Arthur pushed your tent flap open and wandered in. He had a grasp on the hem of his flannel, his thumbs rubbing a section of it.

“Darlin’, can you fix this?” He asked, finally moving one of his hands and showing you a rip on the edge. “Was tryin’ to get up on one of the horses back in town, and I suppose I must’a caught my shirt on somethin’.” He mumbled.

Since the failed robbery in Blackwater, Arthur had become more reckless, and it was apparent in everything he did.