Author's Note: I'll be honest, the prompt was more of a jumping-off point for this chapter than actually having anything to do with it. I just really wanted to get a VanderMatthews chapter from Dutch's perspective, and also work in a hunting trip with Hamish. So... mission accomplished? ;)
Day 6 Prompt: Sitting In Front of the Heater (Fire) To Warm Up
O'Creagh's Run, West Grizzlies, AM – December 6, 1910
Dutch Van der Linde had never fancied himself much of a hunter. He could shoot just fine, of course – was quite skilled, even, if he did say so himself, a necessity for anyone in his previous line of work. He had no talent with a bow, but he could manage a rifle well enough, take a couple of rabbits or a buck or boar to keep himself fed. Even fishing wasn't too difficult, although he really only considered his angling decent when compared to Arthur's or John's. Given the latter couldn't even swim, that wasn't saying much.
The pursuit of trophies, though, with all of the tracking and stalking and waiting just to more often than not leave empty-handed afterward? He had never really seen the appeal. In spite of all of his time spent living rough over the years – or perhaps because of it – Dutch was really not an outdoorsman at heart. A proponent of polite society he was not, but equally, he was not one to turn down a few creature comforts when he had the opportunity for them. He preferred a quiet, peaceful afternoon spent reading and listening to music on the gramophone, perhaps smoking a few cigars and discussing the finer points of literature with Hosea, over a day of trudging through the brush and coming home covered in mud and cuts and insect bites.
Even so, he hadn't hesitated to come along when Hamish Sinclair invited the pair of them out for a hunting trip. For all of his general disinterest in the sport, Dutch knew it made Hosea happy in a way few other things did. It was one of the rare, true pleasures the older man had always had in his life, the pursuit of game calling to him the same way the pursuit of knowledge called to Dutch. And although he knew Hosea would never complain if he didn't accompany them, he also knew how much it would mean to his husband to have him along. They were both getting on in years; honestly, neither had expected to ever reach any sort of old age in the first place, so the concept was strange. Their bodies were beginning to pay for the decades of hard living now with aches and pains and stiffness, especially Hosea's, and there was never any guarantee of how many trips like this they would have left before it became too difficult to enjoy anymore.
The ending of their gang had changed many things for Dutch, not least of which was the realization that were it not for Hosea and his near-boundless love and patience, he would never have been granted this second chance at life. Their family was safe now, their sons happy and healthy and thriving in a way Hosea and Dutch had always wanted for them but never dreamed they'd actually have. And Dutch, selfish and single-minded though he knew he could sometimes be, was also reminded every day of just how lucky they truly were. He'd already been given over a decade longer than he ever dreamed with the greatest man he'd ever known, and he didn't plan on wasting one moment of their time together.
"Dutch? You in there?"
Dutch blinked and shook his head, glancing over to meet Hosea's questioning gaze. "Sorry, Old Girl. I was a million miles away."
"Everythin' okay?" The man was smiling gently, but his upturned silver brows gave away his underlying worry, and Dutch grinned sheepishly in return.
"Just fine," he answered breezily, reaching across the space between their saddles to pat Hosea's knee. "You know how I've always loved to daydream."
Hosea chuckled, the sound wheezing slightly in his chest. "That I do. Just make sure you don't get so lost in one you wander off into a grizzly den."
"Well, that's why I have you and Hamish, isn't it?"
The veteran snorted from his position a few yards ahead of them, where he was currently tracking their quarry from astride his golden cremello stallion, Buell. "I can't speak for Hosea, but you daydream your way into a bear den with me and you're on your own, Van der Linde. I already lost one leg for my fool of a general, ain't losin' the other for a man can't keep his wits about him out here."
Dutch laughed, deep in his belly. "Fair enough, I suppose."
"Wait, shh!" Hamish suddenly hissed, holding up a hand to signal a halt while he peered through his binoculars. He and Hosea did so immediately, and Dutch smiled to himself at the sound of The Count's hooves tapping softly on the ground beneath them as he pranced in place. Even closing in on his second decade of life, the Arabian never seemed to lose his enthusiasm, his natural joie de vivre (though some, namely Hosea, might call it "piss and vinegar") leaving him forever chomping at the bit for an adventure no matter where it was they were actually going.
"Yeah, there he is," Hamish whispered excitedly. "Just on that rise over there. You see 'im?"
Hosea looked through his binoculars for a moment too, and there was an excited sparkle shining in his eyes when he nodded to Hamish and passed them over to Dutch. Curious, Dutch raised them up to his own eyes – and quickly understood what all of the fuss had been about.
A few hundred yards away, standing between the trees atop the crest of a snowy hill, was an enormous Rocky Mountain bull elk. Its proud head was held high, neck well-muscled and arched so smoothly it could have been carved from marble. It was a monarch, each antler tipped with eight symmetrical points, and its coat was piebald, splashed and speckled with white and golden-brown like a Florida Cracker cow. While he watched, the bull threw its head back and bugled loudly, the haunting bellowing screech drawing an involuntary shudder from both The Count and his rider. It wasn't often Dutch was struck by the beauty of an animal he mainly relied on for food; this one, though, took his breath away.
"What's our plan then, Hamish?" Hosea whispered, gloved fingers gripping tighter around Silver Dollar's reins. "Trees are pretty dense up ahead; I dunno if we can get a clear shot on him before he bolts, and I'd sure hate to put a bunch of holes in him tryin'."
"I say we split up a little," Hamish said, his eyes fixed firmly on the bull. "See if we can't flank him, get him cornered so one of us can get a good shot. Animal like that don't reach this size by bein' any kind of complacent, though, so likely as not he'll still give us a run for our money anyway. You boys think you're up for a chase, if it comes to that?"
"I think Silver and I still got a few good miles in us today," Hosea said confidently, sitting up straighter in the saddle and smirking at Dutch. "How about you, Old Girl? Think you can handle it?"
"Oh, you just wait, Hosea," Dutch grumbled, a cocky grin spreading across his face as he leaned forward to pat The Count's neck. "You'll be eatin' our dust in a quarter mile."
Hosea, the bastard, just winked at him. "Guess we'll see, won't we?"
The three men fell silent, then, encouraging their horses into a slow walk and splitting off in three directions. Hosea circled around wide to approach from the western side of the hill, Dutch from the east, and Hamish took Buell straight-on from the south, slowing up to be sure the others could get into position before he got too close. The dense snow hardly made a sound beneath the horses' hooves, and they made their way up the hill just a few steps at a time, weaving between the spindly trunks of the pines and scarcely daring to breathe as they drew closer and closer to their quarry. Dutch was close enough to see the elk's eyes now, edges rimmed with white as he clearly sensed the danger he was in.
"Whoa, boy," he whispered to The Count, spying Hamish and Buell coming up the hill to his left. The top of Hosea's hat was visible a distance away, just peeking over the top of the elk's back, though at this angle its bulk obscured the rest of him and Silver Dollar from view. Slowly, carefully, Dutch raised his rifle, keeping his breathing slow and steady as he locked eyes with the wary bull. His finger tightened around the trigger; easy, just a little more, aim for the heart, and -
A twig snapped somewhere in the nearby underbrush, and that was all it took. The enormous animal exploded into motion before his eyes, leaping away into the trees in a whirl of white and gold. Dutch distantly heard Hamish curse from somewhere below, but he was already in pursuit, The Count breaking into a gallop with one swift kick of his heels. The white stallion surged forward like a tidal wave, surefooted and swift as he wove and twisted between the trees after their quarry. Dutch could hear Silver Dollar and Buell pounding down the trail just behind him, their riders shouting encouragement as they worked to head off the elk before it could elude them completely.
For all of The Count's speed and stamina, though, they couldn't seem to gain any ground, the great beast always a few lengths ahead as it bounded over brush and boulders that a horse couldn't have managed without risking a broken leg. Still, Dutch spurred him on, The Count tossing his head and snorting furiously as he picked up his pace. When they were nearly close enough for Dutch to reach out a hand and touch the pale fur on the elk's rump, the white Arabian snaked his head forward like a band stallion herding a mare, angrily snapping at the bull's flank with his teeth. It grunted and skidded to a halt, letting Dutch fly a few strides past, and then made an about-face and fled to the west, leaping over the rocky ground away from Dutch and toward Hosea and Hamish.
"Dammit!" Dutch shouted, pulling The Count to a halt and wheeling him back in the other direction. "There he goes, Hosea! On your left!"
"I see him!" Hosea yelled back, already spurring Silver forward. "Come on, boy! Yah!" The dapple gray Turkoman eagerly obeyed, dodging between the trees and bounding over snow-covered stones and fallen logs with more agility than most horses half his age. Buell and The Count followed side-by-side behind him, both of their riders sharing a quick look of astonishment at the blistering pace the oldest horse and rider of the group were setting for them.
The elk banked sharply around a copse of spindly pines, and Dutch's heart jumped into his throat when it leapt over a large boulder and through a thick wall of red cedar branches, Hosea and Silver just meters behind. He sucked a breath in through his teeth as the older man approached the obstacle, worried he was about to watch him take a terrible fall.
Hosea didn't even flinch. When Silver Dollar dug his rear hooves into the slush and launched himself upwards, Hosea rose up with him, weight balanced down in his heels and arms centered over Silver's neck as he kept his upper body parallel with the horse's back. The pair landed without missing a stride, and Hosea quickly regained his seat and ducked down low before they disappeared through the cedar branches.
Dutch and Hamish, gawking at one another in disbelief, opted for a slightly safer path, losing a few precious seconds skirting around the boulder instead of over it. Finally, though, they broke through the treeline, and blessedly found themselves on open ground. The horses had the advantage here and seemed to know it, Buell and The Count racing forward without needing to be asked and shortening the gap between them and Silver Dollar with every stride. Just ahead, Hosea had nearly gained on their target again, and he sat deep and low in his saddle as Silver wove left and right, expertly applying and releasing pressure like a cutting horse on a cow to keep the piebald bull moving forward.
"Get ready, boys!" Hosea cried without looking back, trusting Silver to keep on course while he raised his lasso over his head and swung it in a wide loop. "He ain't gonna go down easy!"
The heavy rope flew through the air, sailing over the elk's antlers and landing on its powerful shoulders. Hosea yanked on it with all he was worth, and the loop tightened, slipping upward as the bull began to resist until it finally pulled taut just below the base of the skull. As Dutch and Hamish drew closer, he hurriedly tied the rope around his saddle horn, Silver Dollar shifting his weight backwards and bracing against the thousand pounds of thrashing muscle that flailed against the rope like a fish on a line.
"Hold him there, Hosea!" Hamish shouted, he and Dutch just a few hundred yards from the pair now.
"We're tryin!" Hosea growled, leaning his own weight back in the saddle to help Silver Dollar any way he could.
The elk was panicked now, exhausted and furious. It bucked and snorted and tossed its head wildly, eyes red and breath bursting out in white clouds as it struggled to get free. Then, freezing for a second, it suddenly seemed to realize exactly where the other end of the rope imprisoning it led. Dutch watched in horror as the half-ton animal squared up to Silver Dollar, sides heaving with rage and exertion. It bellowed and lowered its head, pawing a hoof through the snow while sixteen tines as sharp as daggers aimed straight at Hosea and his mount.
"Shit, Hosea!" he cried, and the silver-haired man's eyes widened, clearly having come to the same realization as Dutch but unable to do anything to stop it.
Dutch raced toward the pair, now swinging his own lasso above his head and spurring The Count onward with all that he was worth. "Yah! Come on, come on, come on!" He had never had the knack for roping that Hosea or their sons did, but failure was absolutely not an option here. Without a second to lose, he released the rope into the air, and for a moment he was sure his heart stopped beating when it failed to make it over the elk's head, instead draping itself loosely over its left antler. It was something, though, and he wasted no time pulling the rope as hard as he could. The loop slipped closed around the brow tine and beam just as the enraged creature moved to charge, and he could have cried in relief when it held fast.
"You got the bastard, Dutch!" Hamish called, dismounting from Buell's back a few feet away and drawing his hunting knife. "Back up and hold him, now, so he can't gore me or Hosea. I'll finish him off!"
Dutch did as he was told, looping the rope around his saddle horn and backing The Count up until the elk's head was held fast between the two ropes. His heart pounded so hard with both relief and residual panic that he felt vaguely nauseated, and he could only watch as Hamish confidently made his way up to the animal's side, hunting knife gripped tight in his fist, and drove it in up to the hilt, straight between the ribs and through its heart. A few seconds later it was over; the overgrown buck collapsed to its knees, letting out one last bleating bellow, and then toppled over onto its side and was still.
"Hooooweeeee!" Hamish exclaimed, running his fingers over a couple of the tines on the four-foot-wide rack of antlers. "What a chase! I doubt I'll see another quite like this one as long as I live!"
"I'd certainly hope there ain't too many like this one," Dutch quipped, dismounting with a groan and patting The Count's sweaty neck before making his way toward their prize. "If there was, I think venison might find itself off the menu before long."
"He sure was... an impressive bastard... though," Hosea panted, and Dutch frowned at the way he could hear every intake of air whistling in his chest from where he stood. "Gave us a… a hell of a chase."
"You alright there, Hosea?"
"Fine," Hosea croaked, his voice strained. "I'm -" he cleared his throat, "I'm fine... just... gotta catch my -"
A series of hoarse coughs interrupted him before he could finish, and Dutch quickly came over to stand by his side, helping him down from the saddle before he could fall while he hacked raggedly into his fist. His concern only grew when the older man couldn't seem to stop, face growing red with the force of it and a hand clutching shakily at his chest.
"Easy, easy," Dutch said softly, one hand slipping under Hosea's to brace against his sternum and the other thumping him firmly on the back. "I got you, just breathe."
It was a familiar position for them, so practiced as to be almost automatic after all these years, and Hosea relaxed into it immediately, allowing Dutch to hold him steady while he fought to get control of his rioting lungs. Hamish hung back, staying nearby but not interfering; almost a decade of being neighbors meant it wasn't his first time to witness this, and if Dutch wasn't panicking or asking for his help, he knew the pair of them had things under control.
After what felt like an eternity, though Dutch knew it was really more like a minute and a half, Hosea's coughs finally began to ease. He pulled in a deep, rasping breath and gagged, clearing his throat and hawking something up into the snow, before sagging further into Dutch's hold, panting and exhausted.
"There you go," Dutch murmured into his ear, the hand which had been patting Hosea's back now rubbing gentle circles into his muscles instead. "You think you'll be okay now? Should I get your cigs?" The other man always carried a packet of thorn-apple and tobacco cigarettes in his pack; they'd been recommended many years ago by a small-town physician, who swore by them for staving off the worst of his asthma symptoms. Dutch still couldn't say whether or not they actually worked, but something was better than nothing, he supposed, if the alternative was Hosea not breathing.
"No need for that," Hosea rasped, squeezing Dutch's arm where it was still wrapped around him. "I'm fine."
"Are you sure? If it's an attack, Hosea, we need to get you -"
"I'm sure. I'd tell you if it was, you know that."
"I know, but –"
Hosea chuckled, the sound still wheezy but already better than before, and turned his head to give Dutch a quick peck on the cheek. "All this running around in the cold got me a little choked up, that's all. Let me rest a minute, and I'll be right as rain."
"You heard 'im, Dutch," Hamish chimed in, already kneeling beside the carcass and beginning to slide his knife down the belly to open it up. "We'd best get to work, if we wanna get all this meat trimmed up before it freezes solid. Hosea, you sit back a minute and let us pull our weight now; after that ride, you and Silver both definitely earned it."
Dutch nodded, kneeling down beside the veteran as they began dressing their kill to haul back home. "I gotta say, that really was impressive, Hosea. Guess you've still got a few tricks up your sleeve, after all."
Hosea laughed, tipping his hat and crossing his arms with a cocky grin. "You're damn right I do."
"... But one day, we were river fishin' when we see a funeral procession goin' over the bridge. And out of the blue, Wesley stands up, takes off his hat, bows his head. Then he sits down, picks his rod back up and carries on, doesn't say a word. So I'm a little surprised and say, 'Wesley, that was nice of you.' And he replies, 'Well, felt I had to. After all, I was married to her for thirty years!'"
Hamish burst out into laughter in his seat at the table, and even Dutch was unable to suppress a few chuckles despite having heard this old joke countless times before. He, Hosea, and Hamish were all seated around the table in the veteran's cozy cabin, warming themselves in front of the fire. Their bellies were nearly full to bursting with fresh venison chops, their heads fuzzy from the whiskey they toasted to their successful hunt.
They had divided everything evenly once the carcass was dressed. Hamish insisted they take the hide, telling them he knew how much Hosea hated cold floors and that they should make it into a rug for their bedroom; he only asked for the sixteen-point rack to mount on his wall, which they considered more than fair. Aforementioned hide was currently rolled up and waiting on the porch outside, and the sacks of now-frozen meat hung from the trees to keep them safe until it was time to head back. With a one-third share yielding something like ninety pounds of meat, all three men were going to be well-fed on elk for a long time to come.
"Oh, wait, you'll love this one," Dutch told Hamish once they'd all stopped laughing long enough to speak again. "There was this time we sent Arthur out fishin', must've been 1883 or '84, and he came back with three beautiful bass..."
"Oh-ho yes, I remember," Hosea chuckled, shaking his head.
"He was maybe twenty, twenty-one, walked in all full of himself. We had a big feast, toasted him all night. Then, the next week, Arthur and I are at the market, fishmonger calls out, 'So how did you enjoy those bass?'"
"No," Hamish whispered dramatically, hand over his heart. "You can't mean the same Arthur who caught the Tyrant right out here in this pond?"
"The very same! And you know what he told me?" Dutch asked, putting on his best drunken impression of Arthur. "He says, 'Look, you can fish, or you can go drinkin' all day, rob someone, and buy some fish.'"
Hamish and Hosea were nearly rolling at this point, half from the story and half from Dutch laying the drawl on so thick he'd somehow made "fish" sound like "fee-yush."
"You think – You think Charles has heard that one yet?" Hamish managed between chortles.
"Oh yes," Hosea grinned. "One of the first stories we told him, once they got together. Had to make sure he knew what he was gettin' into."
"I'm sure Arthur loved you for that."
Dutch shrugged, giggling to himself. "We're his parents, wouldn't be doin' our job if we didn't embarrass him, would we?"
"I s'pose not," Hamish agreed, shaking his head. "Well, you give those boys my best when you see 'em at Christmas, will ya? And tell 'em they'd better come up here again soon, too! It's been too long."
"It certainly has. We'll be sure to."
They headed for home not long after, promising Hamish they'd visit again soon and now carrying the two enormous antlers, which the man had changed his mind about keeping and insisted they take with them as a Christmas gift for the Morgan-Smith household. Their spoils were split between their two horses, both of whom looked about as exhausted as they felt. As soon as they reached home the two men were quick to relieve the beasts of their burdens, grooming them thoroughly and bedding them down with extra straw before feeding a bit of warm oat mash as a reward. The hide would need tanning, too, but it would keep until morning.
They finally got changed, cleaned up some, and crawled into bed. Dutch opened his arms, and Hosea burrowed into his chest with a contented sigh.
"So, how'd you fancy your time on the hunt today, Mister Van der Linde?" he asked drowsily, and Dutch could hear him grinning.
"It was certainly something," Dutch replied, yawning and pressing a kiss into his short silver hair. "I doubt I'll see another animal quite like that as long as I live."
"Oh, you never know. Hamish seems to have a knack for finding these sorts of things. Tag along with us again and you may yet."
"Does that mean your days of Olympic show-jumping are just getting started?"
"No, no," Hosea chuckled, only to groan when his back twinged in response. "I think I'll be payin' for that one the next few days as it is. Silver too. But it was certainly fun. Glad to know my old boy's still got it."
"Mmhmm," Dutch rumbled, hugging him a little tighter. "And so does my Old Girl."
Hosea was quickly losing the battle against sleep, but before he could drift off he nuzzled against Dutch's cheek and whispered, "Do you think the boys will believe us when we tell 'em how we hunted that thing?"
Dutch snorted. "Not a chance in hell."
Notes: Dutch and Hosea are so very much in love, and they love their crazy kids (and kids-in-law).
Also, as an asthmatic who cannot exercise in the cold without hating my entire existence afterward (and as a fan of the theory that Hosea has asthma worsened by emphysema/COPD by 1899) I was both fascinated and horrified to learn that people used to legitimately believe cigarettes made any of those conditions ibetter./i Dutch isn't trying to kill Hosea by offering him a cig here; thorn-apple and tobacco cigarettes were an actual remedy recommended for asthmatics (and people with TB), as was ipecac syrup because people thought vomiting profusely would somehow clear the lungs. Like?
One of many reasons I'm grateful not to live in 1899 or 1910, love these boahs though I do.