Goddamn, Arthur Morgan hated being third in command of the Van der Linde Gang.

No, scratch that. He was now SECOND in command, and he hated that even worse. It meant he had to keep his cool while everyone else around him was faltering, even though he himself was left reeling from current events. It also meant that people were going to be turning to him for the advice their former leader used to dispense so easily, as if he could give it.

The thought caused him to grit his teeth as he tightened his grip on the reins. He couldn't escape the countless reminders of Dutch's fall back in Blackwater, and it both stung and left him numb like the vicious winter wind of the Grizzlies that currently assailed him. Maybe, when adrenaline and the desperation to protect his family wore off, he would have time to break down in private. Dutch Van der Linde had been a father in a way his biological one never could be. Dutch had picked him up off the street when he was nothing, taught him how to ride and shoot and read. He'd respected his opinions so much that he made Arthur the official tie-breaker whenever he and Hosea couldn't agree on something. Dutch gave him the jobs he would trust with no lesser associate. Dutch believed in him.

And because Dutch had believed in him, he had to make sure the family he'd pieced together stayed together and was kept safe. That was what his mentor would have wanted most.

"Morgan, that you?" a gruff voice called out through the blowing snow. Arthur jumped a bit, disgusted with himself for being caught off guard, especially when they were on the lam. The voice could only belong to one person though, so he rode on towards the flickering lamplight.

"Yeah, it's me. You find any supplies yet Micah?" That had been his task, to find anything to aid the struggling band of refugees while Arthur searched for shelter and Hosea stayed with and calmed the party. Once he'd located the abandoned mining town of Colter and led them to it, Arthur had gone off in hopes of catching up with the other scout.

"Sure did. Whole little farmstead. Looked like they was havin' a nice party. It ain't far, just a ways down the valley here. Between you an' me, we could clear the place I reckon."

Arthur knitted his brow. After everything that had happened to the gang, now was not the time to be going anywhere guns blazing. Micah, since day one, had been a loose cannon, and what he and Hosea had considered a liability. Dutch ignored their counsel on that matter and had welcomed him in with open arms. Then, he'd taken Micah's advice and pulled that ferry heist despite their protests. Now he was dead, but Micah had somehow been able to walk away. They needed him at the moment, Arthur could recognize that, but that didn't mean he had to like it. "Or I could go and try an' convince 'em to help out a poor feller stuck in a blizzard. Let's not be reckless; there are too many people back in Colter that need us."

Micah snorted before turning and riding on ahead to show the way. "We got too much dead weight at the camp. What the hell do those bums Uncle an' Reverend contribute? And the women, they don't even sleep with ya. What good are they?"

"Bell." Arthur's tone took a hard edge, the last warning shot he was going to give Micah. If he thought that just because Dutch had taken a shine to him, he could be free with his words and toxic opinions about others in their little family, he was dead wrong. Dutch was gone now, and the more he trash-talked, the more he wore down Arthur's patience for his bullshit.

"Whatever. If you wanna keep pets, that's yer business." He said nothing more, thankfully so. If they did come across some supplies, Arthur was going to need help carrying it; would be a shame if he had to put a bullet in the jackass's brain before then.

He hadn't lied, at least. The small farm down the rise was awash with lights, and even from above he could make out the sounds of revelry inside. "I think they've got somethin' to spare," Arthur remarked dryly before pushing ahead down the path. "You oughtta lie low in case negotiations go south. Somewhere with a good vantage."

Micah grunted and gestured towards a cart at the edge of the yard with his head. Once both had dismounted their horses and tethered them at the edge of the property, Arthur waited for Micah to take his position before knocking. The stranger who opened the door reeked of whiskey. "Whatdya want?" he slurred with a sneer. Behind him, Arthur could see the trashed-out nature of the cabin as well as several others deep in the bottle. What the hell kind of farm was this anyhow?

"I'm real sorry to bother ya, mister. My family and I, we got caught in this blizzard, and we desperately need supplies to…"

"We ain't got nothin' to spare." Arthur did his best not to scowl at the ludicrous statement, seeing as everyone inside was living the good life. How did Dutch manage to keep his cool when working with morons like this?

He tried again. "I ain't askin' much, mister, just a can or two o' beans, or…"

Before he could finish his sentence, the sound of a rifle firing rang out across the yard. His heart beat so fast he wondered for a split second if he were having a heart attack, especially when he felt the blood splatter on his face from the man in front of him and saw the crimson pool from his chest. He crumpled lifeless to the ground, and every person within the cabin scrambled for their own firearms. "You bastard!" several of them hollered, all arriving at the same conclusion.

No choice now. What the hell had Micah been thinking? He reached for his revolver and began picking them off before they could gather their wits. Behind him, he could hear Micah doing the same. There was even a shattering of glass as he must have hit a sniper in the window above. Arthur hated to think about how the firefight would have gone with just the two of them had their foes not been completely wasted. When all finally settled, dead bodies littered the already filthy floor.

"The fuck was that?!" Arthur demanded, whipping around to address his cohort.

"There was a dead body in that cart," Micah pointed in annoyance. "These ain't no homesteaders. My money's on O'Driscoll boys."

For once, Micah had a solid point, though he was loathe to admit it. "Couldn't ya have waited until I was outta range first?"

"Did I miss my target?" he demanded with a smug smile.

Arthur scowled. "Damn well gave me a heart attack. Look, why don't you start checkin' out the house and see what supplies you can find. I'll check the barn and make sure we're clear. Maybe they've got some nice horses or somethin'." When all he got was a grunt of acknowledgement, he turned and began to push through the thick snow.

In hindsight, he should have sent Micah to the barn. A rogue O'Driscoll jumped him from the rafters as soon as he slipped inside, but the poor idiot was no match for his raw power despite sending his gun skidding across the floor. All his plan did was annoy Arthur, and that was a very, very bad idea. A few sharp blows to the head, and Arthur began his questioning. "What the hell are you doin' out here?" With no immediate response, he began to choke his victim. "Answer me if you wanna keep breathin', boy!"

"C-Colm wants…there's a…train…" the man gasped.

"Where is Colm?"

The man whimpered again, requiring a few more blows. His face was now bloody. "Camp…near the lake…"

"That'll do." Arthur grabbed him by the lapels and tossed him out the barn door. "Now git before my partner catches you. He ain't as nice as I am." The man didn't need to be told twice as he scrambled to escape into the blizzard. Arthur wondered if he'd even make it out there on foot or if the snow would kill him first. Not his problem.

Before he could turn his attentions to the frightened horse in the back, a high-pitched scream assaulted his ears. "What the hell is it now?!" he cursed, sprinting back to the house. It sure wasn't Micah screaming. When he threw open the door, he found his accomplice wearing a greasy grin as he scooted around a kitchen table, trying to get closer to a dirt-caked woman as they played cat-and-mouse. She continued to scream as she threw bottles at him in an attempt to keep him away, but this only seemed to amuse him.

"MICAH , LEAVE HER ALONE!"

"She's prob'ly one o' them O'Driscolls," he shrugged, continuing to play his game. It took Arthur marching over and shoving him away to get him to let up.

He finally turned to address the terrified lady, who still had not stopped screaming. "Miss, Miss, it's all right now. We mean ya no harm. My partner here's an IDIOT," he threw Micah a withering glare, "but we'll help you out as best we can. Tell me, Miss, who are you?"

She grabbed a knife that had been lying on the table and pointed it at him with a death-grip. "You ain't with them?"

"No ma'am," he shook his head vehemently. "We hate their guts."

"They…they…killed my husband." She broke into a sob, and the knife dipped.

"You lived here?"

The woman nodded as she continued to weep, the knife falling uselessly to her side. "I was hidin' in the cellar…"

"Well, ya can't stay here, Miss. We'll take ya back to our camp until you can figure out what you wanna do, all right?"

"We will?" Micah scowled. He was no doubt thinking of the extra mouth to feed.

"Of course we will," Arthur said pointedly. "We're bad men, but we ain't them. Animals, Dutch woulda said." He winced internally as memories of his deceased mentor came back. He would always be with them, living on as those he'd taken under his wing held true to his ideals. Micah would never understand. "We know how to treat womenfolk proper. Is there anything personal you wanna grab before we head to camp? I'm assumin' my friend cleaned up the vittles and medicine, but..."

The woman's teary eyes darted across the room, and finally settled on the mantle of the fireplace. Eyeing Micah warily, she sniffled and moved to grab a small black-and-white wedding portrait, clutching it to her chest. Then, she thought a moment and moved to the bedside dresser. When she opened the drawer, her face fell. "They took my wedding ring…"

"Wedding ring, huh?" Arthur cast a sideways glance at Micah. "You wouldn't happen to have seen a wedding ring while you were lootin' the place, huh?"

"Filthy O'Driscolls must've stole it," he replied quickly, and Arthur didn't believe him for a second. Wasn't worth starting a fight here, though, not with the distressed woman present.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. If that's it, we'll get you bundled up. The storm is terrible out there. Do ya think you can ride?" Seeing the woman continue to shake, he quickly decided the answer to his own question. "Ne'er mind. You'll ride with me on my horse while we lead yers from the stable alongside us. Micah, you'll bring the supplies, right?"

There was a grunt.

"Let's get goin' then. Snow's only gettin' deeper, and our people need these goods bad."

It wasn't until they set off from the homestead that Arthur finally remembered that he never got an answer to his original question. "I'm sorry, Miss? Ya never did tell me yer name."

"Adler," she whispered into his back as she clutched onto him like a lifeline. The wind carried her words away without his hearing.

"Pardon?"

"Sadie Adler."

"For what it's worth, Ms. Adler, welcome aboard." If only he knew where this train was going now that its conductor was gone.