The camp was in chaos.
Uncle struggled to hitch the teams in their complicated leather harnesses, for once not complaining about lumbago. Grimshaw hollered orders, pecking at the terrified girls. Mary-Beth, Tilly and Karen scrambled back and forth, arms laden with bundles; clothes, photos, cosmetics. Even Dutch's pampered lover, Molly, was helping. All of them stressing to decide on the fly what could be should be taken and what could be spared. They stuffed chests haphazard, not bothering to fold or place any of it. Pearson lifted a bucket of apples with a grunt, moving far too slowly around Arthur as he hefted sacks of potatoes and buckets of flour into the chuckwagon. The cook suddenly lurched and fell to his left, and suddenly a stray apple was under Arthur's boot, nearly sending him crashing to the ground.
"Goddamnit, Pearson!"
"Sorry, Arthur!"
"Well, don't just stand there," he grumbled, kicking the mess from his path. "Pick 'em up!"
"But we don't have time!"
"But nothin'," Arthur snarled. "If you think yer gonna sustain folk on potatoes and booze—"
"I'm doing what I can, Mr. Morgan!"
"Doin' what you can to get in the way, you mean."
"Good to see love's done nothing to dull your humor," Pearson said. "Can you grab that crate over there?"
Arthur looked at the wooden crate. "You serious? We're aimin' to run fer our lives an you wanna pack more goddamn whiskey?" He checked the contents. "Oh... my apologies. This one's rum."
"What else can I do?" Pearson complained. "I can't go shopping now!"
Arthur growled and turned away, back to loading the wagon. At the head of the forming caravan, Emelia was still working on the wounded. She had managed to keep practicing as a doctor, as well as stock a pantry, learn to cook, and make their home.
Their lost home...
"You got one job, Pearson," Arthur snapped, turning back to the cook. "One job! And it shoulda been done!"
"I... Arthur, come on," Pearson tried weakly. "I didn't think we'd be... I didn't think it would be this bad!"
Arthur looked back, trying to find a glimpse of Emelia. She was lost in that wagon somewhere, helping to mend the gang's mistakes. The job...
"I ain't even been around lately," Arthur began, turning back to Pearson, "but the more I hear of it, the goddamn crazier it sounds!"
Dutch rode in then, greeted with a great commotion. Like a hero returned. The Count lathered in sweat, lungs heaving like bellows. The satchel of damned money gone.
"Dutch!" several cried.
Mary-Beth exhaled. "Oh, thank goodness!"
Those who could walk came to gather around him like bleating lambs, weary and uncertain.
"We all here?" Dutch demanded as he dismounted. He sagged a bit on the landing, holding unto the pommel and seat a moment, unsteady on his tired feet.
"We're still missing Sean and Mac," Lenny offered.
Dutch nodded somberly. "They... they will find us. What about Davey? Jenny...?"
"They have a chance," Lenny said. "Thanks to the doctor."
"So she is with us, is she?"
"Takin' care of John's leg right now."
Dutch nodded. "Good."
"So. What now, Dutch?" Hosea asked.
"Ain't it obvious?" he said. "We run. North."
"North?"
"Of course! The fools think we have the money." He chuckled. "Probably think we'll run for Mexico with a score like this."
Micah pushed himself to the front of the crowd. "But... where's the money, Dutch?"
"Somewhere safe," their leader said mysteriously. "Now, let's get moving. All of you! Arthur!"
Arthur sighed. He stepped forward and nodded. "Dutch."
"It is good to see you," he said, striding forward and then, in a much lower voice he asked; "Can I count on you? Son?"
Arthur stared at him. He would have followed Dutch into hell. Once. Now? Now he weren't so sure of anything. Arthur heard a whimpering then, Jack Marston's little voice, and his gaze flicked to the sound. The boy was in the back of a wagon, crying for his momma. Abigail no doubt fretting over the kid's fool of a father.
"Arthur?"
"I said I'd help ya get clear, didn't I?"
Dutch nodded, satisfied. For now. "That you did, son," he said graciously. "That you did."
"So? What's the plan?"
"Won't do to have 'em get the drop on us," Dutch reasoned. "Listen up," he shouted, addressing the folk beyond Arthur. "I want you boys to mount up! We need outriders to see what's what."
Javier, Charles, Lenny; they were pulling themselves into their saddles before their names were even called. Certain and committed and some small part of Arthur wished for his old ignorance. For the old familiarity and the comfort to be found in knowing his place.
"And lay low," Dutch continued. They nodded. "Don't wanna lose a single one of you, you hear me? Micah, Charles, you boys see what's comin' from Blackwater. Javier... Arthur, you boys'll scout the route ahead to freedom. Bill, drive the munitions wagon... Lenny, you stay with us. Guard our backs."
Arthur blinked. "I ain't got a horse, Dutch."
The older man turned to him and raised a dark brow.
"Boadicea is back at the ranch," Arthur explained.
Dutch nodded and waved toward the hitching posts. "What about that little mare, then?"
"That's Emma's horse."
"And it is a fine horse, Arthur," Dutch said. "We all have to make sacrifices now if we wanna survive. For the family, you understand. You are a part of this family, Arthur."
"I was thinkin', given how we're down three drivers, I might be needed here."
"You do have a point, son," Dutch agreed. "But... we can do without some luxuries. I need you out there. We need you. We'll all feel better knowin' you're clearin' the path for us."
Arthur rested his hands on his hips. "I dunno..."
"We all have to do our part, son." Dutch put his hand on Arthur's shoulder. "I need you with me," he implored. "You're the only one I can count on to stay strong."
Arthur sighed. "Okay," he said, relenting.
He saddled Belladonna, stroking her. She whickered nervously, set off no doubt by all the commotion and strange horses and Arthur answered this wild fear by speaking softly and stroking firm and telling her that no harm would come to her. He fitted her saddle with a scabbard for the looted Winchester and his old saddle bags stocked with oats, jerky and beans. Bullets. Then Arthur took the reins and led Bella up the line of wagons and horses.
He found Emelia still tending their wounded. Doing more than he ever dared hope. John was the last, having gotten himself shot in the leg. Arthur heard Abigail's voice over all the nervous racket.
"You are a silly, silly man. You really are! Gettin' yerself shot! Why? What can't you be more careful, John. Honestly!"
John grimaced. "I didn't mean to, Abigail."
Abigail blew out a frustrated little breath. She touched his hand and smoothed down his long, dark hair. "You... you never mean to," she said, her voice softening. "But you always do."
"You are very lucky, Mr. Marston," Emelia said as she applied the bandages.
"Not you too," Marston muttered.
"Thank you," Abigail said to the doctor. "Thank you so much."
"Keep it clean," Emelia said. "And perhaps..."
"Perhaps what, Doc?"
"You can council other pursuits if you truly wish to keep him hale and whole."
"Well..." Abigail said, her cheeks reddening. "You... you know what I think about that."
Emelia sighed.
"Yes," she said. Her face pale, eyes dull and hollow with exhaustion. Quietly carrying her despair.
"You need to get some rest," Arthur decided.
"Arthur." She smiled at first but as she looked him over, she faltered. Her smile faded and he did not know what to do or say. When she stepped toward him, reaching for him, Arthur breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He removed his hat and closed the distance before she could change her mind.
"Where are you going?"
"Outriding," he replied, clasping her hands.
Her lower lip disappeared, and her eyes shimmered in the growing light. She looked away, sniffing.
"Don't cry, Emma," he said. He cupped her cheek. "Please... don't cry."
Her voice was a desperate whisper. She clasped his hand. "Please don't leave me alone with these people."
He swallowed. "I gotta."
Her grip on his hand tightened. "Why?"
The question was so much bigger than that one little word. The answer, even more complicated. And they had no time.
"We're tangled in this fer now," he said. It was all he could think to say. "I'm tryin' to keep everyone safe." It could be boiled down to that, at least. He did not want to think what could happen, if a posse out of Blackwater rode up now...
Emelia swallowed the lump in her throat. "Oh, Arthur," she whispered. "Please... Be good."
"I... it won't be long. Just 'til dark."
"Let's go, Arthur," Javier prompted. The Mexican had already mounted up on his white and grey paint. Boaz snorted, stomping at the earth.
"I need a minute!"
"She'll be alright," Abigail promised. She reached for Emelia's arm, gently, to guide her away. "I'll see to it."
Reluctantly, tears standing in her eyes, Emelia allowed Abigail to lead her back to her place in the wagon train. "Be safe, Arthur."
"I'm sorry," Arthur said.
"Arthur! Vámonos!"
With Javier to watch him, they rode out. Ranged across the grasslands. When they reached the road that lead west along the Red River, Arthur paused once, angling so that the rifle aimed away from Bella's head. Took aim and shot the telegraph lines. The little mare tossed her head and rose up on her hind legs, low enough for her tail to pool on the earth and Arthur pushed her forward sharply, snapping her out of it.
"Easy," Arthur soothed. He laid a hand flat against Bella's neck, applying a steady, assuring pressure. "Yer alright."
"You sure that's wise?" Javier asked.
"Well, I sure as hell ain't climbin' up there to cut 'em."
"No," the Mexican conceded. He laughed. "That horse. Sure is skittish."
"She's a good girl. Just weren't prepared fer this," Arthur said.
"Too finely bred," Javier replied with a little smirk. "But you seem to like 'em that way."
Arthur continued to sooth Bella, not rising to Javier's baiting, despite the worry. He trusted the horse would adapt under a steady and consistent hand. People are not so easily convinced. Emma... oh, Emma. She was too smart for them. Would never buy into the 'Great American Western Adventure' in the same fool way the rest of them had.
"You were there, Javier," Arthur said, sidling Bella a little closer. "What really happened on that boat?"
Javier looked at Arthur a moment and then shrugged. "We had the money," he said nonchalant. "It seemed fine. Then suddenly they were everywhere."
"Pinkertons," Arthur said. Bloody Pinkertons. He thought of that odd feller outside the laundry, and the men in the alley. They had stepped into a nest of rattlers.
"It was crazy," Javier continued. "Raining bullets. By the time you showed up we were just barely holding on."
"And the girl," Arthur pressed. "What the hell was that about?"
"That... it was a bad situation," Javier tried. "Davey got shot. John and Mac... shot too. Sean, we don't even know."
"And Jenny."
"Yeah."
"Don't change the fact that it ain't how we do things."
"Easy for you to say," Javier said. "You weren't the one pinned."
"It was stupid," Arthur decided bluntly. He could not help but wonder, what would have happened, if he had stayed at the ranch. If Emma had her way and not gone at all... Arthur sighed. "The whole damn thing... it's just crazy!"
Javier frowned. "Your fancy doctor tell you that?"
"Come on, Javier. Yer smarter than this."
"Micah and Dutch thought --"
"Micah!" Arthur spat. "Since when did Dutch start takin' advice from the likes of Micah Bell? He's lower than a snake's belly in a wagon rut!"
"It sounded like a good idea."
"Like hell it did. It don't take no fancy schoolin' to know that robbin' a riverboat in the middle of the day is gonna end in misery."
"Don't take any schooling neither to know this girl of yours is gonna end up like the last," Javier snapped. "Think twice about how you treat your family, Arthur."
Javier spurred his horse forward and Arthur made no effort to refute the prediction. Mary or Eliza... it did not matter which. The ring sat in his pocket, returned in all the chaos and never retrieved. It may as well been a hot ember it troubled him so. He had not dared try to return it, far too anxious of rejection. Those boys on the road... he had been sitting with her, practically beside her and still, still, he almost failed.
They rode in relative silence after that. They stopped only to rest and water the horses. They moved off the main trail, and started north, leading the wagons across lots. Charles would follow behind the lot of them and mask the trail. Without a word Javier and Arthur agreed not to stray too far from the caravan, united at very least in the anxiety of it being over-taken. Occasionally one would ride to the crest of a hill. There they pulled out their brass binoculars and scanned the hazy horizon. Sharp blue against the gold, dotted with game and lone travelers. Nothing akin to a posse. Yet. They reported their findings to Dutch and Hosea and Dutch confirmed that they were in fact being hunted.
"Seems I was right," Dutch said from up in the drivers' seat of the lead wagon. "Boys say they saw a group of ten or so riders. Off to the South."
"Scatterin' might be best," Arthur offered.
Dutch did not take his eyes off the road. "Scatter?" he asked, like he did not understand the meaning of the word. As if Arthur spoke another language.
"Sure," Arthur pressed cautiously. "I could take the women and Jack and –"
"You?" Dutch said, again in that same suspicious tone.
Arthur hesitated a moment. "I ain't been seen with you recently. And I figure I got the skills to manage it. Keep 'em safe and..."
"We have a problem to solve, we solve it together or we die alone."
"But... we ain't all...," Arthur tried. "These are Pinkertons, Dutch. They ain't gonna stop at a state line. They want them that was on that boat. But Jack? The women? I can get 'em clear."
"Arthur has a point, Dutch," Hosea said. "We'd be able to move faster without these wagons. Get some real distance. We can all meet back up once we get the money."
"What I'm hearin' is that Arthur here is worried about one, while I worry about many."
"Come on, Dutch, it ain't like that."
"What about the wounded?" Dutch asked. "Davey and John and Jenny? You forget about them?"
"Well... I reckon I could take 'em an' figure somethin' out. They're lookin' for a gang of armed degenerates with a pile of money, not a wagon full o' women. We can make fer Kansas an' lay low--"
"No," Dutch decided. "If we scatter now, they'll pick us off. One weak, desperate fool after the other."
"Maybe," Hosea said hesitantly.
"You sound doubtful."
"Not... doubtful," the older man clarified. "Just worried."
"We have been shot at before, Hosea," Dutch said patiently. "I don't feel that this is honestly anything new."
"I sure hope not," Arthur grumbled.
"We had a bit of bad luck," Dutch conceded. "So now we run. We'll wait a bit and then we go back to Blackwater and we get our money, or we get some more money and we keep heading west."
"If you think that best," Hosea said.
"We got this, gentlemen," Dutch said. He chuckled. "Come on... both of you. Have some faith."
Faith. Reverends and Priests went on and on about it. Arthur cast his gaze to the sky. Faith... He thought he had mountains of it. Twenty-two years to allow it to accumulate. Now? Emma. He had faith in her. In how steady she could be. But where could they go now?
Javier and Arthur stayed in advance of the train, scouting for water. With each hill they crested they would pause and scan the waves of buffalo grass and found the roads relatively clear. They stopped only as the sun began to set, having found a little space in a wood of gnarled post oaks and blackjacks, near the muddy Canadian river. Emma found him, just as he tethered Bella. She greeted the horse with one of the bruised apples from that morning.
"Good girl, Bella," she cooed. "Bringing him home."
"How you make out here?" Arthur asked as she made her way around the horse. Lord, did she look exhausted.
"Well enough," she said. "Considering."
He shook his head. "This ain't what I wanted fer you."
A sad little smile flickered across her lips. "I know."
Emelia took his hands and rose up on her toes and Arthur kissed her.
"Do you still have my ring?" she asked.
Arthur blinked. "Yer ring?"
Emilia chewed her lip a moment. "Yes. I... I gave it to you for safekeeping, remember? I never wear it during surgery, you see --"
"Oh!"
She sighed with relief. "It could have gotten dirty or slipped off and --"
"No," Arthur said quickly. He reached into his pocket, and though the words were cavalier, the relief snagged his voice. "I got it right here, darlin'."
When she had slipped it back on her finger, she flicked her gaze back to his face. "Thank you. I wish I had remembered it sooner."
A grateful smile cracked Arthur's unshaved face. "That's alright," he managed. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her. Kissed her hard and held her harder and he hoped she understood what he lacked the eloquence to say.
"Arthur!"
Emelia startled and they both looked to find Dutch striding toward them, cigar in hand. His bowler set jauntily upon his head. "I need you to scout the perimeter," he said.
Arthur blinked. He looked at Emelia, who blushed and backed away a step and then back to Dutch and his strange, cheerful expression. Arthur cleared his throat. "Uh... Now?"
Dutch did not flinch. "Yes. Now."
"But... I just... we got people standin' watch."
"Arthur. There are Pinkertons and bounty hunters after us," Dutch said. His dark gaze flicked to Emelia and then, he added in his most honied tone; "Can we really be too careful?"
"Surely he could eat first," Emelia ventured.
Dutch smiled, but he turned his attention back to Arthur. "Pinkertons and bounty hunters," he reiterated. "Mercenaries. Killers."
Arthur huffed. "Fine."
Over an hour later, as Arthur rubbed Belladonna down for the second time that night, Emelia came to him. A bowl of stew in her hands. She said nothing. Just handed it to him and kissed his cheek.
"Aw, Emma," he said softly. "You shouldn't have waited."
She smiled despite the shimmer in her eyes. "I wanted to."
Arthur hauled the saddle and bedroll with him. They went back to the main line, where the exhausted gang had bedded down around the single fire. Only Dutch had a tent up. Arthur found them a spot a little way off from the other sleeping forms. Clear of sticks or rocks, and with the empty stew bowl, Arthur hollowed out the earth some for their hips and shoulders. He laid the thick wool bedroll out, canvass side down before setting the saddle at the head of it all. Arthur laid down first, his head against saddle. Emelia lowered herself to the ground. She kissed him. Slow and sweet as molasses, once, twice upon his lips before nestling next to him. Oh, Emma. Tucked between his body and the seam, snug and safe with his arms around her. Arthur knew she was asleep soon as her arm went lax around his waist and her breathing evened out.
"Good night, darlin'."
Be good, she said. Bounty hunters, lawmen, outlaws... Arthur doubted God much cared what excuse was given at the end of it all. Killing was killing. The value of a life found only in familiarity, he reckoned. He thought about them boys out on the road. Good boys, but goddamn fools too. What if they had hit Emma? Arthur's throat tightened.
He was never much one for gambling. Arthur would protect his own if it came to that and he hoped Emma could forgive him.