Arthur Morgan

The storm was lashing Colter as if the gods had decided to sink the abandoned town under a sea of ice. The wind howled through the gaps in the wooden buildings, each door banging hard, as if enraged spirits were begging for shelter. The Van der Linde gang huddled near the makeshift fireplace, trying to warm their bones after the escape from Blackwater.

Arthur Morgan adjusted his hat, watching the snow swirl through the broken window. “Goddamn it… not even a horse deserved to live through this shitty storm.”

Bill Williamson snorted, annoyed: “Quit bitching, Morgan. If you don’t like it, go outside and hunt a naked deer in the snow!”

Arthur turned his head, eyes flashing: “Bill… if I wanted to hear a dumbass talk, I’d have gone to the stable.”

Micah Bell laughed, that son-of-a-bitch grin plastered on his face: “Heh, look at big Morgan complaining… want me to bring you a blanket and a pacifier too?”

Arthur gritted his teeth: “Micah… if I hear you say one more word, I swear I’ll shove your head in the snow and see if it freezes properly.”

Dutch Van der Linde raised his hand, trying to impose some order: “Enough bullshit, you sons of bitches. Get your heads straight. Once it clears, Arthur and Micah are fetching supplies. Pearson’s almost out of stuff to cook.”

Micah shrugged, mocking: “Relax, old man… I’m just warming up the mood with some jokes. Don’t tell me Morgan there’s gonna freeze from anger.”

Arthur snorted, ready to retort, when a scream cut through the storm. Loud, desperate, coming from the main street.

Lenny Summers cocked his revolver. “Shit… did you hear that?”

Hosea Matthews coughed, struggling to get up: “Doesn’t sound like bandits… sounds like someone screwed. Let’s check it out.”

Arthur shoved the door with his shoulder, the snow trying to throw him back inside. “White hellfire! Who’s coming with me? Move fast before this soul freezes solid!”

Micah slipped, laughing as he got up: “If it’s a trap, old man, your ass is on the line. I’ll just laugh and take pictures, big hero Morgan!”

Arthur growled, ready to snap: “Son of a bitch… shut your mouth, or I swear I’ll drown you in that ice myself!”

They ran through the storm and saw a shadow fallen near the stable. Arthur quickly knelt: a girl, her dress plastered with snow, blood streaming down her leg. Her lips trembled, eyes half-closed.

“Jesus Christ… she’s bleeding like hell!” Lenny said, scared.

Arthur slid his arm under her back, lifting her as if she weighed nothing: “Shhh, hang tight, missy. You ain’t gonna die in this damn storm, not if I can help it.”

Micah shrugged, that son-of-a-bitch grin still there: “Ahhh, Morgan… lookin’ like a hero now. How pretty. Just don’t let her knock you on your ass too, huh?”

Arthur, grinding his teeth, muttered: “Micah Bell… if you open your mouth again, it won’t be jokes you’re hearing, you little shit.”

Javier Escuella looked suspiciously: “Arthur, think it’s a trap? Could be Pinkertons or some other gang.”

Arthur snorted: “If it’s a trap, tough luck for the son of a bitch coming at us. Now move, I’m taking her to the fire.”

When they entered, the entire gang stood up, surprised. Bill’s eyes went wide: “What the hell is that?! Brought some wreck into the camp?!”

Arthur dropped the girl onto a blanket near the fire, tying the cloth firmly: “She’s a girl, you son of a bitch. She’d freeze out there, leg shot or stabbed, I don’t care. Now shut your mouth, Micah.”

Micah wouldn’t quit: “Sure, sure, Sir Shiny Armor, Arthur Morgan. Can’t wait to save a damsel, heh. Bet you’re already thinking about shoving—”

Arthur spun so fast Micah didn’t finish. He slammed him against the wall, fist clenched at the collar: “One more word and I’ll make you swallow your teeth, you son of a bitch.”

Dead silence. Just the wind outside.

Dutch Van der Linde approached, serious: “Good work, Arthur. Hosea, see if you can stop the bleeding. Pearson, bring clean cloths. Micah…”

“What the hell?” Micah muttered, bored.

“Shut up for the first time in your life,” Dutch said firmly.

Arthur murmured to the girl, caressing her shoulder: “Relax, darlin’. Nobody’s gonna let you die here. Not while I’ve got a bullet in this revolver.”

Micah, still grinning like a son of a bitch: “Hope it’s quick, old man… or I’m gonna take the girl and make some fire jokes over the camp.”

Arthur raised his eyes, teeth clenched: “Micah Bell… you son of a bitch… shut your mouth, or I swear you’ll regret being born.”

---

The snow wasn’t falling as hard now, but the cold still bit at their faces and pierced through thick clothes. The smell of burnt coffee spread through the makeshift camp, mingling with wet wood and damp leather.

Arthur Morgan sat near the fire, stirring his cup of coffee, always alert over the girl sleeping wrapped in blankets. Bill Williamson snorted behind him, already complaining about the cold, while Micah Bell leaned in the corner, that son-of-a-bitch grin ready to provoke.

Dutch Van der Linde walked among the tents, checking the gang’s gear and adjusting weapons. “Soon we’ll be ready to hit the road. Horseshoe Overlook awaits. High ground, secure… and enough game so we don’t starve before getting there,” he said with the usual philosophical tone.

Micah didn’t waste time: “Heh… Morgan, that lady there… you taking her with us or leaving a bunch of dumbass men to take care of her?”

Arthur lifted his head, eyes flashing with restrained anger: “Micah Bell… you really testing me today? Leave the girl alone, you son of a bitch. Not interested? Then get lost and quit your mouth.”

Micah laughed, crossing his arms: “Ahhh, big hero Morgan, always saving everybody. Relax, just tryin’ to heat up the morning. Any chance she finds me interesting, or am I wasting my charm?”

Arthur slammed his fist on the table, unable to hold back: “No chance, you little shit. Now shut up before I pour your hot coffee on your face.”

Bill grumbled, stirring his coffee: “Christ, you two never stop talking shit? Cold, late… let’s move. The longer we dawdle, the worse it gets.”

Arthur snorted, watching the girl carefully: “Wake up early and we ride to Horseshoe. You’ll be safer there. Don’t worry about a bunch of dumbass men screwing things up.”

Micah, still grinning, shrugged: “Alright, alright… but I hope she gives me at least a smile, big guy. Might need the encouragement for the ride.”

Arthur bared his teeth in a low growl: “Micah Bell… swear if you open your mouth one more time, it won’t be jokes you hear, you bastard.”

The gang finished their coffee, grabbed blankets, weapons, and supplies. Arthur carried the girl carefully, shielding her from the biting cold, while Micah kept provoking, ignoring Morgan’s silent threats. Dutch watched from afar, shaking his head, already preparing the gang to move out.

Arthur finally grabbed his journal, pen in hand, and wrote:

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Arthur Morgan’s Journal:

Morning in Colter. Storm’s dying down, but the cold’s still gnawing at every bone. Coffee hot, boys grumbling, and Micah’s already being an insufferable son of a bitch.

Found a girl yesterday… leg messed up, bleeding like a stuck pig. Took her inside before she froze solid. We’re headed to Horseshoe Overlook. She’ll be better off there — away from that idiot Micah at least at camp she will have girls to talk to her.

Micah Bell’s running his mouth again. Can’t figure why that bastard still breathes. Bill complains, Dutch philosophizes, Pearson serves coffee like it’s a miracle. Me? I’m just tryin’ to keep her alive and everyone else from dying on me.

Goddamn it… hope she makes it. Can’t stop worryin’. She’s got that way about her… makes a man think, makes a man care. Too old for this, and I don’t give a shit. Too old or not, I ain’t lettin’ anyone hurt her.

Micah Bell… one day I swear… one day that bastard’s gonna pay. Today ain’t that day. Today, we ride.

---

Arthur closed the journal, adjusted the coat over the girl, and stood, ready to lead the group out of Colter toward Horseshoe Overlook, keeping his eyes sharp on the path and the sons of bitches who wouldn’t stop talking shit.