Can a person lose this much blood and still be breathing?
The woman was covered – her lose blouse, trousers, and the duster he had pulled over her once trembling shoulders were all saturated with crimson red. It soaked through the fine stitching of his riding gloves even, drenched the dyed black button down he wore, caked against the hardened leather saddle they were both seated in, and seeped into the intricate corded latticework on Gillie's reins wherever he touched them. The air was laced with the irony scent, so pungent and thick he couldn't help but worry if any of the predators in the woods surrounding them could smell it too. That is, if they hadn't sniffed out the trail of scarlet they were creating with each step already.
After the day they had so far, the last thing they needed was a pack of wolves on their trail.
Nothing like pouring fresh salt into a festering wound. Knowing our luck though…
His focus swept back down to the woman. Her pale pink lips were parted, jaw slack, head lulled to the side. He watched the gradual rise and fall of her chest. Frail, but still there. Barely.
It was something.
"Arthur-" Micah started, the buffoon of a man prepping for another round of needless badgering.
"If there is a single wise bone in that ignorant body of yours, Micah Bell, you will shut your darned mouth before I do it for you," Arthur warned, tone more than implying how exasperated he was with the man's incessant prattling. How Dutch managed to put up with it day in and day out, he surely would never come to comprehend. Micah was about as intelligent as a newborn babe… just about as ugly too.
Arthur shifted in the slightest, repositioning the woman in the saddle between his arms. She was light but her sheer inability to sit on her own was becoming increasingly problematic. She slouched precariously against his chest. Each bounce made her limp body jostle, forced his muscles to tense in order to keep hold of her. One of his arms was tucked around her middle, palm splayed against the gaping wound that marred her lower abdomen. He had to stem the flow of blood, hold some realm of pressure even if the action seemed possibly fruitless in nature. He had been half-tempted to hogtie her like he would a buck but thought better of it given her condition. She'd bleed out if he was acted too brashly. His gaze snapped to the gravel laden road ahead. How far away was camp? Another bend or two? Would they make it?
Or would he be forced to end Micah's pitiful existence before then?
He was beginning to wonder if that would be a good or bad thing. It would certainly brighten his mood.
The man in question scoffed, a splutter of a sound somewhere between the huff of a lame donkey hee-hawing in the field and the croak of an overly large toad choking on a fly. "I'm simply saying that perhaps taking the woman we know nothing about, that we found dangling from the hand of a very nasty lookin' fella for god-knows what reason, back to camp, might, oh I dunno, not be the best idea?"
"Right, course. Because you have been a fountain of great ideas. Foolish of me, I must have forgotten. I apologize." He tried his damndest to keep the snark from his voice, but he knew he failed on that front. It wasn't like it was a much of a secret how he felt 'bout the man. "But, ya know what, while we are on that topic of you having swell ideas?," he added. "I was having a real dull day before you, Bell. So, allow me the pleasure of thanking you kindly for giving me the opportunity to shoot up half the town of Strawberry. I am so very relieved that you managed to get your little treasures - a piss-poor excuse of a revolver and a half-jammed rifle that cannot aim straight. Completely worth it. I can see why you wanted them back," sarcasm oozed around each and every word.
"I got a bit wild, alright?"
Arthur barked out a stern laugh, jaw setting as his crisp blue eyes careened back to glare daggers at him. "You, 'a bit' wild? Who the hell makes a house call in the middle of a shootout A shootout, mind you, that likely had no sense occurring in the first place."
Micah glowered in return, lips curling into a sneer to reveal his chipped, yellowed teeth. "Ain't much I care for more than those guns."
"That much is clear!"
"They were going to let me hang, Arthur."
"I'm starting to wish I had. Here we are though." His grip tightened on the reins, hoping that in doing so he would still his fist from connecting with the chin of the man behind him. "I'm not the only one you owe neither."
Micah muttered something incomprehensible under his breath. "Yes, you will all be thanked profusely, I assure you," he snidely replied, none too gratuitously in the least.
Arthur shook his head as they took a left curve in the path. "You're lucky Dutch has your back, for some unknown reason."
"Oh, like you ain't one to talk! Sure, I may have gotten a little carried away but least I didn't go rushing off, mucking in business I had no right mucking with," he gave a pointed look to the woman once more.
"And what In God's name would you rather I did?" Arthur snapped. "You can't tell me that we should have rode by and let him have his way with her."
Micah nodded vigorously, "Yes! Yes, that's exactly what I think we should have done. We have enough trouble as is. We didn't even kill the fella; him and his goons got away. What if he comes looking for us next?"
"Don't get me started, lest you need me to remind you about your intelligent, wisdom driven decision to go after the ferryboat in Blackwater? Last I checked, we have a whole lot of Pinkertons after us because of that mishap."
Micah's lips parted with a reply on his tongue, one Arthur was certain would give him one hell of a migraine if he allowed the man the opportunity to voice it. Thankfully, he was granted mercy as Bill hollered from his position alongside the road, "Who goes there?"
"It's just us, you blind moron," Arthur greeted. "You do know they sell glasses at the general store in Valentine, don't you? Get some, Bill."
Bill grunted and waved a hand dismissively as the duo entered. "Welcome home too, you foul bastard. Everyone was wondering when you'd show up." Then he offered a curt head nod to Micah. "Bell."
Home. Arthur supposed that's what Horseshoe Overlook had become during the past month. After being on the run for the better part of the spring, it felt good to have somewhere to settle, somewhere to set up for the night that felt safe and secure.
Far away from the O'Driscolls and one Leviticus Cornwall.
The woods gave way to a humble clearing, tucked against the side of a cliff wall, and nestled within a spattering of elms and evergreens. It was just enough off the road that random passerby and stray city folk wouldn't see it if their eyes strayed while traveling, but close enough to Valentine that it didn't take more than a handful of minutes to get supplies. It was cozy and warm. And, it perpetually smelled of campfire smoke and gun powder, two scents that had swiftly become his favorite when coupled with the heavy odor of evergreen sap and cool refreshing morning air of the plains.
People were bustling back and forth between the small fires and the caravans that dotted the ridge, completing various tasks as they pulled fully into camp. Tillie was leaning over a pile of hay, bunching it together in her arms before hustling over to the horses to feed them. Pearson was frowning rather profusely at a steaming iron pot, spoon ladle in hand. Strauss was reading down his crooked nose, likely plotting the next batch of lenders he wanted Arthur to shake down. Abigale was trying to settle a very curious Jack who was practically bouncing on his feet with energy, too wound up and stir crazy for his own damned good. Javier was plucking a tune on his guitar, pausing now and then to try a new note or rhythm.
Home.
Sure, the scene was currently marred by the Reverend's drunken vocals. Nothing new there though.
"Art," Micah began. Again.
"Micah, I swear, if you do not shut the hell up, I will make true on my promise," Arthur retorted through gritted teeth. If only looks could kill…
The man huffed and dismounted, fingers clenched into tight white knuckled fists as he stalked towards Dutch's tent. Sure, go on, go tattle to daddy. It's what you're good at, after all.
The woman in his arms stirred as she exhaled shakily before settling in once more. Her face was paler, appearing more in line with the puffy clouds above his head. The color change made her freckled cheeks look sunken and skeletal, made the dark circles under her eyes pop even more than they had a few moments prior. The purple-blue bruises that dotted her left temple and neck were duskier, melding into her porcelain like skin. Her bottom lip was split, the blood now dried in the curled jagged path it had forged along her jaw line before spilling into her tangled chestnut hued hair.
Even still, she looked fragile. Tender. Innocent. Her features were soft, all gentle curves with no hard edges. He reached up to brush a fleck of dirt off her cheek, his fingertips caressing along a barely visible faded scar. Unconsciously she leaned into his touch, body chasing after the warmth his calloused hand provided.
She was… stunning, though he did not dare to admit that out loud.
Above all, she was an unknown, a possible enemy. They didn't know who they could trust out here. Not since Blackwater. And, hell, maybe even before that. Until proven otherwise, she was guilty. And his traitorous mind would do well to remember that.
He blinked, seeing once more the scene they had rode up on – her body dangling precariously over the edge of the canyon, the man gripping her by the throat with that shit-eating grin plastered to his cocky, egotistical face. She had tried to fight, tried to break free but her attempts had been futile. Undoubtedly, she had been battered, shot at, and run ragged, rendering her too weak to stand a chance on her own.
He could not just walk by and let them attack her, whoever she was. It didn't sit right.
But still, it did make him think. Why did they want her? What had she done? Who were they?
"Dear lord, what happened?" Susan all but cried, tempered shrill of a voice pulling him from his wayward thoughts. She was joined by Sadie and Karen, and all three women wore the same shared expression of distress.
"Here, let us help you," Karen offered, hands outstretching to assist. Sadie followed, already bracing her palms against the woman's hips as Arthur lowered her down.
"We ran into a little…. Trouble," Arthur hedged, unsure of how much to tell.
"I can see that mighty fine, Mister Morgan. I am looking for details," Susan bit back. Her gaze was fierce, deadly. He had seen her wield it against some of the gang members previously… and now squirmed under it himself.
"I get that, Miss Grimshaw, but until I share some words with Dutch, I ain't got much to say." He dismounted after, muscles pinched and tight from riding so long. "Any chance you ladies can get her patched up? I managed to stop the bleeding on her stomach wound but…." His voice trailed off.
It was a wonder they had made it this far with how damaged she was. If there was a God, damned son of a bitch that he was, Arthur was glad He had been watching their backs today.
Susan's lips tugged into a thin line as Sadie and Karen each took one of the woman's arms to hoist her up. "Dutch isn't going to like this," she cautioned. "But, we will do our best to help a fellow woman in need. Wouldn't sit right if we left her to perish."
Sadie nodded in agreement. "Can't let her suffer, can we now? She looks so sweet, wouldn't hurt a fly, I bet."
Miss Grimshaw gave a tentative, uncertain smile that didn't quite meet her eyes. "Don't trust too easily there, Miss Adler. Until we know better, best to keep such preconceptions out of mind."
The trio turned away, voices quieting as they moved out of ear shot. She'd be safe with them, in good hands. Cared for. He prayed that they were through the worst of it, that he had made it in time.
Hopefully, Dutch can see reason.
"Arthur."
He sighed, frustration making his shoulders slump and his back stiffen. Here we go.
"He's over here, Dutch."
Arthur spun on his heels, spine straightening as his gaze darkened. "Oh, thank you so much, Mister Bell, for bringing good ol' pops on over to me," he snarled.
"One of us has to be thinkin' straight, Arthur," Micah quipped, arms crossed, nose tipped up with something akin to arrogance. "Thinking bout what's best for the gang."
"Spare me the speech. You're nothing but a goddamn parasite, spoiling the view for the rest of us. Go do what you do best and find a skirt to hide under."
Micah took a step forward, a menacing glint in his eyes.
"Now, now," Dutch hushed, shoving his hands into his red velvet lined pockets to retrieve a fancy looking cigar and professionally crafted engraved silver lighter. Where and how Dutch always managed to procure such items was beyond Arthur's understanding. "You know I hate it something mighty when you two are at odds. Let's discuss this like civilized people. That's what we are, isn't it? Civilized?"
The men stood a breath apart, chests puffed. Arthur briefly envisioned his fingers curling around the oaf's throat, squeezing just enough to see his pupils constrict into pinpoints. Judging by the way one of Micah's veins popped and throbbed, he was likely having similar thoughts.
Dutch continued after taking a drag or two. "At the very least, we are family. And, sure, disagreements happen in families, but our strength comes from resolving them. So, how's about we do that then? Resolve this issue? Calmly." He rested a hand on Arthur's arm, sternly, a reminder of who was in charge. "Boy?"
Arthur hesitated. His mind knew who his personal will belonged to. His heart was in vast disagreement, however. Micah was a stain on the gang, a pest, a leech. He put them at risk time and time again, pulled stunts no one else could get away with. Someone needed to put the man in his place.
"Arthur," a threat this time.
Micah shouldn't be allowed to exist. He's the reason we are here. He's the reason we have live in constant secrecy.
But Arthur respected Dutch. The man had saved him from a life of living on the streets, gave him a home, gave him a family. He owed the man everything.
He didn't want to jeopardize that for his own selfish grudge.
Micah would ruin his life on his own eventually. He didn't need Arthur's help to do that.
So, Arthur withdrew. "Whatever you say, Dutch," he conceded.
"Good." Dutch huffed, hand raising to brush debris from his patterned vest. "Now. Back to the business at hand. Micah says you've brought a stranger into camp?"
Remain calm. "Yes. Did Micah happen to mention the state said stranger is in?"
Dutch bobbed his head, "He did. But, that's beside the point. She's an outsider. An unknown. We can't just let random people into our hideout."
Arthur snorted. "You think she's with the Pinkertons or something?"
"You never know. They have eyes and ears everywhere, my son. You can't trust anyone."
"I'm not trusting her," Arthur defended, palm rubbing against the back of his neck in annoyance. "Let her rest up. Heal a little. Then we can figure out who she is, make a better decision then."
"Or she could be leading danger right to us," Micah argued. "She was being chased by a couple madmen. They could still be after her."
"My thoughts exactly, Micah. We also can't take in every stray lamb either. Arthur, see reason. We don't have enough provisions to feed another mouth," Dutch countered.
"I can think of a few we can cut if you want to balance the numbers," Arthur ground out.
Micah visibly bristled, scowl forming once more. Good, he knows. Maybe he's not as dumb as I thought.
Dutch moved closer, hand clamping down to grasp Arthur's shoulder affectionately. "I do think it's quite a grand thing you did, saving another person. You set a good bar for the others to follow. But, honestly, we are barely scrapping by as is here. And we need to keep a low profile. You understand that, don't you? We can't put the whole family at risk for one woman. I let Kieran in, despite my better judgement. So far that has paid off, but he has skills he can bring to the table."
"She might."
"Might doesn't make a strong debate for your cause, dear boy."
"Face it, Arthur," Micah interjected. "You've lost."
"Now, gentlemen. Perhaps I can be of assistance?"
Arthur refrained from cursing out loud as Josiah Trelawny stepped forward, pocket watch swaying from a golden link chain attached to the embroidered handkerchief tucked into his breast pocket. Oh boy, just what we needed. Aren't you supposed to be hunting down Sean right now? Go pester someone else. A conman and magician to his core, Trelawny only ever had one person's interest at heart: his own. He may appear finally dressed in his three-piece suit and fancy top hat, but he was a viper underneath it all.
"You can vouch for this woman?" Dutch questioned, one bushy brow arched as his attention swiveled to stare at the snake.
"I can indeed. She runs with the Manzanita Chance gang west of Blackwater. Not sure if you've heard of them, they mostly work more discrete jobs. They've been doing favors for me for some time now."
Dutch rolled back on his heels, eyes widening a fraction of an inch. "You've piqued my interested, Mister Trelawny. You do only seem to hire the best." Is the extra coating of honeyed praise really necessary?
"I am pleased to hear that, fine sir. Truly, she would be a bloody good asset to your…" he waved his hands, as if the action would help him find the right word. "Posse. She is an adapt pickpocket and lock breaker, knows her way around a horse like a fine rancher, and can smooth talk her way into almost any situation. I once saw her convince the stable hand in Tumbleweed that he would actually benefit from letting her people take his horses off his hands. Course, he is dirt poor and looking quite the fool now but that's of no consequence to me."
Dutch chuckled. "We could use more of that clever wit round here. Arthur, bless his soul, is no conversationalist."
Arthur sniffed, eyes rolling. "Rub it in, why don't ya?"
"Oh, its just a bit of honesty, my boy," Dutch laughed before his tone turned serious once more as his gaze fixed on Josiah. "Think she will run to the lawmen once she wakes? I would love to have a few words with her, but I cannot risk my people if she is simply going to flee for Valentine at the first chance she gets."
Trelawny hummed. "Mmmm, I think not. My understanding, that is if my source is reliable which it usually is, is that she was on the run prior to joining the Chance. Locked up even. They offered her protection in trade for her… compliance and cooperation. I believe that, if you were to offer the same deal, she will work with you."
Arthur's brows knit together, hands shoving into his pockets. The man on the canyon wall had been no peace keeper, and that was certainly no civil justice he had been upholding. "On the run from what?"
"I've no clue," he shrugged, uncaring for the woman's personal plight. "It matters little. She has no one to turn to now. If we can remain a beacon of hope for her, she will do what we need."
Dutch cocked his head to the left and called over his shoulder, "Hosea. I know you've been eavesdropping this whole time, what are your thoughts on the matter?"
Hosea gave a sheepish grin from his position near one of the fires. The flames made the wrinkles in his handsome face appear thicker than they were but that boyish light in his eyes never seemed to fade. His blue vest was unbuttoned to reveal a powder white shirt underneath that was matted with dust and dirt. "If she can open the bonds box we lifted from the train heist, I say she's in. I can't move those bonds if I can't get the damned box open. No moved bonds means no cash for us."
"Right you are," Dutch agreed. "Well," his hands clasped together in front of him, "Sounds like we have a plan then."
"You can't be serious," Micah hissed under his breath, voice much too quiet for Dutch to hear. But, Arthur caught it and he couldn't help but give the man a 'ha, I win' expression.
"Just gotta wait for her to wake up."