Author’s Note:
I realized I made a mistake and accidentally skipped this part of the story.
Because of that, I’ll be posting these missing sections separately as Part 1 to Part 4.
These parts are important for the proper story flow, so I decided to go back and correct my mistake by posting them.
These parts continue directly after Chapter 10.
However, to avoid extra rework and having to rename every chapter across all platforms, after Chapter 25, the numbering will return to Chapter 11.
Please don’t worry about the number itself.
It is only the title/label that will look strange for a while.
The actual story sequence is correct this time.
…
Chapter 11: A Bountiful Harvest
As the old saying goes, crime pays.
Today, Stephen finally understood just how true those words were.
Before they set out on this mission, the gang had been short on clothes and food.
At least, that was how it looked to Stephen.
But this trip to rob another gang had made the Van der Linde Gang rich overnight.
Colm had not only handed over the plan he had so carefully prepared, he had also left them a huge camp and all kinds of supplies.
After ransacking the village, they piled everything they found in the open space at the center of the village, forming a small hill of loot.
Dutch stared at the supplies, practically glowing with excitement.
Those supplies had put the struggling gang back on its feet.
Stephen was not a member of the gang, but he had done more than his share.
So Dutch waved generously at Stephen and told him to take whatever he wanted.
No need to be shy.
Stephen was not greedy.
He only took a bolt-action rifle that was almost eighty percent new, a nice silver pocket watch, along with some food and ammunition.
As for the money, jewelry, and other valuables, he was not interested in taking any of them.
It was not that he truly looked down on them.
The O’Driscoll Gang were just poor as ghosts, and those so-called jewels were probably fake.
They had only found a few dozen dollars in cash.
Stephen was not rich, but even he had no interest in scraps like that.
But Stephen not wanting them made Dutch unhappy.
Dutch grabbed the scattered bills and jewelry and shoved the whole lot into Stephen’s arms.
He was so generous about it that Stephen could not help giving him a sideways look.
Seeing how insistent Dutch was, Stephen had no choice but to accept everything.
Once that little episode was over, everyone loaded the supplies onto their horses.
At Dutch’s command, they mounted up and began the slow ride back.
…
On the way back, aside from Dutch, who was still trailing behind with Arthur and murmuring about something, the other three gathered around Stephen.
Stephen had shown them something big.
Not only had he helped crush the O’Driscoll Gang, he had also left everyone thoroughly impressed and deeply curious about what he could do.
The older men were better at holding themselves back, but the young man named Lenny could not contain himself.
He rode alongside Stephen and kept asking one question after another.
Stephen did not find him annoying.
He patiently explained things to him.
Dutch rode behind them, watching Stephen chat happily with Lenny and the others, and a faint smile appeared on his face.
“You seem to like that young man,” Arthur said curiously, watching Dutch’s expression.
“Of course,” Dutch said without denying it.
“Haven’t you noticed how much he’s like you?”
Dutch turned to look at Arthur and said, word by word, “He’s just like you.
Strong, and full of life.”
Arthur looked at Stephen’s back and nodded thoughtfully.
“You want to recruit him into the gang?
That’s a good idea.
Need me to talk to him?”
“No rush.
We have plenty of time,” Dutch said, shaking his head.
“I still need to see what kind of man he is, and whether he fits with our gang.”
“My God, since when did we have rules like that?” Arthur said sarcastically.
“No wonder we managed to recruit such talent as Micah Bell.”
“No, that’s different.” Dutch waved a hand and patiently explained, “Men like Micah Bell may be ugly inside, but they’re easy to understand.
You can see through them at a glance.
I know exactly what he wants, and I can control him.”
He looked toward Stephen and said slowly, “But this man is strong, and he’s mysterious.
So I need more time to observe him, until I can be sure he won’t turn around and become a danger to us.”
After saying that, Dutch urged his horse forward and rode to the front of the group.
Then he raised his voice and called out, “I’m proud of you all.
We fought a perfect battle.
Not one of us fell, and not one of us was even wounded.”
At Dutch’s words, everyone except Stephen burst into cheers.
And indeed, a result like that was worth cheering for.
“Our situation may be bad right now.
Hunger, cold, all of it.
But you did well,” Dutch continued loudly.
“They’ll keep coming at us with everything they have, but we’ll always rise again.
That’s who we are.
That’s the kind of Outlaws we are.”
“Now we wait for our people.
John, Sean, Mac, Charles, even Micah Bell.
Once they recover, they’ll ride with us again…
I know they’ll all come back.”
When he said that, Dutch’s tone sank a little, as if he were mourning those who had already died.
Stephen watched Dutch and suddenly found himself very curious about him.
From what he had seen so far, the man was a good shot, had ideas, and worst of all, he was damned good with words.
Among Cowboys whose average education amounted to almost nothing, that was rare.
That speech just now had clearly been made up on the spot, but coming out of Dutch’s mouth, paired with his rising and falling cadence and that steady, slightly hoarse voice, it sounded genuinely moving.
Stephen only had to look at the excited faces of Lenny, Bill, and the others beside him to know they ate this kind of thing up.
Stephen himself, however, did not.
What had he not seen in his previous life?
Someone like Dutch was nothing much to him.
“Even though we didn’t catch Colm, we got his plan.
That’ll hurt him more than killing him,” Arthur said with a smile.
The haul from this operation was so rich that even Arthur, who had opposed it at first, could not help feeling pleased.
“Especially since we’re going to rob that train,” Dutch said, smiling broadly.
“That’ll make that bastard come after us,” Arthur said, still sounding a little worried.
“Hey, you think Colm won’t come after us if we don’t rob that train?” Dutch immediately shot back.
Arthur shook his head.
He understood that their feud with Colm was a blood feud that could not be resolved.
“So it’s simple.
We strike before they discover us, then leave fast, just like with those stupid Pinkertons and cops,” Dutch said confidently, as if everything was already under his control.
Stephen had no idea where that confidence came from, but seeing the convinced looks on the faces around him, he understood well enough.
And so, with Dutch giving the occasional speech and Lenny and the others joking around, the group slowly made their way back.
When they reached a small stream, a figure suddenly appeared up ahead.
Dutch was at the front.
With one look, he felt as though he had seen that man somewhere before.
He slapped his forehead and immediately remembered.
The man was from the O’Driscoll Gang.
He had seen him talking to Colm through the binoculars!
“Arthur, that fellow is one of Colm’s men.
Go catch him and bring him back,” Dutch immediately ordered his most capable man.
Arthur, beside him, squeezed his horse’s sides and charged straight at the man.
When the man saw Arthur rushing toward him, he was so frightened that he scrambled onto his horse and fled upstream along the creek in a panic.
“Alright, let’s head back first.
Arthur will bring him back.”
Dutch had complete confidence in Arthur.
….
Chapter 12: Culinary Skills and Knife Techniques
After howling for what felt like ages, the wind and snow finally showed signs of dying down.
Only a few scattered snowflakes were still drifting lazily through the air.
But as the saying went, the cold only deepens after snow.
The heavy snow stopping did not make the weather any warmer.
Instead, it grew even colder.
The horses sheltering in the drafty little stables had given up their long-standing habit of sleeping on their feet.
They buried themselves fully in the hay prepared for them, doing their best to keep from losing heat.
Only Stephen’s white horse was still full of energy.
The creature seemed bored from being stuck in the stable.
Every now and then, it let out a whinny or two, as if hoping Stephen would hurry up and take it out for a walk.
At that moment, Stephen was still lying lazily in his blanket, pressed close to the fire and completely unwilling to get up.
In weather like this, even the hardest-working person would not want to get up and do anything.
As a bounty hunter, he was no exception.
The wind and snow had been too fierce, burying the nearby roads solidly.
Going down the mountain was impossible now.
Besides, there was no sign of the O’Driscoll Gang anymore, so he simply stayed with the group in Colter Village to rest.
Anything else could wait until spring.
Stephen lazed around until nearly noon before finally dragging himself out of his warm blanket, unwilling as he was, to find a place to relieve himself.
After all, if he still did not get up, his bladder was going to burst.
The moment he pushed the door open, a blast of cold wind wrapped around him from every direction, burrowing desperately into every gap between his bones.
Stephen could not help shivering.
This damn weather was enough to kill a man, he muttered.
He did not go far.
He simply found a spot behind the house, shuddered again, and completed the first essential task of waking up.
Since he was already up, he had no intention of going back to sleep.
Stephen decided to find something to eat and give his stomach a reward.
He tugged hard at his overcoat, wrapping it tighter around himself, then trudged one footprint at a time toward Pearson’s kitchen.
Pearson was the fat man Stephen had seen cooking through his binoculars earlier.
He was the cook for the Van der Linde Gang.
As for how the man’s cooking tasted…
there really were no words.
When Stephen, Arthur, and the others had just returned from fighting the O’Driscoll Gang, Pearson had used the generous supplies they seized to make everyone a celebration feast.
All Stephen could say was that he could have cooked better with his feet.
He made his way unsteadily to Pearson’s kitchen.
Calling it a kitchen was generous.
It was extremely crude.
It was just a wooden lean-to built against the side of a broken-down house.
In the middle, stones had been stacked into a square, with a fire lit inside it.
That counted as the stove.
Two pots hung above the hearth, bubbling away as meat stewed inside.
Stephen glanced at the mess of things in the pots and caught the strange smell rising from them.
His appetite disappeared on the spot.
When Pearson saw Stephen come in, he started rambling without caring whether they were familiar with each other or not.
“Arthur and Charles brought back two deer this morning.
Finally, someone around here can actually hunt something.
Bill and Lenny, those two idiots, can’t hit a damn thing.
All they can catch is stuff that doesn’t move.”
As he spoke, Pearson took a bag of some unknown powder from the side and sprinkled it into the pot, making Stephen’s heart give a nervous jump.
Was this guy some kind of dark faction cook?
Still, Pearson’s words reminded Stephen of something.
He turned to look at the wooden rack behind him.
Two cleaned deer were hanging there, and half a cut-up deer leg lay on the chopping board nearby.
The sight of that plump venison made Stephen’s stomach growl in betrayal.
He picked a few relatively clean twigs from the firewood pile and wiped them casually in the snow.
Then he drew his dagger and sliced several pieces of meat from the deer leg, each one carrying a strip of snow-white fat.
Stephen had excellent knife skills.
Every slice he cut was thin as a cicada’s wing, and meat like that tasted best.
He found a small pot, set it over the fire, then quickly scooped up some clean snow and used a large marrowbone to make soup.
Then he found a can of vegetables in a nearby basket and dumped the whole thing into the pot.
The canned broth was already salty, which saved him from adding salt.
As for the sliced meat, he would use it for hot pot in a bit.
Pearson’s stew was done.
He asked Stephen if he wanted a bowl, but after Stephen politely declined, Pearson carried the pot off to serve the others.
That bone broth hot pot was deeply satisfying.
Stephen ate until sweat broke out all over him.
After eating and drinking his fill, Stephen stood up and stretched.
He was just thinking about finding something to do when he heard someone nearby begging for mercy.
He followed the sound and saw Bill interrogating the prisoner they had captured two days ago.
The poor man was tied to a tree, while Bill was holding a pair of red-hot fire tongs and constantly gesturing at the space between his legs, as if planning to perform some long-lost surgical procedure on him.
“Haha, why not give it a try?
It’ll feel real good.
Once it’s done, you’ll be full of energy and never run out, just like those horses in the stable.” Bill had a strange grin on his face as he kept terrifying the man.
The man was so frightened that he was drenched in sweat.
In this weather, steam was rising off him, and Stephen found the sight a little funny.
“That won’t work.
You need a different method for a tough nut like this.” Stephen slowly walked over to them, playing with his dagger as he smiled.
“Oh?
Got any good ideas?” Bill looked curiously at the dagger flipping up and down in Stephen’s hand.
“Of course.
It’s simple.” A playful smile appeared on Stephen’s face.
He held the dagger and lightly drew it across the man’s chest, easily slicing open his thin clothes.
“Please, I really don’t know anything!
I’m just a stablehand!
I take care of horses, that’s all!” the man screamed in terror, tears streaming down his face as his body kept twisting.
“Easy, easy.” Stephen pressed him down hard.
The cold blade touched the man’s skin, making him shudder as goosebumps rose all over his body.
“I once heard about an old punishment where they used a small knife to carve a person up piece by piece, cutting away no more than a fingernail’s worth of flesh at a time,” Stephen whispered beside his ear, soft as a demon.
“A skilled executioner could cut more than three thousand times without letting the prisoner die.
Do you know what the prisoner would become in the end?” Stephen asked with a smile.
“W-what…
what would he…
become?” The man’s teeth chattered violently as he asked in a trembling voice.
“He would become a skeleton.” Stephen smiled curiously.
“My craft isn’t that good, but a thousand or two cuts should be fine.
Let’s give it a try.”
“Aaaaah!!!
Demon!
You’re a demon!!!”
“I’ll tell you everything!
Ask me anything and I’ll talk!
But…
but I really don’t know anything!”
…
Chapter 13: The Dreams of the Deceased
In the end, of course, Stephen did not carve the man to death.
He was not some kind of demon, was he?
He could tell that this fellow named Kieran truly did not know anything.
Just as Kieran had said, he really was only a stablehand.
The following week passed without much incident, and Stephen gradually became familiar with everyone in the gang.
So far, aside from that universally hated bastard Micah Bell, the people in this gang were not bad.
Besides Arthur and the other gunmen, there were quite a few interesting characters.
There was Uncle, who got himself dead drunk every day, Strauss, the rigid German accountant, the hearty housekeeper Mrs.
Grimshaw, and John, who was covered in wounds and had been lying in bed recovering.
John was Abigail’s husband and Jackie’s father.
However, he did not seem to care much for the mother and son.
He was always cold toward them.
Stephen did not know what had gone wrong with that family, and he had no desire to get involved.
Family troubles were messy, and Stephen had no desire to get involved.
He did quite like little Jackie, though.
The boy was smart, sharp, and quick to learn.
He smiled at everyone he met, nothing like his cold father.
Then there was the old man named Hosea.
This wise old man was the gang’s second-in-command, a knowledgeable and talented man.
Stephen’s conversations with him showed that Hosea was no ordinary person.
He knew the geography, people, and customs of the surrounding states inside and out, and he could always say something that made people stop and think.
But he was always talking about retiring, which Stephen found strange.
Who joined a gang and still talked about retirement?
Even more surprising, Arthur, that Sharpshooter, actually agreed with him.
As for Dutch, the leader of the gang, he was always talking about retiring after one last big score, but Stephen could sense that deep down, the man was restless.
Still, that had nothing to do with Stephen.
He was only working with these people temporarily.
Once they got down the mountain, he needed to find somewhere to settle Sadie as soon as possible, then figure out how to track down the O’Driscoll Gang.
The women in the gang each had their own traits.
Karen was bold and could drink like no one else.
Her tolerance was the best in the entire gang.
Stephen had personally watched her drain a whole bottle of vodka in one go.
It was honestly astonishing.
What surprised Stephen most was that a gang that spent its days fighting and killing actually had a literary young woman among them: Mary-Beth.
She was a beautiful young woman obsessed with literary novels, always carrying a thick book around and reading it.
Because she was so absorbed in the world of novels, she often forgot the work Mrs.
Grimshaw assigned her.
Naturally, she was also the girl Mrs.
Grimshaw scolded the most.
Stephen had not exactly been a top student in his previous life, but he had read plenty of strange novels, and he had dipped into some foreign classics as well.
So in the time it took to finish one meal, he had already made Mary-Beth look at him in a whole new light.
She even began treating him as a kindred spirit, constantly asking Stephen questions about famous works.
This also made the men in camp, who could barely squeeze out a sentence in three days, view him differently.
In private, they all said this kid really knew how to charm women, and that they would have to watch out for him in the future.
Lenny even came to Stephen in secret with a little notebook, asking him to teach him some lines of poetry so he could use them later to pick up girls at the saloon.
Stephen had been single in both lives, so how would he know anything about that?
All he could do was vaguely ramble about this and that.
But one of them dared to teach, and the other dared to learn.
They even agreed that once they reached a town, they would go to the saloon together and test the results of their lessons.
In short, the people in the gang were becoming more optimistic by the day.
As Arthur put it, everyone was gradually starting to feel that the failure at Blackwater had just been an accident.
After this period of rest, things were heading in a better direction.
Or rather, everyone felt their luck had come back.
As for the failure at Blackwater, Stephen had asked a few people about it, but they all avoided the subject, as if they were hiding something.
Seeing that, Stephen stopped pressing.
Everyone had their own secrets.
They could not possibly tell him everything.
…
The weather improved day by day.
The snow had stopped, and the long-lost sun once again shone over the land.
There were more animal tracks in the woods too.
When Lenny and the others went hunting, they no longer returned empty-handed.
Every time, they managed to bring something back.
The rest of the gang stayed holed up in camp, each one like a bear sleeping through winter, doing nothing but eating and sleeping.
Stephen’s daily routine now consisted of practicing with his knife and gun alone, taking his horse out for a ride, or drinking and bragging with Lenny, Bill, and the others.
Oh, right.
There was also Sadie.
The poor woman was still trapped in the nightmare of that night.
Her husband’s brutal death had left her unable to face reality.
Everyone wanted to comfort her, but aside from Abigail and Stephen, who had been taking care of her, she always looked numb whenever anyone else spoke to her.
Early that morning, Sadie sat alone on a large rock by the edge of the woods, looking utterly worn down.
Stephen walked over, sat on a nearby rock, and asked, “Hey, Sadie, what are you looking at?”
Sadie turned her head and glanced at him.
Only after a long while did she slowly say, “That’s the direction of my home.
But he…”
“Hey, you have to pull yourself together.” Stephen patted her shoulder and racked his brain for something comforting to say.
“Look at me.
My past was miserable too.
If it weren’t for you and Mr.
Jake, I might already be dead.
I’m grateful to both of you, truly.
I’ll avenge Mr.
Jake.”
Sadie shook her head blankly as tears slid down her face.
“It’s not about revenge.
It’s that I’ll never see him again.”
“I once heard something,” Stephen said slowly, looking at Sadie through her tears.
“Some people say the living don’t have it easy either.
They have to carry the dreams of their departed companions and spend the rest of their lives fighting to fulfill them.”
“Mr.
Jake is dead, but his dream isn’t.
You can think about what Mr.
Jake’s dream was, then make that your goal and work to fulfill it.”
Stephen’s words seemed to have some effect on Sadie.
A faint light suddenly appeared in her empty eyes, and she kept murmuring, “Dreams…
Jake’s dreams…”
Stephen took the photo and necklace he had found in the ruins out of his bag.
“I wanted to give these to you earlier, but you were in a bad state.
I think now is the right time.”
Sadie looked at the photo and necklace in her hands.
At last, she could no longer hold back.
She clutched them tightly and broke down sobbing, her hoarse cries so heartbreaking to hear.
Cry.
Once you cry it out, you will feel better.
And after you are done crying, carry the dreams of the dead and do your best to survive in this absurd world.
…
Chapter 14: Self-Deception
Such carefree days never lasted long.
That afternoon, Dutch called everyone over.
It seemed something big was about to happen.
Curious, Stephen followed along behind the others.
He had no intention of joining in, but he was still interested in watching the commotion.
Hosea stood beside Dutch, saying something to him.
The two of them seemed to disagree, and the argument was fierce.
Stephen had never seen Hosea so worked up before.
“The weather’s cleared.
We can leave at any time.
I thought we were keeping a low profile.
I don’t want anyone else dying, Dutch.” Worry crept back onto his face.
He clearly did not think much of his old friend’s plan.
“We’re alive, Hosea.
Look at me.
We’re all still alive, and you’re alive too.
But if we’re going to keep living, we need money.
We left everything behind in Blackwater.
You want to go back?” Dutch replied while fastening the saddle onto his horse.
“Of course not.
That would be suicide.
Listen, Dutch, I’m not trying to undermine you.
I just…
I just want us to keep our heads down, stay out of trouble, and get back to the West.
But now we’re going to rob a train.
Leviticus Cornwall is not someone to trifle with, Dutch…”
“Cornwall?
You’re talking about Cornwall?” Stephen heard a familiar name.
“Yes, what’s the matter?
Who exactly is this Cornwall?
Can any of you tell me?” Arthur looked curious, as if he were the only one who knew nothing.
“A major capitalist, a big businessman, a mining tycoon, and one of the main backers behind Pinkerton.
His businesses cover several nearby states.
He’s the uncrowned king around here.” Stephen had been around long enough to have heard a thing or two.
That Cornwall was often in the papers.
Stephen had seen news about him more than once.
Every time, it was either about how much money he had donated or how many people had died in one of his factories.
Put the two side by side, and the irony of American society was on full display.
The man also poured money into Pinkerton, using them to split up and destroy any worker organizations in his factories that might threaten his business, and to assassinate their leaders.
In other words, Pinkerton was Cornwall’s dog.
It bit wherever he pointed.
“A business tycoon.
Sounds like he has plenty to share.” Dutch spread his hands, not taking it seriously at all.
Deep down, he believed those so-called upper-class men were nothing but useless fools, not worth fearing.
“Don’t worry, Hosea.
We’ll succeed, and no one else will die,” Dutch said with absolute conviction.
“Mr.
Stephen, while we’re gone, please help protect the old folks and the women.”
“Don’t worry.” Stephen shrugged, his tone relaxed.
“Thank you.
I’m very grateful.” As soon as he finished speaking, Dutch waved a hand and called for everyone to get ready to move out.
Seeing that, Hosea could do nothing.
He released Dutch’s reins weakly and watched as Dutch led the others away.
Dutch was already like a wild horse that had broken loose.
Hosea was old now, and he could no longer rein him in.
“Do you think this is a good idea?”
Only after a long while, when Dutch and the others could no longer be seen, did Hosea slowly ask Stephen beside him.
His voice was full of melancholy, with a trace of exhaustion mixed in.
“I don’t know.
I’m not a robber.
I’m just a bounty hunter,” Stephen said, shaking his head.
“But I do know one thing.
No bandit who makes a living robbing and plundering ever gets to live out his old age in peace.”
Stephen lit a cigarette, then handed one to Hosea.
Hosea slowly took a drag, but the thick smoke made him cough hard.
Stephen quickly patted him on the back and took out a flask of water for him.
The old man drank half the flask in one breath before he finally felt a little better.
The two of them stood under the tree and smoked in silence.
Hosea seemed lost in thought, sighing again and again.
At last, Stephen could not help asking, “Do you really want to retire?”
Hosea looked at Stephen in surprise, not understanding why he would ask that.
Stephen cleared his throat and tried to keep his voice calm.
“Maybe you’re holding on to a fantasy, but…
I’ve read a lot of books.
History books, and other things too.
Anyway, I’ve never heard of any great outlaw who robbed a fortune, then went home safe and sound to enjoy wealth and comfort.”
Hosea wanted to argue and hurriedly said, “But…
this is America.
This is a free…”
“Do you really believe that?
Don’t lie to yourself, Hosea.
You’re a smart man.
You can’t pull one big job and retire peacefully the way you imagine.” Stephen pierced Hosea’s dream without hesitation.
“Maybe, as an outsider, I shouldn’t say this, but…” Stephen hesitated, unsure whether he should continue.
“Say it.
There’s no one else here, only the two of us.
I promise there won’t be a third person who knows what was said today.” Hosea could tell he had concerns, so he immediately gave Stephen his word.
Stephen turned and looked around.
The others were all busy packing.
They were only waiting for Dutch and the others to return, and then they would leave at once.
Under Hosea’s expectant gaze, Stephen finally said slowly, “You only have two paths now.
One is to keep running wild like this, then die in a blaze of glory.
The other…”
Stephen looked at the old man in front of him and slowly spoke a single word.
“Go clean.”
“What?” Hosea did not understand.
Stephen explained, “It means throwing in with the government, working for them, and turning your identities legal.”
Hosea froze where he stood.
He clearly had not expected Stephen to say that, but when he thought about it, it seemed like it really might be the only road left.
“We could…
go overseas.
Somewhere no one knows us.” Hosea was still struggling.
Stephen did not know how to explain it to Hosea.
In another eight or nine years, America would establish an agency called the Bureau of Investigation, the predecessor of the FBI.
That agency would be created specifically to deal with people like the Van der Linde Gang.
If they wanted to settle accounts later, if they wanted to arrest these people and hang them, then the gang would never be able to escape.
Unless they left America’s sphere of influence entirely, the U.S.
government would find them no matter where they went.
But war was coming.
When that happened, the whole world would be turned into scorched earth.
Where could they possibly run?
“You…
think it over carefully.” Stephen thought for a moment, then said no more.
They were all smart people, and Hosea was smarter than most.
It was not that he did not understand.
He had simply been lying to himself all along.
“I’m only giving you advice.
The choice is yours.” Stephen finished the cigarette in his mouth, then turned and walked toward his room.
He had to pack his things too.