The man's voice soft, laden with concern instead. “You holding up alright?”
“Right as rain,” Arthur snapped, devouring yet another bite.
“Ain't nothing to concern yourself with,” he waved the man off, desperate to change the topic. “So, what happened after...well, you know?”
After Dutch had tried to put him six feet under. Was a curiosity there, a burning need to know how it'd gone all down. But more importantly to why no one had come after him. He were still sore on that, the wound having festered and yet to start healing. Were going to take a long while for that, if it ever did, he suspected.
He watched as Hosea shook his head, the man's lips pursed tight, before responding. “Took a while for Dutch to simmer and well, he's calmer now; perhaps calm ain’t quite the right word. I think everything has him shaken, honestly.”
“He's shaken?” Arthur laughed, raising an eyebrow, “He ain't the one that'd been threatened to be run through.”
Try as he might, he couldn't forget that. The seething anger, the near-demonic possession that had overcome the man. Arthur had seen Dutch angry plenty of times; but that had been at fools poor and stupid enough to earn his wrath. Never had it been directed towards him, not until as of recent, and if he were being honest – it chilled him to the bone. Left him feeling like he'd a curse cast on him, and that something foul was waiting just beyond the shadows.
“Dutch spoke poorly,” Hosea did his best to explain, “though it's hard to place blame solely on him, given the circumstances.”
“I ain't write that letter.”
His tone solid, unwavering. Cause he didn't—even in his most obscene drunken escapades had he even thought of selling anyone in the gang out, least of all Dutch. He'd been nothing but loyal. Surely that had to count for something.
“I know,” Hosea agreed. Warmed him to the core that did, the lack of hesitation when it came to agreement. Lessened some of the hurt and anger inside.
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