The air turned heavy. For a heartbeat, the only sound was the wind whistling through the rafters. Then, the O’Driscoll’s hand blurred. Arthur was faster.
"Just wondering if Dutch’s 'plan' involves us getting shot in the front or the back this time," Arthur replied, his voice a low rumble.
They were meant to be laying low after the disaster in Colter, but the gang was a starving animal, and a starving animal eventually stops hiding and starts hunting. Dutch had his eyes on a Cornwall train—a big score that promised enough gold to buy them a one-way ticket to a life that didn’t involve sleeping on damp bedrolls. Red Dead Redemption 2Data edycji: 13-03-2023, 1...
"You're thinking too loud, Arthur," a voice rasped. Hosea Matthews leaned against a nearby post, peeling an apple with a knife that had seen more blood than fruit.
"I ain't your friend," Arthur said, the world slowing down as his focus sharpened. "And I'm making it my business." The air turned heavy
The mud in Valentine never truly dried; it just traded its stench for a thicker, soul-clinging grit. Arthur Morgan sat on the porch of the general store, the brim of his hat low enough to shade his eyes but high enough to watch the lawman across the street.
Arthur didn’t look at Hosea. He didn't have to. He stood up, the spurs on his boots giving a rhythmic clink-clink that seemed to silence the chatter of the town. He wasn't looking for a fight, but in 1899, the fight usually found you first. Arthur was faster
Suddenly, the swinging doors of the saloon burst open. A young man, barely old enough to shave, stumbled out into the street, clutching a satchel to his chest as if it held his own heart. Behind him, three men with the cruel eyes of O’Driscolls followed.
The air turned heavy. For a heartbeat, the only sound was the wind whistling through the rafters. Then, the O’Driscoll’s hand blurred. Arthur was faster.
"Just wondering if Dutch’s 'plan' involves us getting shot in the front or the back this time," Arthur replied, his voice a low rumble.
They were meant to be laying low after the disaster in Colter, but the gang was a starving animal, and a starving animal eventually stops hiding and starts hunting. Dutch had his eyes on a Cornwall train—a big score that promised enough gold to buy them a one-way ticket to a life that didn’t involve sleeping on damp bedrolls.
"You're thinking too loud, Arthur," a voice rasped. Hosea Matthews leaned against a nearby post, peeling an apple with a knife that had seen more blood than fruit.
"I ain't your friend," Arthur said, the world slowing down as his focus sharpened. "And I'm making it my business."
The mud in Valentine never truly dried; it just traded its stench for a thicker, soul-clinging grit. Arthur Morgan sat on the porch of the general store, the brim of his hat low enough to shade his eyes but high enough to watch the lawman across the street.
Arthur didn’t look at Hosea. He didn't have to. He stood up, the spurs on his boots giving a rhythmic clink-clink that seemed to silence the chatter of the town. He wasn't looking for a fight, but in 1899, the fight usually found you first.
Suddenly, the swinging doors of the saloon burst open. A young man, barely old enough to shave, stumbled out into the street, clutching a satchel to his chest as if it held his own heart. Behind him, three men with the cruel eyes of O’Driscolls followed.