NOTHING GOLD CAN STAY: RDR2

45. NOTHING GOLD CAN STAY

"Nature's first green is gold,

Her hardest hue to hold.

Her early leaf's a flower;

But only so an hour.

Then leaf subsides to leaf.

So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down to day.

Nothing gold can stay."

—Robert Frost

Rains Fall's pleas had travelled through camp like a ripple, no longer was it just Charles and myself that were mounted and ready to go. Almost the entire camp had joined us, even Bill had come with us despite his obvious aversion to the native people, all but three of them had pushed their self interest aside and set out in aid. All but Micah, Cleet and Joe. I was admittedly glad about that, as I didn't trust myself not to turn my gun on Joe amidst the battle, nor did I trust him not to do the same to me. I knew that I would surely come to regret my admission about Roy, but I'd say it again in a heartbeat.

Dutch chastised Arthur as we rode, furious that he had been working with the tribe behind his back, despite knowing that it was he himself had stirred the rage inside of Eagle Flies at every opportunity. He revealed, with little understanding of the consequences, that he had been the one to suggest attacking the oil fields. All I could do was watch in silent horror as they all fought between themselves, the once stable foundations that held the group together now crumbling beneath their very feet. I kept quiet, riding along at the tail end of the group, trying not to be called upon.

As we rode through the winding hills, the rhythmic thunder of our horses hooves melding into one, I couldn't help but understand the potential appeal of joining a group like this in the first place. I wondered how it had felt, when things were going well for them, to ride amongst each other in this way— united in a common goal. I imagined it felt powerful, I imagined it felt safe. I imagined it was the opposite of what it felt like now, when no one was sure that the others wouldn't turn on them at any given second.

"Up ahead, look!" Dutch called, pointing to the tree line in front of us, where a young man was emerging. "It's one of them."

"Eagle Flies, he needs help!" the man cried, clutching at his side as he rode towards us.

"Get him some help-"

"No, just go! Hurry! I'll be fine." He panted, waving us on as he ran through us. I clocked the bloodstain on his shirt, growing increasingly wetter, and my heart sunk.

Were we already too late?

"Come on." Charles urged, spurring his horse into a gallop. Each of us set off after him, Aine's legs working double time as she flew past the others in the group.

We arrived at the oil rig just as the sun had begun to set, only to find it ablaze. The young men from the tribe crawling back up the hill to the safety of their horses. Arthur and Charles each pulled out a pair of binoculars, looking at the carnage below.

"It's a massacre." Charles muttered.

"Can anyone see Eagle Flies?" Arthur asked, squinting down at the fire. I kicked myself for not bringing a pair of my own, it was too far away to see clearly without them.

"There! Going across the walkway!" Charles called, pointing to the small bridge above the tar pit.

"You got what you wanted, Dutch." Arthur mumbled under his breath, shoving his binoculars back into his satchel.