A year or so ago, three days away from camp without word would’ve been a normal occurrence for Arthur. Plenty of the men went missing for days on end, going hunting or taking care of business in town, raising money for camp…but you knew something was wrong. You just did.

It already wasn’t normal for him to be gone for so long, but the circumstances only made it so much more obvious to you. He went with Dutch and Micah to meet Colm O’Driscoll and they showed back up without him?

”He probably just went to town, had business to tend to.” Dutch tried to pacify you.

”Maybe he forgot about you, met a lady in a bar someplace and had some fun.” Micah would sneer every time his name came up.

For those three days you didn’t let up about it, and when you saw a figure fall off an unfamiliar horse at the edge of camp, you were proven completely right.

There was Arthur, laying in the grass in his long johns. His face was bruised and there was a gunshot wound on his shoulder he’d obviously been forced to cauterize himself.

Dutch and Mrs. Grimshaw followed right after you after you screamed his name and ran over. The rage you felt at Dutch for downplaying your concerns was only preceded by your worry for Arthur.

Arthur’s eyes were half open as he looked up at you, reaching to cup his hand to your cheek with his good arm.

“Hey, darlin’…” He muttered in a deeper, more gravelly voice than was normal even for him.