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.
"Give it here, boy," the leader spat, reaching for a revolver.
The O’Driscoll turned, a sneer twisting his face. "This ain't your business, friend." Red Dead Redemption 2Data edycji: 13-03-2023, 1...
"That's enough," Arthur said, his hand hovering inches above the worn grip of his Cattleman Revolver. "The boy's done nothing to you."
"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. The mud in Valentine never truly dried; it
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.
"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. The O’Driscoll turned, a sneer twisting his face
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.