𝙼𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝙷𝚢𝚖𝚗 | 𝙱𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝙸

Act I | Chapter III

. New Destination .

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Dutch and Arthur had taken her mother's body far away from the abundance of cabins to somewhere quiet in the snowy forest to bury her. Arthur gave Dutch a curious glance every once in a while on the way there, and it sure didn't go unnoticed by the gang leader. "What is it, son?"

Arthur sighed as he adjusted his grip on the upside down table, careful to treat the deceased with utmost respect. "It's just... I still don't understand why these women weren't hostages. It don't seem right."

Dutch shared a glance with Arthur, knowing he had a point with the observation. But he didn't see the young woman who looked so frightened and hurt as a threat. No, he saw Jane as someone who needs shelter and proper protection. Someone who needed a new home.

"What harm can she do, Arthur? Her mother is dead—" Dutch started, but Arthur cut him off.

"By Micah, Dutch. That moron shouldn't even be anywhere near a gun," Arthur huffed out. A stern glare came from Dutch, but Arthur remained unfazed by it.

"This woman came after us and was aiming a gun at us. For all we knew she was an O'Driscoll, too," Dutch defended himself, giving Arthur enough incentive to roll his eyes.

"And it turns out she was defending only herself and her daughter," Arthur muttered. Dutch ignored him, slowing down his pacing when reaching a beautiful little spot on a hillside that had a view to where the sunrise and the sunset would be.

"This spot oughta do."

Dutch and Arthur made quick work of digging a hole into the snowy-lain earth, and respectfully placed the body into the ground.

"Shouldn't we be letting that girl watch her mother's burial?" Arthur asked, glancing down the hill toward the camp where the rest of the gang waited for orders.

"No. What she needs is rest. I don't think she'd be able to handle it all too well right now," Dutch assumed, beginning to shovel the dirt back into the whole, the soil pattering against the corpse. "If you can find two sturdy pieces of wood that can make-do for a cross, Arthur?"

Arthur nodded, deciding it was best not to press on the matter further. For now. He whistled for his Tennessee Walker, seeing the mahogany blur meet him halfway down the hill. He didn't waste a single second as he retrieved two sturdy pieces of wood for the gravesite, racing his steed back to Dutch.

With a bit of rope, Arthur tied up the wood to make a cross, and stuck it in the snow at the head of the grave. Dutch stood next to him as they admired their finished job. "Thank you, son. I know it only slowed us down, but Miss Abernathy was owed this much for the loss she faced at our hands."

Arthur again wanted to speak up about how it truly was Micah's fault, but he only nodded, not having the energy to take more excuses for that bastard's actions.

Taking his silence as affirmation, Dutch gave Arthur a pat on his shoulder, and began his trek down the hill, shouting another order to his men when he got close enough. Arthur spared a few glances his way, until he knew he was out of earshot.

Taking a few seconds to himself, he knelt by the grave, and mentally said a piece he felt needed to be said. He knew the pain and scars that were left behind after burying one you'd've held so close to your heart.

Dutch whistled for Arthur's attention, and waved at him to come down to the gang. Leaving the gravesite, Arthur swung himself onto his steed and raced on down to meet them there.