I hope everyone had a good week and didn't worry too much about Arthur after that cliffhanger hehehe

Chapter 10: The Grave

Dutch sat on the edge of camp, smoking a cigar and thinking. Normally, he'd smoke his pipe, but he was out of tobacco. Half a speech was already written on his page, but he'd hit a wall. This had to be perfect. Arthur needed to understand why staying mattered. Their purpose, their future… yes, Arthur had been through a big change, but they could find a balance. If he left…

He didn't want to imagine the gang without Arthur.

"Can I get a light?"

Dutch turned, quickly folding the paper to hide it from Bessie, but she just laughed.

"Calm down, I know you write out your speeches in advance. So, that light?"

Sighing, Dutch struck a match and lit the cigarette in her hand. She sat down on the log with him, silently gesturing for the paper. He rolled his eyes, but he gave it to her. A few lines applied to her, too.

"Ah, loyalty," she said almost immediately. "You know, if Arthur had a problem with loyalty, it wouldn't be so difficult to convince him to leave for a while."

"If you and your husband had any loyalty, this wouldn't be a problem at all," Dutch shot back.

"Arthur would do anything you ask, Dutch. He'd lay down his life for you, for Hosea, for John, for any of us. He loves this family, and he loves you. If you walked up to him and begged him to stay, he would."

"Then why are you trying to stop me?"

"Because there are certain times you shouldn't ask," Bessie said. "Tell me something, Dutch. Do you love Arthur?"

"What kind of question is that? Of course I love Arthur. He is my son!"

"But is that enough? There's a third option, you know. What if Arthur stayed here, and didn't work jobs?"

"Folk need to do their share, you know."

"I know, I'm not saying he sit around and do nothing," she chuckled. "Arthur could do chores, go hunting, stand on guard duty. He could scope out places to rob, see what kind of security they've got. I know Arthur likes working jobs with you boys, but I think he's starting to realize how bad that could be for Isaac. What I'm saying is, if Arthur never robbed another rich fool or held up a stagecoach or walked into a bank, would having him here be enough?"

Dutch wanted to say yes, immediately and without question. But the word got caught in his throat, and he sat gaping, like a fish still confused that the worm came with a hook. He couldn't picture a life with Arthur where he didn't participate in robberies. Arthur was an excellent shot, an intimidating presence, a source of strength. An outlaw, that's who he was.

But Arthur was also a father. Responsible for a young boy who needed him. Who couldn't lose him.

"I'm serious, Dutch van der Linde," Bessie continued. "Could you have Arthur here, in this gang, and never ask him to work a job again?"

He had his answer. It sat heavy on the tip of his tongue. One word which would change him, change the gang, change all their lives going forward. For better? Maybe. Possibly for worse.

But before he could speak, the air around them exploded with a scream.

"DUTCH!"

"Annabelle?" he said, jumping up and turning towards the sound. Annabelle burst out of the trees, gasping for breath and holding Isaac to her chest. Her sleeve was torn, leaves and a twig caught in the hole, and the end of her dress was dragging in the mud.

"O'Driscolls attacked us on the road!" she cried. "Arthur got us out, but he stayed behind to hold them off!"

"Where?" Hosea asked, coming up next to them.

"Closer to town than here, along the trail. They wanted to take me to Colm, said they'd let Arthur and Isaac go, but-"

Dutch pulled Annabelle into a hug, mindful of Isaac pressed between them. He could feel her shaking, could hear Isaac crying. God, he'd been a fool! Of course Hosea was right, they should have run. Colm O'Driscoll wanted revenge for his brother, had waited for the perfect time, had gone after the woman he loved. And he wasn't about to let Colm hurt his son, so a second to hold her was all he gave himself. "We're going to get Arthur, I promise," he said to both Annabelle and the boy.

He kissed Annabelle on the forehead and released her. Bessie immediately took his place as Hosea ran for their horses. "Davey, John! Go on guard duty. Anyone comes through here that isn't us, shoot first and ask questions later. Mac, ride with us."

"I want to come with you," John protested. "I can help!"

"Guard the camp, son. That's the help Hosea and I need right now."

Mac fetched his Tennessee Walker as Hosea led Nero and Silver Dollar over to him and said, "Let's go!"

They mounted up and galloped out of camp, following the trail towards town. Dutch's heart raced. Each turn had him praying to see Arthur walking back to camp, laughing at having held off… how many O'Driscolls had attacked them? He should have asked before they left.

They found Rory and the wagon alone, the Suffolk Punch dancing nervously in the harness. Mac went to calm Rory and inspect the wagon for damage. Dutch was too focused on moving forward. If Arthur wasn't on his way back to camp, he had to be in the middle of a shootout. He strained his ears for gunfire, but the forest was silent.

It was Hosea who spotted it on the ground. "Hold up, Dutch," he said, leaping off Silver Dollar. He plucked the old gambler hat from where it lay trampled in the dirt, the brim torn, the rope unwinding. He handed it to Dutch, lips moving but not making a sound.

No.

"ARTHUR!" he shouted into the woods. He studied to ground more closely now. Blood. A few footprints. Several horse tracks leading off to the right, one in a different direction. Tracking was never a strong skill for him, but he knew enough.

Hosea followed the lone trail a few steps before sprinting. Ice slipped down Dutch's spine when he caught sight of the body just beyond the bushes. Hosea reached it, flipped it over on it's back, then turned away from it. Dutch slumped forward onto the pommel in relief. Not Arthur. Hosea would never turn his back on Arthur.

"They must have taken him," Hosea said, running back to Silver Dollar. "Annabelle said they were going to take her to Colm. We need to move!"

"Okay," Dutch said, eyes still on the ground as he formed a plan. "Mac, take that horse back and let everyone know what happened. Help keep them safe."

"You sure you don't want backup?" Mac asked. "If O'Driscolls took him, they probably want to draw you out."

"I know, but what choice do we have? If Colm has something to say, then he'll say it to me."

Mac understood. "Good luck," he said, hopping on the wagon.

"Lead the way," Dutch said to Hosea, slipping Arthur's hat into his satchel.

There was no doubt in Dutch's mind that Arthur had saved Annabelle from a horrible fate. Colm was vengeful. Dutch had witnessed what Colm could do to his own men, it was one of the many reasons Dutch separated himself from the other outlaw. And Dutch should have known better, should have prepared!

Just like Colm had prepared. The only reason he didn't get his intended target likely came down to Arthur's determination and skill. Would that skill be enough for Arthur to escape? To survive long enough for them to reach him?

He had to keep faith. Faith in Arthur, and faith in Hosea's tracking abilities.

His entire body jolted when he woke up. He tried to sit up, but his body was trapped. The world was too dark when he opened his eyes, and the musty smell of dirt and old wood invaded his nose.

Panic seeped into his bones, and he threw his limbs as far as they could move, inches if that. Moving his left leg proved to be a mistake, and he almost passed out again as his entire world spun and tilted despite him laying down. But he couldn't stop, he had to get out! He scrambled and clawed against the wooden boards even as the nausea grew in his stomach and crawled up his throat, until he turned his head as far as he could to avoid choking on his own vomit.

"Help!" he called out, the words caught in the box with him. "Dutch! Hosea!"

He was exhausting himself, but the idea of dying in here… he needed to get out. He didn't know if it was even possible.

"Please help," he begged, the quiet rasp barely reaching his own ears as his body gave up once more.

"Shit!" Hosea said on the other side of the river. He turned up and down the bank, desperately inspecting the ground.

"What's wrong?" Dutch asked. Their pursuit of Arthur and the O'Driscolls had been slower than Dutch would have liked. The riders were careful, picking the more confusing paths in difficult to see areas. Every time Hosea had to stop to double-check the tracks, Dutch's hands clenched tighter around the reins until there were deep marks in the leather.

"They must have ridden in the river, there's no trail on the other side."

"No," Dutch said, looking down at the gravel and dirt as if tracks would just magically appear. "No, dammit! What do we do? Hosea?"

"I don't-"

"What do we do?" Dutch shouted.

"Shut up! I'm thinking." Hosea looked up and down the river again, then said, "You ride upstream, I'll ride down. Make sure you are checking both sides, they might have doubled back. Three shots if you find the trail."

"Okay," Dutch nodded along. "Okay."

"We'll find it, Dutch. We'll find him," Hosea said.

"We have to." Dutch turned Nero up the river, riding in the middle so he could check both sides. It was taking too much time, he was moving too slow. But he was afraid that moving faster would cause him to miss the trail.

A minute passed, then ten, then twenty, then thirty. His hope waned the farther along he got with no sign of Arthur or the O'Driscolls' horses. Because all the time they'd traveled, he still hoped to find Arthur. His boy would appear from within the trees, on foot or on a stolen horse, tired but all smiles when he realized he was safe with his family again. They could patch him up and bring him home, and never let him out of their sights again. But there were no horses, no Arthur, no tracks leading to him, either. The distress was growing inside him, alongside the horrid realization that he was failing his son.

What if Colm decided to just kill him before Dutch could stop it?

Three shots rang out far down the river, and the flock of birds taking off gave him a location. He urged Nero into a gallop, the warhorse unfazed by the gunfire.

"Found it, Dutch!" Hosea called out. Silver Dollar pawed at the ground, picking up on his rider's anxiety.

"You sure?"

"Positive. Let's go!"

They moved faster now, it seemed the O'Driscolls had picked up the pace and were less concerned with leaving tracks. Whether that was good or bad, Dutch couldn't decide.

Was he awake? How could he know for sure? He didn't want to open his eyes to the cold, black void. Tears leaked past the closed lids against his will, not that it mattered. No one was going to find him.

How long would it take him to suffocate? How long had it been already? Each small breath he managed to get into his lungs did little to ease the dizziness encompassing his entire head. He coughed weakly. It didn't help.

He didn't want to fight anymore. Didn't want to try. He'd never be able to escape, he knew that.

Colm must have tied off his leg tight. Otherwise he would have bled to death by now. He almost wished Colm hadn't done that. Then he wouldn't have to lay here, trapped, alone, experiencing his death one agonizingly slow second at a time. Maybe it would be better just to bleed out, but even if he wanted to, he couldn't reach down to the green neckerchief to release it.

He couldn't even feel his leg anymore.

The tears kept sliding down his face as he prayed he wouldn't wake up inside this coffin again.

"Hold up," Hosea said at the tree line. "This could be a trap."

"Well, of course it is!" Dutch replied, frustrated. It was getting late. The sun would be setting within the hour, and their ability to track the O'Driscolls would be severely limited.

"Seriously, we need to be careful! Open field, single farmhouse. This is the first building we've come across. I don't know where else the O'Driscolls could have gone."

"We don't have a choice," Dutch said, and galloped across the field. He heard Hosea follow after him. Yet no gunshots met them across the open field, the house appearing to be abandoned.

But on closer inspection, Dutch noticed the broken liquor bottles, the fresh horse dung along the hitching posts. "They must have stopped here a while," Hosea said, echoing Dutch's thoughts. Hosea crouched down as Dutch frantically looked around the area for any tracks leading away. He noticed some just as Hosea sat up, his fingertips red from the patch of blood on the ground.

"We can't be far behind them," Dutch said.

"Why stop here, though?" Hosea got out his binoculars, scanning the horizon.

"Hosea, we don't have time! Arthur doesn't have time!" He refused to look at the blood.

"Someone's watching us on that hill," he said, pointing off in the distance and offering up the binoculars. Dutch took them, spotting the two riders.

"What the fuck are they playing at?" Dutch snarled. "If Colm wants to have words with me, then we'll have words." He went to grab Nero. This was going to end now, with Arthur safe and Colm dead.

"Wait," Hosea said. "Let's check around the house first. It doesn't make sense for Colm to lead us on a chase like this."

"Well clearly he is!"

"Dutch-"

"We need to go!" Dutch kicked an empty can across the field, turning his back to Hosea.

"They didn't just stop here to rest. They had a fucking party, and then they abandoned it! Why, Dutch?" Hosea went to the farmhouse door. "Look around outside. I'll be back in a minute. Don't you dare leave without me."

He almost did. Almost marched right to Nero and raced to that hill. He inspected the riders again. They were waiting for something, but what? For them to follow, or for them to find something? He breathed in deep and shaky, then set his eyes around the outside of the farmhouse. There were a few shovels, a rectangular patch of dirt that looked like it had been recently moved, a simple cross behind it.

Not just a cross. A grave marker.

Dutch didn't notice he was moving until halfway to the cross. It was right within the sights of the riders, a freshly dug grave. He didn't want to think… they couldn't be too late… Colm wouldn't…

But Colm would. He knew that.

He was close enough to read the words, the realization hitting him as he sank to his knees in the fresh dirt.

Arthur Morgan

Dutch choked, the sob caught in his throat. They killed him, Colm killed his son! His disbelief, slowly turning to sorrow, clashed with the rage building in his heart, leaving him frozen.

Distantly, he knew he should call for Hosea, but the words wouldn't come out. He wanted to scream, wanted to hunt Colm down, but he knew he couldn't. He needed to bring Arthur home.

There was a note tied to the cross. He didn't want to read Colm's gloating words, but he finally reached out and plucked the page from the cross and opened it.

Dig fast, Dutch. He's dying.

The words sunk in, their meaning punching him in the gut and spurring him to action. He scrambled, digging into the dirt with his hands. He found his voice, screaming towards the farmhouse, "HOSEA!"

Dirt flew in every direction, past his face, onto his clothes. He couldn't move enough of it.

The farmhouse door slammed open, Hosea running to join him. He slid to a stop at seeing the grave, a faint, "No," leaving his lips. "No, no, no."

"Hosea, they- they buried him alive!" Dutch shouted. "He's still alive!"

Hosea didn't question how he knew. He surged forward and joined Dutch in digging with his hands. But it was too slow, and seconds later Hosea sat up, looking around the farmhouse. "Keep going, I'm going to look for shovels."

"Hosea-"

"Keep going!"

As if he was going to do anything else, anything other than toss away the dirt between him and his boy one handful at a time. Too slow. He heard Hosea cursing behind him, but didn't turn to look. Finally, the man returned, pushing one of the shovels Dutch vaguely remembered seeing into his hands. He stood up, digging faster now but still not fast enough. It would never be fast enough, not while his son was trapped.

How long had Arthur been down there already? And how much longer could he survive? Dutch silently prayed that he wasn't too late. Because he honestly didn't know what he would do if he was.

After digging several feet down, his shovel finally hit something solid. He reached down, brushing aside the loose soil to see the top of a wood box.

"Arthur! Hold on, son, we're coming!"

"Here!" Hosea said, handing his knife to Dutch. "Make a small hole so he can breathe. We need to clear enough dirt to pull the whole box out. Careful, we don't know how he's positioned under there."

Dutch dug the knife into the wood, prying a small chunk out of it. "Can you hear me? Arthur?"

No sound came from the box.

Cold sweat trickled down his neck. He kept digging.

Thunk.

He didn't bother opening his eyes. It didn't matter, really. He wasn't even sure he was awake, or drifting as he had before. He didn't want to wake up.

Thunk.

"Arthur! Say something, please!"

Was that Dutch's voice? Sure sounded like him, distant and muffled. But it couldn't be. He was dreaming.

More scraping sounds, more heavy objects hitting the top of his prison. Someone else was shouting more, the words too faint to discern, but it sounded like Hosea. It was a pretty dream. Real pretty.

He was moving. More like the box he was trapped in was moving, and so he had to move too, powerless to stop it.

"Arthur!"

"Shit, this is nailed down tight. Get on this side."

Wood cracked, but he didn't have the energy to flinch at the sound, too loud in his ears. Didn't flinch at the light leaking through to his closed eyes. Didn't respond to the pained whisper that reached his ears.

"No. God, no."

Shaking hands dug under his shoulders, dragged him out of the box, and leaned him against someone. Fingers fluttered over him. Two pressed on his neck, trembling against the skin.

"I don't feel anything. Hosea, I…"

A head settled against his chest, a hand placed on his ribs. A second passed.

"He's breathing! His heart's beating. It's faint, but it's there, Dutch!"

"Oh, Arthur. Oh, my boy!"

"See if you can get him to come around. I've got to look at his leg."

Hands shifted once again, carefully cupping his face, trying to avoid the numerous bruises, thumb rubbing his cheek.

"Wake up, Arthur. You're safe now, we've got you. Please wake up."

He wanted to. More than anything, he wanted to open his eyes and see Dutch and Hosea. But he was still numb, dizzy, scared this wasn't real.

Then a hand touched his leg, setting it on fire.

He gasped, shocked when the air that rushed into his lungs was clean and pure. He coughed and choked, desperately pulling more in, each breath simply not enough. He leaned forward against the hands wrapped around him, finally hearing Dutch's voice loud and clear.

"That's it, son, that's good. Breath, in and out, okay? In and out," Dutch soothed again and again.

He slumped against Dutch's chest, trying to follow his instructions. Someone else crouched down next to him, and he heard Hosea say, "You're safe, Arthur. It's over, I promise. Can you open your eyes?"

Wheezing, he tried to do as Hosea asked. One eyelid twitched.

"You can do it, son. Please?"

Gradually, with much encouragement from Dutch and Hosea, his eyes slid open. Hosea was in front of him, blurry and unfocused against the fading light. A small whine escaped him, and Dutch hugged him tighter.

"We need to get him to a doctor," Hosea said. "His leg, it's bad, Dutch. He needs help."

Dutch nodded, then asked, "They still watching us?"

Someone was watching? Colm… Colm did this to him.

"Yeah, they are. You think they'll come after us?"

"They're pretty far away, they might not have seen him move. Let's wrap him in a blanket, so they think… he's pretty cold anyway."

He couldn't keep track of the activity around him, and let his eyes fall shut as Hosea and Dutch wrapped him from head to toe in a blanket. He groaned when Dutch and Hosea lifted him up, carrying him to a horse. Dutch's horse, he realized a second later, when the man mounted up behind him and hugged him close.

"Stay alive for me, okay? We're going to get you help, just keep breathing."

He managed to bring up a hand, his fingers curling around Dutch's sleeve. But the moving horse hurt his whole body, and he couldn't stop himself from slipping away.