hopeful until those last few words. "W-why? What are ya gonna do to me?"

"Somethin' you ain't gonna like. So, I'd advise you to save your breath for screamin'."

That last comment, which he'd offered flippantly, backfired in the worst way. The screaming started at that exact moment, right behind him, and he regretted deeply his decision not to gag him. "P-please mister, I'm no use to you, I swear! I only been runnin' with 'em for a few months!"

"You better keep your mouth shut, you little shit, or I WILL shut it for you!"

The threat seemed to work, at least for a few moments, but then it started up again, quietly at first, but growing steadily louder. "Oh God, please….I think I'm gonna puke..."

Arthur's last nerve had about snapped by this point. "Are you tryin' to test me, is that it? 'Cause I WILL break every bone in your body!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, okay?"

"Not one. More. Goddamned. Word. Am I clear?"

"Okay, okay!"

"That's two bones!"

The rest of the ride was finally silent, save for a few sniffles. Good Lord, how had a boy like this ever survived in a gang like the O'Driscoll's? From what he knew of Colm, the man was anything but patient, especially with idiots.

At last they arrived at Colter. When he dismounted and moved to pull his prisoner from the horse, he found him trembling violently. "P-please don't hurt me…" he whispered.

"Well, let me put it like this, Kieran Duffy," Arthur began, hauling him off to the stable like a sack of potatoes over his shoulder. "The man who taught me used to say that we shoot fellers that need shootin', save fellers that need savin', and feed fellers that need feedin'. You're the one that's gonna decide what you need, and we'll give it to ya." He kicked open the door to the stables, and once he found a nice open post, dumped his captive to the ground roughly. "Just know that you're already on shaky ground, bein' an O'Driscoll."

As he leaned down to cut his binds, he finally got a good look at Kieran's face. Arthur couldn't even begin to guess his age, given his rough condition. His beard was thin, wiry, and looked like it had never seen a shaving razor. Maybe he was pale, but it was nearly impossible to tell under the grime. His eyes were wild with fear. "I ain't an O'Driscoll, mister! I hate that feller!"

"Sure you do." Arthur was quick to grab his wrists before he could bolt (at this point, who knew what this terrified boy was capable of) and bound them behind the post with little gentleness. "If that's true, you'll talk. But we'll give you a little time, starve you out a bit so you get real serious. Judgin' by the look of you, it shouldn't take long."

Before another word could be said, Arthur practically sprinted out of the barn and slammed the door shut. Fuck, this day could not get any longer. Was one bottle of whiskey even going to be enough?