dust in the wind | arthur morgan

chapter two

V.D.L CAMP, WEST ELIZABETH
6:24PM

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The cool air rushed against Estella's hot skin. Bourbon was seeping into her intestines and the effects were hitting her harder than that O'Driscoll bastard earlier. The bumpiness of horseback didn't sit well with her heavy head, albeit she felt light within her movements.

Bullseye grunted as they began to slow down, entering into the camp which was a large, somewhat flat area, surrounded by clusters of trees and large boulders. Arthur was just dismounting his own horse, opening up the saddlebag to prize the beauty with a treat.

The Mustang halted but Estella remained on his back, waiting for Arthur to turn around and boast (though in actuality, she realised that she may have a little trouble dismounting; her body felt too light for just a few drinks of bourbon).

"What's it feel like to lose?" Arthur glanced at Estella, a smirk tightly hung on his face. He patted his horse and came up to Bullseye, placing a hand on his shoulder and looking up at the defeated girl.

"Weird, it's usually you that loses." She bantered.

She swung her leg round and pushed through her hands to get down from Bullseye's back, but her arms and legs felt as powerful as a feather amidst a storm.

Arthur had noticed she was uneasy ever since he glanced at her – not that she was upset that she lost and was being a sore loser, but more so, something wasn't right.

He rapidly threw his hands out and caught her by her waist, her legs bending as soon as they touched the thick strands of grass beneath her boots.

"Woah, easy there." He remarked, surprised to see the young girl so weak.

His eyes were meticulous. She was light headed, and the most probable cause was blood loss. There's only so much a few rolls of bandages can do.

"Can I get Miss Grimshaw please?" Arthur called out, keeping his tone calm and collected. There was no use in stressing anyone in the camp, and acting composed would be better than presenting himself as worrisome like he was truly feeling.

Miss Grimshaw, alongside Hosea and Dutch, soon crowded around the girl whereas some of the gang members stole a look from a distance.

Hosea particularly fussed over the girl, putting a hand to her head, grabbing his handkerchief and wiping the mud off her face, fixing her black coat so it sat properly on her shoulders. His lanky figure never left the girl's side as he studied her with his narrow brown eyes, his blonde-grey hair glinting in the sunset.

"Oh my, what's she got herself into now?" Miss Grimshaw groaned, eyeing the growing patch of blood in the middle of Estella's blouse. Susan Grimshaw was fairly short, with black hair tied in a loose and large bun, trying to hide her grey roots. Under her harsh makeup, she had a small and delicate nose, and harsh blue eyes.

"O'Driscolls?" Hosea asked, gently squeezing his hand that was on Estella's shoulder. Dutch turned to Hosea, frowning slightly.

Estella nodded, shamefully.

"Well, help me Mr Morgan, I won't be able to carry her." Miss Grimshaw moaned, gesturing with her hand at the state of the girl.

"I can walk if I have a little help." Estella tried, not fancying the idea of being carried like a baby in front of the whole camp, just to get into the medical tent.

"You can barely stand." Dutch scoffed, his dark brown eyes creasing. He ran a hand through his slicked-back, black hair and sighed at the sight of the girl.