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Caleb, meanwhile, quietly slipped away to his tent for a moment. He took Colm's pair of engraved Schofields and placed them into his inventory, their weight vanishing as if into thin air. To anyone watching, it would've looked like he was stowing them in his tent, nothing unusual, nothing to question.
With that done, he joined Arthur, John, Sean, Karen, Charles, Lenny, and Javier around one of the fires.
They each had a drink in hand, whiskey for Arthur, beer for John, bourbon for Sean, rum for Karen, and beer for Charles and Lenny. Javier sat with his guitar across his lap, plucking a rhythm while humming under his breath.
"Look who decided to show up," Karen teased when she saw Caleb. "Mary-Beth's sweetheart."
The group chuckled. Caleb smirked and gave her a small nod, acknowledging the jab without denying it.
Karen grinned wider. "Oh, don't you go pretendin' you don't like the title."
The others exchanged knowing looks. Everyone in camp had noticed the way Caleb and Mary-Beth gravitated toward one another.
They weren't officially a couple, not by any declaration, but the signs were there. No one pressed them about it, they figured one day, one of them would tell the truth.
Lenny reached into the crate beside him and pulled out a bottle, handing it over to Caleb. "Here. You look like you could use one."
Caleb accepted the beer with a nod. "Appreciate it."
The conversation drifted toward the ambush earlier that day. Caleb gave his account in pieces, careful not to sound like he was boasting. Sean, however, was more than happy to take that role for himself.
"Y'know," Sean began in his thick Irish brogue, leaning forward with a mischievous grin, "if Dutch decides to bring me along, I could've taken the whole bloody lot o' them meself. Wouldn't've needed the rest o' you fine folk at all."
The table erupted in laughter, jeers, and playful insults. Arthur raised his drink. "Sure you could, Sean. And maybe tomorrow you'll go and take Fort Mercer all on your own too, we watch from a distance."
"Fort Mercer?" Sean slapped his knee. "Pfft, child's play!"
They laughed harder, the sound mixing with Javier's guitar and the distant chatter from other fires.
Near Dutch's tent, the music on the phonograph changed. Dutch swapped the record for a livelier dance tune, and for the first time in a long while, he walked up to Molly.
The two exchanged a few quiet words before Dutch offered his hand. She accepted, and they began to dance, the tension that had been brewing between them for months hidden, at least for now.
Karen noticed the shift in music and stood abruptly from Sean's lap as she put her bottle down. "Come on, you lazy Irishman. Let's show these folks how it's done."
Sean groaned but followed, stumbling slightly as Karen dragged him toward the open space by Dutch's tent.
Caleb was watching with mild amusement when a soft voice spoke beside him.
"Would you… like to dance, Caleb?"
He turned to see Mary-Beth, her cheeks tinged pink, her eyes darting away as soon as they met his. She looked both hopeful and nervous, her fingers clasped in front of her.
"Of course," Caleb said without hesitation in a gentle voice. He stood, took her hand gently, and led her toward the small dancing crowd.
They joined Dutch and Molly, as well as Sean and Karen, moving to the lively beat. The campfire light flickered over their faces, laughter and music filling the cool night air.
But not everyone was enjoying it. Dutch, in mid step with Molly, caught sight of Caleb and Mary-Beth dancing together. Something twisted in his gut, souring his mood instantly.
It wasn't jealousy in the romantic sense, more like a growing irritation that Caleb, this new addition to the gang, was earning the kind of attention and warmth from Mary-Beth that Dutch believed should center on himself.
For a moment, Dutch nearly stopped dancing altogether. Molly noticed the shift in him immediately, the way his grip faltered and his smile dimmed. She felt the discomfort she'd thought had been fading return in full force. But instead of calling him out, she forced herself to ignore it, deciding to savor what little moment she had left with him.
The party carried on late into the night. Plates of food prepared by Pearson made their rounds, roasted meats, potatoes, beans, and fresh bread. The alcohol flowed freely, conversations grew louder, and the night air was thick with the mingled scents of food, drink, and woodsmoke.
Eventually, one by one, the gang members began to drift away. Uncle was the first to collapse, snoring loudly in his chair, an empty bottle dangling from his hand. Javier's guitar playing slowed to a lazy strum before he finally set it aside.
By the time the phonograph wound down and the last song faded into silence, the fires had burned low.
Caleb walked Mary-Beth back toward her tent. They exchanged a few quiet words, nothing too deep, just enough to leave them both smiling faintly. Then Caleb headed to his own tent, unbuckling his gun belt and setting it beside his bedroll.
He lay back, staring at the canvas ceiling above, the distant crackle of a dying fire the only sound. His mind replayed the day's events, the fight, Colm's death, Sadie's words, and Dutch's reaction.
It wasn't over, he knew. The O'Driscolls might scatter, but their remnants would still be out there. And Dutch… Dutch was changing at a truly faster rate than in the original. Caleb could see it.
Still, for now, the camp slept under the illusion of peace. And for one night at least, he let himself close his eyes and rest.
The next day, Caleb woke up late, much later than most of the gang.
He could already hear the hum of camp life beyond his tent walls, the clinking of pots from Pearson's station, the scrape of knives on cutting boards, the rhythmic chop of firewood, and the low murmur of conversations mixing with the occasional bray of a horse.
The smell of coffee, bacon grease, and smoke drifted in with the morning breeze, tempting him to stay under the covers just a little longer. But the sunlight filtering through the canvas was already too bright to ignore.
He sat up, rubbing his face, and that was when something unexpected caught his eye, a translucent blue notification from his system hovered in front of him like it was waiting for him to wake up.
[Skill Acquired: Alcohol Resistance — Level MAX]
Description: Due to repeated alcohol consumption since arrival in this world, the negative effects of drinking, including drunkenness, headaches, nausea, and other detrimental conditions, have been nullified.
Caleb blinked, reread it twice, and then slowly grinned.
"…Well, hell," he murmured to himself.
It meant exactly what it said, no matter how much he drank now, he couldn't get drunk. No dizziness, no hangovers, no blackout regrets. It wasn't just a novelty, it was a potential lifesaver.
In the wrong hands, alcohol could be a weapon. Get someone drunk, and you could make them spill secrets, lose focus, or fall asleep at the worst possible time. But now? Anyone who tried that on him would fail completely.
His grin widened. This is perfect.
For a brief second, he imagined waltzing up to Uncle, downing an entire bottle in one go, and staying stone-cold sober just to make the old man jealous. But the thought faded as quickly as it came.
Boasting about something like this would raise too many questions, and the fewer people who knew about his system, the better.
That was a secret he'd carry to his grave.
Still feeling a little pleased with himself, Caleb swung his legs out of bed and reached for his gun belt. The familiar weight settled on his hips as he buckled it, the leather warm from the morning air.
When he stepped outside, he was immediately greeted by the sound of a child's laughter. Jack was playing with Cain, the camp's loyal hound, in the open space between the tents. Cain spotted Caleb instantly and bounded over, tail wagging so hard his whole body swayed with it.
"Morning, Caleb!" Jack called, grinning from ear to ear as he jogged after the dog.
"Morning," Caleb replied, kneeling down as Cain reached him. He scratched the dog's head with both hands, earning happy panting and a slobbery lick to the wrist. Jack joined in, leaning against Caleb's side as they both fussed over the excited animal.
It was a simple, peaceful moment, the kind Caleb was learning to value in this world.
That peace didn't last long. From across camp, near Dutch's tent, Hosea's voice carried over the background noise as he spoke with Dutch in a low but audible tone. Caleb didn't mean to eavesdrop, but when something caught his ear, he had a hard time turning away.
"I just came back from town," Hosea was saying. "Ran into Sheriff Gray. He tells me his brother, old man Tavish, could use some help with a job. Seems Catherine Braithwaite's got some prize horses she's mighty proud of. If we can swipe them and sell 'em, we're looking at a decent payday."
Dutch's posture shifted slightly, the casual slouch giving way to interest. "How decent?"
"Well, Tavish thinks they're worth a small fortune. Says he's got buyers lined up, claims we could get five thousand for the lot if we sell 'em right."
Caleb's mind clicked into motion the moment he heard those numbers. His Past Memory skill brought the scene into sharp clarity, the mission called Horse Flesh for Dinner.
In the original timeline, Arthur, John, and Javier were sent to meet Tavish. Tavish dangled that same five thousand dollar promise in front of them, but when they finally sold the horses to Clay Davies at Clemens Cove, they walked away with just seven hundred. Tavish had lied through his teeth.
Even knowing the truth, Caleb kept quiet. He couldn't just blurt it out without raising suspicions about how he knew.
Dutch gave a low, approving chuckle. "Five thousand dollars for a few horses? Now that sounds like an opportunity we shouldn't pass up. You did good accepting this one, old friend."
Hosea gave a humble shrug, though the glimmer in his eyes showed he was pleased Dutch agreed.
Dutch went on, "Pick a couple of smart fellas for the job. Don't choose Bill, he's a hammer looking for nails. And Sean… well, Sean's good for a laugh, but this ain't the kind of work where boasting and whiskey breath help."
Hosea chuckled, nodding. "Don't worry, I've already got a few in mind."
Then, in a voice loud enough for half the camp to hear, he called out, "Arthur! Javier! Caleb! C'mere a minute!"
Arthur looked up from where he'd been helping Charles check a saddle, and Javier stopped mid-conversation with Lenny. They both headed toward Hosea without hesitation.
Caleb froze for half a second, caught off guard. In the original version of events, John had been picked, not him. This was new. He glanced once at Jack, gave Cain a final pat, and straightened up.
"Guess that's me," he muttered under his breath before making his way over.
The three of them lined up in front of Dutch and Hosea. Arthur's brow furrowed slightly, clearly curious about Caleb's inclusion. Javier gave him a sideways grin, maybe thinking it was just another chance to see what the new guy could do.
...
Name: Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 7/10
- Agility: 7/10
- Perception: 8/10
- Stamina: 7/10
- Charm: 6/10
- Luck: 6/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl 3)
- Rifle (Lvl 2)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl 3)
- Past Life Memory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl 2)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl 1)
- Sneaking (Lvl 3)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl 3)
- Poker (Lvl 4)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl 2)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl 1)
- Dead Eye (Lvl 2)
- Bow (Lvl 2)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl 1)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl 0)
- Crafting (Lv 2)
- Persuasion (Lvl 2)
- Mental Fortitude (Lvl MAX)
- Cooking (Lvl 2)
- Teaching (Lvl 1)
- Germanic Language Proficiency (Lvl MAX)
- Inventory System (Permanent - 5x5x5)
- Acting (Lvl 2)
- Alcohol Resistance (Lvl MAX)
Money: 1,058 dollars and 48 cents
Inventory: 3,245 dollars, 7 gold nuggets, 5 gold bars, 4 silver rings, 1 Double Action, 1 Schofield, 2 large bags of jewelry, 4 gold rings, two silver rings, four silver pocket watches, a gold buckle, a gold pocket compass, a platinum pocket watch, and 2 Colm's Schofields
Bank: -