Wild Fire (Book II)

The Pale Rider Cometh

      The forest had thinned. Green rolling grass swayed before Arthur and the others, leading down to the beautiful glimmering lake beyond. The air was still, eerie. Something was not quite right. The picture-perfect scene of the cabin closing in looked like a wooden eye among the green. It's face otherworldly, as It gazed up at the men, ominous, foreboding, almost calling to them secretly beneath the morning sun. Tall pine trees along the trail bowed inwardly down to them, creating a tunnel-like illusion that suddenly chilled Arthur to the bone. His hope withered inside him. What exactly was he going to do? He thought of how happy Lilah was to know Dutch himself was taking care of Emma. The look on her face, that look of joy, pulled a quiet smile to the cowboy's thoughts. But as they approached, the shimmer of happiness was gone.

     Arthur was the first to notice the opening maw of the door. He flipped the brown duster behind his legs and walked up the steps examining the open entrance. Weathered fingers traced the jimmied lock. He knelt eyeballing the bent keyhole in concern. "What the hell Arthur?" John's raspy voice croaked beside him as he leaned palms just above his knees eyeing the door with him. Arthur looked up at him from beneath the shading brim of his hat. "I don't know." he mumbled.

     John and Charles moved past his lingering crouch. John explored the living area leaving Charles to wander into the adjoining bedroom. Marston snagged the beautifully inked note, twisting it in his fingers. "They were here." He said dully, setting the note back down with obvious disdain. Arthur walked in taking the note from him and searching the words out with wandering hands. He hummed to himself darkly.

     "Fellas, I think you should come take a look at this." Charles's disquieted voice floated back from the bedroom. There was a shared glance and they moved together through the bedroom door targeting their eyes at the window the wide shoulders of the native stepped aside so they could. Their eyes followed his inspecting touch to the three red streaks zagging down the hard wood. John looked away, noticing the pile of damp clothing gathered at his boot on the floor. "Arthur?" he drew the older cowboy's attention from the window to the discarded clothes in his hand. "What the actual fuck?" Marston's mouth hung open in stunned disbelief.

     Arthur could feel the rage beginning to boil inside him. He didn't want to believe Dutch would ever actually hurt the girl but what else COULD he think? Anger plumed red across his tan face. Drowning him. Engulfing him to the bone. His nails bit into his fisted palms.

     "Gentlemen?" The soft familiar roll of Dutch's voice echoed from the bedroom doorway. He stood with bags in hand examining the scene before him with confused eyes. Walking quickly, he sat the bags by the bed and looked around at the three accusing faces that pinned him to the ground. "What are you doing here?" He said looking from one horrified angry face to the next. "I could ask the same thing of you Dutch." Arthur spat, turning his whole body towards the leader, posed like a viper ready to strike. "Oh, you could, could ya?" Dutch straightened, glowering his full height, and walking slowly over to stand before Arthur. He looked down at the shorter outlaw, his mouth stretched in a thin line. Morgan met his gaze, battling the need to protect the girl and help the man he loved so dearly struggling in silence against his own demons.

     Dutch leaned his head past Arthur spotting John and Charles, but no sign of his captured dove in their midst. He leaned back, closing in on Arthur's face. "Where. Is. The girl. Arthur." He punched the words in a threatening hiss, black eyes sparkling. Arthur didn't flinch. His own blue bullets bored into the man before him.

     But it was John that spoke. "Yes Dutch. Where IS the girl? Hmm? There's nothing here but soaked clothes and bloody handprints. Whatcha do to her DUTCH? She's just a Goddamn BABY!" The stab of her tender youth scraped at the distinguished leader, pulling his snarling lip at one side.

     He pushed past Arthur, his eyes flitting briefly to the damp clothes on the floor, then set Charles aside to study the crimson smudges with his own eyes. Ringed fingers pressed at the smears, still wet on the crumbling wood.

     Arthur could see the man's strong face flood from scarlet red to bone chip white. He turned to the three of them now, fear replacing the fury softening his coffee eyes. "This is not my doing boys. There is an enemy among us gentlemen." His voice was firm but softened, drawing the unity of the room to him with a measure of ease. Innocence masked the man's worried face. But Arthur was having none of it.

     He reached in his pocket, ripping the picture of Gretta from its clothy folds and flung it at Dutch against the bed. "Damn right there's an enemy! Look at it Dutch! Just look at it!" He was pointing one shaking finger at the picture. The woman's haunted eyes stared up at her son. "She looks just like her Dutch! Just Fuckkkinggg LIKE HER!" His eyes struggled with anger and sadness. "What the hell were you thinking??!" Dutch took the photo in his hand stroking his thumb across his mother's face.

     He walked around the bed moving slowly past John and the silent Charles and reached out a fatherly hand taking Arthur's shoulder. Despite himself, Arthur weakened under the man's touch. His eyes suddenly grew gentle, almost sad, reflecting the man's wounded expression. "A new beginning Son. I was thinking of a new beginning. For her. For me. For us both." He looked down at the picture between his thumb and finger. "I...I only want the best for Miss Wild. That's all I've ever wanted."

     Dutch suddenly looked small, fragile in the shaded room among the heavy sets of eyes that watched him. He drew closer to Arthur making the man turn his eyes away under his hat uncomfortably. "Arthur..." he called his eyes back up to him. "I would never hurt her." The truth in the gangster's face was impenetrable. It was in that single sentence that Arthur realized that the 'mommy issues', as John had put it, ran deeper and differently then he had assumed. Dutch's sole intent was to find the love that he had ran away from all those years ago. To funnel that loss into Emma, and save her from herself in return. It was never his mother he sought after. It was the bond he looked for, that life had broken to him so very long ago.

     Arthur sighed, sliding from under his clasping hand. "Ok then." he relinquished. "Then she's in trouble." Charles finally spoke, pulling the room from their thoughts. "Lilah." John uttered, turning to look between Arthur and Dutch. "If she goes anywhere, she'll go to Li. We should get moving."

     John moved past themdrawing Charles behind him. Arthur soon followed, casting a last glance overhis shoulder at Dutch as he sauntered by. Dutch hesitated for only a moment,placing the photo into his pack that spilled onto the floor. He noticed the redshirt missing from the bag and the soaked undergarments still drying on the acrossthe wood. Fury burst a new behind his onyx eyes and he gripped the butt of hispistol under his trembling hand. The bastard, whoever he was, would pay. Ohyes, he would fucking pay.