No one expected them to be back for a least two days.
Nevertheless, the camp went about preparing for their return the moment they rode out.
They knew Dutch would want Arthur in his tent, it was the best one in camp. So, they replace the furs on the cot with towels and blankets that could get ruined. Extra blankets, clean clothes, and rags being placed nearby.
Two bedrolls are placed in the corner, waiting for whoever would end up falling asleep first, but not willing to leave.
A small table is placed within reach of the cot, covered with bandages and medicine. Anything they could need was taken from the medical wagon and placed on the table.
Pails of water are filled and kept close to the fire, ready to be warmed at a moment's notice.
Soon, there was nothing left to do but wait. Even trailing into the night very few slept. Too wound up to relax. Waiting anxiously for the return of their lost member.
It was a little past midnight when they heard hoofbeats coming down the path. Karen calls out from her post, announcing the return of Charles, Javier, and Bill.
Charles quickly dismounts, the camp now fully awake and crowding him. He explains they found Arthur on their way. He had somehow escaped on his own, they met him and his horse on the main trail.
It looked like he was shot close range in the shoulder, but they didn't know the full extent of his injuries. John sent them back to make sure everything was ready.
Supplies were double-checked, water set to heat. The path to Dutch's tent was fully cleared.
Another tense hour passed before they heard another approach. Karen yelling in excitement that she could see Hosea.
John and Hosea dismount quickly, Kieran taking their horses to the hitching posts. They spot Ivory, her reins tided around Silver Dollar's saddle horn.
Hosea turns to The Count, taking his reins and leading him towards the tent, his lips tight in worry.
As a matter of fact, the worry was evident in every movement he and John made.
The no horses in the camp rule is ignored, knowing it was the safest and easiest way to get Arthur to the cot.
No one can tear their gaze away. Their usually unshakeable leader, looking tired and concerned. Their ever-strong protector, slumped against him, one hand grasping the back of their leader's vest and head resting on his shoulder.
Dutch's ringed hand slowly carding through the hair of his right-hand man.
They knew from the look on Dutch's face it was serious. The Count comes to a stop in front of the tent, everybody watching silently as Dutch coaxes Arthur down and into the arms of Hosea and John.
His eyes are glassy, barely focused. Face red, sweat beading on his forehead. They see the wound on his shoulder, knowing the fever is probably an infection.
It then dawns on the camp that they may lose Arthur. It doesn't seem possible but as he's lead into the tent and gently laid down, they know it's a very real possibility.
No words are spoken as the camp works as one to clean and dress Arthur's wounds. The severity of what happened being slowly unveiled as more wounds are found. All brows are furrowed, people wincing at the pained noises Arthur emits.
Silent prayers are sent as they see Dutch sitting next to his boy, holding his hand, his other once again running through Arthur's hair. Words too quiet to be heard by anyone but who they are meant for. A calming presence as a delirious Arthur is tended to.
It seems like hours upon hours before they finish. His wounds all cleaned and dressed, packed tightly with medicine.
Cool rags are on his face and neck, a raging fever has already taken hold. Infection in his shoulder. Nothing too serious yet, hopefully, it will stay that way.
Everything is cleaned up, medicine and water kept nearby. John sitting at the end of the cot. Hosea sitting by Dutch, the latter not having moved from his position. Keeping Arthur calm during the process.
They can see the rigidness of his shoulders, how the hand carding through Arthur's hair shakes slightly.
They got him back.
But will they lose him?