Warning: this chapter is another reason for the Graphic Depictions of Violence warning tag due to torture and stabbing out someone's eye.

I was surprised when no one commented about Kieran going off fishing by himself after Jack came back...

Chapter 20: An Outlaw's End

"Find anything yet?" Albert asked for the third time in what felt like five minutes.

"No. I said I would tell you as soon as I did," Arthur huffed. He continued searching for any sign of a fox, glancing through the grass for dung, prints, or broken sticks. So far though, there was nothing.

After the Mayor's party, Albert and Arthur made good on their promise to get out of the city for a while. Supposedly a rare albino fox lived near Mattock Pond, and Albert needed a photograph of it. Arthur, happy to travel somewhere that wasn't the swamps, agreed to track to illusive creature. And illusive it remained.

"Maybe we should just lay bait?" asked Albert.

"Naw, if we don't know it's in the area, there's no guarantee it will show. We need to find a trail first."

Albert shifted a little behind Arthur, itching to pull out the camera and set up. Arthur grinned as he examined the ground once again. Dutch was wrong. Albert may be from a city and society, but he was slowly turning into a semi-outdoors man. He even rode Dakota that day, bring Lucy along to carry supplies.

He reminds me of that Mary Gillis.

Arthur wanted to scream. The gallery opened soon, and Albert's purpose in Saint Denis would come to an end. Where would the man want to go next? West, to continue his work? Or back to the comforts of home?

Mary Gillis always ran back home. Then again, Arthur used to do the same. Perhaps he hadn't changed at all, either. Dutch may have faltered, but could he be right? One more job, and the gang would all be safe? Lately, the dream provided some comfort when doubts plagued his mind.

How did he ever believe he could walk away from his family?

"Nothing?" Albert called after him. Arthur realized he hadn't been searching for signs of the fox.

He quickly scanned the ground around him and said, "Yeah, there's nothing here."

"That's too bad. But the day is still young! Anywhere else you think might be good for photographs?"

"There's some bison herds near Valentine," Arthur offered, and Albert perked up for a second. "But they are difficult to get close to. And spook real easy."

"Oh."

Albert started packing up his things, looking first to the north, then back southeast. "Perhaps I should head back to the city. I really didn't plan on going too far, I just thought that if perhaps we could find this fox, it might be a good addition to the gallery showing. Mr. Laurent thinks that one more photograph would really round it out."

But Arthur was not ready to go back to the city. There were many things he could do, that he needed to do! Collect a few more orchids, for one, though Arthur wasn't keen on going into the swamps at the moment. Even doing some fishing would be more enjoyable than going back to the crowded, smog-filled streets.

Then he remembered Theodore Levin and the gunslingers. One lived near Flatneck Station, didn't he? Emmet Granger, that was his name. It wasn't too far of a ride. And as the last gunslinger on his list, maybe Arthur would finally get paid for that ridiculous job.

"I'll meet you back at the apartment later," Arthur told Albert. "There's some place I want to check out."

"Alright." But Al seemed disappointed as he turned Dakota and Lucy down the road.

Is he going to travel west with you?

Arthur shook away Dutch's voice and pushed Merlin into a canter towards Emmet Granger's small pig farm.

The smell of manure assaulted his nose as he approached the farm. Several pigs lazed about in a dirty pen, and an equally filthy man leaned against the fence, watching them. Knowing how his last encounters with these gunslingers ended, minus Black Belle, Arthur cautiously walked forward, eyes trained for a gun.

"Hey, you."

"What do you want?" the man said.

"Howdy. You Granger?"

"That's my name. My occupation too, if you hadn't noticed."

"Weren't always like that though, were it?" Despite his current occupation, Emmet Granger kept a holster and knife on his belt. "You used to be a quick draw guy. You knew Jim 'Boy' Calloway?"

"Used to be is correct, them days are long over." Granger's face, once sinister and deadly, was now wrinkled and tired. His hair line was receding, his mustache had gone gray. "And who might you be?" he asked.

"It don't matter," Arthur said. "I need you to tell me about Jim Boy. Just a quote for a book."

"A book about Jim Boy," Granger said, amused. "Well shit, I can't talk to you now. Look at me! I'm knee deep in hog crap."

"Well, don't mind me. We can talk while you work."

Granger roared with laughter. "I ain't talking and shoveling. Besides, young man like you would get it done in half the time."

"I don't know about that."

"What's to know? You interested in the old days? You shovel this shit, I tell you some stories. You keep your hands clean, I don't give you squat."

Arthur resigned himself to cleaning a pig pen. At least this gunslinger was interested in talking and not killing him.

Or so he thought. Granger said two words about Calloway and began talking about himself. They were the words of a deranged killer, one who enjoyed his work. By the time Arthur got all the manure into the wheelbarrow and dropped it off in the manure pile, he about had it with Granger.

"Okay, I cleaned up your mess. Go on, tell me about Calloway."

"I said I'd tell you stories. I didn't say they'd be about him."

On a normal day, Arthur could brush off disrespect from old idiots like Granger. But this wasn't a normal day. It was supposed to be a fun day with Albert that got cut short. It was supposed to be a good day after a week of bad days and doubts about his future and relationship. "Don't trifle with me, old man. You knew him, just give me something, anything!"

"You making a book you should make it about me!"

"I ain't the one writing the book, I'm just getting interviews. Give me something to say and I'll leave you alone. You owe me that."

"Hey, you be careful. A killer like me, it don't take much to end up on the end of my knife. One time-"

"You know what?" Arthur interrupted him. "I don't think you were anything at all. Just a crazy old man."

"I ain't a killer? Why, you'd already be hog feed if I hadn't made a deal with the federals and got this farm."

"This is your last chance, Mr. Granger. Give me a quote for the book!" He enjoyed seeing Emmet Granger cower under his words.

"Hey, hey, hey. You don't want to hit an old man of peace, no government witness."

Arthur let out a chuckle. "Calloway said you was full of piss but he didn't tell me the half of it."

He walked towards the manure pile, listening to Granger's continued arguments. "I'm itching to drop you, girly. Only you ain't worth my time. I got too much to lose."

"Too much to lose? Well, seeing as I cleaned up this pigsty I figure I'm in my rights to wreck it. Let's see."

Arthur picked up a stick of dynamite from the table, ignoring Granger's continued protests. There's was nothing Granger could say at that point to stop Arthur. He lit the dynamite and stuck it in the manure pile, casually walking behind the tree just before it exploded, manure flying everywhere!

"You just took yourself a regular shit shower, Mr. Granger! Boy, that's real nasty."

"You earned yourself a killing. And I'm going to enjoy it now. Draw. It's going to be the last thing you do."

Arthur found taking Granger seriously difficult while the man was covered in shit, but as Granger's hand went for his knife, the situation became serious. Arthur drew quickly, firing multiple shots into the old gunslinger's chest, only realizing later how close he came to death when the throwing knife fell from Granger's limp hand.

"Shit," he muttered, barely remembering to take a picture of Emmet's face for the book before quickly vacating the area. He eventually stopped on top of a hill in the middle of the Heartlands, writing a journal entry while Merlin grazed in the distance. Weeks ago, Jim 'Boy' Calloway, drunken fool that he was, said something right. The living keep suffering.

The five gunslingers, supposedly once friends, drifted apart. Some turned to the government for help, some ran. Had they ever considered themselves a family? Sat around a campfire at night promising each other of a better future?

In the distance, Arthur could see a campfire and another large group around it, the faint sounds of laughter and shouting drifting to his ears. Sights like that made him miss the gang. As the afternoon set into evening, they would likely make dinner and drink beer, sing songs and tell stories.

He was about to leave for Albert's apartment when a scream swept across the fields.

"What the hell?" Arthur pulled his binoculars from his satchel and turned them towards the group. The number of men around the camp increased from the last time he checked. He crept closer, staying low in the grass and bringing his scoped rifle.

O'Driscolls. A lot of them, all surrounding one poor fool on the ground. Arthur wished he could save the man, but there were too many O'Driscolls and not enough cover to hide behind. At least, that was his thought until he spotted the greasy gray hair, the white-striped shirt under a black vest, and the green tie that stood out from the rest.

Colm. Colm O'Driscoll was there. Though Arthur barely knew Colm anymore, he instinctively realized this wasn't a random meeting. Colm would never leave the comfort of whatever cabin he chose to hole up in to take part in the torment of someone unless that person was important. He crawled through the tall grass, needing to know who it was, cursing the O'Driscolls for standing too close together. The wisps of a voice carried over to him.

"They kicked me out when they moved camp. I don't know where they are. Please!"

One O'Driscoll kicked the man before stepping back, and finally the voice, the man, and the Flaxen Roan Tennessee Walker hitched nearby with its ears pinned back connected. Arthur had seen Kieran Duffy just days ago! Kieran said he was going fishing at Ringneck Creek, not too far from where he was now.

Colm sneered, "Oh, but I don't believe that for a second. You know where Van der Linde is, and you are going to tell me. The question is now, or after we start removing pieces."

It was so reminiscent of Kieran's start with the Van der Linde gang. Arthur's heart jolted with fear. Last time Kieran had been in the situation, he had snitched on Colm's prior location. There were too many O'Driscolls in the camp. He wouldn't survive an attack against them now! And if he started shooting, Kieran would likely be killed.

But Kieran surprised him, groaning out, "I told you. I don't know." It was getting dark soon, and Colm never liked sleeping rough. Eventually he would leave, likely with an escort, and Arthur could use the cover of darkness to sneak in and get Kieran out.

Colm pulled a knife from his belt and handed it to one of his goons. "You know, I admire your loyalty, Mr. Duffy. Shame you couldn't have shown the same to me." He patted Kieran on the knee and stood up, stretching his limbs. "I would take one last look around. They say the world looks different with only one eye."

No. No, Colm wouldn't.

But Arthur knew that while Dutch only went so far as to threaten, Colm was not above acting on his words.

"You can't," Kieran said.

"Oh, but you don't need eyes to talk, do you, boy?"

There were too many O'Driscolls.

"Please!"

Even if Arthur aimed for Colm, the other O'Driscolls would kill Kieran and him, especially with no cover to hide behind.

"You sick bastards!"

Kieran saved his life, back at Six Point Cabin, and now Arthur felt powerless.

"Tell me where they are, Kieran," said Colm. The glowing knife was handed back to him. "You told old Dutch about Six Point Cabin, did you not? What's the difference?"

Kieran's eyes darted between the knife and Colm, swallowing before he said, "They are better than you."

Colm leaned in close and whispered something in Kieran's ear. A look of horror spread across his face just before the knife plunged straight into his left eye.

The inhuman shriek pierced Arthur's heart, but he refused to look away.

The O'Driscolls didn't torture unconscious men, and Arthur found himself grateful that Kieran Duffy didn't move after his eye was taken.

Colm left just after sunset, taking several people with him, saying that he would be back the next day to check on their progress. Arthur counted five O'Driscolls left, easy for him to handle. Especially since the remaining gang members were starting to drink heavily.

"I'm gonna take a piss," one said, stumbling in Arthur's direction. This was his chance.

He still had those throwing knives Bill gave him, and they worked the last time. Arthur stood carefully, pulled his arm back, and let the knife fly into the O'Driscolls neck. The others couldn't hear the gurgle in his throat as he fell. One down.

A second went down near the wagons when he got up for beer. That's when the rest noticed, whirling around to find the source, but it was already too late. Arthur fired three rounds rapidly, downing the three remaining men in seconds.

He was at Kieran's side immediately after. The missing eye left a bloody mess, and the wheezing breaths betrayed other injuries.

"Hey partner, wake up now." Arthur gave his shoulder a light shake. All he got was a slight hitch in Kieran's breathing. "Come on boy, don't you die on me." Now he got a small groan. "That's it. Come back."

"…Ar…thur?"

A green eye stared up at him. Just the one.

"That's good, Kieran. Stay awake for me, I'm going to get you to help."

"What are you doing here?"

"Saving your life. I'm sorry I couldn't stop them."

Kieran seemed barely aware of what was happening. Arthur couldn't blame him. He thought about where to take him. Valentine was closest, but Arthur knew from experience that it was swarming with O'Driscolls. Rhodes was off limits. Saint Denis was the best option, considering it was close to the gang and, from Arthur's own experience, the doctor was rather competent.

"Alright Kieran, you just hold on now." Arthur slid an arm under his shoulders and under his knees, lifting the man to his chest. He got Kieran up on Dakota, pausing to undo Branwen's tether so the faithful horse, who found Kieran after he was captured by Arthur himself, could follow.

Arthur kept Kieran in front of him, allowing Kieran to settle onto his chest. Merlin leaped forward at a tap of his heels, galloping towards the city.

The wheezing breaths returned. Kieran's face was slack. Arthur began praying that he wouldn't be too late to save the man, who could have been a friend had Arthur remained in the gang.

He burst through the door of the doctor, Kieran draped over his shoulder and blood dripping onto his clothes. "Good God!" the doctor cried. "Bring him in here, quick!"

"We made it, Kieran," Arthur whispered before he set Kieran down in the chair. Addressing the doctor, he said, "Some bastards stabbed him in the eye. Don't know what else they did, but I think they beat him pretty good."

Doctor Murphy examined the empty socket. "I have to clean this," he said, grabbing some bottles and a syringe of what Arthur assumed to be morphine. The pain medicine entered Kieren's vein, and knowing Kieran was no longer in pain gave Arthur some relief.

The rest of the procedure did not. Arthur did not think of himself as squeamish, but watching Doctor Murphy clean the bloody, empty socket turned his stomach. It felt like hours passed before Doctor Murphy motioned Arthur over, and Arthur helped carry Kieran out of the exam room into a proper bed.

"How much do I owe you?" he asked the doctor.

"Ten dollars should cover it." Arthur handed the money over without protest.

"Can he stay the night? He's got some friends I can contact to help take care of him after."

"He should probably stay here, in case of infection. Two dollars per night, though I understand if that gets expensive. I'll do whatever I can in the meantime."

But Arthur just nodded and said, "Whatever he needs."

He didn't get back to the apartment until nearly midnight, after dropping a letter for Hosea to find at the Post Office. Surely, Kieran would not want to return to the outlaw life after this, nor could he. Maybe he could help get Kieran a job at the stables! He always did like working with horses.

Albert sat at the kitchen table, a mug of coffee in his hands, and he jumped when the door opened. "Are you alright? I thought you would be back sooner, I-" Albert stopped when he took in the bloodstained clothes. Arthur just wrapped his arms around him.

They stood there for a while, until Arthur asked, "After the gallery, where are you going?"

"Oh, I don't know." Albert sounded surprised at the question. "I guess it depends on whether or not it's a success. I might have to expand my portfolio, or maybe someone will want me to bring my photographs to their gallery in another city. Or it will be a complete disaster and I will be out of money. I would have to run back home like the buffoon that I am." Home, which was New York City, if Arthur remembered correctly.

"You're not a buffoon. These folk will love your photographs."

"What about you? Where do you want to go?"

"No clue. But I don't want to stay in this city much longer."

When they broke apart, Albert had a slight frown on his face. "What happened after I left?"

"Nothing good."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

Albert didn't need to know, and probably didn't need to know, the reality of Arthur's world. If Albert went back to New York… well… Arthur didn't want to go any further east than he already had. But giving up Albert? Was it worth it?

Did he even know what he wanted anymore?