Butterfly

Prologue: Little Hollow

The year is 1887

John Marston had just turned 14, and Arthur Morgan is 23, Dutch van der Linde and Hosea Matthews planned to take the boy on his first major robbery. Not an ideal way of celebrating for any normal city folk, but this is the Van Der Linde gang. None of their ways are ever up to "normal" standards.

Little Hollow was a small mining town in North Elizabeth. The town had plenty of riches. Ripe for the taking, as the pair of leaders said.

"That's about it, Dutch," Arthur says through his mask. He hands a bag full of gold and money over to John. The young man lifts it easily and heads to their carriage. "Thank you, good citizens, for your contribution," Dutch says with great joy, taking a bow before leaving.

"Stop right there!"

A group of three sheriffs calls out. The group of outlaws quickly get on the cart and ride off before the sheriffs even mount their horses, Hosea driving at such speed out of the town and into the woods. They stop by a line of trees, keeping quiet as the authorities ride past them. Once it's clear, they take off their masks and change into a different set of clothes.

"So," Dutch says in that rough accent of his. "How did you find your first job, son?"

John ecstatically jumps off the carriage. "Easy! I didn't think I could pull that off," he says excitedly as if he was talking about a game instead of a robbery, making Arthur chuckle. "Well, you did," Hosea chuckles, ruffling his head.

They carry the bags through the forest and towards a tree, with a hollowed-out trunk. Dutch digs through the piles of leaves and nuts that squirrels had piled into the hole until he uncovers a box. "Alright, let's fill this up for safe-keeping, then we leave some for the camp supplies," he instructs, opening said box.  Arthur and John do as their told as Dutch hides the box in the same spot once more, Hosea already making his way ahead of them with the rest of the money.

As the boys walk back, Arthur stops suddenly, training his ears on a strange noise he heard. "What?"

"Shush," he tells John, making the boy frown being told off, but he complies nonetheless. "Here, this way," Arthur makes his way off the path, John following behind. "Arthur?"

"Just gonna check on somethin', Dutch."

"Alright, boys. Just be careful, and don't just go charging in," the leader cautions them to which the duo nod in response. He then heads towards camp but looks back to check on the boys again before pressing forward.

"What is it anyway?" John asks. "Someone's cryin'," was his somewhat-adoptive-brother's reply as they moved along.

They come across a small encampment, all bloodied up and torn. There is a carriage behind the ruined tarp, but no horses. They see two bodies on the floor, a man and woman, with a rifle in the man's hand. "Well," Arthur starts. "Ain't this a sight," he mutters looking around. The bodies seem to have been here a while, so he decides there's no harm looting the camp. Such a waste of resources to let it just rot here.

Arthur bags whatever he deems usable while John looks around the camp. The older inspecting a box of unopened cigars before hearing a howl of pain. He shrugs it off and walks toward the sound.

"Get away, meanie, get away!"

Arthur recognizes that as a child's cries. "Okay! Okay! I'm walkin' away, stop hittin' me," came Marston's voice. He runs from behind the part of the tarp that hadn't come undone. "What's gotten you all scared?"

"A kid just hit me with a big stick," John grumbles, holding his side. Arthur laughs at his companion's state. "You retreat here 'cause a kid hit you with a stick?"