As dawn was just breaking, Stephen stretched and climbed out of his tent.
After a night had passed, the wind and snow had eased considerably.
The long stretch of heavy snowfall had buried the entire world in white.
When Stephen looked back, even the tracks he had left behind were completely swallowed by the snow.
Everything around him was silent.
He raised his head, gazing out at the vast expanse, and let out a long breath.
For a moment, it felt as if the entire world had been frozen solid.
A few birds flew over the distant ridges, their crisp calls echoing through the air.
The sound made Stephen pause, as if the frozen world had been stirred back to life.
He had slept well that night.
Or rather, he had gone from someone who couldn’t sleep at all in a tent to gradually getting used to life in the wilderness.
In the year or so he had worked as a bounty hunter, he had spent far more nights sleeping outdoors than in a proper bed.
The American frontier was simply too vast.
Criminals could disappear into the mountains and live in hiding with ease.
To track them down, Stephen spent far more time out in the wild than at home.
If you asked him, being a bounty hunter wasn’t a job for ordinary people.
Sleeping rough was one thing, but the criminals he hunted were ruthless and fearless, each with their own tricks.
If Stephen hadn’t been capable himself, he would have been killed long ago.
Stephen took out some pre-ground coffee and a small pouch of used grounds, mixed them with melted snow, and brewed himself a pot of steaming, bitter coffee.
This was the kind of coffee most people in the West drank.
It was easy to make and excellent for staying awake.
Its only downside was obvious, it tasted terrible.
The frontier was filled with Cowboys, criminals, gang members, and bounty hunters, all people drifting from place to place.
They were nothing like the carefree figures from storybooks, spending money without a care.
Most of them were dirt poor.
Just like the four unlucky men from yesterday, they could die in the wilderness at any moment.
Every morning, the first thing they worried about was what they would eat.
People would fight, even kill, over just a few dollars.
To save money, they mixed fresh coffee grounds with old ones, making the brew incredibly strong and bitter.
One sip and the bitterness seemed to seep into every pore.
It was far from enjoyable, but it did its job.
After spending so much time as a bounty hunter, Stephen had picked up these habits himself.
He had gone from resisting them to accepting them without complaint, though the process was something he rarely spoke about.
He lifted the cup, stared at the pitch-black liquid, and without hesitation brought it to his lips, tilting his head back to drain it in one go.
The scalding, bitter coffee ran down his throat into his stomach, jolting him fully awake.
More accurately, it shocked him awake with its bitterness.
With a pained expression, Stephen finally shook off the last of his drowsiness and began packing up.
He skipped breakfast.
The Adler home was not far now, probably only two more hours away.
There would be something better to eat when he got there.
He packed up the tent, bedding, pots, and utensils one by one, securing everything onto the pack horse, then buried the campfire with snow.
Once everything was ready, Stephen led his two horses and set off again.
The snow-covered mountain path was hard to navigate.
He walked ahead, struggling through the deep snow, nearly slipping and falling several times.
The black pack horse, burdened with supplies, followed closely behind, moving with difficulty.
In contrast, the white Arabian horse moved with ease, its head held high as it wandered lightly through the snow, looking almost carefree.
It seemed she had lived here for a long time and was used to this kind of weather.
And so, the man and his two horses continued forward at a slow pace.
By the time the sun rose overhead, Stephen was finally nearing his destination.
As the path grew narrower, he couldn’t help muttering to himself, “Why didn’t they just live in town?
Why choose a place like this up in the mountains?”
Suddenly, a strong gust of wind swept past, blasting his face with snow.
He raised a hand to wipe it away, only to find his brown gloves smeared with black ash.
“What the hell?
Why is there so much ash?” Stephen frowned and looked up, but saw nothing unusual.
“Did a forest nearby catch fire?
That doesn’t make sense.
With this much snow, how could anything burn?
Don’t tell me something happened to Jake’s place…”
His heart skipped a beat.
He quickly wiped his face and, leading his horse, hurried forward as fast as he could, half running, half stumbling toward the Adler home.
When he arrived at the Adler ranch, he froze.
The once simple but warm wooden cabin had been reduced to ruins.
Fire had completely devoured the place.
“No…
that’s not possible…
Mr.
Jake and Mrs.
Sadie are careful people.
They wouldn’t burn down their own home.”
Stephen couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
He dropped the reins and rushed toward the cabin.
Thud!
He tripped over something and fell hard.
Scrambling back to his feet, he noticed something strange beneath him.
He brushed away the snow, and a body was revealed.
“A white male, armed.
Definitely a bandit,” Stephen muttered through clenched teeth.
“He’s holding a lantern.
That means he died at night.
Otherwise, no one would carry that while running for their life.”
He turned the body over and saw a bloody hole in its back.
“The wound’s in the back.
A single shot straight through the heart.
The shooter was definitely skilled.”
There were no other gunshot wounds.
Stephen reached in with a finger and dug out a yellowish bullet.
“A standard revolver round.
Nothing special.”
He looked around.
There was no cover nearby.
Judging from the position of the body and the direction it had fallen, the shot had come from near the cattle shed.
That spot was a full twenty meters from the house.
To land a precise shot like that, in the dark, on a moving target fleeing for their life…
Whoever fired it was a true sharpshooter.
Who was it?
Jake or Sadie?
In Stephen’s eyes, both of them were capable.
Looking back at the body, Stephen’s sharp gaze caught the green scarf around the man’s neck.
It was the mark of the O’Driscoll Gang.
A notorious gang in the West, led by Colm O’Driscoll, a ruthless man.
They robbed, killed, and burned without restraint.
Stephen had captured a few of them before.
Could this be revenge?
Impossible.
Stephen shook his head.
Aside from himself and two others, no one knew about the Adlers.
More likely, this had been a robbery that went wrong.