Chapter 91: What, You Just Can’t Stop Robbing Me, Huh?
Horseshoe Overlook.
John was in a foul mood.
Abigail kept urging him to leave the gang and join Davey, but John kept dodging the subject, refusing to give her a straight answer.
It wasn’t that John didn’t want to live with Davey—he just couldn’t shake the feeling that he owed something to the gang.
He had already left them once before, gone for about a year. Maybe it was the shock of suddenly becoming a father, or maybe it was because deep down, he doubted that little Jackie was his own child.
Even though they lived in a modern age, paternity testing didn’t exist yet. And with little Jackie’s golden hair, that doubt had always eaten away at John, pushing him to run.
Arthur had taken great issue with that. When John first came back, Arthur gave him nothing but cold looks, seeing his disappearance as a betrayal.
Though John eventually rejoined the gang, it was clear that during this time, the others still held a grudge for his sudden departure.
“John, how much longer do you expect me to wait? Little Jackie’s already five years old. He needs to go to school, like other kids.”
“Do you really want him growing up to be like you? A cowboy, living this same life of robbery and running?”
“We have to make a choice, John.”
Inside the small tent that night, after Little Jackie had fallen asleep, Abigail spoke softly.
John, irritated, turned his back to her.
“So what, John? You want me to just take Little Jackie and leave?” Abigail said suddenly.
John hadn’t expected that. He turned back toward her. “Abigail, please, just give me some more time.”
“I’ve been away from the gang for so long. I just got back—if I leave again now, what will Arthur and the others think? They’ll never see me as a friend again.”
“Even if... even if I do leave, I should at least do something for the gang first.”
“Listen, Abigail. Uncle told me about a train. Mary-Beth overheard there’s a train full of rich folks heading toward Scarlet Meadows, just south of the state border.”
“At night, the security’s light—it’s perfect. I already have a way to stop that train.”
“I’ll go with Arthur and see this job through. That’ll be my way of repaying the gang.”
“After that... we’ll find a chance to head to Davey’s place. Alright, Abigail?”
Abigail wanted desperately for John to stop with the robberies, but this time, it was clear there was no avoiding it.
“John, promise me—this will be the last time.”
John was silent for a moment before saying, “Alright, Abigail. I promise. After this job, we leave.”
Hearing his answer, Abigail wrapped her arms tightly around him.
...
The next day, John went to Arthur to share his plan.
“Arthur, about that train—I’ve got an idea…”
“John, I’ve gotta say, your plan sounds a hell of a lot more reliable than Dutch’s.”
Arthur had been reluctant at first, but after hearing John’s plan, he immediately agreed.
The two of them went out, hijacked one or two oil wagons, set them on fire, and successfully forced the train to stop. The robbery went off without a hitch.
But oil wagons showing up in New Hanover? That could only belong to Cornwall.
Cornwall had traveled all the way from the civilized cities of the East to New Hanover. He wasn’t there just to deal with the Van der Linde gang—that was merely incidental.
He’d received word that oil fields had been discovered on the Wapiti Indian Reservation.
Each one promised unimaginable wealth. To confirm the news himself, Cornwall had decided to come in person.
The next day, word reached his coal tar factory—his oil wagons had been robbed, and a train had been hit again.
Upon hearing this, Cornwall exploded with rage:
“Damn Van der Linde gang! Why must you keep crossing me? You rob my trains, and now my wagons! What’s next—my factory?”
“You damned bastards! You’re provoking me—provoking a tycoon!”
“And those useless Pinkerton detectives—absolute incompetents! After all this time, they still haven’t dealt with them!”
Even without concrete proof, Cornwall was convinced only the Van der Linde gang would dare such a thing.
Losing two oil wagons was nothing to him, but the fact that someone was clearly targeting him—it infuriated him.
He had already received intelligence that the Van der Linde gang was hiding somewhere in New Hanover, and one of its members, Davey Callander, was currently in Valentine.
Cornwall had written to Valentine’s sheriff, Malloy, asking him to arrest Davey and hand him over.
But Sheriff Maloy refused outright, telling him that Davey was no longer with the Van der Linde gang and had established a legal identity in Valentine.
And so, Cornwall made up his mind—he would go to Valentine himself and meet this Davey Callander.
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