If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead, be sure to check out my Patreon!!!
Go to https://www.patreon.com/Tang12
___________________________
Arthur was confused as he felt even if strangers came into town, they wouldn't receive this kind of reception. Only Caleb knew why this happened, because he had killed Micah in his jail two days ago and caused Strawberry to be on high alert now looking for the suspect, not knowing who killed the captive.
As they rode through the dusty streets of Strawberry, the air felt thick with suspicion. Caleb could feel it like a second skin prickling against his neck, the slow tilt of heads, the narrowed eyes following their every step, the deputies stiffening at their posts as if their spines were iron rods.
Arthur, riding just slightly behind, shifted uneasily in his saddle, his brows furrowed in quiet puzzlement.
They passed the general store, the wide windows reflecting the morning light, and just ahead loomed the familiar façade of the hotel.
Caleb cast it a glance, noting a few figures watching them from the porch, old timers with pipes clutched between teeth, a few travelers nursing mugs of coffee. But it was the building just beyond that drew their attention now, the sheriff's office.
Caleb gently tugged on the reins, guiding Morgan toward the hitching post outside. Arthur mirrored the movement, dismounting with a grunt as he tied up his own horse.
For a heartbeat, the only sound was the rush of the river, cutting faintly through the tension hanging in the air. Arthur opened his mouth as if to speak, but Caleb raised a hand, eyes flicking to the window where he could already see grim faces staring out at them.
"Let me do the talking Arthur," Caleb murmured under his breath. Arthur gave a small nod, lips pressing into a tight line.
When they stepped through the door, the atmosphere hit them like a wall.
Inside, the Strawberry sheriff, Sheriff Hanley, stood behind his desk, arms crossed over his chest like a man carved from old oak. Two deputies flanked him, both armed, both tense, their gazes sharp as flint.
Arthur, to his credit, caught himself before offering his usual easy going greeting, but his discomfort was plain in the way his shoulders squared, his fingers twitching once toward his gunbelt.
Caleb, however, slipped into the role he'd rehearsed in his mind. He moved slightly in front of Arthur, shoulders relaxed, mouth curved in a polite, practiced smile. With the new gained skill of his Persuasion (Lvl 2), he delivered his lines smoothly, voice pitched just right to sound disarming without groveling.
"Hello there, Sheriff. Gentlemen." Caleb gave a courteous nod. "Name's Rycork Humphrey, this here's my partner Luis Correa. We're bounty hunters outta Blackwater, trailin' a dangerous gang, Colm O'Driscoll's boys. Heard you might've had some trouble in town, figured we'd offer our help."
For a moment, there was only the faint creak of floorboards as Sheriff Hanley shifted his weight. Then came a sharp snort, thick with disdain.
"We don't deal with bounty hunters here, son," Sheriff Hanley growled, eyes narrowed. "'Specially not now, after the mess we've had."
Arthur's brows lifted slightly, curiosity outweighing his tension. "What kinda mess, Sheriff? We only heard there was some incident. Didn't get the details."
Sheriff Hanley's gaze flicked between the two men, his face carved with the kind of weariness only a man in his position could know. Finally, he spoke, voice low and grim.
"Convict by the name of Micah Bell. Killed a man, we caught him, locked him up. Was set to hang." Hanley's jaw tightened. "Two days ago, somebody shot him clean through the jail window. Killed him on the spot. Shooter's still out there. Town's on edge, and I ain't got patience for strangers nosin' around."
Caleb let his eyes widen in well feigned shock. Inside, he could feel the tight coil of satisfaction in his chest, but he masked it expertly. Meanwhile Arthur's shock was genuine, his jaw tightened, his breath hitching.
"What?! That's— I didn't realize the incident was that serious, Sheriff. You sure you don't need some extra help trackin' the shooter? We're good at what we do."
Before Sheriff Hanley could open his mouth, one of the deputies cut in, voice sharp as a whip. "We don't need help from bounty hunters! Best you two turn right back 'round before we decide you're causin' more trouble than you're worth and we toss you in a cell!."
The other deputy, gray haired and much calmer, restrained his partner. "Easy, Eli. They ain't done nothin'."
Sheriff Hanley studied them, his gaze lingering on Arthur's calloused hands, gunfighter's hands, before flicking to Caleb's too casual stance. "You two bounty hunters just happen to ride into town days after a killing?"
Caleb spread his hands. "Pure coincidence, Sheriff. We're after Colm O'Driscolls, we heard they been robbing coaches near Riggs Station."
The sheriff exhaled through his nose. "Fine. But you ask one more question 'bout our incident, you will meet my cells." He jerked his thumb toward the door. "Now get lost."
Arthur shifted his weight, mouth tightening as if ready to argue, but Caleb touched his arm lightly, shaking his head. Arthur huffed quietly, but he stayed silent.
Caleb dipped his head politely. "Understood, Sheriff. Deputies. We'll be on our way."
With a turn smooth as silk, Caleb guided Arthur back toward the door. Only when they were outside, the heavy door thunking shut behind them, did Arthur let out a breath and run a hand over his jaw.
"Micah's dead, goddammit," Arthur murmured, almost to himself. "Damn fool… Dutch ain't gonna take kindly to that."
Caleb glanced around subtly, noting the watching eyes from porches and windows, the deputies still loitering along the road. His mind ticked fast behind a calm expression. He needed to keep Arthur focused, away from suspicion, away from asking the questions that might stir dangerous waters.
"We need to leave town," Caleb said quietly. "Now."
Arthur's brow furrowed. "You don't want to check around first? Maybe see if there's somethin' useful to pick up?"
Caleb shook his head. "I don't think today the right time to do that Arthur. You saw their faces, they're lookin' for any excuse to lock us up. Let's head out, circle back later if we need to."
Arthur hesitated, then nodded, giving one last glance toward the sheriff's office before swinging up into his saddle. Caleb followed smoothly, taking a slow breath as he felt the familiar weight of the reins in his hands.
As they rode back through town, the tension seemed to follow them like a shadow, pressing in from all sides. Caleb kept his posture easy, eyes casually sweeping over the townsfolk, the deputies, the corners where trouble might lurk. Arthur, for his part, stayed quiet, the news of Micah's death clearly weighing on his mind.
It wasn't until they reached the edge of town, the buildings falling away to open country, that Arthur finally spoke again.
"Didn't peg you were such a smooth talker Caleb," he remarked, giving Caleb a sidelong look.
Caleb offered a faint grin. "Hey I just tried my best, didn't know that it would work good."
Arthur snorted playfully, then sighed. "Dutch ain't gonna like this. Micah's dead even though I felt good for a bit, would bring a huge blow to the morale of the gang even though not many people like him."
Caleb's fingers tightened slightly on the reins. "No, he won't. And maybe the others will feel sad for a while. But maybe… maybe it's not such a bad thing, Arthur."
Arthur turned his head sharply, eyes narrowing. "What's that supposed to mean, Caleb?"
Caleb held his gaze steady, the faintest flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "I'm Just sayin'… from the way you and Lenny had told me about what kind of men Micah was, sometimes in the long term, the gang's better off without the kinds of men like him."
Arthur studied him for a long moment, then huffed a breath and looked away, shaking his head. "Hell, Caleb. You're a strange one."
The ride back to camp was quiet, the land rolling out before them in a patchwork of green and gold. Birds scattered from the trees as they passed, and the sun hung low on the horizon, painting the sky in shades of amber and violet. Caleb let his mind wander as they rode, the familiar rhythm of hoofbeats a soothing background to his thoughts.
He had done what needed doing. Micah was gone, a rot cut out before it could spread deeper. But that was only the first step. There was still so much to be done, so many loose threads to weave together.
And as the campfires of the Van der Linde gang came into sight when they reach Horseshoe Overlook, Caleb felt the familiar tightening in his chest, a reminder that the most dangerous game was still ahead.
Dutch would have questions. So would Hosea. So would Arthur, if Caleb wasn't careful.
As they rode into camp, the first murmurs rippled through the gang, curious glances, nods of greeting, a few raised eyebrows at their return as they except to see Micah return with them.
Dutch emerged from his tent, arms spread wide in welcome, but even from a distance, Caleb could see the sharp glint of curiosity in his eyes.
"Arthur! Caleb! Good to see you boys back in one piece." Dutch's voice was warm, but his gaze was calculating. "How is it? Have you boys finally got Micah free?"
Arthur and Caleb exchanged a brief glance, an entire silent conversation passing between them in that one moment. Arthur, grim faced and tight lipped, gave a short nod before turning back toward Dutch. His voice came out low, carrying the weight of unwelcome news.
"Dutch… we got bad news." His voice was gravel rough. "We found out what happened in Strawberry. Micah's… dead. Killed in jail. Some stranger shot him through the iron barred window two days ago. Sheriff and his men are turning the whole town upside down trying to find the shooter."
For a moment, Dutch stood there frozen. His face twisted as if trying to process the words, eyes narrowing, jaw clenching. Then his fists curled at his sides, then—
"GODDAMMIT!" Dutch's roar sent birds scattering from nearby trees. He kicked a can, sending it against a wagon wheel.
The outburst echoed across the camp like a gunshot. A flock of crows scattered from a nearby tree, cawing into the darkening sky. Heads turned all over camp, John, Bill, Javier, Abigail, Lenny, even little Jack playing near the wagons, everyone froze, watching Dutch.
"How the hell could this happen?!" Dutch roared, pacing two steps, then back, his boots grinding into the dirt.
Caleb stepped forward calmly, voice measured, his Persuasion skill kicking in almost instinctively. "We don't know, Dutch. We got there, heard the news from the Sheriff. Place was tense, law sniffing around for anyone to throw in a cell. Figured the two of us, strangers in town, weren't gonna be welcomed hanging around."
Dutch let out a string of curses under his breath, clenching and unclenching his fists. His face was a storm of anger, frustration, and if Caleb looked closely enough just the faintest flicker of uncertainty. That was something Caleb made note of, storing it away in the back of his mind.
The camp had fully gathered now, the murmurs rising into a soft chorus. Hosea emerged from the sde, calm as always, a bottle in hand. His lined face was thoughtful as he walked up to the group.
"What's going on, Dutch? Arthur? Caleb?" Hosea asked, voice gentle but firm, cutting through the rising tension like a knife through soft bread. Caleb wisely fell silent, shifting just slightly to let Arthur or Dutch answer first. Arthur, looking weary, opened his mouth, but Dutch beat him to it.
________________________________
Name: Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 7/10
- Agility: 6/10
- Perception: 8/10
- Stamina: 7/10
- Charm: 5/10
- Luck: 6/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl 2)
- Rifle (Lvl 2)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl 2)
- Past Life Memory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl 1)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl 1)
- Sneaking (Lvl 2)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl 2)
- Poker (Lvl 1)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl 1)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl 1)
- Dead Eye (Lvl 1)
- Bow (Lvl 2)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl 1)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl 0)
- Crafting (Lv1)
- Persuasion (Lvl 2)
Money: 731 dollars and 61 cents
Bank: 40 dollars, 2 gold bars, a large bag of jewelry, and 3 gold nuggets