Stephen didn’t rest.
More accurately, he refused to.
Whenever he had a moment to himself, his mind filled with the tender scenes of Jake and Sadie, and the pain was unbearable.
He dragged the corpses of those O’Driscoll Gang scum to the cliff and tossed them down.
They had no right to remain in such a beautiful place.
The wolves and hyenas below would take care of the rest.
After cleaning everything up, Stephen sat in the still-intact stable and pulled out a map of the surrounding states, studying it carefully.
He had arrived too late.
Whatever had happened here was already several days past, and the heavy snowfall had buried every trace.
There was no catching up now, but he still needed a direction.
The area was desolate.
The only place in the valley that could shelter people was an abandoned town.
Stephen made up his mind on the spot to check Colter Village first.
There was no reason to carry the supplies back.
He placed everything at Jake’s grave as an offering.
Then he removed the saddle from the pack horse and set it onto the white horse’s back.
He did not have time to lead two horses at a slow pace.
He needed to move fast, and the white horse, able to travel freely through the snow, was the obvious choice.
The white horse clearly disliked the extra weight and immediately began bucking, trying to throw off the saddle.
Stephen’s expression hardened.
He stepped in close, caught the reins firmly, and pressed a steady hand against the horse’s neck, forcing it to hold still.
His grip was unyielding, his presence sharp and commanding.
The horse tossed its head at first, resisting, but under his controlled strength and unwavering pressure, it gradually settled down.
Even a proud animal like this lowered its head in the end, subdued.
After removing everything from the black horse, Stephen stroked its head in farewell.
It had been with him for a long time, but now it was time to part.
He gave it a firm pat on the hindquarters.
The horse looked back at him once, then slowly walked away.
Stephen kept only the essentials, food and survival supplies, and discarded the rest.
Carrying too much would only slow him down.
Once ready, he grabbed his weapons and mounted up.
A Springfield rifle, an old Schofield Revolver from Jake, a custom-engraved Schofield, a pump-action shotgun, a coil of rope for capturing people, a dagger, a long knife, and plenty of ammunition.
That was everything he carried.
He squeezed his legs and flicked the reins, and the white horse surged forward at full speed.
The horse was exceptional.
Even on rugged mountain paths covered in ice and snow, it moved as if flying.
It seemed to know exactly where to go and how to move efficiently.
A journey that had taken Stephen half a day before was completed in less than an hour.
Before long, he reached his first destination, Colter Village at the center of the valley.
One look told him he had found the right place.
A thin wisp of smoke rose from the long-abandoned settlement.
Several horses were tied outside broken-down houses, and a few wagons were arranged nearby.
There were quite a few people here.
Stephen dismounted, led his horse behind a tree, and took out his binoculars to observe.
Two armed sentries stood at the village entrance, alert and disciplined.
Nearby, a heavyset man crouched under a ruined house, tending a fire, likely cooking.
Two women moved about, and there was even a child following them.
From what he could see, they did not look like bandits at all.
They looked more like refugees.
Stephen frowned in confusion.
Could it really be that someone kind had rescued Sadie Adler?
Bandits might take women, but bringing along a child made no sense.
He lowered the binoculars and glanced at the sky.
Darkness was settling in.
He checked his pocket watch.
It was already past five.
In about an hour, it would be fully dark.
With the situation unclear, he decided to wait until nightfall before making a move.
First, he would locate Sadie Adler.
He led the horse farther into a patch of woods.
As he moved, he brushed away the snow behind him, erasing his tracks as best he could under the falling snow.
After tying up the white horse, he crouched quietly and sorted his equipment.
This would be a covert operation.
He left the rifle and shotgun on the horse and kept only his two handguns, a Dagger at his back, and his long knife.
The blade carried a distinctly Chinese style.
He had taken it six months ago from a fugitive from Korea.
He liked it enough to keep it ever since.
In his previous life, he had only dabbled in combat.
In this life, with his strength and quick reflexes, he rarely met an equal.
At times, he preferred closing in and striking with a blade rather than shooting from a distance.
The mountain wind was harsh, and the cold bit deep.
Before long, Stephen began to shiver uncontrollably.
Left with no choice, he wrapped himself in a blanket and pressed against the white horse for warmth.
He endured like that until night fully fell.
Even then, he waited longer, keeping his patience until every light in the broken houses had gone out.
Only then did he slowly rise.
After loosening his stiff limbs, he moved toward the village, a long knife in one hand and a revolver in the other.
The snow was thick, making movement difficult.
To keep quiet, he stayed low, at times pressing his body flat against the snow and crawling forward.
Most of them had gone to rest.
Only a thin, dark-skinned man remained by a fire, standing watch.
The man held a bottle, taking occasional swigs, clearly drunk.
Stephen crept behind a nearby tree, scooped up a handful of snow, and tossed it toward another tree.
The snow struck the branches, knocking loose a heavy clump and creating a clear noise.
Hearing it, the man turned and slowly walked toward the sound.
As he passed by, Stephen sprang up.
One hand clamped over the man’s throat, while the other gripped the hilt of his long knife and struck hard against the back of his head.
The blow knocked him out instantly.
Stephen caught him before he fell and gently lowered him onto the snow.
The man looked young.
Stephen had intended to kill him, but hesitated.
If these people were actually decent, that would be a mistake.
Still, he could not risk the man waking up.
He tied him tightly with rope, stuffed cloth into his mouth, and dragged him behind a small house.
If they turned out to be good people, he could release him later.
If not, then the cold would take him.
Stephen was no saint.
After spending so long in the West, even the most soft-hearted person learned to be ruthless.