Indeed, disorientation was not Bill's alone. Charles, Sean, Javier, and even Hosea, despite his growing acceptance, all reeled from the sudden shift in their world. Sean, the uncontainable loudmouth, chattered ceaselessly in the carriage. "Oh, Javier, I didn't mishear, did I? I truly didn't mishear? Our Van der Linde Gang… we're becoming merchants now? My God, is this even Dutch anymore? Has he been possessed by some damned wraith?!"
"Damn it, Sean! Say one more word insulting Dutch, and I'll put a bullet through your skull!" Davey snarled, his hand instinctively going to his hip.
"Oh, Sean," Mac sneered, "if that little mouth of yours just can't be idle, come on over and give me a good suck!"
Their lives, every one of them, had been redeemed by Dutch, who had taken 3 bullets for them. From this moment on, Dutch was their unwavering father.
"Alright, fellas, enough squabbling! Sean, muzzle that mouth, boy. Davey, Mac, calm yourselves. The unlucky kid was just trying to make a joke." Hosea, ever the peacemaker, cut through the escalating tension. He then sat straighter in the carriage, his voice rising, commanding everyone's attention. "Children, your lives have undergone a seismic shift in these past two days, and I know you're all excited. But you must remember: you are to execute Dutch's orders with absolute loyalty and flawless precision, without a single misstep, so as not to jeopardize Dutch's overarching vision. Dutch has a plan. A super plan. A perfect plan! Our entire future depends on this, so everyone must be meticulous, cautious! Obey all of Dutch's commands!"
His voice deepened, carrying the weight of their new reality. "Alright, children, control your actions and your words out there. Let no one notice us, let no one uncover our identities as the Van der Linde Gang, and for God's sake, do not disrupt Dutch's plan! Now, get to work!"
A ragged chorus of "Yay!" and a guttural "Roar!" echoed from the gang, a chaotic mix of excitement and grim determination.
While Hosea led his crew out to work, Dutch and Arthur were far from idle at the nascent Hope's Dream Ranch.
"Ms. Grimshaw, Miss O'Shea, Abigail, Uncle, Sadie," Dutch called out, his gaze sweeping over the women and the perpetually weary Uncle. "Can the five of you cleanse our ranch? Haul out all this damned refuse. Our lives are about to soar, so let this trash be cast into the refuse heap along with our old lives!" He gestured to the piles of discarded belongings, packed last night but still awaiting disposal, then turned his gaze to Arthur, who stood patiently behind him.
"Arthur, let's go, kid. Follow me to the Valentine Police Station. I think it's time we made the acquaintance of Valentine's Sheriff." Dutch swung himself onto his horse, his eyes glinting.
"Alright, Dutch, I'll follow your lead." Arthur pulled his gambler's hat low over his eyes, then mounted his own steed. A faint tremor of excitement coursed through him. His letter to Mary was written, and this trip to Valentine provided the perfect opportunity to send it.
'Dear Mary, I imagine your heart will pound as wildly as mine when you finally read this?'
Arthur couldn't help but smile at the thought.
Their love, though tragically severed and despite their separate lives, was a bond that time could not diminish. It had spanned their most beautiful, naive youthful years. Though reality had forced their eventual parting, the pristine beauty of that unattainable love remained, unmatched by any other.
Dutch, witnessing Arthur's soft, secret smile, almost chuckled aloud, but caught himself. He would not offer judgment on Mary's character; this was Arthur's journey, his own heartbreak, and Dutch would not overstep. But considering Mary's final, desperate plea in the game, and her heartbroken farewell at Arthur's grave after his death, Dutch knew her feelings for him must be profoundly sincere. Given that, he would not interfere with the delicate, fragile unfolding of their relationship.
"Come on!" Dutch and Arthur spurred their horses, riding hard towards Valentine.
The Sheriff of Valentine was named Malloy Curtis. In Dutch's memory, a grim definition straight from the game itself, this man was a heartless scoundrel. The game revealed his sordid affair with a woman named Molloy, a dispute that ultimately led him to strangle her in the dead of night. Players could stumble upon this macabre scene by visiting the police station's second floor after dark. Both Molloy and the Sheriff's own wife depicted him as utterly without conscience, consumed by an extreme, corrosive selfishness.
But this very selfishness, Dutch realized, was his most exploitable weakness. Securing official endorsement within Valentine would undeniably prove invaluable, so Dutch resolved to 'educate' Sheriff Malloy, to transform him into a pliable lackey. And selfishness, in Dutch's experience, invariably meant greed. Therefore, the avenues for his manipulation were limitless.
Time, warped by the sheer scale of the real world, crawled onward. The map in the game was a mere approximation. Dutch and Arthur rode for what felt like an eternity before finally reaching Valentine. It was already afternoon. As a bustling livestock town, Valentine teemed with people, the air thick with the pungent, sickening odor of animal droppings. The streets, churned by countless hooves, were a muddy, foul-smelling mire of horse manure. Dutch grimly mused that if one were to dig down just a few layers, all they would find beneath the road was pure, unadulterated excrement.
Sheriff Malloy, a stout figure, stood outside the police station, calmly smoking his pipe. It was just before one in the afternoon, plenty of time.
"Let's go, Arthur. We'll eat first, then we'll speak to the Sheriff." Dutch dismounted, leading Arthur into a nearby saloon. Since the storyline had been drastically altered, Arthur had yet to cross paths with and beat Tommy, so their gang commanded no special reputation within the saloon's raucous walls.
Dutch ordered two portions of haggis. They found a table, settled in, and poured themselves glasses of whiskey. Arthur, consumed by an almost childish restlessness, shifted in his seat, waiting for their food and drinks. He eyed Dutch, who calmly smoked, utterly composed. Arthur hesitated, then blurted, "Dutch, oh, I'm just stepping out for a moment. I'll be right back. Um, I'm going to buy some gun oil… Yes, gun oil. You know, my gun hasn't been well-maintained since the snowy mountains."
Dutch fought to suppress a laugh at Arthur's transparent excuse. His clumsy attempt to cover his true intentions only made his otherwise innocuous behavior seem glaringly suspicious. Dutch merely smiled, nodding, offering no mockery. "Alright, Arthur, go on. But hurry back."
Arthur exhaled a silent breath of relief, quickly turning to stride out of the saloon.
"Of course," Dutch called out, his voice smooth, laced with a sly amusement, "I look forward to you bringing Mrs. Morgan back. You know, Abigail likes her very much. Miss O'Shea might also appreciate someone to talk to."
Arthur stumbled, almost pitching headfirst onto the muddy ground at the doorway.