bakerstreet | pic prompts.

"You don't say." John kept the dour expression but his voice spoke amusement. "We don't gotta be. You known me since I was twelve, Arthur, you know I was never so good at comfortin' words. But it ain't about the words. Bein' there. That's what matters."

Something that fed into John's entire mindset - actions speak louder than words - also fed into this one. What mattered the most was the act of care, no matter the bullshit everyone always spewed. They lived with a bunch of bullshitters, professionals and hobbyists alike, and John wasn't the type. They could paint all the pretty pictures they wanted, but he was honest. Brutally so. And actions could never lie.

"You been here for me. Why's it that you feel I don't gotta repay the favor?"

Edited (salad is delicious, word salad not so much.) 2021-08-17 00:34 (UTC)

"Don't know, maybe its because I'm used to looking out for the gang so much it feels strange to get so much back, I mean so much so quickly" he answered. "Charles coming to find me, Dutch listening to me, Hosea comfortin' me, now you...When I first found out what I was, I weren't sure if I should stay with the gang, not only because I thought I might hurt someone but that they wouldn't accept me."

True, some hadn't, the reality that shifters existed and one was now one of them was likely hard to swallow, but the majority had.

"Anyway, I'm just glad you are."

"I know how that feels. Not... the bear thing, obviously, but the worry about acceptance." John took a final drag from his cigarette and flicked the remains out towards the road. "I woulda been back three months before I showed up again if it weren't for that. Milled around, drunk, worried to even consider returnin', on the chance that I'd be turned away, shot, or worse. I knew not everyone would accept it, would want me to be welcomed back."

He turned to Arthur. "I knew I hurt a lotta good folks by my leavin', and that was on my own free will. You didn't have much a say in what happened, Arthur, and besides, no matter how much folks give me hell over bein' Dutch's favorite, his pet," Bill had fucked him up with that one, "I ain't. Never been. You're his first son. Ain't nobody shine brighter in his eyes than you." There was no animosity in his tone, no jealousy. It was just a matter of fact.

"Besides, everyone knows you. Knows you ain't gonna go off on some wild tear, 'cause despite what we do - did - for a livin', you're a gentle man."

Arthur listened, wondering if he would have been less hard on him if he'd returned even a couple months sooner. Impossible to say really, but he could guess not. Abigail had already begun to rely on him to help with Jack when it was clear John's leaving was no short vacation. More than a few times he considered taking Abigail's hand in marriage to make it official and not allow the boy to grow up without a true father. But every day he saw she loved John in a way he could never understand, nor break through.

So he'd remain "Uncle Arthur", and when John returned and continued to ignore the boy and Abigail, he felt more than a bit bitter and regret not at least asking her.

Now though, the amount the little family loved one another and the effort John had put in to make it work had impressed him, and made that bitterness less so.

Arthur knew he was Dutch's favorite, he, Hosea and the old man had been the first to come together. The Old Guard. But up until the bear incident he'd started to feel like he'd become the errand boy.

As for being gentle, he laughed, "That sounds so strange coming from you."

That love, despite their two-way screaming matches that still went on, even after they'd moved onto MacDougall's plot of land, was soul-deep. John had no intention of leaving Abigail, and had come back solely for her and the boy (really, more for her.) There was something there between them that he knew he'd never find with anyone else in the world, even if he went everywhere in the world to find it. He'd lucked out, and he knew it. And she managed to find someone who, despite his frequent lack of charm, cared enough to consider her dreams, her wants, her desires, and try to fold them into his own.

But Arthur had done the honorable thing. As usual. And John wasn't particularly displeased by it. Sure, it gave him a bit of a complex regarding needing to live up to the standard Arthur set, but he couldn't fault Arthur his stand-up behavior. In fact, he hadn't said anything about it, but he'd admired Arthur for stepping in.

It was one of the many reasons he'd been trying so damn hard these past few months; for one, he'd worried Arthur wouldn't be coming back. He realized that without that safety net there, he had to do what was required of him, as a man and father.

But secondly, and really more truthfully, he really did want to do right by the older man. Arthur didn't just lightly step aside once John was back. John got one of the sharpest lectures from him upon his return, and John took his lumps from it, both figurative and literal. Hell, Dutch didn't even go so far. Sure, Dutch had him unnerved and rattled for the weeks that followed, but Arthur's lessons were the harder pill to swallow, and the better pill to take.

"Don't get used to it comin' from me," John said immediately in response, his own tone taking a more lighthearted path. "You're a pain in the ass and a shithead, but you're gentle in the ways that matter." Something that John could never be, or at least not something he felt he had within him just at the moment. He had absolutely no plan for changing who he was to do what was required of him, even in this not-so abrupt shift in the gang's lives. He could change what he did, but he could never change who he was.

"It's that gentleness that gets you walked all over, anyway. Gets you..." Strung up. But John waved his hand in refusal to finish that sentence. It would bring up fresh, stinging, still bleeding memories for Arthur, he knew. "Point is, you don't got it in you to be as wicked as you act. Everyone who stuck around knows it. Even Kieran Duffy."

Arthur gave John a shove at being called a shithead. "Dumbass" he retaliated

His further comments about being walked over, he hated it, but it was true. He gave up everything for the gang, more than a fair few times. Gave up Eliza and Isaac for them. Gave up fighting to stay with Mary for them. Gave up his life in order to give them a chance to finally pull ahead of their pursuers.

He killed and hurt folk plenty but it was always for the gang. Never out of some sadistic pleasure. Which was why when Dutch threatened to geld Kieran he was surprised by the old man. Sort of ironic he'd become a bear. Teeth and claws, but with a ferocity to protect that which he held dear.

"I guess you're right." he muttered.

Within a few moments they'd finally come to Aberdeen. The place was busier than Fairview, a coal mining town with as many amenities as Fairview. General store, saloons, gunsmith, drug store, and so on. They headed further in to the livery and managed to find the owner. After basic hellos Arthur asked about horse sales.

"Specifically mustangs, Arabians, and drafts." Arthur elaborated.

The man shook his head, "Not many of any of those, especially no fancy Arabians" he chuckled "The mine could always use ponies, mules and donkeys though. Might have more luck in Boise, place is boomin' these days"

Arthur nodded and thanked the man before leading Khan along with John.

"Boise is quite a distance to be sellin' stock." he commented, stroking Khan's neck. "We can head back and discuss it with folk."

John had a couple thoughts of his own as they talked to the livery owner. Once they wandered away from the livery, John looked over at Arthur, and said, "Mine aside, anyone around these parts would need a draft if they was lookin' to do any buildin'. Mines tap out eventually. If this city wants to survive after the mine closes, they'll need to build. Big horses'll be necessary."

He pointed his chin to the one fully stone-and-mortar building in the city, which was right across from a bar. "We find us the mayor, and we can make a deal to be the sole supplier of drafts for buildin' a solid footin' for a stable community in these parts."

John could sniff out a payday like nothing else, even if it was a long shot.

Arthur was skeptical of this idea. Mines did eventually run dry but that could be years or even decades. However if the town continued to grow, John was right, large horses would be needed for building. Did out a damper on plans though. Their new herd would have to be sold off elsewhere and they’d have to look into finding stallion drafts as all the ones they had right now were geldings.

After a moment, he agreed and they headed on over to the town hall. Hitching Khan to the post, he told him to be a good boy, adjusted his hat, and they stepped inside.

Although the two of them were clean, their clothes weren't exactly in the best condition. John didn't realize it until they were in the building itself, but maybe having gotten dressed a little better would have increased their odds to getting in good with the mayor.

Luckily, in a mining town like this, the mayor wasn't exactly a hard person to impress, or get to talk with.

John managed to finesse with straightforward seriousness, a talk with the man, and they were ushered into a stately, but unpretentious office, where a middle-aged man in a clean, but ill-tailored suit looked up from his desk. "Gentlemen, how can I help you?"

"We're representatives of a horse ranch near Fairview, and we wanted to talk to you about your prospects of makin' this city's future as cemented as Boise's."

They were bidden to sit, and John did, wary of his surroundings.

It was a discussion, easily led by John, who explained that they were just starting off their ranch and orchard, but had the know-how and expertise to not only supply, but breed and train any horses the city would need to grow up into one of the strongest, longest-lasting mining towns, even after the mine dried up. The mayor, surprised by the bluntness and logic brought to him, asked if they bred any other kinds of horses in addition to drafts. John explained that they had a pair of white Arabians that they were looking to breed, and a grip of mustangs - like the ones at the hitching post outside the window, and he pointed.

Immediately taking a shine to the brindle, the mayor looked at both of them. It was clear that the boys, despite the newness of their establishment, were entrepreneurial in their field, and had no apprehension when it came to speaking to their skills.

"If I came to visit this ranch," the mayor said, "Would I be invited to see these horses?"

"What few we personally got for the moment, sir. Came in with mostly geldings, but we got experienced wranglers who can catch and train just about any wild horse you set eyes on. We'll be happy to accommodate."

That was a large boast to speak of, at least by the look on the mayor's face. "How about we set an appointment, gentlemen, to have a look at what you've got to start with. If I like what I see, we might have a deal that will benefit us both greatly."

Arthur felt less self conscious about how he looked. He'd always felt that if others were uncomfortable with how he dressed, that was on them. Sure they were dusty from the road but most of the folk they'd passed in town were spotted with coal dust themselves. Fortunately the mayor seemed to not take too much notice and instead focused on John.

His brother stared at him almost wordlessly the whole time. Marston had become a negotiator of a magnitude he'd never imagined. He tried not to look too stunned or surprised that, yea, sure this was the plan all along.

He glanced out at Khan when the mayor did. Well his unusual coat color would certainly be a bonus it seemed if he managed to pass it on to future generations.

At the invite to come to the ranch, red flags were raised. Was this how it was done? Not to mention maybe they should have had a look around town to make sure Dutch's mug wasn't anywhere to be seen at the very least. And John kept making more grand gestures...

Arthur decided to interject before he tried to sell the mayor anything else.

"We'll send you a letter when we're ready to have you mister." he said shortly, standing and bidding him good day, giving John's shoulder a light tap to get him moving.

As they led their horses away from the town hall he hissed, "What the hell was all that about Marston? We ain't got anythin' set and you go bluffin' with boastful claims! Not to mention we ain't even sure of Pinkertons is up this way and very well might still be on Dutch's tail."

John knew Arthur would jump in to reel him in at just the right time; that was how things tended to go. They got in good before anything stupid could get carved into stone, at least, and John looked over at Arthur, more serious than boastful, and stared at him. "I told him we was just startin' out, and we'd be able to accommodate, and both are true as far as I see it."

He shook his head, his shoulders dropping, and hissed right back, "Besides, I don't see nobody else takin' advantage of settin' down what we're about. We barely got a plan after gettin' land. If people come callin' - and they will if we're to be settin' up a horse ranch - Dutch'n Hosea can make themselves scarce while folks is around. If you want a damn honest life so bad, we gotta start workin' hard in doin' it right, settin' up contacts. Just like we do anywhere we go. Fences, people to give us tipoffs, ain't no different than gladhandin' higher ups. If we get in good with the mayor of someplace, Pinkertons is gonna see we're turnin' a new leaf and they'll step back from us eventually."

At least that's how he figured it worked. John had run across a couple of ex-outlaws of note that had turned legitimate, who, when asked about the law after them, explained to him that there was a shred of hope to be had. Marshalls and other federal agents had eventually left folks alone after a few years of intimidation and poking around to make sure everything was being done honest.

Edited 2021-08-18 20:24 (UTC)

"You're being reckless Marston, we ain't been gone from West Elizabeth and the Heartlands that long and Blackwater is still fresh in my mind let alone others. 'Eventually' is the term I'm worried about. Pinkertons don't forget easily, not when rich folk like Cornwall are linin' their pockets."

Before they hung him, he could see the determination in Agent Ross, especially after he killed Milton. The man wanted this to end, violently.

Arthur looked back at the town hall then to John. "It all sounded good, don't get me wrong, but it takes years to get horses bred, grown up and trained. Made it sound like he could have the pick of the herd if he stopped by one afternoon. Have to run things by others Marston before you go inviting folk over."

Even though John was glaring daggers at Arthur, ultimately he was right. John deflated just a little, but not enough to stop arguing. "Fine. But one thing: you're puttin' too much weight on the private agency that goes after folk up 'til their benefactors stop payin'. Cornwall and the City of Blackwater either don't got the money to be payin' for a nationwide manhunt for us for years, or they got bigger fish to fry. Buildin' up their town like you know they're doin. Far as oil barons go, if you haven't noticed, Cornwall ain't here."

John gestured around him. "Do you see one barrel of Cornwall oil? Do you see his name anywhere on this side of the mountains? This coal mine ain't his, and I reckon ain't a single one of these in this part of the country is his. Far as I can see, we ain't in his domain, we ain't his problem. Let's just make sure not to piss off..." He looked at the closest oil barrel and read, "Janssen & Albert."

He pointed ahead of them at the bar coming up that had a swinging sign which boasted the best pasties in Idaho.

"We're gonna eat, n'then you can keep hasslin' me about bein' too hasty. On that you was right."

Wasn't on this side of the mountain yet. He fumed silently.

"You're buyin'" he said simply as they hitched their horses again and went inside.

Thing about oil barons was they were never satisfied. He'd encountered a few points of interest when they were camped at Horseshoe that suggested Cornwall was buying up or forcing his hand on other oil companies. The man had a lot of money behind him and a rage for Dutch and the gang for trying to take any part of it.

While he knew the Pinkertons would stop pursuing as soon as Cornwall stopped paying, that begged the question how far the man was willing to have them go after the gang.

It was the bear all over again, lurking somewhere out there maybe too far to worry about, or maybe right next door awaiting an opportunity. Maybe he was being selfish but he didn't want what happened in Strawberry to be all for nothing. He didn't have anything left to give.

They ate and drank, played a little poker with a couple locals to lighten up, and then headed out on the road, wanting to be back on the ranch before nightfall.

The horses, still getting used to riders, were more antsy and stubborn on the way back and took most of any semblance of further conversation.

At least the food was pretty damn good. John had considered buying another to bring home to Abigail, to share that experience, but ultimately figured that saving money, being frugal, would go over better with her. Every time he brought her something, she usually wound up throwing it in his face eventually, anyway.

As they rode their obstinate horses back towards Fairview, it was starting to come up on sunset. It'd be well into night before they got back, John estimated, and the chance of going exploring in their nearby forest would be out of the question. That was something of a problem, but not one that couldn't be rectified by simply pestering Arthur to come along with after the fences were done being built.

Once arriving back home - home was a weird thing to think about a place - John led Peggy back into the pen, brushed her down again once his saddle was off her, praised her for her good work, and patted her cheek.

"I'm gonna go check on Abigail and the boy," he mentioned to Arthur on his way back out of the stable, "Go talk to Dutch, tell 'im what it is we found." He paused and pointed at him, "Don't tell him about the thing." He really didn't need the hellfire of Dutch Van Der Linde calling him reckless tonight.

Arthur agreed on exploring the area more another time, they'd done a fair amount for one day.

He also brushed down Khan and gave him a carrot for being a good boy. Edelweiss saw this and took offense. He gave her one as well.

When John passed him and told him to go talk to Dutch he nodded, though rolled his eyes and grunted, "Sure, sure"

He stroked Khan's neck, the stallion nibbling his shirt as he considered what to tell Dutch before leaving to go to his house.

"Hey" he greeted, sitting with him an Hosea on the porch. "John and I broke in a couple of the new mustangs. Stallion is as stubborn as The Count but I think he'll make for good stock. Rode all the way up to Aberdeen, coal mining town, not much need for mustangs nor Arabians unfortunately, they're looking more for mine ponies and the like. But me and John talked, might be able to shift to breeding drafts as its a swiftly growin' town that'll need work horses, and farmers always need sturdy animals. Just need to get hold of some that ain't been gelded."

He looked around their small community, over to the peach trees. Another long term investment were the orchards. While Pearson was hard at work learning the ins and outs of canning, the season for the fruit was nearly over and they'd likely only get enough canned for themselves this year.

They had nothing going for them short term. And while there was enough money left over from Blackwater, they'd be hunting through the winter it seemed like. He sighed to himself. He felt so exhausted.

Dutch looked up from a new ledger - he decided that a new ledger spoke to new beginnings - and nodded his greeting to Arthur. He was looking fairly tired, himself. It was a long few weeks, but nothing like being chased all over hither and yon, hell at their backs and desperation filling his head. "Good, you boys've been workin' hard lately. I'm glad to see it." He listened further, setting the ledger aside. It had come up a couple times now that the horses they had were likely not the ones that folks around would need. It would be hard to find wild drafts readily available to wrangle and tame, and as hard as they were trying to go legit, things needed to be shifted to a more reasonable market. Having the numbers still fresh in his mind, Dutch considered things for a moment.

"I'll go over the numbers, and see to gettin' good breedin' stock drafts. Saw the livery at Pocatello's got 'em for sale. Got word in Fairview that the folks in Twin Falls out west've us got need for ridin' horses, folks up north in Idaho Falls got need for race horses. Could see to it over the upcomin' few years," Dutch suggested. "Drafts will be our priority, since there's more mines in the area, and there ain't a reason we oughta be ridin' out two days either way to deliver horses to the bigger cities."

Stubborn to the last breath, Dutch felt that if they were going to be successful, they'd have to set a precedent. Be the best damn ranch and orchard the world could ask for. And that took time, hard work, effort, and not to rush things. Sloppy work produced sloppy results -- a hard-learned lesson he'd had to relearn over the course of the past year.

"For now, we got plenty of money to tide us over through to the next year comfortably, more once Karen, Abigail and Tilly find decent work in town. We got the makings of a fine place, Arthur. We need to take pride in what we got, and we can continue trainin' them new horses you and John got over the winter, raise up that foal properly. Bill's plannin' to leave some time next week. Said he got plans to go down to New Austin. Don't know what he's got planned after that."

Hosea nodded to that, then looked at Arthur, "You been gettin' enough rest, son? You look like you haven't had a wink of sleep all week."

About the time Dutch started speaking, there came some shouting from the larger house. It was time for the evening argument from the Marstons, it seemed; it was more to the tune that she wanted John to stay closer to home, and him saying that until they know the surrounding area, they would need to be out for a day or so, sometimes. But after he had a few back and forths, they quieted down. Apparently they'd resolved their differences with that. At least the argument wasn't about Arthur. That was the next item up to be discussed.

It didn't become an argument. Abigail understood the need to be looked after at night for Arthur, and the concern John had for him. She was concerned for him, too.

Dutch had one ear on the Marstons and the other on Hosea and Arthur.

"Listen, son. I think you two ought to stay around the ranch for a while. We'll get Sean and Lenny out scoutin'. They've been itchin' to look around, themselves."

The news that Dutch was poking other places about horse stock was welcome and had the potential to be very lucrative. However the news they had enough money for the next year was a surprise. Because if Dutch said they had enough, then they truly did. Maybe because he was so used to the gang having barely anything to scrape by with that he felt like they were still trying to get ahead.

He caught snippets of the argument on the wind with his keener ear, but was distracted by Hosea asking how he was. “I’m fine” he insisted, waving it off.

Bill leaving was both a mercy and an inconvenience. One less hand to help would make things harder, but Bill was grating on his nerves almost as much as Micah had these days. Almost. And with Charles gone, no doubt some of the women would have to put in the work for the horses when Bill left too.

Arthur looked out towards the fences. Guess he and John were back on fence work then if Sean and Lenny were going out. Great.

He left the porch and headed out towards the orchard, away from the smell of men and horses and the chatter of arguments, soon finding himself at the gravesites. A new stone had been placed for MacDougall as they agreed the man might as well be dead considering the life he’d chosen to live if he was the bear, and if he wasn’t, then he deserved a memorial next to his family regardless.

Arthur continued on down to the creek before returning to the Marston house.

Dutch, to his credit, had known that there was need for forethought in terms of money saved and earned in the past few years; There was a damn good reason they needed as much money as they had. One part was yes, he was a bit greedy, he wanted to do his damnedest to get as much money as he could so that he could live lavishly in his retirement, far away from cities and society and every other accursed thing in the world that made him hate the world in general. But it was also that he did need these people. Were it not for these people who had kept him safe all these years, they wouldn't be where they were right that moment. The gold bars - tucked safely away from prying eyes and greedy hands - were there as a cushion, a barrier between them and destitution and failure. Their cash supply was still fairly damn decent, given the fact that they saved an absolutely astonishing amount on the land they'd bought. If he was being fully honest, they had more than four years' worth of living without income, if they'd decided to live lean. The houses were sparsely furnished right then, and that saved them money. The fact that their hunters were the ones primarily feeding the camp were saving money. They didn't have to spend fistfuls of cash on ammunition anymore. The moment they stopped being on the run, the amount of petty cash - as Dutch felt it was - stopped dwindling.

They were fine. Dutch knew it better than anyone, and wouldn't tell a soul. Better to keep that little kernel of franticness in peoples' minds until they were absolutely certain that they were safe from retribution coming from Blackwater, Cornwall, the O'Driscolls and whoever the hell else felt that Dutch had slighted them in some way.

By the time Arthur arrived back at the house, John had found himself a seat atop the railing of the porch, beer in one hand, cigarette in the other, looking out towards the valley. He was quiet, contemplative, in his head about the argument, and sorting out what they could do to hit the goal of having yearlings within two years. Drafts. Those big bastards could be tougher than the rest to train, because while they were still horses, they knew their size, and if they didn't like something, they were able to throw their weight around. Well, the up side is, that if they were going to train horses, they'd be able to train them out of getting spooked by bears.

He looked up at Arthur when he walked in, and reached down to a crate of beer bottles, handing one up. Sure, Arthur couldn't get drunk, but John could never begrudge the taste of a good lager, even if it was weak in alcohol. "Hey. What'd the old man say?"

Edited (clarification) 2021-08-19 03:50 (UTC)

Arthur took the beer, popped the cap and had a swig before elaborating on what Dutch told him. Seemed like places here and there around them had need of mustangs, drafts and Arabians alike so all they needed to do was get some studs.

He wished Dutch had told them that before they'd made the trip up to Aberdeen but he supposed if they got in good with more folk then it meant competition for buyers for their stock, which meant higher prices, which meant more money, and so on.

"Really need to come up with a name for our little place here." he commented, then added, "We ain't callin' it Margret or the like" he said, poking fun of John's name calling abilities.

Chuckling out a 'shut up', John put his cigarette to his lips as he thought about it for a while, then a thought crossed his mind, and a furrow came to his brow.

They couldn't name it after Dutch or Hosea outright, but the things they taught, the things that Dutch preached. The things that everyone had sacrificed to get to this point.

Sacrifice. They'd sacrificed Arthur.

Dutch had taught John just about three things when it came to Chess - he'd tried to teach him to play but the game hadn't caught John's attention, thus hadn't been something the man had picked up. But he remembered something in his line of thought, then offered the double meaning,

"King's Sacrifice."

Arthur nearly choked on his beer as he laughed, "Must I repeat myself when it comes you not naming things? Where'd you pick that up from? One of Mary-Beth's novels?"

Felt depressing. King's Sacrifice Ranch? Christ he hoped not.

He tried to recall the ranch names they'd passed over the years. So many they blurred but most were named after the folk who founded it, like this place's original name was MacDougall Ranch. There was also the MacFarlane Ranch in New Austin. Then some were named after animals like Pronghorn Ranch...

Arthur grinned.

"I'm putting my hat in for Bear Claw Ranch." he said, looking pretty proud of himself as he drained his bottle.

"Well then what the hell are you askin' me for? And you think yours is better? That's just a body part! I got it from tryin' to find a way to get one'a Dutch's things in there, and what you done!" He swatted Arthur's shoulder, scowling at him for maybe half a second before snorting out half a snicker, himself.

"I dunno. Linde's Plan."

Arthur swatted him back, grabbing another beer.

At the new name, he laughed, "No, no, no, can't have that, somethin' always goes wrong!" he grinned, then quickly looked around to make sure Dutch wasn't nearby before laughing again.

He took a swig before adding to the pile of names which at this point had lost all seriousness. "Lumbago Ranch, because by the time we finish with that fence and building a second stable, we're gonna have it ourselves."

John couldn't hold back a full laugh at the first, then it sustained with the second. He finished off his own beer shortly after, and grabbing another for himself.

It took him until he evened out enough to talk, he pointed at Arthur, and offered, as somberly as he possibly could, "Gunsmoke Ranch. Certainly saw enough of it to get where we is."

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