“Bang, bang, bang!”
“Hurry up, you idiots.
Hand over all your money!”
A burly man dressed in black, with a green face covering, rushed onto the train at the front, wielding two revolvers.
The moment the passengers saw him, they realized they had struck terrible luck.
Train robberies were nothing unusual in the West.
The man fired three shots into the ceiling, instantly choking off any screams in people’s throats.
Looking at the crowd of easy prey before him, he let out a couple of smug laughs.
“Go on.
Take all their money and jewelry.
Leave nothing behind,” he ordered the two men behind him.
At his command, the two split up, one carrying a sack, the other holding a rifle, working together efficiently.
Before long, the bags they carried were filled to the brim.
“Leave one person here to watch them.
Don’t let anyone run.
We’re moving to the next car.”
There were far more than just these few involved.
Almost every car had several members of the O’Driscoll Gang.
These men were completely unrestrained.
They did not just rob people.
Anyone who refused to cooperate was shot on the spot.
When they spotted a few attractive female passengers, they immediately moved to drag them away.
The train was filled with cries and despair.
Some people tried to jump off to escape, but bandits were stationed on both sides of the train.
They were all on horseback.
The moment someone jumped down, they would ride over and shoot them.
They even treated it like a game, firing at the ground near people’s feet and watching them panic and jump around.
The cruelty of it made everyone seethe with anger, yet no one dared speak up.
Stephen was in the livestock car at the very rear, calmly equipping his weapons one by one.
He untied his horse, opened the door, and quietly made his way forward.
He had no intention of running.
This was the perfect opportunity.
If he missed it, who knew when he would find these scum again.
He drew his long knife and moved along the train.
The next car was a cargo compartment filled with passengers’ luggage.
Three men were rummaging through piles of clothing, searching for valuables.
He got closer.
One of them tossed aside a large bag, muttered something about poor people, and walked toward the back of the car.
As he passed a pile of clutter, a flash of cold steel appeared behind him.
In an instant, his vision seemed to spin.
He felt as if he saw his own back, then the ceiling, before everything went dark.
His head and body fell separately to the ground.
The other two men noticed the strange sound and turned their attention over.
“Mark, what’s going on?” one of them called out.
“Oh, I tripped.
I’m fine,” came a muffled reply.
Hearing that, the two laughed mockingly.
“Haha, find something good back there?
That’s hilarious.”
“Yeah.
I found something good.”
The voice was Stephen’s.
He covered his mouth with his arm as he spoke, drawing their attention while slowly closing the distance.
“What is it?
Bring it out and let us see.” The two men still sensed nothing wrong and walked over with grins.
“I found your heads.”
The moment was right.
Stephen burst forward, his long knife cutting a pale arc through the air.
One strike slit the throat of the man in front.
The man behind him froze in shock.
Before he could react, only he and Stephen remained in the car.
He tried to scream, but the blood-stained long knife pressed against his throat stopped the sound.
“Tell me.
How many of you are there?”
Stephen’s voice was cold.
The blade pressed slightly harder, opening a thin line on the man’s neck.
Feeling the pain, the man immediately begged for mercy.
“I’ll talk.
I’ll tell you everything.
There are more than thirty of us, led by Boss James.”
“Where is Colm?”
“I…
I don’t know.”
As soon as he said it, Stephen pressed the blade harder.
The man broke down in tears.
“I really don’t know.
Boss Colm isn’t with us…”
Stephen drew the blade across his throat and ended his life.
James.
Stephen had heard of him.
One of Colm’s top lieutenants, a ruthless killer.
Interesting.
Stephen smiled faintly, gripping his long knife as he continued forward.
By now, the robbery was nearly over.
The O’Driscoll Gang worked with disturbing efficiency.
In a short time, they had stripped the train of anything valuable.
They had even picked out several attractive women and tied them up, clearly intending to take them back for their own use.
James, the leader, was making his way toward the side of the train, surrounded by his men.
“Hurry up.
We need to move.
We’re close to Blackwater.
If we delay, the mounted police will be here.”
At his command, the men quickly loaded the stolen goods onto their horses.
The haul was impressive.
Every pack was stuffed full.
“Everyone here?
Then we’re leaving.”
James waved his hand, about to turn his horse around.
A loud gunshot rang out.
His head exploded.
Everyone froze.
What just happened?
Where did that shot come from?
How did their boss die just like that?
The O’Driscoll Gang stood there in shock, unsure whether to run or take revenge.
The shot, of course, came from Stephen.
He had no idea who the man was.
He simply saw someone surrounded by others, standing near torches.
That was enough to mark him as a leader.
His right hand worked the bolt quickly, chambering the next round.
His eyes locked onto another target through the sights.
Another shot.
The man’s head burst apart.
This bolt-action rifle felt far better than the Springfield rifle he had used before.
Stephen fired rapidly, cycling the bolt again and again.
After three quick shots, the O’Driscoll Gang finally reacted.
They spotted him on the roof and raised their guns to fire.
Stephen gave them a casual wave, then leaped backward and slipped into the train car behind him.