Some of the dialogue is pulled straight from camp conversations. I am so glad that other people record this stuff and upload it, because I never stick around camp long enough to hear any of it!

Also, warning for Micah being his usual, racist self.

Chapter 7: The Cliff

Merlin and The Count did not get along.

When Arthur rode in on his new horse, with Dakota trailing behind, Dutch's stallion pinned his ears and tried to charge, with poor Kieran Duffy almost getting run down when he tried to get between them. Merlin reared up, almost dumping Arthur in the dirt, but he was able to get the horse under control.

"Where did you get that horse, Arthur?" Dutch asked, walking over to save Kieran from the unruly Arabian.

"Caught him out in the Heartlands," Arthur replied.

"Well, you might have to keep him at the stables, I suppose," Dutch said, trying to calm The Count. "Or geld him, if he causes problems with the other stallions."

Arthur chose not to point out that The Count had charged Merlin, not the other way around, and that so far the other horses didn't seem to have a problem with Merlin. In fact, The Count had led to most of the stallions being gelded, with the exception of Silver Dollar and Baylock. Dutch refused to admit that maybe it was his horse's problem and not the other way around. Sighing, he hitched his new horse next to Dakota, trusting the mare to keep the peace as The Count bared his teeth at Merlin.

"I see your afternoon was worthwhile," said Hosea, admiring Merlin. Karen, Tilly, and Mary-Beth also came over. At first, Arthur worried that Merlin would become nervous, but the smart Missouri Fox Trotter looked to the relaxed Dakota and stayed calm, too.

"What a horse, Arthur! He's almost out of a fairy tale!" Mary Beth said.

"Think you'd be willing to take me into town on that horse? I bet he's a nice ride," Karen said.

"Yeah, he's pretty great! Smoothest trot of any horse I've ever ridden," said Arthur.

While the camp fawned over Arthur's newest horse, the man himself went looking for John Marston. Things had been… awkward, to say the least. Arthur was still angry at John for ditching the gang and his family for over a year. Though, maybe angry wasn't the right word for it anymore. Disappointed? It wasn't any better than angry, at the end of the day. He didn't know how to tell John just how lucky he was to have a family in the first place, when that could so easily taken from him.

John was sitting on the edge of camp. He looked up from a map of New Hanover and Lemoyne as Arthur approached, and Arthur could see some areas around Scarlet Meadows marked. "How's it going?" John asked.

"Good," Arthur said. "I think I've gotten a good look at the oil wagons that come out of the Cornwall refinery. They seem to run every day. I might hit one tomorrow, hide it near the stable over that way. You?"

"I'm trying to come up with a plan on where to hit the train. I have a few possible spots picked out." John pointed to the road crossings on the map. "I'm thinking here. There's a curve just ahead, but it should give the conductor enough time to spot us and stop. They will have to slow to take the turn in the first place."

"Good thinking. Glad to see you are finally using that brain of yours!"

"Shut up, Arthur."

Normally, that would have been the end of it. Arthur would have just clapped John on the shoulder and gone to talk to someone else. But he knew that Hosea wanted him to try to repair their broken friendship. And whatever changed happened in Arthur made him realize that he missed his brother.

"So… how are things? With you and Abigail, I mean."

John stared at Arthur, eyes narrowing. "Why?"

"Just asking, Marston. Don't mean to start something."

"Well, alright then," John sighed. Arthur pulled two beers out of his satchel and opened them, handing one to John. When was the last time he had a drink with his brother, anyway? Hosea was right. It was probably time to start letting go of the past and move forward, even though the hurt feelings still remained. "It's been hard," John admitted. "She keeps nagging on me to help, and then other days she doesn't want anything to do with me."

Arthur nodded, thinking about how the couple and his own feelings towards John. "She probably wants you involved, she's just worried. She doesn't want to get her hopes up that you'll stick around."

John took another swig of beer, staring off towards Abigail's tent. "We are always arguing now. I just don't know what she wants. She seems to want to be a couple, but I don't ever remember Hosea and Bessie or Dutch and Annabelle being like us."

"Sure, Bessie and Hosea were a good couple. Never seemed to fight, though they disagreed on a whole lot of stuff. But Dutch and Annabelle? Oh, they fought all the time!"

"Really?"

"Well, they mellowed out a little by the time we picked you up, but when Annabelle first joined us? They went at it constantly. Wait, excuse me," Arthur stood up, trying to match Dutch's voice and wild gestures with his arms. "'It's not fighting, son, it's called debating!'"

John laughed, leaning forward onto his elbows and almost dropping his beer bottle. Arthur laughed too, but kept glancing at Dutch's tent to make sure the man hadn't heard them. Still, it felt good to share a joke with John.

"They loved each other, though," Arthur said, feeling a little melancholy over their lost gang member. He nodded towards the large tent, where muffled yet angry voices often bled through the fabric. "It's different with Molly."

They sat quiet for a while, drinking their beer and staring off the edge of of Horseshoe Overlook. Then, John said, "You think we'll get out of this?"

"I don't know. Seems like we are running out of luck."

They might have said more, but Abigail came over. "Can I speak to John? Alone?" she asked Arthur.

"Sure," he said, getting up and heading towards his tent. "I'll let you know about that wagon tomorrow."

Early the next morning, Arthur saddled Merlin and took him on his first robbery. The stallion seemed excited to run across the the plains into the Heartlands, bouncing in short strides before Arthur gave him more rein and let him speed up. Merlin was probably one of the fastest horse Arthur had ever ridden. Soon, they were standing on the overlook near the road, waiting for the oil wagon Arthur could see approaching in the distance.

"Hold on, boy." Arthur gave the horse a few pats and then fed him a carrot. When the wagon reached the ambush spot, Arthur pulled up his bandanna and drew his revolver. "You there! Stop!" The lone driver moved to grab his rifle, but froze when Arthur continued. "One more move and I'll put a bullet in your skull!"

He hopped off Merlin, still keeping the revolver leveled at the man's head. "Now then, get off the wagon, nice and slow."

"Sure, sure, mister, just don't shoot. I have a family." Fortunately for the driver, he chose not to do anything stupid. Arthur hopped into the seat and drove off, whistling for Merlin to follow.

"Well done, boy!" he said. Arthur parked the wagon near an old, broken stone structure at Scarlett Meadows. He decided to do some hunting before calling it a day. Tracking deer out in the plains was easy, and it wasn't long before one was strapped to Merlin's back and he was riding back to camp.

"Mr. Pearson! Got you some meat for the stew," he called over to the food tent. Pearson emerged, smile wide as he took in the deer.

"Thank you, Mr. Morgan. We've been running low. And that deer has a rather nice pelt. You mind skinning it?"

"Sure."

"I might be able to make something out of that. Maybe a new satchel? I still have the bison pelt that you and Mr. Smith brought me. I think I just need a rabbit to hold it all together, if you can get me one."

John wandered over from the table. Before he could ask, Arthur said, "I got your wagon parked over in Scarlett Meadows."

"It went alright?"

"Just fine!"

"Good. I double checked in town today. The train is due through in two nights." Arthur kept skinning the deer, and John stood awkwardly. As the older man finished up, John said, "You should come drink with us after you're done."

Arthur looked up and saw Sean, Lenny, and Javier drinking and laughing. Normally he didn't partake. He always believed he had to keep working, since he couldn't count on the rest of the camp to pull their weight. But he was tired of being the work horse! As soon as he was done, he joined the others at the table.

"Hey Arthur!" the chorus sounded around the table.

"Glad to see yah joinin' us for once," Sean said.

"How have you boys been?" Arthur asked. "Where's Bill and Charles?"

"Charles is getting off watch soon. Bill went into town," Javier said.

"He better not get himself into another fight, especially without us to back him up."

"I suppose I can ride into town later and check the Sheriff's office for him," Javier laughed.

Arthur felt himself relax, getting to actually talk with the gang and hang around camp. He looked around. Mary-Beth and Tilly were talking about the book they shared between them. Susan yelled at Uncle to do work. On a sadder note, he saw Abigail talking with Mrs. Adler, the two of them sitting on a rock. Abigail pressed a handkerchief into Mrs. Adler's hands. Then, his eyes drifted to Strauss's tent, where the man was talking with Dutch, and Arthur frowned when Dutch glanced up at Arthur with narrowed eyes. But then Sean spilled half his bottle, causing a roar of laughter, and the moment ended.

"You not drinking, Lenny? Still recovering from last time?" said Arthur.

"I would, but I'm going on guard duty in a few minutes. Got to keep a clear head for it, especially if this lot is going to get drunk! Actually, I should probably get my rifle," Lenny said. He slid out of the seat and walked to his tent.

Arthur then noticed Kieran wandering between the tents, fast with his head down, lugging a hay bale for the horses. "Hey Kieran, come join us!" Arthur shouted.

"You are inviting the O'Driscoll?" John said. Kieran opened his mouth, probably to refute the statement, then thought better of it.

"He did save my life. And he's good with the horses. Basically one of us now." Arthur waved to Kieran, and he wandered over, taking the empty chair Lenny had just vacated.

"Hello," Kieran said awkwardly. John and Javier kept glancing between Arthur and Kieran, wondering what had possessed the older man to invite an O'Driscoll to drink with them. Arthur wasn't having it, pushing a bottle of whiskey in Kieran's direction.

"So, how are you liking camp now that you aren't tied to a tree?" When Kieran didn't reply, he continued, "It's okay. Bill isn't in camp, so you don't gotta worry about those gelding tongs." He swayed slightly in his chair. The liquor was starting to get to him a little.

"Camp's alright," Kieran said, gripping the whiskey bottle hard. Right then, even with the alcohol clouding his head, Arthur wondered whether or not he could protect that boy. He really was a good kid, just trying to make his way in the world and stay alive. Then, Kieran said, "You know, I've been wondering. If it's alright. How did you all meet Dutch?"

The four of them glanced between each other, wondering who would go first. "I'll start," Arthur said. "I was fourteen, almost fifteen really. Tried to pickpocket Dutch, but he saw me and grabbed me before I could get away. Thought I was done for. But then he brought me back to camp, gave me a hot meal, which I really needed at that moment. After a few days, he and Hosea invited me to join them. Been with him ever since."

Then Sean said, "Alright, me next." He stood up, arms raised and ready for a show. "The first time I met Dutch, was him with Hosea, and I thought to myself, 'What a pair of feckless bastards.' Was up near North Elizabeth, and I was fixated on this pocket watch that Dutch had. Big fancy thing it was. I was a greedy bugger. And hungry too, I hadn't eaten in three days. So I thought to myself, I'll rob this pair of bastards. So I followed them out of the bar. It was a dark night and I followed them down this alleyway. As I pulled out my gun to threaten them with imminent death, they just stood there laughing at me… I felt like a six year old. Go ahead, they says, shoot us. So I did. "Bang, Bang, Bang!" Sean accentuated the story with his fingers in the shape of a gun. Kieran flinched a little, since the hand was drawn from where Sean's holster sat. "And nothing! The bastards had spotted me at the bar and taken the bullets from my gun. So I stood there laughing, and crying and rather than kill me, they took me and got me some food. And that was that."

Javier spoke up next. "I was trying to steal some chickens and Dutch, well, I met him doing the same. We laughed, he took me in!"

John was last to go, but Arthur knew it was a story he didn't like to tell. Arthur had nightmares about it himself, in the first few months after they picked up John. To see a group of homesteaders stringing up a boy in a tree, pulling him up by the noose, not even hanging him properly (not like a twelve year old boy weighed enough for that to begin with). John was saved from sharing, however, by Micah forcing his way into their group. Though saved wasn't quite the right word…

"What are you boys doing, drinking with an O'Driscoll? Scram!" Micah said. Kieran made to scurry away, to leave the seat open for Micah, but Arthur quickly snatched his arm.

"I invited him," Arthur said to Micah.

"You would drink with this O'Driscoll scum?" Micah scoffed. "Didn't know you were so soft, Morgan."

"I'd rather drink with him than you. If that doesn't tell you what I think of you, Micah, I don't know what will get through to you."

Kieran twisted his wrist, trying to escape Arthur's grasp. "It's okay, I'll go."

"No. I invited you over. I didn't invite him." Arthur and Micah glared at each other, then Lenny walked by with his rifle, and Micah's attention shifted to follow him.

"Oh look here, a boy with a gun going on watch. You know, I shot a lot of folk like you," Micah said to Lenny, walking too close behind him.

"What you mean, 'folk like me?'" Lenny said, turning towards Micah. Really, was Micah the drunk one? Choosing to provoke everyone in camp?

"Oh… you know… cowards," Micah said. A thin attempt to cover what he really thought.

Lenny scoffed, moving to walk away, but Arthur had had enough. He stood up, marched over to Micah, and grabbed him by the throat.

"Whoa, whoa! What is the meaning of this, Morgan?" Micah said, eyes wide, fear creeping into them.

"The fuck did you say to him?" Arthur said.

"What you talking about, Morgan?"

"You don't belong here. I don't know how you conned Dutch into thinking you are one of us, but no one else believes it. I would kill you right now, but I actually give a shit about the gang rules. Unlike you. But if you talk to Lenny, or any of them, like that again? I'll kill you." Arthur's hand tightened on Micah's throat.

"Arthur!" A hand fell roughly on his arm and yanked him away from Micah. "What the hell is wrong with you?" Dutch said. He dragged Arthur away from camp towards the overlook, his rings digging into Arthur's skin. "Why are you attacking Micah? You know better than that!"

Twisting out of his grasp, Arthur turned on Dutch. "You didn't hear what he said to Lenny!"

"And what was that, exactly?"

"Was saying that he shot people like him. Tried to brush it off, but we all know what he means."

"That's it?" Dutch asked.

"What do you mean? Isn't that enough? He doesn't just say shit to Lenny, I've heard him do it to Charles and Javier, too. And Tilly! Why do you even let him stick around, Dutch? He don't belong here!"

"I brought him back here, Arthur. I trust him. Are you doubting me?"

"About Micah? Yes!" He said it before he really realized what word Dutch had chosen.

And it was like he slapped Dutch in the face, the way he reeled back. "After all these years? I don't get it, Arthur. You've changed. I don't know why, but you have!"

As much as Arthur wanted to refute it, Dutch was right. Something about Arthur had changed, and he wasn't entirely sure what. He had always been driven to fulfill a purpose, but it was as if the purpose changed. He didn't want to just make money for the camp and for Dutch anymore. It felt like the kind of change one struggled and suffered for, the kind that got beaten into a man through hardship and pain. But he hadn't gone through anything, he just drank a mysterious liquid and dreamed of a buck and a raven. He hadn't earned the change he felt, and that scared him.

Because Arthur had always been loyal to Dutch and to the gang for years, and he had never stopped to question whether Dutch was loyal to anyone.

"You know what Strauss just said to me?" Dutch continued. "He said that a Mr. Wrobel found him in town, paid off his debt, and thanked him for the extra time in paying it back! Now, why would he do that when you said he already paid his debt?"

"Look, I didn't go to Mr. Wrobel," Arthur admitted. "After I went to the Downes, I just couldn't do it. Strauss lent money to a dying man. He couldn't pay it back, and I wasn't going to beat it out of him! I hadn't gone to Wrobel yet, and after that I just couldn't."

"So, you shorted the gang, is that it?"

"No, never!" Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw Hosea walk over, but he didn't have time to ponder how relived that made him feel. "I put my own money in the box."

But Dutch shook his head, stepping back. "I expect you'll betray me in the end, Arthur. You're the type."

"Excuse me? What is that supposed to mean?"

"You tell me!"

"Dutch," Hosea started.

"That's a strange thing to say," Arthur continued.

Dutch sighed. "I didn't mean it. I'm just tired, I guess." But the voice he used wasn't the soft tone of comfort, rather it was more theatrical, the one he used to placate people just before robbing them blind.

And Arthur wasn't about to let that go. "No, Dutch, you tell me what that means!"

"I don't have time for this!"

"Do you really have a plan, Dutch? A real one, not just harvesting mangoes on some tropical island!"

Dutch stepped forward and shoved Arthur, hard. "I've about had it with you!"

Arthur stumbled a step back, not sure why Hosea's eyes had suddenly gone wide, reaching forward with a shout. Even Dutch, after a moment, seemed to realize something, but Arthur needed a moment to catch up when his foot met nothing but air, and Dutch's and Hosea's faces were replaced with rock.

Arthur yelled in surprise. His hands moved on instinct, reaching towards the cliff side in a desperate attempt the anchor himself. Rock scraped against skin, and just when he feared his life would end at the ground below, his hands caught on some outcrop, his body jerking sharply on his shoulders.

Arthur slowly turned his head up to where he had just been standing. It was a miracle, really, that he managed to stop his fall. Hosea's pale face appeared over the edge, a hand reaching down towards him, lips moving in words Arthur couldn't quite hear. His ears were ringing. Hosea probably wanted Arthur to take his hand, but Arthur wouldn't move. What if his grip wasn't steady enough to reach for Hosea? Or worse, what if he accidentally pulled Hosea over the edge with him?

Then John's face joined Hosea's, and Charles on the other side. John moved back to anchor Hosea, and Charles reached down, too. He didn't move, still worried that shifting even a tiny bit would dislodge him from his precarious hold, but he soon realized he didn't have a choice. And he couldn't deny Hosea's desperate eyes, the way he kept talking and talking even though the words still wouldn't reach Arthur's ears. Slowly, he tested his grip, shifting his hold to the right arm only and swinging his left arm up. Hosea caught it, his firm hand pulling up and taking the majority of Arthur's weight. Confident now that he wouldn't fall, Arthur reached for Charles' hand, and together, the two men pulled Arthur back over the edge.

Hosea hugged Arthur close, and the quick rise and fall of his chest made Arthur realize that he hadn't been breathing this whole time. He forced himself now, pulling air deep into his lungs and out again, and finally all his senses came back to him, both his hearing and the fact that his hands hurt like hell.

"-fuck is wrong with you, Dutch van der Linde!" Hosea shouted. The man stuttered through an almost unintelligible reply, but Hosea didn't wait around for it. He led Arthur to a rock up the hill and sat him down. The gang was beginning to crowd around them, but Susan pushed her way through with a bucket of water and some bandages.

"Here, Mr. Morgan. Let me wrap up your hands," she said, and Arthur looked down at the bloody scrapes covering his palms and fingers. He winced when she poured water over them. Her eyes shifted over to Dutch and Hosea, and Hosea was tearing into Dutch with a ferocity Arthur had never seen.

"You pushed him off a cliff! Our son! You could have killed him!"

"Hosea, I wasn't thinking. I didn't realize where we were standing."

"You brought him over here!"

"Arthur," Dutch said, shouldering past Hosea to stand in front of Arthur. "You know it was an accident, right? You know I would never hurt you, son."

Later, it occurred to Arthur that it was the lack of apology that did it. Dutch never said he was sorry, never begged for forgiveness, just looked Arthur in the eye and expected him to shrug it off like so many things in the past. And Arthur just needed to get away.

Susan finished bandaging his hands, and Arthur stormed to his tent. Dutch followed behind even as he pulled out a bag and began throwing clothes into it.

"Arthur…"

Winter coat, winter gloves.

"Son, listen to me."

A few of his shirts, a change of pants.

"Look at me, right now!"

His pictures, his flower, Boadicea's horseshoe.

"STOP!" Dutch grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. "I would never try to kill you, Arthur. You have to know that."

Arthur shoved the hand off. "No. I don't."

He walked past Dutch, past the whole camp staring after him. He mounted Merlin, whistled for Dakota, and disappeared into the woods.