Shady Belle Camp.
They worked until nightfall before finally hauling all the bodies into the swamp to feed the alligators.
Fortunately, the O'Driscoll Gang's attack hadn't cost the Van der Linde Gang a single life.
In small-scale fights, sharpshooters were practically unstoppable.
Dutch and Arthur had completely controlled the battle.
Arthur in particular—armed with nothing but a revolver—had easily suppressed waves of O'Driscoll men. The moment one of them peeked out, he was dead.
Dutch was no less fearsome, firing with both hands and landing headshots with near-perfect precision.
And then there was Micah Bell. The so-called "rat" was undeniably one of the top gunslingers in the West.
The O'Driscolls might have looked overwhelming in numbers, but under the fire of those three sharpshooters, they dropped like wheat before a scythe.
"That slippery bastard Colm sent his men to die again," Dutch cursed.
Colm knew full well how strong the Van der Linde Gang was, which was why he never showed up in person. To him, his men were expendable. If they died, he could always recruit more.
"Dutch, Colm knows where our camp is. We might need to move," Arthur said grimly.
"He could've tipped Pinkerton off about this place."
The O'Driscolls' attack had come out of nowhere—they hadn't received a single warning. Shady Belle was no longer safe.
Hosea said, "I went to see Davey today. Bronte's information was wrong—maybe deliberately so."
"The real situation is this: Pinkerton's senior agent, Milton, has already arrived in Saint Denis."
At the mention of Davey, Dutch's expression tightened.
"Hosea, how can you be sure Bronte's the one who lied, and not Davey?"
Hosea bristled. "Dutch, don't let jealousy cloud your judgment. You should trust Davey—he was one of us."
"Even if he's left the Van der Linde Gang, the bond is still there. It always will be."
"He hadn't heard anything about Pinkerton. Right in front of me, he called Pinkerton headquarters. Using his Land Security Company partnership as leverage, he asked them to have Milton contact him."
"Mary Beth and I waited less than thirty minutes before Milton called back."
"And he told Davey they were already in Saint Denis."
"That's the truth."
Dutch's face darkened further. Arthur felt a knot tighten in his chest as well. No one could afford to ignore the threat Pinkerton posed.
But this time, Dutch didn't flare up.
With the gang's survival at stake, he didn't have the luxury of clinging to jealousy over Davey.
"Arthur. Hosea."
"We don't have much time."
"We need to get out of here as soon as possible."
"Colm bringing his men here proves this place isn't safe anymore. But leaving takes money."
"So the plan to rob the tram depot has to go forward."
Hosea shook his head. "Dutch, the tram station tip came from Bronte. He even hid the news about Pinkerton from us."
"Bronte has plenty of men in Saint Denis. I don't believe for a second he didn't know Pinkerton had arrived."
"So maybe we should drop the tram depot job."
"Compared to that, robbing Lemoyne Bank is a better option."
"I heard from Davey that he took out a three-hundred-thousand-dollar loan from the Saint Denis Bank. That means Lemoyne Bank must be holding a large amount of cash."
"If we pull that off, we'll have more than enough to leave."
Three hundred thousand dollars.
The number stunned both Arthur and Dutch.
Davey could secure a loan like that now?
Dutch recovered first, but he shook his head.
"No, Hosea."
"It's a good plan. Lemoyne Bank definitely has serious money."
"But it's too dangerous."
"Robbing a bank in the middle of a city like that will cause a storm."
"Bronte may not be trustworthy, but I've seen the tram depot with my own eyes. There's a lot of money in there."
"Maybe not as much—but enough for us to leave and start over."
"And it's safer. Isn't it?"
Hosea fell silent.
If they were thinking about the gang's safety, the tram depot was indeed easier than hitting a bank.
"You're certain you saw it yourself, Dutch?"
Dutch grinned and tapped his eyes. "Of course, Hosea. Both eyes. It's in the little office at the depot—in the safe."
"Packed with cash. Stack after stack. At least tens of thousands."
"And while I was scouting the place, I found a friendly captain willing to take us to Australia… or Tahiti."
"We pay for passage. Once we arrive, we pay for land."
"He won't ask questions. And then we disappear. Start fresh."
"Grow mangoes. Or whatever else we feel like."
He was already painting the future in bright colors.
Arthur couldn't help himself. "What the hell kind of place is Tahiti?"
"The South Pacific," Dutch said. "An untouched paradise."
In Dutch's mind, Tahiti was what the West used to be—wild, free, unspoiled. He wanted that life back.
"Who lives there?" Arthur asked.
"Tahitians, I suppose."
Arthur glanced at Hosea. "That gambling riverboat brought in good money. But it's not enough for all of us to leave and live free."
There were too many mouths in the Van der Linde Gang. Even tens of thousands split up didn't go far.
Arthur wanted one last big score—something truly substantial.
Hosea understood then that the decision had already been made.
"Fine."
He gave in.
Even though he believed the bank job was the safer bet, he didn't trust Bronte one bit. He had always suspected the tram depot tip was a trap.
But Arthur had chosen to back Dutch.
Two votes to one. That was that.
...
The next day.
Pinkerton Senior Agent Milton and his deputy, Ross, arrived at the Land mansion on Rue Flavienne.
"Who would've thought the infamous Callander brothers would end up like this?" Milton said, studying the grand gates.
"Living openly on Rue Flavienne, in a mansion this size."
"Life is unpredictable."
He took in the sight of the well-trained employees in black combat uniforms stationed at the entrance.
"Bootlegging made them rich beyond measure," Ross muttered.
"And those liquor agents back East? A bunch of fools."
"Whoever pays them is who they serve."
There was bitterness in his voice.
Once, they had represented justice, and the Callander brothers had been criminals.
Now, the roles had reversed.
They were here to serve criminals.
Pinkerton's files still contained detailed records on the Callander brothers. But those records meant nothing now.
The Saint Denis court had already sentenced the Callander brothers to hang.
Legally speaking, they were dead.
Everyone knew the men who swung from the gallows had been stand-ins—but unless someone formally challenged it, the law stood.
And challenging it would mean confronting the entire Saint Denis judicial system.
Pinkerton didn't even have formal law enforcement authority. How could they possibly take on Saint Denis's courts?
"Relax, Ross," Milton said calmly.
"We have to accept reality. He's our client now."
"And at least they've changed, haven't they?"
"Valentine's Land Elementary, the Veterans' Club, and these factories about to open will provide thousands of jobs for Saint Denis."
"That's enough for me."
"God forgives those who repent, doesn't He, Ross?"
...
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