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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
1884
"Dammit," Arthur hissed under his breath. "How'd you find us?" His voice now was confident. He chanced a look behind him, only to find himself bewildered by the inexplicable grin on Saul's face.
"That's what I wanted to tell you," Pearson moaned, hanging his head. "This man has been asking about Dutch Van Der Linde all over town."
Arthur sighed in annoyance. He hadn't seen Saul in almost a year, since the night he and Mary's other cousins had interrupted the sheep shearing, but he remembered his face well. Saul was an ugly one, with long, dirty-blond hair and ice-blue eyes. He still rode the same bay, quarter horse gelding, and he still looked just as vicious. His grin was full of crooked teeth, but his physique was muscular and lean.
If looks could kill, though, Saul would have already been dead. Mac Callander turned around on his horse, staring past Pearson with a murderous glint in his eye. After witnessing the speed of his draw earlier, Arthur had no doubt he'd have already killed Saul if the man's second gun wasn't already pointed at his head. Mac's vengeful gaze could have torn holes through a normal man, but Saul Gillis seemed unafraid of him. His lack of fear frightened Arthur even further.
Likewise, there was nothing John could have done about it, not unless he wanted Arthur and Mac dead. In the time it would have taken him to pull his gun, Mac and Arthur would already be on the ground with bullets through their brains. Arthur could see him out of the corner of his eye, forming these exact same conclusions for himself. "Easy, John," Arthur said slowly. "Don't do somethin' stupid."
"Listen to Arthur, kid," Saul said cheerily, positively elated that he'd caught them. "Ride on back to Dutch now and tell them we're coming. And if they know what's good for them back at your camp, they won't attempt to hide Mary and Jamie from me."
"How do I know you won't shoot these two while I'm gone?" John hissed.
"I'm a bounty hunter, not a psychopath," Saul protested. "And I do things much differently than Thomas and Joshua did."
"Even you can't hold your guns up forever," Mac reminded him smugly, his voice dripping with venom. "Your arms'll get tired eventually."
"You're Sheriff Callander, formerly Mac Callander of the Texas Rangers, ain't you?" Saul asked. "I've heard all about you and the things you've done. Is it true you killed Samuel Hernandez in a duel back in '74?" His taunts were almost songlike.
Mac's face was stone. "Still carry his old double action on my left hip. It's got a lot more than twenty notches on the grip now. I cut a new one every time I win a duel, and I'm startin' to run out of space." He turned to his other side. "Go on, John, do what this man says."
"What about you and Arthur?" John asked. His voice trembled, and he wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. In that moment, he looked every bit like the frightened kid he was.
