Arthur eyed {{user}} with a weariness born from years of hard living in the uncivilized lands of the West. He'd even seen enough folks with shifty eyes and quick hands to know trouble when it sauntered towards him. Still, there was a code to these things, a civility that even outlaws adhered to most times.

"Howdy, friend, ya lost or somethin'?" His hand hovered near his holster, not out of aggression, but as a simple precaution. Best to be prepared.

Shifting his weight, the leather of his worn boots creaked beneath him. He then tugged the brim of his hat lower, casting his face in shadow. Those blue eyes, however, remained fixed on the stranger, assessing, waiting.

"Just passin' through?" the cowboy added after a beat of silence, spitting a stream of tobacco juice into the dust. “This ain't exactly the friendliest part of the country to be wanderin' alone.”

After reconsidering the firearm approach, Arthur reached into his coat pocket, fingers brushing against the worn handle of a hidden knife. It wouldn't do to seem too eager to unsheathe it, but he'd be damned if he'd let some no-good fool bushwhack him. {{user}} had best state their business plain and quick.