Birds of a Feather II

Arthur

For some reason, Miss Grimshaw was on the worst sort of rampage this morning.

Arthur heard her skirts whipping past his wagon more than once, but was soon distracted by the pleasant smell of coffee brewing from across the camp. He sat up and inhaled deeply, grateful that the action didn't pinch his lungs like it had the day before. As he stood from his cot, he stretched, his shoulders protesting painfully in response, likely from the tumble he'd taken during last night's gunfight.

He lumbered with unsteady steps to the coffee pot, greeting Pearson with a yawn and a nod. He'd hardly taken a sip from his steaming mug before Miss Grimshaw came storming up, all spiky and growling. Still took her three times of repeating herself for him to wake up a little more and understand what she was asking.

Finally, her question cut through. "You seen Miss Jones?"

He ain't even been up for five minutes. "Can't say that I—"

"Because if I find that girl drinking herself into a stupor today, I'm slapping her sober and that's a goddamn promise."

Shit. "Whoa. Settle down now. I'm sure she ain't gone too far since last night, Miss Grimshaw."

Miss Grimshaw finally seemed to realize he wasn't going to be much help in her search. She rested a hand on his shoulder and her tone leveled out. "It's good having you back with us, Mr. Morgan. We don't do too well all split apart."

Her echoing the sentiment of Dutch's little speech from last night had him shifting uncomfortably. "No, I reckon we don't. But I ain't meant to turn my absence into no big drama."

She patted him on the shoulder as if he were a child. "I know, Mr. Morgan, but listen to Dutch. All will be well and he'll get us out like he always does."

"I sure hope you're right," he replied as Miss Grimshaw smiled at him and returned to her hunt. He hoped she was right, but he weren't holding his breath.

Truthfully, Arthur didn't know where this sour mood was coming from. All in all, he should be overjoyed with the new day. The gang was nearly all together again. They'd slipped the clutches of bounty hunters without capture and Dutch had welcomed him back with open arms.

The problem was, Arthur couldn't get the memory of Micah's smug expression out of his head. That bastard's attitude rubbed him the wrong way on a normal day, but last night his satisfaction had been jarring in the middle of everyone else's jubilation.

Maybe it was because, with dawn came crashing down the realities of the situation that ain't been resolved yet. They hadn't got out of it totally unscathed as they'd lost another member of the gang. Leopold Strauss would never loan another dollar to any desperate takers.

Even then, Strauss' death didn't seem to have left behind the same dark undertones as Kieran's had or Sean's or Mac, Davey and Jenny's. Arthur would consider it callous of them all since Strauss had been with them longer, but Strauss hadn't ever made any efforts to relate to anyone else. Truth be told, most of 'em around here probably thought they was better off without him.

Despite how disagreeable he'd found Strauss, Arthur hadn't meant to get him killed. Just like he hadn't meant for them to all wind up in Beaver Hollow. Charles' distinct warning rang in his head like an alarm.

They're here, Arthur. In Van Horn. Pinkertons.

And here the gang was, still too damn close. They should have been packing up this morning, moving out and onward and putting more distance between them than only a few hundred trees.

But their return to Dutch seemed to tamp everyone's resolve to leave with any urgency. And with Hosea's safe return, even Arthur found himself slipping into a false sense of security.