The Angel Butcher of Rio Bravo: An RDR2 Story

xi. "I'll be damned"

Arthur.

Once Arthur had settled a howling Strauss outside his wagon, to be tended to by Susan Grimshaw's cold, yet effective hands, he marched towards Dutch's tent. Arthur dodged Karen hauling a basket of laundry and Lenny with a bundle of repeaters in his arms, trying to parse Hosea's insistent admonishments, Dutch's placating replies. At his appearance in the entrance to the tent, Dutch held his hand up to silence Hosea, beaming at Arthur.

"Just who I was hoping to see," he greeted. Hosea stood and stalked off, and Arthur and Dutch both looked after him for a moment. "He'll be fine," Dutch muttered, as if to himself.

"What d'you need doing?" Arthur asked, drawing his leader's attention back into the tent.

"Well, we need somewhere to live, to put it plain," Dutch waved around him; the hubbub of gang members rushing to pack their belongings, once again. "Could you take Charles with you, and Miss Nilsen, too? Find us somewhere?"

"Like where?" Arthur scrunched up his face, Charles, having heard his assignment, joined at Arthur's shoulder.

"Someplace east of here," said Dutch, leaning forward to rest a broad hand on his knee.

"Real specific," Arthur chuckled darkly, as Charles scratched at the back of his head, looking pensive.

"What about south of where we hid that oil tank? Seemed secluded enough."

Arthur shrugged. "It's a start, anyway." They waved goodbye to Dutch and headed for their horses, Arthur tugging on Tine's sleeve as they passed her. "C'mon, we're after a new campsite." She nodded and followed, made to retack her horse.

*

Tine was largely silent while Arthur and Charles took turns grousing about heading further east, further south; further into civilized society.

"You're quiet, Miss Nilsen," Charles invited, turning three-quarters in his saddle to look at Tine. "What do you think of all this?"

"No difference to me where I lay my head," she replied, spurring on Darling so that she rode beside the two men.

Arthur scoffed. "Now that ain't true," he gave Charles a knowing look. "Took my damn bed in Colter."

A small smile played on her lips, and Arthur felt his face grow pink; remembering his furtive imaginings in the freezing bunkhouse, suddenly wishing he hadn't brought it up at all. Charles seemed unconcerned, though, slowing Taima to a trot as they came upon a dry creek bed, deer springing away at their approach.

The three dismounted and stalked around, Arthur looking at the wide bowl of darkening sky above them. "Bit out in the open, wouldn't you say?"

"And it looks like someone beat us to it," added Charles, inspecting a fire pit with warm coals still smouldering in it. Beyond that, ghostly in the dim evening, were collected wagons in a natural enclave; what would have been a tributary had the creek still been wet. "These folks can't have been gone long."

"Him, either," Tine said, wincing, rolling over a corpse with the burnished toe of her boot. "He's fresh; can't be more than a few hours dead." She stepped away from the body, her nose wrinkling; evidently a time limit on when she'd scour someone's pockets, a picky carrion bird.

Tine proceeded towards the wagons, instead; Arthur and Charles trailing her. They found little beyond a chunk of bread, a few tins of fruit and fish.