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Fates of the Fateless Ch. 1: A Slight Shift

Browsing the many articles and advertisements that described an incredibly dated way of life. And as much as you tried to convince yourself of all the excuses to explain your twisted journey up to this point. The number 1891 burned in your mind with a sickly feeling this wasn’t any sort of rural community.

All our fates are intertwined, but it seems yours needed a slight shift several hundred years into the past. A time travel romance Inspired by "A Single Frayed Rope" by thejamesoldier

ao3 

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You’ve had your fair share of odd dreams, the occasional struggle to find a toilet, teeth falling out, meeting someone you’ve really never met before. However, this one was a little out of sorts; you in the middle of nowhere, buck ass naked in a red desert being judged by vultures. While not your wildest dream, unlike the others none of them felt so real. A lucid dream so intense you dare say you could practically feel the coarse warm sand slipping between your fingers as you slowly lifted your aching self-up.

“Guuuuugghh…” rolling onto your side cradling your head, shielding the unyielding sun’s light from your face. The heat towering down on you, broken by a soft and gentle breeze caressing bare skin bringing with it a terrifying revelation. This was no dream.

 “Wha… Where…?” Quietly mumbling to yourself as you finally managed to truly survey the area around you. The sweet fragrant smell of sage brush filling your nose, the land was absolutely decorated with them. Their pale earthy green tones stood out against the warm red rusty sand that bled from the ground up into the rugged mountains that held up the sky in the distance.

“Oh no.. Oh no no no no!” in every direction there was simply more sage brush and sand, only broken by the occasional juniper tree or cactus. “Wha-what happened?!” You would have thought it to be some of the most beautiful natural land you’ve seen if not for the rapid panic attack creeping in, spurred on by incoherent thoughts. How did you get here? Where is here? Why the fuck are you naked?! “Ok, ok ok ok! Last thing I did, what’s the last thing I remember?” Breathing in long deep slow breaths in an attempt to calm an adrenaline spiked brain enough to remember how you even managed to get into this situation.  

 You recall making your way home from a late night out, the roads were especially barren even for 3 am. A quick stop at the local station, only a little out of the way of the city. And then the storm. Seemingly out of nowhere with the darkest clouds you’d ever seen. You remember how the appliances began to go crazy, rapid ungodly wind; a crack of thunder so deafening. Light consumed everything… and then… then what? Did you pass out? Did you get jumped?

 I… I need to find help. I need to find people.

  Staggering onto bare feet, you began slowly trudging blindly toward the expanse of mountains. Covering your vulnerable self the best you could with just your arms. Sobbing the whole way.

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There was no concept of how long or far you’d been walking. Only that the sun had begun to bleed a warm red orange as it started its descent behind the cliffs. Your arms and legs were scraped up, no doubt bleeding from all the Joshua trees and other scratchy and pointy flora you’d pushed past. You didn’t dare to look at your feet. But it was all worth it for the feeling of finally stumbling upon what appeared to be a man-made trail clearly flattened into a dusty path. You nearly screamed when you glanced down the trail to see a distant cloud of dust made by an approaching car heading your way.

 “Hey! HEEEYY!!” you hollered, voice cracking a bit, waving your arm frantically. “Please! I need help!” As the vehicle grew closer you realized it wasn’t a car at all, but a wagon with two burly horses calmly tussling up the dusty trail behind them.

 “Sweet mother Mary and Joseph! Miss, what happened to you?!” A gruff skinny man with suspenders and a worn straw hat looked a ghast at your current state. He somehow seemed more in shock than you were.

 “Please..  I- I need help. Can you take me to town?” You managed to speak clear enough through shuddered breaths, keeping your dignity somewhat intact hunched over covering your delicates.

 “Sweet Lord, of course! Uh-uh let’s get you covered up first things first.” He reached in behind him a quick second before managing to pull out a large white piece of fabric, gently tossing it down to you. “Hop on up and I’ll get you to the sheriff’s!” You hurriedly and graciously wrapped the thing around yourself till just your face and feet were visible.

 “Thank you, *sniff* so so much!” you couldn’t help crying harder struggling a bit to climb onto the rickety seat. “Thank you!” You swear the Amish had different carts for riding, not wagons. Or maybe you’re thinking of Mennonites? Hutterites? Fuck it, you’re just glad to of found someone. Don’t even mind the smell of B.O. and horse manure.

 “Lucky for you ma’am the nearest town happens to be just a stone throw away. They got them new age doctors and folks from out east with their industrial degrees!” the man talked with a slight country drawl, slow and went up and down in tone with every other word. You noticed he didn’t take his eyes off the road since you sat next to him.

  Finally managing to calm down a little bit with each slow inch forward. You managed to utter your very dire question, “Do you have a phone I can use?” you sniffled a bit as you turned to meet his confused but slightly amused face.

 “I’m sure the sheriff’ll have one of them telephones, signal lamps too.” He smirked a bit cracking the reins once then twice. “You come from a wealthy family? Not many folks have their own personal ringers.”

 A feeling of embarrassment at your cultural ignorance. No wonder he didn’t whip out 911 once he saw you. Not like many Amish or whatever the hell he was were allowed to have cell phones. Let alone smart phones.

 “Ok…” Deciding to remain quiet from then on. The silence only lasting a moment as a faint outline of a town appeared in the distance.

 “That there is Sandy Hollow, mighty fine town. Growing like crazy too!” you could make out a tall church spire peeking out above the rest of the buildings first. The only other buildings coming close to it in height were wooden, square and simple looking. Some with the occasional upper deck with bystanders looking out over the street. The roads were unpaved and worn, no sidewalks or cement in sight, the closet thing being sandstone. Place looked like it might hold 500 people in population TOPS. Like one of those ghost towns, you’d visit as a kid for a school field trip, only in much better-preserved conditions. A few stragglers could be seen chatting it up outside, some on horseback or even a wagon of their own; all wearing clothes pulled straight out of Little House on the Prairie. Some gawking at you as you passed, you just gawked back.

 “Sheriff!” the kind stranger called to a man in a cowboy hat smoking away against the wooden railings. “I got a young woman who been left in the wilderness with nothing but what God given ‘er!” An older man with the bushiest handlebar mustache and sideburn combo you’d ever seen quickly trotted over to the wagon, behind him you assumed was the deputy followed close.

 “My Lord! Ma’am we’ll getchu sorted and on yer way home, just need ya to step inside for a moment.” He gingerly held your hand as you ungracefully stumbled off the kind stranger’s vehicle without a slip of a boob on the way down.

 *sniff* “Thank you mister.” You’re sure you looked all puffy and blotchy in the face, seeming more pathetic with your now nasally voice. “And thank you sir! I’m not sure what I’d do if you didn’t find me.”

 “No trouble miss, you just stay safe and try to put your worries behind you.” A quick wave and crack of the reins and the kindly stranger was off.

 You were quickly ushered in and sat down, given a cup of water in a dingy tin cup while the sheriff sent his deputy to get you a change of clothes.

 “You have any recollection of how you found yerself in such a predicament?” He asked in a cool calm manner, resting himself against the wall closet to the front door. Watching you with a pitiful gaze.

 “I-I only remember driving home after hanging out with friends, it was about… 3 am when I stopped to get gas.” You tossed back the rest of your drink with a big mouthful, giving a slight pause before continuing. “A big storm rolled in, a really bad one. Made the lights and gas pumps freak out. I think lightning struck the place, and next thing I know I wake up in the middle of nowhere, naked.”

 “My that there is mighty chillin’! I’d wager a tornado if they weren’t so rare in these parts. But it’s happened before.”

 “Do you have a phone I could use?” you grip the tin in your hand as if it were the only thing keeping you grounded.

 “Course! Just over there in the corner.” You looked in the direction he pointed to and nearly let out an audible laugh at the contraption that met your gaze.

  The thing was just a hunk of wood attached to the wall, some sort of cone that stuck out in front and another hanging off the side attached by a single wire. And not a single damn button in sight. Was this guy serious? Looking back at the sheriff, he simply gestured an “after you” with his hand.

 He WAS serious.

 Hesitantly you made your way over the thing, grabbing the cone on the side and held it to your ear, a slight quiet static could be heard.

 “Yer gonna want to crank the lever there. Rings the extension.”

 “Oh… thank you.” So, you do just that. The twin bells on the front rang loudly with each crank until a voice came through surprisingly clear.

 “Extension number?”

 “H-hi! Yes it’s-“ proceeding to carefully give them your best bet at an emergency contact.

  “Wasting an operators time with stupid jokes! I’ve got better things to do you know!”

 “What? But- that’s the right number! I know it’s probably not the area code for around here but I’m in desperate need to contact them!” gripping the receiver tighter you could feel a new pit of panic was beginning to form in your stomach.

 “Yeah? And I’m Uncle Sam!” with a sarcastic huff they hung up.

 “Wait I need-!” only met with the sound of the rebounding static. Tiredly you returned the receiver to its place and turned around to find the deputy had returned with clothes in arm, whispering with the sheriff before they both glanced at you suspiciously. He quickly put a fake smile on.

 Stumbling forward you gently took the clothes from his hands, “Do you have any other phone I can use? Maybe a computer or something?” As quickly as he had put on that stupid grin it fell away.

 “Pardon?”

 “Do you have other means of communication? Anything else I can use to contact people?!” Fuck this was getting frustrating.

 “Telegraph still works, but takes a little longer than the phone.”

 A fucking. Telegraph.

 “What are you guys anyway? A commune?”

 “Pardon?”

 “Ever since I got to- where ever the hell here is, it’s like I’ve entered some sort of stone age! No one my age knows how to use a telegraph, how you managed to find one is beyond me. Clearly, I’m in some sort of weird, live off the grid, community. So please for the love of God tell me what you are!”  

 “Americans.” This son of a bitch.

 “You know what, I’m better off finding help elsewhere. Thank you for the clothes and the water, but I’ll be on my way.” You suck down your tears, folding the bed sheet, you placed it down onto his desk nearby, next to it lie a newspaper and your eyes drifted to the top corner that read, April 5, 1891. The shiver that runs down your back grips your rational thought and throws it out the window.

 “Ma’am? You alright?” the sheriff managed to make his way right next to you.

 “Sheriff, there’s a brawl starting outside.”

 “Then go step in boy, I’ll be out in just a moment.” The deputy’s footsteps carry him out the door, leaving you and the sheriff. Finally, you break your silence.

 “Is this a real newspaper?” you ask the question, already knowing the answer. It’s crazy, it’s impossible. So why do you have to ask?

 “Yes, that’s today’s paper.” He picks it up and gives it a look over before looking to you, “Ya… ya know any folk who died in the recent floods?” he asks in a soft voice. The yelling outside has only increased as a scuffle can be heard.

 “SHERIFF! I NEED HELP OUT HERE!” The deputy cries out in a desperate manner, followed by a gunshot.

 “For God’s sake!” the sheriff is quick to drop the newspaper and bolt outside, gun already drawn. More gunshots follow.

 The threat of a bullet to the head finally pulls you out of your stupor, crouching down as you blindly listen to hollering men and the constant barrage of gunfire. You need to get the hell out of here. Maneuvering around the desk you pull open the drawers frantically, finding only some papers, a couple odd looking bills, and a letter opener. You graciously grabbed everything in sight, the letter opener gripped tightly by the handle in your sweaty sticky hands desperate for any kind of protection, in a last-minute decision you grab the newspaper before finally peeking out the doorway. Your met with the sight of both deputy and sheriff huddled behind a tipped wagon, crates and supplies scattered in the dust, being shot at by a group of men dawned in dark clothes. Beside them a chaotic group of what you presumed were drunks having a brawl outside the local saloon. A couple of bodies laid unmoving amongst it all. Despite the hysteria, you could see a break between building directly across from the sheriff’s office.

 “Ok (y/n) ok!” slapping your leg a bit with the newspaper, “You got this! Cross the street and your home free!” clutching the knife to your chest before bolting. The smell of alcohol and gunpowder filled your senses as the ricochet of hot lead and yelling men permeate your ears with the rapid pounding of your heart. Only once you met the cool darkness of the building’s long shadow did you realize you managed to make it across unscathed. But your feet kept on running. On the other side it opened up to a wide terrain with the distant scattering of homes and trees. What caught your eye was a line of covered wagons holstered to horses, a couple of women packing the one in front as a few men took cover behind the building closet to them. Before you knew it, you’d hopped on top of the back step of the wagon at the very rear, scampering over supplies and crates filled with who knows what. Squeezing up against the barrels that sat just behind the coach at the front, nestling yourself there. Curled as tightly as you could, hidden from view. The faint orange and red light from the sun colored the covering, only disrupted by moving shadows.

 “Let’s go! We’re out of here!” A man’s voice carried from the front and quickly two people hopped up on the coach. Their shadows stretch over you and everything behind them. Holding your breath in fear it’s somehow louder than the gunshots.

 “HYA! HYA!”  the snap of reins and a chorus of men and women yelling as the wagon lurched forward, practically squishing you into the barrels. These folks were in a real hurry to vacate the area. “We’re headed west of those mountains! Let’s make some ground!” The loud churn of the wheels allowed you to let out a long breath before finally relaxing some.

 “Who the hell started all that commotion?” the man on the left had an extremely gravelly voice. Like he’d just gargled glass and washed it down with cigarettes.

 “O’brien that piss poor drunk got into a fight with a just as piss drunk O’driscoll.” The man to the right had a much deeper voice, smooth but had that familiar drawl to it a lot of people seemed to have around here. It matched his looming size, shoulders that took up practically your whole entire view that you dared to sneak over the top of the barrels. Another crack of the reins he continued, “Thankfully the law seemed preoccupied enough we could grab that idiot before he got himself killed.”

 “You and Hosea manage to find anything?” the wagon began to slow down now, rocking not so aggressively. Yelling and gunshot replaced by the creaking wagon and the sweet chirps of crickets.

 “Not a lot, but we know there’s some big shot ranchers around. As well as some mining companies. But they’re far between us.” You were startled by a skinny hand reaching back blindly patting around just above your line of sight before they fell upon a crate of liquor bottles a hairs breadth away from you, retreating with his find.

 “Ahha! Ya want some?”

  The sound of liquid in a bottle passed between the two as they then began to joke about their friends Dutch and Trelawny. You’d began to tune them out, cautiously lifting the newspaper you’d managed to hold onto. Browsing the many articles and advertisements that described an incredibly dated way of life. And as much as you tried to convince yourself of all the excuses to explain your twisted journey up to this point. The number 1891 burned in your mind with a sickly feeling this wasn’t any sort of rural community.

Fates of the Fateless Ch 2: First Impressions Matter

You know most people don’t appreciate uninvited guests

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By some miracle you must’ve dozed off with the help of the wagon’s consistent rocking, awoken by laughter and banter. Light now peeked through the wagon’s flaps pushed apart slightly to gain access to the supplies in the back. No one seemed to be unloading at the moment but had certainly been at work recently. Thankfully without taking anything to expose your little hiding spot. Turning back to the coach you glanced out at a small gathering of tents. People, men and women chatting with cups of what you assumed was coffee by the smell the breeze brought your way.

 All of them were dressed like those back in town and armed to the teeth. Practically every man that came into view had a holster with 1 or 2 guns accompanied by a big hunting knife perfect for gutting stow aways. And here you were with just a damned dull letter opener that, if you were lucky, might even cut butter. You took small comfort in the fact there were other women here, seemingly happy and untouched as they chatted smiling and well dressed.

 “Gather round everyone! Gather round!” a booming baritone voice startling you enough to cause the letter opener to slip from your grip. You desperately attempted to snatch it back but it was in vain as it clattered loudly like thunder in your ears onto the wooden wagon surface below you. Your hand slaps it into stillness as you rigidly froze in fear. “Good morning! We’ve had quite the eventful night. Some more so than others it would seem.” The man thankfully continued his little spiel completely ignorant of your own personal heart attack happening only 10 feet away.

 Another man’s voice replied, this one a distinctly Irish accent “Oi! Ya lot shoulda seen dem bastards, black n blue before dey even hit de ground!” he received a round of chuckles.

 “I am proud of you boys”, you dared another peek after finally letting out your held breath. A well-groomed dark-haired man with a matching mustache dressed in a fancy vest stood proudly as the center of attention. “Seems no matter where we go, O’Driscolls are sure to follow. Now-” he claps his hands together, “we have a ways to go before we can set up a proper camp. So go about your morning routines quickly and pack up!” At that he left center stage, approaching a young woman who smiled brightly at him in turn.

  Watching everyone socialize and laugh with one another as they slowly made their way to their respective tents made them seem so… normal. It began to bring on such an alienating feeling about your place in what is anything but a normal situation.

 “Gasp!” a small and delicate inhale of surprise sounded behind you. You nearly snap your neck turning towards the source. Wide eyed and frozen in place stood a young black girl, seemingly barely out of her tweens, holding a bucket she likely was returning to the wagon, gaping at you with absolute terror. A moment of stillness passed between you two, merely taking in the sight of each other before she made the first move.

 “MISS GRIMSHAW! MISS GRIMSHAW!” she bolted out of sight in a second, shrieking like a banshee. “MISS GRIMSHAAAAWW!”

 “Tilly!? Tilly, What’s wrong girly?!”

 “Tilly? Are you alright?”

 “What’s going on?”

 A plethora of voices began to arise out of the once calm atmosphere.

 “TH-THERE’S SOMEONE IN THE WAGON! THERE’S SOMEONE IN THERE!”  the poor girl spoke in shuddered breaths broken and harsh. The second she uttered those words, the voices immediately dissipated to leave only your own ragged breaths and roar of blood in your ears.

Now envisioning being turned into swiss cheese by an artillery just outside of the preciously thin barrier of cotton canvas that separated you from them. Simply staring out at the spot the young girl once occupied awaiting another body to fill the emptiness. Unsure of how long this tender moment of anticipation lasted before you felt something cold and hard press to the back of your skull bringing your breathing to a halt.

 “Now…” a man’s voice, deep and rich and laced with no fear what so ever spoke in a low, calm tone. “How’s about you kindly step outside for a moment.” His bassy octaves vibrated in your ears. “Slowly…” a hot breath brushed your ear along with the soft click of his gun.

 You dropped everything in your now limp grasp, shakily lifting your hands up above your head before slowly lifting yourself on numb legs prickled by pins and needles. Turning at a snail’s pace toward the opening of the coach where your teary gaze met the calm and intense dark ones of the mustache man.

 “Thaaat’s right. Niiiice and slooow.”

 The barrel of death followed your every pain staking slow movement as your feet finally met the damp morning grass. In your peripheral you could make out the entirety of camp menacingly standing stock still aiming weapons of their own. Hot tears were cascading down your cheeks, the tightness in your throat suppressing your sobs almost too much to bear standing at the mercy of strangers. Dangerous strangers.

 The mustache man held your gaze for another minute before it scoured the rest of you briefly. Body language ever calm and confident before the eyes like the dark barrels of guns found yours again. And to your surprise he smiled.

 “Well, you look to be about as dangerous as a field mouse.” He chuckled, “But looks can be deceiving…” he seemed to ponder for a moment before holstering his gun, however everyone else held their positions. “What were you doing hitching a ride with our humble little-“ a second of a pause, adjusting his stance and folding his hands comfortably in front of him, “caravan?” he sighed out the last word.

 “I-I’m sorry.” You managed a squeaky reply before letting out an exasperated breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. “I-I just got r-real scared and-“ a soft broken sob, “I-I didn’t mean any harm- I just-I’m so sorry!” you somehow managed more tears despite how dehydrated and exhausted you were from crying so damn much.

 “Oh, Dutch she’s harmless!” a young woman’s voice rang from your left, filled with concern and pity. “Just look at her! Ain’t even dressed properly.” You dared a peek at your one ally in the bunch, while blurry from the tears you made out the same woman you had seen before. The one this Dutch had approached after his little announcement. Tall and fair skinned, Strawberry blonde curls pinned elegantly to her head. Her pale almost nonexistent eyebrows twisted with concern and big kind brown eyes looking on with sympathy.

 “Annabelle, you know we have to be careful, regardless of how pathetic she may look.” That remark would’ve stung had you not known how crazy you probably looked. Shirt untucked and too big on you, the collar draped past your collar bone, skirt long and awkward and no shoes to protect your raw, dirty feet. Hair a rat’s nest going every which way. “we ain’t even sure she isn’t armed.”

 “Well, she had this,” another voice spoke up, a man’s, coming from behind you. A soft thud sounded from the softened ground just to your right, looking down you spotted the letter opener almost completely engulfed by the pale yellowed feathery strands of desert grass. “But I wouldn’t call it much of a weapon.” His voice was familiar, uncaring and deep. A hulking mass of muscle trotted slowly into your sight. He somehow got to the wagon without you noticing. “Newspaper and some cash.” The man spared you a glance before drifting back to Dutch, handing him what little you had. “That’s it.” He was broad, especially in the shoulders. The same ones you’d been shadowed by in the wagon. His hair was a soft looking dirty blonde parted to the right, and just long enough to lightly brush past the tips of his ears. His gaze was intense but seemingly, to your relief, uninterested in you.

 “See! She’s harmless!” Annabelle spoke in a ‘I told you so’ tone as she began to walk towards you. Dutch seemed to make a start of an attempt at stopping her, mouth ajar and arm stretched slightly before he waved his hand off turning back to his giant of a friend. Her soft hands gently tugging yours from there elevated position. The soft fabric of a handkerchief found its way to your cheeks, dabbing away any salty tears that remained. “Shhshhshh now…” she spoke in a tone like that a mother would her weeping child, “You got someplace you call home? Any family?”

 “No, I don’t-they’re not-“ alive? Born yet? Have yet to even exist? “They’re gone…” Annabelle cradled your broken self in her arms coaxing you into the crook of her neck, her small fingers rubbing your back as you took a moment to practically collapse into her warm embrace. “Everything… everyone… all gone.”

Fates of the Fateless Ch. 3: But Second Impressions are What Really Matter

How’s about a proper hello without a pistol in the face.

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“Remind me of yer name again deary?” Asked Bessie, the sweet older blonde woman.  

 Your response is utterly pathetic and small, exhaustion was evident in your voice.

 “Oh of course! What a lovely name it is. Suits such a pretty young woman such as you.” The two of you wound up sharing a wagon alongside her mutually charming husband Hosea. Both incredibly chatty and total jokesters. The second you set foot on their wagon she swooped in to chat you up. “Believe me, I’m the one named after a Heifer! Ahahah!” she had such a strong and jovial chuckle she’d let out at her wise cracks, slapping her leg and throwing her head back every time she did.  

 “Well, I’ve never seen a bovine as lovely as you Bess.” Hosea piped up to the left of his wife, both seated on the wooden stage in front leading the line of wagons to what Dutch had called a semi-permanent residence. “In fact, your appetite for alfalfa is what made me fall for ya.” he grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips before grinning up at her.

 “Well, I fell in love with yer money.” She brought his hand to her lips this time. “And you ain’t all that ugly to look at either.” She gave him a dazzling smile that reached her eyes. Holding each other’s gazes with a fit of giggles before a kiss was shared between the couple.

 “You got a sweetheart dear?” Bessie called back to you, eyes forward and hand interlocked with Hosea’s.

 Your eyes roll before you can think not to. “No…”

 “Really?!” she turned to look at you, her eyes wide and eyebrows raised considerably. “Lovely thing like you should have suitors lined up for miles!” she had longer lashes on her top lids compared to her bottom ones, fanning out at the ends extending the length of her eye.

 “How long until we get to… Where was it again?” diverging the conversation to anything other than dating. Especially the same damn conversation you’ve already had with every old woman you’ve encountered trying to save their grandsons love life.

 “Surssparilla peak. Nice little patch of rock overlooking the local town. Got a good water source too.” Your pretty sure Hosea meant to say sarsaparilla, “should be there by tomorrow afternoon. Morning if we’re lucky.” You guessed by the time everyone had packed up and set out after your little fiasco it was well into the afternoon that you actually departed.

 “Gonna be a long ride then…” you rested your chin on your arms that in turn rested on your knees. Gaze wandering out the back toward the wagon following you while Bessie and Hosea got caught up in their own little conversation.  You recognized the two drivers as the same men you had stowed away with on your escape. The dirty blonde had the reins while the dark-haired kid sat appearing to be ranting about something. His face a scowl, hunched over with one hand on his right thigh while his left took to emphasizing whatever he was saying every once and a while. He looked pretty young, if you had to guess he must have been 18-19 years old. His hair was greasy looking and long, reaching to his shoulders. You imagined if you touched it your fingers would come away with oil. He was a lanky kid, skinny and small. At least compared to his companion.

Your eyes then drifted to the absolute beast of a man that sat next to him. He was intimidating, even when just sitting. You could make out two little scars on his chin, in contrast with the darker stubble that was just long enough to be considered a beard. Your eyes traveled the expanse of his face the best you could from 15 feet away, another scar over his nose. Slowing coming to meet his eyes, shaded by his hat. You felt yourself stiffen. Thick eyebrows furrowed slightly; his gaze focused on you. Still just as intense. Studying you in such a way you began to feel self-conscious, only managing to hold his stare for so long before you broke, switching your attention to the surrounding desert terrain that passed slowly.

  You’re pretty sure his eyes are blue.

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“Over here is where you’ll be sleeping along with me and the other girls. Claim your spot and don’t move from it.” Susan Grimshaw, or Miss Grimshaw to you as she so eagerly corrected, began showing you around the camp the group managed to set up in the early hours of morning you all managed to arrive. One you embarrassingly slept through, but Bessie insisted you needed the rest. It was set on the same red colored sandstone the majority of this country seemed to be made out of. Shaded by an array of very old and big Juniper trees that seemed to flourish here. Probably because of the nearby creek that brought an array of green to such a desolate land. Beyond the hills edge a town could be seen settled at the base.

“Over there is Pearson’s kitchen, you’ll be given your share of food in the mornings, evenings, and nights. But don’t get greedy, we all have to eat. Here Strauss is the doc of the camp, try and keep injuries to a minimum. We only got so much supplies.” She walked at such a rate that you could barely take in what you were seeing trying to keep up with her. You almost didn’t return the wave Pearson casually made in your direction.

“You’ll be expected to carry your own weight around here, there are always chores to be done, especially the cookin’ and laundry.” She had made a full circle around the little set up they’d made, briefly pointing out the difference in the water for drinking and washing before you found your attention drifting.

 Some of the men had built a little firepit where they’d made themselves comfortable, sipping at coffee just outside of their own sleeping area. Including Dutch and Hosea who were chatting happily with the rest of the boys. Mr. blue eyes and lanky kid of course were there, and then the other two men you had yet to really encounter. A dark-haired man who seemed transfixed on his cup. Next to him sat Uncle. His name is just Uncle as far as you knew, laughing his ass off at whatever Dutch had said. Face red and plump. He reminded you of a hobo Santa clause.

 The ring of your name quickly pulled you from your head finding Dutch smiling warmly, waving you over.

 “Come meet the boys!” Hosea piped up next to him.  

 You turned your sights back to Grimshaw who simply waved you off.

 “Off you go. Put you to work when yer formalities are done.” Leaving your side to join the other women. You approached the campfire at a brisk walk, not too fast but not too slow. Their eyes all transfixed on you. Hosea reached for your hand as you soon as you were close enough, giving it a squeeze and a reassuring look.

 “How are ya today my dear?” gentle and calm, like he was afraid of spooking you if he was too loud.

 You gave a slow shrug, eyes focused on where your hands met. “Better I suppose…” Another pause before you spoke again, “Thank you for asking.” You brought your eyes to his, they were filled with pity.

 “Good to hear, now how’s about we all get better acquainted, hm?” he stood from his seat hand now on your shoulder to gently turn you to the other men. “The dandy in the fancy pants is Dutch Van der Linde, he’s my business partner and long-time friend of many years.”

 “Hello my dear, just know if you need anything you can come to us two old coots.” His hand found yours in a brief handshake, his grip strong and the cold metal of his rings pressed into your palm. “I apologize for the distasteful greeting you received on our first meeting.”

 “No worries Mr. Van der Linde. Can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same.”

 “This troublemaker,” Hosea wound his way behind the next fella, hands gripping his shoulders in a playful manner. “Is little John Marston.”

 “Hey! Quit it!” John’s distinct gravelly voice confirmed you’re suspicions in his place as the other driver. “I ain’t a kid no more!” he shoved off Hosea’s grip with a scowl and a red face. He briefly gave you a look before looking away. “Hi…” was all you got out of him.

 Before Hosea could speak up for him, blue eyes stood and removed his hat from his head. “Arthur Morgan, nice to meet you ma’am.” He gave a slight bow of his head. His eyes were indeed blue, complimented by green.

 “Arthur is the muscle ‘round here, so if anyone gives you trouble, he’ll knock some sense into ‘em.” Hosea gave him a good smack on the arm. “Yeah, he may look scary, but he’s a real soft-hearted fella.” You didn’t quite believe that. “So much so I have to wonder what lovely poems you write in that little journal of yours. Will we ever get to hear you recite just how much a romantic you are?”

 “Hosea please…” Arthur rolled his eyes, only slightly annoyed by Hosea’s teasing. They must do this to him a lot.

 “Only teasin’ Arthur. You make it too easy for me!”

 “The mopey fellow there is William O’brien. Don’t let him talk your ear off.” Dutch spoke in a sarcastic manner, clearly pokin’ fun at his quiet demeanor.

 “Ain’t much ta say. Got a ragin’ headache.” His hair was dark and short, a matching beard that covered just the lower half of his face leaving his upper cheeks and lip clean shaven. His eyes brows were unruly and wild. Eyes hazel in color and framed by hooded eyelids. The right one a drift slightly. “Nice ta have a new skirt around. Tired’a lookin’ at dese fairies.” He gestured to the rest of the men.

 “Well ya’ll are such charmers aren’t ya?” Uncle stood next “Don’t know how to act in the company of such a fine lady.” He brushed his shirt off before going for your hand. “The names uncle madame.” he attempted to bring his lips to the back of your hand before you quickly snatched it back.

 “No no no! A simple hello is FINE.” He was caught in his pre hand kissing position for a moment before he just shrugged and he returned to his seat.

 “Don’t listen to anything this bum has to say. It’s usually to free load off ya.” Dutch clearly amused at the little scene. “Oh! That reminds me.” He dug into his vest pocket before pulling out some money. “I believe this belongs to you.”

 You ponder taking it for a moment, “Keep it, not like it’s all that much anyway.”

 Dutch made a double take at you, shocked and somewhat amused. “Not much? Well, we must have quite the aristocrat in our midst!” He chuckled.

 “I-I don’t want to be a burden to you all, so if it’ll help you out, it’s yours.” You rubbed the back of your neck slightly debating whether or not to confess the origins of the cash. “It’s.. not exactly mine to begin with…”

 “Stolen money hm? And pray tell where it came from?” He sounded interested, intrigued. But not angry.

 “The sheriff. Back in Redrock where I stumbled upon you lot.” You met Dutch’s gaze. “It was an impulsive action, a-and I feel awful about it…” To your surprise Dutch gripped your shoulder, giving it a tender squeeze.

 “My dear, we have a saying around here.” He looked like he was relieved to hear your confession, as if he’d had a weight lifted off his own shoulders. “Shoot fellas as need shootin,” you stiffened at such an utterance. “save fellas as need savin’ and feed ‘em as need feedin’.” His voice was gentle and eerily calm. “I believe you took this money ‘cause it was what you needed.”

 “And last we saw the sheriff; he was doin’ fine.” Hosea chimed in, giving you a similar look of relief. “If anybody had done him harm, it was those O’driscoll boys.”

 You remained quiet for a moment before breathing out a long sigh of air. Partially from relief, partially from the guilt pressing down on your chest. Taking the bills in your hand you pulled out just the one. $10, the smallest amount donning the face of a man you didn’t recognize, returning the two $20’s back to Dutch. “You keep the rest.” You didn’t wait for him to argue, simply turned to return to Grimshaw.

 “If she doesn’t want it, can I have it?”

 “Shut it Uncle!”

Fates of the Fateless Ch. 4: Suspicions in Sarsaparilla

ao3

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When Grimshaw said she’d put you to work, she really meant ring you of every ounce of energy you have to offer. You were starting to think you and Tilly were the only ones actually doing anything with the amount of work that piled up. Sewing, cooking and prepping food, cleaning, ironing, grooming and feeding the horses, getting clean water from the stream half a mile away, you even had to babysit the Reverend at one point. Oh, and you better believe the second she found out you could read and write, even MORE work was put onto your plate.

We need more of this and that, but we don’t have the funds for this so we need to compensate for that. You’re doing this wrong and that wrong. No don’t do that right now I need you doing this!

It. Was. Constant. She would get so frustrated with you at times you wondered if she would pop a blood vessel. If it wasn’t for the company of the other girls pitching in on the workload, coming to your defense, and easing the tension you’re pretty sure you would’ve pulled a knife on the old crone. Or maybe on yourself with all things considered.

“Can’t you scrub any faster?”

“They’ll be clean when they’re clean, Miss Grimshaw.”

“Well, we want them cleaned by today, missy!”

Today was no different. You found yourself all by your lonesome on laundry duty while the others took care of more in camp activities. Seated by the creek, given a washing board, a bar of soap, and a mountain of dirty laundry. Miss Grimshaw making her routine trip back to you every hour or so to collect the clean batches. Looking forward to every precious moment you got to yourself.

“Stupid!” *scrub* “Grimshaw!” *scrub* “Such a!” *scrub* “BITCH!” Throwing down the unfortunate garment you inflicted your wrath upon in the sudsy wooden bucket. Straightening your back out with audible creeks from your poor spine having hunched for so long. “Ahhh… fucking hell…” your sinuses began to burn and your throat tightened painfully, emotions you’ve been suppressing bubbling up and overflowing. The beginning of what’s become a routine grieving.

“Fucking… Damn it!” a huff of restrained air, the constant dabbing away of tears. At least no one was around to see you cry your eyes out.

It wasn’t as hot in the early mornings, still cool from the freezing nights. A soft dry breeze would occasionally weave its fingers through your hair with it the distant call of a quail could be heard serenading his territory. Your pretty sure you’ve been with the group for just a little over three weeks now, it’s amazing to even think you’ve lasted this long. Even more amazing to think about how you somehow, by some miracle managed to travel into the past. Well… your pretty sure that’s what this is. Maybe you’re in a coma right now having a trippy dream sequence as you slowly decay in a hospital bed. Or maybe it’s like those comic books with alternate universes.

Whatever it is, it’s bullshit. What the hell are you supposed to do now?

Work, work so you don’t have to think. You make a grab at the pile of soiled clothes, a green button-down shirt this time. Undoing any buttons and turning out pockets before making the sudsy plunge. Pausing to take in a stain. It was dark. A reddish brown, splattered on the left side and across the front. You almost wouldn’t have seen it had the light not caught it at just the right angle. The way it was thrown against the fabric like the wearer was caught in a liquid explosion. Too dark to be a whiskey stain, lacked the smell of any type of food or drink.  It almost looked like…

Blood

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Annabelle had been working on the same stubborn stitch work since the morning began. Course the little breaks to sneak a quick kiss and sweet whispers with Dutch certainly hasn’t made the process any faster. But he’d been out of camp for a couple days and she’d missed his warmth every second he was gone.

“What do you think of the new girl?” Bessie was at work putting the freshly cleaned clothes that Susan would drop off onto the line to dry, strung up between the extended branches of the mature Junipers. “She’s awfully quiet.” The new girl, (y/n), had only been with them for a few weeks now. It had been an interesting ordeal to teach her so much in such a short amount of time. It was a bit baffling at how little she knew. Like she’d never done a day’s work in her life.

“I don’t blame her for her shy demeanor. I certainly wasn’t very keen on gossipin’ when my mother died.” Her thin fingers weaved the needles back and forth swiftly, dancing across the worn fabric. “She’s awfully naïve, even for her age.”

“I’m guessin’ she came from quite the wealthy family. Her hands are too soft and delicate to be a workin’ man’s daughter. And have you seen her teeth? Beautiful!”

“I have to wonder how she came to us in such a state. She hasn’t talked about it, at all.”

“I did try to get her to talk a couple times, but she’d always find an excuse to change the subject. I’ve dropped it since.” Bessie left the damp clothes to dry and now turned her efforts to folding the finished ones. Finding her place next to Annabelle. “I figure she’ll talk when she’s ready.”

Making the final stitch before the thread became too short to continue, Annabelle reached for another spool from her kit. “Damn! I’m outta thread.” She’d been working on one of Dutch’s more pristine shirts, now missing the necessary shade of white thread to properly repair it. “Looks like I’ll be runnin’ into town.”

“Oh, what a shame! Clearly, you’ll need me to make sure you don’t get caught up in a shoppin’ spree.” Bessie settled a hand on her chest, eyes cast over at Annabelle in a sarcastic manner.

“It’ll feel good just to get outta camp for a moment. Been stuck here too long!” With a groan and a stretch of her arms, Annabelle stood surveying the other residents in camp. “You know what, let’s bring some of the others with us, no doubt it’ll perk up their spirits.”

“Arthur! Oh Arthur!” Bessie called to the young man who sat upon his old worn cot, scribbling away in that precious book of his. “Would you be a dear and go retrieve little miss (y/n) down by the creek? Poor thing’s been cooped up for too long.”

“Alright, but Grimshaw better not have my head for taking away her best worker.” Shuffling to his feet stuffing his journal into the safety of his bag, away from prying eyes. Approaching his trusted and actively excited mare, her dark brown eyes focused on his every step, ears perked and alert. “Hey there girl, you gettin’ antsy?” He received a soft whinny in response, her soft lips nibbling at his hand while his other was preoccupied at patting her long nose adorned by a white stripe that contrasted with her lovely dark rusty hair. “Aww me too, come on let’s go!”

The distance to the creek wasn’t far, but it was certainly a lot faster and easier by horse back. Arthur hadn’t really had a lot of encounters with the new girl, and when he did, they were short and not all that verbal. A soft hello or good morning, but it usually ended there. Whether from shyness or being too busy to really have a conversation, he wasn’t sure. She looked to be about the same age as him, give or take a couple years. Thinking back to the tidbits he over heard from Bessie and Annabelle, she was a little odd. Beyond that of a potential rich girl, he had his doubts about that. He wasn’t sure what it was exactly, but there was something different about her. A feeling in the back recesses of his mind and in his gut that caused him to feel a certain curiosity about her. Something… foreign.

Eventually his eyes found themselves on said woman, crouched and unmoving from her place by the creek. The sun’s rays reflecting off the shimmering colors hidden in strands of her hair.

He was unsure of how to approach her, someone so quiet and mysterious. “Uh… Miss (y/n)? The girls want to head into town if you’d like to join them-” She jumped a considerable amount, nearly made him flinch a bit himself. Eyes turned to him warily and wide over her shoulder. She’d been crying again. “Are you alright?”

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“Are you alright?”

It was Arthur. The muscle, the young buck, a potential danger. A top a tall rusty red horse that towered above you, calm and curious at your personage. You realize you’ve been staring at him silently for a little too long.

“Yes.” You squeak out a reply, obviously anything but alright. Your eyes snap back to the bloody garment still in your grasp, tight and taught between strained fingers. This looks like it would fit Arthur. “That would be lovely actually…”

Arthur remained silent a spell. The babbling creek the only sound to fill the space before he spoke again.

“Alright well… hop on up and I’ll give you a ride.” His hand extended for your own, rough and calloused. Some red dirt colored the underside of his nails. Yet, his touch was gentle as he lifted you just behind him. Gripping the very edges of his shirt with your fingers tips for balance trying desperately to keep from touching him. His pistol seemingly glowed in your peripheral.

Shoot fellas as need shootin’

Dutch’s words echo in your head. Your mind wonders to how often you’ve observed the men leave camp, sometimes for days at a time. The quiet whispers between one another quickly silenced as you come within ear shot. Subtle glances over their shoulders to watch for you, only for you. You always felt there was something suspicious about these people.

“Ah there she is!” Annabelle’s dimples became extra pronounced as she smiled. She’d always been so kind to you. They’d all been so kind to you. Fed you, clothed you, sheltered you. Welcoming you into their family. “We’re all saddled up and ready to go.” She and Bessie were sat upon their horses, alongside them upon their own steeds were Tilly, Uncle, and to your surprise Swanson. “Considerin’ she don’t got a horse, would you mind comin’ to town with us too Arthur?”

“Sure, wouldn’t be a problem.” His sure coming out more like ‘shoa’, “figure Dutch would want me to keep an eye on you lot anyhow.”

“Wonderful! Let’s be off!” They quickly formed a line, leaving you and Arthur to follow from the rear, just behind Swanson. “My poor girl Peach here’s been just achin’ to stretch her legs,” Annabelle patted the neck of her orange tan looking palomino, “I’mma buy you extra treats.” She pressed a kiss to Peach’s head.

“You spoil that horse, Annabelle. She’s gonna be expectin’ bubble baths and chocolates if you keep this up.” Bessie’s horse was a dappled grey horse, his legs were a much darker shade that bled into his ashy torso.

“Oh, I don’t know, I think Arthur spoils Boadicea more than Annabelle.” Tilly’s was a rosy blonde, a white sock on each foot.

“Boadicea puts in a lot of work, she deserves it.” Arthur replied in a semi embarrassed tone.

“Have you boys been prospectin’ work in town?” Annabelle pipes up again.

“Sort of, we’ve been...” he pauses, you get the feeling he’s choosing his next words carefully, “picking up odd jobs here and there. Dutch wants to look into a nearby copper mine to the north west to see if the men there need extra hands.”

Suspicious

“Oh yes, he’s been talking about that for the past couple nights now. He seems awful excited about it.” Annabelle peaks her head towards the back.

“Cause he’s been ahead of the game with Colm and his brother. Apparently, they haven’t been all that happy with his meddlin’ in their affairs.” Arthur chuckles. “All the more reason for him to meddle.”

Suspicious

Uncle pipes up this time. “He won’t be so high and mighty if those two idiots decide they’ve had enough of his meddlin’.” Uncle’s horse was unique in the fact that it donned a lovely mustache upon its lip. “Our line of work ain’t exactly known for friendly competition.”

Suspicious

“And we’ve gotten into enough fights to know they let their pistols do the talkin’.” There’s a level of concern in Uncle’s voice, one you haven’t heard before.

“Ain’t much different from everyone else then.” Arthur sighs.

They’re being careful, you can tell. Deliberately stuffing the words they want to say back down their throats to keep you in the dark. You just know it.  Your curiosity gnawing at you, barely registering the next words spoken are your own.

“What kind of work do you guys do?” You can tell you’ve caught them off guard by the span of time it takes for Bessie to speak up.

“We have many trades, but I suppose you could call my Hosea an entrepreneur.” She emphasizes the last word with a little flare of the tongue.

“An entrepreneur in what?” you’ve caught them off guard again.

“Everything and anything! He’s really quite poor at setting his mind to one occupation.”

Annabelle quickly jumps into the conversation, a bit too eager to reassure the situation. “Dutch is the same way! It’s why they work so well together.” Well shit, that doesn’t really tell you anything.

You were so tempted to dig at them some more, maybe just dump the knowledge of the bloody shirt on them to see how they’d react. Maybe with the girls here, it would be less likely you’d be shot in the head for asking too many questions. But the sight of the town finally within reach caused you to hold your tongue for a little longer.

This town was bigger than Sandy Hollow, not by much but it had a lot more to offer in both people and shops. The heat from a forge blasted your right side as you passed a black smith, one man hammering away at his next project, surrounded by mining gear. An information desk could to seen with big bold letters that read Workers Wanted, inquire within, and with it a long line of men that trailed out the door and into the street. A saloon with a boisterous amount of laughter and music traveled down the street, women could be seen chatting it up with a good group of men, Uncle quickly became one of them. And of course, a general store that the rest of you came to a halt just outside of its busy opening.

“Ooo! I can see some lovely fabrics in the window!” Annabelle excitedly hitched peach before she quickly trotted up the wooden stairs. Bessie and Tilly followed in haste.

Swanson, who was ever so quiet the entirety of the trip down here timidly announced his plans, “I’ll be over at the Doctor’s office next door.”

“Back still givin’ you trouble?” Arthur inquired as he helped you down to the ground.

“More often than not, ugh!” He let out a grunt as he ungracefully dismounted his horse, stumbling a bit before he waddled off. His hand cradling his lower back.

A soft bell chimed as you and Arthur entered the store, a mixture of smells hit you the second you bypassed the doorway. Coffee, cheese, bread, tobacco. You list off everything that comes into your sight. Penny candy, chocolate, alcohol, cigarettes. Tilly was looking at a book that sat on the counter and Arthur could be seen observing the different kinds of coffee they had on display. You caught sight of Bessie and Annabelle chatting it up with the shop keeper whose arms were already overflowing with fabric spools to show the two ladies. An array of patterns unraveled and laid out as they smiled and pointed. I should buy some new clothes.  

“Um excuse me sir, but do you have any clothes I can look at?” God you’re hoping they have pre-made outfits here.

“Just take a look in the catalogue.” He was pretty monotone about it. Throwing his head in the direction of Tilly who in turn looked at you, a small smile on her face as she scooted over to make room for you.

“Gettin’ tired of the hand me downs?” After your horrifying first meeting and an array of apologies on your part, she’s been a lot more comfortable around you.

“Well, I feel bad having to borrow so much from you all.” Each turn of a page only showcasing more men’s wear. “I’d also like to have something of my own for once.” Finally, you came upon a small section of women’s clothing modeled by cute little drawings.

“What in the hell is a frock?” you whisper to yourself.

“It’s a dress.” she scoffs a bit “How in the world did you manage to survive before we took you in?” While you appreciated the tenderness the others had with you, you just couldn’t help appreciating Tilly’s nonchalant attitude with you even more.

“I wouldn’t have if it weren’t for you all.” You smirk, “I wasn’t exactly raised to live outside. Or how to do…” you wave your hand in the air. “Any of this.” You remember the look you got from Tilly the first time you had to ask how to take a shit in the wilderness. Or the ridicule you got from William for not knowing how to ride a horse. “It’s incredibly frustrating to be so helpless and… pathetic.” Your eyes catch a simple dark blouse that looked the least confining.

Tilly’s voice comes out a lot softer and quiet, just loud enough for you to hear. “I hear you crying sometimes.” Damn, and you thought you were being so sneaky about it. “More often than not.” You wonder if your eyes were still puffy from earlier. “Whatchu been through isn’t something you can just move on from so easily.” If only she knew how right she was. “If you ever wanna talk about it, I’m willin’ to listen.”

You keep your eyes glued to the page for a moment before meeting hers, despite her comforting words, the feeling in your gut is relentless. You’re not sure you can trust these people. Not even Tilly.

“Thank you, Tilly, I really appreciate that.” You flash her a small smile, “If and when that day comes, I’ll take you up on that offer. For now… Can you help me with sizing?”

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Arthur didn’t really need anything in shop, he did however give into the more expensive coffee. Curious to see if it’s worth the extra quarter. Now hunkered down on the outside bench reading the paper as the rest of the women went about their shopping. The occasional patron coming and going as he was caught up in the relatively obscure news of the somehow even wilder wild west.

Strange lights seen over the Clifton ranch followed by cattle mutilations, “not of this world” states Ashton Clifton.

A mysterious naked woman suspected to be in cahoots with string of robberies. “She hypnotized me with her bosom” claims deputy Alden.

Guardsman pass hotspot for local disappearances.

Collapse of tunnel traps 15 men at Bingham copper mine, “nothing we can do except pray they depart peacefully” Foreman Albertson to crack down on safety regulations.

Seems he and the gang managed to keep their name out of the infamous spotlight this time, over shadowed by some of the most entertaining and batshit crazy news he’s seen in a long time. Come to think of it, he recalls a real nasty looking storm passing over them at some point. Something unnatural about those pitch-black clouds.

Strange times indeed.

Folding the paper to rest on his leg to light a fresh cigarette a bustle of noise drew his eye to the saloon. A man had been tossed out into the dust, clearly beyond buzzed and stumbling to his feet angrily. The man hobbled toward his direction before struggling a bit to not fall down the wooden stairs that led to the General store. He reeked of booze and the sour acidic traces of vomit. Mumbling to himself as he managed to make it to the door. Arthur simply side eyed him as he sucked in a drag of the sweet earthy tobacco. The warmth filling his lungs a moment before he let out the euphoric exhale that seemed to melt the stress off his shoulders. Closing his eyes to relish in the moment.

“You mind if I join you Mr. Morgan?” A flutter of his lashes revealed the sad visage of Swanson back from his trip to the doctor. His eyes glazed and dazed. No doubt with a new prescription of morphine. Arthur simply nodded his head to the empty space next to him. Swanson took the invitation.

“I see you’ve taken a liking to morphine.” Arthur closed his eyes again, breathing in another drag.

The Reverend had the unfortunate habit of getting stuck in dangerous situations. Usually with bad people looking to take advantage of his naïve thinking. Other times it was himself that put him in terrible situations. A pattern of impulsive acts as a result of some sort of panic induced overthinking. But he always managed to get out relatively unharmed. Usually, the result of Arthur or the other members intervening in a violent way.

“It’s the only thing to relieve me of this pain.” The Reverend lets out a long sigh of relief, seemingly melting into his seat. Arthur suspects he’s talking about more than just his back.

“Hm… Just don’t make it a habit.” Arthur mutters out halfheartedly. The sound of muffled voices behind glass could be heard raising in volume. Just enough to cause the glass to slightly vibrate. Turning his gaze to the inside of the store he could spot the store owner panicked and nervous, his hands up, slightly hunched over trying to coax the drunk he’d seen earlier to put his gun down. “Goddammit…” Quickly snuffing out his cigarette under his boot he stood quickly. “You stay here. I’ll be back.”

“Just put the gun down Philip! There’s no need for that!”

“Shuddup yew-yew-yew basterd! If I wanna drink it’s my right!” The drunk by the name of Philip didn’t notice Arthur’s entrance, tall, broad, and angry. Bessie and Annabelle were huddled in the corner wide eyed and unsure of what to do. The new girl huddled Tilly behind her taking cover behind the counter, peaking out over the top shaking like a leaf.

“They cut you off because yer gonna drink yerself to death!”

“Hey!” Arthur roared everyone’s heads turned towards him, “If you don’t put the gun down it ain’t gonna be drinkin’ that kills you.” His voice low and gravelly.

“Shuddup yew dum-dumb sonnavabitch!” Philip turns his gun towards Arthur, swaying a bit as his glazed over eyes struggled to focus on him. It only took Arthur three good strides before he smacked the gun out of his hands clattering to the ground loudly before sliding out of view, swinging his arm back around to back hand the man who stumbled a few steps. The guy was big, fat and bulky. He had to of been drinking an excessive amount to get this drunk.

“I-I’ll show yew-yew-yew fucker!” he swung back, narrowly missing Arthur as the young man retaliated with a quick upper cut to the jaw. It was amazing to see just how smooth Arthur danced around each bulky swipe, jabbing and winding with such grace and professionalism before he landed one final shot to Philip’s nose bridge knocking him clean out with a loud thud.

“Holy shit!” (y/n) blurted.

“Well-I-I—Thank you so much sir!” The shopkeeper’s eyes flit back and forth from Arthur to the body now slumbering on his floor, unsure of what to do with himself before he visibly relaxes. Finally collecting himself to shake Arthur’s hand. “You saved our lives!”

“Naw, I just put a drunk in his place.” Arthur brought his eyes back to the lump of lard that snored on the wooden floor. “You girls alright?” Bessie and Annabelle quickly swarmed him gushing praise.

“Arthur you’re our hero!” Bessie planted a big smooch to his cheek before pinching them with a big proud smile on her face. “Hosea’s gonna be so proud of you!”

“Oh, we would’ve been full a holes without you Arthur!” Annabelle had a hand over her heart, cheeks flushed red from the excitement and pupils blown wide.

He could feel the rush of blood fill his face in embarrassment, “I-I was just protectin’ our own.” he cleared his throat averting his eyes to his shoes. Tilly’s feet came into view.

“You’re a real hero, Arthur!” she squeezes his arm in appreciation.

“Alright alright! If yer done shoppin’ let’s get outta here before I leave you all behind.” All this praise is suffocating. “How much we owe ya.” He asked the storekeeper.

“Nothing! Everything you need is on the house.” He was quick to wrap up everything up in neat piles tied with twine, the girls each carrying their respective packages out the door. Chatting away while (y/n) ever quiet seemed especially careful with her bundle, arms encasing it tight and close to her chest. Arthur followed her out last.

“Well damn! What did you idiots do?” Uncle managed to make his way over, of course only when the trouble has already been dealt with.

“Shut up old man, we’re leavin’.”

“Already? I was just startin’ to have fun.”

Fates of the Fateless Ch. 5: A Broken Mystery

Think of these camp interactions as filler as it takes me an eternity to write. But I still find them relevant to the story line so DON’T SKIP!

ao3

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Arthur nurses his morning cup of bitter brewed coffee. His lips pucker in distaste, he considers dumping the rest of it.

 Definitely not worth a whole extra quarter.

 Placing it to the side as he turns his attention to his book of memories, ramblings, and thoughts pondered but never spoken. Taking his worn, dull pencil into his hand and letting the words form themselves on the pages.

 Dutch has been scouting out the mine nearby. Place called Bingham. Never been much of a prospector for gold or any other valuable dirt these fools seem to think is worth dying over. No doubt he’s spun a tale to any who would listen to the ramblings of a man spouting promises and dreams. Though I suppose we all become believers if we have someone just as foolish to believe in something greater than ourselves.  

 I’m definitely one of them.

 He compliments the empty space with a drawing of the camp, emphasizing the Junipers as the center piece. Accidently smudging the corner with his thumb. Today’s been quiet, nothing really going on. Dutch off doing what he does best leaving the rest to await his next move. He can hear casual exchanges of the other camp members around him. His focus zoning into one in particular.

 “It’s alright miss, you’re safe now.” Bessie is speaking in a very hushed delicate manner. One he imagines a mother would use on a crying babe. He hears Tilly and Annabelle as well, uttering other words of comfort.

 “We’re here for you! You don’t have to go through this alone.” Annabelle tries to keep her voice chipper and her attitude confident. But it’s only met with silence. His eyes find the group of girls huddled around (y/n). Whom is hunched over, face covered with her hands and shoulders trembling. Bessie’s arms encircle her in an embrace, stroking the top of her head and humming a lullaby.

 They all sit in awkward silence before Tilly stands, “I’ll go get her a drink of water.” Arthur follows her to the barrel.

 “She alright?”

 Tilly’s face twists in discomfort. “I don’t know.” She clutches the now full cup of water in both her hands. “I don’t know what to do for her. She… She just seems so hopeless sometimes.”

 Arthur thinks back to the times he and the gang had taken in one another. Tilly being one of them. Lost, broken, hopeless.

 “We’ve all been there. It’s just a matter of keepin’ her goin’ till she’s got something to hope for again.”

 “Hm…” Tilly looks on at the group of women, (y/n) hasn’t lifted her head up once. Now curled up into a ball, attempting to shrink away from everything and everyone. “I suppose we just let her feel this way till she don’t feel it no more.” Tilly begins to walk away muttering one last remark under her breath that Arthur almost doesn’t hear. “I just hope it’s while she’s still alive…”

 The thought disturbs him more than it should. After all, he’s seen and even been the cause of death in many forms. But this leaves him with a sickness in his stomach.

 “It’s a sad sight.” Miss Grimshaw appears at his side, shaking her head and a look of pity on her face. Or maybe it’s disappointment. “Life ain’t been kind to us neither. But it’s best to move on quickly lest she wind up dead. Or worse. Stuck in this stupor for the rest of her miserable life.”

 Her words can be harsh at times, but Arthur’s knows she cares. Cares more than she would like to let on. “Well, she’s done a wonder at holding her own despite her circumstances.”

 “Hm, yes that reminds me.” Grimshaw lowers her voice a bit, “Dutch has been quite hesitant to include her in our dealings. But I simply can’t have her galivanting around camp without contributing to the camp’s funds forever. We ain’t a charity!”  

 In all honesty, Hosea was the one who thought to keep their little stowaway in the dark. At least for the time being.

 “She’s got enough to worry about. We don’t want to go scaring the poor girl.” Hosea had said. Most everyone else agreed.

 “She ain’t got family or kin, got no money, no trade, no skills. We don’t even know her surname.” Grimshaw huffs. “For all we know she plopped right out of the sky.”

 “Just… give her some time, ok?” Arthur gives her a pleading look. “And if you’re so worried about money, I’ll be sure to bring in some more.” Grimshaw’s once cold and stern face falls into one much softer.

 “No no, we’ve been quite alright money wise.” She’s quick to reassure Arthur. “She’s been a diligent student… and never shirks her work.” She lets out a huff and with it she lets go of some pride. “You be well Mr. Morgan.” She leaves just as quickly as she appeared.

 Tilly seems to of succeeded in convincing (y/n) to drink, the cup now in her hands and head held up for him to see her in all her woeful glory. Eyes puffy and swollen. Remnants of her tears clinging to her lashes and a distant look in her eyes. Looking right past him, as if he wasn’t even there.

 He watches for a moment longer, staring directly into those sad hollow eyes. And he wonders what lies behind those eyes.

Fates of the Fateless Ch. 6: New Faces New Places and a Horse

The gang grows a little bigger and you get to know others a little more.

ao3

wattpad

“The life at sea is a grand and hard. Harder than anything we’ve faced here on land.” Pearson was going off on one of his sailor tangents again. Every time he did you couldn’t help thinking of an old man desperate to relive his glory years. “The fear in your gut wondering if you’ll have enough to last you till next port is beyond imagining.” You’ve heard this story before, more than once actually. Next, he’s going to bring up eating seal meat. “The waters up north are absolutely teaming with seals.” Yep, here we go. “Their meat is real’ greasy you know, has a certain flavor to it. Like a mix of duck and veal.” As he reminisced on his voyages you were stuck cutting and peeling vegetables, nothing you haven’t done before. But the amount to be prepped today was more than usual. Like, an exceptionally larger amount. “I still get cravings for the stuff, can’t find it anywhere ‘round here.”

 His droning tales began to fade away as your mind wondered. Your eyes drifting back and forth to the Juniper tree that sat just behind your tent. The fixation of your attention for the past couple of weeks.

 Peel, peel, peel. A glance at the tree. Chop, chop, chop. A glance at the tree. Peel, peel. A glance. Chop, chop. A glance. It had become an obsession at this point. Every time someone would drift a little too close to the tree, you’d feel yourself tense up, unable to look away until they finally move onto another part of camp. You weren’t sure what would happen if anyone stumbled upon your little secret hidden away in the winding tangled roots of the grand and old juniper. But after witnessing Arthur’s more than adequate show of putting down a man three times your size, you couldn’t help but snatch up that precious pistol. It almost seemed like life had deliberately sent it in your direction, right there at your feet for the taking. At least, if it really came down to it, you had a chance at defending yourself.

 “Once you’re done with those potatoes, throw them in that pot of water. Give the skins to the chickens.” Pearson had swung around with his freshly skinned and cleaved rabbits, the choice meat around these parts apparently. He then does a quick count on his fingers muttering softly under his breath. A gradual scowl crosses his face as his brow furrows, his mustache consumes his mouth in a frown. “Hmm… we’re not gonna have enough for the next week at this rate.” That didn’t seem right.

 “This seems like a lot of food for just us.” Sure, you may be new to the ways of life in the 1800’s, but your pretty sure meal prepping wasn’t a concept of the time beyond canning.

 “It ain’t, Dutch made some connections with some of the mining men up in Bingham. Should be here by nightfall.” Oh great, more strange men. “Rigorous work like that, tends to give one quite the appetite.” He’s quick to grab what carrots and onions you have done before tossing them into the cast iron with a big glob of some sort of animal fat. The smell of it was always a little gamey. “I’m hoping this means more money. More money means better eatin’.” Pearson was nice enough; he had a sweet face and a nice singing voice. You got the impression he was desperate to socialize. Which might work to your advantage.

 “What kind of work does Dutch do?” Maybe you’d get a different piece to the puzzle. “I hear he does dangerous work.”

 “All work is dangerous in this day and age.” Damn it.

 “Have you been traveling long? No place to call home?”

 “Dutch and couple of the others have been out on the road a lot longer than me. I only just joined up maybe… four years ago.”

 “Four years?!” You gaped at him flabbergasted. Four years of this same boring routine of grueling work, of never having a roof over their head, and rarely socializing outside of the camp circle. Is that what your future would be with these people? “And you never left?”

 “No, and I’m not sure I ever want to.” He collects another batch of vegetables from you. “I had made some desperate money decisions, borrowed from a few fellers thinking I’d manage to make up what I owed and some extra to get back on my feet. I didn’t, not even close and some real mean-spirited men were sent after me. Forced me to marry a woman and took everything I had to my name. I’m sure they would’ve taken my life as well had Dutch and Hosea not stepped in.” A smile began to slowly build on his lips, and his eyes became misty and soft. “They paid my debts. Some lowly, good for nothing-nobody they knew shit about. But they saved me anyway.” His eyes then drifted to yours, his brow was tightly furrowed and his gaze suddenly bold and serious. “Everyone here has a similar story, many of them worse than mine.” His voice is deep and breathy. “This world is a cruel and unforgivable place, one that don’t want folk like us. People will do what they have to for survival, but folk like Dutch. Like Hosea. They do what they have to for more than just themselves. They do what they have to for us.” He didn’t say much after that. Leaving you with a new worry in your gut.

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 When the sun had begun to paint the sky a plethora of warm colors, the men came. Talking loudly and cheerfully. Lead by Dutch, Arthur, and William on horseback. Five new dark silhouettes grew closer before they dismounted their horses just outside of the camps main grounds. You tried to keep yourself from staring, pretending to be all too focused on redoing the seams on a jacket arm. Settled just a few feet from the cooking pot accompanied by Tilly with her own sewing project. The smell of the rabbit and vegetable stew you’d prepped drifting from its large confines of black iron as the two of you observed in silence.

 “Mmmm! Something smells damn good!” The voice that cried out was an unfamiliar one, a bit shrill. His voice sounded quite young.

 “It’s been so long since I’ve had a decent meal…” An older man, rough and worn.

 “Gentlemen, as the first day of our partnership, I would ask you eat to your hearts content knowing that your lives are now you’re own.” Dutch led the line of men towards the large pot, striking a match on his boot. The quick flicker of flame illuminating his face for a quick second before fluttering into a soft glow as he lit a pipe. The group hooping and hollering as they swarmed the area. Two straggled behind a bit. A man and a woman.

 “I’ll getchu a bowl Agatha, you just take a seat and rest a spell.” The man donned bright red hair, swept to the side and styled with some sort of hair grease. His face was angular and skinny, with a decoration of freckles that covered his pale face. He cradled the woman in a gentle and intimate manner.  

 “Alright, but I want you to get yourself a bowl first.” The woman spoke in a broken and course voice. A dark bruise around her left eye, barely hidden behind her dark locks that draped freely down her back and shoulders. They bickered softly for a moment before she finally took a seat on a spare crate near the chicken coop as he joined the rest of the men. A deep sigh fell from her lips as she practically melted into her seat.

 “I certainly hope that bruise isn’t from one of these boys…” Tilly commented under her breath, watching the new group like a hawk with critical eyes scanning every little exchange and movement. You replied with a hum. Out of the corner of your eye Arthur could be seen slipping away into the shadows with a fat saddle bag hefted over his shoulder with a rambunctious William at his tail. Your eyes curiously trailed them as they ventured towards the camps outskirts before your view was cut off by a large figure.  

 “Well well, I wasn’t expectin’ lovely ladies in your band of gunslingers Mr. Van der Linde.” This man was the tallest of the lot, taller than even Arthur or Dutch. Stocky in build with an equally round and stocky face, short salt and pepper hair without a single strand out of place parted down the middle, a thin pencil mustache sat upon his upper lip and sunken light brown eyes that had that familiar predatory stare. An all too happy smirk on his face as his eyes openly wandered your bodies. You unconsciously leaned towards Tilly to block her from his view, before sending him a death glare from under your lashes. “Oooo… Now you don’t wanna go ruinin’ that pretty little face of yours with such an ugly scowl hm?” He chuckled teasingly before bringing another scoop of stew to his mouth full of rotten and crooked teeth. You could just smell the infection on his breath. “Not very lady like.” Bits of food flung out as he spoke.

 “Can’t you be a dumb hunk of shit somewhere else?” Tilly snapped at him brandishing an equally fiery scowl. The rest of the men let out an explosion of laughter. The man’s face quickly became red and tense. Gripping his spoon with enough force to almost bend it in his meaty sausage fingers.

 “Stupid bitch I oughta-” He begins to swing his arm back preparing to strike, you tense spreading your body around Tilly as much as you can awaiting the blow but before he can get enough momentum Dutch is quick to slip between you and dickhead.

 “Wow now Mr. Samson!” His hands are up and his posture relaxed in a mock surrender, “I’ve got rules in my camp, and that includes causin’ trouble for the girls.” His hand drifts to his hip, sweeping aside his jacket flaps exposing his lavish pistol. “You don’t wanna go ruinin’ a beautiful friendship before it even starts.” Samson stares at the pistol a moment before returning to Dutch’s face. “Do you, Mr. Samson?” His face twists before he let out an angry huff, marching off to no doubt sulk in the shadows.

 Hosea then emerges seemingly out of nowhere with John, Arthur, Grimshaw, and William in tow. The saddle bag nowhere to be seen.

 “Been awhile since we’ve had this many people.” Hosea’s eyes wonder over the group of newcomers, rubbing his chin with a small smile. “Guess I better go say hello.” In a matter of seconds of him entering the circle, the men fall under the sweet old man’s charming spell.

 “Just more mouths to feed, and smaller shares for us.” John sulks with a scowl on his face, clearly not happy with the change in guard.

 William has a similar distasteful look, “More like sheep dan men if ya ask me.”

 Dutch comes up behind the two, his hands coming down onto their shoulders with a fierce grip, his pipe nestled between his teeth. “Ooh you boys were just like those poor souls once upon a time.” He spoke through his teeth with a smile. “In fact, I recall you two being a lot more pathetic.”  

 Grimshaw then steps forward, “Dutch I take it you still want us to be packing up to move soon?”

 “Mmhm, after tonight’s haul I imagine word will get out sooner than later. Rather not be so close to town.”

 “What? We’re moving already?” You were just beginning to settle in. “Why?”

 The look of surprise on Dutch’s face made you wonder if he hadn’t realized you were still lingering. “Miss (y/n)! I almost forgot you could talk!”

 “No kiddin’, she’s a real bore.” William shrugs Dutch off his shoulder. “All work ‘nd no play.” That puts a frown on your face knowing full well William’s idea of fun is hassling anyone and everyone he can. “Don’t even know how ta ride a horse. Can ya believe dat?” He’s still going on about that?!

 “At least I don’t smell like one…” you mutter.

 “Dat’s another ting! I know ya go down to the creek for your precious baths princess. Every day!” Your face immediately goes flush and hot. “No one should bathe dat much.”

 “Have you been spying on me?!” You’re standing now, hands clenched in tight fists glaring him in his good eye. He just grins. Which is quickly wiped off his face as Grimshaw swoops in to tug at his ear with a harsh pull.

 “Ooowowowow!” He cries out as she twists him downwards, casually turning to you.

 “Why don’t you girls get yerself something to eat and call it a night. I’m going to have a word with Mr. O’brien.” She gives another hard tug, leading herself and William away. “Goodnight gentlemen.”

 “Ow! What’re ya doin’ ya crazy old hag!” William’s cries of protest fading with each step. Dutch and the other boys simply laugh at his expense.

 “C’mon (y/n) let’s grab some stew and sit by the fire.” Tilly tosses her fabric to the side, quick to jump on her feet and excitedly veer towards the pot.

 Thankfully there was still a decent amount of stew left sticking to the bottom of the cast iron pot, bubbling on the brink of being caramelized and burnt. The two of you quickly found a spot around the main fire where the other men had collected, Uncle balancing a banjo on his knee as he laughs and plays a familiar tune. Out of the corner of your eye you spot John awkwardly standing a decent distance away from you before finally deciding to sit down in the spot to your right.

 “Hi John.”

 “Hi…” He’s not looking at you as he watches his spoon lazily push around a hunk of rabbit. Soon Arthur appears to take up the spot next to him with a hunk of bread in his mouth. “I-I could teach you.”

 “Huh?” John was still staring down at his food, his eyes darting back and forth from his bowl to you, his mouth opening and closing like a fish as he struggled to speak his next words.

 “To ride a horse.” He turns his head to make brief eye contact before they divert to anything but you. “I could teach you how.” You’ve only ever gotten a hello out of the guy and now he’s suddenly offering you free riding lessons.

 “I don’t have a horse.”

 “You can ride mine, or… one of the spare work horses.” He clears his throat before shoveling a large spoonful into his mouth. Just past him you can see Arthur giving him a strange side eye. “Y-yeah, I think… I think you should learn how to ride is all.” He takes another huge mouthful.

 “Alright. That would be very helpful actually.” You sit up a little straighter, turning your body towards him with a small hint of a smile. He visibly freezes hunched over; eyes downcast before he quickly shovels the rest of his food down as fast as he can. He then bolts from his seat, walking almost fast enough to have to break out into a slight jog shouting over his shoulder.

 “Alright I’ll see you later then!”

 “Ok…” a bit baffled at the blunt and brief conversation.

 Arthur scoffs out a slight chuckle, “I would find a different teacher if I were you.”

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 You were grateful for the early bedtime rest as it seemed Grimshaw felt the need to wake you up earlier than usual.  

 “Up up up! It’s time we start packin’!” another swift, sharp kick to your shins only increasing your rising annoyance to such a rude awakening.

 “Alright alright!” you take a second to rub the lingering sleep from your eyes. Blinking slowly to find it was still relatively dark out. Grimshaw who was somehow fully dressed, hair done, and with a pep in her step marched off to wake her next victim. “What time is it?”

 “Is it gonna make you get up faster if I tell you?” Tilly is somehow already on her feet and messing with her hair pins. “I’d get going now if I were you, don’t want that pig from last night getting a glimpse at us in our undergarments.” She moves like lighting twisting and readjusting the pins in her hair before she’s rummaging in your shared chest for her skirt, she grabs yours as well and throws it in your face. “Well? Hurry up!”

 “Hold on, I gotta wash my face first.” You crumble the bunch of clothes in your arms and unhappily get to your feet. Nights in the desert were surprisingly cold, only made getting up all the more difficult. It left any and all the water ice cold, a splash to the face was enough to finally bring you out of your groggy state. Shaking your hands to rid yourself of the lingering drops of chilled water you spotted the woman from last night timidly approaching you. “Good morning.” Your sleepy voice coming out deep and low.

 “Good morning.” She gave a small smile, reaching for the ladle that hung off the lip of the barrels opening and taking a gracious drink. You stood there a little awkwardly unsure if it would be more rude to just leave or start some sort of petty small talk.

 “I’m (y/n).” You seemed to have made the right decision as her eyes lit up with a smile.

 “My name is Agatha.” She gave a brief pause, hands tucked neatly in front of her, “I’m happy to see there are other women here.”

 “Oh, believe me, I thought the same thing when I first joined up.”

 “Have you been here long?”

 “Well…. Not really, only about 3ish months.” I think… “I wasn’t expecting a woman to come from Bingham mine. I figured we’d just be getting men.”

 “Oh, I’d follow Joseph to the ends of the earth. But I’m happy to be away from that place. They were working him to death.” You couldn’t help but stare at the bruise on her eye, she seemed to notice. “This was a parting gift from my previous employer.” She touched the purpling skin delicately. “Joseph was sure to give him twice the beating.”

 “Sounds like you picked a good one.” Just past Agatha you could see Grimshaw prowling about. You’ve been taking up too much time. “Uh, I gotta get to work but let’s chat some more later, ok?” You start to walk backwards as you spoke.

 “Of course! It was nice to meet you.”

 “Nice to meet you too!” You shouted over your shoulder before bolting back to your tent. Tilly had already rolled up your sleeping pads, thankfully leaving the chest and tent up for you. You glance around to find no one else was nearby. You quickly slipped to the Juniper tree crouching down and delving into the roots, fiddling around blindly until the cold steel met your fingertips. Swiftly wrapping the pistol in the change of clothes you had engulfed in your arms. Acting nonchalant as you pretended you were simply packing away your belongings. Careful to bury it at the bottom of the chest where only your belongings laid. Quick to actually get dressed and begin the grueling process of carefully taking down the tent, folding it properly and playing a game of tetris fitting it all into the wagon. Next came everything else that wasn’t absolutely needed. Tables, clothes, personal belongings, most of Pearson’s dry goods and cooking ware. If it wasn’t nailed down or on a horse, it goes in the wagons.

 “Careful vith my equipment! It’s very fragile!”

 “Relax Strauss, I know how glass works.” The camp was bare and empty now with only remnants of footprints and the old campfire among the red sand. The sun was now only just starting to come up as you hefted the last bit of supplies into its rightful spot. “You want me to take your bag too?” you reached out a hand, eyeing his medical bag that he carried around. He cradled it close to his chest with a distasteful look.

 “No, it stays vith me.”

 “Alright well… I guess pick your ride and we can get out of here.” You keep yourself from rolling your eyes and dropped your hand, he hadn’t lifted a finger to help out, didn’t even take down his own tent. “And William calls me princess…” you mutter under your breath as you settle onto a pile of fabric tightly rolled together just outside of the wagon opening. Strauss hesitates a moment before also climbing aboard, sitting adjacent to you, cradling his bag in his lap. Your eyes wandered to find most everyone else has loaded up and found their respective spots to travel. The wagon just in front of you holds Agatha and the red head you now know as Joseph, feet dangling off the edge, their horse tied just in front of them with their personal belongings on its back. You gave her a wave; she gave one back. Thankfully it seemed Samson wasn’t around, along with the regular bread winners. Arthur wasn’t around, nor were John or William. You took some comfort in that.

“Good morning!” Pearson’s chipper chubby face appears as he hops up onto the coach, scooching over as a young man takes the spot next to him.

 “Hello.” His voice was hushed and smooth. Kind dark brown eyes, clean shaven with long silky black hair tied in a braid down his back and donning a simple looking leather hat to keep the sun out of his deep tan face.

 “Ah Guten Morgen Mr. Pearson.”

 “Have you met Jay yet?” Pearson glances over his shoulder at the two of you, the reins resting limply in his hands as you all await the caravan to move along.

 “It’s Jie, Mr. Pearson.” The man corrects him with a smile, he meets your eyes again, “Jie Liu. It’s nice to meet you.” His face carved deep lines up from his jaw and into his cheeks when he smiled.

 “Hallo, Jee-eh, I am Doctor Leopold Strauss.” The poor man’s names get butchered again mixed with Strauss’ heavy European accent, it makes you cringe a little. But Jie just smiles and nods at him seemingly unbothered. Turning to you next.

 “And I already know who you are. Your little confrontation with Mr. O’brien was enough for us to quickly learn your name.” He has a slight accent, it’s very subtle, though it’s noticeable with certain words. “What’s the saying? Cleanliness is close to Godliness!” He laughs. You feel a little embarrassed to remember you had an audience watching your little fight last night.

 “You know I’m pretty sure that’s the most emotion I’ve seen you show since you’ve gotten here.” Pearson has a sly glint in his eye. “Seems some of Grimshaw’s charm is rubbing off on you.”

 You roll your eyes. He just laughs. The wagon in front of you starts to move. You all jolt forward slightly as Pearson snaps the reins.

 “Jee-eh, I take it you’re an immigrant, yes?” Strauss is holding a book in his hands now jotting something down as he speaks.

 “Yes, I am originally from Hong Kong. I take it you are also an immigrant Mr. Strauss?”

 “Austrian. But like everything about this country, I’ve been consumed into the American masses.”

 Jie gives a chipper response. “It is quite the country.”

 “Hong Kong huh? That’s so far away, how and why did you come here?” You ask.

 “My home, the little neighborhood I grew up in wasn’t exactly a good one. Big cities like that tend to attract a lot of… bad people.” He pauses a moment before picking back up again. “I lived their most of my adolescent life but… there’s nothing left for me there.” There’s a sadness in his voice, and the implications of what that might mean makes you wish you didn’t ask.

 “I’m sorry to hear that…” You spoke softly, awaiting his next words with reverence. The other two remain silent.

 He lets out a long sigh, “So, I ended up leaving the country to come here. I was swept up into the work most migrants end up doing. I met a friend who got me into the mining business at Bingham, lost him in the cave ins and now I’m here.”

 “Agatha mentioned something about the mine almost working Joseph to death.”

 “It’s definitely work I hope to never have to fall into again. It paid decently but when you take into account how much goes into food, housing, and medicine, you lose it just as quickly as you gained it.”

 “I haven’t had the chance to talk to the other new recruits. I take it they left under similar circumstances?” Pearson asks curiously.

 “To be honest, I am not very familiar with the others beyond their names. But yes, considering the recent cave in and other issues arising from poor work conditions, I’m actually surprised we didn’t have more men take up Mr. Van der Linde’s offer.”

 “They vere fools not to.”

 “Oh, Strauss you can be a very cold man sometimes you know that?” Pearson lets out a holler, “We got a lot of miles to cover and so much to talk about. You know I was a sailor on the seas once upon a time. Back when I was far younger and had a little more on my head and a little less on my stomach, AHAHA!”

 Dear God no… Not again…

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 This was by far the farthest and longest you’ve traveled so far. It was a shift in driving wagons, sleeping when night fell, and getting back on the road before the sun even came up. Swapping places here and there so you weren’t stuck with some of the more miserable members of your mysterious caravan. Encountering the two other men you hadn’t had a chance to talk to. The oldest of the bunch was an aged and worn man by the name of Crisoforo Abadiano. His skin was dark and sun damaged, deep lines in his face from years of wear and tear. He was the older than even Hosea it seemed. His dark eyes framed by heavy lashes and a sad distant look to them. Hair short and combed back with slivers of silver amongst his jet-black hair, covered by a large brimmed hat. He never really talked much and when he did it was usually single word responses. While very quiet he was the type you could be comfortable in silence with.

 “You have any hobbies Mr. Abadiano?”

 “No.”

 “Really, nothing at all?”

 “Cards.” He was fantastic at ending conversations before they really began.

  And of course, Joseph with Agatha practically attached at his hip. He was quite young, younger than you at least. Both ambitious and optimistic, excited to exchange stories and meet new people.

 “How did you two meet anyway?”

 “Well, I was working at the mining town’s saloon as a waitress and card dealer, you get good commission when all the men want to do after work is drink and gamble all they’re earnings away, sometimes they’d forget I’d already been paid.” Agatha gives a giggle. “Well one night, I was having particular trouble with a tenet who’d pulled a knife on me, accusing me of cheating him out of his winnin’s. I thought I was ‘bout to be gutted when a strapping,” Agatha breathes in a hushed voice as if just the memory of this incident left her breathless, looking dreamily at Joseph, “strong, young, and handsome hero stepped in to save me.” She lets out a long sigh as her lashes flutter in a half-lidded look. “I knew he was the one for me.”

 “Oh Agatha, you’ll never know what joy your words bring to my foolish heart.” Joseph, whose face was red as a tomato and clearly flustered was now cradling Agatha in his arms with a similar look of intense love in his eyes. “I love you, Agatha.”

 “I love you too, Joseph.” The two then shared a chaste kiss leading to another and another until they were holding each other long and tender. Leaving you to uncomfortably look around at anything but the spontaneous make out session you had the misfortune of being an audience for. They were cute and easy to talk to but… they were just too… lovey dovey.

 Other than the small talk, watching the scenery slooowly pass by and napping were your pastimes. (That and avoiding Mr. Samson like the plague personified). It was so incredibly boring to be traveling at a snail’s pace with nothing to occupy yourself. You started to pick up on some of the mannerisms of many of the others.

 Uncle at any point you were caught in his presence was buzzed 9 times out of 10. Bessie had impeccable posture seemingly always sitting straight as a plank. Hosea never seemed hot, even on the hottest of days, you’ve never seen him break a sweat. In more ways than one. Dutch and Annabelle were usually resting against each other, shoulder to shoulder, whispering and giggling to each other. You even managed to catch some poetry from Dutch. It actually wasn’t half bad.

 The bread winners had returned during the night on one of your rest stops, suddenly just there one morning around the coffee pot after having been missing for so long, it had caught you off guard. John was as awkward as ever giving a small hello without looking you in the eyes, Arthur was a bit grumpy and just grunted, and William had that distinct sneer he’d always give you, not saying a word. The stupid bastard.

 They led the rest of the way to a secluded canyon, the jagged red and pink sand rocks speckled with an assortment of desert trees and shrubbery, towering on both sides of a large level bed of rock with two openings that split off into two different directions and a third that you all entered through. It was shaded and cool, quiet and untouched.

 Dutch and Annabelle were excitedly taking in the view of the grand open space, as the rest of you began to unpack. “Quiet, secluded, no nosey neighbors. This place is perfect Arthur!”

 “Thought you’d like it.” Arthur gave a smirk, pulling up a match to light a cigarette perched on his lips. You assisted Pearson with unloading, watching Tilly curiously survey the campsite before boldly stomping up a cloud of dust.

 “I’m claiming this spot for the women!” She announces with wide smile. The area just to the right of the opening to the north.

 “Oh? And where will you be sleeping?” Uncle teases her, he had a box in his arms seemingly pitching in with the labor before realizing it was full of liquor.

Back and forth, back and forth. The camp slowly came to life. Dutch’s tent went up first, next was Bessie’s and Hosea’s, and then Arthur’s and so on and so forth until only yours was left.

 Only problem is it was smothered under an unfamiliar large wooden chest. Sun bleached in places and chipped in others. Barred by rusted iron hinges and simple looking. Only issue was how unexpectedly heavy it was. Even with both hands you barely managed to scoot it an inch.

 “Hmpphh!” You give a harsh pull, causing whatever’s inside to slide and tumble.  

 “Wow, there miss.” Arthur slides into view, hands quick to find the handles, his calloused fingers grazing yours slightly, tickling the little hairs on the back of your hands. His hat shrouds his face from you. “Let me get this out of your way.” He picks it up like it weighs nothing, and heads off towards Dutch’s tent. You watch as Dutch’s eyes light up at the sight of him. Quick to swoop him into his tent and draw back the canvas curtains, shrouding them from view.

 Odd. Very odd.

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  You could feel eyes on your back as you awkwardly finish ramming the final stake into the ground. Giving the twine a good tug before making yourself recognize the presence.

 “Hi John,” you toss the hammer back into the wooden tool box, wiping sand from your hands. “You uh… need something?”

 “Let’s go riding.”

 “Oh, you wanna do the lessons now?” your eyes wander around looking for Grimshaw, you’d rather not wander off without her approval. Not worth the scolding you think.

 “Yes.” He’s quick to start a march towards the horses looking back at you, still unmoved from your spot. “Come on then!” He yells in haste. You stand there hesitantly shifting your weight from one foot to the other. Taking a moment to consider if John is someone you want to be alone with. I mean he’s just a kid, but…

 “But Grimshaw won’t like it if I ditch work!”

 “Your chores will still be here when you get back.” He lets out a huff, clearly anxious to get going, “Now come on!”

 “Can Tilly come?”

 “Huh?” Tilly juggling an arm full of pots and pans shoots you a look of absolute confusion. “I got stuff to do around here!”

 “But I don’t-“ You step a foot closer to her, voice low enough only she can hear. “I don’t want to be alone with a strange man er-boy!”

 “John ain’t gonna do nothin’. He’s as dumb as a bag of dirt but he ain’t bad.” Her hand jumps to catch a cast iron pan that was slipping from underneath her elbow, snagging painfully on her finger. You relieve her of the heavy pan and find it a more convenient place in her jumbled arms. “You’ll be fine. Although I’m not sure you’ll actually learn anything.”

 You can see his horse patiently awaiting its rider, a big and burly warm brown stallion already harnessed. Next to it was one of the driving horses, even bigger than John’s horse and rippling with muscle. Black and white like a cow, towering over everything and everyone else.

 “Uum, isn’t he a little big?” Your eyes scan the big beast, just how in the hell are you even supposed to get on this giant?

 “Horses are for riding. He’s a horse, so ride him.” A blanket is tossed onto the curved slope of the horse’s back before a saddle follows. He’s quick and efficient as he pulls and ties the various leather straps into place, clearly very familiar with his way around a horse. “Alright, hop on up.” You’re a bit hesitant as you nervously approach.

 Please don’t kick me, Mr. Horse.

 Your first instinct is to grab the saddle horn, which is barely within your reach. Next you pick up your foot to awkwardly sit in the stirrup leaving you hanging off of the side like a monkey.

 “You’re doing it wrong.”

 “Huh?” you peek over at John, fidgeting with his suspenders. “How?”

 “Well, uh, you’re just getting on wrong.” You look down at your right foot twisted in the stirrup at an angle, then at your hands tangled together before looking at him quizzically. “You hafta swing your leg over… so you gotta…” He’s at a loss of words, mind clearly working overtime, his face beginning to redden. “Just watch me! Ok?” He places his left foot into the horse’s left stirrup before swinging his right over and finding his perfect perch atop his horse. “Like that.”

 “Ooh.” You readjust yourself to place the correct foot in the stirrup before hopping once, twice, and thrice heaving yourself up and your leg over the seat of the saddle. “Oomph!” your leg only hooks itself at the knee, leaving you to depend on your arms to pull the rest of your body upwards, hands barely having enough room to hold onto the tiny saddle horn before finally getting into your seat. Already looking like an idiot. You scoop the reins into your hands gingerly, actively making sure they are lax in your grip afraid you might cause the horse to move before you’re ready. “Now what?” you ask.

 “Now, we get a move on.” He clicks his tongue and turns his horse out toward the open desert. He gets a ways out before realizing you’re not following. “Are you coming!?” He yells.

 You’re digging your heels into the horse’s sides, clicking your tongue, pulling on the reins trying to get the thing to move, but he remains still. “How do I get him to move!?” you call back.

 “Squeeze his chest!”

 “Squeeze his chest?” pondering for a second, you almost give the big guy a hug before it clicked in your brain to use your legs, he moves almost immediately. “He’s doing it!” Your smiling, excited with your small little accomplishment. “Good boy.” Caressing his long wispy mane as you slowly make your way toward John.

 “There we go, now try and keep up with me.” John goes from a simple walk into a trot. You give his chest another squeeze with your legs, your pace remains the same, you then give a go at digging your heels in. That gets him going a little faster. John goes from a trot to a sort of jog, so you follow suit. Your lower back and bottom bouncing up and down on the saddle uncomfortably.

 “Aren’t we going a little fast?” You cry out. John peeks over his shoulder with a blank confused look.

 “Uh, no? We can go way faster.” His eyes drift off before looking back at you, “Did you wanna go faster?”

 “No, I think that would be a bad idea. I don’t even know how to stop this thing.” Oh my lord, Tilly wasn’t exaggerating. John pulls to the side and slows down, keeping pace on your right. His horse was a considerable amount shorter than yours, causing his head to only reach as high as your shoulder. He sits up a little taller.  

 “You know, I’m the one who found the spot.”

 “Hm? The campsite?”

 “Yeah, I’m the one who found it. Not Arthur.” He spits out Arthur’s name with some disdain.

 “It’s nice.” A pocket of silence fills the air.

 “The foods been better, and I noticed my shirts are not so full of holes.” He clears his throat. “You do good work.”

 “Why are your shirts so fond of holes anyhow?” Your mind drifts to that notorious green shirt. “I swear some of the clothes have had blood on them too.” You watch him carefully from the corner of your eye. Trying to keep a casual, calm air about yourself. “You ought to be more careful.”

 “We uh- get into fights sometimes.” His response isn’t very confident. “But! I mean- we don’t start ‘em.” He steers his horse into yours, “Lets take a left up here.”

 Just what kind of fights are you getting into?

 “Arthur’s good in a fight. I got to see that first hand.” John gets quiet.  You dared a peek to see his face was in a scowl. “Where we goin’ anyway?”

 “There’s another spot I found, thought you’d like it.”

 “So that’s where you boys went? Sight-seeing?”

 “It ain’t like that, someone’s gotta make sure the way ahead is safe.”

 Safe from what?

 “Can’t say I’m not jealous. A break from camp would be nice every once in a while.”

 “Well, we can go riding anytime you want.”

 “I’m sure Grimshaw would not be too keen on the idea.” Another round of silence. The area around you is beginning to become much greener, blooming cactus, flourishing sage brush and a particular earthy smell permeates the air like a delicate perfume. Each step forward becomes an oasis of thriving plant life, and just as your about to ask how, you see it.

 A great pool of water extends the majority of the horizon, reflecting the bright light of the sun and creating a perfect mirror image of the surrounding environment. A small group of Big Horned Sheep could be seen taking a gracious drink off the tranquil water’s surface. Various kinds of birds nesting in the blooms of the Joshua trees providing a sweet melody. Everything was flourishing.

 John’s horse maneuvers itself in front of yours, bringing you to a stop and putting said riders face right in your line of view. “I figured you could come here when you need to… ya know.” His face flushes red. “Bathe.”

 You let out a huff of a laugh and a smirk. “You know, bathing isn’t my whole personality. But I appreciate it.” You both sit in silence as you take it all in. It actually began to make you emotional, tears brimming to the surface of your eyes. You attempt to keep composure but it’s in vain as John clearly notices.

 “A-are you ok?” He sounds almost frightened. No doubt caught off guard by your sudden decent into sadness.

 “I-I’m sorry.” You turn away from him, dabbing away at your eyes. Face scrunched painfully as you try your hardest to hold back the sob desperately trying to come up your throat. “I-I don’t know what’s come over me.” Your voice cracks as you speak. It’s an awkward silence as you fail to keep your feelings at bay. You almost don’t feel the couple soft taps on your shoulder.

 “It’ll be okay…” John attempts say comfortingly, though it comes out sounding more like a question. It was… very sweet of him.

 Your horse seems to dislike the change in mood as he winnies in agitation, swaying side to side before moving suddenly.

 “WHoawhoa-WHOA!!” You shriek in surprise as your horse bolts forward with vigor, your hands yanking on the reins causing him to simply jerk his head and rip them from your grip. “Ah!” your hands desperately grab for his neck, looping around the large and taught muscle before you feel your legs turn cold. Your horse had felt the sudden need to plunge himself directly into the water taking you with him. Your wide eyes meet John’s still in shock.

 “Guess he was hot.” John remarks. The horse let’s out a long grunty sigh that vibrates from underneath you. You’re up to your shoulders in water, soaking you from your socks to your underwear.

 And you laugh.

 A long joyous slip of bliss from your lips, the first in a long time. And it goes on and on and on. Leaving you breathless as you pitter down to little giggles, only to rev back into a fit. Slapping the horse gently on his side.

 “You-hoohoo silly horse- ahahaha!” You can hear John letting loose a few laughs as well.

 “Well, lookie here!” A new voice arises from the shoreline. It’s Arthur. Basking down at you from atop his trusty mare, leaning forward and a twinkle in his eye.

 “What’re you doin’ here?” John doesn’t look happy, eyeing Arthur up with a challenging look in his eyes.

 “Lookin’ for you two.” He attempts to smack John, who swerves harshly out the way nearly falling off his saddle. “You’ve got night watch.”

 “So do you!” John retorts in annoyance.

 “Yeah, and you better not fall asleep on me!” Arthur goes for another swing, this time landing upside John’s head with a smack.

 “Ow!” John’s face scrunches up into a scowl, he retaliates with a smack of his own that causes Arthur’s hat to fall forward into his face. You let out a soft giggle at the sight.

 Like a couple of toddlers.

 Arthur adjusts his hat back into place, clearing his throat before speaking to you in a much more tender tone.

 “You need some help there, ma’am?”

 “uhh…” you grab for the reins floating just on the water’s surface, giving them a pull upwards, backwards and to the side. But the horse simply remains submerged and relaxed. You swing yourself off it’s back, now soaking every inch of you completely. Wading towards the bank as both young men dismount to meet you. Arthur has his hands extended before John practically shoves him out of the way causing Arthur to exclaim an irritated “Hey!”. You’re assisted up and out of the pond, John’s hand lingering in yours long after your clearly on dry solid land.

 “Thanks.”

 John nods with an eager smile. “Course!”

 “You can let go of my hand now…”  

 “Oh uh! Yeah…” He stammers a bit, looking at your intwined hands before finally releasing you from his grip.

 “What about him?” You motion to the large horse still sitting unmoved.

 Arthur looks to John and nods his head towards the water. “You get him.”

 “What!? No way, you do it!”

 “I know you chose the horse. So, you get to pull him out.” Arthur corrals you to follow him back to Boadicea, throwing in one last remark to John before placing you just behind him.  “Maybe you’ll finally learn to swim!”

 John flips him off leaving Arthur to laugh as the two of you ride away.

 “He can’t swim?” You ask genuinely worried.

 “Yeah, so don’t go askin’ for lessons.”

 “Is he gonna be ok?” I mean you did just leave him all alone surrounded by a large body of water.

 “Little John knows how to take care of himself. Drowning won’t be what kills him.” You look back to see John hollering and waving a carrot around trying to get the horse’s attention.

 You only give an uncertain hum, falling quiet. You try not to get too close, for both personal space and to not soak his entire back with your still sopping wet clothes.

 You’d be lying if you said Arthur didn’t scare you. Out of everyone in camp, you knew the least about him. And with his clearly appropriate label as the muscle of camp, it worried you to think if and when he’d use that muscle on you.

 “We haven’t really had a chance to talk much, you and I.” Arthur speaks.

 “Well-“ You exhale, “-it’s been a strange couple of months. Not like I’ve been in the mood to talk anyway.”

 He responds with a hum. “How ya holdin’ up?”

 “I don’t know… I’ll feel ok for a while and then out of nowhere I’m having a mental breakdown.” You fidget with the sleeve of your blouse. “I’m not sure holding on is something I can do for too much longer.”

 “Well… it hasn’t been that long ago since… ya know. But things will get better miss. These things just take time.” He perks up a bit, “And hey, being able to laugh in your situation, I’d say you’re well on your way to healin’.”

 Your lips twitch into an almost small smile. “I sure hope so, it’s a lot to adjust to… And I can’t say how much I appreciate you all taking me in and giving me so much.”

 “What happened to you? If you don’t mind me askin’?”

 “I…I got lost…”

 “Lost?” He sounds confused.

 “But I can never go back home. I can never…” Your throat constricts with the thought of people you once knew flash across your mind. “I-I don’t want to talk about it…”  

 “Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up.” And you both fall back into the awkward silence. The only sound being the muffled trotting of Boadicea’s hooves on soft sand.

 Arthur suddenly pulls Boadicea to a stop, causing you to squeeze his waist extra hard and smooshing your face against his broad back. Catching a whiff of cigarettes and… Oh god he needs a bath.

 “What? What’s wrong? Why are we stopping?” you quickly slip your arms away as he dismounts, grabbing a rifle from the saddle. You freeze up in fear as he meets your eyes and puts his finger to his lips.

 “Sshh…” he shushes softly. He lowers himself to the ground. Soft careful steps in the direction of a large cluster of brush. Your eyes scan the area finding nothing, fixing back to Arthur confused as to what in the world he’s doing.  

 He stops, stock still. Lifting the rifle to his shoulder before BANG and then another BANG. Making you jump each time. He proceeds to jog over to whatever he decided needed to die. His face is a light with a smile, rifle over one shoulder and two rabbits dangling from his hand held up with triumph.

 “Dinner!” he calls out. Swinging the carcasses over his shoulder. Making his way back to you, you spot dark splotches beginning to form on his shirt.

 Oh my god. It’s animal blood!

 A wave of relief falls over you, hand at your chest as you let go of so much stress and anxiety over that damned bloody shirt.

 “I was wondering where that blood came from.”  He looks at his now red stained shoulder as he ties a rabbit to each side of the saddle.

 “Oh yeah… sorry about that.” He attempts to wipe the blood off his hands before remounting, his hands now a bright pink. “I’ll wash this one, don’t worry about it.”

 “Oh? You know how to do your own laundry?”

 He laughs, “Yes, I know how to do laundry. Susan made sure of that.”

 “And you’re on a first name basis with her too it seems.” You notice the damp imprint you made on his back and can’t help but distance yourself from him a little more.

 “We’ve known each other a long time. I mean she practically raised me.”

 Raised him, so he was a kid when he joined up. My god that’s a long time.

 “Did you know your parents?”

 “I don’t remember much of my Mama, but my Daddy… I wish I didn’t remember much of him.” A bad father figure, not much of a surprise.

 “Must have been hard…”

 “Hard for everyone isn’t it?”

 “Yeah but… doesn’t mean it hurts any less.”

 He stays quiet for a moment before he speaks again, softly this time. “Your right… it don’t.” The conversation dies down after that. You make no effort to change that.

 You start to descend where the camp lies, completely hidden from view until you were basically walking in the front door. Once on the ground you utter a small “thank you” to Arthur. Turning to his horse

 “Thank you, girl.” You stroke her side gently; she eyes you with curiosity as if waiting for something. “Sorry I don’t have a treat for you.”

 “Here, give her this.” Arthur fishes around his bag before pulling out a round pale thing. You take it in your hand, inspecting it a moment. It was light and delicate. A rice cake without the rice. You offer it to Boadicea, palm open as she plucks it up with her big whiskery lips. And you let out an air of a laugh through your nose as she tickles your hand.

 “It was nice talking to you miss.” Arthur speaks with a smile, eyes shrouded by his hat, but you can still see the bright glint of his eyes. The two rabbits hanging over his shoulder.

 “It was nice talking to you too. I hope you sleep well.” You both awkwardly nod a goodbye as he departs.

   The second Arthur leaves your side, a new body takes his place. Samson towers over you and far too close for your liking. Taking two steps back, only for him to take two steps forward.

 “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.” He utters with a far too innocent look.

 “What do you want?” you blurt out your question with no effort in sounding in the least bit interested in what he has to say.

 “I want to apologize for the terrible first impression I left on you that first night.” He waits for a response from you, you don’t give him one. “I don’t want us to start off on bad terms, I’m really not a bad fella.” You roll your eyes, it’s the stupid nice guy bullshit even in this era. Turning to leave before you feel his disgusting giant meaty paw clamp onto your forearm like a vice. “Wow wow! I’m not done talking!” He barks angrily, yanking you back to your spot right in front of him causing you to yelp. “I think we could be real good friends. But it takes two my dear.”

 “I don’t want to be your friend!” You spit out at him, yanking your arm only causing him to grip it even tighter. He smiles wide.

 “Good. Neither do I.” Your stomach twists at the way his eyes linger in intimate places as they rave up your body before they fall behind you. Smile dropping and hand quick to release, causing you to stumble back. Gentle hands find themselves cradling your shoulder, pushing you behind a body.

 “What the hell do you think you’re doin’?!” Arthur’s voice comes out deep and low. Eyes staring daggers into Samson as your hidden from view. His shoulders taught and raised like the hackles of a cat. In the moment Arthur seemed to tower over Samson.

 “Nothing, just a friendly chat.” Samson feigns ignorance. “Not like it’s your business anyhow.”

 “When it comes to the safety of the women, it’s my business.” Arthur barks loud and gruff. Samson seems to notice the little exchange is drawing attention, eyes from others peeking around corners and watching. He fidgets.

 “She’s fine, ain’t no hair out of place or bruise on her.” He dares to meet your eyes again, but his view is blocked by Arthur’s body once more. “Like I said, it was just a friendly chat.” And with his final statement he finally leaves.

 Only once he’s out of sight does Arthur relax. “You alright?” His voice no longer holding the animosity he had only seconds ago. Now soft and hushed. You cradle the arm, no marks or bruising. But the feeling of that dirty hand lingers like a burn.

 “Yeah… I’m ok.” Your eyes remain fixated on your hand now rubbing your forearm. “Thank you for stepping in…” Despite the tense situation, you didn’t feel uncomfortable. You felt safe, secure, calm. You can see him fidget in your peripheral. Shifting from foot to foot.

 “If he gives you trouble, you come to me, Alright?” You finally look up into his eyes, kind and concerned. Nothing like the way Samson was looking at you. You nod slowly.

 “I’ll come to you…” His eyes drift from each of your eyes a moment more, before he nods his head.

 “Ok… You be well Ma’am.” You watch as he leaves, hands twitching and shoulders adjusting themselves. He approaches Dutch and Hosea who were sitting and chatting away with cups of coffee. There smiles dissipate as Arthur speaks. Their gaze looking off in the direction of Samson and then they turn to you. Your eyes meet there’s for a split second before you turn away quickly. Wondering off to find a nice sunny spot to dry off and lie low for a while.

I wanna be a COWboy baBy