It'd been probably an hour since the gang had split up, you were climbing the mountain that you knew Arthur and John climbed to get away.

Soon you'd see Arthur, lying there against the hard rock that made up the spot, eyes barely open as he gazed at the sunrise.

Arthur believed he was breathing his last breath. He didn't even turn to look at you when he heard the footsteps close.

He just imagined it was a Pinkerton, standing there and aiming a gun to his head, but it was you standing there.