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Chapter 36

"Are we going to do something, Dutch?" Bill asked at last after another week of nothing went by. "I mean, I'm sorry, boss, but we're not making any progress."

Dutch made a faint scoffing noise. "I have decided to listen to my dearest son and Hosea."

The obviously irritated Dutch didn't have to elaborate on things further, and it annoyed Bill equally as much. When would Arthur see the bigger picture? They couldn't stay in the same hideout forever. Eventually, someone from the past would find them. Dutch were trying to keep them safe from local laws and those who may be chasing after them since what happened at Blackwater.

Bill praised Arthur for putting that bastard, Colm O'Driscoll, down. But it was his lack of faith in Dutch; his sudden shift in attitude. Ain't he got an appreciation for the men who saved him? Don't he have any faith?

Micah was right. Arthur was losing his head.

"But what are we going to do now?" The dishonorably discharged soldier asked, hands clenching into fists in irritation.

"Ain't it obvious, son?" Dutch asked rhetorically. Through gritted teeth, he continued, "We'll follow their recommendations to make sure this strain don't grow worse."

"Bu-"

"Are you doubting me?" A sudden glint passed through Dutch's face.

Bill put his hands up in defense. "Woah, woah, sorry, Dutch, I didn't mean to question you."

"Not to worry, Bill, you've been showing loyalty and faith," Dutch praised, making his chest beat heavier at the praise.

The fat man turned around and moved back to his tent. He didn't know what to feel now. If someone told him that Arthur would have become a liability after the Blackwater robbery mere weeks ago, Bill would have laughed in their face and been unable to believe it.

Now, Bill just couldn't help expressing disgust toward the man. If anything was needed at this time, it was trust and faith in their leader.

Couldn't he see his attitude was beginning to affect the camp?

Upon not finding Micah in his tent, Bill searched the area. Eventually, he found Micah near the lake somewhere far from the camp, alone, sitting, legs folded. He frowned, his eyes narrowing at the asshole. He wasn't blind. Eventually, the son of a bitch might have to be put down when Bill had his own gang.

"Spoke to Dutch, ain't ya, my fat friend?" Micah greeted, cocking his revolver.

"Yes," Bill confessed, the words admittedly going over his head for a moment. "We aren't going to be making any moves," he couldn't help but add with dark intent, staring distantly at the empty tent across from them where Arthur rested.

"Morgan hasn't been himself lately. The man obviously lost his mind after Blackwater." Micah stated, remaining indifferent even in the face of a drastic situation. "I know you care 'bout Morgan, but there's only a matter of time 'till he snaps."

"Do you think he needs help?" Bill asked uncertainly, his thoughts traveling to those people who were known to help folks. "Psychotherapy" was the word, but it wouldn't last. If Arthur went to vent to someone about his issues, it would cause other problems since they would know about the gang's misdeeds in trying to find a better life and would report it to the law.

"I believe he should be cut loose," Micah answered sincerely. "Arthur's fighting is good, but he is just one man. We cannot afford to lose more people because he wants to be a pacifist or saint."

"Well, what can we do?"

"Arthur's influence is too widespread for cutting him loose to be a wise decision," Micah said.

The man flexed his fists, a wave of sadness coming over him despite himself.

Micah stared down regretfully. "Sorry, Bill, but I think it might be for the best if we have to take more extreme measures-not now, but eventually. Maybe, we ought to use Marston's..." he paused for a moment, finding a word, before settling on, "suggestion," and he continued in the same ashamed tone, "to remove Morgan."

Bill tried to remember that night, and when he finally did, his head pounded.

"You mean kill Arthur?" Such an idea was almost repulsive.

"Not now," Micah repeated the words when Bill's eyes became considerate. "We have to plan this out and convince Dutch..."

His words didn't matter anymore.

Fuck him and fuck Dutch if he had to.

This could be the opportunity he was waiting for. Folks would come and thank him when they'd stopped lying low!

They'd always thought he was an idiot!

Loyalty to Dutch and Hosea ain't matter as much as Bill getting the respect he'd deserved.

What the two men didn't see was Kieran standing nearby after a fishing trip to hear this new one, his eyes widening, before darting off.

Once summoned, Josiah Trelawny moved up to the form of the King. The man had always been able to respect Dutch van der Linde for being able to keep an astonishing grip on control, and at the same time, keeping the lot of them united.

Yet, despite his respect for Dutch, it had always been Hosea Matthews whom Josiah found interesting.

The two - Matthews and himself - represented an older version of the gang, where they were into grifts and cons rather than just massacring their way through everything. A more refined kind of outlaw.

Yet, that didn't mean Josiah wouldn't try his best to find contacts elsewhere. Dutch'd provided him with chances; it allowed him to spread his base and grow closer with contact from afar. With his secret family and other "employments," Josiah had not always been allowed to be around.

Dutch puffed on his pipe, allowing the smoke to rise into the air, somehow giving the leader of the Van Der Linde gang a more commanding presence.

"Josiah," Dutch greeted. "Now that we're in private, I wish to tell you that I require your talents."

"My talents?" Josiah's lips curled up. He was always happy to accommodate, as long as it favored him in the long run.

Dutch nodded. "Your adaptation has always been noticed, Josiah. You don't have to pretend otherwise here. I want to make sure that we remain undiscovered, that our trails are covered by anyone who may be following us, and that we won't have another ambush from the O'Driscolls or outside forces."

Josiah frowned. "Ah, yes, I assume I'll be conferring with Arthur Morgan."

"No," Dutch's eyes darkened, and Josiah's lips twisted into a half-frown. "That is unnecessary. I want to discover locations known only to me in case the worst happens."

It was an odd circumstance.

Josiah knew that in only a few months civilization would be changing. Signs were already starting to pop up already. But, Dutch giving this order made him wonder.

"Why not inform Morgan, sir?" Josiah queried, arching an eyebrow.

"You are a loyal member of the gang. While I do love my sons," Dutch's eyes twinkled, "both of them have been questioning me as of late, seemingly believing that we should leave all of this behind so we can live and love." His fingers tightened around the pipe and a small laugh escaped him. "I need backup... contingencies. In case the gang splinters because they no longer seem interested in loyalty, it is necessary."

Loyalty?

And Josiah wondered, what would make both Morgan and Marston question Dutch van der Linde? The two men obviously cared for Dutch and the gang, having done multiple favors in the past. It all changed when the latter left for a year, which strained his bond with Dutch.

"Your plan to go out to the west is no longer on the table, then," Josiah said more than asked.

Dutch smoked some more with the pipe, his eyes locked on him throughout as more smoke filled the air. At last, he finally responded.

"Josiah, your adaptability is proficient. It is needed in this time of despair. In a few more months, it will be a new century. We need to survive the coming tides. My sons are smart, but they don't recognize what must be done for us to accomplish this, unlike Micah Bell. The riskier the job, the bigger the payroll."

Josiah never liked Micah Bell. He was a predictable killer. Where Dutch was a calculated one, working via his tongue, Bell believed he could just storm through and slaughter whoever got in his way. Yet, Josiah could acknowledge that Bell was true to form when it came to the representation of the Wild West. He didn't have any care for anyone but himself, and while Arthur was one of the best men, Micah's type of life had been useful when it came to survival and sustainability as far as those Outlaws knew.

Josiah would never consider himself an Outlaw.

He straightened, "I'll find you some options," Josiah replied. "When shall I leave?"

"Now, if you could," Dutch answered with a slight shrug. "Good day, my friend."

Coming back from the river, Micah Bell approached at the dawn of evening.

"What's so special 'bout Arthur Morgan?" Joe commented with condescension, cocking his revolver. No one else would hear it since their voices were low as always. "He's soft."

"You don't want to let Morgan get too close. He knows how to strap," Micah retorted, knowing that Arthur Morgan could get in the way. His original plan was to secure Morgan's loyalty in a similar way he did with Dutch, but Morgan's new attitude since they came to Colter has changed his priorities.

But that didn't mean Arthur Morgan was untouchable.

Like he'd told Bill, all he'd needed was time.

How many boats, trains, or banks have they robbed, ending up with someone getting killed and Arthur Morgan keeping himself alive? Damn...

Micah was truly at a loss for options when it came. Unless he'd got close with Charles Smith-something that was unlikely, Javier Escuella was his only option. The man equally could fight in physical arts, and forcing them to fight against one another would be able to allow the gunslinger to get out in the absolute worst circumstances. But Bill was needed in case Micah needed someone to use as a scapegoat. The fat slob was the most useless Outlaw here.

The other option was getting Arthur when he wasn't looking, but that was the problem. Arthur was constantly keeping an eye on him as if he were a slithering snake waiting to strike. How long had it been since Arthur had started going against him?

The man slept, but it would be too risky to get close enough to cut his throat, especially if someone moved around at night. Since someone was always on guard duty, all it would take was the wrong moment for him to be caught, and Dutch would have no choice but to oust him, and he would lose everything he had built.

Besides, what better way than to fracture this gang for all to see and use Dutch's cleverness to gain himself some extra gold 'till he was no longer useful?

The bounty needed to go somewhere.

"Is that fear in your tone, Micah?" Cleet snarked, a dirty grin falling across his lips. "Is that why you brought us here? To protect yourself?"

Micah rolled his eyes. "I brought you here because I need to make sure I can get out alive. Things seem to be falling apart, and we have to give Dutch the idea that we're behind him all the way."

Joe scoffed. "It's a weakness."

"Easy money while riding with some of the most skilled gunmen in the state," he said as if it was obvious. "Blackwater. The gang is skilled, but they're bound by family."

"Family?" Cleet repeated the word almost as a slur.

"Get rid of the girls and the old people, and there's more loot to go round for each of us." Micah looked at the poster. "Eventually, his time amongst us would be... expired."

Joe laughed. "Pathetic."

For a moment, Cleet seemed to be considering this. "That actually ain't too bad an idea."

"Oh come on," Joe quipped, nudging him in the side, "you can't be considering the idea of falling along with a family. That ain't the life we've lived."

Joe was right. Micah had long since recognized how terrible he was. His own brother wanted to kill him, yet he wasn't afraid of that bastard and his family. None of them did. All that mattered was surviving the changing times. Redemption was nothing but bullshit. It won't stop your enemies from drawing in around you.

"What has Morgan done so far outside of looking like a bloody lunatic?" Cleet queried, shaking his head and staring at him.

"Morgan killed Dutch's enemy, Colm O'Driscoll, back in Colter." He'd remembered the trace the man seemingly fell into during that winter, how his eyes darkened as he broke off from the gang... and he remembered landing perfect shots from afar, dropping Colm O'Driscoll amid all that snow. What a shame. Micah could have used Morgan to get to Dutch if all else failed.

Did he recognize that the more he looked insane, the more he played right into Micah's hands? Just with time...

"And you were saying that there was another attack," Joe snickered, an idea coming to mind. "There's likely some stragglers out there. Maybe we can negotiate with their lost leaders."

That was one reason why Micah liked being around both men.

He didn't come up with all the survival ideas.

Micah licked his lips, as if he were a predator desiring something to eat. "We can head nearby," he "recommended" with a vicious smirk, "and see if there are some whores that need to find themselves in this lovely night."

After all, Micah enjoyed his own breaks once in a while.