Between the Raindrops

Like Real People Do

"Well to Hell with him, then!" Dutch declared. His voice boomed in the still air over the receding rumble of the cart and there was no doubt Arthur heard the curse.

Damn right, John thought. To hell with Arthur Morgan. Goddamn hypocrite.

"Mighty fine night to pay a social call," Micah observed, fingering the custom-carved skull grip of his blackened steel pistol.

A shuffling and a murmur rippled through the gang as they stood, scattered around Dutch in the growing dusk. John did not lend his voice. True, he felt a little hot from this whole mess, but this...

But Hosea rounded on Micah. "Don't you even think about it, you goddamn fool!"

Micah chuckled, throwing his hands up. Not for the first time that night, a tense silence fell upon them. Hosea looked at Dutch, and the edge to his voice was sharp and serious. "Arthur isn't a threat an' you know it!"

"Men do funny things for a honey pot," Micah chimed. "Funny things, indeed. And that sour old bear is probably starvin'." The hitman chuckled at his own joke, though no one else laughed. "For all we know, she might push him to turn us all in."

I sure as hell never would, John thought. No woman would ever force John to abandon the men who plucked him from the gallows. No. John had seen too many cons and fleeced too many sheep to give up his God-given freedom.

"Hosea's right," Dutch finally agreed. He started walking back into camp, toward the main fire, and they all followed as he spoke. "Arthur may have his priorities skewed right now, but he ain't a rat."

"I'd feel safer if we didn't have any loose ends," Micah pressed.

"He doesn't know a damn thing about what we're plannin'," Dutch reasoned with a dismissive wave of his hand. "He made certain of that himself. And even if he did, there is nothin' he can do to stop us. Besides..." Dutch paused a moment and allowed himself a chuckle. "Can you imagine the look on his face when he hears about this? He'll be begging for a piece of the action."

Micah's smile disappeared beneath the long blond mustache. "If you say so, Boss," he grumbled.

"I do," Dutch said. By now, they had reached the center of camp, near the lavishly furnished tent Dutch shared with Ms. O'Shea. Dutch stepped up on an empty, overturned apple crate. "Now listen! All of you!"

And the faithful gathered around him. They could all see him, the fire in his eyes and it made John feel better. "We ain't got time to worry about the faint of heart or the weak-willed. Tomorrow, we make history!"

"Sounds like you gotta plan," Uncle said.

"Of course." Dutch smiled. "We're hitting an Express team heading for St. Denis. Banknotes marked to pay for all that there progress we're seein' in Blackwater. Me, Micah and Javier will board that ferry. While these fine gentlemen take care of the Express guards, I'll relieve them of the lockbox."

"You're really going through with this?" Hosea asked. "After what I told you?"

"It'll be easy," Micah said.

Dutch nodded. "Fortune favors the bold."

"It don't feel right," Hosea pressed.

Dutch stared a moment blinking. "This is good information, Hosea. And with this crew beside me? We can accomplish anything." Dutch looked to the gathered members. "Jenny and Karen!" he shouted. "You girls will board the ferry as ladies, taking up positions to cover our ferry team. Think you can sidle up to them guards?"