Stephen could have easily escaped.
His white horse was exceptional, far superior to the worn-out mounts those scumbags were riding.
If he got on and rode at full speed, it would not take long to leave them far behind.
But he did not stay for any noble reason.
It had nothing to do with justice or saving anyone.
He simply did not want to let those bastards get away.
Crouching behind a row of cargo crates, he quickly reloaded his rifle.
The enemies had already rushed up and were firing wildly toward his position without any coordination.
Fortunately, this was a freight car with no passengers.
Otherwise, someone would have been caught in the crossfire.
There were four of them, all clustered together.
Through the narrow gaps between the cargo, Stephen could clearly see where they were.
“What a bunch of idiots,” Stephen muttered, shaking his head.
No wonder Dutch and the others looked down on the O’Driscoll Gang.
These people were truly pathetic.
Anyone with half a brain knew not to bunch up in a firefight, yet these fools were practically standing shoulder to shoulder.
Since they were being so cooperative, Stephen decided to make full use of it.
He pulled the rifle strap with his left hand and flicked it behind him, letting the rifle settle against his shoulder.
Then, with a shift of his right shoulder, another weapon came into his hands.
A classic, brutal firearm.
A pump-action shotgun, the Winchester 1897.
This shotgun, introduced just two years ago, was one of the most powerful close-range weapons of this era, and likely the next as well.
It was already loaded with six shells.
More than enough to finish them off.
Stephen took a steady breath and prepared himself.
Bullets and fragments of shattered cargo flew overhead, but he remained completely calm.
He had chosen this spot carefully.
The crates behind him were filled with ore.
There was no way bullets were getting through that.
Soon enough, the gunfire from the other side stopped almost at the same time.
That was expected.
They were all using lever-action rifles, and no matter the exact model, they functioned similarly.
The moment they paused to reload, Stephen moved.
He rose in an instant.
A bright flash burst from the shotgun’s muzzle, followed by a rapid series of deafening blasts.
His right hand held the trigger firm while his left worked the pump at high speed.
Six rounds of buckshot tore through the car in just two seconds, sweeping across the entire space.
The four fools were instantly riddled with holes.
That was why this kind of shotgun was called a sweeper.
As long as you kept pulling the trigger and pumping, it would keep firing.
The only limit was how fast your hands could move.
Too bad it only held six rounds.
Stephen felt a trace of regret.
Just as he finished, more enemies rushed in.
He immediately drew his revolver and emptied it toward the entrance without hesitation.
Then he leaped out through a nearby window.
The moment he hit the ground, he rolled and slid straight under the train.
“Quick!
That bastard is under the train!”
“Cut him off!
Don’t let him escape!”
A few quick-thinking bandits dropped to the ground and tried to look underneath.
But it was night, and everything was pitch black.
Under the train, visibility was almost nonexistent.
Meanwhile, Stephen was already crawling forward, using both hands and feet.
Fortunately, he had trained for this before.
The movements came back naturally.
He moved at a speed that felt out of place for this era.
In a short time, he passed two cars and reached a passenger carriage ahead.
He climbed in through a window.
Some of the passengers gasped in fear, only to have their mouths quickly covered by others.
“Anyone here brave enough to fight with me?”
Stephen pulled out his rifle and looked at a few men who seemed relatively composed.
The entire carriage fell silent.
Several men lowered their heads and avoided his gaze.
Stephen shrugged.
“Forget it.
Bunch of cowards.”
He turned to leave and head back under the train.
The enemies were already closing in.
“I’ll go with you!”
A young woman’s voice rang out, slightly trembling but firm.
Stephen turned back.
It was a young woman.
“Miss, this isn’t a game.
You could die,” Stephen said seriously.
She had long blonde hair, pale skin dotted with freckles, and wore a loose dress.
She was not particularly attractive, even somewhat plain.
But her eyes were steady and determined.
“Can I borrow your long knife?” she asked, pointing at the weapon on his back.
Curious, Stephen handed it to her.
She took the long knife and quickly cut open her dress, exposing strong, sturdy legs.
“This damn dress is a pain,” she muttered.
Then she grabbed the rifle from Stephen’s hands.
“So, what’s the plan?”
Stephen immediately recognized it.
This woman was no ordinary civilian.
The moment she held a gun, her entire presence changed.
From the way she smoothly worked the bolt, she was clearly experienced.
“You take the roof and cover me,” Stephen said directly, pointing upward.
“Fire one shot, then change position.
I’ll keep them occupied below.”
“Got it.”
She did not hesitate.
With a quick leap, she grabbed the edge of the roof and pulled herself up in one clean motion.
Two men had already caught up and were forcing their way into the car.
Stephen fired immediately.
The bullet struck one of them square in the chest, and blood burst out as he screamed.
The other man dropped flat in terror.
Stephen leaned out to finish him, but incoming fire forced him back.
Sparks flew as bullets struck the train walls.
Stephen turned and moved without hesitation.
A sharp whistle rang out.
A white horse came charging toward him.
He grabbed the saddle and swung himself up in one motion, then turned the horse and charged straight at the bandits.
Bullets flew past him.
He leaned low, pressing his body against the side of the horse to avoid the shots.
As he closed the distance, he suddenly pulled the reins hard.
The white horse leaped into the air.
Stephen raised both revolvers and fired downward at the bandits beneath him.
His marksmanship might not match Arthur’s, but he was far from weak.
The revolvers roared one after another.
By the time he landed, four or five bandits were already down.
At that moment, gunfire echoed from the train roof.
A bullet struck one of the bandits in the stomach.
Stephen glanced up briefly.
That woman could shoot.