Sadie Adler and I rescued Marston from prison, where he was awaiting hanging. Spied on them in a balloon, which was amazing and awful and I thought would kill me quicker than this illness.

Later, Sadie and I rescued him, while getting shot at.

I did it for Abigail, of course, in her own way, the finest woman I know, but also for Jack and I guess Marston himself. I kind of like him.

We've argued over the years, but I've grown to care a little for him. He's less of a fool than he was, and maybe, he can have the luck that has eluded me. Jack is an innocent little boy. In him, I see what I missed.

We did it, Mrs. Adler and me. And then got attacked by Dutch. I went behind his back, sure and he never likes that, but I suppose the years of blind loyalty is at an end. Loyal, yes, but not blind. Not until he opens his eyes as to the hell we are in, and who his friends really are. Micah I NO LONGER TRUST whatsoever. Nor do I trust half of them, nor myself. Whole thing is a mess and I cannot think clearly.

.

When Captain Monroe peeled off to the right and left Rains Fall and Arthur riding alone, the good chief rode on a bit ahead of Arthur.

"We'll continue on this way. I'm going to look for some herbs to give you," he said in his calm way.

Arthur felt the effects of the man's compassionate generosity in his very body—in the core of him. And he felt it too uncouth, churlish, and ungrateful a thing to protest by way of entreating him not to worry himself and announcing that he was nothing more than a skeleton bobbing around in a saddle.

So he simply closed his eyes a moment and let his head hang to the side to stretch his neck, let his mind focus on the steadiness of his horse's easy lollop, the rounded warmth of the sunshine on his face, the sharp tinny scent of the soft, dark earth beneath his horse's hooves. He could still sense it, still feel it, still smell it. For now, he still could.

"See the wolves over there feasting on that horse?" he heard the chief say and opened his eyes.

His gaze naturally slid to their right as they slowly passed a truly gruesome, grisly exhibition. The wolves were fully satiating themselves: their sharp teeth tore jagged shreds of flesh away; their powerful, angular jaws didn't pause for a single moment in their blinded drive for the taste of another's blood on their flapping tongues.

Arthur didn't as much as wince, but felt his nostrils flare and cheeks involuntarily pull in a slight grimace at the spectacle. Gruesome seemed a word too flimsy in the moment. Especially to think of the poor horse's life, of nothing but his dutiful service and diligent obedience to his master, he was sure. Perhaps of his days amidst the swaying sagebrush of the field, in the serene, welcoming sunlight, when his master had been more like a friend, and stretched out his hand over his soft sable coat. Whispering kind words to him, words of love and faithfulness. Neither of them conceiving of the thought that there was undoubtedly a point on the horizon when decay would set in.

Now he was abandoned, and all was gone from him, even his own breath.

As Arthur promptly looked down at his own hands, he tried hard to believe those days made the creature's life worth something, despite where he now lay.

"Brutality and beauty are both all around us," Rains Fall said. "Yet so often, we're unable to see past our own grievances. This is what I try to teach my son."

As Arthur gripped the leather reins into the cushioned heel of his hand, he knew the adult thing to acknowledge was part of why Rains Fall had clearly pointed it out: that life and death bleed and feed into each other, and one cannot exist without the other. That they form a beautiful ring and both give meaning to each other. But somehow, it didn't take the sting away at all. The sting of sorrow even now, as he felt his own horse step and move beneath him and knew with surety that at some point the beloved friend would have to pass on. As he felt the crisp air flow through his own nostrils to his lungs and knew he'd have to say farewell to that very capacity to breathe. As he thought back on all those he'd lost and knew their memory would disappear right along with him.

Just as his own would.

"We can talk if you want, Mr. Morgan," the chief's deep voice shook him from his heavy whirlwind of remorse, "but don't feel like you have to. It's a beautiful ride ahead if you need some time to think."

Arthur swallowed hard. Such a big part of him wanted to frown and isolate himself and respond, if only internally: what use was there to talk about the way his life would soon amount to nothing—to cold belongings with no heartbeat and no ability to cherish in return, dispersed and disappeared; to people who could cherish, either deprived of their heartbeats or scattered to the wind. Or finding in themselves no desire to care.

A violent, barren wasteland—the opposite of a life. One leaving no hole. No meaning. It was a brutal reality, and he was still struggling to cope with it. So instead, he cleared his throat and brought up the chief's own pressing circumstances.

"So..." he sighed. "We don't know each other too well, but... I wanted to speak to you about your son. I was there on the raid to steal back those horses, and, uh… Well…" He hung is head. Maybe it was best to come at this a different way, from a slightly different angle. "You know sum'n a' Dutch, I think?"

"Yes. A little. Mostly from your friend Charles."

"I don't know why Dutch is gettin' involved in your situation…and…" he glanced down, swallowing thickly. He knew it was so foolish, having such trouble getting it out—after everything, and when the man wasn't even present. But somehow, for some reason, he wanted Rains Fall to be assured that loyalty had mattered to him, for so long. That he wouldn't ever talk about his long-time mentor, father figure, and loved one so easily and flippantly. "This ain't easy to say, but…" But knowing how important it was mattered more, and he found the strength to look up, squint in the sunlight, and speak it aloud: "I just don't trust that he's got your son's best interests at heart."

"So what can we do?"

"I don't rightly know." It was what he hadn't been looking forward to—having no answer to provide his new friend on how to fix things. He could only imagine the aching pain that came with seeing your child venture down a destructive path, and feeling helpless and hopeless to stop it. Could only imagine it was a similar pain to what he'd put his own loved ones through himself. "Charles an' I just thought you should be aware. Maybe, there's…a way to stop things from gettin' anymore outta control."

"Thank you, Mr. Morgan," the good chief replied calmly. "Let me give this some thought."

And Arthur was glad even for that; he'd been nervous about a poor reaction and concerned so about ruining what friendship he'd been able to form with the man.

"Hold up a moment," Rains Fall suddenly said, taking his horse past the edge of the mountain trail and halting where an abundance of brush and wild greenery was growing. "Some of the plants I need will be growing down here."

As Arthur watched the chief dismount, he didn't feel right staying atop his horse while he dug amidst the weeds for his benefit; so he brought his leg over his horse and hopped down himself. He slowly followed him until the chief stopped to pick a portion of brush topped by dainty blooms with yellow centers and toothy petals.

"This is what I was looking for—English Mace," he said.

Arthur watched him tuck it away into his pocket for safekeeping, knowing full well he meant it to ultimately go to him.

The two of them quietly walked back to their horses, mounted up, and continued their ride along the inclining mountain trail.

"Be careful," Rains Fall said. "There are some steep turns up ahead. But the views are beautiful from up here."

And he was only too right. Arthur couldn't help but breathe deeply through his nostrils and take in the magnificent, sprawling landscape that was increasingly below them. Such raw wilderness always made him think about…

He looked up at the man in his saddle before him. Truthfully, he felt so at ease and safe, so rested, welcomed, and cared for in his presence—more than he had with anyone, since Hosea had passed. And maybe…maybe if he knew just a bit of the way Arthur could commiserate with him, then maybe he'd know he was coming from a place of understanding and care, rather than any glimpse of subterfuge.

"You know…" Arthur softly grunted and finally sighed, the air escaping him and forming the words in his mouth far faster than he could refine them. "I…had a son once. Years ago. I don't talk about him much."

"Ah, what was his name?"

Though kind and gentle, the question itself was deflated and quiet. And Arthur realized only then that the way he'd put it had already all but revealed the tragedy lying behind the words, to anyone who hadn't lived it.

"Isaac." He hadn't said it in so long, the consonants buzzed across his teeth, and he drooped in his saddle with shame. But he continued, speaking the truth of it aloud, finding himself needing to sigh heavily from the weight of it.

"His mother…Eliza, was a waitress I met." Her name like music along his tongue, but he'd never claimed her as his own, honored her the way she should've been—how could he begin to explain all she'd meant to him? "When she got pregnant, sh—" He winced and tipped his jaw with a hard swallow, his body wanting to bite back the words of how irresponsible he'd been, what he'd done to her. "She knew who I was, what my life was…" he droned with a weak groan, knowing well enough that no matter how much she'd loved and wanted him, he'd always been the problem, the puzzle piece out of place. At least when it came to making a safe and healthy family.

"I didn't wanna promise nothin' I couldn't keep, but I said I'd do right by 'em," he tried to explain the strange situation the three of them had found themselves in and had struggled to work through. Two adults, wanting nothing more in the world than a life with each other, one of them too filled with fear to take the step, always shoring up and hiding his feelings away, even from himself. But still wanting to respect them, provide for them, be there for them, let them know they were so cherished, as much as he was able to. The other, left with the dregs of his fear and lack of self-worth, fighting alone to paste a picture together with pieces. And their precious son, paying the price for the tangle, going without what he might've known as the love of a father.

What was there to really say? Perhaps it was easier to keep it brief. "Every few months, I'd stop by there for a few days."

His next words were drawled low, his tone shifting to one of sweetly quiet reflection: "He was such a good kid." Always had been. Every day of his life. Even the ones he hadn't been there to see. The most beautiful, the kindest, sweetest boy in the world. And he'd deserved the world. Much more than whom he'd had for a no-account father.

Arthur blinked and held his eyes closed for a few extra moments. He could still so clearly see his bright smile, hear his sharply intelligent, precocious thoughts, revel in the melodious trickle of his uproariously joyful giggle.

At the memories, the tips of his nostrils began to sting, and his eyes watered, and he had to swallow thickly where he sat with slumped shoulders and bounced in his saddle.

Even if they'd known him, no one would ache for his son like he did. Ache from more than missing him—from longing for him. Ache for the stinging tragedy of his life cut so short. Ache for the way he'd been taken, so unjustly and cruelly. Ache for the heavy love for him he was still filled so full with and carried with him, every single moment.

No one would ever ache for his son like he did. And so, it was almost partly a comfort. To know that his son's life had left such a wide, deep mark on someone, even in the short time he'd been alive. To know that his son was so loved. Had never and would never stop being so loved.

Eliza was no exception at all. If their son had been 'a good kid', "She was too, I guess. Just a kid. Nineteen," he half-chuckled to himself, broken thing though it was.

He'd almost forgotten, she'd been just nineteen when he'd first clapped eyes on her. And not much older when she'd given birth to their son without him. And already she'd been wise, mature, caring, and patient. She'd been herself so bright, beautiful, and young. Filled to overflowing with life and hope. With love. And she'd tried so hard—so hard to hold out her hand and give him some. In her gentle, kind way. Because she'd always found she'd had extra stored up in the recesses of her gorgeous heart.

He could still so clearly see her gleaming eyes, the apple of her cheek, plumped by her radiant smile. Could hear her intimate whispers, her broken-hearted sobs, her boisterous laughs. Feel her arms around him, pressing him close.

She'd truly never given up on him. And when he thought back over the years, he realized he hadn't ever had a better friend than she'd been to him. As he swallowed hard again, he realized how dearly he missed her, how painfully he longed for her. How deeply he still loved her.

So now, he could see: all the years he'd fought to keep thoughts of them at an arm's length had been entirely fruitless. Now, he could see that everything in him wanted to embrace the grief, keep it close, hugging it tight to his chest, and never letting go.

Somehow though, it was like a lead weight had lifted from him too: their names spoken from his lips for the very first time since he'd last seen them. Testifying to someone of their lives, their existence, after so long—it felt so deeply right—and washed a certain peculiar harmony into him, right down into his bones. At least for those moments.

"What happened?" Rains Fall quietly asked.

Arthur blinked and took a deep breath. "I got there one day, and…saw two crosses outside. And I knew right away," he drawled weakly, feeling his jaw hang loose then pinch up to the side, as if the taste of the words themselves was sour and biting.

"Turned out some bastards had come through. Robbed 'em. 'Shot 'em dead. All for ten dollars." He couldn't keep from sounding quietly brooding with the last few words, no matter how he'd tried. It was the dark irony that only fit with his life: that he'd worked and tried so hard to keep them safe by keeping himself away as much as he could bring himself to resist returning. And their safety had been the very thing life had seen fit to deny him. If only he'd been there, he would've kept them safe. And that alone was much more irony than he could cope with.

Of course, the cruel added irony had been that their murderers had lived similar lives to what his own now looked like. And as endlessly precious as their lives had been to him, they'd been worth no more than exactly ten dollars to bastards that he often resembled too closely in his toil.

He was too easily reminded of the way Weathers' wife had held her swollen belly as she timidly waddled out from her hiding place. Of the fearful, sorrowful looks on the faces of Londonderry's widow and young son as they gazed down at him from their dilapidated porch. He'd known then. Been smacked with it then. That enough was far damn passed enough.

How cruel, sharp, and jagged a thing he'd become, when he wasn't looking. How easily he'd forgotten the deep love and humanity that holding Isaac in his arms for the first time had filled him with—or if he hadn't forgotten, his life no longer bore any practical marks of it at that point. When he was forced to look at it, he was afraid Isaac and Eliza might not recognize him if they saw him today. The shame was like a sack of boulders across his weak chest.

"It hardened me," he tried to explain further, each word measured and labored, "feelin' that kind a' pain." Without realizing it, he'd slowed his horse's canter to a saunter, and his head sagged low between his shoulders. "I had to—" He stopped himself and rested his eyes as he released a long sigh. He was not willing to go down that road of thorned memories, not again. "I don't know," he finally mumbled quietly with a weak shake of his head. There was no excusing it, not really.

"But I know now," he lifted his weary, resigned voice to make sure Rains Fall heard him, as he let his head hang limply backwards, "you don't get to live a bad life and have good things happen to you." Isaac and Eliza. They'd surely been good things, and they had just happened to him. And oh, how he'd devastated the gift.

"I think you're being hard on yourself," was the man's simple reply, when he'd heard the full story that Arthur had told no one else.

"Maybe," he said as he spurred his horse to pick up its canter again. He listened to the creature's breaths through its velvet nostrils and watched it lift and nod its head a moment. "All I can do now is...try to make some things right," he said as he reached forward to pat its neck.

Another minute of easy quiet passed between the two men. And when Arthur noticed he felt much lighter and less twisted up than he had several minutes ago, he realized that his need to share his history with Rains Fall had been less for the chief's assurance that he could relate to having a son, and much more for his own benefit, as it turned out. As he watched the man ride before him—exceedingly noble and wise in his calmness and gentleness—Arthur had a feeling that he knew that already.

"Let's stop here," Rains Fall called. "I want to pick some ginseng."

And they did just that, dismounting their horses and wandering into the brush beside the rugged mountain path until Rains Fall discovered and approached a plant with little bright red berries at the top.

"This will combine well," he thought aloud. After harvesting the root, he walked back to Arthur's horse and tucked both plants into his saddlebag. "Mix these together," he quietly instructed him. "They taste awful, but it'll help to keep your strength up." When he mounted his horse, he added, "All right, let's go. It's not much further now."

"I appreciate the herbs, but...I think it's gonna take more 'an that," Arthur called as they rode on again. He thought a moment, and though he wanted to communicate the extent of his illness, he didn't feel the need to name it. "I saw a doctor, and...he says I'm in a pretty bad way."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"This situation we're in—me, Dutch, and the others..." he said as they began on a decline down the other side of the mountain path. "I don't know how long I got, but... Some of them, they still got a chance to have a life. I just think...if I could give them that, then...maybe this ain't all for nothin'."

"I think there is still much you can do, Mr. Morgan."

By the end of the day, Rains Fall had loaded him with gifts of medicating herbs and a sacred feathered trinket. But it was those words, along with his wisdom of, "Even sacred things are only things. People—the heart—matter more," that Arthur carried with him back to camp.

.

"I wanna rest

My weary bones on your providence.

I wanna find somewhere that I can

Recover my innocence."

- Needtobreathe, "Innocence"

you tu .be/u_YLRxszyvI

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Kind readers,

I hope you're each doing well. Gosh, it's been a while. I will admit I took my time with this chapter. I wanted to feel I'd done what I could to get it right.

Though I only ever got one version of Arthur's recounting his past when playing, I promise I've seen one different version in which after saying, "It hardened me, feelin' that kind a' pain," Arthur says, "I had to-" and completely cuts himself off with a sigh. Unfortunately for the life of me I cannot find that video now! But I did combine the two versions for this chapter. Roger did an utterly amazing job, and I felt that all his inflections lent so much to what we can glean from Arthur's experienced pain, regret, and grief.

We have about 3 chapters left, depending on how I can manage to orient the scenes I have in mind. I want to let you know that I've had the time of my life writing this series, no exaggeration, and I've been honored to share this journey with you. I never thought I could do anything like this, and you have given me so much by your support. It's sincerely meant the world to me.

I definitely always see each of your comments, and they certainly bring light to my heart. Ariana, Paige, Jen, TJ, Will, and each and every single guest reviewer, I appreciate you!

Much love and kindest regards,
Rosie (Sara)