The wind shrieked, a furious declaration echoing through the snow-bound mountains, as if proclaiming the final, bitter end of the Van der Linde Gang. Indeed, if Dutch truly died, the gang would crumble, dissolving like mist in the harsh winter air.
Hosea, his face a canvas of worry, directed the frenzied activity. Members scurried, clearing a stable room, transforming it into a makeshift infirmary where Dutch might, against all odds, recover. Arthur, Mac, David, and even Micah eventually returned from the raging blizzard, dragging the snow-covered Valkyrie with them—a loyal return, even without Dutch's direct command, a twisted echo of fate.
"Mrs. Adler, Sadie, everything will be alright. I think you might be able to rest now." Arthur's voice was a gentle rumble as he carefully lifted Sadie from his horse, her form fragile against the storm. Several women rushed to her side, their hands reaching out in comfort. Only the Legendary Rat, Micah, glanced around, eager for his own respite. But Susan, ever sharp, assigned him to a shared room with several others, a slight that made Micah gnash his teeth. Yet, under the combined, cold gazes of Arthur, Mac, and David, he sullenly trudged away.
The gang's harmony, before the Legendary Rat slithered into their lives, had been a beautiful, brutal thing. Arthur, David, Bill—all bound by an unwavering fealty to Dutch, their only desire to follow his and Hosea's lead. Had it not been for Micah's poisonous influence, Dutch would have pursued the real estate scam with Arthur and Hosea, never resorting to the desperate Blackwater Town steamboat robbery. The arrival of the Legendary Rat truly marked the beginning of the gang's unraveling.
Wind and snow intertwined, a relentless dance outside, while inside, most of the gang members huddled in Dutch's room, their faces etched with a gnawing fear. They watched him, their eyes constantly flicking, checking for the slightest breath, a tremor, anything to confirm he still clung to life. Meanwhile, Hosea had dispatched Arthur and Javier into the tempest, searching for John.
Two agonizing days bled into one another.
Then, a shout shattered the oppressive silence. "He's awake! Dutch is awake! Oh my God! God truly blesses us!" Miss Molly burst from the room, her cries echoing through the makeshift camp, a joyful whirlwind against the dying storm. She darted from house to house, sharing her exhilaration with anyone who would listen.
"What? Dutch is awake?" A wave of astonished relief rippled through the camp. "Oh! My God, that's unbelievable!" A torrent of gang members, led by a disbelieving Arthur, spilled from their rooms, racing towards Dutch's. David and Mac stumbled in their haste, falling to the ground, but scrambling up instantly, their loyalty to Dutch a blazing fire in their chests. He had saved their lives in Blackwater, had refused to abandon them, even at the precipice of death. Their admiration for him had reached an almost spiritual peak.
Only the Legendary Rat, Micah, seemed to outdo them in his display of joy. He leaned over Dutch's bed, his voice dripping with forced devotion. "Oh, Dutch, Dutch, my father! You're finally awake! I knew God would have mercy…" But before the sycophantic words could fully leave his lips, he was roughly pushed aside. Micah scowled, his gaze sweeping over Arthur, Mac, and David nearby, instantly silencing his feigned piety.
Inside the small room, Dutch, feigning a slow awakening, opened his eyes. He saw Jenny and Abigail, their faces tear-streaked with genuine relief. He spoke, his voice a weak rasp. "Oh, Jenny, Abigail, are we in heaven? And who is this man lying next to me?"
"Hey, Dutch, it's me!" John, half-dead from wolf bites, managed a choked reply from his own bed, his expression equally excited. This time, Dutch hadn't coldly sacrificed a girl in Blackwater; he'd taken three bullets for the gang. Any lingering suspicion John might have harbored was utterly eclipsed by newfound admiration.
"Oh, Marston, why are you lying here too?"
Just then, the door groaned open, pushed by the surging crowd outside. A dense wall of faces, braving the last remnants of the wind and snow, spilled into the room.
"Dutch, my dear old friend, you've truly achieved another miracle!" Hosea sat by the bed, his concern palpable, tears welling in his eyes.
Looking at these familiar, anxious faces, Dutch felt a profound, almost overwhelming surge of emotion. Damn it, he thought, no wonder I transmigrated as Dutch. Why wouldn't I lead these sharpshooters to conquer the Wild West? His gaze drifted, finding the lurking figure of the Legendary Rat at the back of the crowd. That low iq fellow was already looking left and right, his eyes darting, subtly searching for the one hundred fifty thousand dollars salvaged from Blackwater Town.
Damn it, once I recover, I'll catch you and cage you like a dog! Dutch seethed inwardly, but he held his tongue. He wasn't well enough to act now, and a premature move wouldn't satisfy the burning anger in his gut.
"Dutch, oh Dutch, why didn't you run first? We could have covered your retreat!" Mac and David's voices were thick with loyalty and boundless gratitude. Arthur's own anxieties finally settled, leaving him with enough peace to joke quietly with John, still recovering in his nearby bed.
Only Micah, having already performed his obsequious display, shifted his focus back to the money. "Dutch, oh, my dear father! I am so happy to see you awake. In fact, these past two days, I've prayed more than once, wanting to use the money from Blackwater Town to save your life…" The low iq fellow was transparently probing, trying to unearth the location of the Blackwater Town money.
Still, no one truly paid him any mind. For the Van der Linde Gang, Dutch's life, his very survival, was the only thing that mattered, the colossal weight that had pressed down on all their hearts. No other lives had been lost; the entire group was intact, and they had even recovered the one hundred fifty thousand dollars. Dutch's recovery, therefore, was the greatest triumph, a miracle that eclipsed all else.
Outside, the cold wind still bit, but inside, the joyous laughter of the reunited gang completely dispelled the gloom of the past few days. Their spiritual leader had returned, and the treacherous path ahead of them had, once again, brightened.
Miss O'Shea sat by Dutch's bedside, her hand constantly caressing his face, her love for him genuine and heartfelt. Jenny, beaming from ear to ear, bustled about, her movements light with relief. Dutch had taken an extra bullet to save her, and his standing in her heart was now unshakeable. This lovely girl, bustling with purpose, kept drawing Lenny's admiring gaze.
The wind and snow finally began to subside, and the sky cleared, revealing a brilliant expanse of blue, like a bright omen for the future of the Van der Linde Gang.
Time flowed, a quiet river. In the blink of an eye, two weeks had passed. Dutch was whole again—or at least, according to him, his wounds were no longer an impediment. He'd even spent a wonderfully passionate night with Miss O'Shea. Arthur, sharing the room, could begrudgingly attest to it; he hadn't slept a wink, forced to stand guard in the biting wind and snow the entire night.
The new day dawned, crisp and clear. The relentless snows of the past few weeks had dwindled to a gentle dusting. In Dutch's room, he sat in a chair, discussing the next steps with Hosea. This scene was Arthur's unwelcome alarm clock; their low, earnest voices had roused him from a fitful sleep after finding John.
Dutch sat by the fireplace, soaking in its warmth, his eyes narrowing contentedly as he lit a cigar.
Hosea, seated beside him, spoke, his expression solemn, a stark contrast to Dutch's leisurely smoke. "Dutch. I don't think we can go any further east. The more we push that way, the more developed the cities become, and we… our kind… we won't have a way to live in those civilized places!"
"Hmph, hmph, hmph, Hosea, don't you see?" Dutch's voice was a low growl, filled with a new, fierce conviction. "The tide of civilization has swept in, and one day it will sweep across all of America. What if we run to the west? Hide for five or ten years? Or ten or twenty? Hosea, we are wanted criminals; our future is destined to be one of hiding. To forge a stable future, we must learn to adapt to this civilized society, to this America where only money grants you the right to breathe!
"Hosea, avoiding civilization has never been a solution. Our previous ideas were all wrong! Going to Tahiti to grow mangoes was never a good outcome; we would only end up hanged under a mango tree. On the contrary, we should embrace civilization, accept civilization, and even… surpass this civilization!"
Dutch's eyes gleamed with a dangerous, magnetic intensity. His entire being pulsed with a charismatic, almost messianic leadership. Hosea didn't understand his words, no more than he knew where Tahiti even was. But even without understanding, Hosea believed Dutch. And in the room, Arthur, along with the newly arrived Mac and David, believed him implicitly. They harbored no doubt, just as they believed they would eventually reach that mythical paradise called Tahiti.