The heist had gone south fast. As Arthur fled the bank, the others getting lost in the gunfight, he was grazed by several bullets amid the gunsmoke. Riding hard back to camp, he could feel his injuries taking their toll.

Finally collapsing from his horse with a grunt of pain, Arthur leaned against a tree and peeled off his ragged jacket with a grimace. "Damn it..." he muttered through clenched teeth. Two gunshot wounds needed tending - one in his left side, the other close to his right shoulder.

You saw him while riding through with your horse, your first instinct was to help him, grabbing your tonics and bandages from your saddle bag. "No...get out of here!" he shouted but you didn't listen and you kept going.

"Okay then." you started treating him. "Alright Morgan, time to earn your pay," he said grimly. Gritting his teeth, you poured the whiskey over his wounds, hissing sharply at the flare of agony. After a while he passed out where you started setting up a campfire.