Chapter 2: Familiar

Arthur felt he could breathe again, felt the unease that had sunk its teeth into his skin withdraw once he returned to Horseshoe Overlook. He hitched his horse, leaning in to smell the horse scent, patting the steed down with a mumbled, "Good boy."

He let his eyes scan across the camp. He saw the familiar faces lounging about or doing chores. He could smell the stew for tonight cooking, could hear the clucking of the chickens behind Pearson's wagon.

He let the words of the Strange Man fade away in his aching head, and pulled out the money from his satchel to take to the donation box. He had been so confused and spooked by his exchange with the man in the black suit, he realized maybe he came back sooner than what he should have, and hoped no one would suspect anything.

Hearing Uncle ramble off a crazy story, camp members' laughter, and even Reverend Swanson's slurred singing all eased him. He felt better now than he had when he awoke this morning. Hell, even the bickering between John and Abigail nearby grounded him, told him everything was fine. Everything was normal.

Arthur went around behind Dutch's tent and tossed the money into the box like it was cursed. He didn't want anything else to do with it. He would tell Strauss the collection was made and would let this whole thing rest.

Out of sight, out of mind, as Uncle would always say.

Speaking of rest, Arthur knew he should take Dutch's advice and go to sleep, but he was no longer tired, no longer reeling from those dreadful feelings he had this morning. Instead, he felt some time alone on the cliff overlooking the Heartlands with his journal would do him some good.

He made his way towards the cliff, stopping by to see Strauss as the scrawny man scribbled on a parchment.

"Hey, I got the money from Mr. Downes. It's been turned in so make sure you scratch it off in your records," Arthur greeted.

The Austrian looked up from his writing, a sleazy smile forming on his face as he peered through his spectacles. "Ah, good, Herr Morgan. I take it he gave you the run around as he did with me? Squabbling little toad."

"You disgust me. And you shame us…if we could be shamed anymore than we already are."

"You and me, we ain't decent…but those folk…they was."

Arthur ignored the faint words in his head, feeling the lingering ache in his skull. "I got the money, alright? Does it matter? Just write it down, and stop loanin' money to fools who can't pay!"

Strauss raised his eyebrows, taken aback by Arthur's snippy answer. "I…I'll be sure to, Mr. Morgan. You look tired from your trip. Perhaps you should rest?"

Arthur waved him off, turning towards the cliff. "I'll do that, thanks."

He only took a few steps before someone called his name. The voice pierced his back, clamping down like the jaws of a man-eating predator. He tensed up, suddenly not feeling too well as he turned around.

Micah strolled over, a crooked smile forming, blue eyes that burned with unbridled mayhem catching Arthur like a trap. He spit out some tobacco, eyes staying on Arthur.

Arthur gritted his teeth, sickness swelling within him, like he had been kicked in the stomach and was about to puke. He sensed the familiar dread from this morning once more, but with it he felt his nerves burn afire with hate. Hate he had never known before.

"You're back early, cowpoke. You musta rode like the wind to get there and back. Did the feller give ya any trouble?"

"It ain't none of your business."

Micah chuckled, a low, venomous sound that sickened Arthur further. "Still constipated from this mornin', huh? I heard 'bout your little nightmare or whatever. Come now, Morgan, we're far too deep in this game to let our consciousness catch up. Don't turn yellow now."

"Watch it," Arthur advised.

The warning just enticed Micah, and he stepped closer to Arthur, as if to goad him. "Watch what exactly, cowpoke? I'm just givin' friendly advice."

"I believe in winners and losers…and nothing else besides."

The hate burned within him like the tip of a branding iron scalding flesh. Arthur wasn't sure where it came from. He never liked Micah, never trusted him, and never understood what Dutch saw in him. But this…this was different. This brought back all those terrible feelings from this morning, and he couldn't ignore it.

Arthur slammed his fist into the side of Micah's face. The punch made Micah stumble, and he laughed, holding his jaw.

"You gotta do better than that, Morgan."

The taunt riled him. He moved in and punched Micah a few more times. Micah took the swings, but countered with his own that caught Arthur in the gut. His arms were snagged before he could do anymore damage to Micah. Familiar voices yelled in his ears, but Arthur saw red when he glared at the sneering Micah. He fought whoever had their hold on him.

"Let me go, let me go right now, dammit!"

"Arthur, what the hell has gotten into you?!" Javier yelled.

"Arthur, knock it off. This ain't like you!" John snapped.

They each held one arm, trying to hold him back, but Arthur's strength slid them across the dirt as they tugged. Several camp members came around, drawn in by the sounds of the fight.

Micah laughed, amused as he spat out reddish-brown saliva that was blood mixed with tobacco. "It's alright boys, he's just delusional. Still messed up from his bad dream this mornin'!"

"Shut yer goddamn mouth ya fuckin' turd," Sean snapped as he and Bill came into view from Arthur's right side. "Ya probably deserved the ass beatin' in the first place."

"Arthur, calm down!" John said, more pleading than demanding this time.

"What in God's name is goin' on over here?"

It was Hosea, approaching with Pearson and Grimshaw, and he looked miffed. A single glance over of the situation, and he pointed at Arthur.

"Arthur, stop this at once."

Arthur stopped. Javier and John slowly let him go, but remained ready to grab him if he lunged for Micah once more. Micah sneered at Arthur, blue eyes wild and amused.

"Yeah, cowpoke. You better listen to your papa like a good little boy."

Micah stepped towards Arthur with that jeer, clapping his hands. Sean balled a fist next to him, ready to jump in next as always.

Hosea didn't have time to say anything else. The gang parted to allow their leader through and he stopped beside Hosea and Susan, a hardened scowl creasing his face.

"What the hell is going on?"

Dutch's angered voice caught them by surprise. Micah tossed up his hands in surrender, slinking backwards away from Arthur.

"Boss, I don't know what happened! He just went off on me!"

"That's a fuckin' lie if I ever heard one! That ain't what I saw!" Sean drawled.

"Sean, shut up," Dutch snapped.

Arthur straightened his jacket, still glaring at Micah, but he tore his eyes away to look to Dutch and Hosea. Their disappointed glares hit him hard, and they awaited an explanation. Arthur suddenly felt like a child in trouble in front of his parents. It killed his temper real quick.

"I...I uhh…"

Arthur didn't know what to say. He had never lost his temper in such a way before. He had never felt such raw hatred before. Shame crept over him, embarrassed that he went off in such a way. He was the top enforcer of the gang. It was his job to prevent these kinds of fights in the first place.

He wasn't about to make an excuse. This fell on him and him alone. "Yeah, I went off on him."

"Why?"

"I don't rightly know."

Dutch heaved a sigh. "Arthur, you're supposed to prevent fights, not start them."

"I know."

"I-I just want to say, that I was, uh, just tryin' to have a conversation with 'ol Arthur, and I may have unintentionally offended him in some way. For that, I'm really sorry."

Arthur narrowed his eyes on Micah. "Yeah, I'm real sorry too."

The venom in his voice was more noticeable than he intended. Dutch nodded at Grimshaw with a small wave of his hand before his eyes went back to Arthur.

Grimshaw shoved nearby onlookers and hollered, "Alright, enough gawkin'! Back to work, all of you!"

Arthur caught the worried glances of John, Javier, and Sean before they reluctantly left his side. He overheard Karen mumble, "Fucker deserved it anyway."

Micah stepped towards Dutch with a poorly attempted appeasing smile. "Boss, I just-"

Dutch held up a hand to cut him off. "Just stay out of trouble, Mr. Bell."

"Of course, boss."

Micah slunk away after one last glare at Arthur. Dutch rubbed his temple, sighing as Hosea glared at Micah's back as he retreated like a kicked dog.

"Come on, let's go to my tent for a moment," Dutch said.

Arthur followed the two men who raised him. They entered Dutch's tent, although Arthur could feel everyone's stares on him. Molly was in the tent reading, and Dutch cleared his throat.

"Molly, my dear, could you give us a minute?"

She closed her book, looking between the men in light confusion. "Sure, Dutch."

She left the tent, and Dutch closed the drape to give them some privacy. Arthur rubbed the back of his neck, still trying to figure out exactly what came over him. Someone patted his back, and it brought him out from his thoughts and he saw Hosea, a reassuring smile accenting his aged face.

Dutch sighed. "You don't look well, son. I-I thought a ride out to collect that debt would clear your mind. What's bothering you? Talk to us."

Arthur groaned inwardly. He would've much preferred getting a scolding from Dutch and Hosea over this. He looked between them, both looking concerned and waiting for him to open up.

"What was that dream about? You obviously need to talk about it…get it off your chest," Hosea said.

Arthur shook his head. "I don't even remember it! I…I've just bit off more than I can chew these past few days, is all. And-And I just took it out on Micah."

Hosea snorted, unconvinced. "You mean the little shit just finally goaded you into giving him a beating."

"Hosea."

"What?" Hosea grumbled, glaring at his old friend. "It's the truth. All he has done these past few weeks is get us into more trouble! And now that he's back, he's done nothing but antagonize camp members. You know my feelings about him, Dutch. Arthur feels the same way."

"There's no doubt he started it," Dutch appeased, showing his palms with a slight upcurve of his lips. "I ain't disagreeing 'bout his behavior as of late, Hosea. He's on thin ice, and he knows it."

"He sure ain't acting like it."

"Look," Dutch said, looking between Hosea and Arthur, hands going to his chest. "I'll have a chat with him about his-"

"No!" Arthur snapped.

He startled them both. He blinked and swallowed, realizing his outburst, and not exactly understanding the reason behind it. Hosea looked more concerned now, but Dutch's dark brows furrowed more into suspicion.

"No, what?" he asked.

"Don't talk to him. It's fine, Dutch. It's on me."

"It ain't fine. You are worrying me, son. Talk to me. Have I asked too much of you as of late?"

"No, 'course not."

"I know we've been through a lot these past few weeks, but we are slowly recuperating, Arthur. Everything's gonna turn out alright."

"I know."

Dutch put a hand on Arthur's shoulder, his face softening. "Then please, get some rest."

Arthur nodded, looking away from them and slipping out of the tent. He went straight over to his own tent. He saw Sean and Lenny waiting for him. Arthur grumbled, glancing over his shoulder. Dutch had opened his drape, and now he and Hosea watched him. Their heads were slightly turned towards each other as they whispered.

Sean folded his arms as Arthur came up. "You better've not got in trouble."

Arthur chuckled. "And what if I did? You gonna go give Dutch a piece of your mind?"

"I would if I had to!"

Lenny snickered beside him. "Uh-huh sure, Sean."

"You callin' me a liar? I'll give that fuckin' stook a piece of my mind as well!"

"You ain't givin' no one a piece of nothin'," Arthur said, pointing a finger at Sean's face. "Keep outta it."

Sean scowled. "Hey, I'm just tryin' to watch out fer ya."

"I ain't just some dumb kid. I've lived a lifetime of shit already."

Those inner words brought some kind of sadness over him, but also a familiar respect. Arthur smiled, reaching out and playfully smacking Sean's head.

"I know, I know. Just don't wantcha to get in trouble. It'll be taken care of. Leave it be, kid. You too, Lenny."

Lenny dipped his head. "Whatever you say, Arthur. We were just checking on you."

"He taught me to judge people for what they are. Not how they look. But one thing he couldn't teach me was…how not to care."

"I'm fine. I appreciate it, just get outta here before you get in trouble now. Go on, get."

Arthur watched them go before moving over to his cot. He took off his gun-belt and satchel, even his hat. He sat on his bed and rubbed his face with a groan. He looked over the camp. He was sure his scuffle with Micah was the camp's main gossip right now. He didn't care.

Arthur lied down on his cot and went to sleep.

His sleep was afflicted with strange and familiar voices, but none of their words and pleas and demands made sense. He heard crying and screams, heard accusations of betrayal and mourning of unknown faces. A terrible cough echoed within the shadows of his dream, and Arthur felt the burn in his chest as he slept. He saw blurry images of blood on his hands, saw an old black and white photo of the gang ripped in half.

"Aside from my Jake…you're the best man I've known."

"When I was a kid out east, they said there were dragons in the west. Well…I guess we found them. Found them or made them or…became them."

"You saved my life more than once…to give mine for yours…it's as it should be."

"My whole life I tried to fight change. It's a waste…I see that now…"

"There is nothing to be afraid of, Mr. Morgan. Take a gamble that love exists…and do a loving act."

"There's a good man within you, Arthur. But he is wrestling with a giant. And the giant, wins, time and again."

"Ain't never gonna see my son grow up, ain't never gonna atone for my sins, ain't never nothin' but gonna get shot for 'em. I hope God can forgive me for what I done on this earth 'cause ain't much I'm proud of. And a whole lot I hope he's forgotten about."

Arthur was in a large boat of some kind. He looked out across the water, looking for any sign of land, but there was none. Looking down into the river, it was the darkest, murkiest waves he'd ever seen. So muddled, not even his reflection shone.

He awoke to someone lightly shaking him, his name coming off their lips in a gentle call. Arthur raised up, the fresh, confusing dreams swirling in his head. He rubbed one eye, peering at Hosea as his father figure held out a bowl of steaming stew.

"I didn't want to wake you, but you need to eat," Hosea said.

Arthur gave a grateful nod, taking the bowl. "Thanks."

Hosea leaned on the table across from Arthur as he dug into the stew. It was dark now, and Arthur could hear Javier playing his guitar, singing in Spanish to others around the campfire. Nearby, Sean followed Karen with drunken mumbles as she cursed profanities with a bottle in her hand.

"You looked like you were having another bad dream. Although, not near as bad as the one this morning," Hosea informed.

"It's nothin'."

"You're full of shit."

Arthur muffled a laugh as he took another bite of delicious stew. "There's no pullin' the wool over your eyes, old man."

"Dutch and I practically raised you, Arthur. If I'm unable to tell if something's wrong with you, then I did a piss poor job."

"You got a point there."

"Talk to me, son. What's eating you?"

Arthur finished his bowl and sat it to the side. He kept his head lowered, not sure of what to say. He sighed in frustration. "I…I don't know. The nightmare this mornin', it was the worst feelin' I ever felt in my life, and I don't even know why…or what it was. I think…I think everyone was dead…or dyin'. That the gang was…torn apart."

Hosea moved over and sat beside Arthur on the cot, propping his arms on his thighs, slightly bent forward as Arthur was.

"You're worried about the future, sounds like," he said.

Arthur shrugged. "I guess."

"That ill-fated ferry job…I feel…well, sometimes I feel it will be the beginning of the end for us all."

Arthur swallowed. "Yeah, me too."

"But…we've been through tough times like this before. We just have to stick together and be smart. It will blow over. Don't let it eat at you, Arthur. We'll make it."

Hosea was more often a realist over an optimist, but Arthur felt his father-figure was trying to comfort him more than anything, and he was moved by that.

"I wish I had acquired wisdom at less of a price."

"Thanks, Hosea."

Hosea touched his back. "Get some rest."

He rose to his feet. Arthur looked up at him, his heart felt more at ease now, but a sudden thought crossed his mind.

"Hosea."

"Yeah?"

"The King will always lose his way if he loses his Compass. Don't let him seek solace with the Viper, for it will unleash the darkness that lurks within his heart."

Arthur gauged Hosea's expression, saw confusion fall over him. "You know what it means? Is it from a book or something?"

"Not that I've ever read. Where did you hear it?"

Arthur knew if he told Hosea or anyone else about the well-dressed stranger that they would think he had gone completely insane. Which was probably true. He weakly waved him off. "It's nothin'. Forget 'bout it."

"Sounds like a riddle of some sorts."

Arthur silently nodded. He assumed as much, considering the man who first spoke them. He just didn't know what the words meant. He would have to figure it out on his own.

"Get some rest, Arthur."

Arthur watched as Hosea walked away. With a tired sigh, Arthur laid down once more. His stomach churned with apprehension and he prayed he wasn't plagued by more confusing dreams.

When dawn broke, Arthur rode out to do some hunting and clear his head. His normal hunting grounds had been down by the Dakota River, but now Arthur wanted to avoid it altogether. He chose a new area instead, east into the plains and ragged buttes where the bison roamed.

He didn't see much wildlife in the dim morning light, the temperatures just sharp enough to bite skin and give a chill. He avoided the buffalo, remembering the recent hunt he had with Charles with the buffalo poachers.

Arthur started to think he wouldn't have much luck in hunting out here, but he didn't want to return to camp just yet. While letting Ace graze on the green grass of plains, Arthur perched himself on a rocky outcrop overlooking the Heartlands. He wrote in his journal. His thoughts mostly, but he also tried to remember every detail of the dream he had, and the voices he heard. Most of the voices he knew, but a couple were unknown to him, although their words were just as impacting as the familiar ones.

He doodled afterwards. The pencil scratched dark lines on a fresh page, forming shapes…symbols. He studied them. He drew a crown, a rattler poised to strike, and a compass.

The more Arthur stared at the drawings, the more his head hurt. They burned into his eyes, his hearing ringing, faint voices and cries and gunshots filling his head, until the caws of retreating crows in the sky snapped him back to reality.

Slapping the journal shut, Arthur got to his feet and dusted himself off. He walked over to Ace and mounted the steed, kicking the horse into a gallop to return to camp.

He lost track of time. It was mid-morning now. And he returned to camp without any food.

When he arrived, he hitched his horse and dismounted. He immediately took notice of all the activity within camp, activity that normally didn't stir until afternoon. Arthur scratched the light scruff on his chin, looking around. Were they packing?

While heading for Dutch's tent, he nearly barreled into Sadie, who carried a saddle.

"Oh, sorry Mrs. Adler, I-"

He trailed off when he caught her eyes. There was still so much sorrow there, but Arthur saw the burning of…something else. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but it stirred something within him.

"They turned me into a monster, Arthur…"

Just like the sudden, overcoming emotions that hit him with John yesterday, Arthur felt just the same right here suddenly. He felt he needed to hug her. He barely knew the woman, but could feel…knew this deep respect and some sort of affection that he held in his heart.

In the weeks since they've saved her, Sadie had slowly integrated into the group. She didn't cry as much, but she still mourned her husband fiercely. She was more brazen, hardened, with a fire in her eyes that Arthur suddenly understood on a much deeper level.

"What?" Sadie asked.

Arthur stuttered. "U-Uh, s-sorry, Sadie. Excuse me."

As he slipped by, he realized he used her first name that time. He had never done that before. As he neared Dutch's tent, he heard Hosea's voice, slightly raised and tense.

"So…we just keep heading east. Is that the plan?"

"For now," Dutch said.

Arthur came around, the flap open, his father figures sitting across from each other. Dutch had a large map spread out, looking it over. Hosea barely acknowledged Arthur, and appeared to be lacking a good morning coffee.

"And when do we stop? When we reach Paris?" he grumbled.

Like instinct, Dutch reacted with a quip. "Oh, that'd be nice, join the Commune? We stop when we find someplace sensible, shake them that's following us and lie low."

Arthur looked between them. "So, we movin'?"

Dutch barely nodded. "Yeah."

Hosea gestured around them. "And this is lying low? Turned into a bunch of killers, I mean it. We ain't even got the delusion of being anything but a bunch of killers."

Dutch's patience started to wear thin. "We are just tryin' to survive, Hosea…we don't have a choice. This'll end soon."

Hosea got up out of his chair and pointed at Dutch. "Damn right, it will!"

He left the tent behind, leaving Arthur feeling like a child stuck in-between the argument of his parents. He turned to Dutch, seeing his mentor slightly shake his head as another joke found its way to his lips.

"Constipated as usual."

Arthur joined him at the map, curious to see what was up. There were a few areas marked already, probably all recently debated on which would be their next settlement.

"I had a talk with Micah last night…bout his behavior," Dutch said. "And well, he told me of a spot we can lie low. Look here." He pointed to a place to the south of the map. "Dewberry Creek, he said."

Arthur didn't like the idea, or the person behind it, and sighed. "Okay…"

"Maybe you and Charles can go take a look? Clear off anyone you find before the whole lot of us move in looking so conspicuous."

"And how we gonna do that?"

Arthur knew the joke before his father figure even said it. "I don't know. Start dancing?"

Arthur clenched his jaw, backing out of the tent. "Looks like I've turned into the goddamn errand boy."

Dutch rose and followed him out. "You have turned into my son! You worry, because I worry. We are just the same!"

That conversation felt eerily familiar, but Arthur cast it aside. He found Charles Smith nearby helping pack up some of the camp's supplies.

"Hey Charles, come on. I need you for something."

The burly half-Native American, half-black man stopped what he was doing and came over to Arthur.

He gave a curious look, but didn't question Arthur. "Okay, sure."

Charles was reliable, collected, and always ready to take action. There were few men that Arthur knew who would have his back no matter what, and Charles was one of them. He respected the man, not just for his prowess, but for his loyalty and friendship. Arthur was always happy to ride with him.

"You're lucky. You got the chance to…to do something better…"

Charles picked up his weapons nearby and they walked to their horses. They mounted up after checking their horses over and making sure they had everything they needed. Arthur led the way. Dewberry Creek was to the southeast, over the state line into the state of Lemoyne.

"So, where are we going?" Charles asked as he moved Taima up beside Ace.

"Find a new spot to camp. After that mess back in Valentine…we have to. S'pose to check out an area called Dewberry Creek."

Charles sounded surprised. "That's south."

"Is that a problem?"

"No, not that. It's just…I've only known Dutch for a few months, but…the way he talks, I never thought I'd see him wanting to head south."

"You ain't the only one," Arthur admitted. "To be honest…every bone in my body's tellin' me not to go south. Like we'll be walkin' into a land of monsters and curses."

"From what I heard…probably."

Arthur chuckled. At least someone agreed with him. Just like the familiar chat with Dutch earlier, this ride seemed familiar. And the farther they rode south, the more his gut twisted. He fleetingly thought back to the well-dressed Stranger, and his words.

"It's yet to happen, and yet, you've already experienced it."

Arthur shook the Stranger's lucid, articulate voice from his head after Charles called his name.

"Huh?"

Charles dark eyes studied him as they cantered along the prairie trails. "You alright? You haven't been yourself for a couple of days."

"I'm fine."

Charles wasn't fooled. Arthur wasn't surprised by it either.

"It's not my place to pry. I'm just…concerned."

Arthur weakly laughed. "Have I become the camp gossip with my bad dream and goin' off on Micah?"

"He had it coming. Besides…I think most folks are just worried about you just the same."

"Nah."

Charles slightly shook his head. "Whatever you say. Just remember that I will help you with whatever I am able to."

"I appreciate that, Charles. For now, let's just see what we can find for a new camp. Folks are countin' on us."

"Understood."

A/N: I am very sorry for the wait on this chapter! Each time I tried to work on it, something would come up or I was sick and omg O.o Anyways, I hope this was worth the wait. Sorry it's a little short! ^^' The storyline from the game will start changing more once they reach Clemens Point, btw! Thanks for reading and reviewing and being so patient! Have a good weekend! :D