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Dutch, of course, had advised you to not do anything dangerous. Although you were in a new area and you all were outlaws, getting into serious trouble and being caught was something the gang couldn’t risk. Yet, as you rode off to Valentine, a small and quaint town, you did everything you weren’t supposed to do. From robbing and fighting- to killing and running away. It wasn’t like you had meant to, but the man was too drunk and too hostile to not draw your weapon.
So now you were riding as fast as you could, away from the law officers and away from the unnecessarily angry town of Valentine. You were tired- your horse was tired- and it seemed like the only way out was to fight. Damn, you should have listened to Dutch just this once.
“God dammit!” You cursed, gripping the reins in one hand and drawing your gun in the other and turned around, aimed and fired, clipping a man in the shoulder and watching him go down.
Bullets flew by you and you thanked God that nearly all of them missed- nearly. One grazed your shoulder while one slug buried itself into your thigh. You hissed in pain and your horse turned sharply, tossing you down to the ground roughly with your back smacking into the dirt. Fighting to catch your breath, you raised your revolver and pulled the trigger, not watching as the bullet went through his throat.
But it didn’t stop there. More men rode up in horses, some getting off and others aiming their guns at you. It was over now, they had gotten you and there wasn’t a damn thing you could do about it. Either they’d just kill you now or lock you up and you debated your odds quickly and winced when one of the men kicked your gun out of your hand.
“Fucker!” You yelled, rolling in a desperate attempt to get it back.
He just laughed crudely at your pitiful display but that all stopped when the sound of gunfire rang once again. It was quick and after each echo a man when down, dead on the ground. You frowned and took the distraction as a chance to grab your gun.
As the newcomer drew near, it was like you were looking upon salvation in the form of a grumpy rugged man who was familiar in a lot of ways. Dutch must have told him about what you were up to and now you were either thankful or wishing you were dead already. The decision was still up for debate. When one of the men tried to run, you pulled back the hammer and aimed carefully before you pulled the trigger. At least you were a good shot.
All the was left was bodies and frightened horses, scattering about and your savior. The man rode up to you and quickly hopped onto the dirt, his eyes narrowed. “Are ya’ down right stupid? How could you do somethin’ so reckless?”
“Oh, Arthur Morgan. Ya’ worry too much.” You rolled onto your back, squinting at the sun.
Arthur went to go grab you by your shirt, but then the sight of blood coating your shoulder stopped him. “You really are a dumbass. Gonna get yourself killed- and for what?”
You let out a groan and glared at him, gasping sharply as you tried to sit up. “Are you just gonna nag me all day or help me up?”
“I should just leave ya’. Tell Dutch ya’ finally bit the dust.” He grumbled but took your hand despite his words, being oddly gentle as he helped you stand.
His arm went around your waist as you stumbled, gritting your teeth when the wound on your thigh throbbed painfully. You leaned against his horse and then reached out and took his knife from his hip, carving off a strip of fabric from your shirt. He took the piece of cloth from you and knelt down, tying it tightly around your wound.
As he knotted it into place, you gripped his shoulder and hissed. “God, Arthur. Might as well just shoot me again.”
Arthur laughed dryly but a smile was there and brighter than the sun. Well, almost, if he didn’t have all that hair on his face. “Just get on up. We need to leave before someone else shows up.”
“What about my horse?” You looked around in search of the animal but it was gone like the others.
The man grumbled and grabbed your hips. “I’ll find ‘im later. Come on.”
With his hands holding your waist so softly and your hands on his shoulders, you couldn’t help but gaze into his eyes as he lifted you up onto the back of his horse. The corner of his lips twitched but it was gone so quickly you weren’t sure if it actually happened. As he climbed into the saddle, you wrapped your arms around his waist and leaned your head against his shoulder.
It was silent for a while- just the quiet neighing and grunts of the horse and the clopping of hooves against the ground. You thought about starting a conversation but with Arthur’s attitude, you’d probably just get scolded by him again. Not that he had any place- he was just as bad.
“Thank you, Arthur.” You whispered, watching the trees go by, warning you that the camp was just up ahead.
He didn’t respond for a moment, and then he cleared his throat. “Yeah, just-” He sighed, placing a hand over yours that were clasped against his stomach. “Don’t do that again, alright? Or maybe take someone with you.”
Grinning deviously, you tapped your fingers teasingly up his torso. “You worried about me, Arthur Morgan?”
Arthur grunted as they passed Bill who was on watch. Once they were out of earshot, he said gruffly; “So what if I am?”
“You’d have to be a fool to worry about me.” You joked, waving towards Dutch as he spotted the two of you from his tent. Just what you needed- another annoyed man nagging about your recklessness. “Would you consider yourself a fool?”
He turned his head towards you, eyes watching your playful smirk. Then he laughed and shook his head. “I guess I would. The biggest fool of them all.”