In The West

Chapter 30: Lost

Arthur knew he should get up. That he should be going. But he couldn’t. Couldn’t get himself to move, too worn and defeated to try. He weren’t even sure where the hell he were; he’d ridden too far and too fast to discern that, the night too dark and the land too wild to get his bearings from where he sat. But Colm, he knew, would wait for no man. Be hours, he knew, until he saw the ranch and the longer he stayed here, the less of claim he’d get for the bounty they earned.

A bounty he no longer desired. That nausea returning at the thought, the sourness climbing higher in his throat. Memories unwanted returning in force, fresh and raw, that same cloying panic threatening to consume him once more.

Arthur pressed his forehead harder against Athos’, eyes screwed shut as he forced his breaths to stay calm. To keep them slow. Drawing in one ragged gasp after another, trying his damnedest to hold it in.

The fuck was wrong with him?

He’d robbed before. Many of fools, a hundred times over. Had killed, had soiled his hands in blood, had done things far worse than what he’d done today. Weren’t no reason to be so bent out of shape over it. What was done, was done. Weren’t no going back.

Weren’t no time for regrets. No time for guilt, nor for shame. Weren’t no salvation for him; just damnation. A fate he’d long ago accepted. But still it sat wrong. It settled deep into the pit of his stomach, threatening to drag him down to the depths of hell early.

What a weak fool he was.

Chapter 29: Confrontation

The silence hung between them, thick and unbroken. Hosea allowed it a moment, before pressing. “Talk to me Arthur. Tell me what’s going on in your head.”

He’d always been able to get him to open up. Always been able to find a way in. Figured it would be the same here. That all he had to do was extend the invitation, and he’d all but confess those hurts that weighed on him so heavily. Weren’t no secret that Arthur’s thoughts could be just as dangerous as they could be volatile, a long history of self-depreciation and doubt etched into his very being, fueling each and every dark thought he kept well and truly buried.

Yet there was another beat of silence, and then his words came. They were thick and rough in the manner Hosea had grown accustomed to whenever he were trying to hide himself. “Forgive me if I ain’t exactly come to terms with where I stand.”

“Arthur,” he chided, letting a sigh. “Now you ain’t thinking right. You ain’t feeling well and it’s messing with your head. Just...come on back to camp. We’ll get you fixed up right and we can discuss things then.”

There was something pitiful in his laugh, almost broken as he responded. “You ain’t get it, do you? There ain’t no going back; least not for me. Dutch made that quite clear.”

He let out a measured sigh, trying his best to keep his frustration out of his voice. “You and I both know he was heated. He ain’t mean what he said.”

“Man says a lot of things,” Arthur agreed quietly, “but you were there. You saw what he tried to do.”

“And he were wrong,” Hosea acknowledged, “I ain’t going to argue that. He’s a stupid as he is stubborn, but even he can see where he messed up. You come on back, talk it out like men, and you’ll see—he’ll welcome you back.”

“He will, will he?” Arthur broke into a series of coughs, “You think he’s gonna let me just come riding with him after running with the O’Driscolls?”

“And you think you’re going to last long riding with them?” Hosea wondered, staring him down

Chapter 28: A Charitable Offering

There were a part of him that felt guilty in his deception, in revealing that which weren’t his to give. The lead on Morrison was a result of Dutch’s and Trelawny’s due diligence. A lead that he knew Hosea were working and no doubt their interference here would disrupt whatever plans he had in motion. Yet that guilt were brief and fleeting, replaced by a smug satisfaction in knowing he would be causing difficulties for them. The thought of their reaction in his meddling was as sweet as it were satisfying. Felt as though he were returning an unwanted favor, collecting on a debt that were long overdue.

After all, if Dutch thought him nothing more than a traitor, then perhaps it were high time he proved it. To embrace that role and show the both of them what it was a traitor could really do. The thought was bittersweet, of pain and anger, the latter winning out as it seemed to consume him as he worked through his preparations. A fire that stroked his ego, that kept him pushing despite his misery.

Yet he doubted it would cause them too much hardship in the long run. Silver as Dutch’s tongue were, and Hosea, born and bred into the art of conning, they’d no doubt recover quick on any harm done, and still manage to reap a reward as a result. An annoyance, of that he could not argue, but Arthur wondered if that were why he were so confident in this. Because deep down he knew that he’d be causing no real harm, only frustration. As though it weren’t nothing more than petty retaliation, a childish act that meant to serve nothing but wounded pride.