Dutch's Daughter [[RDR2 Arthur Morgan x OC]]

chapter 12; clemen's point

"Sprechen sie Deutsch?" A frail blonde woman clings to her children, eyeing the strange lofty men before her. "G-German?"

Arthur looks to his partner, equally confused at the foreign language. The two themselves are only fluent in sarcasm and swear words. "No, now get out of here. We need the land." The woman shakes with fear, eyes darting between the guns and her children's face. "Get the hell out of here!" He swings the butt of the rifle in their direction, scaring them into stumbling backwards but they hold their ground. Charles shrugs, unsure of what to do with the pitiful three.

"They took our father.." The tiny voice of the daughter pipes up.

"Who did?" Charles crouches down to her level, his natural kindness and soft haze eyes making it easy for the young girl to trust him.

"M-men... last night."

"Where did they take him?" She points in a vague direction, knuckles of opposite hand turning white gripping her mother's skirt for dear life. Charles stands, heading for Taima and Rogue.

"This ain't no business of ours, don't even speak their language." Arthur snorts, barrel dropping towards the dirt.

"You ain't as tough and dense as you'd have yourself seem. Come on, Arthur." He kicks Taima into motion, assuming the whining oaf will follow after him. "She pointed this way, let's see if we can pick up the trail. I see tracks..."

"I don't see nothing."

"Hoof marks, this way. What's going on with you?"

"What you mean?"

"You were just gonna send that woman and her children on their way?"

"We're wanted men. We got Pinkertons breathing down our necks." Loading his lip with chewing tobacco, Arthur tips his hat down to shield his eyes from the beaming sun.

"Come on, Arthur. That's not how you are."

"Well, maybe you don't know me as well as you think you do."

"Hold up, let me check this. Okay, looks like they go down this way." He leans over to observe the wet dirt below, squinting to see the fresh hoofprints. Sitting back into his saddle, he snaps the reigns, continuing onto the rediscovered track. "John said he was going back to the auction yard to collect the money for those sheep." Changing the talk from one sensitive topic to another, Charles focuses on the tracks, watching his friends face from the corner of his eye.

"He'd be a damn idiot going anywhere near that town right now." Wet chew spits from his mouth to the ground. "Oh, well... if it's John's idea, it must be a good one.

"What is with you and him?"

"Well, he disappeared on us for a while when Jack was real young, a long while, a year or more. And we was... family, you know? Guess I still ain't fully forgiven him for that." Arthur's eyes gloss over, thinking about his youth running with John, Dutch and Charlotte. They are his family and even though they were typically pain's in his ass, he'd do just about anything for them.

"There's a camp up ahead." Charles senses the building tension, deciding he's pushed the boundaries far enough. The trail leads them to the edge of Flat Iron Lake, a thin island stretching out of the water, lush with greenery. Barrels, empty bottles and boxes are littered around a small tent, wagon and a smoked out campfire. It appears to be abandoned, the troublemakers must have already made their way out.

Arthur's worn boots thud to the ground, tying Rogue's lead to a nearby tree as he surveys the area for any remaining signs of life. "Where is this bastard..." he mutters under his breath.

"This looks like a decent camp spot." Charles notes, searching the driverless wagon for any left behind supplies. Near the shore line, Arthur spots a wooden chair, empty aside from a long bladed, recently sharpened machete resting in its seat. Beside it, a lively body flops in the dirt, hands and feet bound with dense rope and a cloth tied around his mouth.

"This looks like our feller, Charles." Gripping a small pocket knife, he cuts through cloth muzzling the captive man's mouth. Immediately, German words begin pouring from him, eyes wide open and voice high pitched with warning.

"Vorsichtig! Vorsichtig! Es ist eine Falle!" The caught German shouts but his warning is a moment too late. The whistle of a bullet closely missing Arthur's face sounds through the clearing.

"Take cover!" Arthur shouts, diving behind a nearby tree to prepare for the oncoming attack. A dozen men come running with guns blazing. "The hell are we doing, this ain't even our goddamn fight!" Thankfully, the foes are low in number, just low enough for Charles and Arthur to conquer them without having to put forth too much effort. They drop like flies, bodies meshing well with the crummy camp. Dropping his gun with a heavy sigh, Arthur returns to the German, finally releasing him from the ropes. He springs to his feet, brushing clumps of mud from his coat while germanic thanks flow off his tongue.

"Yeah... yeah. Charles, go flag down the caravan, find Dutch and divert 'em this way. We'll set up camp here." Placing two fingers between his lips, Arthur whistles for Rogue. "You - come with me. I'll take you back to yer family."

Surprisingly, the man doesn't question the outlaw and climbs aboard the tall Tennessee Walker. He bumbles out some Germanic words, the lifted tone at the end of each sentence suggesting he is asking his rescuer questions.

"Listen, I barely speak English. Uh... there's your family ahead." Arthur points towards the blond woman ahead, still clutching her two children to her sides. Her face lights up at the sight of the approaching horse, dropping her grasp on the youngins' to race her husband.
The man springs from Rogue's sturdy back, embracing his family tightly, Germanic words spilling from their mouths at the joyous reunion.

"Alright now... go on, get out of here." They turn to look Arthur, confused at the foreign words. He throws his hands in their direction, shooing them towards the wagon. "Get out of here! Vamos!"

They scurry into motion, hurriedly boarding their wagon. The husband pauses, reaching into his pocket to reveal a bar of solid gold.

"Für dich. Danke, aus tiefstem Herzen."

Arthur looks down at money in his hand, turning it around to survey its authenticity. When he looks back up, the wagon has snapped into motion, carrying the strange foreign family to somewhere safe.

By the time he arrives back at Clemen's Point, Charles has cleared the bodies from the bloody battle. The caravan of the rest of the gang rolls in, led by Dutch. Micah, hard asleep with his feet kicked up and arms behind his head, sits in the passenger seat, leaving all the hard work to Dutch as per usual. Arthur's stomach drops at the sight of the foul man.