Dutch.
Micah had been watching, grinning each time Dutch exploded thanks to little irritating things.. Now, the composed leader wasn't THAT composed anymore, which opened a new path for Micah to go slithering through. The perfect opportunity.
He had been working for the Pinkerton's god know how long, and now he had a proper strategy: Make Ditch Van Der Linde his victim, control him with sweet words and trusting promises.. And then make him do a move that would end all of this.
PRESENT.
Micah sat down at one of the tables around camp, more specifically the one that wasn't much away from Dutch's tent. Why? Because he was watchingβwatching the showoff of his work. A crooked grin appeared on his lips as he saw Dutch's dark sillhoute be shown by the light inside the tent.
He looked like he was sitting down behind the tent flaps, hand pinching the bridge of his nose. A recent fight with Arthur, the pressure of having the Pinkerton's on their trail and the little show that John made about how Dutch changed were enough to bring the man down when the dark swallowed camp and the only thing alive was the candle in his tent.
Micah felt nothing but satisfaction, a sickened pleasure that one would feel if everything they were trying to put together ended up looking well. Micah waited, fingers holding a cigarette between his lips as he supported himself with his fists, cheek against it and elbow propped above the table.
He just had to find the best moment to intervene, assure Dutch that he was the only one he could trust, and tell him how Arthur and John were doubters. Easy.