Legends of The Wild, Wild West (Arthur Morgan x John Marston)

Blackwater

John had just reached Blackwater, and went straight to the saloon to look for Arthur.
He hitched Old Boy to the post outside the saloon, gave it a little pat, and went inside.
He walked in and started scanning the saloon, looking at the patrons.. but there was no sign of his presumedly very drunk friend.
There was no sign of ruckus or anything broken either, which means he couldn't have been here.
He let out a sigh, and thought he might as well grab a glass of whisky before heading to the next saloon.

He walked over to the busy bar, "hey, can I get a whisky, please?" He called out to the bartender as he rested on the bar table, taking off his iconic hat.
He waited a couple minutes for the bartender to get to him, "there you go, mister"
"Thanks" he said, as he started to slowly sip on his whisky and look around.
"Who are all these fellers in them fancy suits?"
"They're government agents.. they said they was on their way to apprehend a group of degenerates stayin' just outside of town"
"You don't say..." John replied cautiously.
"They said they was called the der Linde gang.. Somethin' like that. Their faces are on posters all over town. Good riddance, I say. About damn time somebody did somethin' about these troublemakers."
"I agree.. Thanks for the whisky, pal." John said as he slowly started walking outside, covering his face with his hat.
As John reached the door, the bartender calls out "Hey..What did you say your name was, friend?"
"Uhh.. Sam. Name's Sam. Thanks again for the whisky." He replied, slowly opening the door to leave.
"Wait a minute..." said one of the agents looking at the faded posters stuck behind the bar.

"He's one of them!" He yelled.
"Ah, shit" John quickly ran out of the saloon, jumping on Old Boy's back, "Yaa! Let's go boy!"
"Get him!" Said one of dozen agents now shooting at John.

"Shit.. I gotta warn them..." John thought to himself, running away from the men, trying to avoid getting shot in the back. "...but I can't just go to them now.. I'll be leading these assholes straight to cam- AH!" His train of thought was interrupted by a bullet right through his right shoulder.
"Shit!"

He continued riding away into a different route to lure the Pinkertons away from camp.

The sandy country road started slowly turning into snow, as he was approaching the Grizzlies. He continued riding until they gave up and there was no sign of them.

John eventually stopped on top of a snowy hill to catch his breathe and give Old Boy a break.
He rested his tired body behind a rock, with his hand pressing the bullet wound on his shoulder.
"Man, could this day get any worse?" He asked himself, drawing deep breathes, trying to keep himself warm. He was exhausted.

Within minutes, he heard approaching growls coming from a distance.
"What now..."
He looked in their direction to see a pack of hungry wolves sprinting his way, which made Old Boy neigh in fear and flee immediately.
"Ah, shit! That was a rhetorical question, god damn it!"
He immediately pulled out his gun with his working hand and started to shoot aimlessly at the approaching wolves.