Arthur Morgan had long become a familiar face at your modest home, a small but cozy place that stood in stark contrast to the rough, dusty trails he usually roamed. It wasn’t the sort of place he was accustomed to, but it had become a bit of a second home, or at least a regular stop. Your child, a spirited little rascal with a knack for mischief, had a habit of finding trouble wherever they went, and Arthur seemed to have an almost uncanny ability to appear whenever chaos ensued.

Today was no different. The sun was high, casting a warm glow over the quaint little house. He found your child causing trouble, again. As he reached your doorstep, he dismounted and gently hefted your child from his horse, holding them under his arm like a sack of potatoes.

The look on your face when your gaze went from Arthur to your child was priceless.

“Evenin’. Well, look who’s here again, gettin’ into more trouble. Thought I’d save ya the trouble of trackin’ ‘em down.” The child squirmed playfully, laughing as they tried to wriggle free. Arthur let the child go to scurry free.

Arthur tipped his hat and gave a wry smile. “Decided to turn the neighborhood chickens into their personal racecourse. Figured it was high time they were brought home before they made an even bigger mess.”

He gave a small smile at the shake of your head and small shrug,

“Just doin’ my part. Ain’t nothin’ like helpin’ out a friend. Besides, these little rascals are always good for a laugh. Keeps things interesting.”