Chapter 5: The Ride, The Savior, And The Lone Widow

Arthur and Sadie were grateful, for rushes of pleasant breezes struck their bare arms in fits, swaying and ruffling up each of their hatless manes. After a day of being engrossed in catching a bounty, the fresh scent of the serene environment and what it provided was pleasant, nonetheless. Together, they were seated on either side of a glowing campfire; the only radiance they had for miles. The cloud-less night sky above held a multitude of the tiniest, twinkling stars, scattered vastly amongst the airspace, like puny beacons. The duo was settled in an open clearing for the remainder of the night, located halfway from camp. Their bedrolls were at the ready and sprawled underneath their bums for the moment that they chose to drift into the slumber that awaited them.

Arthur figured he would've been able to get some sleep, especially after a draining day that it was, but his expectations were not met. Not only did his mind swarm with prompted sets of different distractions, but he had remained stunned from the events that had occurred only moments earlier. Bewilderment coursed through him, as he's never seen a woman hogtie a bounty as simple as Sadie did, but admiration seemed to mix into it as well.

In the center, the ruby-colored blaze gave the incentive to nearby insects and other creatures to scutter in the opposite direction. Arthur found himself poking at the flames with a stick, before shoving it along with the rest of the wood that it had consumed. Sizzling pops and comforting crackles was all that was mainly heard in the silent environment that surrounded them. The campfire that provided warmth and light was Arthur's primary transfixion, only desiring to be at ease and get some rest. In hopes to kickstart the drowsiness, he decided to shuffle in his satchel, and pluck out his journal. On the left side, he doodled a quick representation of his mare, Bea, and with drawn brows, his whole being was consumed on the opposite side of the page.

Relative to resting, it had seemed that his partner had the same problem. Instead of delving into a journal or a source of heat for a subject to drown herself into a state of reverie, her brown ovals caught onto the midnight sky, an undeniable beauty that was crafted with imagery that never failed to captivate her.

At Arthur's large hand maneuvering across the page of his journal at a rapid pace, Sadie's idle eye on the view above plummeted to survey Arthur's attentive countenance, his lower lip sucked in between his teeth. With a single hand, he held the booklet against his bent knee that had been positioned upright, whilst his other leg was folded underneath. Arthur didn't notice her speculating stare, as he was so invested with the letters that morphed into words.

For her own entertainment, and to tease Arthur, Sadie prompts, "Is that that diary you doodle in everyday?"

Arthur's gaze retracts from the journal to look up at Sadie, her brow arched in curiosity. He returned his attention to the page, the amount of focus he once had was now minimized as he emphasized in a corrective tone, "It's a journal, and I don't suppose ever mentioning to you that I do."

"I've seen you, and you do it very often, so it is noticeable."

Once the words had escaped her lips, he paused his hand movements in the middle of writing a sentence, skimming through the detailed description of the day that he already written out beforehand. In the back of his head, her reply hung for a moment, before the edges of his mouth jerked to the side, thinking, she's got a point, "Okay, well, to answer your question from before, yes, it is."

"What are you writin' about?" Sadie asks, intrigued.

Arthur sasses in incredulity, her inquisitiveness appalling, "None of your business, woman."

"Why not?"

"Because, it's only for me to write in, and for me to know."

"So, it is a diary."

"Huh?" he hums, scrunching one side of his face up in perplexity. He gave her a flick of a glance, stating, "I already told you, it's a journal."

"But, you won't tell me what you're writing about, so technically…" She trailed off, before sucking her teeth, lowering the volume of her voice in discretion, "It's a diary, and like you said so yourself, it's only meant for you to know."

"I know that," he mumbled, though he only grew more confused as to the reasoning of her blabbering. With the pencil budged in between his fingertips, he waved off Sadie as a dismissive gesture, desiring to be left alone of the pestering curiosity that she conjured up about his personal thoughts, "You're thinkin' too much into it. Call it whatever you want; it's a journal."

Sadie pressed, "Is calling it a diary too feminine for you?"

"No, 'course not," he scoffs, grumbling curses in mere breaths before continuing in agitation, "I just don't understand why it matters."

"It doesn't," she shrugged nonchalantly, a coy smirk pulled at the ends of her lips, noticing his irritability growing by the second.

"So, why are you questionin' me, lady?"

"Sadie," she couldn't help but correct, causing Arthur to roll his eyes in dramatics, "And, nothin', I'm just teasin' since you're bein' awfully straight-faced."

"Straight-faced and sour-faced, huh?" he tutted, "As the same could be said for you."

Emitting a tiresome yawn, she concludes, "Apparently so."

Arthur gently placed the pencil in between the pages, as usual, and smacked the booklet shut, before returning it into his satchel in its proper placement. He shifted to look over at his travel companion, before mentioning, "I didn't say it earlier, but, good job today…with taking that murdering fool in."

Sadie glances up at him through long eyelashes as she undid her perfect braid, Arthur's eyes following her swift movements in speculation, mostly perplexed at how quick her hair had unwounded. As the wavy, umber locks unraveled to settle upon her shoulders and drape down her back, she tucked a couple of loose strands behind her ear, before giving Arthur a casual nod of appreciation, inquiring, "Was it not what you expected?"

Arthur blinked, dumb-founded, "What are you referring to?"

"That I'd have the ability to lasso a grown man on horseback."

"No, well, I didn't think you'd do it at all, actually—lasso a man or hogtie 'im for that matter," Arthur negated with the subtle shake of his head, straggling frontal locks drooped over the edge of his brow as he examined the amount of lodged grime under his boots, "I just thought you'd get yourself shot with how many dumb choices you make, is all."

Sadie guffawed at how simplistic his concluding sentence had been uttered, "Do you always go around tellin' people they're dumb in the most simplest of ways?"

A hint of humor clung to his tone, "I didn't say you was, I said you make dumb choices, and that, alone, will get you killed. I will remind you of that, because you tend to do things that are out of the norm."

"What, like steal your horse to get away from those dumb lawmen?" Sadie bemused.

Sadie and Arthur shared a wholehearted laugh at the thought of the events that had occurred that day, as crazy as it was.

A stationary smile dressed upon Arthur's calm features, commenting, "Yeah, and that's about one of the craziest damn things I've seen a woman do. You even got Miss. Grimshaw beat on that one."

"Oh, no, don't be absurd, that woman walks around that camp like she has a constant stick up her ass, and with that, she's got to be the craziest," Sadie giggled to herself, and Arthur couldn't help but let out a raspy chuckle. Although that was accurate, he negated her retort.

"She may, but she's what keeps the camp stable and kickin', that's for sure," Arthur stated, "But, you still got her beat, and there's no changin' my mind."

Sadie smiled in commemoration, training her focus on her hands that were placed on her lap as she twiddled her thumbs, "She's a strong woman, I can see that. As a matter of fact, all the women at camp are."

"Don't I know it," he answered, agreeing, "And, you as well, miss, but, you just can't do things for the hell of it-you'll get killed. I know you understand, but with us, being in this gang, our lives are different and there's danger every step of the way. I'm just makin' sure that you're reminded."

"I do things without thinkin', or, maybe, I do things that I think may be right, I don't know…but hey, I'm not dead yet," she points out. Arthur nodded, taking in every word that left her mouth, delving into each; one at a time, "So, I must be doin' somethin' right."

"That is true, but you ain't invisible, either-remember that," he knocked off his leather boots with his hands and placed them at the end of his bedroll, parallel to one another. He let out an exhausted yawn whilst rubbing at his eyes with his fingertips. Sadie witnessed him reposition himself by laying flatly upon the bedroll below him, his eyelids drooping in gradual swoops. He stared at the sky for a moment with a bleak expression, his gaze unmoving, before finalizing, "You should get some rest, Mrs. Adler, we got a hell of a ride tomorrow mornin'."

"Right," Sadie nodded, mimicking his previous movements, soon enough. As Arthur turned over and drifted off into a vacant darkness that sleep had to offer, it ended up being the opposite for Sadie.

She remained awake for a while longer, consumed in the nightly scent and the unavoidable view that was plastered above her. As she did so, a faint frown developed upon her once-stilled features. A repeating wish drove through her thoughts every so often, only hoping she had the one she desired most, once more, by her side, for he was all that she ever wanted, and nothing more.

Unlike the night prior, willowy puffs of clouds dressed themselves across the sky, defusing most of the sun's scorching rays. The pair of travelers had crossed narrow paths and dusty roads, their home inching closer by the mile. Without a doubt, the ride from Strawberry to Valentine was an exhausting one to begin with, not only for the horses, of course, but for Arthur and Sadie. The two couldn't help but feel a mutual sense of unwinding, as it was a sensation that they had felt recently and became familiar with whenever they had ridden together. As always, the usual silence that drug onward didn't hold a feeling of tension or awkwardness, nor did either of them feel as if something needed to be said at every given moment.

Although, it had become clear that the pair had thought it was necessary to mention how beautiful their surroundings were, as the casual conversations that Arthur and Sadie had mainly consisted of what the world had to offer. It was a topic that they both had in common—the love for giving recognition to the environment around them. The enjoyment of hearing the other's response was mutual. The entirety of the ride wasn't always quiet or compiled of chatter about the nature among them. Sadie would nag Arthur a few times, only for her entertainment and to poke a bit of fun. By doing so, she noticed he was very short-tempered, but he had a humorous side to him. Arthur would reply with snappy remarks, but he knew she was only doing it on purpose; for laughs. At the realization of her motives, a roll of the eyes was all that she'd receive from him, or a contemptuous wave, at most.

Maybe, even the smallest of a smile went unnoticed.

Upon arrival, Arthur and Sadie hitched their horses at the posts and dismounted. Sadie began to brush down her Morgan's mane in content, as Arthur whirled around Bea, flicked a slight glance toward his bounty partner, and strode towards the center of campgrounds to place the gang's share in the box. But, before he could take more than five steps forward, a drawled call of his name halted his movements, and caused him to look wistfully over his shoulder in expectation.

Sadie rasped, kindness found in her words, "I appreciate you for havin' faith that I could help out."

"At first, I was iffy," he faced her fully, and gave her a momentary half-smile, inclining his head forward, "But, it sure let me know you have the capability to help more often around here, and as you know, all the help we can get is very much appreciated."

"Well, I can see that most of you are genuine people out here trying to survive, like you said before, so with that said, I'm glad to do any work of any kind, if it'll help the gang," she responded in glee, and in Arthur's eyes, there was a glint of appreciation, and even joy to her sudden inclination to help. A small frown began to graze Sadie's lips, specifically at her response. She uttered in a dulled change of tone, "Except for bein' a working girl. That ain't me and never will be me."

"No worries, miss," Arthur wafted a hand through the air, implying that would never be an option, "It was a pleasure catchin' a bounty with you, Mrs. Adler. If you like that line of work, we can do it again, sometime."

Sadie patted her Morgan on the neck, a wholehearted gleam of mutual respect instilled within her eyes as she did so. The Morgan knickered in response, before Sadie placed the prickly brush into her saddle bag, "Sure thing, Mr. Morgan. Maybe, then, you can inform me about that secret journal of yours."

"Ha," Arthur mocked a laugh, sucked at his teeth and heaved a sharp breath at the thought of such a thing, a gradual shake of his head following a mere second of silence, "Not a chance, miss."

Sadie half-shrugged and brushed passed Arthur's presence, and in a jaunt manner, she walked toward her tent. Without peering over her shoulder, she waved a single hand as a possible farewell, or even a concluding gesture to their conversation. With that, she replied, "Whatever you say."

Arthur's glued-on gaze lingered on her departing figure, until she was no longer seen. Well, she seems much…better, he pondered, as if he had lost track of what he was meant to currently do, or more so, the share he was supposed to place in the collection's box. He kicked at the dirt below his boots, causing pebbles to tumble about, whilst becoming jumbled in his own mind, once more. A deep wonderment about the widow had crawled into his subconscious and became the main subject of his thoughts, uncontrollably. I guess, time away, and eventually, feeling comfort from company is what she needed, is all. Maybe, it's what anyone needs when hit with grief.

"Arthur," Dutch called, whistling him out of the trance he was in. He blinked a few times before making eye contact with his concerned, longtime best friend. It had taken a bit for Arthur to crawl out of the mental state he was in, stuck in topics that would eventually flood inward, but it seemed Dutch cured him of that. Furrowing his brows, Dutch reached out and placed a worried hand on Arthur's shoulder, noticing how spaced-out he had just been, "You doin' alright, son?"

"Yeah, I was just…thinkin'."

"I see. Do you want to talk about it?"

"Nah," Arthur shook his head, the subject that hung in his mind was nothing more than analyzing the woman he had previously gone on a job with. Nothing more than a random, and very much unnatural spacious moment that was excessively lengthy, "No, it ain't nothin' at all. I was just wonderin' and lost track of what the hell I was doin'. Are you alright, Dutch?"

"Of course, I was just going to ask you for a favor," Dutch nodded reluctantly and let the subject rest, causing Arthur's shoulders to relax, and ultimately, he was thankful. Dutch removed his hand from his friend's shoulder and propped them both on either side of his own hips, giving a quick glance over towards the direction he had seen Sadie walk in, "But, before I ask for that favor, I'm curious. I noticed Mrs. Adler had left the premise with you yesterday-how is she holding up?"

"She's…well," Arthur didn't know how to describe the way that the woman had been acting, but in his eyes, it seemed as if she had started to return to being in a neutral state, and maybe, the process of her constant grieving is coming to an end, "I think, she's slowly trying to keep herself busy, and you know, beginning to help out around here more often. She's only mentioned to me good things-as to what she thinks of all us folk-so it's all seemingly positive, Dutch. She's just been trying to get back into things, I guess."

"As she should," Dutch hummed in understanding, a nod followed, "In the past couple of weeks or so, she's been socializing more, according to Miss Jones and Miss Jackson. Has she been speaking to you as well?"

"Yeah, more than I thought she would, at least. It's as if she's a whole different person, if I'm bein' honest," Arthur informed. He couldn't agree more with his words. He folded his arms across his chest as the petite figure of young Jack entered his sights, whom had been seated cross-legged on the ground. He had his attention on a story book, presumably one that Hosea had given him. The edge of Arthur's mouth tilted upward, a glimpse of his own childhood flashed through his mind in the quickest of flickers, the temporary distraction soon faded, "She's kind of surprising in a way."

Dutch wheezed a laugh, "What are you talking about, son?"

"Well, I mean, she and I went bounty huntin' over by Strawberry, and she lassoed and hogtied the son of a bitch as if she could do it in her sleep," Arthur explained, baffled, though, he couldn't help but be impressed by her previous actions, as any other man would, "She's a capable woman."

"Didn't she own a ranch with her late husband?"

"That's what she said."

"It explains a lot. She must've done that type of work, along with stable keeping," Dutch stated. He and Arthur began to walk alongside one another, making their way toward the gang's collection box to drop off the sliver of cash that Arthur received for the bounty. "She is familiar with guns, I presume?"

"I haven't seen her use the guns that Lenny and I gave her, but I would not be surprised if she knows how to use one correctly, or even hesitate to do so—that woman has a spine made of steel," Arthur compliments, a hint of admiration stuck to his tone. To his surprise, he didn't realize he had so much to say about Sadie; a woman he had recently come to know, and is continuing to understand, but he knew that the words he did speak of her were the truth, and only the truth; nothing less.

Pausing before Dutch's tent, they stood alongside each other, surveying the campgrounds that had been blanketed before them. All the folk had been up to different sorts of chores and hobbies, trying to keep themselves busy.

Interested at a certain idea, Dutch grinned, "Do you think she'd participate in any robberies?"

"Most definitely," Arthur gave Dutch a sideways glance, "According to her, she'd do anything to help the gang."

"Oh, I'm sure," Dutch let out a rough laugh, and at that, Arthur joined in. Dutch patted Arthur on the shoulder, and began to take a step towards Hosea's direction, most likely to speak about certain business, "I'm glad to hear, Arthur. By the way, I got word that Trelawny's in town, and he has knowledge of Sean's whereabouts, so I sent Charles, Javier, and Lenny to fetch Mr. MacGuire. Apparently, he had been taken by some good-for-nothing bounty hunters."

Arthur heaved a short breath of mere alleviation at the news of his Irish friend, ultimately glad that he wasn't dead, at least, "Kid's lucky he ain't hangin' by a noose. I guess, Trelawny always sniffing around is good for something."

"Ain't that so," Dutch agreed, "While those three are out and about, I had sent John and Bill to take that O'Driscoll fool to Colm's supposed hideout, over by Six Point Cabin. It's in Cumberland Forest, north of Valentine, west of Fort Wallace-buried in some tall trees. That favor I was telling you about-do you mind following a trail over to see if they're doing alright? They left only a bit ago, I'm sure you can catch up."

"Yeah, 'course, Dutch, I heard of it. This couldn't wait till I returned?"

Dutch slowed his pace and halted, his eyebrows drawn at Arthur's words, "It's necessary and urgent business, Arthur. Colm knows things that we don't-things have to do with money, and that money will lead us out of here and to a distant land where we're finally free. Don't you want that, Arthur?"

Arthur strolled over to Dutch whilst responding, "I understand–I do, but John and Bill ain't likely the pair of—" The volume of Arthur's voice lowered to a distinct whisper, "They're kind of dumb as rocks when it comes to things of the sort; they're likely to mess up and that unpredictable moron of an O'Driscoll may get away."

"And, that's why I'm telling you to go on ahead to the location and make sure things are going to plan," Dutch reasoned, proceeding to exit the conversation, "Have faith in them, and know that we got this under control. Thank you, Arthur."

Arthur's worrisome eyes followed Dutch's figure as he faded away from view, slowly but surely. He inhaled a deep breath, before exhaling all the stress and thoughts that had came with it. All that Arthur wanted was to relax and have a calm day, but it didn't seem that his wishes would be fulfilled. He knew to anticipate the opposite of his expectations. In truth, he had faith in John and Bill, most of the time. Maybe Bill more than John, not because he was less of an idiot than him, but because John tended to be unpredictable, especially in Arthur's perspective of things and of the past. What troubled Arthur the most was that two of the gang's men were heaving an O'Driscoll to a territory that he is familiar with, unknowing that it could be a trap. While he had suspected of that, he hoped that Bill and John have as well. If things were to get rough, he conjured up all the remaining faith he had in the two gang members, anticipating they had everything under control until he, himself, had arrived to aid them.

Deep in the shrubbery and thickets of Six Point Cabin, an array of gunshots blared, mares and fillies nickered in a wild craze, and piles of deceased bodies masked the soil that covered the surrounding forest. A multitude of gang members enacted in a feud of total bloodshed.

John, Bill, and Kieran hung back behind a wooden wagon that had been falling apart by the minute. As bullets whizzed by and drove itself through the breakable surface, Arthur had soon arrived and began shooting his Cattleman at a couple of foes with insane accuracy. In an instant, they had fallen lifelessly, one-by-one, to the ground, nonetheless. With a fantastic start, Arthur charged forward and had finally joined alongside two friendly fools and a frightened O'Driscoll that he had become all too familiar with.

Arthur's eyes darted about, his Cattleman held up defensively at the ready. He attempted to figure out a quick, structured plan as to how they were going to get out of this situation without any bullets tearing through their skins.

At the mere sight of a pistol embedded under Kieran's tight, shaky grip, Arthur swung his aim toward the untrusting individual immediately. John was quick to shield the once-supposed prisoner, causing Arthur's stationary scowl to twist into one of infuriation, mixed with obvious perplexity.

"Arthur, Bill and I gave him the gun," John reasoned, his overly scratchy voice seeming as if he had drunk cigarettes and ate glass all his life, albeit, many would agree that it was pleasant to hear. John ducked his head in a rapid swoop as a bullet dashed and struck the wagon inches from his temple, shards of splinters spraying about, "Two of us against twenty of these bastards wasn't goin' to cut it, and so far, he's been trusting."

"Yeah, he's trusting until he shoots you in the back when there ain't no more left, you goddamn idiot," Arthur grumbles under his breath, more so in angered seethes. Although he would've liked to pull the trigger on Kieran, or maybe even his longtime, boneheaded friend, he decided against it, shaking off the subject that should not be dealt with until later on.

In a slight and stealthy manner, Arthur began to peek around the edge of the wagon, spotting a few crimson barrels around the camp that he was very much familiar with. At this, a small smirk began to paint itself upon Arthur's lips, a fond idea clicked almost instantaneously in his mind. To silence a few of the opposing gang's men that didn't pause during gunfire, Arthur stepped out of cover, pinched an eye shut, and pulled the trigger.

A loud explosion had followed without a second to waste, as an abundance of scraps, flames, and bodies that surrounded the barrel had been thrown from the immense blast. As soon as that had occurred, it insinuated remaining O'Driscoll's to take cover, providing Arthur, John, Bill, and Kieran leeway to proceed forward toward a better defensive structure.

Bill and John began to fire their revolvers and repeaters at O'Driscoll's that attempted to regain their momentum, vision, and focus from the harsh blow. At this point, more than half of their men were put to their foreseeable end, thanks to their lack of intelligence and Arthur's quick decision-making skills.

"Morgan, should we hold our position here or go at them?" Bill shouted over a few gunshots that he had fired blindly, though they managed to be precise.

"I say we advance, but carefully," Arthur retorted, no hesitance in his decision. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that the O'Driscoll's cowardice tendencies would show, and soon, they'd scurry off into the distant forest that surrounded them. It was a known tactic of theirs-a bad one, at that.

At Arthur's suggested orders, Bill, John, and Kieran responded in agreement, every decision and step that they made tentative, though with execution, as well as intention. One-by-one, the group of O'Driscoll's minimized in numbers at an escalated rate. The more Arthur and his men drew forward and took over the territory-slowly but surely-there had been more bodies that covered the ground. It didn't take much longer for the sight of the remaining enemies to drop the weapons they acquired, and sprint in the opposite direction, as expected by Arthur and the others. The men of the Van der Linde gang were not one to disappoint.

Pathetic, Arthur bemused.

Colm O'Driscoll would like to believe that number overrules mostly anything, but judging by the conclusion of the shootout, it's safe to say there's much more to it than that.

Once the intense gunfight had died off, Arthur and the others continued to invade the rest of the camp mainly in search for loot and most importantly; Colm. According to Kieran, Colm had most likely been hiding out in the cabin, where he was always settled.

Arthur's entrance was a bit careless, because once he outstretched his hand to grab the handle, unsuspecting of anything, he met the end of a double-barreled shotgun, caught completely off-guard. With a harsh shove, the angered O'Driscoll, carrying much more weight on his stomach than recommended, forced Arthur to fall back onto the wooden floorboard with a loud thud.

At this moment, Arthur's immediate thought was that his days as a wanted outlaw had come to an end, as neither John or Bill had been nearby to shoot the aging bastard that towered over him. For all he knew, they were off looting bodies.

Arthur didn't try to fight this battle, not because he was too weak to do so, but because it had seemed that this was his time, and maybe, he just didn't mind. He bid mental goodbyes to the one's that were close to his heart-those he had grown to know, and even the one that he wish he knew more about.

Bracing himself, Arthur pierced both of his eyes shut as he awaited the life-ending blast that was soon to come, consistent echoes of the O'Driscoll's nasty chuckles was all that his hearing could focus in on. As expected, the time had come, or more so, the immediate fire of a weapon. A violent shot had rung out, but had it been the one that Arthur was anticipating?

The lone widow wasn't much of a conversationalist, even in times like these, when the heartache didn't take over her or her senses. The thoughts that always seemed to course through her brain were quiet, though, ever since that day, they've never left. In the crooks of her mind, they were there; the memories, the feelings, the sadness, the loneliness, and the still image or motion-capture of her late husband himself. Although they had been present, they were hidden, trapped in some sort of box in her head, where she could control and contain her emotions as best as she could. Vivid flashbacks were engraved in her daily mentality, and sometimes, on occasional nights, she'd wake up from a dream, as they had mostly consisted of him; her love.

Although it was difficult at first, as time sped on, it became simpler to take her mind off the topic that she never thought she'd able to let go. All it took was patience, a source of positivity, and the glimmer of hope that she could continue onward because she knew that was what he wanted for her, no matter what. With that in mind, tranquility eventually had seeped in, and ever since then, the sliver of peace brought a bit of happiness. Little by little, the days grew simpler and carried more life or more meaning, within them.

Stuck at camp, Sadie had learned a lot from the folk that she had begun to know. They coherently worked together by doing a multitude of different things, that by the end of the day, it left the group warm, fed, intact, and above all the necessities, they carried on a stable atmosphere. Sadie had never thought that a group of outlaws and wanted men would be so humane, as Mr. Morgan had worded it. Ravenous would be the adjective to describe most of the gangs that had developed a name for themselves, like the O'Driscoll's, but for some reason, the Van der Linde gang differentiated from many.

There was always the idea of running away that glued onto Sadie, only for the first week or so, due to the amount of unlawful actions that the Van der Linde gang have said to have done. That intention began to fade. She listened to the many stories that each member had as they would talk to one another by the campfire, and she couldn't help but notice all the trials and tribulations they had dealt with in their lives. The lives they've lived—they all lost someone they cared about, and she felt as if there was mutual understanding between her and them.

Sadie would note how helpful Tilly, Karen, Mary-Beth, and Abigail were towards her, even if she wasn't in the right mindset to respond or kindly recognize them for it. Miss Grimshaw and Hosea were strong roots of the group, which Sadie had observed right off the bat. All the men had a decent head on their shoulders, albeit, Micah was an odd fit for the group, due to his disrespectful actions and nasty, sly comments. Sadie knew they all had one thing in common, and maybe, that's why they've come a long way in the first place. They stay strong to their beliefs, Sadie thinks often, their loyalty shows.

Mrs. Adler could say the same for Arthur Morgan; the large, brute man with an exterior of a snarling grizzly bear would be her first impression. At least that's what he wants everyone to think he is; terrifying; intimidating. Interiorly, Sadie knew he was only a sad, damaged man; she could see right through the permanent scowl on his face, along with the tenacious demeanor he never fails to break.

In time, Sadie had grown to be comfortable around those at camp, participating in conversations with the women mostly, or starting unavoidable arguments with Pearson. Often, she helps with the stew, and as usual, she's bossed around doing so. But, of course, she was going to retaliate with her words than just taking it.

All the others had seen her as a strong woman that had overcame tragedy at a sensible pace. She had been a great addition for the group-her attitude and her strength are her best attributes, besides her work ethic and her knowledge around weaponry. She's stubborn, but she's a capable woman with an intellectual and intricate mind that others had begun to look up to, and nonetheless, admire, especially since she brought in Gregory Reed herself, as Arthur had emphasized. Sadie began to carry herself differently—with confidence, with integrity, and with a strong-willed attitude that radiated from her; it was evident.

The taste of getting out there and helping the group that had welcomed her with open arms was all that she needed to feel more alive, as if there was much more to do in her life than laying around and sulking, dreaming of a past that can't be reversed. The gruesome days she would remain down, helpless, or feeling like there was no hope for any joy to return to her had finally come to an end; she was determined.

The memories, the feelings, and the idea of him will always carry on with me, Sadie's subconscious had prompted, a light smile danced upon herfeatures, the rest of the life I live—it will be for him.

Pearson cleared his throat to grab Sadie's attention. In an urgent manner, he snapped a finger in front of her face, hoping the action would drag her out of the reverie she had intertwined herself in. "Would you stop ruminating and get chopping?"

"Snap your finger in front of my face one more time and yeah, I'll get chopping," Sadie rasped in a venomous drawl, intimidation carried on with it. She knew he was irritating, for all the other times she had aided in cooking the stew, but sometimes, she couldn't handle his bothersome remarks.

Although Pearson wouldn't admit it, he was always deathly afraid of Sadie, but he managed to stand his ground during the times that they would get tangled in a useless argument. Which was always. The antagonized cook shot the furious widow a bitter glare, a short stare-down had begun, "Listen, lady, this stew isn't going to cook itself, so enough of the snappy threats, and start chopping those vegetables up nicely."

Sadie tried, with all her might, not to force her fist into Pearson's face, as she was shocked at the audacity of his words. To relax her pricked nerves, she breathed in sharply, "Maybe, if you would shut up and let me do so-how about it, mister?"

"I wouldn't have to tell you anything if you weren't so lost in your head all the time."

"Learn how to talk with some respect, and maybe I'll take you more seriously," Sadie narrowed her eyes at Pearson with disdain, curling her upper lip in a dark snarl. Fed up, the enraged chef slammed his cleaver upon the wooden cooking-board and turned to face the woman fully, folding his arms over his chest. His apron was dowsed with grease and grime. The distinct, distasteful stench that he emitted was appalling, "Then, again, I don't think being respectful is your strong-suit."

"Me? Disrespectful? Are you hearing yourself? You are far from-"

A loud, anger-infused clearing of the throat interjected and halted Pearson's comeback.

Appearing in view was Miss. Grimshaw, wiping the palms of her hands upon her dress-skirt. She stared vigorously at the chef, who drew a huff of an exhale, before she proceeded to address him, "Pearson, would you please excuse Mrs. Adler? I'd like to have a word with her."

Scornfully, Pearson wafted his hand through the air, and shared one, last, hateful look with Sadie. He spun around and continued his daily job of cooking the stew that everyone cherished. In Sadie's mind, her immediate thought was that she was going to get yelled at for starting yet another fight with Pearson, besides the fact that Miss. Grimshaw had the tendency to shout either way.

With a tentative approach, she ambled over to the woman that had summoned her. She brushed a few loose strands of hair out of her face, positioned her lips into a thin line, and responded in a soft-spoken voice, hoping not a hint of an attitude was found in between the seams, "Yes?"

Expecting a strict tone and heightened volume of speech, Sadie was prepared for the outburst. Though, she had only received the opposite, "I'll help Pearson with the stew, but only this once, as it is your job. Go on and continue your own chores, if you'd like."

With a slow, gradual nod, Sadie was stunned at Susan's subtleness with her suggestive remark, "I'm, um, sorry about–"

"No need to apologize, miss. Work is needed to be done and Pearson doesn't like to be behind on schedule, is all."

"Of course," was all that Sadie could say, as Miss. Grimshaw had begun to depart before she could utter anything else.

Sadie didn't have much of a schedule. The majority of what she was assigned was the list of chores that needed to get done, and that's exactly what she made sure she did ahead of time. Helping Pearson had been the only thing left to do, and at this point, she'd been thinking of calling it a day, as the day had begun to grow old.

Sadie anticipated the moment when she wasn't stuck at camp like every other woman in the gang. She wanted to ride with the men; do the serious jobs, like when she tagged along with Arthur to fetch a bounty.

It was exhilarating, an idle thought flashed through her mind occasionally. The job brought along a familiar itch that she had to act on. It involved targeting those that brought hurt to her; the O'Driscoll's.

Speaking of goddamn O'Driscoll's, Sadie's inner voice was livid. Through the foliage that embraced the camp, emerging amongst the outskirts, she spotted a few familiar faces, and one of them invigorated her in the most negative of ways.

Arthur, Bill, John, and Kieran had drawn in on horseback, rounding over to the hitching posts in a slow trot. Sadie's eyebrows furrowed in confusion and anger, the insignificant sight of Kieran returning to camp struck a violent nerve. According to Dutch, his plans with Kieran were not very kind, so seeing as he is waltzing into camp with not a single scratch on his body caused her to curve a brow.

Her growing frustration overtook her senses as her hand clenched into a tight fist, and her jaw had set. She rerouted the direction of her footing towards Arthur himself, whom had dismounted his mare, and sparked a match against the heel of his boot.

Arthur lit one of his cigarettes and side-eyed the enraged, approaching widow, her pace increasing to a fast walk. He began to brace himself to answer a handful of questions.

Unbothered, he lifted the butt of the cigarette to his lips and took a long, much-needed puff, before exhaling its smoke. As he awaited the eventual presence of the woman, the fumes loomed and danced around his face. He watched the swirling cloud soon disperse and disappear into the air.

Sadie halted in front of Arthur with a frustrated stomp. As he leaned against one of the posts, she heaved a breath in attempt to calm her nerves, but her outburst was excruciatingly violent, nonetheless, "What is that son of a bitch doing back here?"

"Mrs. Adler," Arthur acknowledged first-and-foremost. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip as he searched for an explanation that would make sense in her bothered mind. "The O'Driscoll saved my life."

"And, why does that matter?" Sadie retorts. "He is apart of the gang that killed my husband. Have you forgotten about that?"

"How can I, miss?" Arthur grumbled, inspecting the cigarette that was budged in between his fingers. He brought it up to his lips and inhaled sharply once more, flicking it towards the mucky ground. He felt his temper heighten, but he made sure to keep it under control. He heaved a sharp breath, and replied in a mellow tone, "Listen, I don't like him much more than you do. John and Bill convinced me to let him come back to camp since he not only saved my life, but I-he-just look at him."

Sadie grudgingly turned her head to survey the O'Driscoll, only to find him tending to the gang's horses at the hitching posts. A small smile grazed his lips, but Sadie despised the gesture.

Her upper lip curled, displeased.

"I believe he's a piece of shit, pulling on some act so y'all would feel sorry for him," mumbled Sadie, "It was his choice to join those terrible men. Everyone knows about them."

"Maybe, but maybe it wasn't his choice after all," Arthur glanced over at Kieran for a short moment. He retracted his gaze to stare at Sadie, who seemed to have grown more at ease as she spoke. Intrigued in the meaning of his words, she let him explain without any interruption, "Maybe, John and Bill are right about 'im, as dumb as they can be, sometimes. In my opinion, I'm thinkin' he was just some kid on the run from whatever he's been runnin' from all along. Then, he just got caught up with them."

"You don't know for sure," Sadie's impression of the O'Driscoll was stiff, and wasn't going to shift into much else for a while.

"Actions tell a lot about someone, you know."

"Yeah, well, people will do anything to save their own ass when it's at jeopardy."

"Maybe, but he could've let me get shot. It was a split-second decision. I believe he ain't all that bad, but it doesn't mean he's off the hook."

Sadie remained silent and crossed her arms over her chest. She trained a firm eye on Kieran in speculation, digesting Arthur's judgment.

Arthur laughed at her critical stare.

"He shakes more than a leaf in the fall, Mrs. Adler. The most harm he could do is punch you in the arm."

Unconsciously, Sadie snickered at the amusing comparison.

As she did so, Arthur grinned. He was grateful that the widow may not kill the O'Driscoll in his sleep, after all. He mentally exhaled in relaxation at the sheer thought. Who knows, Kieran may have inside information that could be useful, his subconscious resonated, that's to hopin' her anger stays suppressed, as unpredictable as she can be.

Knocking Arthur out of his train of thoughts, Sadie pointed towards the outskirts of camp and prompted aloud, "who the hell is that ginger riding on the back of Charles' horse?"

Hey guys, it is me, back from a four month break since I haven't updated. I am absolutely sorry for that, but as usual, school and life got in the way. It's better to receive an update than to never get one though, so I'm happy to inform you all that Chapter 5 has finally came. To all of you that have waited and worried that I wouldn't update—don't worry, I'm not leaving this story hanging; ever. It will end and be finalized. I'm determined. I will be starting Chapter 6 very soon and will update as soon as possible. I hope you enjoy this chapter, I was trying to reach 8k words for you all, but I'm 500 short :[

Next chapter will be filled of celebrations and dialogue between the pair that we love. I also want to add some John, Abigail, and Arthur drama at some point. It will entail what you may expect.

Above all, thanks to everyone that has been following this story and reviewed! Reviews motivate me so much, so if you'd like, go ahead and let me know what you think!