Chapter 1: Supplies, Introductions, and Intentional Mischief

With furrowed brows, Arthur drowned out every bit of sound that managed to rush to his ears as he trained his primary focus on the perfect visage of a medium-sized Green Heron. Slimly, it resided on a broken tree branch, lodged perfectly into the damp dirt below. Arthur smiled at the sight, picking up on the sudden opportunity of an eventual sketch of the lonesome creature. In a quick manner, he grasped onto his pencil and his worn, leather journal, peering up closely at the curious animal. Whilst mentally recording the significant detail of the bird's physicality, Arthur observed quietly as it craned its neck wildly, taking in its own surroundings. Its beady eyes, black as coal, landed on Arthur's tranquil expression as he started to sculpt the creatures narrow beak in a rapid movement, his own vision remaining idly glued on its exterior and structure, eventually feeling content with the way it had been slowly turning out.

Halfway done, Arthur spoke in a low murmur, "now, if you'll just stay still for a bit-" as if on cue, the sleek, wonderous bird took flight, soaring through the brisk air casually, fading farther and farther away the longer Arthur ogled at the animal in disbelief. He was almost sure the animal had done it on purpose, most likely cackling to itself once it had jetted off into the horizon. Huffing sharply in disappointment, Arthur mumbled the remainder of his sentence under his breath, "Longer."

Peering down at the journal that was shoved in between his hands, he grumbled random curses in frustration at the sight of his unfinished work. Without any apparent hesitation, he smacked the booklet shut and flung the pencil off to the side without a care as it bounced and rolled into knee-high greenery.

"You okay, Uncle Arthur?" the sight of little Jack emerged into his view as he scuttled over to where the pencil had been thrown, before gladly bending downwardly and grasping it in his possession.

"'Course, kid, I was just tryin' to draw a da-ang Heron; beautiful one, too," Arthur frowned, rapidly correcting himself before a curse word almost escaped within his speech carelessly, especially being in front of Jack and all; innocent and pure as he was. "But, uh, it flew away before I could finish."

"Let me see it!" Jack chirped with a huge smile, his short arms spread outwardly towards Arthur's journal. Jack was the type of kid that no one could ever say 'no' to; he was a kind boy with a heart of gold and a kindred spirit that was meant for cheering up, filling those with an abundance of positivity; Arthur knew that of him. No one has ever had a glimpse of his journal, not even a close friend like Hosea or Dutch. Or, even, an ex-lover such as the likes of Mary Linton. It was meant for his ideas and his thoughts only, after all, but in this case, he thought his half-drawn, good-for-nothing Heron wasn't a big deal for Jack to get ahold of.

"It's not finished, but sure," he flipped to the exact page and didn't hesitate to present it to Jack, placing the journal in his petite hands. He took it gleefully, and Arthur couldn't help but chuckle to himself as he witnessed the child closely inspect the failure of a drawing, in Arthur's opinion at least. In a number of ways and directions, Jack rotated the booklet, making sure to capture it in different perspectives.

"Hmm," Jack tapped his index finger repeatedly against his thin, upper lip thoughtfully, mulling over every detail the page withheld, before coming up with an evaluated, conclusive response in accordance to his well-thought out judgement that he came up with. "So far, I think it looks good, Uncle Arthur! Even if it is halfway done!"

"Why, thank you, Jack, I appreciate it."

"But, I think you should stop drawing birds, so they don't fly away and get you mad," Arthur gingerly laughed at the smiling boy, whom let out a giggle as well.

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind, kid."

"You should draw a gator! Them things never move, Uncle Arth—"

"Jack, get over here and eat the rest of your stew!" Abigail Marston hollered from across the campgrounds, causing Jack himself to jump at the loud shrill of her stern tone.

Before the child ran off toward his mother, he returned the worn-out pencil back into Arthur's possession, a high-pitched, giddy farewell graciously came along as well, "See you later."

"Bye, Jack," he responded lowly, a small smile grazed the corners of his dry lips as he watched the boy scuttle back towards the center of camp to scarf down the remainder of his stew, so he didn't have to hear another peep out of his mother.

Eventually, Arthur did the same as well, only he lounged around a fiery campfire, having the pleasure of such company as Bill, Micah, and Javier. He let out a long, exhausting yawn as he rubbed at his tired eyes with his fingertips, surprised at his recent actions, especially it only being mid-day.

He was solemnly consumed at the sight before him, the blaze of the scorching amber intrigued him as he listened in on the silent crinkling, but the quiet environment didn't stay tranquil for long once Micah's raspy, yet somehow always seemingly sarcastic tone had cracked through the air, "Morgan, I would like to consult with you about a particular plan that I've got in mind, if you'd have the least bit interest in hearing it."

"It's best if you don't think of any type of plan that involves a possible conflict with the law," Arthur bluntly side-eyed him, before setting his sights directly onto the crimson flames, once again.

"Are you really goin' to continue to hold that Blackwater mess against me?"

"Yes, I am," Arthur spat venomously. "For if it wasn't your idiocy and terrible execution, Jenny and Davey would've still been alive," he bitterly grumbled, his brows narrowing at Micah accusingly. Javier and Bill closely listened in on the usual bickering awkwardly, shooting each other similar looks of knowing and flashing their eyebrows in a synchronized fashion.

"Oh, come on, Morgan, you and I both know that what happened to them was out of our hands," Micah, though irritably, attempted to reason with Arthur, but it didn't necessarily seem to work very well.

Not bothering to give an immediate response, Arthur flicked his gaze upwardly, sending Micah a death glare that withheld every ounce of coldness in his heart towards him. "If there's any sense of intelligence in that piss-shit of a brain o' yours, I recommend you don't speak another damn word."

At once, not another peep was heard out of Micah's grimy mouth, only momentary curses and a fit of utter nonsense dragged out as unnoticed grumbles. Arthur was sure to ignore every bit of his current existence as Micah heaved himself off the wooden stool with a gruff, twisted harshly on his spurs, and stormed off angrily towards his radiant palomino.

Silence brewed hotly through the air as Arthur's attention stayed idly on the campfire once more; the sight of it brought him to a state of somewhat peacefulness and a place of calming. Though, the thoughts of Micah's constant yapping flashed through his mind in minor echoes, the countless amounts of blasphemies that'd eventually escape his revolting mouth would form in encasement of vexation in Arthur's heart and toxically consume his intellect, or more of, his whole-being in fact.

Feller only been caught up with us for six months and thinks he knows the ropes, Arthur thought to himself, eyebrows drawn. Hell, all he's done is get us into unnecessary trouble and I'm not so sure if I trust him even the slightest damn bit.

"Everyone makes mistakes, Arthur, maybe you should give him a chance," Javier reasoned warily.

"No thanks, partner, I'd rather muck some stables all day than be caught dead alongside that fool."

"Why the hell not, Morgan? Most of the folk in this camp think I'm just some dense outlaw with all the robberies I've ruined, so what makes Micah any different?" Bill stepped in, attempting to prove a point, but although it may be accurate to a certain extent, Arthur dismissively blew off his controverted remark.

"You been with all o' us longer than he has, Bill, we all are in the knowin' of your motives, whether your plans fail terribly or not," he and Javier let out a short, gruntled laugh, though Bill casually rolled his dark, brown eyes-so hard he possibly saw a glimpse of his half-brain. "Plus, that feller don't sit right with me, I ain't able to explain it."

"Try to like 'em, I guess is all that Dutch wants," Javier plainly half-shrugged, rubbing his hands firmly together before lifting them into the air. Parallel to one another, he directed them towards the controlled inferno of a campfire, absorbing the combustion of heat it naturally gave off.

"Where the hell is Dutch, anyway?" Arthur inquired, arching a brow instantaneously.

"He left with Hosea to scope out Valentine's internal environment, that poor excuse for a bank that's holed up there, and the town's outskirts earlier this morning. They should be arriving back soon," he summed up in simplicity. He peered to his right to find Bill with his eyes half shut, droopily slumped over. In an instant, he swatted at his broad shoulder, causing him to jump out of his skin. Hopefully, the drowsiness was driven off in the process as well. "Hey, Williamson, I wouldn't want to ruin your beauty sleep, but we got to go hunting before sundown."

Arthur scoffed humorously, "That beauty sleep must not be workin' too well."

"Shut the hell up, Morgan," Bill mumbled sourly under his breath. Slabbing on his signature bulldogger hat atop his balding head, he exhaustedly wiped a hand down his disgruntled face before regaining all momentum and rose back up on his feet successfully. Exhaling rather sharply, he held an unmotivated countenance.

Arthur's gaze didn't drift away from the two gunslingers as they strode away from his proximity and over towards their own tents, surely in search for further supplies needed, before they had to venture off into the vast landscape of New Hanover. Javier held a naturally jaunty swing in his step, though Bill trudged grudgingly, and Arthur found it rather amusing. Though, once they had eventually faded from view, he shut his eyes in search for a peace of mind that he once had felt, but he couldn't seem to find it, sadly enough. He could feel his head begin to pulsate with pains that'd grow intensely but would gradually settle down. He rubbed his temples frustratingly with his fingertips, thinking to himself, Goddamn that annoying degenerate, in accordance to Micah Bell.

"Hey, Arthur," he twitched his neck upwardly, only a smidge, from his bowed posture, to find a tentative Lenny Summers through the brim of his hat. "You, uh, mind comin' with me to town to haul in that wagon over there for supplies?"

Arthur huffed tiredly. Can I ever be left alone?

"Sure," he replied in one breath, raspier than usual. In one swift movement, he placed both of his hands on his knees and bounced off the stool with a creak and a weary grunt. He followed in-step with Lenny, rounding over to the hitching posts that compiled with the gang's horses; all differentiating from one another, in breeds and in coat.

"I'm sorry to bother you with this, but it's just, as you know, Uncle don't ever wanna do nothin' with his lumbago and half the camp is off doin' other sorts of—" Arthur chortled humorously at Lenny's reasonings, more specifically the comment about Uncle's lumbago. Unbothered, he reassuringly wafted his hand at Lenny's rambles of nonsense.

"Ahh, it ain't no bother, Lenny, really."

"You sure?" He hesitantly asked once more, timidly glancing over his shoulder.

"'Course, Micah just gave me a headache, is all," Arthur grimly stated per usual whilst Lenny happily guided him passed the hitching posts, several angelic horses, ranging from various shapes and sizes, blew and stomped at the soiled ground as they did so. As the sights of the empty supply wagon closed in, they strode a little bit farther down the unofficial path, momentarily arriving at their awaited destination. Two steel-like, though, magnificent, midnight-black draft horses were stationed towards the front end, waiting patiently for their cue to embark.

"Don't he give us all a headache?" Lenny chuckled lightly to himself as they smoothly leaped onto the wheel of the wagon, utilizing it as a stepping-stool, and heaved themselves onto the seats in one slick, rapid movement. Lenny got ahold of the reins and directed the horses onto the clear path, flicking it with a light and subtle smack, urging the mares forward. "Ha!"

Arthur simply hummed, nodding approvingly at his reply. Simultaneously, he lifted his fingers to his lips and shortly whistled at a low octave. Majestically, the jet-black Thoroughbred reacted gingerly to the sound almost immediately, neighing and nickering softly as a sign of greeting toward her awaited rider. The beautiful sight of its long, dark mane bobbed about as it began to trot in a rhythmic beat, it's lengthy tail sloshing from side-to-side fluidly. As it continued to move along the soot trail, in-step with the slow-paced wagon, Arthur concluded, "after I help you pack those supplies in the wagon, I think I'm goin' to ride around for a bit to clear my head."

"Sure, Mr. Morgan, I appreciate the help, nonetheless."

The corner of Arthur's lips quirked at his kind response. With no doubt, anyone would agree that Lenny is a hard-working individual and is always prepared to take on whatever type of work the day withheld. No matter the mood, no matter the trials and tribulations, he kept his boots sunk into the campgrounds and didn't think of anyone lesser than the other. He equally thought of everyone as a part of his family, though, maybe excluding Micah at times as he isn't very likable to begin with. Arthur greatly relates to Lenny's quiet nature, but never fails to admire his level-headed attitude. He's a good kid, he ruminated in truthfulness.

All that was clearly heard amongst the lone duo was the horse's hooves repetitively drum against the ground in a continuous, soothing thrum. Dust spewed into the humid air as the occasional, light gust of wind carried it across the path and into patches of greenery. Beams of bright light from the evening sun beat down on Arthur and Lenny brutally, its vengeful rays clasping steamily against their skins with discomfort, though, the sliver of a breeze that swiftly came and went was enough to be grateful for.

"How you feel 'bout the gang after that situation back at Blackwater?" Arthur questioned randomly. A bullet of sweat hung over the edge of his brow and cascaded freely down his temple before he casually wiped it away with the back of his hand. "I've been thinkin' about it a lot."

Lenny exhaled sorrowfully, his thoughts instantly crawled to the unfortunate events that had occurred that day, or more so, who he had lost that mattered to him the most. It left an immense hole in his chest that could never be filled, nor does he think that it could be. "Nothing's changed, Arthur, we do jobs that ain't for the good and not everything's goin' to be all roses in the end, you know that."

Arthur nodded gravely, comprehending his words. He swallowed thickly. "Yeah."

"But, no matter what, life goes on whether you choose to realize it or not," he relaxed against his seat and lifted his arms into the air, gesturing towards the wide landscape. "Look at the world around us, Arthur, it's vast and it holds beauty that we haven't seen yet. Tahiti sounds good, don't it?"

"Mm," he hummed dreamily at the thought, a small smile forming across his ruminated countenance. "Sure does."

Could it become a reality? Arthur contradicted to himself, peering across the extravagant view before him. Instantly, he was fully absorbed and compelled at the wonderous sight that he is currently voyaging through, fixed on Lenny's words entirely. His viridescent eyes flicked upwardly at the cerulean sky in fixation, blotches of grey clouds engulfed within it as countless flocks of birds soared and hovered above, in sync with one another. Or, is it just a mere fantasy that Dutch holds on to?

As Arthur delved and went astray in not only the world, but his racing thoughts, he blinked back into realization of his surroundings, the rustling town of Valentine closing in shortly. In time, the supply wagon rode over the railroad tracks and shook slightly as it did so. Plenty of ranch hands were visible near closed-in fences that possessed horses, cattle, sheep, or goats. The post-office and the train station were located towards the right-side, bustling with townsfolk that lounged on nearby benches; either chatting amongst themselves or receiving knowledgeable information from the daily newspaper. Riding further down the path, at a much easier pace than previous, careless occupants ambled in front of the wagon to travel across the way, seemingly praying to get ran over in the process, perhaps.

Only a couple of moments later, Lenny halted the horses in front of the general store. Briskly, Arthur jumped off the wagon and once he had landed, mud deliberately sprayed and splatted on and around his boots, instantly smearing and staining them. Huffing at the inevitable, unfortunate events, Lenny had mirrored his movement and immediately made his way into the store to fetch the supplies needed.

Calmly, Arthur leaned his weight against the edge of the wagon, waiting patiently for his friend's return. With a single swipe of his hand over his feature, feeling completely drained, he breathed out of his nose. Wish I had slept better last night, he reflected.

Solely, mere minutes had passed, and eventually, out came a pair of sheer individuals that physically resembled the appearance of amateur ranch hands, scuttling from the general store hurriedly, carrying a large crate of canned-goods in their thin arms with a bit of a struggle. Arthur instantly climbed into the back of the wagon as one of the younger men gleefully handed him a crate to load in properly. This repeated action was executed with the next crate, and the next, and then, eventually, the last. It didn't take much more containers to completely fill the wagon, though, at least from the look of things, the camp wouldn't need to go supply running anytime soon.

Arthur plummeted back down to the mud-caked ground before he and Lenny took a couple of steps backwards for a complete view at their finished work. Closely surveying the now-filled wagon, they checked if it was well-enough to depart and made sure that everything was packed gracefully inside; all ordered and stacked correctly into place.

"Thank you," Lenny called after the least bit helpful ranch hands, waving his hand after them. He diverted his view towards Arthur and outstretched his opposite hand towards him, before appreciatively uttering, "and, thank you, Mr. Morgan."

"No worries," he grinned cheerfully and accepted his gesture of respect, shaking his hand in the process. "If anyone asks, tell 'em I went ridin', will 'ya?"

"Sure thing, partner," Lenny tilted his head downwardly in understanding before climbing onto the wagon once more, urging the horses to move down the path. Arthur's gaze lingered as he did so, making sure there were no loosened crates that had the tendency to fall over when they it begun to move.

Once the wagon had disappeared around a corner, withered away from his line of vision, Arthur spun around on his spurs to come face-to-face with a ravishing mare; his own, as a matter of fact, and a remarkable one, at that. Instantly, a wide, giddy grin appeared across his cheerful countenance, glad to find his trusty steed by his side, once again. In sweet greeting, he patted the angelic creature's furry neck softly. The darkly-coated horse happily nickered in response to his touch, along with the sight of her trusty companion.

"Hey, girl," he cooed lowly, smiling in adoration of the animal's significant arrival. At once, he grasped onto the reins and led his mount towards the hitching posts in front of the sheriff's office, before ogling into the Thoroughbred's dark, large eyes, patting its neck gently once more as a momentary farewell. "I'll be back, alright?"

Casually, he took a few steps forward, directly onto the woodened front of the office, checking off the mental note of inquiries that he had about the recent bounty poster that had been hung up a couple of days ago. Whilst shuffling through his satchel in search of the slip of paper, utterly focused and jumbled in his own mind, it didn't take a second longer for the office's front door to burst open and an amount of weight to ram into him at full force, causing him to lose a bit of his balance. Slightly dazed, an unfamiliar, slim, feminine figure burrowed harshly passed him as if she were in an extreme hurry, calling out in a thick, Southern drawl, "can y'all just leave me the hell alone, for once?"

A young, flimsy, and terrible excuse for a deputy charged out of the office as well, shouting after the unnamed woman in slight distress. "M-miss, we are tryin' to help you!"

"I didn't ask for no damn help," she growled furiously, "nor, did I want any!"

"What in the hell…" Arthur trailed lowly under his breath, taking his gaze off the situation unfolding before him, although, he did find it a bit humorous—the bogus scene resembled an infuriated lion on the verge of pouncing at a subdued squirrel.

Finally, Arthur dragged the poster out of his satchel in delight, unfolding and flattening its evident creases. Scrutinizing every bit of the page, along with the description, he began to waltz into the building in immediate search for the sheriff himself, though, a certain shout of a 'hyah!' and a whinny of a familiar mare cut himself short. He speedily turned his head to look over his wide shoulder, and almost instantaneously, Arthur's relaxed mode engaged into one of sheer panic. His light-green eyes practically bulged out of their sockets in shock as the furious, unkept individual had slickly mounted the back of his horse with ease. Not even providing him a sliver of time to react, she had jetted down the streets of Valentine in a blink of an eye. "Hey, that's my damn horse!"

Arthur sprinted out of the office and into the semi-crowded street as the anonymous rider veered and drifted around various amounts of folk that retreated harshly away. His jaw set in determination and his brows drew forward as he felt a surge of relentless frustration burrow through his bones. In expectation for anything to be done, he glanced over at the good-for-nothing lawman and quickly heaved himself atop of a Morgan that had been previously hitched beside his own. Invigorated, he exasperated loudly, "I got this, deputy, no need for any dramatics."

With that said, Arthur swallowed thickly, spurring the nag into a full gallop down the moistened, grungy road as every pedestrian remained along safe quarters. A sharp neigh and continuous exhausts was the only thing heard, specifically from the agitated Morgan he had taken on the unfortunate ride with, certainly not suited for high-speed chases. To Arthur's surprise, enough speed was gained to reach the slightest amount of distance, and surely, the unknown rider was in perfect view farther up the way, already having traveled out of the town's perimeter.

Bea's too fast for this horse, Arthur's thoughts grumbled. Thing is, she won't go far with that random on her back.

"C'mon, boy, just a bit more," he uttered lowly in a rough growl, holding distinct infuriation and hopefulness that the jade wouldn't buck him off for over-working it.

The weary horse labored with difficulty, blowing much louder and more often than it had before. Arthur had begun sympathizing for it, but he had high hopes that the horse wouldn't let him down. He took immediate notice that he had grown a tad bit closer to the horse thief, and for that, he patted the Morgan reassuringly through its short, white mane.

"Stop the horse!" Arthur spat ferociously over the wide plains, unholstering his newly-owned volcanic pistol in one fell swoop. "Now!"

"And, if I don't?" The thief hollered over her shoulder, the raspy, southern drawl that she adopted was almost too difficult to forget. The sour response that it transpired only tensed Arthur's irritated nerves a bit further.

"I will goddamn shoot you, lady!" he shouted in intimidation, gritting his teeth subjectively as he eyed any sudden movements the woman decided to make. "Ma'am, I am going to warn you one last…"

Arthur was perplexed at the amount of ground that the Morgan had suddenly covered in such a small amount of time as he noticed his primary steed, Bea, had decreased in distance as well. The worn-out horse wasn't moving quickly, charging at only a slow gallop at this point. Realization hit Arthur at once, in knowing of the thief's speed that had recently decelerated greatly. She really had stopped? It didn't take a minute or two later for Bea and the exhausted Morgan to come at a full and complete stop, the thief slumping off the back of the horse sluggishly.

Attentively, Arthur dismounted the Morgan rather slowly, narrowing his blue-green eyes at the unknown lady. He watched her gulp thickly, scrutinizing the view around her, not daring to steal a single glance towards Arthur's defensive posture, pistol remaining in hand. Once the Morgan caught its own breath, it trotted a few feet away as Bea joined alongside it, leaving the fuming pair standing idly in the smack middle of a wide-open pasture.

"Can I ask you what on earth you were thinking?" Arthur roared bluntly, the thief remaining completely silent-brows knitted, jaw clenching, clearly raging inside-and-out. "You're lucky I ain't the type to damn well shoot you as soon as you left on my horse."

Surely, that got her full attention, as her neck snapped powerfully towards him, the fire in her eyes inexplicable to convey. Folding her arms across her chest, she bluntly replied, "I wasn't going to steal your horse, mister, I wanted to escape from that pit of hell that I've dealt with long enough."

Judgmentally, Arthur's head jerked forward as his eyes squinted even further in complete disbelief at the words that she finally managed to speak aloud. Attempting to comprehend such idiocy, he answered stiffly, "so, you're tellin' me that you had to steal my horse—" he jabbed his index finger in his chest in emphasis, "-to escape from that town?"

"They've kept me there for two whole days, questionin' and buggin', and I couldn't sleep without thinkin' I was just some damn prisoner," her stone-cold demeanor gradually diverted to one of complete and utter sorrow as she shook her head dismissively, swiping a trembling hand through her tousled, light-brown hair that some may consider to be a dirty-blonde, withholding streaks lighter than the others. Arthur took a mental note of the evidently darkened, heavy bags under her caramel-colored eyes, before thinking, she hasn't slept, that's for sure. His eyes trailed downwardly to take in her filthy attire; a women's union suit, specifically meant for sleeping, holding patches of smeared mud and grime in various areas. At this, his brows twitched forward in slight concern, them lawmen didn't give her a change of clothes?

"You are one stupid woman for stealin' a man's horse when you could've walked out and traveled on by your lonesome," Arthur replied with a bit of a subtle composure, his stern tone decreasing in volume dramatically. "You were askin' to get killed, you know."

"Yeah, well, maybe that's for the best," she grumbled under her breath, but it was loud enough for Arthur to overhear.

"What are you even blabberin' about?" he inquired curiously, and due to her lost, faraway expression that was glued idly onto the knee-high grass below, swaying softly with the light wind that blew, he leaned a bit forward to catch any change of countenance or, even, the slightest budge. When a response didn't follow, he asked, again, "Why were you in the sheriff's office for two days?"

"They…I…"

Arthur managed to stay silent, his attention laid still on the woman as she let out a shaky breath, biting down on her dry, chapped lips. God, she looks like she hadn't eaten in a week. "Miss?"

"T-them lawmen… they thought I killed him," she lifted her gaze to stare despairingly over the faraway plains, visible tears began to welt at the brim of her eyelids, but she blinked them away rapidly. She wrapped her thin arms around her body, tightening the self-embrace insecurely.

"Killed, who?"

Reverting her fatigued eyes to peer blankly into Arthur's, she responded brokenly, breathlessly, "those men killed my husband."

Dumbly, Arthur blinked, slightly bewildered, "the lawmen?"

"No, goddamnit," she seethed irritably, causing Arthur to flinch and her patience to run extremely low. Her raspy voice was fragmented, mere huffs leaving her lips to refrain herself from bursting out of character. "The… the O'Driscoll's."

A vengeful nerve was plucked in Arthur's soul, before a countenance, similarly related to being slapped across the face, painted itself upon his features. Slowly, he retreated a couple of steps backwards, a glimmer of an anonymous woman's story suddenly unfolded, though, bashed him like a cement-block. He gawked speechlessly at her side-profile, a surge of sympathy jolted through his icy veins.

In simplicity, The O'Driscoll's are an utterly distasteful enemy that Arthur has become very familiar with throughout the rough years he's been with Dutch and the others. Colm O'Driscoll, the leader of a petty group of heartless low lives, and Dutch, the leader of a more wholesome, integrated, and slightly humane group, has had a lengthy and hateful feud for a while now, ever since each of them killed one another's loved one.

Arthur's subconscious scoffed bitterly, there's never going to be a medium to that constant revolving whirlwind of hatred unless they kill one another, or someone gets hanged. Arthur shivered slightly at the horrid thought of anything happening to Dutch.

"I…Uh…" Arthur was at a loss for words and all he could feel was encased rage that was always there. He swallowed roughly, croaking, "I know 'em."

Her slumped posture straightened a bit, her balled-fists acquiring a visibly pale color as she perked her head upwardly a bit to side-eye him, warily, she rumbled, "how?"

Arthur's mouth gaped at the slightest, hesitation filling his senses as he found a collection of cautious words to say, noting that he didn't necessarily know her intentions, or more so, her in general. "Colm, the leader, he's a terrible man, as you know-" he gestured towards her, pausing for a moment as she stared bitterly in return, harked in on every syllable, "-and well, my people have a notorious record for dislikin' 'em; they have been hurt by those men, too."

The seemingly monotonous woman averted her train of vision to peer to her right-side, the Morgan and Bea grazing upon the narrow pasture of land solemnly.

"I apologize for takin' your horse," she mumbled in an emotionless, subtle whisper, and for some reason, Arthur grew concerned for her, noticing the lack of gleam of any emotion in her eyes. "Now, leave me be."

He rubbed at the back of his neck as he tilted his head downwardly to signify an occasional nod. Merely ambling over to Bea, he stole a few quick glances at the woman who didn't budge from her position.

Arthur fixed his full attention on the glimmering mare, surveying that the saddle was properly on and ready for the rest of the ride back to camp-flat and settled, not too loose or not too tight. Reassured that all compartments were kept in-check, he swung his weight upwardly and over Bea's back, grasping onto the withered reins securely, though, he didn't let himself urge her forward as he took in his surroundings; nothing but a field of grass with Valentine located further back. Above, the setting sun had lit the area, but he knew it wasn't long until it would get dark out. His eyes trailed from the sky to look downwardly at the woman, who hadn't budged or turned to see if he was still there.

Resting his arms on the saddle, he sighed brutally through his nostrils, before uttering gravely, "where's your family, miss?"

"Jake was my family," she murmured stiffly in return.

Arthur straightened up, scrunched up the right side of his face thoughtfully, and tapped the side of his thumb against his leg thoughtfully. Screw it. "Listen, lady, back at the camp that I live at, you know with all the folks that I mentioned earlier… my family, more so…" he cleared his throat, before continuing, "…the lovely women there can welcome you with a change of clothing or a bath if you'd like. You can sleep for the night as well, and decide where you want to go from there, whatever it may be. Now, I'll have you know that we ain't too good of people, but we sure as shit ain't the O'Driscolls. Besides, the sheriff's office doesn't seem to be treatin' you too well, ma'am, and I see they've been remindin' you of things that you don't want to be reminded of."

For a moment, her lost gaze flicked upwardly to meet his, and he could vaguely see the sadness, the heartbreak, and the tragedy hidden deeply within them.

"I don't know you, mister," she muttered calmly, her strong-willed demeanor radiating vibrantly.

"Nor, do I know you, miss, all I know is that you steal horses," he witnessed her plump lips quirk at his response, glad she had a sense of some type of emotion at this point. At a reasonable distance, he positioned his mount before the woman whose name he has yet had the knowledge of. He leant out a welcoming hand in front of her, before eventually finalizing his introduction, "my name is Arthur, Arthur Morgan"

To Arthur's surprise, she lifted her own and shook it, an emotionless, plain expression became plastered across her features. Lazily, he flicked his vision over to the lonesome Morgan remaining transfixed upon the pasture, before jabbing his thumb towards it, "No one's come after me for that Morgan, you should keep it."

She chewed at her lower lip, ambling over to the still creature in no time. She gently patted its neck as a simple greeting and solemn introduction. Arthur watched as the lady presented her hand towards the nag to take in her scent and become familiar with it.

"If you don't mind me askin'," Arthur projected, noticing the start of a bond between horse and rider unfold before him. She didn't flinch to look back at him. "Well, what's your name, lady?"

The woman petted the horse's muzzle softly, sharing a slight, ginger grin with the jade as it blew out of its nostrils loudly, a shake of its head and a soft neigh surfaced through the air. After a couple of minutes or so, she plugged her right foot into one stirrup and heaved herself on top of the horse's back swiftly, repositioning herself to sit more comfortably in the saddle.

With a huff of a breath leaving her lips, she jerked her head upwardly to meet Arthur's idle gaze, worn reins in her grasp, before stating, "Sadie… Sadie Adler, but that's Mrs. Adler to you, Mr. Morgan."