WOLFISH ⊳ arthur morgan x reader

Ch. XXX

The days until Arthur's hanging couldn't possibly hope to pass quickly enough. You had explained your situation to Dutch, and he'd provided you not only with a place to sleep, but with food as well. You couldn't have asked for more. You had also gotten a bit better acquainted with some of the other members, especially the women, who had been compassionate and good to you ever since you'd gotten there.

You hadn't been able to sleep the night before the big event, and rode out to practice your shooting a bit, then returned, only to find Dutch, Hosea, Micah and Javier getting ready. Micah was sitting at the wooden table, sipping away on a bottle of beer, Dutch was cleaning his two pistols, meanwhile, Hosea and Javier were staring at a map. The older man was doing all the talking, while the Mexican just nodded in approval. You hadn't even gotten the chance to dismount before Dutch spoke up.

"Miss (l/n), where have you been?" The gang leader asked, but didn't look up from the pair of guns he was cleaning. You couldn't say for sure, since he wore his hat, but it looked like he hadn't exactly slept much either.

"Out near Southfield Flats, to practice my shooting a bit." You explained with a quick gesture at your weapon-stacked saddlebags, to which you received a nod. "When are we leaving?"

"We?" Dutch asked with a tilt of his head, and did, finally, look up at you.

"Well, I'm not just going to lean back and watch, mister Van der Linde." You explained as you jumped off the Arabian and approached the group of men. "I'm a person of deeds, not words."

Silence ensued.

Good lord, how you loathed the mocking glance of Micah that now shifted its focus onto you. Ever since you had gotten there, he had done nothing but moan about how the gang didn't need 'another mouth to feed' or 'more dead weight', especially after he'd tried to convince you to accompany him to his tent and you had kindly refused. The piece of shit that dared to call himself a man scoffed at you, raising his beer to take a sip, then spoke with a grin that faded into his mustache.

"Women are all just words and no deeds."

That had been the final straw, for you, at least. You didn't even think twice before raising your pistol and shooting a hole through his bottle of beer. He flinched, realizing he was holding nothing but a shard of glass, then looked at you with the biggest, angriest scowl you'd ever seen.

"That enough of a deed for you, mister Bell?" You spat. It took him a second or two to recollect himself, but that grin tugged on his lips once again.

"Maybe practice your shot more and aim for the head next time. Give Dutch a good reason to finally get rid of you."

You were going to strangle that damn bastard to death, right in front of every—

Dutch raised his hand to silence both you and Micah, then looked at you. "If you so dearly wish to accompany us, then you shall. We could use some extra protection to make sure everything goes smoothly, and as you have proven—" Dutch glanced sideways at Micah. "—your shot is more than decent. How about you get up on a roof in Saint Denis and watch our backs, miss (l/n)?"

It didn't seem like they were going to let you participate in anything of more importance until you proved yourself, so you agreed.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The town of Saint Denis was ugly at best. Grey, sad, and topped with a cloak of light rain that did a great deal of making it all seem even worse than it already was.

In spite of the weather, people had started to gather around the platform on which the hanging should take place, and continued increasing in number. In a way, you felt thankful — they acted as a good mask for both Dutch and Micah's presences. Hosea and Javier had already left, trotting down the street before disappearing around the corner. You lost sight of them from there on, so you focused your sniper rifle back on Dutch and Micah, watching them through the telescope.

So far, both of them were idly leaning against a building, chatting as they waited for something to happen. That continued for a few minutes, until suddenly, the both of them straightened up, which caused you to do the same, and peek at the wooden platform. Two lawmen were dragging Arthur towards the noose by his upper arms. The gunslinger had his hands bound behind his back, and frantically looked around in the masses.

When he did finally spot Dutch, his shoulders slackened in relief, but his face gave nothing away.

The third lawman, who was standing beside a lever, began talking, saying something that alluded to a speech of sorts, but you could not even try to understand his words — your thundering heartbeat silenced just about anything around you.

The rope was then tied around Arthur's neck. The officer's hand hovered above the lever.

Why wasn't Dutch doing anything? And where was Hosea's distraction?

You glanced down at the crowd, and had some trouble spotting the gang leader, but when you did, your stomach flipped.

O'Driscolls had overwhelmed both him and Micah, pressing knives to their throats to keep them still. Moving, much less freeing Arthur had become a distant dream for them. Shit.

"Do you have any last words, mister Morgan?"

You had to act, and you had to do so right then and there.

You didn't think twice when you pointed the rifle at Arthur's head, then raised it a fraction, shooting through the rope.

Screams of terror took over the street, and an explosion at the very end of it followed. Hosea.

No time to think. Load, shoot the lawman next to Arthur. Load, shoot the O'Driscoll that kept Dutch at bay. Load, shoot the other—

Too late. Micah's throat had been slit, blood sprayed onto the baby blue dress of the woman that was standing in front of them. A second, much more terrified and guttural scream ensued.

Dutch shot the other O'Driscoll before you could.

Javier and Hosea appeared from one end of the street, rushing to aid Dutch and Arthur, who had, thankfully, picked up a gun from the lawman you had previously shot.

Now you would only need to get down from that building and—

"There she is, the fuckin' whore!"

Fate hadn't been merciful to give you enough time to react, and you had been knocked out with a sharp ram of a pistol's grip over the back of your head.

Perhaps that was the full price you would pay.