Arthur stiffened, his eyes widening as the figure dismounted and began to advance towards them, holding his horse by the reins. As he drew closer, Arthur could see that the horse was perhaps 14 hands high, maybe a little taller. Its coat was a deep ebony, shining in the moonlight. Surprisingly well kept for an outlaw's horse, Arthur thought. It stomped its foot impatiently, flicking at a moth with its tail.

A sly, drawling voice broke the silence, "Well, well, what purty catch do we have here? A bartender and his friend?" Halting in front of Arthur and Matthew, he chuckled, but there was no humour in it. Arthur shivered, the laugh almost menacing. He felt Matthew take a step back, making Alfred take a step forward, almost trapping them both so there was no way to get around.

"I've been watching you, Kirkland," he continued, "You're real interesting. I don't know about you, but I want you for myself." He grinned as Arthur backed away, shaking his head.

"No way!" He growled, glaring at the man in front of him, receiving another humourless laugh.

"I ain't givin' ya no choice, doll." He whispered, before reaching out to grab Arthur's wrist. Matthew pulled him out of the way just in time, and they both stumbled to the side and started running down the dirt track towards The Blue-Eyed Snake. Immediately they heard footsteps behind them, the metallic sound of spurs spinning and clicking with each footstep. Alfred was gaining on them quickly, Arthur could tell, and willed himself to push forward.

When the footsteps behind them ceased, Arthur kept going, his chest heaving. Had he given up? Or had he found a way to get ahead and was waiting for them to reach the saloon? Arthur didn't want to find out, but a glance behind him told the Brit that their pursuer was no longer behind them. The track was illuminated enough in this area to see quite a way in all directions. Arthur clutched his side, panting heavily and slowing to a walk. Matthew slowed down and walked with him, ushering him to the shadows of a building where they wouldn't be seen by unwanted eyes. Namely the outlaw who had just chased them halfway across town.

"What was that about?" Arthur hissed, but Matthew just shrugged. "I don't-" He cut himself off, purple eyes fearful. and a hand clamped over both of their mouths. The sound of spurs was back, too close for comfort.

"You know, running from someone who has spend the last ten years of their life running ain't the smartest idea ya could'a had." Alfred stepped into view, standing a few metres away, a length of rope looped multiple times over his shoulders.

Arthur just glared, narrowing his eyes and crossing his arms defensively. "What do you want?" He snapped, getting more irritated when the other just shrugged and walked towards them.

Alfred reached out, grabbing at Arthur's wrist, which he snapped out of the way. Alfred just chuckled and reached out for Matthew, who wasn't so lucky. He stumbled, tripping over a hidden rock in the ground. Arthur reached out to catch him, dropping his gaze from Alfred for a split second.

Within an instant, he felt a muscular arm grab around his waist, hoisting him up into the side of his body. Arthur yelled in shock, struggling and kicking as hard as he could in attempts to find some ground, preferably a shin or kneecap. But his efforts were futile, as Alfred just held him more firmly against his side, snickering in amusement. Matthew shouted after them, but it was useless. He was carried through the town towards the horse waiting nearby, struggling all the while. After being secured onto the said horse, Alfred mounted behind him and kicked off, cantering through the town towards the gate.

The ride was bumpy, and rather painful, attached to the saddle but in no comfortable position. But he didn't move, he couldn't, there was no way of escaping. They passed cacti, the occasional pack of animals which Alfred quickly avoided, tumbleweed and the odd brush. Sand and scorching heat for miles.

"You're losing your touch, Kirkland," Alfred laughed bitterly, "Weren't ya a master of escaping?"

Arthur grumbled indignantly, "No, I just didn't get caught.

Alfred laughed again, mockingly this time. "I used to be a hero, ya know? Ownin' my own ranch an' all."

Arthur slowed his struggling, listening.

"Got your interest, eh?" He continued, amused. "I was popular, people in the town loved me. I would'a inherited my father's farm, I would. But then he went an' got himself killed course, and the guy who did it went and blamed me. So not only did I lose the farm, there ain't no way I'm gonna get back in that town." He fell quiet, and did not speak again until they finally stopped, having travelled on the dirt track for an hour or two, Arthur suspected. He groaned as he was lowered from the horse, his back stiff and aching, flinching as Alfred held a firm grip on his arm.

"Don't even think about leaving, doll. Ya won't get far." He smirked, untying his satchel from the saddle with his free hand. He unloaded his goods onto the dusty floor, but not before tying Arthur to the nearest tree, the rope around his waist securely. Resistance did nothing, Arthur learnt quickly, as the rope just tightened.

Night drew in, and Alfred had lit a small camp fire, just big enough to cook some beans, most likely stolen, and drink whatever was in his hipflask. Arthur wasn't sure he wanted to know. He had cautiously accepted the small can of beans handed to him, though he wished he was in his Saloon, whiskey in hand and doing business as usual. Not that he would ever drink on the job, but it had been a while since he had had any alcohol in his system. Matthew had sometimes drank with him, well into the night until they were the only ones sitting at the bar. He hoped the Canadian was alright, safe and possibly sending help. He hadn't any family who would look for him, they were back across the sea, and probably didn't want anything to do with him anymore. With this thought in mind, he drifted into an uneasy sleep.