Chapter 64: Acquiring Chadwick Farm
Mac followed Trelawny back to camp.
Even as he mounted his horse outside the saloon, it was clear he was struggling.
This was a man who once single-handedly fought off fifteen sailors, yet years of reckless indulgence in drink and women had completely drained him.
Fortunately, Sean MacGuire’s rescue wouldn’t take place for a few more days. Given Mac’s strong constitution, a couple of days of rest would have him back on his feet again.
Still, the sight made Davey cautious—he knew he’d have to start keeping his younger brother on a tighter leash from now on.
Davey hadn’t exaggerated about being under close watch. If he were to join the rescue operation, it would immediately attract the attention of the Pinkertons.
He wasn’t too worried about the mission itself, though. Cole Stoudemire might be infamous among bounty hunters, but compared to the Van der Linde Gang, he was nothing.
Across the entire West, the Van der Linde Gang was nearly unbeatable in small-scale skirmishes.
Even someone like Micah Bell—despised by many in the gang—was still a deadly sharpshooter, capable of taking down seven or eight men on his own.
Though Davey commanded more than fifty men now, their actual combat ability was laughably weak. Still, for ordinary townsfolk, that number alone made them a force to be reckoned with.
After sending off Mac and Trelawny, Davey called for Donal and headed with him to Chadwick Farm.
He had already arranged a meeting with Chadwick before obtaining his legal identity papers—he intended to buy the farm outright.
Chadwick Farm was the closest to Valentine, running successfully and featuring several solidly built houses.
Some of the extra homes were rented out—Arthur’s former lover, Mary, had once lived there.
“Mr. Donal, my father already told you our farm isn’t for sale. Please leave.”
A teenage boy, about seventeen, stood in front of the farmhouse door, blocking their way.
He was Chadwick’s eldest son, the future heir of the property.
Davey had sent Donal once before, but he’d been turned away.
So this time, Davey came in person.
He was determined to secure this farm—one way or another.
If things turned sour, he didn’t mind using less-than-gentle methods.
“This is my employer, Mr. Callander,” Donal said calmly. “I doubt Mr. Chadwick would refuse a meeting with him. Perhaps you could go tell your father Mr. Callander is here, young Chadwick.”
The boy looked at Davey—a man dressed sharply, carrying himself like someone from high society.
After a brief hesitation, he turned and went inside to inform his father.
He didn’t recognize the name Callander, but he knew better than to ignore someone like that.
Within minutes, the front door opened, and Chadwick himself stepped out.
“My apologies, Mr. Callander. I didn’t realize you’d come in person. Please, come inside.”
Chadwick greeted him warmly.
As a known drunk, there was no way he hadn’t heard of Mr. Callander—the name behind the finest moonshine bottles in his own home.
“Sorry to trouble you, Mr. Chadwick,” Davey said politely as he and Donal followed him inside.
Chadwick asked his son to leave the room so he could speak privately with Davey.
“Mr. Callander, I understand you want to buy my farm,” Chadwick began. “But as you know, it’s doing quite well. It brings me steady income every month, and the extra houses can be rented out.”
“I love this place. I’ve lived here for nearly twenty years. My son was born and raised here. Many of these houses were built with my own hands—I’m deeply attached to every piece of it.”
“So, I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you, Mr. Callander.”
Davey nodded slightly. “I respect your feelings, Mr. Chadwick. But I have my own reasons for needing this property. I’m willing to offer six thousand dollars for it.”
Six thousand dollars was well above market value.
Typically, farms sold anywhere from a few hundred to a little over a thousand, depending on the land and location.
Even with its proximity to Valentine and strong operations, Chadwick Farm wouldn’t fetch more than three thousand.
The real value was in the buildings themselves. In Valentine, a two-story house went for about fifteen hundred to two thousand dollars. The main house, with its eight rooms, was worth around two thousand on its own.
The smaller houses were worth much less, putting the total value of the property around five thousand dollars.
Davey was offering six.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Callander,” Chadwick said after a pause. “Your offer is very fair—but I still don’t intend to sell.”
“Seven thousand.”
“Sorry...”
“Eight thousand.”
Chadwick fell silent.
At that price, he didn’t even know how to respond.
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