Arthur Morgan did not intend to survive when he gave his hat to John Marston and stayed behind to gain his redemption. As he crawled towards his final resting place, he never intended to wake up again.
But he does wake up. Thanks to time travelers F...
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1883
Arthur sat by himself, on a cliff overlooking the Upper Montana River. His feet dangled over the sides of it, and the warm breeze flew across his face, awash with the scent of sagebrush and water on rocks.
Behind him, the gang's camp was unusually quiet. Perhaps it was the searing heat of the day, or the lack of much to do, but it seemed as though everyone was in their tents, peacefully sleeping the day away. In fact, it startled Arthur when someone else entered his field of view and sat next to him, dangling their feet off the cliff as well.
"Ain't much goin' on around here, is there?" Mac Callandar asked, lighting up a cigarette. Rather than looking at Arthur, he stared across the river towards Blackwater and the Great Plains in the distance. "I like it up here, though. It's quiet. Nothing like livin' in a town."
"It's quieter when folk leave you alone," Arthur said stiffly. He appreciated his alone time, and did not enjoy having it interrupted.
Mac sighed and ran a hand through his blond hair. "Yeah, maybe. I just figured I'd come sit with you for a spell. You ain't hardly been here in camp since I joined y'all, and I know the look of a man with a lot on his mind, if that makes sense."
Arthur finally turned to look at him. "Who says I got a lot on my mind?"
"Nobody. But after Limpany, you disappeared for a solid two weeks. John figured you were holed up with a girl you been seein' lately, but I have my doubts."
Arthur sighed and looked away again. "He weren't exactly wrong. I did spend a couple nights with her, but I couldn't stay much longer. Her cousins are bounty hunters from up north of Strawberry, and they've been staying with her as guardians or somethin' like that while her father is off gamblin' their life savings away. They won't let her do nothin' around the farm, and they know I'm sweet on her. I think they're just hoping I'll be stupid enough to go back there so they can catch me and turn me in for the price I got on my head. Either that or they think they can make me lead them to Dutch."
"Were they wrong?" Mac asked, his brow furrowing. "I mean, you did go back there, didn't you? You must love this girl a lot to risk your neck like that."
The word "love" hit Arthur like a ton of bricks. He hadn't considered applying it to his feelings for Mary before, but it made sense. The more he thought about it, the more he realized Mac was right. He did love Mary. What fool wouldn't? She was soft and warm and beautiful. But more than that, she was far too good for Arthur. She recognized all his faults, and yet she cared for him anyway.
"Sorry," Mac apologized after Arthur's thoughtful silence had grown uncomfortable. "I'm still tryin' to get a handle on you folk. I guess that's somethin' Annabelle and I both have in common, although it seems Dutch is keen on helpin' her adjust at all costs."
Arthur sighed. "Sure. I ain't never seen Dutch this worked up over a woman. He's never more than ten feet from her, and the other day he yelled at me for accidentally bumping into her when I was getting a cup of coffee. It's got me and Hosea both a little perplexed."
