We are switching to Hosea's perspective for a bit to catch up with the rest of the gang! This chapter turned out way longer than I expected, and I really hope I hit all the points the way I wanted to!

Chapter 12: The Letter

The air in the South entered the lungs thick as soup. It was the opposite of the mountains in winter, where the air was so cold it burned. Here, Hosea wondered if he was getting any air at all, or just drowning slowly while he still wandered around working. And yet he kept needing to drink water, because he didn't stop sweating from the second he woke up each morning until well into the night.

Once the initial panic died down after seeing Dutch and Javier ride back into camp with a bleeding Strauss, shortly followed by John's return and the hasty move down to Clemens Point, Hosea felt the anger creeping up his body towards his vocal chords. "What the hell are we doing down here, Dutch?" he asked that first night, angry about Dutch's carelessness, reminding the younger man that Hosea himself had warned against robbing Leviticus Cornwall. But as usual these days, Dutch brushed him off, saying that they would lie low. Then Dutch invited him to go fishing, just the two of them like it was in the beginning, only to have the day end with chasing down a bunch of escaped criminals and meeting Josiah Trelawny. Hosea got the task of galloping after a train with Deputy Archibald behind while Dutch got the easy job of trying to to talk Josiah out of the prisoner transport. It made some sense, since the Count barely tolerated anyone on his back even when Dutch was the one in charge, but it led to an awkward moment when it became clear that Deputy Archibald had no intentions of jumping onto the train himself. Neither did Hosea. His days of leaping from horseback were long over, as the cracks and pains in his joints loved to remind him daily. In the end, they managed to ride to the front of the train and signal to the driver to stop, and Hosea was able to demonstrate his rather impressive lasso skills. At least, Archibald seemed impressed, and Hosea received a minor rundown of the town of Rhodes as they delivered Anders Anderson back to the jail. As a bonus, Trelawny got to walk free, and revealed the talk of bounty hunters looking for them all over.

Great. Just what they needed, more trouble.

Then, when they finally managed to get on a boat and go fishing, Hosea tried to bring up Arthur. He knew from Strauss about their argument over the Downes debt, and that Arthur had refused to return to camp. Dutch downright refused to talk about their son other than to call him disloyal. The fishing trip ended early and poorly, both men giving the other the silent treatment.

Dutch's dismissal of Arthur only increased Hosea's own worry. He didn't know how to contact his son to make sure he was alright. While he was certain that Arthur would have left town as soon as the shooting started, he couldn't stop the gnawing in his gut. He hoped that Arthur would start sending letters out to try to find them, at the very least. While he supported Arthur's decision to leave the gang, he didn't want to lose contact entirely.

He could try writing to Arthur, too. If Arthur went back to the mountain cabin he had been living in, perhaps he would check Emerald Ranch or Annesburg for mail. No doubt Arthur would be looking for clues on the gang's location as well. But that had to wait, because it appeared as though Mrs. Adler was about to kill the camp cook.

"Say whatever you damn well please but I tell you, if I don't get out of here soon, I'm going to kill somebody!" Mrs. Adler said, holding the knife that was previously chopping vegetables at Mr. Pearson.

"And if you don't stop hissing at me, I'm gonna kill you!" Mr. Pearson said, turning around with the meat cleaver in his own fist.

"Come near me, sailor, and I will slice you up!" And that was when Hosea decided it was time to intervene.

"Now, let's not go stabbing people just yet!" he said, getting between them and tossing the few fish he and Dutch managed to catch on the table.

Mrs. Adler threw down the knife and said, "I ain't chopping vegetables for a living!"

"Well, what is it you want to do?" Hosea tried asking, but Sadie Adler turned away, emotions bubbling at the surface. "Why don't we get you out of camp for a bit? Mr. Pearson, do you need anything from the store?"

"Sure, here's my list. And can you post this letter for me while you're there?"

"Of course."

Mrs. Adler knew what she was doing with the horses, at least. She had their two Belgian Drafts hitched to the wagon in almost record time, and they were off towards town. "So I've graduated from chopping vegetables to shopping?" she asked.

"No, this is an excuse to get you out of camp for a chat," Hosea started. "Now, I know it hasn't been an easy couple of months, but I have to ask. What are you still doing with this bunch of misfits?"

"Don't really got no where else to go," she said.

"Well, you are always welcome with us. Dutch is never one to turn away folks, so long as they do their share. Though, some of the men could use a reminder of that."

"I'll work, Mr. Matthews, but I won't take orders from that sweating halfwit!"

"So, what can you do then?"

"Look, my husband and I… we shared the work. I worked in the fields, I can hunt, use a gun."

"Maybe we can take a trip early tomorrow morning, see if we can bring down some game. You prove to me that you know how to handle it, then we can start switching up the chores." Hosea turned the wagon out of the woods and up the way to Rhodes.

"Where's that letter?" Mrs. Adler suddenly asked.

"You reading his mail now?"

"Oh, robbing and killing's okay but letter-reading's where we draw the line?" That got a chuckle out of Hosea as Mrs. Adler removed Pearson's letter from the satchel. "Dear Aunt Cathy," she read, dropping her voice low in a bad imitation of their cook. "I haven't heard from you in some time, so I prayed to the Lord above that your health has not deteriorated further." Mrs. Adler fortunately recognized the more private section of the letter, her voice returning to normal. "Blah blah blah, it's boring. Oh! Wait a sec, listen to this. Since we last corresponded, I have traveled widely, making no small name for myself. Before you ask, I am still yet to take a wife, but I can assure you it's not for a lack of suitors." They both shared that laugh. "He ever actually even talked to a woman he ain't paid for?"

"Look, we're all hiding behind something," Hosea said.

"And what's this? Return to Tacitus Kilgore."

"That is Dutch's idea. All mail to be sent to the same alias. Herr Strauss usually tells the nearest post office to start expecting mail for a Tacitus Kilgore, but I think I'll go ahead and open that up while we are in town."

They pulled up outside the general store, and Mrs. Adler immediately went, "So, what's the plan? I shoot the shopkeeper while you-"

"No, are you crazy?" When did she even grab his pistol from his holster?

"I thought we was outlaws!" she said.

"Outlaws, not idiots! We only rob those who deserve robbing, not ordinary people trying to get by." Well, usually. "So, you head on in there and pay for what's on this list, alright? I'm going to the post office."

Unlike Valentine, where the road was more river than dirt, the dust in Rhodes created red clouds that followed him wherever he walked. The sun beat down on the town, and from what he heard from Archibald earlier, the town was in desperate need of rain.

People kept glancing at him as he passed by, eyes full of suspicion. Some small towns were welcoming to new folk, but this clearly wasn't one of those towns. Archibald explained the feud between the Grays and the Braithwaites, two old plantation owners fighting over gold. Dutch wanted to check out both sides to see if there was any truth in it, with Dutch himself working with the Gray family and Hosea going to the Braithwaites. It was as if the townsfolk knew it, too, waiting with bated breath to see which side of the town they would fall on.

Hosea entered the post office and signaled to the worker. "Yes, can I help you?" the man said.

"I need to post this letter," Hosea said. "Also, I just arrived in town, so I wanted to let you know that you might start receiving mail for Tacitus Kilgore."

"Oh, I was wondering who that was!" the worker said, turning and rummaging through a bin of letters. "I didn't recognize the name, small town you know, so that's one mystery solved. Here you are."

Arthur, Hosea thought, but the envelop he received did not bear his son's handwriting. In the back of his mind, it did look familiar, but there was no return address. That made him suspicious. Had the law figured out their methods?

"Thank you," he said to the man, and slipped the letter in his pocket for later. He quickly made his way back across the street to Mrs. Adler, who stood confidently directing the store clerk in loading their wagon. She had bought new clothes too, wearing black pants, a yellow shirt, and a new hat. A revolver sat on her new gun belt, too, looking like it always belonged there.

"You ready?" Hosea said, and she climbed onto the wagon with him. "Why don't you drive, Mrs. Adler?"

"You know, I would prefer Sadie," she said.

"Alright then. You get everything?"

"I think so."

"You liking the new clothes?"

"Yeah, I do."

The sun was setting low, and they really needed to get back soon. But the soft sound of hooves hitting the dirt echoed behind them, and Hosea realized they were being followed by two men on horseback. Sadie noticed too, flicking the reins and getting a the horses up to a fast trot. Too late. One of the men called out, "Hey there," and pulled his horse up next to their wagon. "What are you folks up to?"

"Just heading home," Hosea said, and that was when the second rider pulled up on the opposite side.

"You're in Lemoyne Raider country. You need to pay a toll to pass through here."

Oh great, another gang. "No, I don't think so," Hosea said, while Sadie tensed next to him.

"You don't think so?" the Lemoyne Raider said. "Well how about you pull over right now?"

"Hey, how's about this?" Sadie said, pulling out her new revolver. Before Hosea could stop her, she shot the Raider that had been talking. As Sadie pushed the horses faster to get away from the other Raiders, that were now emerging from the trees and fields to surround their wagon. Hosea turned and fired at them, downing a few before Mrs. Adler pulled the horses to a stop near some rocks they could use as cover.

From there, they made quick work of the remaining outlaws. Hosea was impressed by Sadie's gun skills, but less so about her lack of restraint. "We really shouldn't be stirring up trouble this close to camp," he told her when the shooting died down.

"What, were we supposed to let them rob us?"

"I suppose not."

"You gonna tell Dutch."

"No," he said. "But I don't think I have to worry about your ability to handle yourself. I'll let the others know that you will do some hunting and protecting. Now, I'm not encouraging joining the outlaw life and getting a bounty on your head, but if you ever do…" He trailed off, but the invitation to join jobs, small ones at first, was clear.

"Thank you," she said, and she drove them back to camp. They delivered the goods to Mr. Pearson, who ribbed Sadie on her choice of pants. But unlike before, Sadie was relaxed when she responded to him, so at least the trip into town had done its job of keeping Sadie Adler from killing to camp cook.

In the excitement, he forgot about the letter until the next morning when he dug through his satchel for him herbs he meant to turn into a tonic. His fingers shook slightly as he slid the letter out, partially from nerves and partially from the cough that continued to plague him months after they got off the mountains.

Dear Mr. Kilgore,

We do not know each other, but I have become friends with a someone you know, Arthur Morgan. I am sorry to have to tell you, but Mr. Morgan was hurt badly recently. The doctor here in Saint Denis is uncertain about his recovery.

Arthur hasn't told me much about his friends, but he has been asking for a Hosea. If you know him, could you please let him know and encourage him to visit. I believe it will help Arthur greatly. I live across from the barber shop above S.E. HELLAR FLORAL ARTIST, second floor, apartment 2.

Sincerely,

Albert Mason

Hosea's heart almost stopped reading the letter, sweating more, and not from the heat. Arthur was hurt! And possibly dying, if he was reading the words correctly and not simply jumping to the worst conclusion. At least he knew where he recognized the handwriting now. This Albert Mason had written to Arthur once before, and Hosea had delivered the letter.

He didn't stop to think. He simply saddled Silver Dollar and rode to the train station, ignoring all the people who wished him a good morning and Dutch calling out that they needed to make plans.

Fortunately, a train to Saint Denis was due within the hour, because he didn't trust himself to make the ride to the unfamiliar city when his hands were already shaking. But it was an anxious hour as his imagination continued to fill him with dread. When was the letter written? Has Arthur gotten better, or worse? The train's arrival didn't help, and Hosea sat quiet, staring blankly out the window and wringing his hands as the hills turned to swamps and then into the smog filled air of the city.

It had to be bad, whatever happened to Arthur, if it brought him here of all places.

After the train pulled into the station, Hosea quickly unloaded Silver Dollar from the livestock car. He asked for directions and learned that the florist and barber shop were on the other side of town, and carefully directed his horse around the many carriages and pedestrians. It took some searching, but Hosea finally noticed the red and white striped pole, and the florist across from it. His heart pounded faster and faster when he found the stairs up to the second floor, found the door marked number two. A deep breath in, then out, and he knocked.

"Just a moment," the muffled voice called out from behind the door, and it opened a few inches. "Can I help you?" a man with a dark brown beard asked.

"I hope so." His voice lacked its usual confidence. "Are you Mr. Mason? I received this letter for Tacitus Kilgore… I'm Hosea."

"Oh," Albert said. "Oh! Come in, come in!" Albert Mason appeared just as nervous as Hosea himself, but opened the door to a cluttered living room, full of camera equipment, drying prints, and very few pieces of furniture. "I'm glad Mr. Kilgore was able to contact you. I'm sorry I wasn't about to say much about Arthur in the letter. It's been a stressful week."

"Is Arthur here? Is he alright?"

"He's here," said Albert. "He's… not great, I suppose. But he's getting better." Albert led Hosea to the bedroom. On the bed, laying unconscious and unmoving on a mountain of pillows, was Arthur! His face seemed like on giant bruise, starting to yellow at the edges. His left shoulder was wrapped and immobilized in bandages, his right leg splinted and raised up on another set of pillows. Hosea choked out a sob at the sight, moving to the chair at Arthur's bedside in two steps.

"Oh, my boy… Arthur," Hosea started, his hands clutching at his son's right hand, the only part of him Hosea could see that wasn't hurt. "Who did this?"

"I take it you are… familiar with Arthur's problems with the law." Hosea nodded, so Albert continued. "We were in Valentine when a shootout started, and Arthur got hit trying to help get people to safety. But then these lawmen, called themselves Pinkertons, showed up, recognized Arthur, and…" he trailed off, gesturing to the bruises, but Hosea got the idea. They tortured Arthur, his own son, for information. And the only reason they caught him was because of a stupid decision Dutch made.

But he could be furious at Dutch later, preferably when Dutch was in front of him so he could shout at him. Right now, Arthur was important. Hosea placed a hand over his forehead, felt the slight heat radiating off the skin. "How long as he had a fever?"

"For a while. It was worse. The bullet wound was infected by the time we got down here. He wouldn't wake up for three days." The fatigue and stress were visible, swirling in Albert's eyes. "The doctor is confident now that he will survive and recover, but he isn't sure if there will be lingering damage in his shoulder and leg."

"But he has been awake?"

"Yes, but he can't stay awake for very long. Why don't I make you some coffee, or tea, and we can talk."

Hosea said, "Yes, thank you," and Albert left him alone with Arthur while he heated water in the kitchen. A bucket of water and damp cloth sat on the bedside table, so he wrung it out and placed it over Arthur's forehead. Arthur let out a tiny groan and shifted under him. "Arthur?" Hosea called, soft and gentle.

The blue-green eyes cracked open slightly and blinked slowly, taking several seconds to focus on his face. "'sea?" His voice was dry, raspy, and quiet, but it was the best thing Hosea could have heard in that moment.

"Hey son. You're going to be just fine, you hear me?"

"How'd you find me?"

"Your friend Albert found me. You told him to write to our alias, and he did."

But that didn't get the response he expected. Instead of clearing up the confusion, Arthur began to panic. His eyes darted around the room, searching for some unknown danger. "Who else?" he asked.

"Who else what?"

"Who did I tell? Did I tell them?" He started coughing, and Hosea grabbed a nearby water glass and lifted it to his lips.

"Arthur, it's alright. It's just me and your friend Albert here."

Fortunately, Albert chose that moment to return with two mugs in his hand, and seemed to recognize what was happening. "Arthur, you're alright. You didn't tell those agents anything. You only told me about your friend Tacitus."

"You sure?" Arthur asked.

"Yes, I'm sure. Just relax."

Several seconds passed while Arthur considered Albert's assurances, and finally the tension started to leave his face. "Everyone okay?" he asked Hosea.

"Yes, everyone is fine, though a little shaken I suppose. We found a new campsite, near a town called Rhodes. It's at-"

"No," Arthur said suddenly. "Don't tell me."

"Arthur?"

"If I don't know, I can't tell anyone… if…" Arthur struggled with the words to explain, but Hosea was starting to understand. Those Pinkerton agents likely wasted a lot of time asking for information that Arthur couldn't give, but the fear was there that if he had known, something might have unintentionally slipped out.

"Alright. But we get our mail in Rhodes now, so you know where to write letters."

"Okay," Arthur said, blinking heavily, starting to fall asleep again.

Albert cut in quickly. "Do you need anything? Food? Water?"

"I'm fine," Arthur said, sinking deeper into the pillows.

"Alright, just try to relax." And Arthur was sound asleep within minutes.

Hosea and Albert sat awkwardly, both watching the steady rise and fall of Arthur's chest. Hosea broke the silence first and said, "There is no Mr. Kilgore, by the way. It's an alias that the gang shares."

Albert let out a small chuckle. "Well, that explains some things. He always seemed confused when I asked about Mr. Kilgore. At least he was able to tell me to send letters to multiple post offices, since he didn't know where you had gone."

"I take it you helped him escape the Pinkertons. How?"

"It wasn't just me," Albert explained. "When those agents dragged him away, it was the first time I really found out that he was… well… an outlaw. I'll admit it was a little confusing. This agent named Milton was showing me bounty posters and demanding to know how I knew Arthur, telling me about all the crimes that the gang that just shot up the town had done. But Arthur hadn't been involved at all in Valentine, and I kept telling him that. Turns out I wasn't the only one who felt that way. Half the town did as well. Apparently Arthur had helped a family there out of debt, the Downes. And everyone saw him run into the road to save a child, that's when he was shot! The Sheriff was the one who approached me. He knew what the agents were doing to him but he couldn't get them to stop. He was also grateful had kept a secret for him, he didn't really explain what that meant. But he came up with most of the plan. A homeless man named Mickey kept watch for us. Some big fellow, Tommy, carried Arthur to a stagecoach, we all pitched in and paid off the driver. The Sheriff and Tommy were going to make it look like Arthur escaped, though I'm not really sure what they did. Even the stable owner helped. He got Arthur's horses on a train to Saint Denis that came through just before we got him out."

"Thank you," Hosea said, reaching towards Arthur's hand and giving it a squeeze.

"I have to ask," Albert said. "Those crimes they are accusing him of… is it true? Is he a member of the Van der Linde gang?"

"Yes, he was," Hosea said. "I've known Arthur for twenty years. Back then it was just me and Dutch van der Linde, scamming rich folks and giving money back to the poor. We liked to imagine ourselves as the Robin Hoods of the West! Arthur was just a teenager when we took him in. But things change, of course. The gang grew larger, we took more risks. At the end of the day, we are still criminals with bounties on our heads, but I think Arthur wants to do better than that now. I want better for Arthur."

They drank their coffee next to Arthur for some time, two people who knew nothing about each other except for the one connection right in front of them. "Arthur told me you are a photographer," Hosea said.

"Yes. A wildlife photographer, at least I hope to be. Arthur has helped me get quite a few shots. And stopped me from get eaten by wolves, on one occasion." Albert jumped up and grabbed a print from the living room, showing Hosea the snarling wolves that had almost made him into dinner. Albert shared the photographs and stories from his few meetings with Arthur, and the two were soon laughing and smiling. Hosea told Albert a few funny moments from life in the gang.

The man himself woke up a few more times, much more relaxed than the first time, but still exhausted and hurting. Hosea ended up spending the night on a cot set up in Arthur's room while Albert slept on the sofa. But the next morning, Hosea knew he needed to return to the gang before anyone began worrying about him, especially since he didn't tell anyone where he was going when he left. While he was reluctant to leave Arthur so soon, seeing him alive and awake had been reassuring.

Carefully hugging Arthur before he left, Hosea said, "I'm going to write to you here. And you better write back! And rest! Don't go pushing yourself and making yourself worse."

"Of course, Hosea," Arthur said.

Albert walked Hosea to the door. "Thank you, Mr. Mason, for taking care of him. Most men wouldn't have risked it."

"It wasn't just me," Albert said. "But I'm glad to have helped. I haven't known Arthur for long, but he has become a rather dear friend."

"Take care, Mr. Mason."

Hosea mounted Silver Dollar and started the journey back to Clemens Point, giving the apartment above the florist one last glance. He decided not to take the train back, instead riding past the tobacco fields owned by the Grays and contemplating just what he was going to say to Dutch.

All too soon, he was trotting down the wooded trail headed towards their camp. "Who's there?" he heard Charles call out.

"Just Hosea," he replied.

"Good, you're back. Dutch was getting worried."

The others in camp greeted him when he dismounted Silver Dollar, the horse happy to be back in a field of grass and not the cobblestone city streets.

Dutch was sitting outside his tent talking to Micah of all people. "There you are, Hosea! I was about to send out a search party. Were you able to find out anything about the Braithwaites?"

"I haven't gone yet. Listen, Dutch, we need to talk-"

"Well what were you doing all day and night then, old man," Micah said, and Hosea had to fight the urge to just smack the smirk off his face.

He decided to ignore Micah instead. "Dutch, you and I need to talk, alone." Something in his tone definitely reached Dutch, and he sent Micah away and invited Hosea inside his tent.

"What's going on, old girl?" Dutch asked.

"It's about Arthur," Hosea began, but that didn't go well.

"I told you before, I am not talking about him!"

"Dutch-"

"If he wants to run off on his own, that's up to him!"

"Dutch! Listen to me!" Hosea shouted, but then took a deep breath. "Listen. Arthur got picked up by Pinkertons after we left Valentine. One of them was Agent Milton!"

"What? How do you know?"

"He escaped, with some help. But he's hurt bad, Dutch. They tortured him, tried to get him to give up our location."

"And? Did he?"

"Is that all you care about? Of course he didn't, he couldn't! It's not like we discussed where we would go next."

"And how do you know?" Dutch asked.

Hosea didn't think it was a good idea to give Dutch information about Albert Mason, so he said, "Arthur wrote letters to the post offices around the area. I found the one in Rhodes the other day, and I went to see him."

Dutch stood up and began pacing the tent. "This, this is why he should have come back to the gang, Hosea! It isn't simply a family, it is also protection! We are stronger together-"

"Oh, don't you turn this into another one of your speeches, Dutch van der Linde. It is your fault he was found in the first place! I know you saw him when you went to Valentine with Strauss. Did you know he got shot trying to help folks get safe when you decided the best escape plan was to push a damn wagon down the main street? They grabbed him because you were being careless!"

Dutch glared at Hosea, cold and steady. "It is not my fault that boy decided to play hero instead of getting the hell out of town like he should have!"

"Well, I for one am glad Arthur still has an ounce of decency left in him after all you've made him do for your plans!"

"Where is he?" Dutch asked, but Hosea turned away, ready to walk out of the tent. Dutch grabbed his shoulder. "Where is he, Hosea?"

"I'm not telling you. I won't have him wrapped up in any of your plans right now. If Arthur ever wants to come back, that has to be his choice! He's hurt, Dutch. He almost died! But he's safe right now, and I'm going to make sure he stays that way!"

Hosea shoved past Dutch and out of the tent, and saw the rest of the gang hastily duck back to their chores and conversations. Hosea had no doubt that they had heard at least some of what went down.

Perhaps their time was ending. But he would be damned if he didn't help his family survive.