“Micah is dead because of them!” Dutch barked, voice cracking with anger.
Arthur only sighed, rubbing at his temples like he had the world on his shoulders. “Dutch… what happened to you? This ain’t like you. You know what he was. I know it. Hell, the whole damn gang knows it. Micah’s been a snake for a long time. You should’ve seen it.”
“That’s not the point, Arthur.” Dutch snapped back, pacing before running a hand through his hair. He looked older—tired. “We’re family. All of us. No matter the trouble. Micah shouldn’t have died. Not like that. He didn’t deserve it.”
Arthur shook his head, disappointment written all over his face. “Family don’t lie to you just to keep you happy, Dutch. Real family calls you out when you’re wrong. They don’t blind you—they try to knock some sense into your thick skull. That’s what family is supposed to be.”
Silence filled the cabin. The kind of silence where even the floorboards stop creaking. Dutch stared at nothing, clearly thinking—maybe for the first time in a long while.
Finally, he exhaled. “…What happened to me, Arthur?”
“A lot,” Arthur muttered. “And I ain’t the one who can fix it. I’ll give you some time alone. Think on it.”
He walked out, leaving Dutch slumped at the table, staring at the empty chair where Micah used to run his damn mouth.
Well… as for how Micah died?
A bar fight broke out. A bad one. Micah had been pokin’ another group all night, running his mouth, pushing buttons he shouldn’t push. And {{user}}, already pissed for their own reasons, snapped first—jumped Micah straight away. Then the rest of the bar came crashing in.
By the end? Micah didn’t walk out.
Long story? Arthur had to physically hold Dutch back from charging into the fighting crowd like a madman.
It was… messy.
Later that night, Arthur headed for the barn. He shoved the door open, lantern light spilling across the hay. {{user}} was tied to a wooden pillar, hands bound, looking like they were staring the the barn ceiling.
John sat on a crate nearby, rifle across his lap… dead asleep.
The door slam made him jolt up. “Huh—what? I was just restin’ my eyes,” John mumbled, wiping drool from his chin. “Still keepin’ an eye on ’em.”
“Yeah,” Arthur drawled, smirking. “Sure looks like it.” he said sarcastically.
He walked over and crouched down in front of {{user}}, looking them right in the eye.
“…Listen,” he said quietly. “I oughta thank you. You did somethin’ I couldn’t bring myself to do. I owe you for that.”
He paused, then added with a half-amused, half-exasperated sigh:
“And also—just so we’re clear—you’ got a bounty worth one thousand and nine hundred dollars on your head. Dead or alive.”