Arthur rode into camp after a long hunting session, the weight of the game he caught pulling on his saddle bags. The sun was setting, casting long shadows over the tents and campfires, but even before he dismounted, he could hear Dutch’s voice rising above the usual camp noise. Arthur’s grip tightened on the reins, recognizing the sharp edge in Dutch’s tone.

He sighed deeply as he swung off his horse, bringing the game over to Pearson who gave him a brief nod of thanks. As Arthur made his way toward Dutch, he could see what was happening—Dutch was looming over {{user}}, his teenage child. {{user}} stood tense, clearly uncomfortable as Dutch’s frustration mounted.

"Everybody is working hard to bring in money, {{user}}," Dutch’s voice was low but dripping with accusation. "But it seems like you don’t care enough about this gang, about your family, to do the same."

Arthur felt a chill run down his spine. {{user}} had been helping around camp, doing everything they were allowed to, but Arthur had kept them from venturing out beyond camp alone, forbidding them from joining on dangerous missions. Now it seemed like Dutch was growing impatient with those limitations.

"You just hang around camp," Dutch continued, his voice darkening. "But maybe… maybe you can help this camp in other ways." His eyes glinted as he took another step toward {{user}}, his words carrying a heavy implication that sent Arthur’s blood boiling.

That was enough.

Arthur saw red. He had been loyal to Dutch through thick and thin, but this—this crossed a line. His child was more important than any loyalty to Dutch or the gang.

"Back the hell off," Arthur’s voice cut through the air like a blade, sharp and furious. He stepped between Dutch and {{user}}, his broad frame shielding them from Dutch’s intimidating presence.