His words rang through his own head. Repeating them over, making sure what he said is what he meant. It was something that he had done before, usually an instinct to speak to a group, inform on the subject at hand and to give comfort. Strength. Faith.
But it was happening, now more than ever. Slight slips of worry that maybe this is out of his control. For heavens sake, they had been out on the lamb for years, but nothing has compared to the past few months.
"Sleeping with one eye open, every night.", his good friend and voice of reason, would tell him. The door to the cabin closed, snapping him out of thought. He took him by the shoulder.
"I'm glad you're still here, brother. This…this whole mess. I can't believe it.", Dutch spoke, with undertone and sadness.
"I know. You're doing all you can, Dutch. We all are.", the older man said, wiping his nose.
"Hosea…how in the hell are we gonna get outta this?", he said, rubbing his hands.
"Look, we have shelter, multiple ones at that. Even though you can just look at it and it'll far apart, it's still a start. One thing at a time Dutch. We need to wait for a break in the weather, when this damn snow let's up, then we'll plan our next move. For now, keep our spirits up."
Dutch found comfort in the words. And composed himself. "Okay…okay…Arthur. I need Arthur. I'm gonna get us to…ride out a bit. Try and run into John and Micah."
"Okay. I'll go get him. Be careful out there Dutch.", Hosea said, and patted him on the back.
He checked his iron, and lit a cigarette, while rounding up two horses from the caravan. He heard his name being called out from the cabin. "Over here, son!"
Snow crunched and a lanterns light approached him. Dutch lead the two steeds to it.
"You can't be serious on wanting to go out there now?"
"Arthur, please. We got to do something. I'm not gonna just sit in that cabin and let us freeze to the floorboards. Here.", he proclaimed, handing the lead off.
"At this rate, we'd be more productive to do so.", Arthur said, following his leader.
The snow was getting thicker. Falling in torrents, and sticking like glue. The two outlaws mounted up, and begin out on the search. They rode for about ten minutes. It was powder, the snow. Thick enough for the horse's to have trouble, especially when tracking up a hill.
"Hey, I ain't had time to ask but, what really when down back there on that boat?", Arthur asked, with hesitation. Dutch looked at him, "We missed you, that's what happened."
"I was gone but a minute to get the bags. What the hell happened? You think it was a set up?", Arthur suggested, pushing his steed a bit more.
"I have no clue, son. Those damn Pinkertons. Everything we've done recently, they've been right behind us, ready for us. It's possible. But I like to think not."
Deep down he didn't want to admit it, but it is possible. Everything for months was so meticulously planned, tested and noted. But yet, the worst seemed to always come to be. If someone had been talking inside the gang, he would have deduced by now, Dutch thought.
"Do you still have my back, Arthur?", Dutch said, with concern.
"Of course, Dutch. Always will.", he said back, no hesitation.
"That's all I need to know. You are my brother. You are my son. You mean much to me Arthur Morgan."
"Goes both ways, along with the rest of the gang."
After minutes more of pushing onward, a light broke the shade of white. It got brighter, and brighter. Then the figure of a horse and man formed.
"Who goes there?!", Dutch called out, hand on his iron. Closer they got, Dutch recognised the figure. "Micah. You're alive."
He lowered his lantern and spit. "Gentlemen. How goes it?"
"Cold.", Arthur said bluntly.
"Seems some folk holed up in this homestead over the hill here isn't.", Micah said, falling in with the duo. "A small cabin, with lights and noise. Sounded like a party."
"Take us there.", Dutch asked.
"Follow me."
Over the hill they went, horses at an all time low. Arthur's brown and spotted white steed strained and whined. He patted his neck and tried to keep him going.
"How's Davey doing?", Micah asked.
Dutch shook his head. "Gone. There wasn't anything else we could do."
Micah clicked his cheek. "That's too bad. Davey was a real fighter. Both of them Callender boys are. Or, was."
"Have you seen John?", Arthur hollered. Micah gave a huff. "Not since Dutch sent us off. He decided he wanted to split up."
"He'll come back. He's not stupid to stay out in all this.", Dutch said, looking for the cabin Micah spoke of. "Who knows anymore with that boy.", Arthur said, recalling the past.
"Not now Arthur. Wait…there…is that it, Micah?", Dutch asked, pointing out past the cliff and at a small flicker of light.
"Think so. Come on, let's go give ourselves an introduction. Hiyah!"
They proceeded slowly down the slope, and followed Dutch. By the time they reached the fence surrounding the cabin, the horses were spent. Hitching them up on the frozen wood, the three stuck to a nearby stable.
"Okay…you weren't kidding about a party. There must be what, ten people in there?", Dutch remarked, taking a peek.
"So what do we do?", Micah asked, unholstering his revolver. Dutch lowered it with his hand. "Not that. It could just be a rowdy family for all we know. Here…I'll go to the front door. Micah you get behind that wagon there, and Arthur you stay in this stable. If I fire, you fire.", Dutch ordered, and stood. "How do I look?"
"Like an untrustworthy stranger.", Arthur said.
Dutch pushed the snow with his legs and walked to the cabin. He gave a final look back at the men, and nodded. "Hello!? Anyone in there? I'm, freezing out here. I'm lost.", Dutch yelled, trying his best to look meek.
The cabin hushed. He heard small talks and low voices, then a head peek around the window. The door unlocked and opened. It was a man, who looked just as rough as him.
"Who are you?", he asked, with a bottle of something strong in his hand. He had a beard, longer hair and wool clothing. But also not afraid to show the big iron on his hip.
"Hello, sir. My name is Aiden. I live not to far from here, maybe a mile from here. Sorry I've never came down to meet any of you, neighbors.", Dutch said with a chuckle, "But my dumb ol' horse decided to buck me off after seeing a few wolves."
The man just stood and listened, then tossed him the bottle of whiskey he was holding. "You look like you could use a drop."
Dutch nodded and uncorked the liquid gold, and bottoms up from there.
Only for Dutch to be met with a revolver being pointed at him. "But now, drop everything you have."
Arthur and Micah immediately pulled their firearms out, but did not initiate.
"Now, sir. Please. I've got nothing on me of value. I'm, cold. I'm of nothing to you-"
"What the hell did I just say? Drop what you have on you!", he barked, and hiccuped.
Dutch had his hands up, but then started to unbuckle his bag, and throw it on the blanket of snow. "There. I have a few dollars. Nothing more."
The man tried to stay afoot coming down the stairs, the way a drunk man would walk. He picked up the bag, still looking at Dutch. But he never looked away, instead he layed the bag back down, and got closer. "Wait a minute. What…what did you say your name was?"
Dutch clenched his jaw. "Aiden."
The man pulled his hammer back. "Bullshit…it's…it's goddamn Dutch Van Der Linde! Oh Colm's gonna shit his pants-"
Before he could even start feeling too much excitement, Dutch had already drawn and put a hole in the man's chest. The man fell to the padded snow. "Colm, huh!? Boys, let's do this!", Dutch yelled.
In an instant, more men from the cabin started to gather around the window, busting it out and firing rifles. Dutch ran his fastest and dove behind a fallen tree. Arthur and Micah had already dropped three of the men from the windows. "Top window! Get him!", Micah yelled.
Dutch took a minute to refocus, and then aimed his sight down at the elevated rifleman, holding his iron with one hand, he fired a single shot. Then, all quiet on the frozen front.
He retreated from his log, and regrouped with the others in the front yard.
"Any more of you degenerates in there!?", Dutch hollered. "Arthur, take the side door there, Micah, go check that barn."
Dutch took cover behind the front doorframe, and kicked the door open. Right after, two shots soared out the cabin. Then two more, and the sound of thuds. "It's clear.", Arthur said.
He peered around the corner, and entered. The cabin was a wreck, the smell of alcohol and tobacco filled the main living room, and the smell of fresh blood. "Good shootin' Arthur.", he complimented, checking the surroundings.
The men looked around the living quarters, finding nothing but empty whiskey, cigarettes, photograph and hand drawn pictures of explicit women, and cans of tobacco. "Desperate bastards.", Dutch muttered, tossing them into the fireplace.
"Should've left them for Uncle.", Arthur said, joking.
"Look for the essentials. Food, medicine, whiskey…or what's left of it."
Arthur stoked the fire with the kindling that was stacked just outside of the cabin. Then lit a cigarette with a lit twig. "This place is stable at least. Maybe we should move the women and Jack down here.", Arthur said, taking a drag.
"I was think the same. If anything us and Hosea can stay in here too, and get the boys set up in that barn out there. Speaking of, go check in on Micah.", Dutch said, rooting through a cabinet. Arthur grunted, but obeyed.
There was a latter that reached a loft, most likely where he would find the rifleman he hit. And it was, all sprawled and twitching. Dutch stripped the body down and took anything of value. The rifle he was using was much better than what the gang was used too. He slung it across his back.
There was a single bed in the loft. The sheets were not made, and the so called bedroom was a mess. So was the rest of the home. Dutch went through the dresser and cupboard, and found women's clothing and a mans. Sealing the deduction on that a couple used to live here, after spotting the framed photograph over the fireplace. Dutch climbed down from the loft after he heard a pair of footsteps entering the cabin.
"Anything useful in there?", Dutch questioned Micah. "A single horse, and one more dead O'driscoll.", he replied, cleaning the butt of his revolver from blood.
"Yeah, after you caved his skull in.", Arthur said, going to a cabinet. "He jumped me, Morgan. He wouldn't be alive either way if he went for you."
Dutch layed the rifle on the table, and took a seat at one of the chairs. Then Arthur did, with a can of food he found, then Micah.
He removed his gloves and rubbed his eyes and face. "I need to rest. I haven't slept in three days." Arthur cracked the can open and ate some. It was assorted vegetables. "Here.", he passed it around.
Dutch ate some bites, and took a sip of whiskey the O'driscoll made love too previously. "I believe a couple used to live here. There's women's clothes and a mans in that loft up there. And that picture there…"
"Oh yeah, there's a body in that wagon out front. Could be the bastard.", Micah said, swallowing what was left of the can.
Arthur snagged the can and tossed it, irritated he finished it.
"Well whatever happened to the lady, this is our place now.", Micah said, leaning back. "This place is for the women and Jack, and the previous homeowner, if she is still alive, or shows up.", Dutch corrected. He stood, and handed the rifle to Arthur. "Here, you and Micah, go back to everyone and get them to move down here. Surely they haven't unpacked much, but I'm sure they would rather stay here than there."
Arthur stood and took the firearm. The pair exited. Dutch, took the bottle, and slowly made his way up to the loft again, and collapsed onto the bed that was there. It was quite big, and quite soft. It took only a few minutes before he was into slumber.
But not even in his own, he still could not rest fully. Reliving when the gunfire began. The whistles and the screaming. His own men, being hit and dragged off. How did they manage? Not just the in Blackwater, but since they formed? It seemed that the answer was chasing them. The land was changing, and the people that stood atop was as well.
There was nothing to stop it. Progress is what they called it. Civilization. Oh, I miss the west. I miss the dirt, I miss the sky. I miss the open road, the open possibilities.
Would it ever revert? Would we ever be able to return? All we need, is money, and time. I need everyone to believe. To trust. We will make it. We will survive.
