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After Boadicea, he never really connected with another horse. There was Charles’ horse, Taima during their brief time up in the mountains, but she was only temporary. Then there was the Tennessee Walker stallion he stole from the Adler Ranch. He was a good horse, stood his ground, but Arthur handled mares better. When Hosea presented him with a Shire as big as a boulder, he rode him alongside the other and Silver Dollar to Valentine to sell him. Hosea suggested a number of times that he buy a new horse to replace Boadicea, but he could never bring himself to actually do it. It just felt wrong. Still, when the stable boy was leading the unruly bastard of a Shire away, Arthur’s eye got caught on one of the horses. A small, palomino mare with a roached mane and a tail covered in mange. She practically folded herself into one small corner by the end of her stall. The stable boy reached out to her, but she just sneered at him in fear.
“ Well, what’s with her? “ he asked, pointing at her while the horse stood with her ears back.
“ That little miss? Some feller brought her in. You won’t find a horse more skittish than her. Barely can sell her cause ‘o that. “ the owner said with a sigh.
“ Well, how much you sellin’ her for? “
Arthur had walked out of that stable with a mare frightened for her life and with 15 dollars less in his pockets. Hosea questioned his choices but he was happy nonetheless about Arthur finally getting his own horse again. Difficult didn’t even begin to describe the ride back to camp. The stable owner was true to his word. This mare, who was just barely bigger than The Count, got spooked by every forest critter they came across, not to mention she was barely saddle broke. No wonder the previous feller left her here. Still, his concerns remained. Back at camp he gave her a bit of space. The mare avoided him, the other horses too. Although Taima’s docile nature did have some calming effect on her, she stayed to herself. For the rest of the day, Arthur found himself hovering over her from a distance.
“ Are you sure about this, Arthur? “ Dutch asked him the next day. “ The poor horse is covered in everything you can imagine. “
The two of them stood near Arthur’s wagon. The small patch of grass there was the only place she seemed content enough. To any other man she might’ve looked calm, but to him she looked like she’d be ready to bolt any minute.
“ I know, Dutch! I just- “ he let out a frustrated noise. “ I took pity on the thing. ‘Sides, if I hadn’t bought her, she was set to die sooner or later. “
“ Whatever you say son. “
Something happened to her that was clear. A horse this young and scared was, unfortunately, easy to come by. Some sheep-fucker probably dumped her in Valentine, then drank himself to the grave with the money he got off of the mare. In a way, he saw himself in the thing. It was silly, but he could see small Arthur witnessing his father’s hanging, forced to live on the streets afraid of anything and everything. Of course, they were both entirely different things. The only thing keeping them in the same boat was the fact that they were both Morgans.
Dutch saved him however. Hosea too. They taught him to read, write and hunt. Taught him to survive. He could, and can save this mare. That’s how Arthur found himself observing her everyday. Each day, after chores were done and errands were made he would sit down next to the wheel of his wagon and watch. The animal noticed him right away, ears snapped back just like at the stable boy. When he didn’t move, her ears went back forward and her muscles loosened. Arthur would dot down the happenings of the day in his journal, pick at the grass or just simply sleep. Every now and then, he’d sit closer and closer but wouldn’t pay any attention to her whatsoever. Let her come to him, not Arthur to her.
It was probably during the week where Arthur had done everything other than break Micah out of jail when he felt air blow on his hand. He was miles away, idly flipping the pages of his journal before he looked up to see the palomino mare, although shy and timid, make an effort to sniff his hand.
“ Oh, hello. “ he’d said, quietly, careful to not scare her off.
She stretched her neck out, like one of them giraffes, still keeping her body as far away from him as she could. The mare took great interest in the journal he placed down into his lap, her hot breath rustling the pages of the worn book.
“ You like it, girl? “ he questioned while sliding the journal closer to the horse. A few more curious sniffs and she’d left him alone. Back to the grass she had been grazing on so diligently.
She would continue to seek out affection like this the following days. The animal didn’t seem to be bothered or scared by Arthur’s presence anymore. She was still wary of the others, horses and people alike, even that O’Driscoll boy Kieran who was loved by every mount in camp. She almost bit his fingers off when Kieran tried to reach out to her, which, admittedly, got a laugh out of Arthur. After a few tries, Arthur was able to gently place his hands on her nose and following a few more, he was able to pet her head. Despite all the mange and all other possible infections, the hair on her small head was rather soft. The issue with her tail was still present. He’d have to play barber and cut it short, that's no doubt.
Earning the mare’s trust finally came to fruition when he was finally able to brush and wash all of the dust and mud off of her body. He hitched her up at one of the posts, still relatively far away from the others’ horses. He borrowed a bucket from Pearson’s station, a wet rag and the brush from his satchel. It was tiring, his shoulder ached by the time he was done but after many grueling hours, her palomino coat regained its shine. Arthur returned the bucket to Pearson after he sloshed the muddy water out to the grass. With her clean, he could finally get to work on her tail. He brandished his knife and began cutting away at her tail until it reached only the end of her flank. It looked as if a wolf had mangled her behind. Arthur reminded himself to never work as a barber.
“ You’ve really done a number on her, Mr. Morgan “ Ms. Grimshaw commented once, while bringing him a bowl of stew.
“ I’ve just cleaned her up, ‘das all. “ Arthur said before stuffing his mouth with food. “ Still can’t ride her. “
“ Well, I’m sure the poor thing’s grateful. “
Grateful. That word hadn’t crossed his mind right up until now. She did seem happier now that multiple layers of gunk had been washed off of her. She seeked out him more often, outright walking up to him when he came out to sit with her. Doodles of the mare began to take up the corners of his journal. Still, he had no name to call her by, even after weeks had passed since he’d bought her. But, grateful? That’d be a good starting point. He finished the stew, brought his bowl and spoon to the water bucket to wash them. Around the same time, Mary-Beth had also finished eating and just as Arthur, had brought her utensils for washing.
“ Hey, Mary-Beth? “ he asked her, after a thought crossed his mind.
“ Yes, Arthur? “
“ You told me you read this book a while ago. What was uh…the name of that one girl? “
“ I’m not sure what you mean? “ Mary-Beth turned to him, head tilted to the side.
“ Y’know that one lady, that uh…her name meant ‘grateful’ or somethin’? “
“ Oh! “ Her eyes widened, now that she knew what he was yapping about. “ I believe it was Shakira. “
Arthur could still hear Mary-Beth calling after him as he left. Wondering why he had asked. But Arthur was a man on a mission, who quite shamelessly, has been avoiding breaking that blonde piece-of-shit out of prison, just because of this animal. Maybe out of hope that they’d already hung the bastard. The world wouldn’t lose too much with Mr. Bell gone. He slowed down his pace once he started to approach the palomino mare. She raised her head up, blades of grass hanging out of the corners of her mouth. Arthur reached his hand out for her to sniff once he was only a few feet away. The horse took the invitation, albeit a bit annoyed about the absence of any treats.
“ Hello, Shakira. “ he greeted his mount with a fondness in his voice he had never heard since Boadicea.
The name suited her. As if it was molded to her image. It rolled off of his tongue like no word had ever before. Arthur finally gave back the mare’s identity, or rather, made a fresh one for her. Shakira continued to open up, no longer the scared filly she was weeks ago, covering in the back of her stall. She’d whinny, nicker or just simply raise her tiny head high enough whenever she got a sight of him. Just to get his attention, like an excited child.
A day after, he hitched her up again at a post in camp, tired of Pearson’s constant nagging. He had fastened a bow and a few arrows onto his back before taking out his saddle. Mahogany brown with his initials etched into the horn and the seat. Not as gaudy as Marston’s, but it was worth just as much. He balanced the saddle on his hip, hand gripping the cantle while his other hand placed the blanket gently over Shakira’s back. She almost buckled under the weight of the saddle, no wonder. It had almost swallowed her, clearly designed for a bigger horse. Arthur fastened the back and front cinch before he mounted, swinging his leg over her. It made him look ridiculously larger than he already was. Still, he rode her out. Charles had mentioned sometime ago that he’d spotted a few whitetail deer near Flatneck Station. To Arthur’s surprise, and dismay, the skittishness returned that he had spent weeks driving away. Shakira damn near threw him off after a hare rustled the leaves of a bush.
“ God damn, girl, easy there! “ he managed to blurt out, holding onto life and all that is dear with both of his thighs. After Shakira managed to calm down, making sure that the smallest being wouldn’t hurt her, she continued on her merry way. “ We gotta make ya’ stop doin’ this. Otherwise you’ll kill us both. “
Following this, Arthur had taken her out more. Usually for a few rounds around the camp, into Valentine and back, until it gradually evolved into longer and longer rides. There was the occasional disappointed shake of a head from Ms. Grimshaw after he started skipping out on chores just to get Shakira away from camp. He always had some excuse: collecting debts for Strauss, finding bones of the past for Ms. McGuinness or searching through every nook and cranny in town for cigarette cards because a man believed they were worth a fortune. With each outing of theirs, her back grew stronger, the muscles in her legs began to come back once Arthur started feeding her forage.
But even he couldn’t weasel out of his duties any longer. After a well deserved talking-to from Dutch, Arthur begrudgingly saddled up Shakira and left camp. His hopes about finding Micah already strung up like an ornament returned while the small mare marched through the forest sprawling out behind Valentine. He still hasn't figured out her every little secret, but enough time had passed for Arthur to know when she was about to bolt. Shakira would tense up, her breathing coming in shorter, ears pinned perfectly forward. Arthur would lean forward, just like he did now and caressed the part where her mane met her neck. Shushing her with a low, encouraging tone. He’d say “ easy, girl. “ “ there you go. “ “ nothing’ to be afraid of, Shakira. “
The sign welcoming them to Strawberry towered over the two once they emerged out of the forest. Arthur had seen this town once or twice, out in the distance, during the time where the whole gang was freezing to death. It was a quiet, quaint mountain town with honest people, save for the obnoxious tourists from a more civilized world. He spotted Micah’s horse, Baylock rather quickly, who, unlike his rider, was a decent being. Arthur hitched Shakira up next to the black stallion, while listening to that obnoxious voice yapping a few feet away. That was Mr. Bell, alright. Once out, he raised hell in town, forcing Arthur along as an accomplice. With half of the town killed, he knew he won’t be setting his foot here anytime soon. However, Arthur soon realized he won’t be stepping out of Strawberry soon either. There was no trace of Shakira where he’d left her.
By his estimate, he spent a good hour tracking through the forest, calling out for his horse. Arthur found himself scanning the ground, trying to find tracks like Charles taught him to do. He found her track alright, but his relief was short-lived once he spotted paw marks join in soon after. Arthur ran like a feller gone mad, Lancaster repeater in hand. He wasn’t designed to run at full speed on a mountain, but he wasn’t about to let a group of vermin make a buffet out of his mount.
“ All of you, get! “ he shot at the wolves, injuring one. “ I said go! “
After he had made enough noise, the wolves scurried off. He swung the repeater back over his shoulder, assessing the damage on the mare after. They didn’t get to her, but Shakira was scared to death. She let out fearful whiny after fearful whiny, ears pinned flat against her head, never staying still. Arthur whistled, trying to gain her attention. It helped little, but it was enough for her ears to turn to his direction.
“ Whoa, girl. “ He put up both his hands, as if in surrender. He took a step forward, slowly. “ It’s okay. “
Her distressed noises slowly died down, but with each step he took, Shakira looked like she'd run away from him too. Arthur didn’t blame her, never did up until now. Weeks ago she was just some drunkard’s horse dumped for booze money, and now? Fleeing from a shootout only to be immediately surrounded by a pack of wolves too hungry for their own good.
“ There you go. “ Arthur gently placed his palm onto her neck once he got close enough. His other hand got a hold of her reins. He led her out of the forest and only then did he get back on her.
Sometimes, he felt like he was coddling the mare too much. Like a parent would with their child. Maybe because Shakira was young herself, he never knew. The horse couldn’t have been older than two. She was practically attached to Arthur’s hip or any other older horse in camp. Shakira was finally seeking attention from someone that’s not him, mainly Taima, who’s withers. she’d always attempted to scratch, and that confirmed her youth even more. She was very affectionate, now that she had broken out of her shell. He always found her near whenever he accidentally dozed off around his wagon, or against some rock. On a few occasions, Shakira had even woken him up by diligently pushing her head against the side of his face. She was truly petulant at times.
Dutch had sent him and Charles out weeks later. Pinkertons had shown up when he took little Jack out fishing. Then Mr. Leviticus Cornwall decided that he’d also pay a visit. He was quite used to Horseshoe by now, it was nice and quaint. Enjoyable than the mountains, but anything was better than that. They came upon a place that was apparently called Clemens Point, right on the coast of Flat Iron Lake. Small marshland near Rhodes. It was probably the safest place they’d ever set camp at. The lake and vegetation made it damn near impossible to reach. Sure, the bugs were not a welcome addition, but Arthur could live.
However, most of the horses could not. They were damn near sweating a river just by standing still. That poor mare of his, her back and sides were practically foaming. As if someone poured beer over her. Arthur had seen Kieran dip his brush into water before he cleaned the horses, or just simply trade it for a wet rag from Pearson’s wagon. Thanks to this, Arthur started putting two and two together: he wasn’t a horrible swimmer and Shakira was perfectly capable in water that reached her belly. He could just take her into the lake.
And that’s what he did. He removed his saddle, along with every little bangle and jingle he had strapped on and lastly the bridle. He was actually surprised when Shakira followed him without question, like how a duckling follows its mother. Arthur might as well just call her his daughter if he keeps seeing her as a child rather than an actual animal. On second thought, he shouldn’t. He’d never hear the end of it. Arthur found a part along the coast where the water wasn’t too shallow, but not too deep either. He removed his vest and slung it over a nearby rock. His shirt and hat followed, his rustled hair getting exposed to the sun after weeks. Arthur finally kicked off his boots, leaving only his jeans on. With that, he finally took a step into the lake.
“ Oof. S’cold. “ He muttered, shuddering at the water’s temperature. He went until the water reached his hips. Arthur turned around to face the small mare, who was watching him intently. “ C’mon, girl. This’ll cool you down. “
Shakira just stood there for a moment, clearly trying to figure out what she was supposed to do. The palomino horse finally took a step forward, following Arthur, who ventured a bit deeper. The water reached his collarbones by now, yet it barely reached his horse’s back. He splashed some water on Shakira where it didn’t reach, rubbing it into her coat.
“ There you go, isn’t it nice? '' Arthur cooed, holding her face. She let out a small, content nicker. He let go of her head when she seemed like she wanted to have a look for herself. Shakira’s head was raised high above to water, which Arthur found incredibly silly. A cough left his mouth while he laughed at her.
He could only handle the feeling of his soaked through jeans for so long. Arthur had ushered his horse out of the water, followed by himself, both of them pouring wet. Without a rag to dry himself with, he had to stand in the sun, with his hands on his hip and wait until he and his pants were dry enough for him to start dressing up.
Clemens Point seemed more peaceful than Horseshoe. Besides from the whole inbred re-telling of Romeo and Juliet Dutch had brought them into, Arthur actually enjoyed the place. Their luck had turned for the better it seemed. He finally took his chores up again after Ms. Grimshaw talked his ear off about it, his horse is unrecognizable from the way she was when he bought her for a paltry sum of money. He was deputized to further Dutch and Hosea’s little ploy to rob two plantation families blind, but he didn’t pay much attention to it. Arthur played along when needed, crossed the other family when asked but truly, he didn’t want any part of this. He spent his time hunting, fishing and occasionally coming back to the lake to swim with Shakira. Life was, and seemed good.
Except when it wasn’t. Micah managed to convince Dutch to make a peace agreement, after Colm O’Driscoll decided he wanted to meet. Arthur wasn’t sold on the idea, Hosea outright claimed it was a setup but nothing could deter Mr. Van der Linde. Arthur rode out with Dutch and Micah to the Heartlands, positioned himself and Shakira on high ground and watched everything unfold. He couldn’t hear a thing, but he imagined nothing nice was said. When Dutch got too close, Arthur was ready to take the shot but steps from behind startled him. Suddenly, the whole world went dark.
When the tiniest speck of consciousness returned to him, three men stood over him. O’Driscolls no doubt, as they beat, kicked and who knows what else they did to him. His ribs were definitely broken, his arm too probably and a particularly strong kick sent him right back to the darkness. Next thing he knew, he was in a camp listening to two irish bastards’ meaningless conversation. With all the might he still had in his body, Arthur stood up and tried to saunter away. He only managed to walk about ten feet before his captors noticed, promptly getting himself shot in the shoulder. Arthur blinked in and out consciousness, which he remembered nothing of. When he managed to stay awake for more than a few seconds, he found himself thrown over the flank of a horse. He later realized it wasn’t just some horse, it was Shakira. Taking him is a thing, but they dared and took his horse and now some damned irish son of a bitch was riding her.
Who knows how many days he’d spent strung up by the legs, repeatedly beat by Colm or some nameless lackey of his. Hosea was right, he always was. Colm O’Driscoll only agreed to the meeting just to capture Arthur. To get a rise out of Dutch. Still, Arthur managed to free himself. Pain panged through his whole body, even more so when he cauterized the wound on his shoulder. He could barely walk and he felt himself being on the brink of passing out, but he soldiered through. After he recovered his satchel and disposed of the remaining bastards, Arthur approached Shakira, who he had found hitched outside of a shack.
“ C’mon, girl…bring me home. “ Arthur groaned as he slumped over the horse’s neck, a moment after he mounted her.
He couldn’t bring himself to be awake any more, but he had placed his faith into the palomino mare. She marched through the Heartlands, head high on the lookout for danger. Shakira found her way back to Lemoyne and soon, back to camp. She let out a noise as loud as her body could let her, promptly waking everyone up in camp. Arthur was mostly awake by then. He tried to dismount but all he managed was a fall devoid of any grace whatsoever. People stood over him, he couldn’t make out their faces but he heard Ms. Gaskill and Dutch’s voices. He tried to speak, warn them of Colm’s plan but he was shut down.
The Reverend or Ms. Grimshaw were always by his side, the latter watching over him like a hawk. Day and night he was in excruciating pain. He was informed that both his arms were broken, half of his ribs were fractured, a few of them probably shattered to pieces. That might be his own imagination, but it sure felt like it. All Arthur could do was lay in his cot and wait for sleep to come so he could pass the time. Everyday one of the women would come over and spoon fed him. In all honesty, he felt pathetic. He was sure that he could look after himself, when deep down even he knew that he couldn’t.
A week after he returned, he had just come down from a horrible fever. Sure enough, his wound got infected. His fever induced dreams were out of this world, he’d seen things he usually saw when wildly hungover. But he recovered. Arthur was still weak and his arm only just started to heal, spending another day confined to his cot. He felt a warm breath on the side of his cheek, which at first he thought was Little Jack standing too close. But as he turned his head, he saw his mare staring right back at him with Charles next to her.
“ She was restless. “ His friend began to explain. “ Sneered at everyone who came close to her. “
Arthur raised his hand as well as he could and placed his palm over her nose. Shakira pushed her head closer, almost yanking the leadrope out of Charles’ hand.
“ I had to beg Ms. Grimshaw to let me bring her to you. Almost bit my fingers off, but once she saw that we were going to you, she’s been like an angel. “ Charles placed a few gentle pats onto the side of her neck with his free hand.
If Shakira could, she would climb all over him like a lapdog and never leave. Instead, in her best effort, the mare rubbed her face against Arthur’s. He couldn’t help but laugh, which was ultimately interrupted by a series of coughs.
“ Oh, you saved my hide, girl. “ Arthur pushed her head away, just a little. “ Thank you kindly. “
Once everyone else thought it was enough time for a horse to spend inside camp, Charles had backed her out of Arthur’s tent and brought her back to the others. When he felt like he wouldn’t topple over the moment he stood up, he would leave his bed. Arthur managed just fine for the most part, although having to ask someone to hold him upright while he relieved himself was rather embarrassing. He was sure about himself, that he was fine and could go back to his normal way of living. Sure enough, that just made the fever come back tenfold. The humidity of Clemens Point did nothing to help at all either.
Still, he bounced back. Another week and he was good as new. The others, and honestly, he himself thought Arthur would be buried by now. Even though he now had a nasty scar on his shoulder and the coughs didn’t leave him, Arthur felt fine. Hosea filled him in with everything he had missed. According to him, Dutch continued to add fuel to the fire that is the feud between the Grays and the Braithwates. Dutch was way to invested in this for Arthur’s liking, but who was he to defy him? He kept himself far away from the two families when he could, opting to spend his time he usually did ever since Horseshoe. With his horse.
Due to his recent injuries, Shakira seemed…more hardened. She was looking out for him, the same way he did about a month ago. They did save each other's life after all, in probably more ways than one. Arthur couldn’t really imagine living without her by his side, even if he had only had her for a ridiculously short time. The journal she sniffed with such interest now had its pages covered in small sketches of her. He found himself calling her silly nicknames instead of her actual name. Whenever Arthur camped out, sometimes he’d rather sleep next to her then on a bedroll. Any animal he hunted, she carried on her flank better than any mule. He was no believer, but Arthur sometimes wondered if Boadicea had sent Shakira to him. Whatever the reason, Shakira slowly started to mean the world for him.
The family feud they stuck their noses into sooner or later had to reach its breaking point. The Grays and the Braithwates started to see through their facade. It started to crack when the Grays tricked them into a shootout that ended Sean’s life, that poor bastard. They murdered half of the law in Rhodes before they scooped the kid’s body off of the ground. All thanks to Mr. Bell. Recently, every score or job that could go wrong, went wrong. Surprisingly, all of them were brought in by Micah, - save for that one time Mr. Pearson brought in the parley idea. - who was starting to irk Arthur even more, day by day. They’d been in camp for less then a second before Abigail came screaming bloody murder, saying that people took Jack. It was that damned Catherine Braithwate, ordered her no good, inbred sons to take little Jack. Her estate burned that night. With Little Jack in Angelo Bronte’s maw in Saint Denis and Pinkertons on their tail once more, the gang was forced to move again.
Not long ago, he and Lenny came across an old plantation house called Shady Belle. The place was crawling with Lemoyne Raiders when they first arrived, a few of them remained once he returned. Now with John, Arthur came back. Drove away or killed any of the remaining fools. Once the last body was dumped to the gators, the rest of the gang arrived. It was nice to sleep in an actual bed, but that didn’t mean he liked the place. He wasn’t built for manors or estates. Give him a tent and a bedroll and he’ll sleep like a goddamn newborn. Shakira seemed to share the same sentiment.
“ I know, girl. Don’t like the place either. “ Arthur said to her one time, giving an apple to her from his satchel. Her eyes were expressive, always were, and they clearly showed at least some form of disgust. “ I’ll take ya’ out someplace nice. Find us some open space. “ he promised her. Shakira pressed her head against his shoulder. A way of saying ‘ thank you ‘.
Saint Denis was no better. The pillar of civilization, filled to the brim with high society. Trolley chimes everywhere, street cries being louder than they needed to be. Arthur’s ears were ringing after spending a bare 5 minutes in the city. Shakira, his brave little warhorse, who barely got scared by nothing any more, had her ears pinned back. He held a strong grip on her reins, occasionally giving her a reassuring pat. The pair of them stuck out like a sore thumb. A rugged outlaw and a once mange ridden horse in the bustling city. It was a sight, Arthur was sure.
The city had too many rules for his liking. He couldn’t count how many times he was swatted with a lady’s bag like a fly. Almost got into a fistfight because a feller slapped Shakira’s flank, scaring her. Only because he thought she was standing too close to him. A sigh of relief left him, the tension in his muscles easing once they left Saint Denis. He made good on his promise. Arthur had found a clearing near Shady Belle, small and secluded. Shakira was glad to spend time there, happily grazing on the grass after all the excitement and overstimulation she went through in the city. Watching her was just as calming. Arthur made a small fire, cooking some pork he’d hunted earlier. He coughed after every other bite while he ate. They were nothing new by this point. Still, he still furrowed his brows whenever he coughed more than three.
Angelo Bronte was quite the character. Finding him was painful enough, conversing with him was worse. He had the whole city wrapped around his finger. Mr. Bronte made Arthur and John into would-be grave robbers, forced him into dinner parties at Mayor Lemieux’s house and other obnoxious things. That city was slowly suffocating him. Arthur took every chance he got to be away from Saint Denis and soon, camp as well. Tensions were rising, rightfully so. Everyone missed Jack terribly. Arthur did too, but he couldn’t be the only one who thought Dutch began to change. After everything in Rhodes, he was convinced they’d have to leave the country. Paranoia was eating him from the inside out, and as much it pained him, Arthur started to have his doubts about Dutch’s plan. The image of living in a no man’s land, away from civilization seemed so far away now.
A collective sigh left the camp once they managed to return Jack. Threw the biggest party the camp had ever seen for the boy. Even though Little Jack went to bed soon after, the rest of the camp were awake for hours singing and drinking. Arthur himself drank more than he should’ve. He stumbled through camp, with the intention to finally retire for the night. He completely missed the mansion's entrance and instead, wandered off to where the horses were. He came to a halt, swaying as he raised his empty hand to scratch his scalp, only to find his hat missing. Arthur looked around, the edges of his vision blurry. He was dizzy by the time he noticed his hat, right between the teeth of Shakira.
“ Heeey.. “ he slurred, his voice breaking like a teenager’s. “ Gimme my hat back, goober. “. Arthur went to reach his hand out, but the mare just raised her head higher. He scoffed and reached higher only for her to trot a few feet away. She was a clever one, always trying to find a new way to get his attention. This cat and mouse game with his hat was a new one, Arthur once again feeling like she was an overly excited little child rather than an animal. He looked just about as silly as a cat chasing yarn, but he finally reclaimed his hat. Arthur didn’t stand on his feet for long, passing out before he could put it back on his head.
“ Arthur. “ a far away voice called to him, a hand on his shoulder shaking him awake. “ Arthur, wake up. “
“ Ugh…leave me to die. “ He groaned, shielding his eyes from the sun. Arthur recognized the voice to be Charles. Judging by how he was already dressed with a bow on his back, it was well past 9am.
“ I’d never do that, Arthur, but uh… “ Charles hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words. “ You fell asleep on horse manure. “. The speed at which Arthur stood up, would rival any prized racehorse. He spent the day up until noon in his knickers while the poor women had to wash his stained clothes.
The relief that settled over the camp after the boy returned didn’t last long. Arthur was in the middle of discussing a job with Dutch, when poor Ms. Gaskill’s voice rang through camp. He whipped his head around and as he looked over the balcony railing, Kieran’s decapitated body coming into view. Before he even knew how to react to the kid’s current state, the O’Driscoll boys raided the camp. There were too many for them to handle, with each bastard killed three others emerged from the bushes. Arthur and Charles left the mansion once they realized Mrs. Adler was still stuck out there but, to their surprise, she held herself better than any of them did. After what felt like an eternity, there were only a few O’Driscolls remaining. He took cover behind one of the wagons, aiming his repeater at one of their heads when another one of them tried attacking from behind. His attacker was sent flying by the time he turned around, thanks to Shakira slamming her entire body into him at full speed. If the fall didn’t immediately end him, the concussion would.
Arthur stood there, stunned. He sure as hell didn’t teach her that, nobody else ever approached her to teach her that which could only mean Shakira figured it out herself. The small cuts and bruises on her otherwise pristine coat supported this claim, but it also revealed to Arthur that this poor sod she knocked over wasn’t the first one. Charles caught after him soon after and when he told him what he just witnessed, his friend was just as confused as Arthur. This marked the second time that she’d saved him. O’Driscolls, both times. He later gave her a handful of scratches, thanking her. Shakira probably had just as much resentment towards their rivals as Arthur did, possibly even more.
Arthur had soon realized that Saint Denis…wasn’t half bad. Sure, it was rotten to the core with people who have much more money than they need, but Saint Denis housed great people as well. Brother Dorkins and the nun, Sister Calderon. Eccentric artist, Charles Chatenay who would probably never be appreciated for his talent. Even Jean-Marc, the butler of the mayor stuck up as he may be, he had a good head on his shoulders. But even with all these good men and women he’d met, Saint Denis continued to pull them down the gutter. The trolley job Bronte tipped them off on was a set up. A measly 47 dollars was all they got out of it. The boat job Trelawny planned went better and he was glad he got to spend a few days away from the city due to the lockdown it caused.
Arthur could always overhear Dutch and Hosea during his chore runs, or when he just simply hung out by his mare’s side. How could he not? They were always out on the main balcony, speaking with a volume that wasn’t necessary. It was about a bank robbery. Saying how it’d be their very last score before they leave the country behind. Arthur had his doubts about that ever happening. The world was changing and they were not. Still, he had to be hopeful. The idea of exploring far away lands with Shakira by his side did sound nice. When the day did come, nothing could’ve gone more horrible than that. Another set up, costing the lives of Hosea and poor young Lenny. Everything went by a blur for Arthur after that point. He couldn’t recall the chase in its full length even if he tried. The next time he could form a coherent thought was on the steamboat they had snuck onto. John was arrested, Hosea and Lenny…well, dead. Charles, who knows? They left the women alone, even if Ms. Grimshaw and Sadie were perfectly capable of protecting them, nobody gets through the Pinkertons.
If losing three men wasn’t enough, a storm kicked up during the night. Micah pointed them clouds out earlier, but it seemed too far away for them to keep it in mind. The ship was half submerged by the time he made it out of the cabin, Dutch and the boys already on a rescue boat. A wave crashed over the deck, making Arthur topple over and fall into the ocean. Who knows how much time passed when he next opened his eyes. Arthur’s eyes were blinded by sunlight. A few painful groans and water-filled coughs later, he managed to pull himself onto his feet and waddle over to who knows where. His best chance was to follow the shoreline. His clothes were torn, he was missing a shoe and was terribly parched. After minutes of aimless wandering, by some miracle, he heard Dutch’s voice. Arthur called out to them, both of them relieved to find the other one alive.
He didn’t get to rest. The men of Alberto Fussar, another name mentioned by Bronte, captured them. They were liberated soon after by a rebel group, with the exception of Javier, who was shot through the leg. Arthur and the others were brought to a hideout, a collapsed building. It was then when he was able to finally gather his thoughts together for the second time. They were on Guarma, an island east from Cuba. Miles away from Lemoyne, hell, from America. It didn’t show on his face, but he was scared. Scared for themselves, scared for the ones they left behind. Scared for his horse.
Arthur missed her terribly. A companion who he took for granted by now was separated from him in a blink. Shakira was probably just as confused when he was abducted alongside her a month ago. He prayed that the time she’d spent alongside Taima and Charles, or anyone in camp really, would be enough to calm and reassure her. Arthur barely spent a day on the island, but he’d already do anything to just get back to her. Get back to camp in general. That had to wait, unfortunately. Javier was captured, probably going through hell because of the pain in his leg. The rebel leader, Hercule promised them a boat but it would take days by his estimate.
Javier had been through a wringer by the time they found him. They tracked him down with the help of an old woman, who Dutch later strangled, making her the second woman he killed without reason. Javier was tied to a donkey and pulled through the whole prison yard before being locked up in a cage. Arthur and Dutch had to blow up a furnace just to get him out of there. With the young man on his shoulders passed out, Dutch and him parted ways through the jungle. He found his way back to their temporary camp later, where he found Javier propped up next to a wall, his leg finally treated.
Four days passed before the boat arrived. Mr. Fussar and his men tried their hardest to sabotage them from boarding, but the five of them, simple cowfolk from the west, managed to drive them away. To avoid the slightest chance of detection, the captain each dropped them off at different points. Arthur had to resist the urge to fall to his knees and kiss the ground once he stepped foot onto the streets of Van Horn. He quickly made his way over to the nearest horse he could find, a piebald tobiano Hungarian Half-bred, unhitched it and rode away. Arthur was convinced that he’d never set foot on a tropical island ever again, not even Tahiti. With Hosea gone, he didn’t believe in their future any more. It hit Arthur hard, hit everyone hard especially Dutch. He started sinking, not himself anymore. He’s showing his true colors, a tiny voice in the back of his head squeaked. He shook it off.
Shady Belle has been left abandoned, only a letter with what he believed was Mrs. Adler’s handwriting had been left there. It was addressed to Uncle Tacitus, by his niece, informing the man that they’re in Lakay. Arthur had to sneak out of the plantation house, back on his stolen horse as he made his way over to the location, the voices of Pinkerton agents fading away. Lakay was near Lagras, a tiny settlement in the swamps. By comparison, Lakay was even tinier, only a few wooden houses held together by prayers. Pearson was the first to notice him, inviting him into the small shack everyone was grouped together in. Pearson shoved a plate full of stew into his hands as people gathered around him.
“ We weren’t the only ones who missed ya’ terribly. “ Sadie said excitedly, leading him out of the shack. Arthur was a bit puzzled, but immediately understood what Mrs. Adler meant when he finally laid upon his beloved mare. Shakira was hitched up alongside by her now longtime friend, Taima but Bob, Sadie’s Turkoman was a new addition.
They had been separated for just a few days, but Shakira looked just as disheveled as him. Her roached mane had grown out quite a bit, mud dried to her legs and underbelly. The swamps had taken just as big of a number on her as Guarma did to Arthur. He had to squeeze himself next to Bob just to get close to Shakira, wrapping his hands closely around her neck. The mare gently lowered her head onto Arthur’s shoulder, a long, relieved exhale leaving her nostrils.
“ She refused to eat anythin’ “ Mrs. Adler walked over, placing a hand on her own horse. Bob wasn’t paying attention, happily grazing on the murky grass. Taima carefully watched over the whole scene from the corner of her eye. “ Charles almost resulted to force-feedin’ her. The poor thing. “
He was glad that Charles and Sadie kept an eye on her, he really was. Probably the only two people he could really count in these past few months. The way things are turning out, it’ll probably stay that way. But Arthur didn’t want to bother himself with these thoughts. Not right now, when he just reunited with his beloved mount. Arthur briefly returned to the shack for a change of clothes and was back out in an instant, working away to make Shakira look presentable. He cleaned up her mane, scrubbed away any dirt he could with his limited supplies. Shakira finally ate when Arthur offered her food, which Charles watched with relief.
Arthur was still by her side when Javier returned, with a horrible limp. The young man practically collapsed onto Bill, the other helping him walk the rest of the way to the little wooden shack. By the time Dutch returned, he was with the others. Even he, with telltale signs of a spiral could appreciate the way Mrs. Adler took the reins into her hands and kept everyone safe. Their reunion, one of many, didn’t last long. The Pinkertons caught up to them, now holding hands with Leviticus Cornwall and his seemingly private army. Arthur met his fair share of sinful people, one being himself but Mr. Milton managed to set the bar even lower. A man who fires a gatling gun on a shack filled with women and a young child is no man in his eyes.
Arthur had to crawl out of there, closely followed by Charles. Mrs. Adler was in front of him, revolver already in hand. Every confrontation and altercation with the Pinkertons ended the same. An array of bodies were strewn across the muddy grass, mutilated by gunshot wounds. Arthur swore he saw Micah quietly drag away one of them and finish him off deeper into the swamp. The horses slowly started to trickle back to camp, a routine at this point.
“ It’s okay, girl. You’re okay. “ Arthur shushed when Shakira sought him out. He could see a bunch of recent nicks and scars on her legs, most likely due to her running off. A soft whiny left her as Arthur tried to push her towards the others. “ Get with the others, c’mon. “
The palomino mare relented after a few more minutes of convincing. Arthur walked back to the shack, barely holding together after the gatling gun’s wrath. The gang settled down, people and horses alike. The women, with the exception of Sadie and Ms. Grimshaw, returned inside alongside Arthur. He had approached his small mirror, ready to tidy up his beard, when a wretched cough ripped out of him. Arthur gripped one side of the barrel the mirror stood on, while his other hand clasped onto his mouth. A glance in the mirror revealed that his eyes had gotten swollen, the skin under and the whites of his eyes unusually red. He paid no mind to it, besides a suspicious squint of his eyes.
He approached Dutch the next day, his worries for the women and Little Jack keeping him restless. Dutch was beside himself, the man who brought them down from the snowy cliffs of the Grizzlies mere months ago, was now speaking of a great ‘ once and for all ‘. There were too many last times in the recent weeks. He’s been contradicting himself too frequently for Arthur’s tastes. Dutch sent him out in the end. With Charles’ help, they managed to find Beaver Hollow, a place even the law treats as a boogeyman. It wasn’t pretty. Secluded, yes, but the caves? The caves were imposing. Just as Charles said. Hiding in caves stood against everything Dutch preached about. It made Arthur wish to go back to Shady Belle. But unlike him, Shakira seemed to enjoy the mountains. During their time back on Horseshoe, when she still was a shaking mess, he’d bring her to the mountains a lot. If she was good, then so was he. Arthur expected the usual feeling he got whenever they moved, but all he could feel was dread. Ms. O’Shea came stumbling into camp, visibly drunk. Arthur didn’t talk to her much, didn’t even know the slightest bit about her, but in that moment he took pity on her. The promises of Dutch had hit her the hardest. But a bullet to the stomach hit her even harder.
Arthur snuck away from camp the moment he could. He had errands to run, which also was a good excuse. Annesburg was rather lacking, Van Horn even more so. Both in stores and general hospitality. Arthur was forced to return to Saint Denis, who he welcomed with open arms after everything. Even Shakira, who seemed to be accustomed to the sound of trolley bells, various posh accents both real and fake, the general buzz of high society. He took the turn leading to the market when another cough wrecked his chest. His mare pulled to a stop at the sound, ears turned towards Arthur in concern. A cough became two, then three until he was forced to dismount. Arthur balanced himself against his mount, who tried her best to keep him upright. His throat became tighter by the second, and seconds later he collapsed. Shakira stood guard beside her wheezing rider for minutes, before a samaritan came rushing over and dragged Arthur to the doctor.
The doctor’s face turned sour once he examined him. He walked to a sink by the corner of his office, briefly turning back to face Arthur as he delivered the diagnosis. Tuberculosis. Of all the things that would've sent him to damnation, it was a disease that kicked the ground out under his feet. He stumbled out of the doctor’s, aimlessly wandering through the city and her streets. The images from his dreams, when he was shot in the shoulder, returned. The golden buck stood in front of him again, lush meadows and forests replaced with cobblestone. A soft nudge to his once-shot shoulder pulled him out of his trance. He turned his head to the left, Shakira appearing in the corner of his eye. The palomino mare had followed him, herding him like cattle. Her big, expressive eyes filled with worry. The past few months’ failures and botched jobs, the constant running finally caught up to Arthur. He turned around, facing his horse and with a defeated sigh, placed his forehead onto Shakira’s head. His two palms cradled the sides of her face, eyes closed. His breathing slowly matched her’s, calming down somewhat. Even when he stood face to face with his own mortality, Arthur still had those errands to take care of.
The swamps and the warmth of Guarma worsened his condition beyond repair. As if there was a repair to begin with. People noticed, exchanging worried glances everytime he passed by them. A week was all it took for Arthur to truly show signs of his condition. He’d rapidly lose weight. Once a man full of brawn now had his face sunken in. Despite everything, Arthur didn’t let his strength leave him. He tagged along Charles to help the people of the Wapiti Reservation. Arthur found their leader, Rains Fall, greatly admirable. His son, Eagle Flies had his heart in the right place, but even he was beginning to be misled by Dutch.
He was sitting with his back against his wagon, Shakira in front of him, grazing on mountain grass. Arthur, writing in his journal, mirroring the way they had first met. Back then, he just survived days on a mountain, in freezing cold. She was a weak, hopeless creature, trapped in a constant state of fight or flight. Now, Arthur’s lungs were slowly killing him. And her? Her once mange-ridden coat shone brightly in the sun. Shakira gained a few muscles from all the action she took part in, her body riddled with small scars of victory. Shakira had taken up the habit of laying next to him, with her head in his lap on occasion. Returning the comfort he’d once given her.
“ Everything’s…everything’s changing, y’know? “ He wasn’t sure who he was really talking to. “ We ain’t got a place left in the world. People too. Dutch sure ain’t seein’ clear. A slow decline I guess. “
Overtime, he drifted away from Dutch. The little voice returned, saying that maybe, he’d always been this way. Old Hosea was replaced with Micah, whispering things into Dutch’s ears. Everybody was on the edge of their seats, especially poor Javier. The only people he could still trust were Sadie and Charles. Mrs. Adler was there when Colm finally swung from the gallows, she was the one who organized John’s prison break. Arthur, despite all, was glad to see Marston. Dutch, not so much. Not even a hello, a welcome back, only screaming about how this’ll bring the law on them. Charles saw how Dutch planned to use Eagle Flies to his own benefit. And used the boy, he did. Eagle Flies paid with his life.
“ You always was loyal to me. Never disappointed me. “ Arthur whispered to Shakira, stroking her neck with one hand while he brushed her with the other. Her flank still had stains of the boy’s blood. “ You’re all I have left, Shakira. “ A sad snort was all she could give. Even with an animal’s understanding, she knew Arthur was sick. Here he was again, seeing his horse as a child, watching her parents slowly die.
Their last train job. Most of the women left at dawn, excluding Ms. Tilly, Abigail, Sadie and Ms. Grimshaw. Pearson, Uncle and Swanson departed too. Charles stayed with Rains Fall and the Wapiti people. Trelawny went back to his family. Days prior he and John prepared for it, planting dynamite under the bridge where the train was supposed to pass through. The gang, alongside two men Micah had cordially invited. They rode out into Saint Denis, patiently waiting for the train to make her stop. She didn’t stop, the beast of a locomotive passed by them, forcing them to follow on horseback. Shakira pushed herself to her limits, her small legs rapidly increasing speed until Arthur was able to jump on the train. Only then did she fall back, and follow Old Boy. Arthur, alongside John, shot their way through the wagons until one stray bullet shattered an oil lamp. The wagon caught on fire. John uncoupled the wagon just in time, before getting shot in the shoulder and falling off of the side of the moving train. Dutch and the others fell back, looking for him.
Just as planned, the bridge blew up and the train fell into the depths of the valley. Him, Bill and Sadie, plus the skinny one Micah brought along all got off with woolen satchels of money. Dutch and the others caught up to them, Bob and Shakira trailing behind them. Micah explained that John was killed. The arrogance in his voice made Arthur see red. He was fighting in a cough that tried its best to wreck through his chest, huffing as he mounted his mare and followed after the rest. Shakira had her ears pinned back, mirroring the anger of Arthur.
Once they were on the trail leading to camp, Tilly came fast on the back of her horse, clutching Jack tightly to her body. Abigail has been taken by none other than Agent Milton, the man who chased them from the West to North for months on end. Micah convinced Dutch to not go after her. The man he’d looked up to would rather save his hide than prevent a boy being orphaned he burned a manor for. Only Sadie was by his side when he told Tilly to take Jack to safety with the money he robbed from the train. With newfound determination, he swung his leg back over Shakira’s back and rode to Van Horn with Sadie. Abigail shot Milton in the head when they got to her. Arthur made a bloodbath out of the rest of the Pinkerton bunch. The horses signaled their arrival with loud neighs, impatiently waiting for the three of them to hurry up. Abigail rode Bob, while Mrs. Adler hopped onto Shakira’s back pulling Arthur with her.
His mare would instantaneously buck someone off if it wasn’t Arthur. But with how Arthur was struggling to get in a breath, Shakira didn’t even give a look when Sadie got up in her saddle. With ears pinned back and eyes squinted, she marched onward quickly catching up with Bob. Arthur sent Abigail with Sadie, back where Jack was with Tilly. He said his goodbyes before and watched them ride away. He turned to his horse, Shakira who stood with complete attention. A quick nod from him and a slow blink from her, and they were off. The ride back to Beaver Hollow felt otherworldly. There was no doubt about it now. Boadicea indeed sent Shakira to him. He’d never felt this proud or accomplished about anything nor anyone in all his 36 years of life. He leaned down to place a few encouraging pats to her neck, and she only galloped faster.
Micah was spouting commands left and right when he arrived to camp. The women’s wagon and Pearson makeshift kitchen were all packed up. It all made sense to him now. The ferry job was Micah’s idea. The reason for this whole debacle. It wasn’t Molly who talked. Dutch didn’t believe him, ofcourse, not even after John turned up alive in the middle of their standoff. Shakira stood close, head high. The look in her eyes told that she’d be ready to bite any of them in the neck if she had to. Only when the Pinkertons opened fire did she disperse.
He and Marston were left to their own devices. With Ms. Grimshaw dead, a bullet wound oozing out blood from her stomach from Micah’s bullet, they could only hold them off for so long. The two of them fell back to the caves, with John sporting a bullet wound to the shoulder and with Arthur barely keeping a breath in, sounding like a boiling kettle. Even then, they had to keep going. Old Boy and Shakira regrouped with their riders when they heard their whistles. The Pinkertons were tailing them, Dutch and Micah were also. Shakira did her best to keep her head out of the way of bullets as they tracked through a river.
A hillside came into view, when three agents came out of the treeline. Old Boy tripped forward, sending John flying onto the grass. Arthur was about to call out to him, when he himself was thrown forward. He got back to his feet, air kicked out of his lungs. He groaned in realization when he saw John’s horse lying on the ground unmoving, shot down. When Arthur heard a helpless whiny from behind, his heart sunk. A white, blind rage took over him as he drew his engraved volcanic pistols. Seconds later their attackers were lying dead.
He threw away his pistols and hurried over to his mare. Arthur fell to his knees, pulling Shakira’s head into his hands. Her legs were moving weakly, trying to get back up. A single bullet hit her between her shoulders, hitting her in the heart.
“ It’s okay, girl. Shhh, you’re okay. “ He reassured her in a hurried, hush voice. His left hand held her head up, while his right stroked the side of her face. He could hear John calling out to him in the distance, but he couldn’t leave. Not yet.
“ You’ll be okay, Shakira. “ His voice was cracking by now, but he didn’t hear it. She was bleeding out by the second. Quiet, pained noises continued to leave her as she struggled to keep her eyes open. Arthur continued talking to her, a sniffle and a thank you before she was truly gone.
He’d come back for her. Arthur would help Marston escape, then come back. Take her back to Horseshoe Overlook and bury her right where she oh so loved to graze. Give her a burial good and proper. Carve a headstone and put her saddle there. He’d come back, he told himself. But Arthur would have to make sure John got out alive.
Arthur didn’t come back. Exhaustion and tuberculosis took him before he could. In the end, he saw the rising sun, just like he always wanted to. Charles was the one who found her. It didn’t take long to find Arthur too. Charles already buried Ms. Grimshaw by the time he came upon the pair. He buried his friend alongside his horse. On a small mountain, overlooking Donner Falls stood a grave with a saddle engraved AM laid against the wooden headstone. Words from the Book of Matthew painted on stood above the saddle, an epitaph:
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness.