Fire and Water: a Red Dead story

11

"No, no. Like this." Arthur angled John's legs to better sit on his horse. "You tell the horse where ya wanna go with these." He slapped his legs, and John scowled down at him. 

"Ok, damn." He sat stiffly in the saddle, uncomfortable with the animal beneath him. "Ya don' havta hold my hand Arthur." He gently kicked the horse, "Move, for chrissakes." 

Arthur laughed at him. "That ain't how you talk to a horse." He ran his hand down the snarled mane, he needed to get the burrs out of that soon. "You have to earn their trust, John, gotta be real easy with them, till they know ya."

John rolled his eyes, but laid a gentle hand on her flank, glancing over at Arthur for guidance. Boadicea stiffly moved forward, unused to the light weight on her back. Arthur laughed at him, calling gently to his horse, and pulling out a cig. 

"Take 'er round a few times John, get comfortable with the reins." He nodded as John began to ride her, quickly speeding her up. "Yeah, there ya go." He decided to let John do as he pleased, and laid down in the grass. He was going to head into town later, Dutch hadn't said much, but the way he had been given side glances he'd figured funds were starting to run low. He figured he'd hear about any potential leads from the local drunks. They needed a score right about now, his occasional bounties that he brought in wasn't enough to supply the whole camp. 

He'd do it, but right now, right now, he was content enough to lay down, and watch the smoke drift off into the bright blue yonder. He took another pull. 

A frightened whinny startled him out of his daze and he sat up. "Marston? What'd you do to my horse!" His horse was rearing, pawing the air and snorting. He recognized the behaviors as being spooked by something. John was clinging onto her neck, reins forgotten in the panic of the moment. 

"Jesus, Marston!" He ran over, glancing around for what had scared his horse so badly. "Easy girl, easy." 

The horse reared again, and John flew off, landing in the grass with a soft grunt. Arthur reached out and caught the reins, patting her neck. "Easy, girl. What's the matter with ya?" He glanced around again. "You get spooked by the wind?" She shivered under his hand, and he patted her again. 

He glanced over his shoulder at John. "You alright there?" John nodded, slowly getting up, and winking the tears out of his eyes.

"Sure, jus' got the breath knocked clean out o' me." He squinted at the horse. "You got a flighty horse."

"Ain't a flighty horse, jus' a bad rider." Arthur gave one more look around, "Nothin' came up sudden to scare her like that?"

"Naw," John shook his head. "Jus' grass." 

Arthur rolled his eyes. "You bein' smart or somethin'?" He shook his head, handing the reins to John. "C'mon back to camp."

.......................

John Marston wasn't many things, but at the very least, and the very kindest, people could call him, persistent.

"C'mon Arthur! I see all your bags packed up, I know your goin' somewheres. Take me with ya?" He hopped around Arthur, every bone in his overenergized body longing to leave the camp for a few hours. "Please, please, Arthur, I swear, you won't even know I'm there!" He sat down on one his bags, to Arthur's very obvious annoyance. 

"That's unlikely," the elder grumbled as he moved around him, swinging his saddle bags. 

John frowned at him. He could be quiet when he wanted to, he just didn't feel he had to around Arthur. He lazily looked through Arthur's bags, knowing how badly it pissed him off. Shirts, a pack of cigarettes, which he pocketed quickly, and some money.