Arthur went back to camp and told Dutch and Hosea alone what had happened. They were the only ones who'd ever known about Isaac and Eliza. He told Dutch that he knew he'd always said revenge was a luxury they couldn't afford, but that he had to do this. He had to find the men who'd killed them, whatever it took, but that he'd be back, hopefully within a few weeks' time.

Dutch said that he wasn't without sympathy, that having a child pass before your own time was a hell of a thing, for anyone. But that it probably made it easier for him that he could hardly count himself the boy's father. And she weren't his darling neither. That if he could bring himself to think about the big picture, this would probably turn out a good thing. That as it stood he'd been spending too much time enjoying domestic bliss, that it was beginning to make him soft. That he'd see, it would all turn out all right in the end.

And that was the last they ever spoke about it.

Arthur dedicated himself to tracking down the Cartwright brothers. After about a week of paying people for information, he tracked down the first one.

Arthur entered the saloon and quietly took a seat at a table. Scanning the room, his eyes landed on a loud, boisterous drunk making a godawful scene of himself at the bar. Thinking this was his man, Arthur quietly took out his wanted sign to make a comparison. Having confirmed it, he decided to let him annoy the men around him for a few more minutes. After he'd surpassed the level of irritating that even Arthur thought there was, he walked up to him and tapped him on the shoulder.

"You Jeb Cartwright?" he asked as the man turned.

"Who's askin'?" he grunted.

With one swift motion Arthur took him by the collar and lifted him off the ground.

When he heard the place go silent and saw a few of the men in the place start to stand from the corner of his eye, he held up a hand.

"Now we ain't gotta have no goddamn bar fight over this slimy maggot," he called out evenly. "If it's all the same to everyone, I'm gonna take the trash out."

He heard the sounds of trickling laughter and hoots and hollers as he quickly dragged Cartwright outside.

"Hey! I weren't finished with that!" Cartwright slurred. "What do you want with me, mister? You know, I can be as bad and as mean as you!"

"Oh, we ain't in the same rank and file, you bastard," Arthur said as he threw him to the ground. He crouched and hogtied him, not that he put up much of a fight.

"Whaddya got against me, mister? Was just havin' a good time!"

"You remember what you were doin' about fifteen days ago?" Arthur said as he hoisted him onto his shoulder and walked towards his horse.

"Fifteen days ago?" he jeered. "Does anybody?"

Arthur pitched him again onto the ground and looked down at him. "The name 'Deer Head Ranch' ring a bell?" He watched as the effects of the liquor quickly ran away from his face, and just like that he was sober. "That's right. All caught up to ya now. It's judgement day, Cartwright." He felt his voice leave him as steely and cutting as a blade.

"No. No," he said trying to scoot backwards. "I don't want nothin' to do with that, all right? Leave me be."

Arthur peered at him and slowly followed. "You mean to tell me you don't enjoy those nightmares, those ghosts hauntin' you at night? Don't enjoy knowin' you took part in the killin' of a woman and her innocent child?"

"Please!"

"Don't relish the sound of the boy's screams as you try to lay your head down at night?"

"He never screamed."

Arthur froze. "What did you just say?"

"He never said a word. Didn't matter what we threatened him with. Never made a sound. Kid was a mute or somethin'."

Arthur's blood boiled in his veins. He took him by the throat and growled, "And you killed him anyway?!"

"Look!" he managed to wheeze. "That job was all my brother's idea. Leroy. And we parted ways several days ago. Butted heads so bad we couldn't stand to be round each other no more. Each went off on our own. Honest!"

"All right," Arthur said throwing him down. "Where is he?"

"Couldn't say," he coughed.

"Oh, you're gonna tell me. And I'll find him. After I'm through with you," he said tying the rope to his horse.

"No! Please! Let me go!"

"Like a snowflake's got a chance in hell, you're gettin' loose," he said as he mounted his horse. "Say your prayers now, Cartwright!" he called back. "It's gonna be a long, bumpy road."

Arthur dragged Jeb Cartwright for hours, choosing to ride over the thorniest, rockiest, filthiest paths, all while the lowlife wailed in agony and horror.

When the sun had come up, Arthur finally pulled to a stop. "Goddamn, quit your BITCHIN'!" he thundered as he jumped down from his horse. He knelt by Cartwright and turned him over to see he'd lost parts of his eyelids, nose, lips, and a few teeth; and his face looked like raw butchered meat. "You ready to talk?" Arthur said.

Cartwright garbled almost unintelligibly, "I hope you die early and slow."

"Naw, if you haven't guessed, that's your fate, you sick bastard, if you don't tell me what I wanna know. Now tell me where I can find Leroy." When he didn't answer, Arthur gripped him by the neck and throttled him. "I swear to god, if you don't tell me where he is right now, I will slit you and send you to your grave right here and now, you understand me? Tell me where he is!"

"Told you I don't know."

Arthur pulled out his knife and held it to his throat. "Well tell me what you do know!"

"We parted ways up at Hennessy Creek," he struggled to say through his chapped, bloody mouth. "He'd been talkin' 'bout makin' his way up north, towards the Dakotas and such. Said he'd heard tell the natives up there were dumb as rocks and easy pickins."

"All right. How fast does he move?"

"Doubt he's found himself all the way up there yet."

Arthur nodded.

"Mister," Cartwright began, "I don't know who you are, or what they were to you, but I'm real sorry. It never should've happened. You've cut me up bad enough, I'll have to go through life lookin' like this. Just let me go, all right?"

Arthur was hit by the memory of a scene in Eliza's kitchen, on one of his brief visits a few years ago, when Isaac was no older than a year, and still in his crib.

.

From his perspective at the table he could see her thin form and light, dirty blonde hair as she worked a lump of dough at the counter, humming to herself with her honey-sweet voice. She was wearing a light blue frock with tiny flowers all over it, and the pale blue satin ribbon in her hair that he liked so well.

He got up, walked over, and stood next to her, turning and leaning back against the counter. He tried to kiss her, but she grinned and dodged him a few times. Finally he slung his arm around her thin waste and yanked her to him, planting a firm kiss on her mouth. Initially she resisted, but he felt her relax against him as she pulled his hat off his head and dropped it to the floor.

After a few seconds, she pulled away again. "Arthur, stop it," she said between kisses. Finally she tore a hunk of bread from a loaf she'd finished earlier and stuffed it in his mouth.

He garbled as she successfully broke away. "Mm," he munched. "Ain't bad. Here, try it," he smiled as he pulled her back and kissed her again.

She gave a breathy laugh through her nose as her mouth met his. "Enough, will you let me alone? I need to finish this."

He watched as she turned to the counter and pressed the heels of her hands into the dough, over and again, with streaks of flour on her forehead and chin. He reached out and took one of her hands, succeeding in snagging her attention.

"Sometimes I think, it would've been mighty nice if I could've felt Isaac move when he was itty bitty, in your belly and all."

She stopped and slowly looked up at him.

He continued, "Think it'd been mighty nice for you too, if I could've been here for you. I've never said this to you, but, uh… I'm…I'm real sorry I wasn't here with you at all while you were pregnant."

She smiled, her eyes filling, and nodded. "Thank you. That means an awful lot to me." She sniffed. "I'm just thankful you're here, now." She struggled to return to her task, but wasn't very successful.

"Do—" he cleared his throat. "Do you ever think back on that night?"

She looked up at him. He saw that her green eyes were momentarily sagged at the corners. She looked down, and her chin quivered ever so slightly. She swallowed and nodded as she looked back up, piecing together a bright grin as she said, "How could I forget? You followed me around the place like a little lost puppy until it was time for me to go home."

He chuckled at the memory.

She smiled. "We were a hot mess, weren't we?"

"Well," he said with a wry grin, his tone shifting to a playful one. "You don't have to recreate it so well every time I come round."

She eyed him with a smirk. "You forget, Arthur Morgan. I was a good girl before I met you."

"Yeah, but…" he said turning and lifting her onto the counter. He smiled wide as he said, "What does it pay to be good?"

She smiled down at him and wrapped her legs around him and he brought his hands up to her bum. She threw her arms over his shoulders, crossing them behind his head, and sighed as they kissed.

.

Arthur cringed at the memory. He had succeeded in nothing but dragging her down with him—a bright young woman with nothing but promises of a full life ahead of her. And every time he came round to sip from her sweet cup, it was bitter for her.

He hadn't seen it before. He could see now in her eyes then that he had begun placing pieces of a weight on her that first night they'd met. Not just the weight of raising Isaac alone, and not just the weight of loving someone who leaves. But the weight of loving someone who won't give you his love, and won't leave you alone.

Arthur looked at the thug, bloody on the ground, and his own eyes glazed as he whispered to himself, "What does it pay to be good?"

He gritted his teeth, and with one fluid motion brought his knife deep across Cartwright's neck, slicing him and sending his blood pouring out of him.