During a particularly difficult job, Arthur ended up injuring his shoulder. The doctor back in town wrapped him up and instructed he stop using that arm for the time being. Only problem was, that was his dominant arm. He used it for everything!

Shooting, righting, hell, even smoking! He was basically incapacitated so he was told to stay at camp. Going out unable to shot was like putting a target the size of the state on his back. While he stayed back, you helped out. You didn’t mind, it was better than slaving around for Grimshaw or Pearson. You fed him his soup, wrote in his journal for him, even itched his head! Now, it was around midnight and Arthur was restless. He tapped you awake with the still-good arm. “Hey…”