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the last of the real ones, chapter 1

woman seeking criminal cowboy, MUST have reliable friends who can assist in homicide, no you cannot ask questions.

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Chapter 1, Boone.

Margaret stood on the porch of the inn, her keen eyes scanning the horizon for any signs of trouble. She’d been in town for less than a day, but she was already fed up with the miserable climate of Lemoyne. The sun beat down mercilessly, casting long shadows across the arid landscape. It was in this scorching heat that a wagon rumbled into view, kicking up trails of dust in its wake.

As the wagon came to a halt, Margaret's gaze fixed upon the figure stepping down. He was big, and the rifle strapped across his back told stories of a man who wasn’t to be trifled with. Then he turned around, and she saw his face. She recognized him immediately—the infamous Arthur Morgan, one of the most wanted men in the country. His reputation preceded him, tales of his daring exploits whispered across the frontier. The muscle behind one of the most dangerous gangs in the United States was taking a letter up to the post office. Another figure, smaller than Mr. Morgan, hopped off the wagon and walked straight into the general store. Another woman, probably around Margaret’s age, with long, dirty blonde hair. She could hear the woman barking orders at the general store owner.

Arthur, on the other hand, politely nodded at the people who walked past him, but kept to himself. He was wearing simple traveling clothes, a brown leather jacket and a black weathered stetson protected him from the brutal sun. He had changed since his latest wanted poster had been drawn up. His beard was cut close to his face, and his brown hair trailed past his ears.

Margaret watched from a distance, observing both of their interactions with a mix of intrigue and caution. Arthur's eyes, sharp and guarded, surveyed their surroundings, ever watchful for threats. The young woman, on the other hand, possessed an air of confidence, her gaze meeting the world head-on.

On any other day, Margaret would’ve left them to their business, maybe noted their arrival in her report, but state bounties weren’t her business. She already had her own work to do here in Lemoyne. But an extra gun or two would be useful…

After a few moments of contemplation, Margaret steeled herself and took a determined step forward. She knew the risks involved in approaching Arthur, a man notorious for his cold attitude and deadly shot. But the potential benefits far outweighed the dangers. If she could persuade him to work for her, his skills and knowledge could prove invaluable to her cause. The only issue would be convincing him.

Margaret left the porch and began to follow the outlaw. He stepped inside the post office, and she waited by the fenced garden out front. After another moment or so, he stepped back out, the letter that he had been holding sent off. She approached Arthur cautiously, her heart pounding in her throat. As she drew near, their eyes locked in a silent exchange of recognition. Margaret spoke first, her voice steady but laced with caution.

"Arthur Morgan?" she began, hesitating as his shoulders stiffened. His bright blue eyes locked onto her own.

“I’m afraid you’ve got me mistaken with someone else, miss.” He replied in a cool tone, the warning in his eyes perfectly clear. “Have a good day.” He called as he stepped past her.

“That’s a shame.” She called back, turning around to face him as he brushed past.

“I had a lucrative job opportunity for Mr. Morgan and his associates, but it seems I was wrong. Would’ve been a lot of money for him.” She grinned as he paused, whirling around to face her.

“Keep talking.” Arthur's gaze narrowed, his eyes assessing her with a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

Margaret took a deep breath, her resolve unwavering. She needed to choose her words carefully, to convince him that she was worth his consideration. "I have a proposition, one that could benefit us both greatly. But I must insist on discretion. I need someone with your skills and expertise, someone who can help me achieve my goals. You’d be compensated handsomely."

Arthur's brows furrowed, his distrust evident. "You expect me to work with you without knowing the details? I don't operate that way, ma'am. I answer to Dutch Van Der Linde."

Margaret felt a twinge of frustration, but she pressed on, determined to win him over. "I understand your loyalty to your gang, Mr. Morgan. But I assure you, the job I have in mind holds significant rewards. There will be a substantial sum of money involved, more than you can imagine. All I ask is for you to hear me out, just this once."

A flicker of interest danced in Arthur's eyes, but skepticism lingered. He was a man hardened by a life on the run, wary of deception and betrayal. Margaret knew that getting him to agree would be no small feat.

"I don’t run off and do jobs on my own, miss," Arthur replied, his voice gruff yet contemplative. "But I suppose we could talk. That is, if you're willing to meet with my associates and explain yourself. We don't take risks without proper consideration, and he likes to know who we’re working with before we make any promises."

Margaret exhaled slowly, realizing that this was progress, a sliver of opportunity. She nodded, her eyes meeting Arthur's with determination. "I will meet with them, and I will prove to you both that this is a venture worth pursuing. Trust me, Mr. Morgan, and you won't be disappointed."

He shook his head and chuckled.

“We’ll certainly see about that. And your name?” He asked, holding an expectant hand out towards her. She took it.

“You can just call me Margaret.” She shook his hand briefly and stepped back.

“No surname, Miss Margaret?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Not for that name, no.” She smirked in response.

“Sure.” He grinned and tapped a finger to his hat in a facsimile of a salute.

“You’ll be hearing from us soon.” He called as he walked back towards the wagon, where the other woman now stood, wearing very different clothes than what she had come into town with.

“I look forward to it!” She called after him, clutching her fists to her side.

This was a terrible idea.

Arthur rode back to camp with Sadie by his side, the rhythmic clatter of hooves accompanying their thoughts. Their own encounter with the Lemoyne raiders had left him on edge, and it was only worsened by the encounter with ‘Margaret’. It all left him with a sense of unease.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Sadie asked as she fiddled with her new clothes.

“I’m thinking we should be leaving the state right about now.” Arthur grunted in response, flicking the reins to urge the horses on faster.

“Aw, cmon, it wasn’t that bad, Arthur!” Sadie exclaimed, leaning back in the wagon with her boots kicked up on the jockey box. “Those bastards couldn’t shoot straight, let alone find out where our campsite is. They won’t bother us.”

“It ain’t just about them, but don’t think I won’t forget about your little ‘shoot first, don’t ask questions’ stunt.” Arthur huffed, glancing over at her.

“There was a woman in town.”

Sadie barked out a laugh at that. “Some pretty girl got you all worked up now? I ain’t never-“ Arthur scowled at her.

“It ain’t like that. She knew who I was, seems she knew about the gang too. Asked me to do some work for her.”

Sadie straightened up in her seat, turning to face him. “How much money?” She asked, eyes sparking with curiosity.

“Didn’t say. Just said that she wanted someone with my ‘skill and level of discretion.’” Arthur chuckled and shook his head. “I’m pretty sure we have the discretion of a bull in a china shop.”

“Guess she’ll have to find that out for herself, won’t she?” Sadie smirked to herself.

As the wagon approached the familiar campsite, Arthur's mind raced, knowing he had to tell Dutch and Hosea about the unexpected proposition. If they said no to her offer, she might try to blackmail the gang or go to the authorities. No matter what, this new woman spelled trouble.

Dismounting from the wagon, Arthur broke off from Sadie and headed towards the center of camp, where Dutch and Hosea were engaged in a heated discussion. Not quite shouting, but certainly on their way. Like an old married couple. Arthur thought to himself, amused. Their voices carried in the evening air. As Arthur approached, he could hear snippets of their conversation— Hosea and Dutch were arguing about how they could pick apart the two families in town, the Braithwaites and the Grays.

"What's all this fuss about?" Arthur interjected, his voice cutting through the tension.

Dutch's eyes fell upon Arthur. "Arthur, my boy! Hosea and I were just talking about how we were gonna work these Southern fools to our advantage."

“We’ve got a few different plans in motion already, it seems.” Hosea remarked as he leaned back in his chair. The older man had a sour expression.

“As important as all that sounds, we’ve got some more urgent trouble.” Arthur sat down at the table, looking grim.

“What’s got you so worked up, son?” Dutch asked with a frown.

Taking a deep breath, Arthur recounted the encounter with Margaret, the woman who seemed to know far too much about him. Her proposition and the promise of substantial riches were nothing to scoff at. As he spoke, Hosea's brow furrowed, his gaze fixed on Arthur.

"But you say she recognized you, Arthur?" Hosea interjected, his tone laced with concern. "That doesn't sit right with me. We've been careful. Too careful."

Arthur nodded, acknowledging Hosea's valid point. "I know, Hosea. It rattled me too.”

“This is good.” Dutch spoke suddenly. He had been leaning forward, hand pressed against his chin in that familiar pose. It was how he always sat when he was coming up with some new plan to get them more money.

“How you figure?” Arthur asked, waiting for the older man to speak.

“It means whatever job she has cooked up is worth more than the bounty on all of our heads.” Hosea scoffed and shook his head.

“Dutch-“

Dutch shook his head. “Think about it, Hosea. If she really needed the money, she would’ve turned us all in without a second thought. But she asked Arthur for help. This could be it. One last big job, right?”

Hosea remained silent for a moment. His eyes were distant as he weighed the pros and cons. "I suppose we shouldn’t dismiss this opportunity without at least exploring it.” He sighed.

“Thank you, Hosea! Money opens doors, and we can't afford to let them all close." Dutch replied, looking pleased with himself.

Hosea's expression darkened, his voice dripping with skepticism. "And what if this is a trap? We can’t afford to play right into her hands."

Arthur shifted uneasily, torn between loyalty to his long-time friend and the nagging feeling that Hosea's concerns held weight.

“I understand your worries, Hosea. Tell you what, we’ll pay her a visit tonight, get some information, and decide from there." Dutch insisted.

A silence settled over the trio as the gravity of their decision sank in. The compromise offered a chance to gather more information, to assess the true nature of Margaret's proposition. But it also carried the threat of violence, the possibility of a life snuffed out in the blink of an eye.

Dutch finally broke the silence, his voice firm yet tinged with uncertainty. "Arthur, you and Javier will go to her hotel tonight. Have a… chat with her, get the answers we need. If we don't like what we hear, then we'll deal with her accordingly."

Arthur swallowed hard, the weight of the task ahead settling heavily on his shoulders. He understood the gravity of their actions, the fine line they walked between opportunity and danger.

“Sure, Dutch.”

As the camp settled into an uneasy stillness, Arthur couldn't help but wonder about Margaret. What secrets did she hold? And what would their encounter that night reveal? Out here, where trust was scarce and danger lurked around every corner, they would have to navigate treacherous waters to ensure their survival.

With a deep breath, Arthur steeled himself for the night ahead, knowing that his loyalty would be tested once more.

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yeehawbutalilgay · 1 year

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the last of the real ones, prologue

A young woman comes into Rhodes on a mission. So when she sees one of the most wanted men in the country picking up his mail, she approaches him with a job offer.

Clemens Point.

“Get them supplies off the wagon!” Ms.. Grimshaw barked as everyone trailed into camp. Arthur watched with thinly veiled amusement at the haggard looking wagon train. John had clearly missed his chance to hide from the crotchety older woman, and was now the subject of her full attention and ire. Everyone seemed to be on edge after the way things went down in Valentine.

It was hotter than hell out here. Between the humidity and the work, it seemed like half the camp was a step away from strangling each other. Tilly and Karen were having a shouting match on one side of the camp, while Bill and Javier heckled the O’Driscoll on the other.

What a mess.

Arthur was still worried about the business in Valentine. Mr. Cornwall had made it perfectly clear he wasn’t gonna let the train robbery go. John had been a little closer to death than Arthur would’ve ever liked. Not that he’d ever admit it to the dumb bastard. Between that and getting stranded up in Colter, Arthur wasn’t sure how Abigail hadn’t dropped from the nerves yet. Or killed John.

“Arthur!” Dutch called, striding towards him. Hosea wasn’t far behind.

“Why don’t you come for a ride with me? Get away from all this, hmm?” Arthur glanced back towards the rest of the camp. Hopefully Ms. Grimshaw wouldn’t argue if Dutch gave the go ahead.

“Sure. Where we heading?” Arthur stood up with a grunt, falling into line behind Dutch.

“Fishing.” Hosea offered as they sauntered towards their horses.

The Count, Silver Dollar, and Victoria were all tacked up, tied to a tree on the outskirts of camp. The hitching posts hadn’t been set up yet.

“Sure we’re okay to leave them to their devices?” Arthur asked as Dutch and Hosea mounted up.

“They’ll all be just fine, don’t worry about them.” Dutch huffed. “It’s been a long time since the three of us have gone out and done something. Let’s go!”

The three of them mounted their horses, and rode off, towards Rhodes.

They didn’t make it back until it was nearly dusk. Arthur dragged the boat onto shore without much ceremony, and the three men scattered to their respective haunts. Arthur handed off all the fish they’d caught to Pearson, Dutch meandered over to his own tent, and Hosea lingered by one of the campfires, chatting quietly with the girls.

Between helping the sheriff and the actual fishing, Arthur didn’t have much energy left in him. Maybe it was because he was getting old, but he felt like he was getting tired so quick nowadays.

So he made his way back to his own cot, ducking between tents to avoid Ms. Grimshaw or anybody else who would ask for help tonight. And he began writing in his journal as the sun started to drift below the horizon.

That same sun shone brightly into a woman’s eyes as she stepped onto the train station platform in Rhodes, nearly blinding her.

She was one of a small handful of people getting off. Rhodes was not a popular vacation destination, it seemed. As a few older men brushed past her, she set her bag down on one of the benches. She dusted her skirt off.

Hell’s bells. This heat was going to be miserable.

“Can I help you with your bags, miss?” A young man, one of the train attendants approached her. He was bright-eyed and full of energy, completely contrary to her.

“That’s alright, it’s just the one.” She responded, wrapping her fingers back around the handle.

“But you could point me in the direction of the hotel.” She offered at his disappointed look. One of them helpful types, clearly.

“The hotel’s just down that road, but your best bet is to rent at one of the nearby houses. I wouldn’t recommend the hotel, necessarily.” He stammered, caught between pointing and trying to take her bag.

If he had been paying closer attention, he would’ve caught the flash of a scowl on the woman’s face. But as he turned to face her, all he saw was the genteel smile painted on.

“I’ll get to looking for that then. Thank you.” She snatched her bag and started walking. The smile dropped the moment she turned around.

What a dump. She mused as she surveyed the town. The dry, small town couldn’t have had a population of more than a hundred, and from the rumors she had heard, they were some of the nastiest folk she would ever have the misfortune of meeting.

The hotel in question sat in the middle of town, directly next to the sheriff’s office. As she trudged over, carrying her bag, she couldn’t help but curse the misfortune of picking this miserable job in this miserable town. She should’ve just taken the New York job. Even the city would be better than this. Now the closest thing to civilization down here was St. Denis. The city couldn’t hold a candle to her usual haunts.

“How can I help you today, miss?” An older man with a well maintained mustache asked as she stepped inside.

The interior was nice enough, not riddled with bullet holes. There had been a few men lounging out on the front porch, smoking and conversing. They had all watched her as she walked inside, but none had made a pass at her. That meant that the folks here at least made an attempt to be decent. And it certainly helped that the sheriff’s office was next door.

“I’m here to see about renting a room?” The woman asked as she approached the front desk.

“I’ve got just one left, I believe. What’s the name?” The clerk asked, pulling out a fountain pen. He looked up at her expectantly.

She smiled.

“Margaret Caldwell will do just fine.”

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