Notes: This is a short chapter, just sort of setting the stage for a story that I think will be cool. It is going to be based on the ending I got to Arthur's story, where he fights Micah on the cliff side after trying to draw the Pinkertons away from John, and Micah just leaves Arthur to die slowly. Future chapters are going to be longer, I hope you all enjoy. :)

Charles creeped through the dark woods, avoiding the Pinkerton agents he could hear all around him. As he walked, he could hear gunshots from a nearby cliff.

Charles had started riding back to help Arthur with whatever he wanted to do to stop Dutch from getting what was left of the Van Der Linde gang killed after he had ensured that the Indian tribe got away safe, but when he had reached the camp, all that he could find were Pinkerton bodies strewed all over the place, along with Miss Grimshaw with a bullet wound in her stomach and already dead.

Suddenly the gunshots stopped, and Charles quickened his pace, hoping he would find his friends alive and well, but a feeling of dread fell across him as he ran.

He reached the cliff and immediately began climbing, suddenly he heard someone panting behind him, and he turned.

Micah was running from a different spot of the cliff and had a beaten up face.

"Micah!" Charles called.

Micah whirled around and looked up at Charles. He stood staring at him for a moment then sneered and turned around and bolted.

Charles turned and started climbing up to where Micah had come from.

He turned around a corner and stopped.

Laying on the side of the cliff, his face facing the rising sun, and not moving, was Arthur Morgan.

"Arthur?" Charles whispered as he walked towards him, but there was no response.

Charles instantly put two fingers to Arthur's neck, feeling for a pulse when he reached the beaten up cowboy.

The pulse was faint, and Charles could just barely make out a faint wheeze coming from Arthur's lips.

Charles picked up the beaten man, put him on his shoulders and started to make his way down the cliff.

"You are not going to die today, my old friend," Charles muttered.

As he walked, he did not notice, from the top of the cliff, Dutch Van der Linde watching him take him away.

"Get well, son," Dutch whispered, a tear coming down his cheek.