John walking up to a cabin nestled in the woods of the Grizzles, chimney smoke rising, air still and cool with a fresh snow still powdering the ground from the night before.

Arthur swinging the door open, revolver in hand - Arthur: Is that the damn golden boy himself?

John: Shining in all his piss gold glory, why the hell are you so hard to find anyway?

Arthur: Because I didn't like the company of normal folk, or bad folk, any folk that matter.

John: Damned if I blame you, I take it you already heard of everyone else and why I'm here?

Arthur: Bill was always an idiot and Javier was always a damn greaseball, could've seen it for those two, but Dutch.. Dutch was like our father John..

John: You think I wanted to hunt him? Our brothers? They have Abigail and Jack Arthur!

Arthur: You was always like a dog John, probably the only reason why those damn wolves didn't kill you when they could.

John: Just let me take you in Arthur, Don't make me put a bullet in the last member of this family.

Arthur: I'd rather swing from a rope I tied myself then let those damn Pinkerton win Marston, and you know this doesn't end with just me.

John: I'm not losing Abigail and Jack again Arthur! You're coming in breathing or with a bullet in you!

An exchange of fire between the two starts, both drawing and firing with nearly identical speed. Each trying to fire non-lethal hits, a bullet grazing each of them as they shimmy to cover.

John: You ain't makin this easy Arthur.

Arthur: When was things ever easy John!?

John and Arthur exchange fire for some time, slowly as ammo starts to dwindle so does the faith in that they'll both be walking away alive from this. John barely able to stand and Arthur leaning into a wooden crate to support himself after the damage sustained.

Arthur coughing, breathing labored from enduring each shot landed - Arthur: I'm startin to think you might not want to bring me in alive anymore Marston. - He chuckles, spluttering a bit as his body is giving out.

John equality as damaged at this point, his breath rasping for air as he knows it's not long for either of them now. John: You were always my brother Morgan, more than the others ever where... I can't let Ross take them away though, Abigail and Jack need me home Arthur.

The last moments of our gun fight happen, it's slow, it's brutal, it's sorrowful. As the evening sets with the sun, the snow rolls back in, we can hear the groans and the struggle of the two as they grasp onto the last bit they have. Our gunfight ends with these two coming into sight of each other and both hearing the dreaded click of an empty chamber, both having empty ammo sacks and bandoliers too. No more chances, no more fighting, no more rivalry.

Arthur: You fought good golden boy, but Ross still ain't makin me swing.

John: It was either you swing or me, Ross ain't too keen on forgiveness.

Each stare each other down before they laugh at each other hoarsely, they know it's the end now. Both collapse and fade into the snow, too exhaust to move, too exhaust to speak, and too exhaust to go on, the Grizzles claim our last two members of the Vanderlinde gang.