Chapter 2

Arthur scribbled in his journal while he ate, his legs straight out by the fire, his back up against a sitting log. He squinted as his hand jotted along a crisp new page, the crackling flames providing a poor light. He scratched a word out and put a more preferable one in its place, and reached over to grab another bite of venison.

A fist cracked the dome of his head, snapping him out of his creative diversion. "Ow, shit!"

"Arthur, what have I told you about eatin' with your mouth open?"

Miss Grimshaw hovered over him, hands planted on her hips, stern eyes capturing him.

Arthur rubbed his head. "You made me bite my tongue!"

"Well, then maybe next time you won't smack them jaws so loudly, huh?"

"I can't help if it's tough 'n chewy!"

"You complain' 'bout my cookin', boy?"

Arthur felt dread constrict his chest and he held his journal close. "N-No, ma'am!"

Even with a scowl, the tough-as-nails Susan Grimshaw was a beauty. Arthur couldn't remember her exact age, but he knew it to be around the same as Hosea and Bessie, late thirties. She had been his surrogate mother for the last seven years. She was strict, but also quite caring. She showed her love in different ways than most, but Arthur respected her just the same. She and Dutch at one time were sweethearts, but both had agreed later were better off as friends and business partners.

She sighed, deflating a little. "Just be a good lad and check the horses before bed, alright?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She smiled and walked away. Just as Arthur could breath, her voice boomed once more.

"DUTCH VAN DER LINDE, I JUST WASHED THOSE SHEETS!"

Chuckling, Arthur whipped out his journal again. Soon a calming presence sat on the log he was up against. Arthur's lips quirked, feeling the eyes over his shoulder onto the sketch he slowly drew.

"Hi, Bessie."

His other surrogate mother. Hosea's wife was a mischievous spirit, gentle and encouraging. She was a hell of a thief, but Arthur adored her heart. She was the kind of woman who would steal from a rich feller just to take two steps and give it to someone in need. Arthur could see why Hosea loved her so much. The two were just right for each other. Although, Bessie often joked that Hosea and Dutch acted more like a married couple than they did.

Arthur recalled she and Hosea tried to "go straight". They left their gang for nearly a year, trying to live right. They eventually came back. Hosea couldn't stay away for long. And Arthur wasn't sure if that meant from their lifestyle, or from them. Bessie told Arthur that Hosea always worried about him and Dutch. Arthur didn't quite understand, as he and Dutch were just fine. Dutch remained his mentor and father-figure and most of their jobs were a success. Although, Arthur did recall that without Hosea around Dutch was a lot more unpredictable with what he wanted and how they went about it. A lot more folk got hurt too.

Whatever the case, Bessie accepted what Hosea needed to do, and vowed to never leave him. Arthur hoped he could find someone like that one day.

"I always love watching you draw. Is that a boy?" Bessie asked.

Arthur nodded. "Yeah. Some little street goblin I ran into today that robbed me. Managed to get my satchel back, but he's still got my Pa's hat."

"Oh, yes. Hosea told me all about that." A quiet giggle escaped her lips.

Arthur nodded, his own laugh sounding. "Yeah, I bet he did."

"Your craft is getting better. I'm glad to see you're still doing it."

Arthur felt warmth on his cheeks, and was thankful the dusk around them and the snapping flames hid his embarrassment.

"Dutch got me into it, but really…it was Hosea that kept me goin'. He inspired me to keep tryin' when I wanted to give up on it. I ain't sure if I'm gettin' better or not, but it helps me get through the day."

Bessie squeezed his shoulder. "Trust me, you're improving. Keep at it."

Arthur felt his chest swell some, and he grinned. "Thanks."

She left him be. Arthur shaded his sketch with careful strokes. Soon, he got up, brushing his legs of grass and dirt. He put his journal inside his tent and took his bowl to the washing bin. He then went to check on the horses.

His head felt naked, and Arthur wondered if Hosea was right. He hoped they would run into the little street rat again so Arthur could get his hat back, and teach the boy some manners on top of it.

Once the horses were taken care of, he headed for his cot. He caught sight of Dutch and Hosea talking at the table near Dutch's tent. That wasn't anything new. The two could talk hours into the night about any number of things, mostly subjects Arthur wasn't too keen on. If not talking, the two partners-in-crime could often be seen playing cards.

Arthur knew them well enough by their body behavior whether they were approachable in their little huddle talks or not. Tonight, Arthur was caught off guard by the unmistakable tension between them. They glared at each other, mouths firm, looking like two dogs in a baring teeth competition on who was dominant.

Arthur rounded a tent and slipped across the way to get a closer look. It wasn't anything he hadn't seen before. The two best friends had their fair share of heated arguments over the years. Hell, Arthur knew that they fought more than Hosea did with Bessie. Despite that, he also knew there were few things the two would argue about, and so Arthur was curious.

He knew Dutch had a temper, was, in Arthur's opinion, more stubborn than an ass. Hosea was the only one with the gall to challenge that temper, and also the only one to quell it.

After a long, uncomfortable silence between the two men, Dutch folded with a sigh. "What do you want me to say?"

"Are you trying to prove a point?" Hosea growled.

Dutch snorted, playing with a knife. "If I was, his body wouldn't be in the river now, would it?"

"We ain't killers, Dutch. Mister Galligan didn't deserve it."

"Didn't deserve it?" His tone sharpened. "The fool almost got Arthur killed. He took the chance and ditched us. Took the money. Hell, the stagecoach had you pinned and it took everything I had to get you out before the law caught up, all the while fearing Arthur was dead over a cliffside."

Hosea thinned his lips, not looking at Dutch. "It could have been worked out. He was always a good source of information. Did you even get his side of the story?"

"What do you think I am?" Dutch sounded annoyed. "Course I tried talking to him. He drew a goddamn gun on me, is what he did. Now, I ain't nothing like you, Hosea. I can't stand it when I'm trying to make a deal or make amends and someone has the audacity to point a gun at me, especially if they almost got my family killed. I become a lot less nice. So yeah, I killed him. The only reason we even found him is because we got one of his friends to talk. He wasn't going to work out anything with us."

"You promised me."

Dutch nodded, scratching at his jaw with the blade. "I did. But I wasn't expecting a gun in my face neither. Sometimes we are killers, Hosea. Sometimes we have to kill to survive. Sometimes we have to kill fellers that need it. I'm not saying he needed it, but I am saying he put me in a position where I felt it was him or me. It damn well's gonna be him. Every. Time."

Hosea thrummed his fingers on the table. "Did he have the money on him?"

Dutch slowly dipped his head, staring straight at his old friend. "Nearly all of the $860 that was on the stagecoach. It's in the box."

"Did you at least hide the body well enough we won't get lynched while trying to work our angle on the Warrens?"

"I wasn't sloppy," Dutch said, his tone betraying a hint of frustration from Hosea's lingering uncertainty. "And if they do find the body, he was killed by wolves."

"He was killed by a wolf, alright."

Dutch narrowed his eyes. "Then he shouldn't have threatened my pack. Come now, brother. What else would you like me to say? What can I do to make it up to you? I did what I had to do."

Hosea rubbed his face, suddenly looking exhausted. No, defeated. He stood up. "Sorry, Dutch. I'm just…tired. You're right. I'm being difficult. I know you did what you had to do."

Dutch also stood, coming around and clapping Hosea on the shoulder. "I never said I liked it. I know it ain't nice. But they're my sins to bear, not yours, my friend. I will do whatever it takes to keep us safe, to keep us moving forward so we may accomplish our dreams. I'm really sorry for how it turned out."

Hosea patted Dutch's hand that was still on his shoulder, a weak smile creasing his face. "Yeah. There are some things we cannot control. Goodnight, dear friend."

"Goodnight."

Hosea left for his tent. Dutch watched him go. With a sigh, he pitched the knife he was holding, the blade piercing into the center of the table. Dutch disappeared inside his tent.

Arthur quietly went to his own bed, crawling inside to get ready for a much-needed night's rest. He kicked his boots off and laid on his pallet.

He was confused by their argument. They've killed people before, even Hosea has. They only ever killed bad people, or out of protection, but Arthur couldn't see what had Hosea so uneasy. Dutch had a point. Maybe Arthur was just being biased because the backstabbing fool did almost get him killed. Hosea was wise and always had good insight. Maybe he knew something Arthur didn't. That was likely. Arthur hoped he could be like Hosea one day.

"Well, what do you see, son?"

"Looks like…'bout a dozen ranch hands. Same 'mount of guards or more. It's a big place."

Arthur lowered his binoculars to look over at Dutch as he approached, having returned from his own scouting on the other side of the homestead.

Dutch wore dark pants, a dark blue vest and white dress shirt, and his typical black fedora. Arthur opted for far more casual wear, just simple brown pants, blue shirt and brown vest with a dark bandana around his neck.

They stood side by side, looking out across the field from their hiding spot within a bracket of brush and trees. The look on his mentor's face while he stroked his mustache was one Arthur knew quite well. Dutch was thinking on a plan.

"I went around to the back of the barn," he said. "There is a cellar, like you said. And it is heavily guarded."

"Wonder what they got down there," Arthur drawled, looking through his binoculars once more.

"Something valuable, that much is certain."

"Perhaps it's jus' dirty secrets. They seem like the kinda folk."

Dutch's lips quirked, almost birthing a smirk but it soon fell. "Perhaps. Only one way to find out."

Arthur gave him a look, blue-green eyes widening, brows reaching for his hairline. "We ain't goin' in there, are we?"

"You say that as if you don't have any faith in me, Arthur."

"But it's daylight! They'll see us comin' a mile away, and I don't know 'bout you, but I don't feel like gettin' shot today!"

Dutch chuckled, smacking Arthur on the back. "Relax, son. We'll go in tonight. Besides, Hosea is in the process of meeting the patriarch of this so-called "sophisticated" family. No doubt he'll be able to play him like a fiddle."

"Whatever you say, Dutch."

"C'mon. Let's head back into town. Susan and Bessie are looking into other angles. Let's go check on them."

Arthur put his binoculars away and followed Dutch to where their horses were hitched and hidden. They mounted up and took a trail back out towards Hickory.

"So, who're these Warren folks anyway?" Arthur asked.

"Just some inbred trash homesteaders that control the nearby town. Got innocent people working twice as much and twice as hard to afford their prices. Running other farmers out and taking over their land. Creating their own little government out here."

Arthur scowled. "So, we gonna rob 'em blind and leave then? That's the plan?"

"We should, but I have my own agenda."

"Uh, oh. I hate when you say that."

"Come now, Arthur. It should sicken you to see how these power-hungry, control freaks oppress these fine, innocent folks in Hickory. They need to be taught a lesson. They are exactly the kind of people we have vowed to fight against."

"We gonna teach 'em the same kind 'o lesson you taught Mister Galligan?"

Dutch flinched, a slight curl to his lip before his composure won out. He was always one hell of a poker player. "No, son. Mister Galligan was just an unfortunate circumstance."

Arthur shrugged. "I didn't like the fool anyway."

"Even Hosea agrees these Warrens need a lesson of some sorts. They're greedy, power-hungry and make life hell for the good people here just trying to survive. No killing is required for such lessons."

"Sure, okay."

The town of Hickory was bustling now that it was closer to noon. The townsfolk hollered and greeted each other, horses trudged through the dirt roads attached to wagons. Rowdy calls and laughs came from the saloon as Arthur and Dutch hitched their horses.

Just as Dutch was about to speak, a nearby yell grabbed their attention. A boy shoved through a small throng of people, even hitting Arthur aside as he ran off.

"Someone get that thief! He took my wife's bag!"

It clicked and Arthur snapped into action, chasing after the boy who robbed him yesterday. Dutch called at his back. The kid slipped into an alleyway, quick and sure-footed. He looked over his shoulder, greasy long locks falling over his face as he ran. His eyes bugged out when he saw Arthur chasing him.

"Shit!" he cried.

"Shit is right, ya little mongrel! Get back 'ere!"

Arthur's hat was not on the boy's head. Arthur would catch the brat, give a lesson for stealing from a lady, and then make him give back his hat.

The thief used his surroundings against Arthur once more as he chased him through the town. Arthur couldn't believe how nimble the scraggly kid was. He weaved through people with ease, knocking supplies over as he went by to try and trip Arthur.

"Outta the damn way!"

Arthur barreled through people, getting gasps and agitated comebacks. Up ahead, the heathen hesitated at a cross-section behind some livestock pens, starting to go left but then spinning and darting right instead. The few seconds indecision enabled Arthur to catch up quick. The thief was going for a hole in a nearby barn, one that Arthur wouldn't be able to slip through.

Arthur dove, crashing onto ground and snatching the boy's legs. With a yelp, the boy tumbled down with him. The bag was dropped, food scattering across the dirt. Arthur kept an iron-grip on the boy's legs as he fought to get up.

"Got you, you little brat!"

"Let me go!"

"What the hell's yer problem, boy?! Stealin' from a lady?!"

Arthur got to his feet, keeping hold of the boy as he swung and kicked at him. Arthur dodged the blows, not wanting to end up like Hosea. The boy growled and fought like a wild animal. It made Arthur think back to a time he and Dutch got so drunk and Dutch dared him to catch a raccoon with his bare hands. It didn't end well.

"I'm gonna march you right back over there, and yer gonna apologize to that lady, and then yer gonna give me my hat back!"

"Over my dead body, mister!"

"Don't tempt me, boy!"

"What is going on over here?"

Arthur, still clinging to a growling, fighting boy, turned towards Dutch. The boy was strong for size. Dutch walked over, looking from Arthur, the boy, to the ground where food was strewn about.

"The boy needs a lesson, Dutch," Arthur grumbled. "This is the little rat that robbed me and gave Hosea a kick to remember."

"I ain't hurtin' anyone, let me go!"

Dutch tapped a can of fruit with his boot, the tin container rolling towards Arthur and the boy. Dutch's brows furrowed, watching it roll away, his eyes rising to the boy.

"Why you stealing, son?" Dutch asked, his tone gentle. "Where's your parents?"

"I ain't got any. And it ain't any of yer business why I steal, mister! Now let me go!"

He bit down on Arthur's hand. Hard. Arthur bellowed, letting him go and cursing out loud. He shook his hand of the pain. Blood trickled down little teeth marks on his skin.

"Goddammit, you little shit!"

The boy bolted for it when Arthur let him go, but he didn't get far before Dutch tripped him. As the boy jumped to his feet, Dutch grabbed his arms and pulled them behind his back, holding them sternly in place. Whenever the boy started to fight, Dutch tugged on an arm.

"Ow!"

"Don't make me break it, son," Dutch said. "Now…take a moment. Calm yourself. And let's talk like men, alright?"

"MEN?" Arthur hissed. "You see my goddamn hand? He's a wild animal!"

The boy stuck his tongue out at Arthur and Arthur stomped over to wipe it right off his face, but Dutch came between them. "Knock it off, both of you."

Arthur reluctantly obeyed, glaring at the boy. Dutch heaved a sigh, kneeling to be closer to the thief's height, but still keeping a firm hold on his arms.

"What's your name, son?"

The boy groaned, agitated. "John. John Marston."

"Where are your parents? What are you doing here?"

Dutch motioned for Arthur to pick up the food. Begrudgingly, Arthur gathered the food and put it back in the bag.

"I said I ain't got any, mister. I-I'm just tryin' to get by, now leave me alone!"

Dutch stood his full height, one strong fist still binding the boy's arms behind his back while the other took the bag from Arthur. He held it in front of the boy, slowly letting him go. John quickly moved his arms around, balling bony fists like he was about to fight Dutch.

"If you're going to continue stealing, you need to get better at it. Don't let anyone see you," Dutch said. "Being negligent gets you hanged."

John stared wide-eyed up at Dutch then to the bag that was presented to him. He looked uncertain, as if Dutch was playing a trick. Hell, Arthur was gawking, couldn't believe Dutch was rewarding the little wild heathen.

John snatched the bag and took off, slipping through the hole in the barn. Dutch and Arthur watched him go. Arthur glared at Dutch, jaw open, appalled. Dutch's lips twitched a gentle smile, amused at the whole situation.

"Really?!"

"Aw, c'mon. He kinda reminded me of you when I first found you."

Dutch started heading back towards the saloon. Arthur paced at his side, still offended that Dutch let the little vermin go.

"What?! Yer crazy, I didn't bite people! Look at this! I might get a disease or sumthin'! And he still has my hat!"

"And you weren't unruly?" Dutch scoffed. "The boy is obviously just trying to survive, Arthur. You heard him. He has no parents, probably doesn't have anyone that gives a damn for him. Give him some slack."

"Well sure, but…he bit me."

Dutch shook his head, chuckling. "Such is life, my son. We've been lucky to not get more than that so far."

"You weren't the one who got bit."

"Do I need to take you to a doctor?"

"Maybe. I'll let ya know if I start frothin' at the mouth or growlin' at thangs."

Dutch rolled his eyes, opening the saloon door for Arthur. "So dramatic, Arthur. It's a boy, not a raccoon."

"I ain't so sure."

"You're still a kid yourself sometimes. You'll like kids one day."

"I like kids jus' fine. It's wild heathens that bite I ain't too fond of. You've always had a soft spot for kids, Dutch. I shoulda known you would reward the little shit."

Dutch laughed at that.

They found Susan in the saloon chatting it up with some older gentlemen. She wore a dark blue dress and had her hair down. They didn't make contact with her as she worked, and Dutch led Arthur over to the bar to get some drinks. Arthur lit a match on his boot and puffed on a cigarette while their drinks were poured.

The saloon had a good number of customers sitting at tables drinking and visiting. The clanking of glasses and shuffling of cards mixed with ongoing chatter, creating a constant noise.

"Wonder where Bessie's at?" Arthur asked, keeping his voice low.

"Not sure. She should show up soon," Dutch replied, eyes constantly studying the habitat.

"Ya think Hosea is makin' any headway?"

"Course he is. It's Hosea."

Arthur nodded. Dutch had a point. In this line of work, Hosea was probably the slyest one of them all. Arthur was sure his other father-figure could swindle a grizzly bear out of its pelt if given the chance.

Just as Arthur snuffed out his cigarette at the counter, they saw Bessie enter the saloon. Like Susan, she also wore a dress, but her red hair was up. She didn't make eye contact with Dutch or Arthur, instead walking over to Susan to greet her company with a charming smile.

Dutch downed his shot and started for the exit. Arthur hurried to finish his drink and followed. He tried to tip his hat at a table of young ladies near the door, but his head was still bare, and so he ended up just rubbing his head awkwardly. He really needed to get his hat back.

"Ladies."

They giggled as he passed. He met Dutch by the horses outside. His father-figure handed him the reins to his horse.

"Alright, Bessie showed up. Means she'll be pulling Susan away soon. We should head back to camp, they'll be close behind. Hosea will meet us there as well."

"Okay," Arthur said as he climbed onto his horse.

He and Dutch rode out of Hickory, Arthur letting his eyes scan for the boy thief once more. Dutch kicked his horse into a gallop and so Arthur matched his speed.

They had moved their camp closer to town earlier that morning. So instead of a couple hour ride into town, it was only half an hour. It was a hidden location up on a ridge that overlooked the town and the surrounding prairie, in a thick shielding of trees and brush.

Nearly an hour after Dutch and Arthur returned to camp, Susan and Bessie rode in. Dutch and Arthur were discussing the meaning of an entry in the Evelyn Miller book that Dutch was currently reading.

Although they grew quiet, they didn't get up to greet the women. Arthur's head spun from the discussion while Dutch had his legs propped up on the table smoking a pipe.

"Ladies, tell me you found something worthwhile," Dutch greeted, blowing out smoke.

"Depends what you consider worthwhile," Miss Grimshaw said, crossing her arms. "Did I find out these Warren folks are nothing but degenerate bullies taking advantage of people? Yes…yes, I did. Now, I looked into the livestock auctioning they have. We do not have the manpower to handle that unfortunately."

Arthur scratched his cheek. "I didn't think so, but thought I should mention it anyways."

"I found out they keep a lot of cash at the gunsmith," Bessie announced. "They're well stocked on high-end guns as well. I'm not too fond of it being guns, but they will sell for quite a bit. It's more secure than other stores in town, but Susan and I were talking…would be quite easy to stir up a distraction to get in there."

"Guns?" Dutch asked, a discreet smirk tugging on his lips. "Interesting…well done, ladies. As soon as Hosea is back and he fills us in on what he's found, we'll get to planning."

The rest of the day dawdled by as they waited for Hosea. Arthur went out hunting and came back with a few rabbits. As Susan and Bessie prepared them for supper, the sun crept closer and closer to the horizon.

Bessie kept glancing to the entrance of the camp, wondering where her husband was at. Arthur started wondering himself as he scribbled away in his journal. It wasn't like Hosea to take this long. Arthur put his journal away and started the fire for the cooking, noticing the growing unease of Dutch's behavior.

Their leader started pacing by the time the sun dipped into the earth, bringing forth a nippy dusk. Dutch was tense, restless, dark eyes on the entrance to the camp at all times as he chewed on a cigar.

Arthur sighed, getting up and dusting himself off, knowing he needed to go over there and pacify him. He wasn't as confident about the endeavor as he should be. This was Hosea's job, after all.

The women gave him looks as he passed by them going for Dutch, and Arthur, for some reason, felt like a knight approaching a smoldering dragon.

"Hey."

Dutch barely glanced at him. "It isn't like him to do this. Something is wrong."

Arthur thought his words carefully. He didn't want to incite Dutch into doing something reckless. "Nah, we don't know that for sure. Hosea's fine. Probably still charmin' 'em with his charades."

Dutch tapped his fingers on his revolver. "Come on, brother, or so help me God, I will kill them all."

The horses lifted their heads from grazing to gape at the camp entrance, ears flicking forward. A nicker sounded, a familiar horse trotted into camp and Arthur was relieved to see Hosea on its back. He hitched his horse, Bessie hurrying over and hugging him.

Dutch relaxed next to Arthur, sighing in relief. His hand dropped from his gun belt. His calm demeanor soon returned and Arthur felt he too could relax now. He had been worried about Hosea also.

"See? He's fine."

Dutch ignored him, smiling as Hosea approached. "My dear friend, where have you been?"

Hosea rubbed his temple, looking exhausted. "Hanging out with 'ol Mister Randy Warren, he's quite a fellow. Sorry for worrying you two, but I had to make it believable."

"We weren't worried, were we Arthur?" Dutch asked, smacking his protege on the arm. "We knew you could handle yourself."

Arthur closed his eyes, mildly shaking his head, a light smile rising on his lips.

Hosea gave them a skeptical glare, lips thinning. "Uh huh, sure. Arthur's look of panic I saw riding into camp and your look of murder told me everything."

Dutch shrugged, a weak chuckle escaping his throat. "I can't pull the wool over your eye, can I, brother? Forgive me, for I care too much."

Hosea tossed his gloves onto the nearby table. "I'm getting some food, then we need to discuss the Warrens."

A/N: I don't know why, but I headcanon that kid John Marston was an unruly, difficult kid when first brought into the van der Linde gang. xD I have more RDR fics brewing in my brain while I am writing this one. But this one should be finished around 5-7 chapters. Anyway, hope you are all enjoying it so far! Have a great week! :D