Chapter Text
Arthur enjoyed being out on his own. Though there were times he missed the ever-burning warmth of the campfire and the slew of friendly faces (aside from a few notable exceptions), camp could be…well, suffocating, on occasion. Especially in the weeks since Colter, seeing as Arthur was being made, once again, into the gang’s resident human-shaped workhorse.
Well. That was the life, he supposed. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t get tired of Dutch breathing down his neck, nagging Arthur to empty his pockets into the lockbox behind his tent.
When everything got to be too much, Arthur would ride out, with excuses and halfhearted apologies up his sleeve. Sometimes, he’d gladly take up a task that would take him days to complete, seeing as it worked as an escape all the same. Being under the stars, the clouds, the constant rhythm of hoofbeats across the trail…it was like a slice of heaven, all to himself.
And today was a beautiful day for it.
Arthur did, however, wish for any other circumstances. He turned at the fork in the road towards Downes Ranch and felt the familiar stab of guilt low in his stomach.
Collecting debts was something he didn’t enjoy, to say the least. To say the most, Arthur was ashamed to do it. Felt like he was just preying on good folks who just happened to fall on rough times, and it was his job to make them even rougher. That was the business. And that was the whole point, and it made him feel like shit under somebody’s boot. Arthur wished, for once, that Strauss and Dutch would give him a goddamn break and send someone else.
The surrounding scenery changed into a quaint little farm. The sun, sinking deep into the horizon, rested behind the frame of the main house and brought an orange glow to the land. It was kinda pretty, Arthur thought. It was a real shame what he was here to do.
He dismounted his horse– Teacake, a little Morgan who had the determination of a thousand-some pound Shire– and did a quick scan of the place. Nobody outside. Arthur squared his shoulders back and headed for the front door of the house, giving it three hard knocks.
“Mr. Downes!” he shouted.
There was no answer.
Arthur sighed and knocked again, harder this time. “Do I have to break the goddamn door down, son? I’m here for what you–”
Suddenly, the door flung open, nearly whacking Arthur in the nose. Once he got his bearings, he saw that it wasn’t Thomas Downes, but a woman Arthur assumed was his wife.
She looked at him, her eyes dripping with loathing. There was a stern look about her and a dangerous lilt to her voice as she spoke. “This ain’t the best time, loan shark. If I was you, I’d get far away from this place ‘fore sundown, you hear?”
Arthur scowled and did his best to look intimidating. It really didn’t take much effort. “Respectfully, ma’am, I ain’t leaving here without the money. Now, you have a choice. You can either give it to me here, or I can find your husband and beat it outta him.”
As the threat left his mouth, Arthur’s eye drifted to the interior of the home. Clusters of boards were nailed to the windows, and a heavy-looking chain with a thick lock hung in the sliver of the open door. In Mrs. Downes’ hand was a key. “The hell’s all this for?” he asked, gesturing to the mess.
“It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with.”
“Look, this don’t have to be so damn complicated! Sooner you tell me where the man is, sooner I–”
“Fine!” Mrs. Downes finally snapped. “He went off into those woods, over there. You might have a little time left. But don’t say I didn’t warn you, mister.”
SLAM! Arthur was left standing on the porch like an idiot.
He gave another long, heavy, frustrated sigh. These damn debt assignments always turned into something stupidly complicated, and it looked like tonight was no exception. Part of him wondered why the lady seemed so afraid– another part of him, though, knew he couldn’t just go back empty-handed. So, into the woods Arthur was gonna go.
Not before making a pit stop back at Teacake, however. Arthur took a lantern in one hand and a shotgun in the other. He’d never been one to be afraid of the dark, but something about the way Mrs. Downes sounded…
The whole thing was suspicious. And Arthur intended to find out what the hell was going on.
Light in hand and the gun slung over his back, Arthur trudged through the grass and toward the trees in the distance. He kept his eyes peeled for any signs of movement. “Mr. Downes! You come out, now, you can’t run from your debts no longer!”
Suddenly, there was a rustle in the bushes.
It wasn’t long before Arthur met the gaze of a very pale, very sickly-looking man. Downes. His eyes were wide with fear, and he stumbled back, palm raised.
“Trust me, friend,” Arthur said, “runnin’ from your debts never ends well.”
“I’ll get the money for you!” The man cut him off in a desperate, pleading voice, although something about it sounded…different, from the other debtors. Like he wasn’t afraid of being beaten or robbed, but of something else entirely. Arthur couldn’t put his finger on it. “I– I promise, all right? I swear on my mother’s grave! Just– you gotta get out of here, right now!”
“What is it with you folk and being so goddamn cryptic?” Arthur groaned. He surged forward and grabbed Downes by the collar, pushing him back against a tree, fist raised. “I’ll give you one more chance, boy, and then I’m done bein’ so nice about it.”
“Sir, please, I’m begging you–!”
Arthur punched him. Red spurted from Mr. Downes’ nose, coating the tree trunk with a splash of color. “You can beg all you want, but like I told your wife, I ain’t leavin’ here until I got what you owe. Now, what’s it gonna be?”
When there was no answer, Arthur hit him again. Harder. Downes spluttered and coughed pitifully beneath him.
And then, with no warning at all, he lunged.
It was like a switch had been pulled, and there was an animal in front of Arthur instead of a man. The impact knocked him backward. And suddenly Mr. Downes was fighting him tooth and goddamn nail– and then, he opened his jaw and bit, right at the spot between Arthur’s neck and shoulder blade.
He cried out. The pain was unexpected, and frankly, completely immeasurable. His vision blurred. Meanwhile, Downes made a strange noise in his throat. His jaw suddenly seemed too wide for a human man, and he bit down harder, sinking his teeth even further into Arthur’s already broken skin. Arthur felt the telltale warmth and stickiness of blood as it began to seep from the wound. He gave a trembling, choked gasp.
You’re gonna die here, whispered a little voice in his head. This is it for you.
No, Arthur thought, he wasn’t going to die here– he refused, plain and simple. He yanked the shotgun from where it’d fallen and pulled down on the trigger. It wasn’t aimed at anything in particular, but the bullet seemed to hit its mark, a thin spray of blood splattering out. Downes finally let go of Arthur with a cry and ran off into the trees. A trail of crimson followed close behind him.
Arthur dropped the shotgun back onto the grass. The adrenaline was wearing off. With a groan, he rolled over onto his stomach and tried to push himself up with shaking arms. It took a few tries, but Arthur managed to make it to his feet (despite the need to lean on a tree trunk to keep balance). He could practically hear the blood pumping out of the bite; Arthur tentatively raised a hand to press to the wound, only for his palm to come away completely soaked.
“Ah…shit,” he mumbled. “What the hell is wrong with people…”
He whistled for Teacake. At this point, Strauss’ money would just have to wait.
✩ ☾ ✩ ☾ ✩ ☾ ✩
The ride back to camp was brutal. The bite throbbed with Arthur’s heartbeat and burned like the devil– hell, it hurt even more than animal bites he’d been unlucky enough to receive in the past, and that was saying something. Arthur felt like he was on the verge of falling straight off the saddle, with the circus of stars and fuzziness that clouded his vision.
Eventually, though, after what seemed like half an eternity, he turned on the dirt path that led to the overlook the gang called home. He slipped off Teacake’s back in a daze. Arthur knew they had some gauze somewhere…if not, there were a few shirts he wouldn’t mind sacrificing…
“Arthur? What the hell happened to you, boy?”
Arthur turned toward the distant voice, only to find it not so distant at all. Hosea was right beside him. A worried look was etched onto the old man’s face, and his arms were ready at his sides, as if he were afraid Arthur would keel over and eat shit any second.
“M’fine,” Arthur grumbled. “Jus’ a scratch, ain’t nothing you need to worry about.”
He felt himself sway. Luckily, Hosea was ready in an instant, leaning Arthur against his side and gawking at the red waterfall that spewed all down the front of Arthur’s shirt. “Jesus, what were you doing? What bit you? Tell me you didn’t go after that bear again, because…”
“I didn’t, Hosea, I ain’t that–” The words were cut off by a hiss of pain Arthur couldn’t quite hide. Damn, the stupid thing hurt.
He didn’t realize he was being guided to the poker table until he was unceremoniously dropped into one of the chairs. Hosea gestured to Arthur’s shirt. “Off, this instant. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Leave it to Hosea to get all worrisome about me when he don’t have to, Arthur thought, somewhat annoyed, but did as he was told. It was like a reflex. He peeled the shirt away from his body as Hosea went to fetch a bucket of water, wincing in pain as the fabric came away from the wound. The union suit underneath wasn’t much better. If anything, it was worse, sticking to his ruined skin like sweat in the southern heat.
Hosea came bustling back to the table after just a few minutes. Water sloshed from the pail onto his pant leg, but he either didn’t notice or didn’t care, and instead got to work on Arthur right away. “What was it, then? Wolf? Cougar? Angry raccoon?”
“I don’t rightly know,” Arthur muttered. He considered telling Hosea about the strange ordeal that’d taken place at the ranch, but decided against it. He wasn’t sure he even believed the story himself, and he’d been there to experience it firsthand. “It was big, though. Got me before I knew what was goin’ on. Shot the bastard good, must’ve run off after that. Got back here as quick as I could.”
“What were you doing?”
“I was just out collecting a debt, Hosea, it ain’t that big a deal.” Talking like this– the remarks from Hosea that were somewhere between accusing and worried, and the way Arthur’s voice sounded as he defended himself– reminded him of the old days. A memory of a bullet graze resurfaced, along with a younger, doting Hosea, asking all the same questions. Arthur couldn’t have been more than sixteen at the time.
As they drifted into a somewhat comfortable silence, Arthur’s attention moved over to the campfire, where a few folks chatted before heading to sleep. John, Karen, Tilly…someone else he couldn’t fully see. Maybe Charles, or Uncle.
Arthur let his gaze linger a moment too long, and the person– Charles, he realized– caught him looking. The man raised his eyebrows as he lifted a bottle to his lips, as if to ask what happened?, and Arthur averted his eyes to his boots. Heat spread like a wildfire across his cheeks. It wasn’t the first time he’d gotten bashful around the other man– it’d been an unfortunate but regular occurrence since Colter, and Arthur was never able to stop it, no matter how hard he tried. It was humiliating.
Hosea gave one final tug on the gauze. “There. Should be all right now,” he said. “It gets worse at all, you come find me or Miss Grimshaw. And you ought to be more careful, you hear?”
“I know, I know. Thank you,” Arthur said, still slightly embarrassed. He grabbed the tatters of his poor, bloodied shirt and headed for his tent, anxious to forget everything that’d happened.
Once under the roof of stretched canvas, Arthur laid back on his cot with a pained groan. His fingertips ghosted overtop the bandages. Hosea had done a fine job and all, but the thrum of Arthur’s heartbeat pounded against the tightness of his handiwork. It’d get on his nerves if he stayed awake any longer. He took off his hat, closed his eyes, and folded both hands over his middle, hoping sleep would come soon.
A few moments later, though, there was a shuffling of footsteps. They paused, seeming unsure if Arthur was asleep or not.
“You can come in, ain’t gonna bite’cha,” he muttered.
“I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”
Arthur would know Charles’ voice any day. “Ah, I see. You worried for me or somethin’, Mr. Smith?”
There was a soft, almost inaudible chuckle, and Arthur saw the slight smile in his mind’s eye before the real ones opened to look at his visitor. “Something like that. You did ride into camp covered in blood, so, pardon me for checking on you.”
“Guess that’ll do it. I’m fine, though. Just some…wild animal, got the upper hand for once, is all,” Arthur lied. “I’ll give you a holler if I start bleedin’ out, or anythin’ like that.”
“Well. I’m just glad you’re all right, Arthur.” Charles gave a lazy salute as he turned away. “Sleep well.”
“Night, Charles.” Arthur’s heartbeat kicked up a notch.
As it did, the smile on his own face– one Arthur hadn’t realized he’d been wearing– slowly melted into a frown. The sudden realization, the familiar feeling of butterflies fluttering around in his stomach– all of it hit him like a brick.
Goddamnit.