Chapter Text
The arrow hit its target when it struck the pronghorn’s neck, swiftly ending its life. Charles is nothing but grateful for it. For all that it will provide for him, the least he could do is grant it a painless end. The meat will keep him going for a while, and the skinned hide will sell well, even the antlers, he won’t let them go to waste. He approached the motionless animal and got to work with practiced motions. Years upon years of hunting alone have allowed it to be a relatively quick process, with the fruits of his labour now stowed on his trusty mare, Taima.
He gently rubbed her neck, rewarding her for her patience. It’s been a while since they have both visited a town, and he had been meaning to pick up some provisions for her. For how reliable she is, it’s worth providing her with something of a higher quality. Besides the need to sell his newly acquired hide and the need to stock up on supplies, there’s one stop Charles recently started frequenting. The Sheriff's office.
“Steady” He spoke quietly as he mounted Taima. Leading her towards the direction of Blackwater, the nearest town. The last bounty he picked up in Strawberry had been successful, he took the man alive, got paid and didn’t stick around for the gallows. Charles had never expected to become a bounty hunter, even now he barely considers himself one. But he can’t deny the success it's been, keeping him afloat after leaving his last gang unexpectedly.
Riding into Blackwater wasn’t anything unexpected. It was an up and coming town, with most folk either too busy in their own lives to spare a glance. But the sense of urgency in his step was never lost on him. The longer he stays, the easier it is to find trouble with closed minded fools who are looking for any reason to fight him, or worse.
With most of his tasks sorted uneventfully, he headed straight for the Sheriffs office. Upon entering the stuffy building, Charles was greeted with the sight of three lawmen, all sitting closely. Their eyes conveyed their annoyance clearly.
“What do you want?” One of them sneered, the usual greeting he had come to expect.
“I’m looking for work.” He hoped they had at least a halfway decent poster up. His weight shifting from foot to foot.
“Bounty hunter eh? Of course.” The officer shook his head. The lawmen barely spared him a glance after that, opting instead to point to a nearby board
Charles moved towards it, looking all over. But his eye was hitched on one certain poster. For reasons he couldn’t put into words, it called to him. He pulled the page off the wall, observing the most important details.
Arthur Morgan
Wanted Dead Or Alive
5000 dollars reward
He slowly approached the officers once more, gripping the page with a familiar anticipation. “What can you tell me about Arthur Morgan?”
******
This whole situation is a goddamn mess, Arthur sighed heavily, practically feeling the energy leave his body. The recent move into Horseshoe Overlook from Colter had been difficult for them all. They had barely made it off that damn mountain in the first place. John got half eaten by wolves and unfortunately survived, the others are nursing their fair share of injuries from the train job and they’re still recovering from their long bouts of hunger that had left them weak.
It’s not like he didn’t try to hunt, but with Bill shooting off his rifle and missing, it had left them out in the snow for too long and almost empty handed. It was a miracle he was able to find some small game at all. The time they had stayed up in Colter had truly been miserable. The twinge in his chest reminding him of the people they lost along the way, even back in Blackwater. He inhaled deeply and winced, his own bruised ribs serving as a lovely reminder of a train job gone poorly.
“Herr Morgan” Strauss greeted loudly. Instantly ripping him from his thoughts. He looked to the sky, trying to find some kind of solace from the impending conversation. But it never comes.
“Herr Strauss” He sighed loudly. Never the one to hide his disdain from the man. But Leopold Strauss being Leopold Strauss, continues on.
“I just wanted to inquire for when you'll be able to pick up the agreed debts? Mr. Wrobel. Mr. Downes?” Arthur wants nothing more than to grab Strauss and throw him over his shoulder and toss him out of the camp. He’d be more than half tempted if not injured. But Dutch would certainly not care much for it. He makes money, as he always likes to say.
“I know, I know I’m on it.” Arthur waved dismissively. Hoping that would be enough to keep him off his back.
“Arthur!” Dutch’s booming voice cut through the camp. Adding to the already existing tension as he could see a few of the members tense at the tone, it was suffocating. Arthur straightened to the call, making his way over hastily.
“Dutch?” He stood before the man, who looked much older than usual. Their stay in Colter had that effect on people, it seems.
“Are you working? Truly?” He’s pacing the outside of his tent, almost leaving his own path in the surrounding grass. The overwhelming scent alone of the cigar smoke is almost enough to make even Arthur ill. He must have read the ledger.
“What kinda question is that?” Arthur couldn’t hide his frustration if he tried as the words slipped out. He could practically feel all the camp eyes bore into his skull. Dutch stopped his pacing and moved towards him.
“I’ll say it again. Are. You. Working?” He said pointedly as they came face to face. Arthur stepped back.
“Workin, yeah course I’m working Dutch.”
“Well, what are you doing?” Dutch questioned with a level of venom Arthur had not heard in years. He was taken aback, transported back to a time where he just started running with Hosea and Dutch. He considers his words, embarrassment stinging the back of his neck.
“Lookin into something over at Valentine and I’ll be picking up Strauss' debts soon. Be gone a couple days but we’ll get some cash in. Why? You need me for something else?” He asked quietly, head bowed lightly. Not in the mood to make a spectacle for the whole camp.
Seemingly whatever tension Dutch had built up dissipated slightly. His shoulders visibly relaxed as he rubbed his brow, as if he’s trying to get rid of a newly formed wrinkle.
“Well I apologize for being short with you Son. It has been an interesting couple of days.”
“That’s one way of putting it Dutch.” Arthur let out a breath he didn’t even realise he was holding.
“Keep it up Arthur, and get out there. We need the money. The wheel is in motion Arthur, we just need to keep it spinning.” Dutch boomed with all his usual gusto. The whiplash was palpable and Arthur wasn’t going to dig into whatever he tried to say.
“Eh sure, I'll uh- be on my way.” With that, Arthur took his leave, his destination was Valentine.
******
The expanse of country in the hearthlands was undeniably beautiful, and on another day he might have even taken the chance to appreciate it. A ride by the nearby stream, perhaps. But the sole reason Charles is here, is due to that bounty poster he picked up in Blackwater. It’s not like Arthur Morgan was the only man on the bounty board that day. There were a few others, all varying in reward size and all seemingly playing their own roles within this “Van der Linde” gang. But from what Charles could gather from the officers, this man seemed to be a major player and has a habit of walking around like he isn’t a wanted man. Often travelling alone. He hummed to himself, looking over the poster once more, the face of a rugged cowboy looked back at him, distinctive enough to place.
This whole bounty does seem to be a bit too good to be true, but the reward alone was worth the effort to check. If he could manage the capture and delivery alright, he could really make something out of this. Not to mention the fact that he sincerely lucked out on the tip he received from the strangely, well dressed man along the way.
His eyes squinted, with his tracking proven successful again as he watched the short haired gunslinger leave the town of Valentine. Charles tightened his grip on the binoculars, following along, no doubt in his mind that this is the man he’s looking for. Even upon this hillside he had taken to, he can recognise the same traits that were described.
He got up from the soft grass of which he had laid. He’ll approach this with caution, he thinks to himself. Sneak until he catches him off guard and strike when right. If this man is as dangerous as they say, with him being a notorious gunslinger, he needs to take this slow and observe his behaviour. Mounting Taima, he set off. Following the man at a distance.
******
Charles wasn’t sure what to expect out of the gunslinger, perhaps he would witness this “Arthur Morgan” performing a robbery in which he could catch him off guard. Or set up camp, or literally anything else other than him stopping in the middle of the road, letting his horse graze the nearby grass as the man seems wholly involved in the journal he’s holding. Occasionally glancing up and down. He appeared to be sketching the landscape, judging by the strokes of his hand and where he was gazing. Whatever this was, it seemed strange that this was the behaviour of the “Enforcer of the Van der Linde gang”.
Charles appreciatively ran his hand through Taima’s soft main, much to her joy. They may be here a while..
Finally, the gunslinger had finished, with it now almost being noon. He continued the hunt as he followed the man once more. He trailed along without incident, until the hunted man stopped outside a cabin, with a small fenced off field. With the way he started to stalk around it, it seemed that it was not his own. Now is the moment. He dismounted, and quietly crept his way through the forest. Taking care to walk quietly, a technique well practiced from his time as a hunter, to not disturb the underbrush as he moved. He’s positioned right behind his target now. The low sun casting an orange hue on him. He unholstered his sawed off shotgun, pointing it at the man’s back.
“Don’t move” His own words cut through the quiet nature, followed by the click of his loaded sawed off shotgun. The gunslinger stopped, hands surprisingly lax at his side. Now that he has his attention, he needs to get rid of his weapons. If his draw is truly as dangerous as they claim, he can’t afford the risk.
“Your holster, unclip it.” Charles broke the lingering silence, tensing his jaw as his grip tightened on his firearm.
The man let out a low laugh, shoulders moving at the effort. “Is that how you say hello to a feller?” He tilts his head, still facing away from Charles.
“Quiet. Unclip it now and slowly, any sudden movements and you’ll be dead in seconds. I don’t need you alive for this. ” Charles threatened. He’d really rather not kill him. It’s not how he approaches bounties and the reward would be lessened in doing so. But the man before him doesn’t need to know that.
The man lets out a low chuckle, but starts to comply, slowly unclasping the holster. Quite slow for Charle’s liking, each moment that passed made him wonder if the man was planning some kind of trick. They always do.
“That’s some fine footwork, sneaking up on me like that. You a bounty hunter by any chance?” The man drawled, his accent heavy.
With the holster unclipped, falling to the grass with a loud clink. Charles wasted no time and delivered a swift kick to the gunslingers back, dropping him to the floor. He moved quickly, pulling out his rope in an attempt to tie up the bounty. This is the moment it could all go wrong, Charles thinks. Of course if something could go wrong it usually does.
The gunslinger resisted, viciously flinging his head backwards, crashing against Charles' nose with a loud crunch. It disoriented him, but not for long. After all it wasn’t anything he wasn’t used to from the time in the ring. The gunslinger's hand flung out, grabbing desperately at the arm that held the sawed off. Promptly knocking it out of his hand.
With both of their sudden disarmaments, they wrestled fiercely on the grass. Wild punches, scratches and elbows connected to skin with loud slaps that pierced the air. Charles tried using his weight difference against the man under him but despite his efforts he received another strike which knocked him back.
Charles found himself pinned to the wet soil, his hands instinctively shooting upwards, moving to grab the gunslingers wrist. His brain caught up to him as he realised the man is currently trying to shove a hunting knife right through his throat. The tip of the blade barely prodded the soft skin on his neck. The exertion to keep the man's strength at bay is exhausting, but eventually he wins out. Instead the knife slices cleanly against his shoulder, judging by the sharp burn and ache.
With no time to feel the pain, he uses the opportunity to disarm the man once more, with them reengaged in their thrashing on the ground. It isn’t gracious, but after what felt like hours, Charles eventually managed the upper hand. With his arm placed tightly under the gunslingers neck, he squeezed. For his efforts, he’s receiving sharp elbow strikes in his ribs, with each strike softening as the man in his arms slowly slips into unconsciousness. As he stills, they both collapse, the man falling limply against Charles's body. He moves his calloused fingers to the man's neck, the warm skin reveals a thump of a pulse against them. His lungs burn as his own breath is harsh, as if he had fought five men at once in the ring. This gunslinger sure is something and Charles knows he’s lucky to walk away relatively unscathed as he is.
Charles pushed him off, before pushing himself up with one arm. He moved to continue his previous efforts in tying up the man. Easier to manoeuvre now that he’s out cold.
Distantly, he sees the man’s horse, who seems to be trashing her head wildly in distress. He sighs heavily, grabbing the discarded holster, knife and hat before approaching the animal. Taking the time to calm her and returning her owner's fallen items to the saddle bag attached, he shoos her away before he can think better of it.
He returns to the beaten gunslingers side, picking him up and whistling for his own horse. Draping him across his mare. He picked up his weapon, and set his sights for Blackwater.
*****
Arthur groans as he slowly comes to. At first he feels pressure, great pain across his ribs. Which appear to be placed on something moving? With fur? An animal of some kind? Probably a horse. He can’t exactly tell at the moment as all the thrashing is making him dizzy. The harsh drumming of rain on his back is borderline painful, from the sensitivity. He puts all his effort into looking around, his eyes eventually landing on a man. The bounty hunter. The damn bastard who snuck up on him.
“Hey mister.” His own voice was rough to his ears, straining to hear anything over the constant rainfall. He grunts once more, unsuccessfully trying to rise higher on the horse, feeling the ties now evident on his wrists and ankles. Trying to piece together the evidence, he must have been choked out. If the familiar feeling is anything to go by. The bounty hunter ignored him. He could feel the familiar anger rising in his chest. Goddammit, he cursed to himself. The worst possible time he could have let his guard down.
“Can’t say I’ve never been in a situation like this before, although I ain't the one usually on the back of the horse. You know this ain't even half bad, I’ll be sure to give you a nice long try at this before I kill you.” Arthur threatened. How on earth did he get himself in this situation, had he truly become that sloppy? The man remained silent, continuing to navigate the slippery terrain with his horse. They reached a particularly bad patch, and the hunter's horse almost slipped. Arthur felt the man's hand grab at his jacket in what was presumably an attempt to keep him stowed on the back of his horse and not on the floor.
“Shit! Maybe this damn rain will save us all the trouble when we break our damn necks.” He found himself saying. The man turned back sharply, his dark eyes looking back on him. Well at least he got him there, if nothing else.. Suddenly the captor picked up the pace, moving towards what seems to be some broken down shack next to an even more worn stable. They approach the stable and after a moment, Arthur feels himself get pulled roughly off the horse.
They step into the house, with Arthur being unceremoniously dropped onto the hard wooden floor. A numb feeling travels up his arms as he can hear the rain trickle in some corner of the room. He repositioned himself to get a better look at the bounty hunter, who now is methodically starting a fire with what little supplies he has in the worn down fireplace. His eyes shift, focusing on the long wet black hair the man is sporting. It’s covering most of his face from this angle. Arthur doesn’t seem to recognise him, he thinks. Doesn’t seem like someone with a vendetta against him that he met at one point or other. He’s lucky that the only stake this guy has in the game is a bounty, he hopes.
After some effort, the fire comes to life. He sits down, seemingly eager to warm himself against it. If Arthur is being honest with himself. He’s also grateful for the added warmth taking away from his soaked clothes.
“Nice profession ya got there, skulking away in the shadows like a coward. You ever been in a real fight?” He huffs out hoarsely with a slight shiver, uselessly flexing against his bondage. Pathetic
“Pretty sure I won that fight.” The hunter responded quietly, if not a little sharply. He throws an extra piece of wood into the fire
“Ha. ‘nd you’re proud of that? You’re more pitiful than I thought.” Arthur spat out, thumping his head back against the wooden floor as it dropped from the strain of holding it up.
The silence stretches, leaving Arthur trapped with his own mind. It wanders distantly to the camp. Wondering if they’re holding up OK. He thinks to the girls, huddling under their tents for whatever cover they can get from the rain, maybe inviting some of the boys too if they’re lucky. He thinks of little Jack, probably with Abigail in their own tent. Arthur’s own tent is empty, as usual. Maybe he should lend it out when he’s not there. Maybe Hosea could get it.
The bounty hunter moves suddenly, bringing Arthur from his thoughts. He’s laid out a few supplies before him and is stripping off his shirt. He already figured the man would be well built considering his strength, but the visual confirmation seals it.
“That hurt?” Arthurs hums sarcastically, his eyes landing on a wound he must have given him, based on the freshness. The vivid red flowing slowly from the man's shoulder. He watches as the man carefully stitches the wound with evident concentration on his face.
“So how much is this reward anyway? Hope they at least pay you well for all this.” The man's hand slipped slightly, he grunted.
“Shut up.”
“Or what? You’ll kill me? After all the trouble you went through? Arthur wets his dry lips, staring at the dilapidated ceiling.
“Why don’t you just answer my questions and save us both the time.” The man looks down at him, observing him carefully, as if laying down a judgement. It gives Arthur time to observe his captors face. His eyes are striking, if not a little tired. With a knowing nature to them. He also has a distinct scar placed along his cheek. He’s definitely never laid eyes on him before.
“... Five thousand dollars.” He replies, before moving away and continuing on his injured shoulder. Now moving to bandage it.
“Huh, shit. Think I’d turn myself in for that, It ain’t no chicken feed that’s for damn sure.” At least it’s a somewhat respectable reward. If it was anyone else he captured, he couldn’t fault the guy trying his hand at it.
It’s silent again for a long time, with the hunter even pulling out fresh meat, slowly cooking it against the fire. He already has a few pieces ready, seemingly prepared to be stowed away. Embarrassingly, Arthur's stomach growls at him. The sound only heighted in the quiet room. The man looks at him, before stabbing a piece with his knife and offering it near his mouth. Arthur eyes it carefully.
“You do this with all the folks you capture?” Arthur raised a brow.
“Are you eating or not?” The man sighed, brow furrowed and clearly annoyed with his attitude. Good. He thinks.
He turned his head away. Even if he watched him cook the whole thing, he wasn’t about to take food from the hunter. His pride wouldn’t allow that. The man stood, opting to lean against a corner in the far side of the small shack, where he presumably had better visibility of the outside.
“You should try sleep, we have a long journey tomorrow.”
“Ah yes, they need me to be well fed and well rested before they hang me. Of course.” Arthur grunted, once again testing the ties that bound him. It remained quiet after that. The only audible sound being the hard rainfall against the roof above. His eyes feel heavy, too heavy. Regretting not getting the chance to sleep at camp as he begins to drift.
******
Charles wakes with a start, his shoulder burned with the effort. He had fallen asleep, foolishly leaving the man he had bound alone. He moved slowly to check on his bounty, only to find him writhing on the floor like a wild snake, seemingly trying to slip loose of his bonds.
The gunslinger looked up once he noticed him, and flashed him a toothy grin. “Fine mornin to ya.” He grunted at that, rechecking the gunslingers ties before leaving the dilapidated shack.
The rain cleared and the morning sun is falling lightly against the land. He moved to feed Taima, who seems a little dirty, but overall in good shape considering the harsh ride last night. He gets her ready for travel once more and moves her to the front of the shack. The ground is more sturdy now that the rain has stopped as he walks steadily. Charles entered the shack once more to retrieve his bounty. On the opposite arm, as he remembered he's injured. He stows the man on his horse with a little more force than necessary as he lets out a quiet umph. He mounts, and they ride ahead. The pleasant morning silence cut abruptly by the man barking out at him.
“Take it you know my name partner, fine time you share yours?” The gunslinger spoke out, with some effort.
“No.” He sighed. They are still a ways away from Blackwater due to the detour and with this man's constant chatter it’ll feel even longer.
“You know, you are an interesting fellow.”
“That so?” he said disinterestedly. It’s not the first time a bounty tried to talk to him while on horseback after all. But they’re usually not this insistent on getting his attention.
“I mean, you tied me up, but didn’t loot me. Tried to feed me even. Strange behavior for a man who works in this cutthroat business I reckon.” Charles rolls his eyes at the man's assessment.
“You kept me alive, so you seem pretty keen on wanting the higher reward.” The man continued. Charles could practically feel his eyes on the back of his head.
“Hmm” He responded simply. Not willing to give the man an inch of his time.
“You need the money, right? I mean, hah. Don’t we all?” The man laughed to himself and broke into a cough. Charles heard a sound in the distance, a crack of a twig which caused him to snap his neck in the direction of said sound. He scanned the area, seeing no immediate threat. Years being alone made him develop the habit. It never left, and he doubts it ever will.
“You’re quite jumpy aint ya? How’d do even- Uff” Taima broke into a trot as Charle’s request, temporarily winding the man.
“You can’t seem to keep quiet can you?” Charles spoke back, shaking his head. Why is this man still at it?
“Don’t we just balance each other out.” The man laughed roughly, sounding less hoarse than he did yesterday.
He turns to respond, but the sound of hooves leads his attention elsewhere. He brings Taima to a stop to better hear and observe. Seemingly the noise earlier had come to greet them. A horse, which Charles vaguely recognises as the gunslingers, is now trailing behind them.
“Ah hell. Go on girl, git!” The tied man barks out. The horse winnies, but seemingly complies. Although Charles could see her loosely still trailing along in the distance. He wonders perhaps he could sell her off in the Blackwater stables. She might do better in company after she loses her owner. Something turns in Charle’s stomach at the thought as he clutches Taima’s reins tighter.
“Your horse is.. Loyal.” He finds himself saying, the man grunts at that.
“Loyal? Try stubborn.” Much like her owner. Charles thinks. This will be a long ride.
*****
“You know this won’t end well for you right?” The man spoke after another bout of long silence.
“Please, enlighten me.” Charles looks to the sky, he’s grateful for the shade from the trees above.
“I reckon I got a pretty good idea of where we’re goin. You won’t even make it into town my friend.” The gunslinger threatened, although it came across more so as a warning.
Before he could think to quip back, a sudden scream can be heard in the distance, following the sound of gunshots. It broke Charles out of his train of thought almost instantly He moved through the forest without thinking, seeking the source. His horse’s gallop comes to a halt a ways away. A safe distance to observe the violence. Even his bounty is craning his head to try to get a look at the situation.
“Quiet.” He warned the man before observing the scene before him. A group of men, seemingly a gang, surround a woman who is clutching the lifeless body of another person. The men are making their way in and out of the house, looting the belongings, as the others have taken to harassing the woman.
“Godamm O’Driscolls.” The gunslinger growled lowly, echoing Charles' own thoughts. He considered his options. He could try it quietly, but there are too many for that to be viable for long. If he goes in guns blazing it could also end poorly for him. It’s going to be a tight balance as he considers his arsenal, but he grabs his signature sawed off as well as his sturdy bow from Taima’s saddle. He turns to the bounty.
“Don’t make a sound.” He warned, roughly grasping the gunslinger's hair as he pulled his head up to be on his eye level.
“Trust me, I ain’t planning on getting an O’Driscolls attention while I'm bound on horseback.” He cleared his throat, seemingly readjusting from the pressure on his muscles.
“But are ya planning on taking em all on yourself? I mean, you can’t sneak up on all of em. Might even give you a fair fight huh?” The man grinned once more, and Charles released the grip on his hair unceremoniously. The whole situation is ridiculous, he thinks distantly. Keeping a chatty bounty stowed on his horse as he tries to clear off the gang members. But he can’t leave the woman like this, not when he can actually do something.
He moved from the horse and drew his bow. Stalking closer to the gang before they can cause more harm to the woman. He pulls back the string and releases, hitting his target, a far off O’Driscoll “keeping watch”. He moves quickly, dropping two more before they’re alerted to his presence. Dashing behind a nearby tree, he pulled out his sawed off instead, firing off into the treeline from where the O’Driscolls emerged. He’s holding his own, only retreating to quickly reload. He’s thinning them out, and with some luck this fight will be over soon.
A nearby twig crack made him spin around. He barely processed the O’Driscoll before him. He noticed him way too late. There’s not enough time to react as the man's already fully drawn, gun pointed straight at him. Charles' body hitched in anticipation as he braced himself for the shot.
The shot cracked through the air loudly.. But missed? Charles reached for his chest with his free hand. He can’t feel the impact at least, and it becomes evident why as he watches the O’Driscoll before him drop to the ground. The fallen body revealed the shooter. The very own rugged gunslinger he had tied up to his horse just a moment ago.
Arthur Morgan locks eyes with him, an icy glare that sends a shiver down his spine. Almost looks like a completely different person than the one he had gazed down upon yesterday, the face of a killer. A gun he recognised as his own, raised and aimed in a clearly practiced motion. There’s a brief moment where he considers if the man is going to shoot him. Take revenge for his capture and end Charle’s life right here.
He doesn’t.
Instead he watches as the man turns and expertly draws on the remaining O’Driscolls. Taking the remainder out cleanly. Charles swallows heavily as he watches the scene unfold, the decision to disarm him when he first captured him had been a wise one. Now they’re both staring each other down, weapons drawn and it felt like the longest silence in his life. Suddenly, the gunslingers face morphs into something more neutral.
“So you can fight? Gotta say I’m a little offended you chose to sneak up on me instead mister. Could have been a hell of a show otherwise.” Their attention is turned to the woman, who cried out loudly and understandably so. He watched as she clutched the lifeless body of another person. Rocking back and forth and wailing in heavy grief. He exchanged a glance with Arthur, before they wordlessly holstered their weapons. A silent agreement. A ceasefire. He hoped. They moved in tandem, Charles moved to comfort the woman before him, as he watched his former bounty start to drag the O’Driscolls away from the home.
******
After all is said and done, they give the woman her space. They’re both standing side by side, on the outskirts of the home's perimeter, keeping an eye for any oncoming O’Driscolls. This had been a strange day.
“Terrible business ain't it?” The gunslinger spoke softly. That made Charles raise a brow. He turned to look at Arthur, seeing a genuine expression.
“Sure is.” He spoke softly back, exerted from their attempts to save the woman. Her life had come crashing down in an instant.
“You sure know your way around a fight.” Funny that Arthur had said that. As Charles had thought the same of him. He sure wasn’t an enforcer of the Van der Linde gang for nothing.
“Don’t act surprised.” Was all he could think to say, brow furrowing in annoyance.
“Hard not to, the way you conducted business earlier had me thinkin otherwise.” Chales shrugged in response to Arthur’s comment.
“Anyway. You’re a good shot. Not sure why you did what you did. Earlier, I mean.” Why didn’t you kill me for it? Charles wanted to say.
“Oh trust me. It sure as hell wasn’t my first thought.” He tsked loudly, soothing his wrist from where the rope had burned him. He continued.
“But, I figured you could have blown my brains out earlier, instead of just tying me up and trying to dine me. We call it even? Or you gonna attack me from behind again?” Charles crossed his arms, considering the authenticity of the man’s offer. He saved his life, and spared him. He helped the woman, when he could have simply escaped.
He nodded slowly, throwing caution to this agreement. This whole journey had been a bust. All the effort and nothing to show for it. Expect our lives. He thinks to himself with a grimace, counting the times it could have come to an end abruptly. Too close for his liking.
“Not gonna tie me up and throw me on the back of your horse then?” He asked sarcastically. Arthur chuckled at his question, turning to face him. An expression on his face that he can’t place.
“Well I got some business to attend to, but maybe later? The day is still young.” The gunslinger cocked his head slightly. Heat rushed to Charle’s face for a reason he couldn’t comprehend. It’s not like it was particularly warm out. A cool breeze is hitting them even now. He faced away sharply, looking back towards the woman's home. A grim reminder.
“I’ll stay behind, take her into town when she’s ready. She can’t stay here. At least she has family there from what I could understand.”
“The O’Driscolls are gonna want their revenge.” Arthur drawled with a small shake to his head.
“Nothing I’m not used to.” Charles had a few run-ins with them at this stage. Large numbers, but poor coordination on their part. He’ll keep a lower profile just in case.
“I bet.” With that, Arthur whistled loudly. His horse trotted in as if her owner hadn’t just been captured for a better part of a day. The mare stuck her nose straight to Arthur’s hand, and he rewarded her with food after a quick rummage through his saddle bag.
“There girl.” He cooed, stroking her with a gentleness that Charles didn’t expect from the man. He stuck his hand in the seemingly neverending saddlebag, eyes widening in surprise. He pulls out his holster, promptly buckling it in front of Charles. The gold gleamed brightly from the sun. The final order of business was the black leather hat he had seen him wear. He put it on, and it fit like a glove. It suits the gunslinger, Charles found himself thinking. Before realizing he's been staring at the man for a better part of three minutes.
“Hey, what’s yer name anyway?” Arthur asked offhandedly as he mounted his horse.
“It’s Charles. Charles Smith.” The man smiled at that, tipping his hat at him in a form of a goodbye. He left promptly, leaving Charles alone near the path. He watched his silhouette disappear along the nearby trail, leaving him with one question in mind.
How the hell did he get those ropes untied?
Perhaps he’ll ask him. Should he and Arthur Morgan even cross paths again.