Between the Raindrops

Feel the Rupture

Hosea and Arthur rode into the encampment, in the heat of the day. It had been weeks since they last stayed in camp, so taken up with their business in town, and Abigail envied them such freedom.

There had been a time, barely five years ago, that Abigail used to follow them into town. To work the saloons in search of good marks. The naïve sort with extra padded wallets and jewelry. Sometimes she'd even get to play a piano. Abigail missed playing most of all. There was something about touching the keys and allowing those clear, tinkling notes to hang in the air. Beautiful and brief. Like a taste of happiness.

Dutch sat in the shade of his grand tent. With proper furniture and finer comforts. The enameled wash basin and French soap. The mirrors and lanterns. The chest full of fine shirts and vests. Reading at his leisure as great men are wont to do and Abigail could not make hide nor hair of the title. Dutch looked up from the page when he heard the horses, and snapped his book shut.

"Hosea!" he shouted warmly in greeting. His smile slipped in place. Dutch stood from his seat and opened his arms. "Arthur!"

"Hey, Dutch," Arthur said. "Can we, uh, talk a minute?"

Abigail knew at a glance it weren't for no happy reason with Arthur's mouth set in such a determined line and his eyes cast in shadow.

"Of course, son."

The enforcer drew near to Dutch before speaking, only further alerting Abigail to the fact that something wasn't quite right. Arthur spoke in a low voice. "You gotta get our boys to let up off them coach lines."

"Heh, I don't see why," Dutch said, a positive beat to his tone. Abigail tried to keep her focus on her darning, all while straining to listen to the conversation over the other sounds of the camp. Uncle's snoring and Karen and Mary-Beth arguing over some story... Lord... did she have to be so loud and insistent all the time?

"They're keepin' things clean, fair an' square," Dutch explained, with a wave of his hand. The rings on his fingers glittered in the sun. "Such is the way of things."

Arthur remained sour as ever. "It's getting so nothin' is gettin' through, Dutch."

"Oh, I think that's a tad dramatic," their leader replied with a smirk, crossing his arms.

"The banks aren't even moving money anymore," Hosea added. "Too great a risk."

"You don't say..." Dutch said, stroking his chin in thought and Hosea nodded, knowingly. "Now that is interestin'."

"It's gettin' bad..." Arthur pressed. "Medical supplies are gettin' to cost too much and with the payrolls gettin' held up..."

Dutch smiled. "So?"

Arthur blinked. "Waddaya mean 'so'?"

"I think what Arthur is trying to say is that things are getting tense," Hosea chimed in, always the diplomat. "Plus, it seems that the O'Driscoll's set up on the other side of the Upper Montana. There's been blood. Lots of it."

"Well, as long as Colm and his scum stay on that side of the river," Dutch reasoned. "We should be fine."

"Innocent folk don't see a difference..." Arthur said. "Alls they see is a pack of wolves...."

"Wolves? Arthur... you know we ain't cut the same. We're just... easing a few purses. Rich folk. It's the natural order."

Abigail flicked her sight up to the three. Arthur shook his head, hands resting on his hips. "Since when we become so... apathetic?"

Dutch laughed, an incredulous and amused smile twisting his dark mustache. "What's gotten into you, son?"

"Nothin'," Arthur said gruffly, his gaze dropping to the earth at his feet. Abigail tried to keep her eyes on her work and ignore the strange anxiety in Arthur's voice. "I just... I dunno...we rob 'em as need robbin', sure, but they just... take it back. It's hurtin' folk..."