Chapter 41: Dutch’s Wanted Poster
Arthur knew perfectly well that Davey could no longer remain with the Van der Linde Gang.
Though it pained him a little, he was genuinely happy for Davey—after all, Davey had finally achieved the life he’d always dreamed of.
At least now, he didn’t have to keep running.
“I don’t know yet, Arthur. Mac and I have been with the gang for eight years. It’s hard to just walk away like that.”
“If... if Dutch stops doing anything foolish, then I won’t quit.”
“Think of this as leaving a way out for everyone. If one day someone can’t take it anymore—or just doesn’t want to live on the run—then come to Valentine. My door will always be open.”
Davey’s words stirred something in Arthur.
He knew that if Dutch ever stopped stirring up trouble, he wouldn’t really be Dutch anymore.
Still, Arthur found comfort in knowing that there was finally a way out—at least for some of them.
After seeing Davey’s growing influence in Valentine, Arthur believed it wouldn’t be long before Davey could truly protect them if things ever went south.
“We’ll always be brothers, Davey. Even after you leave the gang... if you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”
“And if you can, try not to tell Dutch too soon. You know how he is—it might just push him further over the edge.”
“I bet Hosea would be happy to hear about all this. He’s always wanted everyone to have a proper way out, not just an endless life on the run.”
Arthur’s feelings toward Dutch were those of a son toward a father. Even at the very end, he’d never really left the gang.
“Of course, Arthur. We’ll always be brothers—past, present, and future.”
Davey had a natural fondness for Arthur—perhaps because of who he’d once been, or perhaps because of memories from a past life.
Even without emotion involved, a healthy Arthur, free from tuberculosis, would one day become the finest sharpshooter in the West.
In small-scale fights, no one could match him.
Davey was different. Though he, too, ranked among the West’s sharpshooters, he didn’t yet know his own limits.
To reach Arthur’s future level of strength required countless brushes with death—only by surviving again and again could one grow that quickly.
But Davey wasn’t walking that same path. In this new era that was beginning to dawn, no matter how powerful one man was, he couldn’t stand against the tide of steel and industry.
Only by grasping the greater currents could one rise above them—to stand at the crest of the wave and ride the new age forward.
The Van der Linde Gang was merely the last, fading light of the Western outlaw era at its peak.
Arthur dared to ride into Strawberry Town alone to rescue Micah Bell not only because of his courage and skill, but also because the town’s law enforcement was weak.
Smaller than Valentine, Strawberry had only about a dozen officers in total.
As the three men neared Strawberry, they slowed their pace.
“Davey, maybe we should have a plan,” Arthur said after a moment.
He didn’t have any ideas himself, so he wanted to hear what Davey thought.
Maybe they should scout the town first.
Davey smiled. “Don’t worry, Arthur. I’ve got a plan. Just follow my lead when the time comes.”
Arthur wasn’t one for strategy, and hearing that Davey had things under control put him at ease.
He trusted Davey’s plans the same way he used to trust Dutch’s.
In Davey, he saw the same fire he once saw in Dutch—the ambition, the confidence, and that sharp gleam of intelligence in his eyes.
They had left Valentine at noon, pushing their horses hard all the way to Strawberry. By the time they arrived, night had already fallen.
The small town lay quiet under the evening sky.
The three men rode slowly down the main street.
The sheriff’s office stood out clearly at the central crossroads—though, of course, the real Strawberry had more than just a handful of buildings.
“Let’s check the sheriff’s office first. That rat should be locked up in the jail out back.”
“I’ll talk to the sheriff. Maybe we can sort this out without drawing our guns.”
Arthur and Mac had no objections and followed Davey inside.
After tying up their horses, the three stepped through the door.
“Evenin’, folks. What can I do for you?”
The deputy on duty greeted them as they entered.
Davey nodded. “Officer, I’ve got some business to discuss with your sheriff.”
The deputy didn’t think much of it and stood up. “Sure thing. Follow me—the sheriff’s in his office out back.”
Inside the sheriff’s office, the walls were lined with wanted posters.
Dutch’s poster was displayed in the most prominent spot, offering a $500 bounty.
Among posters offering only ten or twenty dollars, that number really stood out.
But aside from Dutch, none of the other gang members had posters of their own.
That was how things worked in the West—there were so many gangs that the law usually only put up notices for their leaders.
The Van der Linde Gang was small, after all. Other gangs numbered in the hundreds; if the law posted all their faces, every inch of the station would be covered.
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