Charles had smelled the rain on the wind all morning, but it wasn't until they were racing away from Beaver Hollow that it started its free fall.
Charles had abandoned camp while the Pinkertons were still shooting, with Arthur and Charlotte close behind him. They'd chose to rush through the caves as their escape route and no one followed them as a few of the other men kept the agents busy. When they reached the road, Charles and Arthur whistled for their horses in quick succession of each other.
Taima showed up first, galloping up from the pebbled shore near the river. Buck took a few moments longer, and a second whistle from Arthur, but he eventually trotted up in a casual manner, as if gunfire wasn't happening on the other side of the hill. Arthur had found himself a faithful horse, but sometimes Charles wondered if on top of its fearless nature, it also lacked some intelligence.
As soon as Charlotte mounted up behind Arthur, they were off, Charles taking the lead as he cut across the road in favor of plunging into the trees. It was their best bet at a getaway in case the roads were being watched. They couldn't ride at breakneck speeds through the forest trails despite Taima's familiarity with the path, but they were less likely to be followed by agents.
Whether they made the right choice or the Pinkertons chose to focus their pursuit one of the others, it seemed to be working. Charles heard the gunfire fading away, but he didn't take his eyes from the near imperceptible trail in the woods.
"Where we goin'?" Arthur called.
It was a good question. If Charles was on his own, he'd continue north, stealthily slip past any patrols and lay low at the reservation. But he didn't want to bring any more trouble down on Rains Fall's head.
Suddenly, the sky broke open and began to thrash them with rain. The path grew difficult even for his trained eye and Charles had no choice but to lead them back to the road.
"Goddamnit!" Arthur cursed behind him as they emerged from the woods. The rain became torrential now that they were in the open. "Charles, we can't ride in this."
Charles veered right in the next fork in the road, towards O'Creagh's Run and Arthur rode up beside him, Charlotte clinging to his back. Charles pointed and raised his voice to be heard over the downpour. "There's a cabin on the other side of the lake, but I don't know if it's occupied or not."
Arthur lifted his head, droplets spilling over the brim of his hat. His eyes followed the lake's edge to the lonely building near a humble dock on the other side. "One way to find out."
There wasn't anything else close by, and if the Pinkertons were ambitious enough on their hunt tonight, they would be caught. But it was shelter for now.
The cabin wasn't lit, and when they went for the door, it wasn't locked. However, while it wasn't occupied inside, it was furnished with enough personal belongings to prove someone currently resided here.
"Seems safe enough," Arthur determined as Charlotte shivered beside him, quiet.
Charles nodded and had his own check around the place. A fireplace dark and cold, evidence no one had occupied the space recently. There was a single bed in one corner, a curtain tied back, ready to be loosed for privacy and protection from the rising sun. Coats hung on the rack near the door facing the lake, not moth-eaten enough to be abandoned, and all the same size. The table was paired with only a single chair. A simplistic set-up and with no sign of any non-essentials, but enough for one man to live in solitaire. Given its location, Charles wagered this was the home of a lone hunter.
"Well, this is just great," Arthur sulked, pacing around the limited space, the water from his coat dripping sporadically and darkening the wooden floor. "Just goddamn fantastic."
Charles held his tongue and moved to the window to watch for anyone on the roads. He'd warned Dutch it wasn't safe in Beaver Hollow. There was no satisfaction in being right. The gang had lost all of their supplies and who knew how many friends in the process of fleeing.
Charlotte had found a box of matches and was lighting the candles spread around the cabin. As she lit the last one, she turned to face Arthur. "How are you, Arthur? Are you feeling any discomfort?"
"I'm fine," he said shortly.
She ignored his brash answer and asked Charles next, "And you, Mr. Smith? You weren't injured in any way, were you?"
"I'm alright...considering."
"Considerin' we got ambushed in our own damn camp?" Arthur asked angrily.
Charles shrugged. "Those Pinkertons came in fast. We were lucky enough Javier managed to give us a moment's warning."
"Hell, who knows how long they been watchin' us. And who knows how many of us they caught? Chances are, ain't all of us escaped."
Charlotte crossed her arms, hugging herself. She said quietly, "I'm terribly sorry about Hosea."
"Shit." All the frustration and anger seemed to sweep out of Arthur in an instant. He pressed his fingers against his closed eyes and then sighed. "I can't believe he's really gone. I've known him since I was fifteen."
Charlotte said, "I didn't know him long, but he treated me with kindness."
"Yeah, he could be a real charmer when he wanted."
Silence hung over them a moment as they remembered their friend. Hosea, who'd always been the voice of reason when the jobs proposed got too outlandish. Hosea, the man who treated people with respect, no matter their color. Something Charles regretted now was not having a real conversation with Hosea, but he'd listened plenty of times as Hosea handed out sage advice to the others.
Ultimately, Hosea deserved a proper burial, but who knew what Milton would do with the body? Perhaps, when the dust settled, there would be a way for Charles to retrieve him.
"The last we talked," Arthur said, "the things he was sayin'...it was like he knew what was comin'."
Charlotte ventured, "He didn't seem as worried over his age and health as much as the possible dangers that lie ahead."
"We shoulda got out of there sooner, Charles, like you've been sayin'."
"It was Dutch who didn't want to listen," Charles reminded him. "Without him on board, we couldn't get the others to move."
"True enough," Arthur agreed and shook his head with regret. "It seems, the time's come for you to get away from us for good, Charlotte."
"Mmm..." Charlotte responded. "I think we both know it's a tad late for that."
"It's dangerous."
"Arthur," she said patiently. "It's always been dangerous."
Arthur deflected, "You agreed to leave without an argument."
"That is true," she conceded, looking thoughtful. "But perhaps you'll change your mind if I can be useful?"
"What the hell you talkin' about?" Arthur asked, sharper than Charles thought necessary.
"Do you happen to have an extra gun I could borrow?" she asked with an open and earnest expression.
Arthur stared at her like she'd lost her mind, seemingly at a loss for words.
Charlotte caught the look and said defensively, "You were the one who taught me to shoot a gun properly. I should learn how to put those lessons to good use."
"I was showing you how to hunt, not how to kill a man."
"I'm certain the skill is transferable," she contended in a reasonable way.
"If I put a gun in your hands, you'll be wanted as sorely as us, sure as shit."
"But—"
"No, no and no. A deal's a deal."
"Arthur—"
"You wantin' to keep associating yourself in shootouts and robberies and the like?"
"Well, no, not exactly..."
"Right now, you can still separate yourself from the worst of what we've done. You start killin', there's no turning back. You think you could shoot another person so easily?"
She bowed her head, as if she were giving into the argument, but Charles had observed her doing the same action before in camp. It wasn't shame, but her considering the matter with serious thought.
Arthur recognized the look too and said quickly, "Charlotte, I said no, god damn it! You ain't gettin' a gun."
Since her request was perfectly understandable, Charles chimed in, "Maybe we should give her something to protect herself with."
"Thank you, Charles," Charlotte acknowledged and sent Arthur another look of appeal.
"What the hell's wrong with you?" Arthur grumbled at him.
Instead of involving himself further into the disagreement, Charles informed them abruptly, "I'll going to go keep a look out."
Charles left the cabin, the heavy pattering of the rain blanketing the conversation before the shut of the door did. He strode to the road and stopped, tilting his head and listening as best he could through the storm, towards the east. He surveyed the path from where they'd come, satisfied the rain was already washing away their tracks. If they were to be followed, it would be pure luck on any agent's part.
Charles returned to the horses who stood patient and idle where they'd left them hitched. At the side of the cabin was built a small stall with a roof. He unwound their reins and led the two of them inside. Once they were situated, he located some oatcakes sitting on a shelf and fed them one each. Neither Taima nor Buck seemed bothered by the storm thundering around them. Both were used to their riders by now pushing them through worse.
Charles left the horses and walked back to the cabin. His hand settled on the door handle at the same time Arthur's raised voice reached him through the partially open window.
"Don't."
Charles removed his hand from the door handle and carefully stepped to the side without letting his presence known. He peered through the window to determine what he was walking into.
Arthur and Charlotte were locked in each other's gaze, a tense silence between them as the candle's flame in the background flickered a warm hue over their skin. Arthur had caught Charlotte's wrist, her hand raised near his jaw as if she'd been about to caress his cheek.
Charles looked away, but instead of leaving, he took a seat in one of the chairs on the small porch, watching the road. Charles didn't mean to eavesdrop, but he also wasn't going to step back into the rain and suffer getting chilled for their private conversation.
"Don't," Arthur repeated, his voice low and husky.
"Why not?" Charlotte asked with curiosity.
"There ain't time," Arthur said roughly. "Not for this."
There was a pause and the two were silent once more, long enough that Charles was tempted to look again, to see what was happening.
Before he did, Charlotte broke the quiet and said, "I'm sorry, Arthur. I-I don't know what came over me. Forgive my forwardness."
"Just get some rest." Arthur must have released her as Charles heard his boots marching to the front door.
Charles turned his head as Arthur strode out the door, slamming it shut behind him. Charles said in a mild greeting, "Arthur."
Arthur glanced at him sharply. "What, you got your ear to the doors now?"
Charles stared at him. "Did something happen you didn't want me to hear?"
"No," Arthur answered quickly. "You know, you weren't helpin' matters with your input earlier."
Charles shrugged. "Charlotte's been with us for awhile now, and she's right. She needs protection."
Arthur grumbled, "What the hell do you think I'm doin'?"
"Better to teach her to fight for herself than to rely on you, in case you're not there."
That seemed to strike a nerve, though Charles wasn't sure why. Arthur slumped, letting out a low breath. "Ah, hell. Maybe you're right."
Charles glanced through the window where Charlotte had retreated towards the bed and she sat staring at her lap. "What's going on between the two of you?"
Arthur rubbed a hand over his face. "Nothin'."
Charles raised a brow, wordless.
"It's too late to change anything," Arthur argued, even though Charles hadn't made a comment one way or the other.
"Is it?"
Arthur cursed under his breath and lashed out, "You're worse than her. Just let it alone, will you?"
Since he didn't have much commentary on the situation—whatever it may be—in the first place, Charles faced the woods again and respected Arthur's request.
Arthur cleared his throat. "Noticed you made yourself scarce in camp lately. Probably lucky to have you so close in the first place when everything went to hell back there."
Charles nodded. "I've been trying to help Rains Fall and the rest of the tribe where I can."
"How's that going?"
"Rains Fall remains hopeful he can broker peace with the army." Charles frowned. "But from what I've seen, I'm not so sure it's possible."
"Yeah?"
"Colonel Favours has no desire for friendly relations. He's had his men divert the tribe's vaccines, steal their horses, and terrorize their people."
"I heard about them horses," Arthur leaned against the wall of the cabin, more relaxed now that he wasn't the focus of their talk. "The ones Marston went after, right? Ain't that gonna help?"
"Only temporarily, at best." Charles shifted into a more comfortable position. "But Favours has been goading the Wapiti purposefully. He wants them to fight back so he has a reason to retaliate. Then he can claim the people he considers savages attacked him first."
Arthur listened solemnly. "Terrible."
"The time for peace is gone, if it ever existed at all," Charles said bitterly. "The best they can hope for is to leave their home behind and keep alive the people they have left."
"It's a damn shame alright."
Because of his deep involvement recently, it was a topic Charles continued to go on about with passion. "Rains Fall has an ally in an army man by the name of Captain Monroe, who's job is to mediate. But he is only one man, and Favours hasn't hesitated to use the army to defy Monroe."
"This Favours fella sounds like a man with too much influence in a job he don't deserve."
"Aside from outright rebellion, which is the route Eagle Flies wants, there's nothing much to be done except to flee. Yet, Rains Fall is unwilling to leave an area that has been their home for centuries even though the window of opportunity to do so is growing shorter. Every day the land they occupy shrinks to near nothing."
Arthur conceded, "It's a situation much too complicated for me to follow, that's for sure."
A sudden idea struck Charles then. "Would you ride up and talk to Rains Fall?"
"What, now? In the middle of all this shit with the Pinkertons?"
"Yes." The idea strengthened in Charles' mind. If Arthur also spoke one-on-one with Rains Fall, it may just be the tipping point to convince Rains Fall that it wasn't safe to remain. Charles insisted, "Do it for me."
"Charles, I got—"
"I've saved your life," Charles pointed out, not holding back.
Arthur frowned, disgruntled and unconvinced, but finally he said, "Goddamnit. Alright, fine."
Charles nodded, relieved at his acceptance.
Arthur stood from his lean, pointing a finger. "But neither of you best leave here in the meantime. Or, if you have to because of Pinkertons coming sniffing around, meet up in...I don't know, Horseshoe? Seems to be the only damn place around here Milton ain't ambushed us."
Charles asked, "You wanna rest first?"
"Nah. Slept the day way before them Pinkertons bushwhacked us." Arthur stepped off the porch and headed for his horse. "Besides, I'm up for a ride. Might get me thinkin' clear again."
The rain continued through the night, a steady downpour even after the thunder retired its rumble. Charles kept outside, listening hard, but no riders passed by in the wilderness during a storm such as this.
At dawn, when the rain had finally ceased, Charles was joined outside by Charlotte. She paused near him and he tried not to let her see his discomfort at her presence.
"Where's Arthur?"
His eyes were fixed on the tree line ahead, following where the road wrapped around the lake, but he watched Charlotte in his peripherals as he answered, "Gone."
Charlotte blinked once before turning to him, startled. "Did I offend him so deeply?"
"No." Charles felt his mouth twitch at the idea. "He's on another task."
"Oh."
Charles said nothing more, waiting for her to ask for more details. Despite running with the gang for nearly a year now, his default to remain quiet hadn't broken yet, much to the displeasure of Uncle and Lenny, who frequently tried to engage him. Charles still wasn't comfortable with most conversations. Everyone always had little things they needed to say that he found unnecessary.
"Do you ever sleep, Charles?" Charlotte asked unexpectedly.
"Lately, very little." He only slept on his trips between Beaver Hollow and the reservation.
In front of them, a crow landed on one of the dock posts. It turned its head this way and that, and Charles was reminded of a story about a crow that he heard as a boy, maybe even one his mother had told him, though he couldn't recall a specific memory.
"I hope that bird isn't a sign of bad luck for us," Charlotte mused.
"A crow doesn't necessarily mean ill will," Charles responded. "Some say, they didn't always have black feathers either or a nosy caw." Charles watched the crow as it hopped on the dock. "There's a story that the crow was once full of color with an incredible singing voice."
Charlotte tilted her head. "I've not heard that story."
Charles hesitated a moment, almost regretting having brought it up. But he went on, explaining to her, "As the tale goes, the crow risked everything to bring fire from the heavens, in order to warm the animals and people of the earth. It saved them from the brutal winter, but the crow's selflessness was not without punishment."
Charlotte was listening intently, encouraging him to finish the tale.
"The fire burned its feathers, turning the different colors black. And the smoke it inhaled as it succeeded in its journey ruined its voice for good. It was never the same again. The crow was disheartened by its roughened voice and dulled feathers."
Charlotte frowned. "Is that the end of the story?"
"It's what I remember," Charles answered honestly.
"Hmm." Charlotte rested a finger on her chin in thought. "There's always risk in our actions, no matter how great our compassion. Aside from its appearance, the crow did survive his noble task. It never lost its wings either. To me, that means it hasn't lost its true self. And the crow remains a beautiful creature in its own way, don't you think?"
Charles eyed her and asked her bluntly, "What is it you seek from Arthur?"
Her eyes widened and a blush overtook her cheeks. She bit her lip a moment and then admitted, "I...don't know."
Charles said nothing, reverting back to his familiar state of remaining quiet.
"I...I've stayed because of Arthur's friendship and now..." She sighed and twisted her hands together. "I suppose, what most I've been seeking is companionship. Ever since my husband's death, I've felt rather lost."
Oddly, Charles understood her more than she knew. He'd been alone for a long time before falling in with the Van der Linde gang. He'd also been just as lost, unsure of the direction he wanted to go in life. Only, that he was tired of going it alone.
Charlotte smiled lightly. "You know, there was a time I could hardly cook my own food. I couldn't hunt or shoot a gun. I honestly had no knowledge on how to continue living on my own. I was particularly pathetic and on the verge of starvation. As much as he denies it, Arthur truly saved my life."
Charles asked, "So, you've stayed because you owe Arthur a life debt?"
Her mouth parted open as if to agree, but she closed it and turned her head away, stuck momentarily in thought.
"No," she admitted finally. "That's not entirely accurate. Perhaps I was intentionally fooling myself to not admit my own feelings. I care deeply for Arthur." She squeezed her hands together, clearly nervous. "More than is proper, I daresay. Not that it matters. It seems my affections are unwanted."
Charles studied her a moment. "I wouldn't say that."
Her gaze shifted to him quickly, eyes widening as renewed hope brightened their green color. Her mouth opened as if she were about to make him clarify his meaning.
However, at that moment, his ear caught the sound of horses clomping over the dirt road, and if his hearing was accurate, more than one. Charles stood, on alert, his eyes searching through the trees until he found their location.
Coming down the path, there were two horses, as he'd surmised. It was Arthur on his beast of a horse and an older man with a gray beard and a tan hat, sitting on a white stallion.
"Who's that with Arthur?" Charlotte asked him.
Charles slid his rifle off his shoulder as a precaution. "I don't know."
As the two rode up, there didn't seem to be anything amiss. Once close enough, Arthur confirmed it when he nodded to Charles, a gesture he took to mean all was fine.
As they reached the cabin, the older man joked to Arthur, "Well, well, well. I see you weren't kidding about me having a couple of house guests." He nodded to Charles, and then Charlotte. "Morning, folks."
Arthur said, "Charlotte, Charles, this here's Hamish Sinclair. He's, well, the feller who lives here."
"This is your house?" Charlotte asked in a horrified tone.
"I know it don't look like something you'd let a dog sleep in, but yes, ma'am, it is."
"No, it's actually rather lovely. I am terribly sorry for our intrusion. We needed..." She floundered, most likely because the real reason for their stay may not settle right in this man's mind.
"To get out of the storm?" Hamish finished, a slight twinkle in his eye. "I imagine you were caught in that son of a bitch same as I. As long as you didn't rob me blind last night, there's no need for an apology. Not that there's much to take." He smacked his leg, which Charles noticed for the first time was a prosthetic. "This here's about the only thing worth robbing."
"You're much too forgiving," Charlotte said demurely.
"You all want lunch?" he asked, tilting his head towards the back of his horse. "Caught a doe before the wolves got her, but she'll be more than enough for me."
Arthur shared a look with Charles, who shrugged. They needed to head out if they wanted to act with any urgency, but they'd be better off down the line with food in their bellies first.
"As a thanks, for getting my leg back," Hamish implored. "And the damn horse too."
"Sure," Arthur answered. "S'pose we can stay for a meal, if you're offering."
Hamish nodded and dismounted, maneuvering his false leg with care. "You wanna unstrap that deer from Buell for me? Already suffered one throw from that bastard today. Last thing I need is to be kicked too, and he seemed to take to you well."
"He ain't so bad," Arthur said, stepping around Buck to pat Buell on the neck. "Just got spooked is all."
"Oh, yeah. He's a good horse, when he wants to be." Hamish turned to Charlotte. "How are you at making coffee, miss?"
She winced slightly, an apologetic expression appearing. "I'm afraid, I've not much experience with it, if I'm being honest, Mr. Sinclair."
"Come on, I'll give you a lesson." Hamish offered and gave out another instruction, "Take that deer around back, Arthur, while we get a fire started."
Charles followed Arthur to the stallion. He took Arthur's place holding Buell's reins, while Arthur managed the straps on the doe. "I see you've had an interesting day already."
"Yeah, came across Hamish on the ground just up the path. The horse took his wooden leg with him so he couldn't chase after." Arthur asked, "How'd you and Charlotte get on?"
"It's been quiet."
Arthur grunted as he shouldered the doe on one side. "Not sure if I should be happy about that or not. Might mean someone else we know was taken in and they're gettin' worked over."
"Could be."
Once the horses were hitched, they started walking around the house. Arthur cleared his throat and asked awkwardly. "Did, uh, Charlotte say anything?"
"About what?"
"Oh, I don't know. Never mind."
Curious at how flustered Arthur seemed to get, Charles told him, "She's concerned for you."
Arthur fell silent for a minute until he said, "I didn't tell you before, but...that doctor in Van Horn you got me to? She says what I got is pretty bad and it's gonna get worse."
While Charles suspected some kind of illness, he hadn't been sure how serious it was. Arthur didn't say things lightly, and judging by how reluctant he was to admit to it, he was probably downplaying it even now.
Charles let it sit in the air a moment before he said sagely, "Any day we can die. We could both die today. In a way, it is a gift to know. In a way, you are lucky."
"Sure don't feel like that," Arthur grumbled.
"You still have time to make amends. The others, Hosea, Sean, Strauss. They didn't. And the Callander boys? They were both killed trying to escape Blackwater. A more vicious pair of bastards there never was and that's all they ever were and will be."
"Maybe..." Arthur said as he dropped the deer carcass on a table set up in the fenced off area of the cabin.
"You're lucky. With this knowledge, you've got the chance to do something better."
Arthur rested his hands on hips and looked at the ground. "If I ain't too late to help everyone else already, you mean."
"Perhaps."
"I reckon, it's too risky hanging 'round this area much longer. I'll check the nearest post, see if Dutch has left a letter or anything."
After all that and Arthur still wanted to find Dutch? Charles assumed they would split up from here, now that the Pinkertons had forced their hand. "Why do you keep going back to him?"
"I don't know." Arthur scratched the side of his head. "Guess I keep thinkin' there must be a way to save the situation. Thought Hosea could pull Dutch out of the place he's been stuck in."
"And where's that?"
"Beats me." Arthur chuckled darkly. "Somewhere between crazy and genius."
"And what about Charlotte?"
Arthur hesitated. "I'll drop her off at the nearest town. She'll have to make her own way from here on out."
"Is that what she wants?"
Charlotte's laugh tinkered from within the cabin, a strange sound cutting through the gloom that had been cast over their weighty conversation.
Arthur studied the direction of the sound with a frown. "You know, all my life I've been searchin' for something just out of reach, and I weren't too sure exactly what it was. Some semblance of normalcy, I s'pose."
"You're alive and standing now. Why not try for it again?"
"Because what Charlotte wants ain't real," Arthur said harshly. "I don't know what she's thinkin', but I got an inkling and it ain't in her best interest."
"Seems your mind's made up about it."
"It is," Arthur answered with confidence, yet uncertainty flickered a moment in his eyes.
Charles wouldn't press him since it seemed to push him in the opposite mindset anyway. Instead, he took interest in a trinket tied on Arthur's belt. Charles recognized the owl feathers and knew it to be a sacred item. If this was given by Rains Fall, it meant Arthur had earned his respect.
"How'd it go with Rains Fall?" Charles asked.
Arthur said thoughtfully, "You know, not so long ago, I would have found him weak and pathetic."
Charles didn't let that blunt opinion irk him as he questioned, "And now?"
"Rains Fall is a wise man, but I reckon you already knew that."
Charles nodded. "Did you convince him to move?"
"Ain't sure I convinced him of anything, but he seems to see the situation clear enough." Arthur's expression brightened all of a sudden. "Say, I might have an idea. Ain't sure if anything will come of it, but it might be worth a try."
"What is it?"
"I don't want to say nothin', in case it don't work out, but I'll give it a shot once we clear out."
Charles was curious what Arthur had in mind, but said, "In the meantime, the tribe has to work on migrating north. At this point, it's an inevitability."
"Maybe it always was," Arthur said grimly. "I gave Rains Fall much the same opinion, much good it'll do."
"He knows what must be done."
"Now, if you could get Eagle Flies on board with his father, it'd be an easier situation."
"That's one of the main difficulties." One Charles hadn't managed to find a solution for. Where Rains Fall was collected, calm and reasonable, Eagle Flies had proven impulsive and hot-tempered, wanting revenge rather than resolution. "I would need some time to convince them."
"Seems to me, from what I heard from Rains Fall, you got yourself more invested in that tribe than this gang, Charles."
Arthur stated it without any accusation in his tone. It was true Charles' attention had been divided between camp and the reservation lately and he wasn't sure when it had started.
With a knowing eye, Arthur told him, "And they seem to need you up there. More than we do."
Charles frowned at him. "What are you saying?"
"Who knows where we go from here, but it seems you got more to lose if you stay on."
"Don't start talking like that," Charles said, dismissive as there was still too much left unfinished with the gang. "I'm not just going to leave."
Arthur stared down the road, where they'd left trouble behind, but not for good. "I shoulda pushed Marston to run when I had the chance. Now...it might be too late. But you still can do the right thing, Charles."
It'd been a gradual decline, but Charles had been losing respect for Dutch. Rains Fall had opened his eyes to the type of leader Dutch was not. Despite the ideals that had tempted him to join up with the gang, Charles found Rains Fall's mild manner and view of life more appealing. Following Rains Fall's lead, Charles finally felt he was on the correct path of his life. Everything he did for the tribe was miles more fulfilling than anything he'd ever done for Dutch.
"Maybe you're right," Charles admitted quietly.
Arthur hesitated, but offered, "You want me up there with you?"
"No, Arthur." Charles rested a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "You have others who need you. Good people who can't get out themselves."
Arthur nodded. "You ain't wrong."
Charles noted the sun's position directly above their heads. "If I leave now, I should be able to make it to the reservation in a few hours."
"What? You ain't gonna stay for a meal at least?"
"If I'm going to make the attempt to convince Eagle Flies not to go to war, then I must leave immediately."
Charles stepped forward and caught Arthur in a brief hug. "Good luck, my friend." He leaned back, hand resting on Arthur's shoulder as he studied the other man. Arthur's face was pale and dark circles had taken shape under his eyes, as if he'd just been in a bar brawl, receiving two shiners. Charles asked with concern, "Will you be alright?"
"Yeah. I reckon I'm headed for a fight, but it wouldn't be the first time."
"Take care of yourself."
Arthur didn't comment as Charles turned away, heading for Taima. He saddled her, patting Buck as he led her out of the small shed. Charles turned her north and waved one last time at Arthur standing in the fenced off part of the yard.
In Charles' opinion, nothing good could come from trying to sew the Van der Linde gang back together. It was over. He could see it, even if Dutch—and even Arthur—couldn't. There were others who were disillusioned too, who couldn't see past the next score. Javier's recent aggression towards him came to mind. Arthur may have more trouble on his hands than he realized.
A crow swept in front of his path, finding a carcass in the grass at the side of the road. Charles stared at it as he passed it by, trying hard not to take its arrival as an omen. The crow's true nature had yet to be proven, despite the mythical tale he'd told to Charlotte. He wavered in his resolve. Was this a sign he'd just abandoned his friends to death?
The crow shifted its position, the sun shining on its feathered body with the movement. For a brief second, the black shimmered, colors impossibly surfacing in defiance of its own natural appearance.
Then again, Charles mused, perhaps there was some truth to the tale. Perhaps, after all was said and done, there would be enough selflessness and determination to save those who needed saving.
