Hey, everyone. I am back again with Chapter Seven of my Red Dead Redemption 2 Adaptation, this chapter being "Paying a Social Call," where the Van der Linde gang ambush an O'Driscoll hideout after interrogating Kieran Duffy. I'm not going to delve into the background info of my adaptation much, as to returning readers, it's self explanatory. But to those newcomers, I recommend you read previous chapters by clicking on my profile! This adaptation likely isn't going anywhere, and is more of a passion project, but nonetheless, I still love to hear your feedback and responses (lookin' at you, Kid Colt).
One thing I added to this chapter is the first part of "Pouring Forth Oil," which I added as a second "half" of a chapter to tie everything nicely in a knot. Now that I'm done with my typical stint, let's get along with this chapter. Note that the formatting may seem weird because I pasted it from the Google Doc I wrote it on.
Chapter Seven - Paying a Social Call[]
The midday sun hung high, casting blazing rays of the summer creep through the sycamores surrounding our Horseshoe Overlook. The air was cool and crisp, but it was clear that the damp tidings of summer were coming. Like always, the smell of campfire smoke, wood, and dirt filled the air. And, like always, the gang was getting by.
It’s been a good week of downtime for me. Even then, saving Sean and nearly being turned into mush by that bear seems like yesterday. Yet, here we were, a resilient bunch, for better or worse. Lenny and Micah hadn’t returned yet, and Dutch didn’t seem the least bit concerned. I ain’t precisely volunteering to ride to Big Valley and back, but then again, I’m a little worried for Lenny.
These concerns lingered, but it was time to clear my mind. I needed to focus on keeping busy, the only way I knew how. The day’s pastime was our usual distraction, sitting at the wooden table near my tent, where we’d shared countless meals. This time, it was an extended session of poker.
Uncle sat at the head, his back slouched over the table as if he did any honest work. I sat across from him while John, Mary-Beth, and Bill Williamson occupied the sides. John was grinning, absorbed in the game, but Mary-Beth frowned as if she had something better to do. The bespectacled Leopold Strauss sat quietly beside John, waiting for the next round.
“Your turn to shuffle, Uncle,” Bill blurted abruptly as he smacked the weathered deck of cards by him. Bill frowned, twiddling his thumbs as he muttered, “I ain’t got nothing on me…”
“Nothing?” Uncle, who picked up the card deck and held it firmly, giggled and responded with his typical jovialness. “How ‘bout a winning smile, Bill?” Uncle’s grizzled face turned red with laughter while Bill sat unimpressed.
“Just shuffle the cards, you old coot,” Bill retorted. “I ain’t got all day.”
Uncle grinned mischievously and began shuffling the deck, but his arthritic fingers struggled to perform even the simplest tasks. He dropped a card on the grass and bent down to pick it up, dropping two more cards in the process. Mary-Beth, bored out of her mind, began laughing. “You got all the time in the world, don’t you, Uncle?”
Uncle huffed, picking up the last crinkly card from the grass and setting it on the table. “Time, young Miss Gaskill, is a luxury you take for granted. ‘Specially after… nearly dying in them Indian wars and the Congo!”
“Don’t make me come over there, Uncle,” I groaned, rolling my eyes. The biggest accomplishment I can remember Uncle ever did was helping Bill and me rob a bank in Canada. Even then, that was five years ago, more or less, and Uncle brought all sorts of unwanted attention there.
“Calm down, Mr. Morgan, you mean old sack of shit,” Uncle snorted, slowly placing cards on each other. Still shuffling. We stood silently for a few seconds, but John, twitching impatiently, finally burst.
“Just let me shuffle the cards, goddamnit!” John snatched the cards from Uncle’s dry-as-bone hands, quickly giving them to the rest of the table. I looked at the pair he’d given me- a pair of sevens. Not bad.
Leopold Strauss, who was so quiet I forgot he even was there, let out a sigh. He’s bluffing. As old and slimy as he may be, Strauss was scarily good at poker.
The cards made their rounds, and chips were pushed forward. Chips were pushed forward with a soft clinking sound, and the breezes of all temperatures rustled through the leaves of the sycamores, creating a gentle, almost hypnotic rustling. The usual scents of campfire smoke, wood, and the subtle aroma of wildflowers lingered in the air.
I observed the crowd, my eyes roaming from face to face. Uncle seemed disconnected from reality, his wrinkled hands brushing the cards up and down his gray beard. Mary-Beth held the cards close to her abdomen, her eyes scanning the table for clues. John lay back without a care, with his cards face down and his eyes hidden beneath the brim of his hat. Bill, staring intently at his cards, tried to make some conversation. “So, what do they eat in uh… Germany, Mr. Strauss?”
Strauss looked up from his cards, his circular glasses sliding down his long nose. He responded bluntly, with his thick accent, “I’m Austrian.”
“Oh.” Bill gulped. “So, what do they eat in Australia, then?”
Strauss smirked and shook his head. “It’s a miracle you don’t fall over more.”
John snickered as Bill frowned. Just as I was about to chime in with a joke jabbing at poor Bill, the sounds of commotion drew my attention. Shouts, some unintelligible, echoed from behind Pearson’s chuckwagon. Tucked far away, near the tree line. I could see Simon Pearson, with his undersized wool sweater, attempting to get some rest, leaning on his wagon, but the cries were too loud.
It was Kieran Duffy. We hadn’t fed him anything but food scraps for weeks, waiting for information on the O’Driscolls. Dutch thinks he’s valuable and that he’ll squeal. I don’t think much of Kieran- probably some young fool at the place at the wrong time.
But the sounds grew louder and louder, making concentration impossible. I slapped my cards down on the table, drawing irritated glances from the others.
“Y’all hearing this?” I groaned, slowly standing up and repositioning my hat.
“That O’Driscoll bastard?” Bill bluntly responded. “Shoulda killed him when we found ‘im on that mountain!”
“Yeah. I’m gonna check him out.” I pushed my chair under the table and nudged John, who seemed half-asleep, on the shoulder. “You coming with me?”
“Sure,” John sighed with his raspy voice. He got up and slouched over beside me. “Ain’t got nothing better to do.” As we walked to the noise, I could hear Bill getting up and Strauss arguing with Mary-Beth over who had the better cards.
As we approached Kieran, still tied to the tree behind the chuckwagon, I saw his stature, which seemed even worse than the last time I saw him. His white shirt was stained with dirt and grime, and his head and dark, greasy hair hung to the ground, only hanging onto the tree by a strand of rope. I didn’t say I felt terrible for him, but I’d free him to wash away the stink.
“Arthur…” Kieran wheezed, looking up at me. “That’s your name, isn’t it?”
“What do you want?” I said coldly.
“I’m starvin’ out here!” Kieran cried, gazing at John and me. “Got no food… no water… nobody! Please, misters. I ain’t a bad feller.”
John’s face contorted into a scowl. “You got some speaking to do of your own, O’Driscoll!” John spat. “About that old gang of yours.”
“I said… I told yous…” Kieran wheezed, “I don’t know nothing!”
“That’s what I thought,” John muttered. He curled his head back and spat onto Kieran’s boot. “Just wait until-”
“Woah!” A loud voice interrupted from behind us. I turned and saw Dutch, flanked by Bill, striding over to us. Dutch dressed fancy as ever, with an opulent red vest and black trench coat, with a pipe clipped onto his belt. Bill was a bit less flattering, with an unbuttoned plaid shirt, his bare stomach out for the whole world to see. “Hold your horses here,” Dutch called out, approaching us. “It seems the cat has got our friend here’s tongue. I was thinking Mr. Williamson could speak with you, O’Driscoll.”
Bill closed the distance between him and Kieran, yelling, “You ready to talk, boy!?”
Kieran interrupted with a heavy sigh. “I told you, mister, I told alla you. I don’t know nothing! They ain’t no friends of mine; I’ve just been riding with them for a while-”
“HORSESHIT!” Bill interrupted, stomping his boot on the ground. “We’ve heard that story already! So how about you tell the truth?” Bill quickly turned to Dutch. “Dutch, whaddya want me to do?”
“Hurt him!” Dutch yelled promptly, sneering at Kieran. “So the next time he opens his mouth, it is to tell us what is going on!” Dutch’s voice had escalated to a scream. Kieran’s head was high against the tree as he whimpered in fear. Dutch smirked as he observed Kieran, his voice lowered to a threatening whisper.
“Bah, who am I kidding? One of Colm O’Driscoll’s boys couldn’t open his mouth to save himself… but he’d tell a lie. Screw it. Let’s have some fun… geld him.” Dutch made a scissoring motion with his fingers, glancing at Bill, whose face lit up in some deprived form of evil joy.
“Oh yeah!” Bill cackled, his boots thudding on the ground as he dashed to the campfire by the chuckwagon, seizing a pair of searing-hot metal tongs. Dutch maintained a relentless gaze on Kieran, who had broken into tears.
“Oh, don’t worry, boy,” Dutch laughed. “They’re only balls! Just gonna cause you trouble.” My eyes darted to Bill, who stomped back toward us, wielding the tongs and snapping them open and shut. A shower of fiery sparks erupted into the air. He approached us, holding the tongs steady at Kieran. Dutch leaned against the tree with a sinister grin as he calmly explained, “You know, in Imperial Rome, eunuchs was among the happiest and most loyal of courtiers-”
“No, no, no! Y-you’re kidding me, right?” Kieran stammered. His already pale face drowned of absolutely any color as he gaped at the scalding tongs. Kieran was now hyperventilating, his voice rising to a desperate scream amid Bill’s maniacal laughter. “You sick bastards! W-what do you want from me?”
Dutch released his grip on the tree and clenched his hands firmly on his belt. “Well, you are going to talk. The only question is now… or after we nip these little fellers off?”
“Okay!” Kieran sobbed. “Listen, please. I know where Colm O’Driscoll is holed up… and you’re right… he don’t like you. Not any more than you like him. He’s at Six Point Cabin!”
Bill let out a “hmph” and lowered the tongs while Dutch grinned approvingly. John and I exchanged glances of confusion and fear. Never thought I would see the “calm” and “merciful” Dutch van der Linde be willing to castrate a feller without a second thought. This only brings us down to the savagery of the O’Driscolls. Kieran’s chest fell with relief, and his voice lowered.
“I can take you there. I’m serious! I don’t like Colm… less than I like you fellers… no offense.”
“None taken,” Dutch scoffed. Bill still held the tongs tightly in his meaty hands, his brow furrowed as if ready to vent his own frustrations. I think it was a good time for me to butt in and defuse the situation a little- not fan the flames.
“Alright, partner,” I nodded, waving at Bill, motioning him to put the tongs down. He did so, albeit reluctantly. “Why don’t you take us up there right now?”
“Huh?” I heard Bill as he tilted his head in confusion.
I needed something to do with my day and ease my conscience. If this meant liberating Kieran, I reckoned it was a meaningful task. With a swift motion, I extracted my hunting knife from its sheath and began slicing through Kieran’s bonds. “It’s alright, Dutch,” I reassured. “I got this… it should be fun.” With a quick slice, Kieran was freed. I placed my hand on his shoulder, my knife still firmly gripped in my hand. “Let’s go. Any funny business and you’ll regret it, y’hear me?”
Kieran nodded hastily, stammering, “Y-yes, sir. I understand.”
“Good,” I replied. With a brash pat on his shoulder, we proceeded toward the hitching posts, with Bill and John accompanying us. Spending my Saturday this way was not what I had anticipated, but it was strangely exhilarating. Just a few days ago, I had stumbled upon a couple of O’Driscolls attempting to extort a farmhand in Valentine to settle his debt; the sheriff greatly appreciated their arrest.
Besides that, I hadn’t seen many O’Driscolls since our stay in the Grizzlies when we took down that hideout and captured Kieran. I’m surprised Colm still had men after that run-in! Now, we were heading for Six Point Cabin, wherever the hell that was. Hopefully, Colm was there so we can end this decades-long blood feud between him and Dutch once and for all.
We approached our horses. They were all grazing in the patches of grass behind the ladies’ wagon. Mary-Beth leaned casually against the wagon, sharing a cigarette with Sadie Adler. I acknowledged them with a curt nod before John expressed his skepticism. “Let’s both hope you ain’t tryna trick us, O’Driscoll,” he sneered.
“I told you, I ain’t no O’Driscoll!” Kieran insisted.
“Sure,” John snorted.
I headed for my horse, Isaac, who ambled toward me as soon as he spotted me. Bill mounted his steed, Brown Jack- a brown Ardennes that towered over the other horses. John mounted Old Boy, a Hungarian Half-bred he bought off Amos Levi- the stable feller, a few weeks ago. With a swift motion, I swung my leg over Isaac’s saddle, taking my seat. I rewarded the horse with a treat for good measure. “Alright, fellers,” I announced clearly as I gripped the reins securely. “We’ve got a social call that needs paying!”
“Where are we headed?” Bill asked.
Kieran, who was still on the ground, answered promptly. “U-up into the hills behind Valentine, in Cumberland Forest. I’ll show ya.”
Making a mental note of the directions, I also noticed that Kieran was without a horse. It wouldn’t be practical for the boy to run to this hideout. “John!” I called out. John, who mounted Old Boy, rummaging his saddle bag, looked up. “Take the little rattlesnake with you. If there’s any nonsense… kill him.”
“Of course,” John responded. “Kieran, get up here.” Kieran slowly climbed onto the back of Old Boy, his eyes darting around nervously as if he wasn’t entirely sure whether this newfound cooperation with us was a blessing or a curse. To be honest, I wasn’t quite sure either.
With a quick nudge, we began trotting forward, away from camp and to Six Point Cabin. John and Kieran were at the front, leading the way, while Bill and I flanked him on either side. We trotted past the triangular arch of falling trees (which Sean was guarding), taking a right uphill (as Kieran pointed out). As we left behind the thick trees surrounding Horseshoe Overlook, the soul of the Heartlands expanded before us.
Sprawling, sunlit plains of green grass expanded as far as the eye could see. The winds whispered through the tall grass and wildflowers, and, of course, there was the great Twin Stack Pass. A pair of ancient, moss-covered slabs of limestone. Between the two rocks stood a trail leading eastward to even more plains; it looked like a gateway.
Returning my focus to our little procession, we halted at the intersection where the dirt trail forked. In front of us stood a wooden post adorned with several arrows pointing in different directions. “Turn left here,” Kieran directed us. We followed the trail, tracing the boundary between dense forest and open grasslands. In the distance, the wooden buildings of Valentine came into view, but we bypassed the town, heading for the woods beyond: Cumberland Forest. As we rode, John began muttering to himself.
“Sharing a saddle with an O’Driscoll… who would’ve thought.”
Kieran groaned in frustration. “How many times do I have to tell y’all? I ain’t an O’Driscoll!”
John retorted, raising his voice above the constant thudding of hooves. “You sure look like one and…” John gestured, mimicking a foul odor. “Goddamn… You smell like one, too!”
“I smell like horse shit!” Kieran snapped with clear irritation.
John chuckled, “That’s right.”
Kieran ignored John’s teasing and pointed ahead at a rocky hill with a trail ascending it and leading into the woods. “I know this country… Take this track up through the rocks.”
The three of us continued riding through the sprawling plains, approaching the rocky hill on the horizon. An awkward silence hung between us, broken only by the rhythmic sounds of hooves on the earth. Hanging on behind John, Kieran had a face contorted with fear, his face verging on the green, looking as though he might vomit on John at any given moment.
Noticing Kieran’s discomfort, I couldn’t resist a jibe at John. “How you holding up, John?”
John replied raspily, “Fine. Still ain’t right, but I’m fine.”
I smirked. “You damn well should be after all that bed rest.” He’s been nearly eaten alive by wolves and stuck in bed for a month. He has a few light scars on his face to share the story. He got off easy.
John laughed, retorting, “Hey, Abigail wouldn’t let me up. You know her... she can’t be reasoned with.”
I couldn’t resist a smirk. “Well, when you were having a failure of reason... and hiding behind your woman... we were getting shot at.” As our horses ascended the rocky hill, I saw a good view of the towering pine trees in the distance- inside was our destination. Behind the majestic backdrop of pine trees were the imposing rocky mountains of Ambarino.
Behind me were the rolling Heartland plains adorned with wildflowers, stretched endlessly into the distance. Natural rock formations dotted the landscape, but something else also stood tall. A large streak of acrid black smoke in the distance billowed in the air- coming from a massive oil facility. Dutch had filled me in on this place when we got here. It was owned by Leviticus Cornwall, the rich bastard we robbed in the Grizzlies.
Interrupting my thoughts, John said, “I’d do the same for you, Arthur… if you were in a bad way.”
“I hope so,” I frowned, my gaze lingering on the billowing smoke. “But I fear you don’t know how to help anyone except yourself.”
John chuckled and looked over his shoulder to see Kieran still clutching him tightly. “You see, O’Driscoll? If this is how Arthur treats his friends, imagine what he does to his enemies.”
Kieran shook his head. “I got an inkling of what you all do to your enemies when you put those gelding tongs to my parts.” He cleared his throat and surveyed our surroundings. We were close to the forest, just a short distance uphill. “Just follow the road uphill,” Kieran instructed us, “it’ll take you around an’ near the cabin.”
The sunlight, dappled by the thick pine needles, dimmed under the canopy of trees. As we entered the Cumberland Forest, Kieran’s lips curled with unease, and his voice trembled as he said, “You know… you all ain’t that different from the O’Driscolls.”
What the hell did he just say? I’ve known Colm’s gang for two decades, and his gang is a brutal band of Irish monsters- ain’t nothing like ours! Sure, people like Bill and Micah might be a little nuts occasionally, but it’s not a competition compared to what these O’Driscoll Boys do. John mirrored my thoughts, immediately spitting back, “What the hell did you just say?”
Kieran, lips quivering, tried to explain, “Well… I’ve been watching yous all these weeks and-”
Bill couldn’t contain himself, cutting in with an exasperated retort, “You’ve been tied up to a tree! You don’t know nothing about us.”
Kieran shrugged indifferently, “Yeah, but I’d say you don’t know much about the O’Driscolls. But maybe I know more about you than you know about them… and I know all about them, so-”
“Tell us, then!” Bill demanded. “How are we like those mongrel dogs?”
“You’re outlawed like them,” Kieran reasoned. “You’re out to survive like them… you live rough, you live hard, fighting the law and nature. You’re out for yourselves-”
Kieran was interrupted once more by John, who angrily scoffed. “See? This is why you’re an O’Driscoll. You’re out to survive. We’re out to live free!” He spat on the ground. “Colm’s a sneak thief and a killer. Dutch is… Dutch is more like a teacher.”
“From where I been, you all look the same,” Kieran retorted.
“Then you looked, but you ain’t seen,” John said coldly. This was an interesting conversation, to say the least. As slimy as this O’Driscoll bastard was, he had a point. Colm’s a terrible person, and I’d turn myself in just to see him hang, but Dutch has done some bad things, too. Hell, he started this whole feud when he killed Colm’s brother! But it’s been so long now I barely remember it all.
If this conversation went on any further, Bill probably would’ve pulled out his shotgun and blown Kieran’s brains out, so I called out, “John! Shut this O’Driscoll up!” And so we rode silently for the next few minutes, following the trail into the deep forests. The horses’ hooves crunched on fallen pine needles and gravel. After a few more minutes of riding, we reached a fork in the road. A wooden signpost had multiple arrows pointing to different destinations, including Valentine and Emerald Ranch. But the one we sought was indicated by a leftward arrow: Six Point Cabin.
“We’re almost there!” I declared. “We’ll see if this son of a bitch we got with us is talking true, but if it is what he says, and Colm O’Driscoll’s actually here, we can end years of fighting. Here and now!”
Kieran nodded with an uneasy grin. “Alright… now cut through the trees here. We go down the hill, and you’ll find a clearing.” We followed his directions, slowing into a steady trot as we descended into a clearing in the woods. Wisps of smoke from Six Point Cabin wafted in the distance. We were close, perhaps too close.
“Let’s go in quietly,” I ordered, my voice lowered. I held Isaac’s reins back, putting the formation to a halt. As I dismounted, I continued, “We’ll take ‘em out as we find ‘em… try not to raise the alarm, but if things go sideways, we go hard and fast. That’s how we settle this. Alright?”
“Okay, by me,” John agreed, his voice raspy as he dismounted, helping Kieran down.
“With you, Morgan!” Bill added with determination.
“Good,” I grinned. I patted Isaac’s neck and tethered him to a sturdy tree branch. After taking my rifle from the saddle, I slung it across my shoulder. Meanwhile, Kieran scanned the nearby area.
“We’re real close,” he hissed. “Should leave our horses here, avoid causing trouble.”
Bill, cocking his rifle, couldn't hide his frustration. “This damn O’Driscoll ain’t gonna be any help, stating the obvious. We oughta just shoot him now!”
“Easy, Bill. Stay quiet.” I cautioned, my eyes fixed on what I could see of the cabin in the distance.
“Follow me, alright?” Kieran whispered. “We’re not far now. Stay low!” The four of us crouched down, tracking Kieran as he led us down a rocky slope.
“We might have shared a horse, but we ain’t friends,” John warned Kieran. “Just remember, I’m watching you. Every moment.”
“I ain’t gonna shop you out now!” Kieran responded sharply. “It’d be suicide, now come on.”
Bill couldn’t resist a cruel joke as he grinned. “You’ll die, boy… but you’ll lose your balls first.” Kieran shuddered at the thought, but we continued to crawl through the leaf-covered ground until we reached a ledge that overlooked the O’Driscoll hideout. From this vantage point, I finally had a clear view of the place.
Below, Six Point Cabin sprawled out. The main cabin, old and rotting, stood at the center- maybe Colm was inside. The house was surrounded by dozens of tents, wagons, and scattered campfire spots, where dozens of O’Driscolls roamed about, mingling and keeping watch. Funnily enough, they all looked the same, wearing their black coats and floppy green hats. Outside the mess of tents, O’Driscolls stood guard, hidden among the trees, armed to the teeth with rifles. I had no fear- these bastards couldn’t shoot straight, even if their lives depended on it.
I surveyed the area, looking for places to cover. There were plenty of places- towering tree trunks, boulders, and a colossal fallen log blocking the camp’s front. There had to be at least thirty of these O’Driscoll bastards, but today, we were to bring that to zero.
Kieran cleared his throat as we crouched beside the ledge. “There’ll be a bunch of fellers hiding out inside that cabin,” Kieran whispered. “Maybe Colm’s there.”
“Are they armed?” I asked.
Kieran sighed, “Armed, drunk, and not too fond of strangers. That answers your question?”
John chimed in, “And what about Colm? What’s he doing in there?”
“Be passed out, booze blind, likely as not,” Kieran shrugged.
Bill abruptly drew his revolver and pointed forward. “Hey, over there. Someone’s coming.” I followed the barrel of Bill’s gun and spotted three O’Driscolls making their way through the woods.
“So,” the first O’Driscoll exclaimed with a heavy Irish accent, “who’s gonna tell him we ain’t got nothing for the pot?”
“Hmm… let me think,” the second O’Driscoll replied. Kieran's eyes widened as he recognized the pair. Fearing he’d spill the beans, John leaped on Kieran, muffling his mouth and aiming his gun at him. The O’Driscoll continued, “We’ll tell him the game got spooked, I reckon.”
In the background, the third O’Driscoll hollered, “I need to use the jacks! I’ll catch up!” I had no idea what that meant, but the other two men quickly put his idea down.
“Oh, no, we ain’t gonna fall for that!” the first one said. “We’re waitin’ for you to tell him yourself.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” the third O’Driscoll grumbled as he unzipped his pants, positioning himself alongside a tree trunk and relieving himself. So that’s what he meant. The trio continued to chat as John maintained a firm hold on Kieran.
I gestured quietly to John, signaling, “Let’s move.”
John released Kieran, who gasped for air, and Bill questioned, “What are we doing about the pisser, Morgan? The one by the tree?”
“I’ll handle him,” I said decisively. “Last thing we need is you messin’ up.”
“Just do it already,” Bill grumbled. With a sly grin, I crouched low and began descending the hill, inching closer to the pissing O’Driscoll. I shimmied my hunting knife from its sheath, its blade glistening with a faint ray of sunlight filtering through the thick forest canopy. The rustling leaves masked the soft scrape of my boots on the fallen pine needles as I inched closer to the unsuspecting O’Driscoll. I crept behind him with steady hands, ensuring my steps were as silent as a ghost. The O’Driscoll was none the wiser as I swiftly approached. My heart raced, but my movements remained precise. In one fluid motion, I wrapped my gloved hand around his mouth, muffling any startled sounds, and plunged the knife deep into his side.
The O’Driscoll’s eyes widened in shock, but it was too late. I twisted the blade silently, ending his life without a single cry escaping his lips. I gently lowered him to the ground, his eyes vacant, and wiped the blade clean on his coat.
“He’s down…” I could hear Bill whisper as he slowly began to trudge over to me.
John, who was getting ready to join us, glanced at Kieran. He sternly warned him, “Stay here. Don’t you damn move!”
As John approached us, Bill whispered, “What about the next two?” The two O’Driscolls stood by the fallen log, waiting for their fallen pisser. They were in full view of the camp, so it might be risky to try and sneak up on them. Maybe a ranged kill would work.
“You got throwing knives, Bill?” I asked.
“Of course,” he responded. Bill opened his satchel and fished out a pair of small yet sharp blades. He handed one to me. I was not the best at throwing things, so I handed the knife to John.
“Stay back where they won’t hear us,” I whispered. “On my signal, you two throw.” John and Bill nodded. I held my gloved hand out, counting down with my fingers. Three… two… one.
John and Bill jerked their arms back and threw the knives, which met their targets swiftly and cleanly. The pair of O’Driscolls immediately fell to the ground, lifeless.
“Good work,” John hissed. “I left our guide back on the ledge. He’s as meek as a little lamb.”
“He better be,” I replied as we took cover behind the log, once more surveying Six Point Cabin. Most of the men were huddled by the fires so we could catch them by surprise. Thank God we had some cover, or this would be a massacre.
Bill held his rifle steady and whispered, “We’re at the perimeter. What’re we doing?”
There was no room for subtlety now. “Get ready, boys… we’re going to hit them hard and fast.” Bill let out a low, daring laugh, his rifle steady in his grip, while John brandished his revolvers, and I took aim with my trusty rifle. The calm before the storm was fading, and the forest was ready to unleash its fury.
Time seemed to slow down as I pulled the trigger. My aim was dead on as the bullet pierced through an O’Driscoll lulling about by the campfire. Chaos erupted as the man fell, his comrades bewildered, reaching for their weapons. The forest would quickly erupt with the crackle of rapid gunshots, and within seconds, the O’Driscolls began falling like dominoes.
The woods echoed with the retorts of revolvers and rifles, mingled with angry yells and desperate cries for help. The O’Driscolls, caught off guard by our sudden assault, scrambled for cover, trying to regroup and fight back. But we weren’t giving them a chance, especially Bill.
Bill’s eyes had an animalistic rage as he pulled his trigger, shooting down O’Driscoll after O’Driscoll. John was less enthusiastic, though his shots met their mark, too.
“Let’s move on them!” I yelled. Bill and John quickly nodded their heads, and we vaulted over the wooden log, narrowly missing bullets that whizzed past us. I took cover behind a boulder just behind a campfire while Bill and John squeezed behind a wagon.
“RUN AND HIDE, YOU O’DRISCOLL BASTARDS!” Bill roared as he fired with unrelenting fury. Three O’Driscolls, hiding behind a set of crates beside the cabin, attempted to fire at me. One shot narrowly flew past my hat. That was a relief, considering I already had a bullet hole from a past firefight with these bastards.
I crouched low behind the wagon, waiting for the perfect time to pounce, but the O’Driscolls kept firing. The strong smell of gunpowder stung my nose, mixing with the scent of pine and burning wood. But then, the moment came, as the gunshots subsided, the three O’Driscolls frantically reloaded their weapons. I quickly jumped from the wagon, aiming my rifle and pulling the trigger. One by one, the three O’Driscolls were plucked clean from their makeshift barricade, their lifeless bodies crumpling to the ground.
“That little toad wasn’t lying about these fools!” John remarked amidst the chaos.
“You bet!” I agreed, continuing to fire. As I ducked under a crate, bracing myself for a barrage of gunfire, I added, “Their aim is about as good as Bill with those tongs!”
I heard Bill quickly retort with a “Shut up!” Bringing my focus back onto the gunfight, we had made significant progress. We were already on the frontlines- the camp- only a few yards from the cabin. Most of the O’Driscolls, or those left, were being pushed into the woods.
One O’Driscoll, in a final desperate bid to rally his poor comrades, bellowed, “GET THEM OUTTA HERE, YA BASTARDS! AIM-” But his rallying cry was promptly silenced as John’s unerring aim splattered his brains across the dirt.
The unexpected impact undoubtedly shocked the O’Driscolls, who quickly abandoned all sense of courage and scattered into the woods like leaves carried in the wind. Some tried to muster their courage, using the strongest rocks or thickest tree trunks for cover, but it was all in vain. Our relentless fire found them, tearing through their feeble defenses, and their brave stances quickly crumbled into lifeless heaps. What the hell did they expect? Colm doesn’t give a damn if his men can aim a gun- no wonder three of Dutch’s boys can take down a whole camp.
Six Point Cabin was now cleared, yet bullets still ricocheted through the trees, and each shot was like a roaring thunderclap in the confined space of the forest. Smoke and the pungent stench of spent gunpowder filled the air, merging with the earthy smell of pine and the metallic tang of blood.
As the last of the O’Driscolls fled out of eyesight, I smiled in victory. We had done good work, taking down these O’Driscolls. It was like shooting fish in a barrel, really. And Colm O’Driscoll may be hiding in the cabin, waiting for me to knock on the door and end this shit once and for all.
Heaving up from my cover, I regrouped with John and Bill in front of the decrepit cabin, observing the silent battleground. Kieran, watching the whole thing from afar, now waddled towards us.
“T-that was mighty scary!” Kieran stammered as he stopped beside us, out of breath. He pointed to the woods and asked, “What about them other boys? The ones that ran?”
“Leave ‘em be,” I answered, swinging my rifle over my shoulder and sweeping my gloves clean of gunpowder and blood. “Colm’s in this cabin. That’s our biggest worry.”
“What if he ain’t there?” John inquired.
I shrugged, walking along the porch that lined the cabin. “It won’t hurt to wait a few more months if it means ending this blood feud.” I looked back at the carnage of the battlefield. Whenever I got into some firefight with whoever, Dutch made it clear to check the bodies for anything useful. I hated doing it because it felt nasty, but Dutch wasn’t there. I was in charge, so I made the decision. “John, Bill, go search the bodies. See if you can find anything of use. Kieran, come with me. We’re gonna see this cabin out.”
Everyone nodded at their instructions, Bill and John approaching the corpses that littered the battlefields, while the hunched Kieran waddled behind me as I approached the door.
As I reached the cabin’s door, its shabby state shone like a lighthouse in a rainstorm. It had seen better days, its once-sturdy wooden planks now weathered and cracked. The door, barely hanging on its hinges, bore the scars of numerous beatings and attempts at forced entry. This wasn’t the O’Driscoll’s first shootout here, I suppose. The pungent aroma of whiskey seeped through the cracks in the wood, assaulting my senses from the outside. It was an unmistakable smell, a calling card of the O’Driscolls.
But I heard something. It wasn’t an object; it sounded like breathing. Heavy breathing- it was a person. I could only hope it was Colm. I steadily drew my revolver from my holster and placed my hand on the cold doorknob, cautiously twisting it open. But it suddenly gave way, and the door crashed open with a deafening creak, sending me tumbling backward. My hat flew to the side, and my shoulder blades stung with the pain of the impact. As I regrouped my senses, I saw an O’Driscoll- not Colm, staring at me with an evil smile, pointing his rifle straight at my head. Bracing for the worst, I was now at the mercy of the O’Driscoll, who had ambushed me.
All I could do was lay there like a lamb awaiting slaughter, with the evil sneer of the O’Driscoll choking my senses. My heart raced as I braced for the inevitable- but just as it seemed like my time had run out, a sudden yelp echoed from afar and then the abrupt crackle of gunfire. But it wasn’t from O’Driscoll. A bullet, tearing through the air with a stream of smoke, splattered through the O’Driscoll’s gut, causing him to fall to the ground with a nasty splash. The metallic blood splashed all over my coat and face.
The suspense felt like I had single-handedly lifted the whole planet, and it was finally relieved. I glanced up, trying to see where the gunshot came from, spitting out the remaining blood on my face. It was none other than Kieran, trembling but determined, still holding the revolver in his hand, with his arm held high. As our eyes met, he dropped the gun, his voice stammering, “A-are you okay, Arthur?”
I dropped my head back onto the patio, my body aching with exhaustion. “Sure…” I muttered, fatigue seeping through every word. Kieran, the last person I expected to be grateful to, approached and picked up my fallen hat. I heaved myself up, accepted the hat he offered, and placed it back on my head. “Thank you,” I grumbled, still processing that Kieran the O’Driscoll had saved my life.
But a nagging thought crept in. Damn, I hadn’t checked for Colm in the cabin. I swiftly picked up my fallen revolver from the ground, held it ready, and carefully pushed the creaking door open. The room inside was barely more than a single chamber. Neglect oozed from every corner. An unmade bed lay against one wall, a shotgun mounted above it. A small countertop was cluttered with empty food cans and whiskey bottles scattered across the floor. Yep, this was an O’Driscoll’s den. But Colm wasn’t here. He wasn’t here….
Wait a goddamn minute.
Kieran set this whole thing up! We nearly risked our lives for nothing! No Colm, not anything!
“Damn it!” I snapped. I poked my head out of the cabin, yelling to Bill and John, “Colm ain’t here!” I scanned the area, my attention now zeroing in on Kieran, who stood just outside the cabin. My gun was aimed at him, and I approached with anger burning in my chest. “You set us up!”
Kieran quickly defended himself, insisting, “No, I didn’t!”
“YOU DID!” I fired back, my revolver inches from Kieran’s head. Kieran took several steps back, and his eyes widened. “COLM O’DRISCOLL AIN’T HERE!”
“He was here! I swear!” Kieran cried, holding his hands up. His quivering lips quickly stiffened as if he had a moment of realization. Kieran pointed at me. “I-I wouldn’t have saved your life if I set you up!”
Bill and John, now approaching us, were both snickering as if this were a Vaudeville show. “It’s a good point, Arthur,” Bill said. He even playfully slapped Kieran’s shoulder. I was still seething but gradually lowered my gun, reholstering it. I couldn’t help but let out a heavy sigh.
“Fine,” I scowled. “Go on, then, get outta here.”
Kieran seemed bewildered, his eyes darting back and forth. “Huh?”
“Get outta here,” I grumbled. “I won’t kill ya if you do.”
Kieran shook his head profusely. “But I didn’t set you up!”
My brows furrowed as I moved closer to Kieran. I growled, enunciating every word, “Get lost. I’m letting you run away!” I grabbed him by the collar and swung him away from me. “Now scram!”
Kieran seemed defiant, standing tall and resolute. “That’s as good as killing me!” he snapped. “Out there, without y’all, Colm O’Driscoll’s gonna lose his mind about this! So I’m one of you now.”
How could I counter this? This O’Driscoll had found his way into the tangled web of our gang, lurking in the shadows and surviving against Colm and the unforgiving wilderness. I glanced from Kieran to John and Bill, my mind racing for a solution. John met my gaze, and a nonchalant shrug signaled his uncertainty. My shoulders slumped in resignation. “Alright, then. But I’m warning you, Kieran.”
He responded with a quick nod as we started to tread through the littered battlefield towards our horses. The walk back uphill, devoid of any need for stealth, felt like a wasted effort.
“Let’s get back to Horseshoe,” John hoarsely suggested as he holstered his guns.
Just as we were about to proceed, Kieran interjected with an air of inconvenience, causing us to halt and turn our collective gazes upon him. “Did you get the cash?”
I raised an eyebrow, puzzled. “What cash?”
Kieran maintained a casual tone as he clarified, “Yeah, there’s usually some cash in the chimney. I’ll go find it-”
“No, you don’t!” I quickly cut him off. “I’ll go check it out. The rest of you boys ride back to camp. Tell Dutch the highlights. Quick!” I pivoted and changed direction, returning to the cabin as Kieran stuttered.
“S-see Arthur? I ain’t so bad!”
Coming to a halt again, I turned back, a smirk tugging at the corner of my lips. “Hey, Bill, you let Dutch know that old Kieran ain’t worth killin’... not just yet.”
***
The early evening sun hung low, casting long shadows stretching across the valley. Its golden rays kissed the landscape, painting the world in warm hues of amber and copper. The rocky limestone formations jutted out of the Dakota River, their slopes adorned with wildflowers and lush grass, descended gently to meet the tranquil waters of the river below. Horseshoe Overlook was as bustling as ever, especially now that I’ve returned with a hefty sum of cash.
Seated under the canopy of the ancient oak tree was Dutch’s tent in the middle of camp, and I, leaning against a barrel, wrote my earnings down in the camp ledger. I found three hundred dollars in the chimney of Six Point Cabin- not bad, considering we haven’t made much real money since we’ve gotten here. Dutch can finally get off my back about the “we need to be making more money out here!” shit.
Looking up from the ledger, I saw Dutch at the opposite end of his tent, sitting on his flimsy chair, reading a book while smoking his oversized pipe. Without a doubt, it was one of those “free-thinkers” like Evelyn Miller that he was reading. John was at the edge of the horseshoe plateau, leaning against a tree, engrossed in a map.
From what I’ve seen, Kieran is not tied to any tree anymore. Dutch has been lenient and gave Kieran a nice leather coat and some food but not much else. To most of the gang, he’s still O’Driscoll scum.
And then there was Sean MacGuire. His slim, ginger form lumbered towards me with a toothless grin. “Arter Morgan!” He exclaimed in his thick Irish accent. “Our resident bookkeeper. You’ve gone soft, haven’t ye?”
I sighed, dropping my pen and shutting the ledger closed. “I reckon I’m the only one who can do the sums, Sean.”
Sean leaned closer and continued, “Oh, I know. Tha’s why I’m watchin’ ya like a hawk.” He pointed his bony hand at my chest.
I rolled my eyes and gave him a playful shove. “As if you’d understand all this, you can’t even read!”
Sean laughed heartily, the statement of his literacy zooming over his head. “True, I’m better with a bottle than a ledger.” He backed away. “Speaking of, John asked for ya.”
“What does that have to do with you not reading?” I scoffed.
“Shut up, English.” I wasn’t even English, but I couldn’t fight this terrier at this point. Sean continued, “John’s picked up this new job. Dutch reckons we need your opinion on this one.”
Not even five minutes back at camp, I’ve been asked to do something. I’m tired and haven’t had dinner yet, but I guess I’ll check this out. The gang, specifically me, had not done any significant heist yet in New Hanover. Other than some petty thievery, the money I found from the chimney, and a stagecoach Hosea stole from Emerald Ranch, we haven’t been too productive. Then again, I didn’t know what this job was about; I needed more details before planning anything.
“Are you in on it?” I asked Sean, leaning against the barrel and crossing my arms.
“Why?” Sean responded.
I raised an eyebrow, shooting him a light smirk. “Just answer the question, goddamnit.”
He rolled his eyes. “I am.”
Before he could continue, I interrupted him, blurting, “It’s a bust.” I stood upright now, slowly pacing towards John, who was still by the tree overlooking the river valley, looking at his map. My hands firmly gripped my belt as I walked.
“Aw, ye don’t know that, Arthur!” Sean toothlessly chuckled. “John told me it’s real good, this plan!”
I stopped walking and looked Sean in the eyes. “Then why are you in on it?”
“I’m not that bad!” Sean scoffed. “I take after you, all is!” As I approached John, the dew grass crunched beneath my boots, and the early evening sun bathed our camp in a warm, golden glow. John’s intense focus on a weathered map broke as he caught sight of me, and his rugged face lit up with a broad grin.
“Arthur!” He greeted me. “What did you find in the cabin?”
“No Colm, of course,” I frowned, pacing around John with my hands pressed on my belt. “But I found three hundred bucks under the fireplace.”
John grinned before changing the subject. “For some reason, Dutch is letting Kieran stay. Gave the bastard food and water. If I had any say, I’d kill ‘im.”
I shrugged, responding modestly. “Kieran ain’t gonna betray us. He’s more scared of Colm than he is of us.”
But Sean, always seeking excitement, had been hovering on the fringe of our conversation. With a cocky grin, he chimed in, “Why didn’t ya bring me along, lads? I coulda lighten things up.”
I swiveled my gaze to him, my eyebrows drawing down in a stern expression. “Sean, you’re pushing your luck. Get out of here before I kick your ass back to Dublin.”
Sean stepped back, scoffing, “I’m from Donegal, ya gobshite!”
With the wave of my hand, I sighed. “Just go annoy someone else,” I muttered. As Sean sauntered away, his boots kicking up dust, I chuckled and turned back to John. “Can’t believe I missed that Irish bastard. So, what’s the deal with this job you’ve got, anyway?”
John cleared his throat, folded his map closed, and tossed it on the wet grass. We both began slowly walking to the edge of Horseshoe Overlook, along the plateau that overlooked the Dakota River, flanked on either side by meadows of dandelions and jagged limestone formations. Far in the distance, the tall-standing and snow-capped mountains of Ambarino loomed, eclipsing the sunset. John slipped his hands into his brown scout jacket, his scars and greasy hair prominent in the dusky light. He began to speak, his voice low and gruff. “Uncle said he went on a supply run with you and the girls to Valentine a few weeks back.”
I nodded, replying, “I remember.” I still remember that chaotic shopping trip, which was anything but that. Karen and Tilly nearly got themselves killed by overbearing men, while Mary-Beth was more sneaky, finding something about a score. I couldn’t remember it for the life of me. I also remember running into that feller from Blackwater, Jimmy Brooks. I saved his life; I wonder where he is now.
“Well, he said, Mary-Beth overheard ‘bout a train,” John continued, his voice picking with energy. “A train chock-full of wealthy folk rolling down through Scarlett Meadows, just south of the state border in two weeks.”
Ah, it clicked. Mary-Beth saved me from boredom with Uncle when she told me about the train. I’ve never been south of the state border, in Lemoyne, but I’ve heard most of Scarlett Meadows is farm and country, so there ain’t much law. With a nod in understanding, John said, “Me, Sean, and Charles have been thinking about hitting it. Are you coming with us?”
I replied with a shrug, my focus drifting to the fading sunset behind the mountains. “Trains ain’t easy to rob.”
“Come on,” John reasoned, holding his arms up. “It comes through at night, and it ain’t too guarded. It’s perfect!”
“But what about stopping the train?” I countered. “We got lucky with Cornwall up in the mountains, but stopping the damn things is always a pain in the ass. Remember Bill and the dynamite?”
“True… but what if we could force the train to stop?” John’s voice was resolute, his gaze fixed on mine.
I spat out a sardonic laugh. “Sure, and I can ask President MacAlister for a pardon.”
John wasn’t joking, though, and he could be pretty convincing when he put his mind to it. “Just listen,” he implored sternly. “We get a wagon full of something flammable like oil and put it on the tracks. They see it… and know they either have to stop… or die. Ain’t no train driver wants to be cooked alive.”
My cocky grin faded into pursed lips of surprise. “That... I mean, that’s kinda brilliant. For you, of course, but it’s a real idea. I think that’s the first time you’ve ever had one of ‘em!” This was out of the ordinary, especially for a fool like John! With an excited laugh, I went on, “You might be the first bastard to ever have half his brains eaten up by a wolf and come out more intelligent.”
John smirked, rolled his eyes, and said, “So we’re doing it?”
“Yeah,” I smiled. “But we’re gonna need ammunition, guns, and look real frightening, and some dynamite to open up this train.”
“I’ll get the supplies tomorrow,” John said promptly. “I gotta head into town for Abigail anyways; don’t even ask.” He turned away from the scenic vista and began walking back to the tents of our camp. “Then we need an oil wagon. The only question is, where?”
We stopped by the bonfire, where Uncle and the camp cook, Simon Pearson, sat, drinking whiskey. Charles Smith leaned casually against a rickety chair, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames. “Why the hell are y’all lookin’ faw oil wagons?” Uncle interjected abruptly.
John countered, his retort accompanied by a sly grin, “What’s it to you, old man?”
Beaming with pride, Uncle straightened his slouched form and took a hefty gulp of whiskey. “I know where to find one! There’s that refinery, Cornwall Kerosene & Tar. It’s just west of Valentine up in them oil fields.”
“Yeah, I know the place,” I added. We passed the industrial dump earlier today, riding for Six Point Cabin.
Uncle nodded, his grin accentuated by whiskey foam dripping down his gray beard. “They got wagons there, plenty of ‘em. One of you can sneak in, take it, and do whatever you want with it.”
John considered the idea. “Maybe Sean could do it-”
But I immediately interjected, shaking my head. “Hard pass. Charles could do it better. He could slip in and out without drawing attention.” Seemingly in his own world, Charles returned to reality and glanced at us.
“I could do it,” he said calmly. “We can’t drop it off here, though. That’d be a disaster waiting to happen.”
“And that’s why I picked a safe house,” John explained. “There’s an old run-down shack just south of the border by Emerald Ranch. Leave it hidden near there until we’re ready.” Charles nodded affirmingly.
“Perfect,” I affirmed with a nod. Everything seemed to be falling into place for this job.
John patted my shoulder. “Good. Then that’s settled. We’ve got some time to prepare. Let’s make sure we get this right.”
Cracking a small smile, I brashly returned the favor by smacking John’s shoulder. “Good to see you finally doing something once in a while.”
“It ain’t my fault,” John scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Go get some food, Arthur. Maybe pick on someone else.”
“Not a bad idea,” I smirked. As John headed off to his tent, probably to get some rest, I turned toward the camp’s chuckwagon. Hunger gnawed at my stomach, and I was ready for a hearty meal. As I approached the chuckwagon, I inhaled the inviting aroma of stew that wafted through the air. Pearson had done his duty for the day. As I approached the steaming cauldron off to the side, hanging above the firepit, I grabbed a bowl and scooped it to the brim with the piping hot stew.
The rich broth steamed with chunks of venison, vegetables, and whatever else Pearson had within arm’s reach. It was a simple camp meal, but it filled the belly and warmed the soul. I chose a seat at the round table beside the chuckwagon. Sipping coffee and engrossed in his book, Hosea glanced up with a warm smile.
“Heard you gave the O’Driscolls a talking to today,” Hosea said, his eyes still fixed on his book, A Shrew in the Fog. It might’ve been a mystery book. Hosea liked those types.
I smiled, taking a big gulp of stew before responding, “I did more than just talk, Hosea. Gave a whole lot of O’Driscolls a proper smacking.”
“Well, at least you did something interesting,” Hosea chuckled, setting his book aside and sipping his coffee. He seemed about to say something when his attention shifted to a commotion in the camp. Little Jack was standing by a boulder, his tiny frame bundled up in a puffy blue coat, pelting Kieran with pebbles as he tended to the horses.
“Stop that, kid!” Kieran snapped as he attempted to brush the horse in peace, but Jack did not stop.
“What are you doing, Jack?” Abigail approached the scene with concern, marching over to Jack.
“Throwing rocks at the O’Driscoll!” Jack yelled as he hurled another pebble. At this point, Kieran had simply given up dodging and allowed the small stones to bounce off him.
“Why?” Abigail pressed, crossing her arms as she loomed over Jack.
“Because he’s an O’Driscoll!” Jack scowled at Kieran. “You always said that was bad.”
“Leave him alone, Jackey!” Abigail chastised with exasperation, her hand landing on his shoulder as she shoved him away. “Go on, you!”
“But you said-”
“Away!” Abigail pointed a stern finger at Jack, her eyes widening. “Leave the rock-throwing to the grown-ups.” Muttering to herself, Abigail watched as Jack, albeit grudgingly, stomped away. He seemed to be grappling with the idea that not all O’Driscolls deserved pelting with rocks. Now relieved of his pebble ordeal, Kieran returned to his horse-tending duties, his eyes still wary of any potential flying objects.
Observing the scene, Hosea leaned in and chuckled, “I see Kieran’s been warmly welcomed.”
Taking another mouthful of the hearty stew, I replied, “Oh, he’s getting the full camp experience, that’s for sure.”
Hosea sipped his coffee, gazing thoughtfully at Kieran. “It’s a wonder we haven’t found him hanging from a tree. Or worse.”
I shrugged, feeling an odd sense of sympathy for the O’Driscoll. “He’s not all that bad, I suppose. He saved my life earlier today.”
Hosea raised an eyebrow. “Did he now?”
I nodded. “Shot an O’Driscoll who had the drop on me. Seems he’s trying to prove himself.”
Hosea smiled. “People can change, Arthur. Sometimes, all it takes is a chance.”
Horseshoe Overlook was a center of stories, a flickering firelight in the heart of the wilderness. Around the bonfire, Pearson’s hearty stew was savored, laughter danced with the crackling embers. Kieran, by the horses, softly hummed a tune from his homeland, a whispered echo of a world he’d left behind.