The Angel Butcher of Rio Bravo: An RDR2 Story

xxxi. "Don't go off just yet"

Arthur.

The Van der Linde camp at Fairvale, nestled among the lupins, continued to grow colder. The gang sat clustered together, conducting their tasks with trembling fingers. Dutch spent most of his time in his cabin, and the gang members took frequent audience with him; for the warmth more so than the company, bad-tempered as it often was.

For his part, Arthur tried to make up the deficit in hunted provisions that appeared when Charles left, as well as assuming the role of a debate partner for Dutch - once a province of Lenny's - but found himself lacking in both. His arguments were clumsy, studded with "ums" and "y'knows". And, any animal he brought back larger than a rabbit was riddled with bulletholes. His gun had a much easier time finding vital points on a man; not so much an elk or deer.

But Tine had come into her own, frequently shedding her coat even in the chilly air, her cheeks flushed with life. Even her bad arm crossing her chest didn't seem to take away from her vibrancy up in the mountains, her blue eyes picking up the lurid violet of the flowers around them. It had appeared to rub off on John, too, his own eyes twinkling with whatever possibilities the two were dreaming up without Arthur, his smile easy and conniving.

The pair were planning some job, Arthur came to realize, a newspaper covered in pencilled circles clutched in Tine's fist. She was excited as she told him about it, nearly dancing on the spot, John smiling from where he leant against a wagon. "It's a luxury stage, Arthur," she stressed, jabbing at the paper with her knife, "Just started, from Saint Denis to Annesburg. Going to be full of coal barons and their pretty wives, ripe for the picking." The knifepoint continued to prod at the newsprint and Arthur felt his stomach turn. He'd been avoiding Tine since Charles had left, the association Charles'd made between him and her difficult to sit with. Even when they were close, back at Shady Belle and before, Arthur had considered himself morally apart.

Arthur began to protest: "You ain't gonna-" when Dutch interrupted him, calling from his cabin. Arthur snorted his displeasure, before responding, "Yeah, Dutch?"

"I need to speak with you a moment." Dutch retreated back into the little house and Arthur looked between his younger colleagues; a small smirk playing on Tine's lips, John's arms crossed defiantly.

"Wait here a minute, don't go off just yet," he ordered, pulling himself away and stalking over to Dutch's cabin, throwing the door open more dramatically than he meant to. Dutch looked up from his place next to the fire, a newspaper of his own dangling between his open knees.

"Suddenly everyone's followin' the news," Arthur muttered under his breath.

"News from Saint Denis," Dutch said by way of greeting, holding up the paper. "Our friend Colm O'Driscoll's due to swing."

Arthur barked a laugh, remembering all of the times Colm had evaded the hangman's noose. "Wouldn't be the first time."

Dutch rivalled his smile, his eyebrows narrowing as he did it. "But it will be the last. We'll make sure it is."

"You and me?"

Dutch laughed, but there was a joyless undercurrent to it. "Why, Arthur? You got something better to do?"

"It's John and Tine, they-" Arthur's explanation fell into nothing as he looked upon his leader, really looked at him. He'd seen a glimpse of it when Dutch had asked his help at Clemens Point, but it seemed to have become permanent: Dutch showing his age. "-Never mind. 'Course I'll come."