Work Text:
Arthur was not a man of many words.
There wasn’t much need for them out on the trail. But today there was a need for them. Several of them. Possibly an entire paragraph. Yet he found his throat drier than it had been in many years.
He had seen tragedy before. Hard not to when you lived as long as him. He’d even testified a time or two when the occasion required it. But this wasn’t the same as that. This wasn’t a hanging or an exchange of lead between hot blooded youths. This was the senseless death of a young woman. A gal he had grown to like, and who was dear to his partner.
Usually Arthur left consoling the families to Knapp. But in this case Knapp was family, or the closest thing to it.
He’d seen the look in Billy’s eyes. That spark that flamed a little hotter every night. He’d felt it himself in his youth, though he never managed to properly settle in a hearth, the way Billy meant to. He was a tad sore to lose a reliable partner. But he was happy for Billy. This life was an hard one. Every morning he woke up a little stiffer. After the events of the last hour, he had a feeling that tomorrow morning would be its own special trial.
Damn it to hell. Why did the little girl do it? Too hasty. She couldn’t have known. And he couldn’t regret giving her the gun. It would have been the right thing, if he’d truly been got by the enemy. She was young and frightened. She couldn't have known.
“Knapp!” Arthur called to his partner.
….
William Knapp did his work with a light heart and a whirling mind. He was to be married. He was to work a claim, build a home, and live there with a wife and children- should they be so blessed.
There was much to be arranged when they reached the forts. Especially a replacement for Alice’s boy- if one could be found. The two hundred dollars already agreed to could not be helped now, but the second stretch needn’t be as costly.
His thoughts thus occupied, he was startled by the his partner’s call.
“Knapp!”
That was odd. Where’d the old man’s horse go? And did his eyes deceive him or was that small creature Gilbert Longabaugh’s President Pierce? A familiar yapping seemed to confirm so. William hurried to meet him.
Arthur’s words were as regretful as William had ever heard from the man, but they were still a blunt cudgel to his ribs. Alice was dead. Shot dead by her own hand in a hasty error. Shot dead outside the wagon train which she had separated from in pursuit of President Pierce- an animal whose presence was due to his own poor aim some weeks previous. He had always liked dogs.
His heart was lead in his chest. He thanked Arthur numbly, and moved to the front of the train. Back to the life and work he knew. Perhaps all he would ever know, now.
There would be no settling for him in Oregon. No 640 acres of claim. No blue eyes greeting him in the mornings. No babes or bonny girls and boys to teach.
The trail dust was thick. He allowed just enough water in his eyes to clear it away. Two tears for Alice Longabaugh and the life they might have had. The rest he safely bottled beneath his chest. His attention turned to the hills, watchful, lest he fail in his duties a second time.