1899, Spider Gorge, northeastern Ambarino State, America.
Winter lingered unusually long this year.
It was already May, yet heavy, goose-feather-like snow continued to fall from the gloomy sky, burying everything beneath a thick blanket of white.
“Damn it, it’s already May and the snow’s still this heavy.” Stephen stared at the endless stretch of white ahead.
Thinking about the long journey he still had to make in this weather, he couldn’t help muttering under his breath.
The wind and snow were relentless, and the deep accumulation made every step difficult.
He trudged forward slowly, each step sinking deep into the snow.
He lifted his free left hand and took off the wide-brimmed Cowboy hat from his head, revealing a head of golden hair.
Gripping the brim, he knocked the hat hard against his body twice to shake off the snow, then quickly put it back on.
Even in that brief moment, the biting wind made his head ache.
The howling north wind carried snow straight into his collar and sleeves, making Stephen shiver uncontrollably.
He tightened his thick black overcoat and pulled his scarf closer around his neck, trying to hold out a little longer.
Holding his hat in place, he looked up at the dark, overcast sky.
Night was approaching fast, and he needed to find shelter to set up camp.
If he kept trudging like this, he felt his riding boots would freeze solid.
He led his horse along the stream, continuing north for a while.
If nothing went wrong, he should reach his destination in another two or three hours.
But things rarely went as planned.
Just as Stephen reached the edge of a ridge, four bold figures stepped out from behind the slope and surrounded him with guns drawn.
“Hey, kid, looks like you’ve had a pretty good haul this trip.” The apparent leader grinned slyly, eyeing the two horses behind Stephen with clear satisfaction.
“Whoa, look at that white horse behind him.
See it?
That’s a beauty.
Must be worth a lot!”
This bandit had a keen eye and immediately spotted the most valuable prize.
“Come on, don’t do this.
You’re out robbing people in weather like this?
Are things really that bad for robbers these days?” Stephen looked at the four men without the slightest hint of fear.
Instead, he mocked them.
Lies don’t hurt.
The truth cuts deep.
His words instantly enraged the four bandits, and they all raised their guns at him.
“Cut the crap.
Drop your gun now or I’ll shoot you dead!” the leader shouted.
“Alright, alright, don’t get so worked up.
I’m terrified.” Stephen clutched his head in an exaggerated show of fear.
“I’m taking it out now.
Right away.”
“Hurry up.
Quit stalling!” the man barked, trying to overwhelm him with sheer intimidation.
Stephen slowly reached his hand toward his waist.
“Watch closely.
I’m going to take out my gun and drop it on the ground.
Don’t get nervous.
Don’t shoot.
I really hate pain.”
“Then move it if you don’t want to die.”
Stephen shakily pulled out his gun.
It was a finely crafted Schofield Revolver, engraved with elegant patterns and clearly worth a lot.
“I’m dropping it now.
I’m throwing it.”
He let the revolver fall onto the snow in front of him.
As everyone’s attention shifted to the gun on the ground, his other hand suddenly pulled another revolver from inside his coat.
“Bang!
Bang!
Bang!”
The shots came almost back to back.
The two bandits in front dropped instantly, their bright red blood staining the white snow in a stark contrast.
The remaining two were stunned.
What just happened?
Where did that second gun come from?
How were their companions already dead?
They froze, but Stephen did not.
He lunged forward, rolling through the snow in one fluid motion.
By the time he rose again, he was already in front of another bandit.
His gun was ready.
“Bang!”
Another shot rang out, and the third bandit fell.
Only then did the last bandit snap out of it.
He hurriedly raised his lever-action rifle and began firing wildly.
He would have sworn his speed rivaled that of a sharpshooter.
“Bang!
Bang!
Bang!”
It made no difference.
Every shot slammed into his own fallen companions, shredding their bodies.
The rifle’s power was too weak.
The bullets failed to pass through the corpses to reach Stephen.
Stephen was experienced in handling situations like this.
After killing the previous bandit, he had not stood up immediately.
Instead, he used the corpse as a shield.
Now the last unlucky bandit realized what had happened and quickly stopped firing.
That brief pause gave Stephen his chance.
Grabbing the corpse, Stephen hurled it straight at him.
The man instinctively looked up at his companion’s body, even reaching out as if to catch it.
Stephen fired.
The final bandit dropped.
As he fell, the corpse crashed down on top of him, leaving the two piled together.
“That’s it?
And you thought you could rob someone with skills like that?” Stephen holstered his gun and looked down at the four bodies with clear disdain.
He glanced around to make sure no one else was nearby, then crouched to search them.
Stephen was far from wealthy.
Anything he could get was worth taking.
The four bandits were dressed in ragged clothes, looking more like scavengers than proper outlaws.
Aside from that, there was nothing.
They were dirt poor.
After searching all of them, he found only a few dollars.
Their rifles were just as worn out.
Sticking to his rule of never walking away empty-handed, Stephen took their ammunition.
“Bunch of paupers,” he muttered before turning away.
As for the bodies, he left them where they lay.
He had no intention of burying them.
He took hold of his horse and set off again.
Following the stream north for a while longer, he finally stopped when he spotted a protruding rock at the base of a nearby slope.
It was a good place to camp, offering some shelter from the wind and snow.
Stephen quickly led his horse behind the rock.
The spot was better than expected.
There was a narrow space between the rocks, just enough to start a fire.
At least he would not freeze tonight.
But before lighting the fire, there was still something he needed to do.