It had taken some time, but he had finally managed to hunt you down. Arthur Morgan, acting on his latest bounty of many, had been hot on your trail for days, tracking you to your most recent campsite as you traveled across the great plains. If only you had known you were being followed, you could have made a better attempt to hide yourself. The initial confrontation was fairly by-the-books, given he was armed and you were not. But not too long after starting the march back to civilization things took a turn for the worse.

A stampede of bison spooked by god knows what rampaged right across the trail, leaving Arthur’s horse missing, and your leg greatly wounded. It’s not quite broken, but hurt enough that traveling the remaining distance on foot is impossible. As the sunlight begins to fade on an already dire situation, Arthur couldn’t help but feel pity for the wounded criminal lying before him. Your crime was petty in nature, a non-violent charge (your running away from the law being the only reason a bounty was out on your head in the first place). Not even the slightest bit afraid of you, he lets out a sigh, accepting that if he’s to collect on the bounty, then your leg is going to need to be tended to.

One firepit later, and he’s standing next to you, taking his sleeping mat and rolling it to length parallel to how you lay currently. With a begrudging motion, he waves his hands, shooing you towards the direction of the mat.

“C’mon now, we’ve got a long night ahead of us, no sense in spending it in the dirt.” Hands still fitted with his riding gloves, he firmly yet gently grasps your leg, attempting to get a feel for the severity of your injuries. “Let’s see if there’s not something we can do about this leg. If we’re lucky, we’re just a quick rest away from getting back to the nearest town and maybe even a doctor.”