If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead, be sure to check out my Patreon!!!
Go to https://www.patreon.com/Tang12
...
Dutch let it swell, then raised his hand for silence. "So here is what will happen. Tomorrow, or perhaps the day after, once our heads are clear of this fine drink, I will send Arthur… Caleb… Charles… and John." He gestured to each of them in turn, his tone reverent, like naming apostles. "They will go to that mansion. They will cleanse it of raiders, purge it of filth, and claim it in the name of this family. While they do, the rest of us will pack, prepare, and when the way is clear, we will move, together, strong, and united."
He turned last toward Arthur, fixing him with a pointed look. "What do you say, old friend?"
Arthur rose slowly, brushing ash from his knees. His eyes swept the camp, then settled on Dutch. He gave a short nod. "Alright, Dutch. Tomorrow, if the good Lord lets us wake without our skulls split from all this whiskey, we'll head out, clean the place up, and make sure no Lemoyne Raiders are left."
A thunder of cheers broke again, lifting the camp from its gloom. Sean whooped loudest, clinking his bottle against Lenny's. Tilly clapped her hands. Bill hollered about showing those Lemoyne Raiders "what real gunmen looked like." Even Javier struck up another tune on his guitar, something fast and rolling to match the renewed mood of the celebration.
Caleb clapped with the rest, though slower and quieter. His mind was already racing ahead. Shady Belle. The plantation mansion. He remembered it well from his past life and what he have just done there with Lenny and Arthur, the rotting halls, the gunfire echoing through its chambers when they go to stole those rifles caches, and also how he played Arthur cleaning up Shady Belle as well.
He then remember how Dutch spun it then, too, turning necessity into glory for the gang. And he remembered what lay further down the road, after Shady Belle… all the cracks that would widen.
Beside him, Mary-Beth leaned close, her voice barely audible over the music. "He makes it sound so easy. Like a story."
"That's Dutch," Caleb murmured, his eyes never leaving the man on the crate. "Always a story."
Dutch, satisfied that he'd stoked their spirits back to flame, leapt down from the crate with surprising agility for a man already several drinks in. He was immediately surrounded, Molly draping herself on his arm, Sean shouting another toast in his ear, Bill and Javier thumping his back. He grinned wide, soaking in their adoration like sunlight.
Caleb, meanwhile, glanced across the fire. Hosea had not moved to join Dutch's circle. He sat with his pipe, puffing slowly, his expression unreadable. When Caleb caught his gaze, the old man gave the faintest of nods, a silent acknowledgment that both of them had seen the real shape of Dutch's speech beneath the celebration.
The camp carried on late into the night. Music, laughter, more bottles cracked open. Jack finally fell asleep in Abigail's lap, John pulling a blanket over both of them. Penelope, from her seat at the guard campfire on the outskirts, watched with a wistful smile, as if witnessing a family she could never quite belong to. Sadie eventually sat with her, sharing a bottle or beer in silence.
Caleb stayed close to Mary-Beth, letting her joy wash over his own darker thoughts. He laughed when she tugged him into a dance, clumsy as it was, and for a brief moment even he felt caught up in the fragile magic of it all, the illusion of a family united, unstoppable, and safe.
The party wound on well past midnight, the night filled with laughter, song, and the clinking of bottles. Slowly, inevitably, it began to taper off. The fires burned low, lanterns guttered, and the gang, who had been riding high on adrenaline and alcohol, began to collapse into the embrace of sleep or stupor.
Unlike Caleb, who thanks to his Alcohol Resistance skill couldn't go drunk nor suffer any of the usual drawbacks of heavy drinking, the rest of the gang had succumbed in their various degrees.
Dutch himself, for all his charisma and stamina, was unmistakably drunk, his words thick and his balance looser than usual. Arthur, Hosea, John, Sadie, and Tilly had all slipped into the category of light drunkness, their words slurred just a little, their steps wobbly, but their wits not entirely gone.
Then came the heavy drunk tier, Sean with his wild laughter, arm draped around Lenny who was barely standing. Javier rambling half in Spanish, half in English while nursing his guitar like a child.
Pearson red faced and boasting of culinary triumphs none were listening to,and Karen, who had gone from dancing on a barrel to being unable to walk in a straight line. They were loud, boisterous, stumbling, singing, fighting, and hugging in equal measure, utterly lost in their cups.
As for Reverend Swanson, Uncle, and Bill… well, they were dead drunk. Swanson had passed out flat in the mud, Uncle snoring like a sawmill beside him, while Bill lay half draped over an empty keg, muttering nonsense even in sleep.
The women of the camp, for the most part, had managed themselves better. Mary-Beth, Abigail, Molly, Miss Grimshaw, Charles, Kieran, and Strauss had drunk, yes, but only enough to participate in the celebration. They sipped sparingly, raising glasses for the cheer but never drowning themselves in it.
When the embers of the celebration were nearly gone, Caleb rose. Mary-Beth, who had spent most of the night clinging to his side, still looked bright eyed, though the fatigue was catching up to her.
Together they helped Karen and Tilly, arms slung across their shoulders, toward their shared tent. Karen mumbled about wanting "just one more drink" while Tilly giggled uncontrollably at nothing. With effort, they laid both women down on their bedrolls.
Mary-Beth lingered, smoothing a blanket over them. Caleb caught her hand gently, drawing her close. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then wrapped her in a warm hug.
"Goodnight," he murmured, his voice soft.
"Goodnight," she whispered back, lingering for a moment in his embrace before letting him go.
He left her then, watching for a moment as she returned to tend briefly to her friends before slipping into her own bedroll.
The night was far from over for him.
Caleb slung his Lancaster Repeater into his hands and made his way toward the camp's edge. Most of the men who should've been on watch were now drunk, useless for guard duty. Uncle had technically been scheduled for it earlier with Kieran, but Uncle was now passed out, his hat over his face, while Kieran had been left to carry the burden alone. By now, the boy had earned his rest.
So Caleb stepped in, as he often did.
At the front of the camp, Charles was already there, steady as always, rifle in hand, eyes scanning the tree line.
"Figured I'd join you," Caleb said, settling beside him. "Kieran's been on since we rode out. He's done enough. And all the others are drunker than skunks."
Charles gave him a faint smile, a nod of agreement. "Glad for the company."
From his satchel, Caleb withdrew a cigar. He struck a match against his boot heel, lit the tip, and drew in the smoke with a low sigh. The warm curl of tobacco drifted upward into the star speckled sky. He then turned, watching Charles in the glow of the lantern.
"So," Caleb said, exhaling. "What do you think of Dutch's speech tonight?"
Charles didn't look at him immediately, his gaze scanning the treeline. "What kind of answer do you want?"
"The honest one." Caleb drew again on his cigar, the ember glowing bright in the dark.
For a moment, Charles said nothing. He scanned the tree line, then the stars, then let out a slow breath. "I think you already know my answer. Dutch has changed. He's not the man I first met when he welcomed me into this gang. Back then, he spoke of freedom, family, a life outside the cruelty of the world. Now…" He shook his head.
Then he finally turned his head, his dark eyes meeting Caleb's in the gloom. "His speech was focused more on himself than the family. He loves this gang, I believe that. But the feeling I get now… it's that he loves the sound of his own voice, the sight of everyone listening to him, even more. That's what I felt tonight."
Caleb wasn't surprised. He had expected something like this from Charles. For all his stoic demeanor, Charles was sharp, spiritual, and deeply philosophical under the surface. He saw things many others in the gang chose to ignore.
Caleb wasn't surprised. Charles had always possessed a deep, almost spiritual insight beneath his quiet, powerful exterior. He saw the truth of things, of people, with a clarity that others often missed.
"I agree with you," Caleb said, exhaling a plume of smoke. "The way you put it… it's exactly right." He paused, choosing his next words carefully. "Charles… if it comes to it, if Dutch puts the entire safety of the gang at risk for one of his plans… what would you do? Would you just go along with it? Or would you put up a protest? Or would you even goes against him for the sake of everyone else?"
Charles's stoic face, for the first time all night, showed a flicker of genuine surprise. His eyes widened slightly, and he studied Caleb with a new intensity. "Why do you ask that?" he countered, his voice even lower. "Do you think he wouldn't stop? That he would make another reckless plan, like the dynamite with the Grays that led to Jack being taken?"
Caleb met his gaze steadily. "I have a feeling it will happen. You have seen first hand how the dynamite plan, it was reckless. It led to Jack being kidnapped by the Braithwaites. They couldn't take the insult anymore, so they struck back. If we hadn't been lucky… that boy would be gone right now."
Charles's jaw tightened, his knuckles white around his rifle. He said nothing, waiting.
"And tonight," Caleb continued, his voice lower, heavier, "I saw the look in his eyes when Catherine Braithwaite said the name 'Angelo Bronte.' The man they were going to sell Jack to. He lives in Saint Denis, and I know who that man is."
"Who is Angelo Bronte?" Charles asked, his curiosity piqued. "I have never heard of him."
Caleb's voice dropped to a near whisper. "Angelo Bronte is the head of the criminal underworld in Saint Denis. He leads an organized gang, not like us. He's a different kind of animal. Cunning, wealthy, and entrenched. The police, the politicians… everyone in that city is in his pocket."
He let that sink in for a moment. "Can you imagine the type of heat that would be on our backs if Dutch decided to antagonize a man like that? To rob him, or… God knows what. I don't know what Dutch would actually do, but that look… it was the look of a man who sees a new, bigger mountain to conquer, not a den of wolves to avoid." Caleb shook his head. "You can't even imagine it."
Charles's eyes narrowed, his grip tightening on the rifle. "So you're saying Dutch is walking us into a storm."
"I'm saying," Caleb replied, "that if he does, we may not survive it. Not as we are now. And I want to know where you'll stand when that time comes."
Charles absorbed this, his gaze returning to the dark forest. The implications were staggering. They were outlaws, yes, but they survived by preying on the fringes, by being ghosts. A direct confrontation with a power like Bronte's in the heart of a modern city was a recipe for annihilation.
...
Name: Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 7/10
- Agility: 7/10
- Perception: 8/10
- Stamina: 7/10
- Charm: 6/10
- Luck: 8/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl 4)
- Rifle (Lvl 3)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl 3)
- Past Life Memory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl 2)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl 1)
- Sneaking (Lvl 3)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl 4)
- Poker (Lvl 4)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl 2)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl 1)
- Dead Eye (Lvl 3)
- Bow (Lvl 2)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl 1)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl 0)
- Crafting (Lvl 3)
- Persuasion (Lvl 3)
- Mental Fortitude (Lvl MAX)
- Cooking (Lvl 4)
- Teaching (Lvl 2)
- Germanic Language Proficiency (Lvl MAX)
- Inventory System (Permanent - 10x10x10)
- Acting (Lvl 3)
- Alcohol Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Treasure Hunter (Lvl MAX)
Money: 1,814 dollars and 46 cents
Inventory: 103,988 dollars and 50 cents, 7 gold nuggets, 58 gold bars, 7 silver rings, 1 Double Action, 1 Schofield, 2 large bags of jewelry, 4 gold rings, 2 silver rings, 4 silver pocket watches, 3 gold buckles, 1 gold pocket compass, 2 platinum pocket watches, 2 Colm's Schofields, and land deed (Parcel)
Bank: -