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Summary
Arthur Morgan’s luck ran out at the end of Kieran Duffy’s rusty revolver.
The clearing was quiet, save for a dying O’Driscoll’s strangled gurgles a few feet away; keeled on his side, gasping and choking on his own blood, clutching his guts and kicking out at the floorboards as if it’d save him.
Arthur closed his eyes, nasty way to go, he thinks to himself, but better him than me.
Or, the one in which paying a social call at Six Point Cabin doesn't go as planned.
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Bookmark Notes:
hell yeah low honour arthur