When it came to making quick money in the West, nothing beat the tobacco and liquor trade.
Tobacco was profitable, sure, but the costs were far too high for now. Moonshining, on the other hand, was clearly the best option.
Back in his previous life, when he played the game online, running a moonshine business had been his main source of income.
So naturally, his plan this time around was the same—to make his start through moonshining.
Of course, with only a few hundred dollars to his name, he didn't have nearly enough capital yet. He still needed to retrieve the remaining gold bars from two other locations.
But for now, what he really needed was some rest.
...
The next morning, Davey decided to stop by the saloons—mostly to take a look around. The top priority was still getting his hands on the gold bars.
There were two saloons in Valentine.
The first was the old establishment, the Valentine Saloon.
The second was the newly opened Smithfield Saloon.
Ever since Smithfield opened its doors, business at the old saloon had steadily declined. Most folks preferred the modern atmosphere of the new place.
As Davey stepped out of his inn, intending to visit the old saloon first, he spotted something troubling in a nearby alley.
Tilly Jackson was pinned against a wall by a black man who looked like he was threatening her.
"Didn't think I'd find you, did you, Tilly?"
"What you do has nothing to do with me anymore… Let me go! Let me go!"
"I've been looking for you for a long time."
Davey didn't hesitate. He strode forward.
"Let her go."
The moment he spoke, he revealed the Colt holstered at his waist.
The man froze. One glance at the gun was enough to make him hesitate.
"Hey, man, take it easy. No need for trouble." He raised his hands slightly and stepped back, releasing Tilly.
Realizing Davey wasn't someone to mess with, the man threw Tilly a cold glare.
"You're making a big mistake, Tilly Jackson!"
"Get lost!" Tilly snapped.
The man gave Davey one last look, decided it wasn't worth the fight, and quickly walked away.
"Thanks, Davey."
"It's fine, Tilly."
Davey didn't ask further. He knew exactly who that man was—one of the Foreman Brothers Gang.
Tilly Jackson had become an outlaw at just twelve years old. She'd joined the Foreman Brothers Gang early on but later killed Anthony Foreman's cousin in self-defense and left the gang. After that, she joined the Van der Linde Gang.
"Hey, Davey!"
Arthur's voice called from nearby. He'd been out looking for Tilly and Karen and had stumbled upon them by chance.
"Arthur, you're on your own? Where's Mac?"
"Davey, you know Mac—he drank half the saloon dry last night. He's still sleeping it off. I'm looking for Karen. Have you seen her? Heard she went to the hotel to gather intel."
"Figures," Davey replied. "Mac's always like that. I wasn't staying nearby last night, so I haven't heard anything about Karen."
He already knew about Karen's situation but didn't say more.
Arthur went on toward the hotel to find her, while Davey headed straight for the Smithfield Saloon.
Inside, he spotted Mac passed out at a table, with Mary-Beth and Uncle sitting beside him, keeping watch.
"Hey, Davey," Mary-Beth greeted with a smile when she noticed him.
"Uncle, Mary—thanks for watching over him. That fool never changes," Davey said, walking up to the bar. He ordered three steaks, a glass of red wine, and a whiskey.
"Oh, Davey, thanks for the whiskey—but one glass? That's hardly enough!" Uncle perked up immediately at the mention of it.
Whiskey went for fifty cents a glass in the saloon—well out of Uncle's usual range. He normally drank the cheap stuff back at camp.
"Thanks, Davey," Mary-Beth said softly. Red wine and steak were rare luxuries for her.
"Keep an eye on Mac for me," Davey said between bites. "I'm gathering information on the Pinkertons—it might take me a little while."
He was planning to take a train to Bacchus Station, where five more gold bars awaited him. This would be his first real fortune.
"Don't worry, Davey," Uncle said, thumping his chest. "We'll take care of him—make sure he gets back to camp safe."
"But we'll have to wait for Arthur to return," he added with a grin. "You know neither Mary nor I can haul this lump on our own."
"Still," Uncle said with a sheepish smile, "one glass of whiskey ain't enough for me."
Uncle didn't take part in gang jobs, so he had no steady income. He lived off camp rations and cheap liquor. High-proof drinks like whiskey or gin—costing at least two dollars a bottle—were far beyond what he could afford.
Mary-Beth, meanwhile, ate her steak with quiet grace, occasionally sipping her wine. Her elegant posture and soft manners made her look more like a lady of high society than a gang member—though that was, of course, part of her disguise.
Davey chuckled and pulled out a dollar, ordering two more whiskeys for Uncle.
"Oh, generous Davey!" Uncle grinned ear to ear. "Bless you, boy."
Davey glanced at the still-sleeping Mac. It was obvious this one wouldn't be waking up anytime soon.