Snake Skin | John Marston

Bone Orchard

A few days had drifted by since Y/N had made her camp in the wilds. Time and again, her thoughts lingered on Abigail Roberts, wondering if she had made the right choice. Had she put both Abigail and her son in even greater danger?

She hadn't heard a word from Arthur or Sadie regarding John's rescue, and a cold worry started to seep into her bones. What if they'd gotten caught, too? But at that moment, it didn't matter. Y/N was focused on packing her gear. Her plan was as straightforward as a dusty trail—she was going to ride out to the Van Der Linde gang and confront Micah and Dutch. All day long, she polished her rifle and revolvers, the setting sun painting the sky with streaks of crimson and gold. Once she was ready, she tightened her belt and set off.

As she rode toward the camp, she spotted a figure in the distance. There was no mistaking it; it was Arthur Morgan. He pulled his horse to a stop as she approached. "Y/N? What brings you out this way?"

A smile broke across her face. "I'm off to see old man Dutch. We need to have a serious talk."

"This is where I try to talk you out of it, but I don't want to risk my neck any more than I have to. If anything... I'm on your side." Arthur's voice was steady as they rode side by side toward the camp. "Dutch shot Leviticus Cornwall, I helped John blow up a bridge, Swanson left, and today they hung Colm O'Driscoll."

"You blew up a bridge? With John? Is he alright?" she fired off her questions, reining her stallion to a halt with a jolt.

Arthur coughed, a raspy sound that echoed through the stillness, and nodded. "Sure. He's fine. He's at camp."

"Are you alright, Arthur? That cough don't sound good," she said, concern etching her features as she studied him with worried eyes.

"Ain't gonna lie, Y/N. I'm dyin', but there's one thing I'm askin' of you..." Arthur turned to Y/N, his voice heavy with unspoken weight. "When this all shakes out, you take John and make sure you both get out alive. When the time comes, you get him. You owe me, remember?"

"Yeah... yeah, but what do you mean, Arthur?" she asked, her tone soft as a whisper carried on the wind.

"I mean... be there for him. He don't know you're here, and if you show up uninvited now... things will get messy. When I..." he drew a deep breath, his chest tight with the effort. "You and me—we're more ghosts than folks, but John... he can—"

"I know," she cut him off, determination setting her jaw. "...of course, I'll get John. Thank you, Arthur."

"I reckon you should wait outside the camp, somewhere out of sight. I'll tell John to meet you there."

"I'll wait. I'll be at the Annesburg post office. I need to get away from these trees; they're driving me mad," she said, turning her horse with a practiced ease.

"Good. I'll let him know once I'm back. Stay safe."

"I will. Don't you worry," Y/N replied, offering him a final nod before galloping away toward the nearest town, her heart pounding with resolve.

When Y/N rode into the Annesburg post office, she tied her horse to the hitching post and stepped inside. The wooden door creaked on its hinges as she entered, the scent of ink and paper filling the air. She approached the clerk, tipping her hat slightly. "Good day. I'd like to check if I got anything," she said, her voice steady.

"Hello, Ma'am. What's your name?" the bearded man inquired, his eyes narrowing as he studied the woman before him.

"Y/N Colter, Sir," she replied, lightly rapping her knuckles on the worn front desk. The man nodded in acknowledgment and shuffled off to the back. As she leaned against the desk, glancing around the dusty room, her gaze caught a group of men in dark suits entering. She dismissed them, not wanting to let her thoughts linger on strangers.