Colter, January 1899
He saw the needle before he saw anything else, his breath fogged in the air as the clip of his boots echoed in the small wooden lodge.
'I thought you was reading him his last rights...' the sullen outlaw began, pacing himself as his hat began to stiffen under the foreboding cold, 'now I see you're introducing him to your other passions.'
The reverend looked up from the mauled young man on the bed. An eccentric theologist with unpredictable behaviour pulled the needle from the young man's veins.
John Marston. An impetuous young man now sprawled out on the makeshift bed, flesh bloody and swollen with deepening lacerations across his face.
The reverend, for lack of a better word, would proudly shout the word of Jesus. Yet when it came to his poison, he was a madman to say the very least. Rising from his chair, he precariously wrapped some fabric or another around his head and under his chin. This was a cold place, a cold place for only the likes of them.
'I'll mind you to show me show respect, Mr Morgan,' the reverend nodded defiantly.
'Mind away,' Arthur commented flippantly, without a care as to what the lunatic had to say.
Arthur Morgan was not a man of expression as his hardened leather hat dipped onto his increasingly cold face. He did not want to exert any energy that did not need to be done.
Following the loon with his eyes until he left the old mining house, Arthur walked closer to the bed with the wounded idiot twisting slowly to the new elixir of pain relief.
'You still here then?' Arthur said abruptly, gesturing towards the mutilated John.
Sitting down on the chair that Reverend Swanson was once in, Arthur sat, cold and frustrated with their given circumstance.
'I owe you,' the young man said, trying to prostrate himself by the neck, his long greasy brown hair spilling out the corner of his lank bandages.
'And you'll pay me...' the older of the two said gruffly, concerned but not overly, 'but, for the moment, just rest.'
Before Arthur could commit any more retribution than needed to be done upon that stupid boy, he heard the door swing. It was not just the swing of the cold that filled the room but Dutch their leader, marched in.
'Arthur...' Dutch said, clutching at some paper roll with his black woollen attired already beginning to frost at the edges. 'I think it's time for the train.'
As soon as he began unrolling the parchment, John stirred, almost reinvigorated by the words of their father figure.
'You want me to come?' He spluttered, his hand still cradling at his chest.
Dutch in his predictable candour, allowed the paper map to spring back upon itself. With all the concern his dark eyebrows could muster, he turned to the injured boy. After all, John was the new prodigy.
'Of course, I do, but...' Dutch began, shaking his head and sighing to himself. Arthur has seen the performance many times before yet for whatever Dutch was, he cared about his boys, 'look at you.'
Dutch was rarely someone to cower away from anything and recoiling was certainly not what he was doing now. A stern man, a man with foresight, he avoided the gaze of his youngest who had been desecrated by wolves and still recovering from his gun wound, a farewell gift from Blackwater.
'I was always ugly, Dutch,' John commented, trying to lift his hand in the air in some sort of gesture, whilst Arthur could not help feel pity for the boy, 'it's just a scratch.'
To that, John sprained himself trying to lift his shaken and weak body in an attempt to make something of himself. Boy, was he a fool... Lying on his back his hair spalled from the bandage that was already slacking. He got got.
Arthur, as much as he was pissed off to hell by John, placed his hand gently on his chest encouraging him to rest. He was not the only one to attempt to discourage him for Dutch moved closer to the edge of the camper.
'Lie still, son,' Dutch said, with care and authority all in one.
It was in that very instance that the door blew open again. No matter how many times it was latched, it was a still mining town that was filled with snow and winds. Even more so given that everywhere they went was experiencing the worst of blizzards that even Hosea could remember. Arthur looked up, startled by anything that caused the slightest commotion.
Then he saw her; Abigail marching through as though she had the right to. Well, she rightly did.
She had the usual air of veracity, defiant to all the men around her. Something which Arthur had always admired about her. Yet as she came closer, it was then that he saw the boy Jack, nestled beneath her skirts, hand in hand.
'Hello, Abigail,' Dutch called, as the door continued to slam and swing in the mountainous winds.
'Dutch,' She retorted with as little formality that was expected of her.
'Jackie!' Dutch called in excitement, attempting to mask the situation as far as Arthur could guess as he rose from the stick chair.
'The boy wanted to see you, John' she spoke with all of her raven confidence, ignoring her audience.
Ushering Jack forward, Arthur could see his hunched little shoulders, the way he nervously rubbed his mittens together, the way he looked at his father in unknown measures. He was a good boy, but not a boy for this life.
Yet all the while his mother allowed him to step forward. Arthur stood back and Jack, the child that he was, crept forward.
'He's seen me now.' John quipped as though a child seeing their distant father in such a state was something to be made light of, 'or what's left of me...'
Arthur could see the boy rubbing his hands together, not out of fear, but out of worry. Goddammit Arthur he thought to himself.
John was torn up to shreds like some butchered meat, yet here he was. His own goddamn child was nervous as shit before him.
The silence between them passed but not for long as John had to have another sense of the last word. Arthur stepped back, not wanting to interfere between man and wife.
'What about you?' That piece of John Marston was more likely to look for a fight, even against his own family than show any humility. Arthur held his tongue, attempting to not defend the woman or boy.
'Guess I was hoping to see a corpse,' Abigail spat.
Even under the woollen shawl that she had wrapped around her face, Arthur knew as good as any that the sound of the stamp of her feet was never a good sign as she recoiled in disgust. And yet all she got was a laugh, an empty chuckled from her mauled man, the father of her son, the son who was in that room.
'Bide your time, you'll see plenty of them.' A small splatter of blood fell onto John's chin as he venomously said the words to his lady.
Arthur had no time for quarrels that were not for him, but he was annoyed. Annoyed at the stupidity of John Marston. Before Arthur could say anything, however, it was Abigail as it always was who spewed the fire.
'You're a rotten man, John Marston,' she seethed.
The boy, Arthur couldn't help but notice was already weak, his eyes down and mouth slanted. It was easy to see where he got it from with John taking the self-pity act as usual.
Tired of the impetuosity, however, it was Dutch's turn to speak with his charming ways and deep command that no one, not even Abigail dared to challenge.
'He is an idiot, Abigail, we all know it,' clutching at the parchment he watched the mother and child leave before he followed them out of the cabin.
'Now, railwaymen.' He began, pushing open the door to the harsh wintery sun, reflecting off of every spec of snow that clung to the ground and leafless trees.
'Bill,' Dutch yelled to the brick of a bearded man, 'now you ride ahead and set the charge...'
As always, Arthur followed Dutch's lead and walked out into the blinding snow.
'...at the water tower,' Dutch continued, 'just before the tunnel.' Resolute, Dutch tucked the paper scroll into the inside of his jacket as Hosea sternly walked forward with wide arms open.
'Why are we doing this?' the usual calm but conscientious tones crept from the eldest of the group. He did not look as old as he truly was, but old enough to encourage a mentorship for the gang - especially with Arthur. 'Weather's breaking, we could leave. I-I thought we was lying low,' Hosea suggested.
Mounting their horses, the younger men and Bill spurred his horse paying no mind to Hosea as the horses took straight to a gallop.
'What do you want from me, Hosea?' Dutch commented an annoyance lingering in his voice as he secured the bridles of the horse.
'I just don't want any more folks to die, Dutch,' Hosea said, almost pleading.
Arthur eyed the both of them cautiously. Since the whole Blackwater business, the strain of the relationship between Dutch and Hosea had grown substantially. It was not often they went too long without quarrelling for one reason or another, but now it was constant.
'We're living, Hosea. We're living...' Dutch noted, in his usual way of trying to placate the situation, 'look at me, we're living... even you.'
Arthur tightened the last of the reins, reaching into the saddlebag for the last carrot he had. It was dried and withered, much like him, Arthur couldn't help but think to himself. He was still trying to bond with his horse, a strong Tennessee Walker and knew they had a hard ride ahead of them.
The horse nuzzled at his hand, taking the carrot as steam puffed from his nostrils.
'But we need money, everything we have's in Blackwater,' Dutch remarked as Arthur felt like flinching to the name of the southern town.
He couldn't be any further away from it if he tried but he hoped he never had to hear that damn name again.
'You fancy heading back there?' Dutch continued sarcastically.
'No,' Hosea confessed, his old bones visibly shaking underneath his layers, 'Listen, Dutch, I ain't trying to undermine you, I just...' Hosea sighed as Arthur looked on at the exchange feeling sympathy for his mentor. 'I just want to stick to the plan which was to lie low, then head back out west.' Hosea's voice rose slightly towards the end, frustrated and tired. They all were.
'Now suddenly,' he continued, 'we're about to rob a train.'
Dutch was firm and even underneath the brim of his black hat, Arthur could see his thick dark eyebrows furrowing.
'What choice have we got?' He said calmly, but firm. Firmer than Arthur liked.
'Leviticus Cornwall's no joke, Dutch, he's -' Hosea tried to push.
Arthur was growing tired at this point, he wanted to just get the job done. To try and claw back from this shit.
'Who is Leviticus Cornwall?' Arthur barked, having heard the name before but with no damn idea as to why they were chasing after him.
'He's a big railway magnate, sugar dealer, oilman -' Hosea informed before he was interrupted.
'Well, how good for him.' Dutch quipped, always rash to comment on the rich man, 'sounds like he has more than enough to share.'
Hosea called 'Dutch!' in protest but as usual, their leader was having none of it.
'Gentlemen! It is time to make something of ourselves!' he called out to the camp, marching into the centre.
The rest of the gang scurried out from every corner of the snow-covered ghost town, guns in hands with no question, they all leapt to the back of their horses. Arthur, too, mounted his new stead, as did Dutch whose horse, an impressive white beast, could hardly be differentiated from the snow that surrounded them.
'Get your horses ready!' Dutch yelled, 'we have a train to rob.'
The ride was long and arduous, even during the initial descent, Arthur could see the horses struggling and he knew now why Dutch had sent Bill Williamson ahead on Brown Jack. He was a huge brute of a creature, as was the mount.
By the time the snow started to scatter across the mountains, Arthur's nose was bit with frost and regardless of the fur-lined gloves he wore on his hands, they were dry and chapped. They ached numbly as he clutched the bridle of the horse.
Moving into formation down a steep ravine, Arthur could hear the breath of both steads and gang members.
'There's the water tower,' Dutch called behind him as the horses settled into a canter, 'hold up here on the ridge.'
They all stopped on the edge of a cliff, looking down at the train tracks and trees beneath them. It was a good spot.
Arthur moved down with the instruction of Dutch, checking on Bill. A man not known for his brains; Arthur assisted him with the explosives. Once all was in place and Arthur returned to the rocky plateau Dutch prepped the rest of the gang with his typical confidence.
The air had a winter stillness to it as a light breeze caressed through the barren land. Masking themselves with their bandanas, Arthur gripped the reins of the horse, feeling the cold leather in his palm.
He was an outlaw, a bandit, a thief, a liar and a cheat. With no shame, this was the life that not only had been chosen for him but one that he fully embraced. He couldn't help but recall Hosea's warning. Dutch had never been one to take ample risk for a blind reward and Blackwater aside he had never been wrong.
Regardless, Arthur always grew wary before each job. Almost as though he could already hear the cacophony of bullets whilst a swirling uncertainty built about whether he would see tomorrow.
They didn't have to wait for very long and as the sun started to dip behind the mountains on the horizon, Arthur heard the chugging of the train's wheels.
'Gentlemen,' Dutch said in a calm and determined tone, 'it's time.'
The train steamed forward around the corner, coming into their eye-line as it left a trail of thick black smoke above it. Bill – who was hopefully only visible to the gang – scampered to their level as the train passed the bundle of sticks that were nestled underneath the tracks.
Arthur took a deep breath waiting for the screech of metal and the barrage of broken tracks.
Yet nothing happened. No boom, no fire, nothing.
Arthur glared at Dutch from the corner of his eye. He knew somehow Bill would sure as shit mess this up one way or another.
'You have got to be kidding me!' Dutch yelled, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers.
'Where did you find that moron,' Arthur grunted. This was not the first time Bill had fucked up.
Dutch was mad, that was plain to see, 'you said it was fine-'
'So, it's my fault?' Arthur snarled back and he threw himself off of his horse.
Muttering the odd insult or two under his breath in the direction of Dutch, Arthur ran and ran hard.
He followed Javier and Lenny back through the ravine which led to the tracks behind them.
He pushed through the cold and saw the train. Perhaps it was not too late.
All three men leapt onto the top of the train, the momentum and solid metal knocking the wind out of them. Arthur's knee slammed into the carriage roof, sending a shot of pain up his leg as his body sprawled out. Holding onto the metal vents, he looked up with his breath fogging through the bandana he wrapped around his face. He saw Javiar fall from the carriage as his figure got smaller and smaller whilst the train continued. He seemed unhurt as the Mexican staggered to his feet, but one man down would not help their favours.
'Hey, down here!' Arthur heard Lenny call, looking around he couldn't see the young man. Pushing himself up, his knee twinged as he made his way to the other side of the carriage. Groaning, as Lenny continued to yell, he crouched down offering his hand out.
'I've got you. Now stop yelling,' Arthur moaned, pulling his friend up, 'you're okay... now let's go slow this thing down.'
They both fumbled to their feet, trying to get balanced on the moving locomotion. Running ahead and dropping between the two carriages, Arthur cursed himself silently at his foolishness for not landing properly. He was gonna feel that damn bruise for a while.
Lenny led the charge, as he quickly and quietly ran up to the man in the coach, striking him hard with his pistol on the side of the head.
The man fell, barely making a sound as they pushed forward.
'Come on, we need to stop this train,' Arthur commanded, desperate to get today over and done with already.
'There's another guard up ahead, want me to take him?' Lenny asked, crouching down by the archway of the carriage.
Without saying anything, Arthur raised his pistol, shot and the man went down. One less Pinkerton bastard to worry about.
Even before the man fell from the flatcar, Arthur had already seen another. The man ran from the carriage opposite, rifle in hand. He was quick, but not as quick as Arthur Morgan. Another bullet sent the Pinkerton down before he could even cock his firearm.
Lenny followed close behind, firing shots to Arthur's right as men popped out from behind doors, seats and barrels. Not that it mattered where they hid. It always played out the same, the fools of the private law desperate to take the outlaw's head. It made them eager and sloppy. Arthur was too damn stubborn to be taken out by these morons in tweed jackets.
'You won't make it out alive!' One shouted before Arthur put a bullet in his gut.
Lenny took out two more, with no words exchanged between the two men. Lenny may be young, Arthur thought, but he learnt damn quick that this was a job.
Pushing through the cargo rear, it didn't take long to drop the last few men who stood in their way.
'You alright?' Arthur called behind him, as he did a sweep of the last cargo car.
'Yeah, I'm good,' Lenny retorted, a slight shake in his voice. 'What the hell was Bill doing? He had long enough to set that charge!'
Arthur couldn't help but hmph to himself as he pulled himself up onto the last car whilst the heat from the steam hit his face. They were at the front of the train now, only a few more bullets and this damn job could be done with.
'Well,' Arthur yelled to be heard over the chug of the train's engine, shooting another assailant within the blink of an eye. 'I hooked up the wire,' bang, another one down, 'but we won't mention that!'
Laying waste to the last of Cornwall's men, he ran past the boiler towards the front cab.
'If we don't stop this train soon, the other boys'll never catch us!' Lenny cried out above the ever-growing noise.
Arthur barely heard him or registered what he said. The only thing he knew was the hard smack of metal that landed straight into his face. His ears rang and his eye went black for a second as he tried to grip onto something.
He felt the arm wrap around his throat, the stench of burnt coal filled his nostrils, mixing with the blood. Then, the anger took him.
'You got him?' Lenny shouted, 'I ain't got a clear shot!'
Arthur could hear the panic in the young man's voice and he threw his elbow into the mass behind him. He did it again, and again, and again, enough until he could create some leverage to loosen the grip and turn around.
He managed to get a turn on the man, whoever the hell he was, as Arthur wrapped his hand tightly around his throat. It was clear that he wasn't one of Cornwell's men and just an engineer but God did he want to choke the life from him.
Over his bandana, he saw the flash of panic on this man's soot-covered face. Hell with him, Arthur thought to himself as he landed a fist squarely on the man's nose, followed by another few quick punches, settling the train engineer off balance. Arthur took one final swing before pushing the man off of the side of the train.
The mixture of the freezing fog around him fought with the heat of the open coal fire in the engine. Familiar enough with the structure of steam trains after several robberies, the outlaw reached for the emergency brake lever, heaving it forward as the screeching commenced. The train slowly halted with sparks flying up either side as Arthur's breath fogged under the cloth that covered his nose and mouth.
Finally stopping the weight of the metal beast, he could hear the yells coming closer. Jumping from the front cab, he rolled behind a boulder, taking a second to gather himself.
They came from everywhere like rats, behind trees and on top of the carriages. Fuck.
Omitting his pistol, he pulled his carbine repeater from his shoulder, withdrawing the spring assembly he replaced the cartridge in the butt plate. Slamming it back into place, he listened for a moment, aware that any second wasted was a second that could land a bullet in his skull.
There were more men than he thought.
'Shit, more guards coming out of that train car!' He yelled. As to whether Lenny heard him was another matter.
Aiming the repeater, he squeezed the trigger, first at the man on the top of the carriage, then the one that had just taken point on the flatcar behind the timber. Both fell with little effort. Five bullets left; Arthur noted to himself.
'There better be some money at the end of this!' He heard Lenny cry out. At least the kid was still alive.
Bullets cut through the winter air from both directions. With any luck, he wouldn't be hit by a poorly aimed stray.
Arthur ducked back behind the boulder, taking note of the men he had seen. One directly in front of him mimicking Arthur's defence and one was on the ridge a little further away. Praying his aim stayed true, he came out from cover. One headshot took out his closest assailant. He tried to aim for the man on the ridge but between the trees and the setting sun, it was hard to get the quick precision he required.
Retreated down, he saw Lenny shuffle back behind the front of the train.
'All these bastards must be guarding something,' Arthur called out, adjusting the stock in his shoulder.
Peering back out, he could see Cornwell's men running around for cover, if it was a lack of ability or to confuse the pair he could not say. Over his shoulder, he could hear the shots from Lenny's gun and a few distance thuds of a successful shot.
'We need the car at the back, right?' Lenny said between shots, over the gunfire.
'Yep, keep pushing on 'em,' was all Arthur replied as he fired twice more, sending another man down.
Changing his cartridge once more, the exchange continued. Duck, shoot, duck. Over and over until he could push forward, getting clearer aim on the more distant of the aggressors.
He left the snow-covered boulder, pushing forward as the leaves crunched beneath his weight. A shot here, a shot there, enough to cover a good amount of ground.
'Damn, he's got an army! Who is this guy?' Lenny crept up behind him, as they both took point, finishing off the last that they saw. They were well-armed, he gave them that, but they were just crooks and thankfully not the same way Arthur was. The more men the better, Arthur couldn't help but think. If there were men, there was gold. Maybe it wasn't too late to claw the money back that they had lost in Blackwater after all.
'Where the hell are the others?' Arthur was mad, damn mad. He was good but bullets only lasted so long and even though he and Lenny had picked off their fair share, it was getting hot.
Yells and swears between the two parties continued as they pushed on down the side of the train, trying to pick off as many as they could.
'Oh shit!' his younger companion shouted, 'they're coming outta that last car!'
Arthur had already seen them, squeezing the trigger a few more times, another two fell.
'We're gonna get out of this,' the last thing he needed was Lenny starting to panic and do something foolish. He needed the boy to focus.
'Oh, I know we are.'
Good, Arthur thought, they had enough fuck ups for one day, didn't need any more.
'Hey! There's the other boys!' Lenny called, as he pushed his hat out from his eyes.
Then the carnage happened. The low light was not doing any favours but Cornwall's men were surrounded. Steam, fog, bullets and plenty of 'fucks' were all around them. The firefight continued as Arthur and Lenny held their ground.
Using any tree or rock he could find, Arthur would take cover, fire some shots, change the cartridge, run forward, and take cover.
'Alright!' He heard Dutch yell down below by the train, 'finish those sons of bitches!'
About damn time.
'I can now see why the O'Driscolls brought so many boys up here for this,' Lenny panted bedsides, Arthur, as they ran forward towards the rest of the gang.
'You two alright?' Dutch nodded towards the men.
'Yes, let's get the money and go,' Arthur gruffed. Pissed off, cold and sore, they finished off the last of the men making their way to the end coach.
'We got some fellas holed up in this car,' Dutch pointed with his pistol. 'What are you boys planning on doing in there?'
The gang charged forward, bandanas and guns adorned, they surrounded the carriage allowing Dutch, as always, to take the lead.
'Listen to me, we don't want to kill any of ya... any more of ya.' He chuckled. Dutch and his damn showmanship. Even after all the shit, they've been through the past few hours and he still wanted a performance.
'I give you my word, but trust me...' the older man taunted, pacing by the door, 'we will.'
'I work for Leviticus Cornwell!' a muffled voice yelled from behind the steel tomb. 'We got our orders!'
'Okay,' the gang leader yelled back, 'you asked for it. Five! -'
'We ain't opening this door!'
'Four...'
The rest of the men raised their weapons. Arthur could feel the ache returning to his knee whilst his ears started to bite from the winter night air.
'Three, two, one,' turning, Dutch faced the rest of the men, 'seems our friends have gone deaf. Wake 'em up a little!'
Obeying, Arthur started to fire at the coach with the rest of the men. The streaks of gold flashed before him as metal met metal. Glass from the lights smashed into the air as the deafening, tinny sounds ricocheted in Arthur's ears.
'We ain't coming out!'
He barely heard them over the gunfire as the firearms continued to unleash a reign of bullets on the car.
'That's enough!' Dutch signalled, holding up a hand to the gang.
'Mr Williamson, give Mr Morgan and Mr Smith some dynamite... you two boys go blow that door open.'
The air became hauntingly still, a stark contrast from a second before as Arthur reached towards Bill, snatching the red sticks from his hand. Approaching the carriage door with Charles, Dutch continued to antagonise the trapped men inside.
'Now don't matter too much to us, but you boys in there...'
Arthur and Charles lit the sticks simultaneously, sticking the dynamite to the metal as the fuse started to spark and hiss immediately. Retreating to the group, it didn't take long for the explosion. Ripping into the side of the car, smoking and bursting into the night the metal peeled back whilst the ground shook.
'Alright, come on...' Dutch began, however, it didn't take long for the men to appear, arms in the air in surrender. 'Just walk outta there,' Dutch signalled, as three men appeared whilst Bill took the duty of beginning to bind the men.
'We don't want to kill you, we just want to rob your boss,' Dutch reassured them whilst Bill worked his way through them, tying their hands behind their back.
Micah, Lenny and Arthur climbed into the carriage on the orders of the Dutch to search the place and find what they came here for.
'Look at this place, it's like a palace!' Lenny exclaimed. He weren't wrong either. Chandeliers, carved wooden panels, fine crystal lamps. Damn, it really was like some fancy estate room.
'Now I've seen everything,' Arthur said, almost awestruck. Composing himself, he turned to the two men beside him. 'You two got the safe? I'll search the rest.'
He had gold on his mind, but looking around the indulgently decorated car, there was enough money to find outside of the safe.
'Oh yes, should be easy as the rest,' Micah charmed in with his usual sarcastic drawl. 'You're just gonna stand there kid, pour me some Brandy.'
Arthur shot Micah a look, not that it ever made a damn bit of difference.
'Shut up, me and Arthur did all the work,' Lenny retorted.
Exhausted from the day enough as it was, Arthur ignored the bickering and began to rummage around. He didn't get very far before he noticed a letter on one of the many side tables.
'Yeah... kid did good. Didn't see you rushing to jump on that train,' he called back over to Micah. The man was a fool, always wanting the glory for none of the work. Why Dutch even let him stick around, especially after Blackwater, was beyond Arthur.
However, Arthur's focus shifted, he read the handwritten letter.
Dear Mr Cornwall,
We are yet to receive payment of $2,000 for the initial phase of exploration at the Waipit Indian Reservation. Ambarino, as agreed in the contract between Cornwall Kerosene & Tar and the Leland Oil Development Company, dated November 8th 1898.
On receipt of the funds, we will proceed with phases two and three of the project and present you with a detailed report of our findings within the month.
Yours respectfully,
James Critchly
Head of Accounts
Leland Oil Development Company.
Well, more rich people after what ain't theirs. Hardly a surprise if Arthur was honest but two thousand dollars was a hell of a lot of cash. Either way, this wasn't what he came for, but made a mental note of it just in case.
Micah attempted to pry open the safe doing little to hide his incompetency and frustration, Arthur made way to the drawing desk at the back of the cab.
'Shit,' Michah grumbled, 'just a pile of patterns.'
'Bonds?' Lenny asked back.
'Nah, don't think so.'
Arthur continued to search through the draws, some expensive cigars, a gold pocket watch, a few dollar notes but nothing quite in the way of gold bricks.
Moving over to the bookcases at the back, he noticed the cabinets at the bottom. Searching each one in turn it wasn't long before he found a leather-bound, padlocked box. Reaching for his knife he jimmied the latch.
There they were, a stack of bonds. Goldmine, Arthur thought as he tucked him into the coat pocket.
'Think I got 'em,' he called back to the men at the other end of the carriage.
'Well thank God,' Michah commented, as all three of them left the train.
Arthur could feel his knee swell, another aggravation he didn't need tonight.
'What did you find?' Dutch asked him as he left the cab. Arthur pulled the papers from the inside of his coat, handing them over.
'These, bonds. They worth anything?' He asked. Arthur knew exactly how much they could be worth; it wasn't his first rodeo after all but always liked to give Dutch the satisfaction of announcing the winnings.
'Oh, sure,' Dutch nodded, his tartan bandana slipping down his nose slightly, 'bearer bonds. I think we could probably sell these pretty easily. Well done.'
Arthur removed his hat and ran his gloved hand through his hair, least Dutch would be happy. They could go back to camp, have a celebratory drink and sleep off all the shit that today had thrown at them.
'Now, would you get rid of all of this?' Dutch asked, adjusting the tartan bandana on his face.
'The train?' Arthur retorted back, knowing damn well it was an instruction and not a question.
'Yeah, get it out of here.'
Arthur wasn't sure whether he should laugh, shake his head, or knock some sense into the man. Dutch made it seem as simple as pouring rancid soup into the bushes. Same old Dutch, he figured to himself as he turned to the bound men.
'What about them?' Arthur asked, gesturing as the men looked at each other in fear.
'Well, what do you think?' Dutch said.
'I don't know,' was all that Arthur could say. After all, even though they were Cornwall scum, they didn't even attempt to defend themselves, unless of course you counted cowering behind some metal doors.
'It's up to you,' Dutch said with a small chuckle, 'Kill 'em, leave 'em... take 'em with you on the train, just make sure they don't send no folks after us.'
Departing back to his horse, Dutch waved his hand dismissively.
'When you get back, we'll be moving on,' the gang leader nodded at Arthur, 'the rest of you, let's ride!'
With that, the dozens of hooves kicked into the frosted ground, and Arthur pulled his pistol from its holster. He pointed it at the men, with all the intent of shooting them and making sure they weren't followed. There had been enough fuck ups today and even though killing them would sure as shit eliminated those worries, Arthur saw little need in wasting the bullets.
'Okay, get on the train,' he called towards the trio. He was pretty sure even in the twilight he saw the distinctive wet patch of piss on one of the man's pants. 'Quick, all of you,' he flicked his gun towards the hole they blew open not an hour previously.
The men stood, slowly at first until Arthur stepped forward, making it clear he was in no mood to fuck around.
'Any bright ideas, I'll kill all three of you... so behave,' he snarled, as the last of them hopped into the car.
'We won't tell a soul, I swear!' One called, his voice shaking and teeth chattering from both fear and cold alike.
'Move!' Arthur yelled as they scurried away from whichever corner they were dragged out from.
Making his way back to the front of the train, he kept an eye out over his shoulder, just to make sure none of the men became too foolhardy and thought it was a good idea to run. Stepping over the bodies of all the Pinkertons he and the gang had laid to waste, he stepped up to the engine and pushed off the emergency brake.
It didn't take long for the train to start again, as the fires billowed up, and the slow mechanical chug jolted at the wheels.
Whistling for his horse, Arthur the Tennessee Walker appeared from the treeline, and with one last look over his shoulder to make sure the men did indeed behave themselves, he set off back to Colter.