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Hosea heard his name being called frantically as he settled down in his bedroll. A sense of unease had befallen him and sleep had been fruitless for the past few days.
-
After the rendezvous with Colm, Dutch and Micah had returned to camp. They both looked pleased, an odd little smirk on Micah that set him on edge. When asked where Arthur was, Micah said that he’d gone off on his own with an annoyed expression.
They had left it at that. Arthur was often gone for days at a time, often losing track of time until Dutch had to send someone out looking for him.
But later that day as Hosea sat with Dutch in his tent, Dutch had mentioned offhandedly that Arthur hadn’t met with them at the agreed spot.
That was when Hosea knew something was wrong. No matter how often their boy may be gone, he always met up after a mission. A spike of fear and dread settled in his chest.
Dutch had brushed off his attempts at organising a party to find Arthur, spouting meaningless words towards the man that knew deep in his bones that their son was in danger.
Micah didn’t help, making snide suggestions around the campfire about the possibility Arthur was disloyal. Nearly everyone glared at the man, but no one spoke up to defend their always loyal protector.
Dutch had once again refused to listen to Hosea the next day.
“You know Arthur, Hosea. The boy is probably off doing some bounties, collecting flowers. If he doesn’t return tomorrow, I promise we’ll send someone out.” Dutch said half-heartedly.
Hosea looked over Dutch’s shoulder to Charles, who was shaking his head silently, an angry furrow to his brow. John stood next to him, looking at a loss for words.
They had started plans of their own that night. Charles would start tracking Arthur from the location of the rendezvous the next morning and John would join him. Dutch’s skewed vision of loyalty be damned, Hosea’s son was more important.
-
“Hosea!” Dutch yelled. “Oh God, Arthur.”
Hosea had never heard Dutch so frantic. He got to his feet faster than his old bones allowed, rushing over to the small group huddled around something on the ground.
His heart dropped at the sight he came upon.
His boy’s head was lolling as Dutch held him, body completely limp other than the shivers racking through him. He was stripped to his union suit, the black crater in Arthur’s shoulder made Hosea nauseous.
There was yelling around them, Dutch calling for Grimshaw and the Reverend.
The girls stood around them, hands covering their mouths. Charles and John looked horrified and Bill looked sick. Micah was slinking away, an odd expression on his face that Hosea couldn’t place. The rest of the group became a blur as tears formed in Hosea's eyes.
Arthur groaned in pain as he was carried and lifted onto his cot, a sound Hosea had heard many times before. Yet this time it felt different. The dread, the fear, the anger had not left the man even as Dutch made promises that their son was safe now.
-
They tried, God they tried to save him, but infection had already taken hold, Arthur’s body going septic. No amount of cleaning his wounds or medicine would fix what had already settled and spread deep into his body.
Death had already claimed Arthur Morgan in that dark cellar. Death had settled deep in his shoulder, spreading to his blood and organs. He was never meant to survive.
The only mercy given to him was that he remained unconscious. Yet even in his unconscious state, the man had mumbled about those long dead, reaching for those that weren’t there, calling out for his son.
As he looked down on his boy, Hosea Matthews wished that Death had claimed him too. He had known he was not long for this world, yet fate was cruel enough to kill his son before him.
Arthur had been sick before, had been riddled with infection that nearly killed him, but never in the many years they were together had the man looked lifeless. The only sign he was not yet dead were his struggled and faint breaths.
“Oh, my boy. You can rest now, it’s okay,” Hosea grasped Arthur’s hand, running his other hand through the man’s matted hair.
As Arthur Morgan took his last breath, Hosea Matthew’s mournful sobs were heard throughout the entire camp, a sound that would haunt the gang members for the rest of their days.
Arthur Morgan would not live to seek redemption, nor would he live to protect his loved ones’ from the man they called their leader. One by one, the gang were buried near him, facing the setting sun.