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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1891
Arthur finished the final pen strokes of a journal entry and tucked the little booklet in his satchel. In his heart, he thought of Mary. In fact, part of his previous journal entry had been a large, detailed portrait of her, from the silky strands of brown hair that fell gently across her face to the kind, gentle look in her doe's eyes. It had been a few weeks since he'd seen her, and he missed her terribly.
The gang was back in Deer Creek, Montana, of all places, which had grown substantially since the winter they'd spent there years ago. Dutch supposedly missed the countryside there, and it was currently summer, but they planned to leave for warmer climates in a month or so, such as Arizona or New Mexico. They would have considered Utah as well, but Dutch hated Mormons for their strict, religious ways.
"Arthur, do you have a minute?" asked Dutch himself, peering around the corner of Arthur's wagon with a beady look in his eyes. "I've got an idea, son."
"Okay," Arthur said, obediently dropping what he was doing to follow Dutch back to his tent, where he was surprised to find Mac, Davey, John, and Hosea. All the work horses in one place. "Who're we robbin', Dutch?" he asked as soon as he saw them. There was no other explanation for why they were all there.
"Not who," Davey answered, rubbing his hands together gleefully. "What."
"A bank," Dutch replied, placing a hand on Arthur's shoulder to look him in the eye.
"A bank?" Arthur questioned, his eyes narrowing quizzically. "Which one?"
"The one across the state border in Cheyenne, Wyoming," Mac answered for him. "My brother and I have been to scope it out, and I think we can hit it with all of us, if we get in and get out fast. Cheyenne's a railroad town that makes its money in cattle. Beef market's good right now, which means there'll be a whole pile of money in the bank there, just ripe for the takin'."
"But," Arthur sputtered. "But what about us not robbin' banks? What about how dangerous it is, Dutch? Those are your rules. We gonna just forget about all of 'em?"
Dutch growled and crossed his arms. His eyes were like two flashing chips of amber in the sunlight. "Stop it, Arthur. I can't handle anyone doubtin' me right now. Winter is on its way, and we need money to buy supplies to get us through it. We got far too many mouths to feed these days, in case you haven't noticed."
Hosea spoke up tiredly from his seated position on Dutch's bed. "Leave him alone, Dutch. He's got a point."
"And I don't?" Mac growled as Dutch looked on approvingly. "We nearly starved last winter because we didn't have enough saved up. Arthur spent all his time deer hunting for that Eliza woman and her boy, and everybody knows the only other decent hunter around here is me! And I was laid up with some kind of fever for a solid two months. What happens if one of us gets sick again, hm?"
"Don't you act like I had any choice but to help Eliza," Arthur hissed, glaring up at Mac. He didn't care that Mac was bigger and a better shot; he had no choice but to be there for his family, and Mac knew it. Arthur felt like punching some sense into him, and he probably would have followed through if it weren't for the calming touch of a hand on his shoulder. John's hand, young and naive as it was, helped steady his temper.
