Horseshoe Overlook, February 1899
Their new campsite was a damn sight better than the last. The snow had melted, as the fresh, sweet spring scent had made itself known.
Arthur had woken up later than he imagined himself to. The sun was only just rising softly across the ridges of New Hanover, illuminating the Niobrara river below them, and he wanted to drum up some business and fast.
As he drank the last of his burnt coffee, he rose from his camper bed, marching over to the wagon. It was hardly a surprise to find Uncle there, asleep and no doubt still drunk from the night before. The elderly annoyance was known for his bullshit, and Arthur wondered what stories the old fool would spin as soon as he awoke. Not that it was likely to be any time soon.
With one swift kick through the marigolds, Arthur landed his boot into the man's outstretched thigh.
A short, quick yelp erupted from the geriatric as Arthur laughed to himself.
'Careful not to work yourself to death there, Uncle.' He commented, tipping his hat.
'I was thinking,' the old man protested, and he stood as well as he could. Arthur had seen lambs rise right after being born quicker than whatever tomfoolery Uncle was doing.
'Mm,' Arthur sneered, gesturing at the man, 'does it pay well?'
Arthur was never totally sure whether he despised the man, was merely irritated by him, or found him amusing. He provided entertainment, but even that was a stretch. He was sure Dutch felt some odd sense of tolerance towards him that kept him around. For the life of him, Arthur couldn't figure out why.
'Eventually,' the man grumbled, rubbing the side of his head.
Arthur patted his shoulder, not too affectionately either, as he guided him away from the wagon.
'So,' Arthur began, his thumb hooked into his leather belt, 'while the rest of us were busy, stealing, killing, lying… fighting to try to survive…' he walked the man, not entirely sure whether he was to slap some sense into Uncle but he wanted to prove a point either way. 'You get to think all day.'
He could see the squirm in the older man's eyes and felt his shoulders tense underneath his hand. Good.
'It's a strange world we live in, Arthur Morgan.' He chimed, with his absurdly southern Ohio accent.
Arthur had enough of antagonising the man, who seemed to play along far too damn well to his antics. Besides, the outlaw was in a chipper mood for a change. He had the taste for dollar bills on his tongue and knew that ruffling the old goat wasn't gonna line his pockets.
'Do you want to head into town, see if we can find anything out?'
'Sure, I got some errands to run,' the old man nodded, his unkempt beard catching in the light breeze.
'Great, go check the horses are ready.' Arthur pointed over to the hitching post.
Uncle, in his most predictable fashion, stomped and huffed, shook his head, and made all sorts of incoherent refusals. Not that Arthur gave a damn as he dug into his pockets for his pack of smokes.
Uncle skulked off to do something of worth with his time, Arthur lit his cigarette, breathing in the smoke along with the floral morning air.
'If you're gonna take an old man into town,' one girl called. From underneath the brim of his hat, he looked up and he saw Karen standing there, breasts almost falling out of her corset and hands firmly on her hips. Not like he expected anything else from her. 'Could you take us too?'
She made a meagre attempt to cover herself up with a long jacket that looked a lot like Bills, as Arthur narrowed his eyes at her in the sun.
'Why? What you got planned?' He was suspicious but figured no harm in it after all. He propped his foot onto the rock beside him, resting his elbows on his knee as he took another drag.
'Nothing. We'll find something for y'all to do, we always do.' She retorted, swaddling over to him.
She weren't wrong. The girls knew their parts and always played them well. They were valuable assets to the gang and could go places that none of the men could.
Mary-Beth, a sweet looking young thing with chestnut curls hand in hand with Tilly, a black girl and the largest brown eyes Arthur had ever seen, sauntered over. They trailed behind Karen, who, aside from the formidable Ms Grimshaw, took herself to be the ringleader of their little group.
'We're bored out of our minds,' Mary-Beth pleaded, pouting at Arthur, 'been cooped up here for two weeks now! Karen's about ready to murder Grimshaw.'
That sounded about right. The two were impossible to control. Women with strong minds, barking at each other like rabid hounds, mostly. He'd known quieter saloons.
Not wanting to get into that entire argument, he took another drag from his cigarette, stepping off of the rock.
'Well, can Ms Grimshaw spare you?' The last thing he needed was that woman coming after him. Arthur had never taken much to authority, but damn, that woman could make a man's blood run cold with a half-stare.
'"Can Ms Grimshaw spare you?"' Karen mimicked, as all the girls looked at him with disdain as though he threatened to take their favourite doll away. 'What's happened to you, Arthur?' She continued, her blonde curls bobbing around her portly cheeks.
'Three young healthy women want you to take 'em robbing, you're worried about house chores?' Karen went on, waving her hands around, 'Let's go!' She said with all the patience that was expected of her whilst Mary-Beth and Tilly giggled arm in arm.
Thick as damn thieves this lot, Arthur thought to himself, but she weren't wrong. He was hardly one for gallantry, anyway.
'Fair enough,' he chucked 'you got me. 'Come on then.' He beckoned to the wagon as the women squealed between them. If anything, it'd at least give Ms Susan Grimshaw a break from Karen's constant bickering for a few hours.
As the girls piled into the wagon, Arthur heaved himself up next to Uncle, taking the reins of the Welsh Cob that gave a small grunt of annoyance as it disturbed him from the patch of grass it had nestled its muzzle in.
The ride itself into Valentine was a pleasant one. The sun was higher in the morning sky now and the girls sang, laughed and giggled with one another whilst Arthur and Uncle joined in here and there. He was by far from a soft touch, but there was nothing quite like the sound of women singing and laughing.
His high spirits continued from the moment he rose, even stopping for some time to help an unfortunate man whose horse was spooked and run off into the plains. It took little effort on Arthur's part, but the man was pleased enough to give him a pack of premium cigarettes. He accepted them gladly and with a welcome cheer for the girls in the back, they made their way into Valentine.
Valentine was a small muddy town, which Arthur had seen the likes of many times before, even if it was slightly more refined than most. Wet and sodden, Arthur forced his boots through the mud, trudging with every step. If there was one thing that he hated more than the cold, it was the goddamn mud.
Much like most of the other towns in the Midwest, it was lively for its lack of commerce. The odd sheep farmer, herding them through the streets, men drunk by noon whilst the women and children sold bread at the side of the street. If you could call it that. The place was covered in mud and shit, but hell, that was most places Arthur ended up.
He hitched up the wagon in the stables, and Arthur leapt from the side and helped the girls out one by one.
'Uncle, what're we doing?' Arthur commented to the drunken geriatric.
'Well,' he began, awkwardly stepping off of the wagon, 'we're gonna do what any self-respecting maniac does and put the women to work!'
Karen looked far too eager at his remark.
'With pleasure. We'll start at the saloon,' she laughed as the women sashayed off into the mud, leaving Arthur and Uncle to partake in whatever business they chose.
The outlaw, who was there for an obvious reason, made his way first to the sheriffs, picking up any bounties he could, but as he scratched his chin at the board, there was nothing worth taking a bullet over. The gunsmith had little in terms of wears that Arthur didn't already have or couldn't steal from elsewhere. It seemed there wasn't much else for him to look at and not wanting to disturb the girls in the saloon. He did the only reasonable thing and found a perch next to Uncle. Of course, the fool already had a bottle of open whiskey in his hand.
After some usually unwarranted life stories from Uncle and more than a few mouthfuls of whiskey, all the excitement caught up with Arthur as his eyes sagged whilst he stretched his legs out before him. The day was warming up and if he just closed his eyes for a second…
'Gentlemen! I think I've got something good,' Mary-Beth screeched in hushed tones, slightly kicking at Arthurs's ankle. He dragged his fingers across his eyelids, pinching the bridge of his nose, and he took a deep breath in, willing himself to focus.
He sat up a little better, and shifting his weight on the bench, Mary-Beth leapt into a story about some fancy house, some sister, some train.
He blinked up at her, her silvery voice recanted the information, clearly excited about whatever she had learnt.
'Train full of rich tourists, heading to Saint Denis, and then cruising off to Brazil.' She said with bright eyes, as her golden brown curls bounced around her face.
'Okay,' Arthur nodded, certainly paying more attention than he was a full minute ago, as even Uncle seemed to perk up.
'A train laden with baggage and passing through a bit of deserted country at night,' Mary-Beth gestured dramatically, 'as to get to the docks in time for the tides, in someplace called Scarlett Meadows.' She almost squealed with excitement and Arthur, too, felt the same optimism he'd been tasting all day.
'Yeah, I know it,' Uncle commented, somewhat helpfully, whilst Arthur scratched at his chin with his thumb. 'Yeah, yeah, it's right out over near New Hanover. Right, it's real quiet out there.' He continued, sounding a lot soberer than Arthur knew him to be.
'Sounds good.' Arthur nodded as he felt a small bead of sweat drip down his temple from underneath his hat. 'Where's Tilly and Karen?'
Arthur felt satisfied with what Mary-Beth had found. He saw little need to stay around the shit hole that was Valentine. He thought it was best to round up the girls and get back before Ms Grimshaw had his guts for garters.
'I think at the hotel,' Mary-Beth chimed as she shrugged slightly, fiddling with her shawl. 'They were picking up some drunken fellers that they were gonna rob.'
'Why?' Arthur shot back, standing. This wasn't a day for robbing a few cents off some drunk invalids and he certainly didn't want the attention they would no doubt land themselves in.
Mary-Beth chewed at the corner of her mouth, picking at her fingernail as Arthur looked around, hoping to catch sight of either one of the girls.
'I guess I'll go see if there's any trouble,' he said with a sigh.
He weren't wrong either. After rescuing both the girls from two shit excuses for men, one who thought it was proper to slap Karen around so badly she was already bruised and bleeding on her face, Arthur felt they all had enough adventure for the day.
As if that wasn't enough, after rounding up them up and herding them into the wagon for departure, some moron in a suit thought it was appropriate to mention how he recognised Arthur from Blackwater.
After a small chase on horseback, a slight roughening up, Arthur decided it was best to let the man live. The man, a Jimmy Brookes, gave the outlaw a shitty pen for his troubles but at least Arthur wouldn't be hung by supper time for murder. At least, not for that one, anyway.
Once Arthur had arrived back at camp, he couldn't shake the feeling that perhaps letting that Jimmy Brookes live was the wisest decision he had made this week. The deed was done now and the idea of tracking him down to shoot him in the back seemed more trouble than it was worth. Nodding to both Bill and Charles, who stood guard in the trees on the lookout, Arthur marched back into camp whilst his horse, Montague, turned to face him with a soft neigh.
With a small chuckle, Arthur fished for an oatcake in his satchel and the horse nuzzled and slobbered into his hand. He brushed his mane softly and smiled at the beast. 'There, boy,' he said affectionately.
Arthur glanced around camp, not forgetting the information that Mary-Beth had gathered earlier that morning. It was perfect, almost too perfect.
He didn't know much about Scarlett Meadows, having spent most of his time west, but he was sure it wouldn't be too difficult to get the lay of the land. Once his horse had contented himself, he made his way over to Uncle, sure that he would be halfway to the moon on whiskey.
'Uncle, come here,' he beckoned with the tilt of his head, using his knuckle to push his hat out from his eyes.
'What is it now, Arthur?' the old goat drawled, staggering in his usual manner.
'What's this Scarlett Meadows then? You said you knew it?' Arthur questioned, placing his boot on the wooden stool by the table. Hosea sat on the other side, reading the newspaper.
'Hmm, well…' Uncle slurred, rubbing his purple nose. 'Lot of rich folks that way. Big southern houses.' He nodded enthusiastically to himself.
'Hosea?' Arthur questioned, in need of a more reliable source of information.
Hosea folded the newspaper twice and the gang elder placed it on the wooden table, shrugging slightly.
'Uncle is correct. You've got the Grays and the Braithwaites, two families who've been in the area for generations and fighting amongst themselves for just as long.' Hosea said, placing a cigarette between his thin lips.
'The Gray family earn their wealth from tobacco and cotton,' he continued, tapping lightly on the table, 'the Braithwaites, old slave owners and since all that, have taken to moonshine.'
Arthur took a toothpick from his pocket, placed it in his mouth, and worked the cedar around his teeth.
'Sound like a fine bunch,' Arthur commented sarcastically, squinting his eyes in the late afternoon sun. 'Sounds like a lot of money, too.'
Hosea nodded slowly, lighting his smoke.
'Indeed. There's a few other notables, Edwards & Co, not that I know a great deal about them aside from their lumbar production. But, well, that's mostly up to the north, anyway.'
Arthur twisted his mouth and removed his boot from the stool, still feeling that damn bruise on his knee from the Cornwall train.
'At least if the train doesn't turn up much,' he commented, chewing at the pick in his mouth, 'seems like there's enough to keep us busy.'
'Spoken wisely,' Hosea noted, bringing the coffee tin to his lined lips. 'I believe Mary-Beth has already spoken to Dutch, who I imagine wants to get on that train as soon as possible.'
'Sounds about right,' Arthur grumbled as strode over to his cot, sat down and wrestled with his boots. Another twinge as his knee spasmed.
He really was getting too damn old for this shit.