Chapter 165:
Chapter 165: Arthur’s Capture
New Hanover, Central Region.
Dutch brought Micah Bell and Arthur here to meet their old rival, Colm.
Arthur, however, felt increasingly uneasy about the whole affair. A bad premonition gnawed at him—he sensed something was about to go wrong.
Micah kept telling him to relax, brushing off his worries.
Arthur carried a Sniper Rifle, and the final decision was for him to take a high vantage point to provide cover in case Colm tried anything.
“See him up front? That’s Dutch van der Linde—the man who killed my brother. Next to him is the West’s infamous outlaw, the quick-draw gunslinger Micah Bell.”
“And there’s Dutch’s most trusted gunman, Arthur Morgan.”
“Damn it… why does Van der Linde always manage to gather top-tier shooters around him? Lucky bastard.”
“They’re splitting up. Arthur must be heading for high ground. Hans, take some men and ambush him—alive, if possible.”
“If we capture Arthur, Dutch won’t last long.”
Micah Bell might have a terrible reputation, but among Western cowboys his name still carried weight. Otherwise, Dutch wouldn’t value him so highly.
Dutch, Micah, and Arthur—these three were now the entire core of the Van der Linde Gang’s fighting strength, its true first-tier combat power.
The others weren’t on the same level. Even Charles—called “War God” by players—couldn’t match them in gunplay. In close combat, though, Charles was formidable; perhaps only Micah could stand against him.
None of the three suspected they had already walked into Colm’s trap. And they certainly didn’t imagine that Colm’s true target was Arthur. Dutch believed Colm only wanted him, and with Arthur covering him, Dutch felt confident everything would be fine.
Arthur was now the gang’s strongest fighter.
“Oh, my dear friend, my trusted friend,” Dutch called up to Arthur. “With you watching over me, I’d march straight into hell.”
Micah added, “Me too.”
“Hey—look up there. Someone’s on the ridge.”
Dutch squinted. “Looks like O’Driscolls.”
Arthur frowned. “I don’t like being stared at.”
As a wanted man, he’d long grown accustomed to keeping his head down.
Micah said, “We’re close. Soon it’ll be your turn to stare down at them.”
Then Dutch muttered, half to himself, “Maybe he’s right. Maybe I’ve been pushing too hard—putting us in risky situations.”
“It’s just… seeing so many people depending on us to eat, to survive… I start thinking too much, worrying too much. I can’t let things go. That’s my flaw.”
Micah’s tone carried an edge of bitterness. In Western gangs, no one dragged around dead weight.
They robbed—and then had to feed an entire camp of dependents. That chafed at Micah.
He was still new. He felt no attachment to the others, and they certainly felt none toward him—especially after everything involving Davey.
Many believed the Callander brothers had left because Micah joined.
Susan, in particular, never once treated him kindly. She often regretted not shooting Micah dead back in Colter.
“Can’t let things go? Don’t give me that,” Dutch snapped. He knew exactly what Micah was thinking.
Arthur scoffed openly, “Bullshit. Both of you.”
Dutch continued, “Maybe. Maybe Micah’s full of bullshit. Maybe the O’Driscolls are full of bullshit.”
“This great nation—where all men are born equal, with liberty and justice for all… maybe that’s bullshit too!”
“But it’s worth fighting for. Worth believing in. Don’t you see that, my friend?”
Arthur had grown numb to Dutch’s endless speeches. Once, he believed every word. Now, he could only sigh.
“I don’t know.”
“Just try,” Dutch insisted. “I just want you to try, Arthur.”
By then, they’d reached the meeting point. Arthur broke off to climb to his vantage position, setting up for cover fire. They agreed to regroup later at the fork in the path.
...
Below, Colm and Dutch—lifelong enemies—finally faced each other.
“Hey, Dutch. Long time no see,” Colm said as he walked forward.
Dutch spread his arms like greeting an old friend. “Indeed.”
“So… how’s your gang doing?” Colm asked. “Still trust you?”
“A better world… a pure world… isn’t that the dream?”
“Those promises—ever come true?”
Clearly, Colm found Dutch’s philosophies laughable.
Dutch didn’t get angry. He simply replied, “Well enough.”
“And that shipment you stole from us?” Colm pressed.
Dutch asked calmly, “Which one?”
Colm burst out laughing.
“Oh, I like that. Like I said—charismatic leadership.”
He commented to the men beside him, then stepped closer to Dutch.
“We’re both standing on a knife’s edge now—you and I. Trouble all around us.”
“Dutch, they made me an offer. To hand you over.”
Dutch raised an eyebrow. “And why didn’t you take it?”
“Oh, I still might,” Colm said casually.
Dutch hesitated. “I… I’m sorry I killed your brother.”
Colm’s expression hardened.
“Well, I never liked him anyway.”
Dutch continued, “But I… I really liked Annabelle.”
Colm fell silent for a moment.
“Dutch van der Linde, you’re always sentimental about women. I can appreciate that.”
“What are we doing here, Colm?” Dutch asked. “Is this really something we’re just going to let go?”
...
At that very moment, high on the cliff, Arthur had Colm’s head in his sights.
But suddenly—footsteps approached behind him.
Arthur spun around—
—and someone smashed a rifle butt into his skull.
Everything went black.
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