Dutch would kill him if he saw this, he knew.

Arthur's arm was wrapped firmly around your middle, pulling your back flush to his chest. You gasped quietly as the horse jerked. Oh, how he hoped Hell wasn't real. Here you were, all jumpy and nervous your first time riding, and here he was, wanting your hand on his belt. He'd burn for eternity at this rate.

You'd expressed wanting to learn to ride before, but the gang certainly didn't have any country club ponies for easy learning. The other option? Learning from an experienced rider, and with Dutch being busy, Arthur stepped up. He just didn't realize how jittery you were. Not to mention, you were supposed to be sitting behind him at first. Only, you were too worried you'd fall off. You trusted him to hold you, to let you sit in front of him, so you'd be safe.

He wanted to cut his arms off, just to put his mind, upstairs and downstairs, at peace.

"Shh... no, don't jerk," he muttered in your ear. He'd earned at least two bullets in his head by now. Dutch had two rules; loyalty, of course, and two: "Keep your grimy hands off of my daughter."

At least he had morals. Right now, though? He was just as disobedient as Micah.