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Wolf bait... for as much as he teased Marston, Arthur was going to end up as goddamned wolf bait.
The outlaw wasn't sure what had him so possessed. He knew what Albert Mason, 'photographer extraordinaire,' was doing... absolutely knew how dangerous it was. Hell, he'd even warned him it wasn't the brightest idea. And yet, he'd still stood there, utterly captivated by Albert's enthusiasm and infectious, albeit nervous, charm... as wolves started circling his tree-hanging bait before inevitably turning their attention towards them.
Surely, a much larger and more satisfying meal than rotted, sunbathed meat.
Arthur had his revolver drawn in a heartbeat, as Albert made a mad dash for the nearest tree, clambering up the lower branches.
"Oh, good heavens! Do something, Mr. Morgan!"
Arthur's own words were far less polite, grumbling curses through gritted teeth as he raised his gun.
"Told ya this was a bad idea!"
He managed to pick off the nearest beast with a well-aimed shot. With a yelp, the wolf went down, but the rest of the pack was circling. Behavior that he was unfortunately all too familiar with.
"Hungry old bastards."
Another shot, and another wolf fallen, dead in the open clearing. One of the canines made a beeline for Albert's tree, and Arthur made the other man's safety his priority. He heard Albert gasp, shooing the creature away as he flailed his legs, one of his knees slipping through branches as they broke beneath him. Just as it was about to lunge at Albert's free leg as he dangled there, Arthur shot it down. He swore Mister Mason had a goddamned heart attack as he clutched his chest with relief. Or maybe he'd shit himself, who knew.
The last of the two wolves got too close in all his haste to protect his friend. One pounced him from the side. Arthur only had enough time to see teeth gnashing and strings of drool accenting razor-sharp teeth. He felt the weight of the animal knock into him, claws digging into his hip with white-hot pain and nearly knocking him over. The other animal barked, as if cheering its pack-mate on.
Arthur bashed the animal in the skull with the butt of his revolver, disorienting it as it was knocked off of him. The other, however, had just enough time to snag his outstretched arm, teeth closing in on his forearm while claws scratched. Arthur cried out, looking up briefly to see how Albert was faring and seeing the look of pallid horror upon the other man's features.
Even though his arm was in a powerful hold, blood drenching his shirt sleeve, Arthur used his free hand to reach for his hip, retrieving his pistol. In a quick draw, he shot the wolf in the face, the animal screeching as it let go of him and collapsed. The other, now recovering from its head being smacked, was about to pounce again when Arthur dual-wielded it into the ground with several loud shots.
Blood spattered. The wolf howled in agony. Arthur was breathing hard as he stood there, guns smoking and standing in the midst of a whole pack of wolf corpses.
He probably should have sat down, had he been a smarter man. At least observed his torn-up arm, but Albert was still his first priority. Guns holstered, Arthur took a few long strides over to where Albert was still clinging to the branches of his tree. He reached a bloodied hand out, offering to help the other man down. Albert gratefully, though shakily, took his hand, nearly falling right into Arthur's arms as he stumbled out of the tree.
"I'm... ah... Mr. Morgan!" he said breathlessly. "That was... that was truly remarkable."
"Was nothin'," Arthur shrugged. "Besides, I couldn't stand there and watch 'em eat you."
"Almost quite literally a dog's dinner! You have saved my hide! Oh... but... yours has taken quite a beating."
"Reckon I'll be fine. Be back in town within the next day or so."
Alber's hands were on him in concern. Arthur shrugged it off, even though the adrenaline was beginning to wear off, the familiar sting and ache of his wounds approaching his consciousness.
He looked down at his arm, noticing the long scratches along his bicep, and the puncture marks in his forearm. Thankfully, the latter wasn't too bad, as the wolf had mostly got him through his shirt sleeve. He was lucky for that. Albert, however, was looking at the other injuries he'd sustained.
"Within a day? I can't imagine riding on your horse in that... ah, condition will be very soothing. Besides, you'll risk infection."
Following the other man's gaze, Arthur pivoted his waist to look down where the wolf had jumped him. His clothes were torn, and the animal had clawed a series of scratches that stretched from his side, around his hip... and, well, downwards to the back of his hip.
Hell, that was awkward.
"What, you a doctor now?" Arthur scoffed at him.
Albert gestured wildly, before lightly patting Arthur's shoulder, careful of his bleeding wounds.
"Far from it. But, I am eternally in your debt. We could set up camp? I can... take a look at those, perhaps clean them up a bit until you can get yourself to a physician."
Shaking his arm and watching blood drip onto the grass beneath their feet, Arthur stared off into the distance, just above Albert's shoulder. Dark clouds gathered on the horizon, the smell in the air distinctively stormy. He knew that the downpour would come soon, and though he was no stranger to traveling under intense conditions, the rain brought nature out to play. The last thing he needed was to attract more predators and endanger himself and his horse.
Still, he questioned Albert's skills. Photographer, maybe. But caretaker? He was surprised that he hadn't fainted at the sight of so much blood.
"You sure that's a good idea?"
"Well, I'm no expert but, I've read books on survival situations."
Books weren't the same as living it... but, with a lengthy sigh, Arthur gave in.
"Sure, then. Guess you could use the practice."
"Field medicine, as they say!"
The first raindrops were falling by the time they'd gathered Albert's photography equipment and set up camp away from the fallen wolves, so as not to attract the attention of the scavengers that would surely come.
Albert insisted that he could set up himself, assuring Arthur that there was no need to strain his injuries, but he found himself helping anyway. Their horses, Bones and Albert's, were hitched to a nearby tree. Arthur made sure they were fed before they settled in for the quickly-approaching evening.
When his tent was pitched, and sleeping bags rolled out, he saw that it much larger than Arthur's one-man setup. Albert held the folds open with a flourish of his opposite hand.
"After you, Mr. Morgan."
Mumbling his thanks, Arthur ducked inside. He sat down fully on his rear, before he realized that was a mistake with a wince, and ended up leaning on one hip. Albert followed, kneeling near his satchel and procuring some supplies, the two of them illuminated by lantern-light as the sky darkened due to the storm clouds.
While Arthur slid his suspenders off his shoulders and began unbuttoning his shirt, he watched as Albert took out a metal bowl, and poured water from his canteen into it. He also had a couple of rather fancy-looking towels (the embroidered variety) that he probably used on his camera equipment to clean it off.
Arthur's shirt was untucked from his pinstriped pants, and as he stiffly pulled his arms from the sleeves, he could feel the stickiness of dried blood adhering the material to his wounds. He managed to peel it from his skin. Another ruined shirt.
Looking on with concern, Albert spoke softly.
"Do you have any antiseptic?"
"Got some whiskey," Arthur said once he was shirtless, and reached for his own satchel, where he took out a couple of bottles. Aside from enjoying a drink here and there, it was pretty effective in cleansing wounds.
"I'll say," Albert chuckled. "Quite the cowboy. I try not to partake on the job."
"Yeah, well... you know how it goes."
Arthur laughed slightly. He highly doubted the man downed any hard liquor on a frequent basis.
Scooting closer to him, Albert had dipped one of the towels in water, gently taking Arthur's elbow.
"Let's have a look, shall we?"
Albert began to wipe the scratches marring his upper arm clean of dried blood. As Arthur observed, he found that they were far more shallow than he'd estimated. While Albert worked, Arthur used his opposite hand to pop the cork off of his whiskey, taking a few long swigs.
In the distance, the roll of thunder could be heard, rain beginning to patter against the material of the tent.
"Helps with the pain, too," Arthur mumbled, as Albert offered something of morbid smile.
"Whatever you need. Surely your tolerance is far better than mine."
He had moved onto dabbing at the wolf bite on his lower arm, gently examining it. After taking a few more sips, Arthur took it upon himself to dowse the wounds as he poured the alcohol over them. It was a familiar sting, thankfully deadened somewhat by drinking half the bottle.
Amazingly, Albert even had bandages. Far fancier than any makeshift kind that he had back at camp. They were doctor's quality... and he at least had to give him credit for being prepared.
His typically nervous hands were somewhat steady as he neatly wrapped up Arthur's arm. His hand lingered even after he'd tied off the bandages, ever-so-gently giving his bicep muscle a squeeze.
"Too tight?"
Arthur squinted at him through the firelight. He was feeling a bit buzzed, the rain coming to an intense crescendo as it poured down.
"Nah, feels fine."
Wiping his hands with one of the bloodied towels, he noticed that Albert wasn't quite looking him in the eye.
"Are you going to, um--?"
Arthur stared. "Huh?"
"Your... ah, hip region."
Thinking on it for a moment, he figured it was either Albert or a pretty awkward doctor's visit. He opted for Albert, unskilled as he was.
Without another word, Arthur shrugged, and rose to his knees. Albert quickly turned his back to him, almost comically.
"I won't look until you're ready."
He unclasped his gun belt, the heavy leather thudding to the ground as it was removed. Thumbs looping into his pants, Arthur then tugged them down past his hips. He figured the only way to do this comfortably was to lie down, so he lowered himself onto his stomach, his body stretching nearly the whole length of the tent and overlapping the sleeping bag slightly.
"Reckon I'm good," Arthur muttered, in disbelief that he was letting this happen. Though, at least it was a scar he could cover, unlike John. Besides, he couldn't recall Marston saving anyone in the process of getting mauled.
Albert turned back around, his lips pulled tight. He wasn't sure if it was the firelight of the lantern reflecting on his features, but his face looked reddened.
Ever the gentleman, Albert draped a towel over Arthur's opposite hip, and, well, cheek so as not to expose him entirely as he gingerly prodded the length of the wound, wiping over it with the dampened cloth.
"Think it needs stitches?" Arthur asked, once he realized that Albert had grown unusually quiet and focused.
"Er, well, it is rather deep..."
Arthur heaved out a sigh. "Well, can't do it myself."
"Mister Morgan," he shook his head, "I find myself ill-fitted to--"
Arthur cut him off. "Needle an' thread's right there. You can sew, can't ya?"
"Of course, but--"
"You get your nerves out. I'm gonna need more of this..."
Reaching for the second bottle of whiskey, Arthur chugged the best he could while lying prone. After a couple of minutes, Albert took it from him, and had a swig too, though he coughed. He then used a couple of splashes to cleanse the gash that had sliced from his hip, and along the dip of muscle where his hip met his buttock.
"Ahhh, shit."
Arthur hissed, hands balling into fists. It burned something fierce, but at least the whiskey left him numb in comparison. Albert spurted anxious apologies, while Arthur groaned.
"Dear god, that must hurt terribly..."
"Puttin' it lightly. Can I have that bottle back?"
"Certainly!"
Whiskey in hand, Arthur got right back to drinking it.
"Are you certain you want me to do this?"
Though he had the needle and thread in hand, Albert was looking more than a little pale.
"Made it this far haven't we?"
Albert sighed. "I'll do my best..."
Arthur braced himself, waiting for the first pierce of the needle. Surprisingly, though he heard Albert release a dramatic gasp, he was getting right to it. Probably wanted to get it over with as much as he did. As he threaded another stitch, he heard a weak-sounding whimper escape the other man.
"Don' you dare faint," Arthur grumbled, words beginning to slur from the whiskey.
"Doing my best," he said, releasing a long, steadying breath. "Does it hurt very much?"
"'Course it hurts."
"I'm really... very sorry about all of this."
"Don't mention it."
It wasn't as if Albert could have defended himself, in any case... and highly doubted he even carried a weapon of any sort. Dangerous business, out here.
He could feel Albert's hands trembling against his skin, with every poke of the needle through his flesh and uncomfortable tug of the thread as his skin was pulled. Arthur wasn't sure what was worse. The fact that this had happened in the first place, or that he was actually letting Albert do this.
Some time passed, as Arthur gritted his teeth through the discomfort. He figured he was about half done as he attempted to focus on the erratic pattering of the rain, counting the lapse between thunder claps. There had to be a way to distract them both from the uncomfortable silence that hung.
"So, you got a girl?" Arthur blurted at last, glancing over his shoulder at Albert. He realized how little he knew about him, despite the couple of times they'd worked together.
"Me?" Albert chuckled faintly. "Oh, no, no... too married to my work."
"Me neither. Never had much luck with 'em."
"Women are as wild and beautiful as the forces of mother nature herself."
"Yeah, and jus' as hard to tame." Arthur started to laugh, but it came out as more of a tipsy wheeze, before fading into a pained groan as Albert jabbed the needle particularly deep. "Ouch."
"So sorry! I'm just about finished."
Thank god. Arthur toughed it out through the last few stitches, and when Albert signaled his success with a gentle pat to the back of his thigh, Arthur allowed his head to rest on his arms in relief.
"And... done!"
"Thanks for the help," he mumbled, more than spoke. Between the whiskey, the dull aching of his wounds, and the steady pour of rain, Arthur was feeling lulled into what felt like it was going to be a pretty good doze.
"Of course," Albert said, and Arthur saw that his trembling fingertips were stained with his blood. "It's the least I can do. You can rest here, of course. I'll keep watch."
His head began to feel too heavy to keep upright, words rolling into each other. "Awfully niceofya. Normally I wouldn't impose, but--"
"Hush, Mr. Morgan. You've not only lost a fair amount of blood, but you saved my life. Please, rest as much as you need."
Arthur watched Albert wash his hands in the bowl of water, the liquid swiftly swirling crimson. As he wiped his hands on one of the towels, he saw that Albert was smiling... though, it was a sad kind of smile. Did the feller feel bad? Honestly, it wasn't that big of a deal. He had sort of forgotten that he was laying in Albert's tent, practically naked. All he thought about now was some sleep.
"You're a remarkable specimen of man, you know," Albert said softly, his eyes briefly flitting from his eyes, to along the length of his stretched-out, mostly-bared figure.
Arthur's face felt distinctively hot. Fever, maybe.
"Wish more women felt like that," he chuckled, and then coughed.
"Isn't that the truth?"
Albert began cleaning up the supplies, and Arthur was about to close his eyes when he noticed that Albert was lingering near to him. He saw him glance at his camera near the back of the tent.
"Uh... Mister Morgan, do you mind terribly... if I... uh, snapped your photograph?"
Arthur lifted his head again to regard him. "'scuse me?"
"I just, I find it very romantic."
"Ain't much romantic about a wolf clawing up my ass."
"Perhaps not, but... you capture the spirit of the American West! Gunfire, bloodshed, men valiantly risking life and limb for--"
"--for a damsel in distress?" Surely his smile was dopey at the tease, but it got a good chuckle out of Albert.
"Well, I suppose I'm living up to the title. But, the audience doesn't have to know the full details of... the context. "
Arthur's brow raised. "Audience? Don'tcha think I should be a lil more... decent?"
"No, no... it's fine. One moment."
Delicately, Albert adjusted the towel to be fully draped over his backside, so that he was more modest, and otherwise not on display. He went about setting up his camera, while Arthur contemplated how very strange his life was at times.
God, if he wasn't drunk he would have told him to find another mauled-up model. Or at least, that's what he told himself as he laid there. Albert's innocence, and love of art, though... was just so damned endearing.
While Albert was fiddling with his camera, Arthur took it upon himself to see if there was any whiskey left. He shook the bottle, finding a good few sips remaining. Holding the device up, Albert nearly startled him with sudden enthusiasm. The nervous doctor had left the tent, returning to his true form as an anxious photographer.
"Oh, yes! Yes! Hold the whiskey bottle. Oh! And perhaps your gun."
This all seemed very silly, but Arthur took the advice, reaching for his revolver. His bandaged arm holding his gun upright, and his opposite outstretched with whiskey in hand, Arthur's head tilted, suddenly feeling quite hard to hold up as he rested it on one of his forearms. Still, he posed for this cheesy photograph to the best of his abilities.
"This okay?"
"Hold it, hold it, and-- perfect!"
Arthur cracked a smile as the flash went off, and Albert seemed remarkably pleased with what he had captured.
"Incredible! Thank you, Mr. Morgan... if these turn out, I'll compensate you handsomely."
"If those turn out, my gang better not see 'em," Arthur scoffed, placing the items back down, and allowing himself to rest again. "Ain't no harm in callin' me Arthur, ya know."
"Well, then, I promise I won't interfere any more with your well-earned rest." His camera was once again put away, and Albert tipped his hat politely. "I wish that you sleep like a king, dear Arthur... sleep like a king."
Albert Mason was quite the character, his charm infectious even though it was because of him that he'd ended up like this to begin with. Still, as Arthur shook his head, smiling as he ultimately dozed off, he was vaguely aware of the weight of a blanket being draped over him... having total faith that he'd get that kingly sleep that Albert had hoped for him.