Arthur followed shortly behind him. He didn't miss the light ring of his spurs. Or the delicate groan of the leather saddle in his hands. He observed this good Samaritan, and wondered, for just a second, what his story was. Everybody had a story didn't they?
"I'm not picky. Most the places I've lived in have looked lived in. Hell some of them were before we got rid of their former occupants. As long as it's not someone that I'm going to have to hunt down later, cause it's either me or them, it'll be fine." He cleared his throat a little. "And since you were so truthful I might as well be too. I'm not a good man, and if I'm honest I've got a price on my head in at least three states, if not four by now. I've robbed, killed, and not always from bad men like me. But..." Did the fact that he tried to change, to do better by people before the end really matter now?