The moon was high in the sky when Arthur Morgan realized he'd been riding far longer than he should've been. He'd overestimated his energy, staying in the saddle for most of the day and only eating a little bit here and there. Knowing his time was running out was what drove him to ride as hard as he did, but the outlaw was now regretting not setting up camp at dusk. His eyelids were heavy, and his lungs burned like fire more so than they usually did. The ears of his horse were constantly swiveling backward at the sound of his wheezing. Arthur gathered some strength and managed to reach forward to pat his horse's neck.
"It's alright, girl. I'm fine."
The mare snorted as she walked on.
Arthur lifted his weary gaze to the dusty road. The trees were thinning out, and the Grizzlies were towering in the distant horizon; the moonlight reflecting off their snowcapped peaks. Valentine was close, and he pulled together his determination and sheer stubbornness to make it to the familiar hotel in the small cattle town.
His body, however, had other plans. He felt the familiar tunneling of his vision and vertigo swimming in his head as his lungs spasmed. Arthur did his best to stay in the saddle, but his grip on the horn weakened and he slumped to the ground.
Arthur's horse whinnied, stamping nervously in place beside him as he coughed uncontrollably. After what felt like an eternity the coughing subsided, draining what was left of his energy. He lied there with blood and spittle spattered on his face, panting as he felt his horse's warm breath against his hair as she nuzzled him. He groaned as his eyes began to close against his will, and the last thing he saw was his horse lowering herself to lay by his side.
The soft light of dawn slowly pulled Arthur from his sleep. He awoke as exhausted as he'd been the night before and with a light cough, he forced his eyes open to find himself inside a tent beside a fire. His eyebrows pulled together. Arthur was certain this was his first time waking up after losing consciousness. There was no way he'd been able to set up camp on his own in his current state. He lifted a hand to his face, massaging his temples where there was the residual thrum of a headache. For a man with awful luck, he seemed to always find himself on the other side of his episodes being cared for.
The next thought that occurred to him was that he had no idea whose tent this was. The canvas seemed brand new compared to his own, and the bedroll beneath him was far more luxurious. He froze, wondering if he'd somehow crawled into a stranger's tent.
The appearance of a familiar friend outside the tent extinguished the fear. He couldn't help the smile that pulled at his lips at the sight of Albert but instead of a chuckle, his lungs forced out several coughs. The man turned quickly, the soft features of his face shrouded with genuine concern. Albert was by his side in a matter of seconds, and he looked him over.
Arthur was familiar with the once over people gave him now. He was merely the shadow of a man he once was, the disease eating him away at a torturous pace. His eyes were bloodshot and surrounded by dark circles. The wheezing was more frequent than it used to be, which did nothing to help the icy fear growing in the pit of his stomach.
"Arthur, I...what happened?" He finally asked.
"My sins caught up to me, I guess." The outlaw groaned. "Doctor says it's tuberculosis."
Albert's face fell, a hand reaching up to cover his mouth. "But, I just saw you a month ago! You seemed well!"
"A lot has happened since then." He replied as he mustered the strength to sit up.
Albert was silent for a long while before he spoke again. "I've cooked up some rabbit. It isn't much, but it might help restore your strength."
"You're too kind, Mr. Mason." He grinned as the man helped him to the fire.
"Please, call me Albert, and it's the least I can do to. You've helped me more than once, and I'm more than happy to return the favor."
Arthur eyed him in amusement as he took a seat. "You're about the nicest man I've met who's from the city. You sure you ain't from somewhere out in the country? Maybe Canada?"
Albert laughed as he removed a skillet from the grill. "I can assure you I'm a native-born city folk."
He chuckled to himself. "Well, they all need to learn a thing or two from you."
Albert smiled as he handed him a portion of the meat from the skillet, and Arthur thanked him. Even with his sickness, he was starving. As he chewed the lightly seasoned meat, his eyes took in the campsite before him. For a city dweller, it was impressive. The campfire was situated so that the wind carried the smoke downwind and the site was nestled in a small clearing between a few spaced out trees.
"You've really outdone yourself with this camp." He mused aloud.
"Well, I decided to heed the advice of a wise man who may have suggested that I needed to learn a thing or two."
Arthur dismissed his comment with a wave of his hand. "It doesn't take a wise man to know how to properly camp."
"Sure, but that's not what I said."
Arthur understood what the photographer had implied, but he chose to ignore the attempted compliment as he continued to eat. For once he thought he would be able to finish a meal in its entirety, but his coughing started once again without fail. He set aside what little was left as the fire returned to his lungs and throat. When the fit had finally stopped, his brow was soaked in sweat, and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and ignored Albert's worried gaze.
"Isn't there anything they can do for you?" He asked softly.
Arthur grunted out a wheezy chuckle. "They could put me out of my misery. Hell, they want me hanged in Blackwater."
"That's not an option." Albert retorted with a scowl. The unnatural firmness in his tone forced Arthur to look at him. It surprised him that the photographer was even capable of such sternness. Yet his gentleness returned just as quickly and was twice as disarming.
"I guess I'm just...not ready for the end." The outlaw sighed, finally letting his guard down.
Albert's hazel eyes lowered to the ground as he fiddled with his hands. "Truthfully, I don't think any of us are."
"But the idea of dying is nothing new to me. I've had my fair share of near-death experiences, but there's so much that needs...fixing. I've got to set things right before I go, and I guess I'm just..." Arthur's voice faltered as his throat constricted and he felt the need to clear it.
"Afraid?" Albert offered.
"I guess that's the word for it."
"Well," he sighed, "if you need anything, please let me know. You don't have to do this alone."
He nodded. "Thanks, Al."
"Of course, it's my pleasure."
They watched the fire die in a silence that Arthur found oddly comfortable. His blue eyes flicked up to the sunrise peeking over the mountain range. He wasn't sure how many more sunrises he would have the pleasure of witnessing. The doctor in Saint Denis hadn't given him an exact timeline, but regardless he was thankful to be sharing this one with a friend who he knew he could trust. It was a bittersweet moment tinged by a longing in the back of his mind. Arthur wished that he didn't have to experience the end of such wonderful things so soon. But this was his lot in life, and he was sure as hell he was going to make his final weeks, if that, count.