Chapter 29: Plans in the Shadows

The gang's camp was nestled deep in a forest clearing, hidden from prying eyes by thick undergrowth and towering trees. The remnants of Silas Blackthorn's gang gathered around a smoldering fire, nursing bruises to both their bodies and their pride.

Silas sat apart from the others, sharpening his knife with deliberate, angry strokes. His dark eyes burned as he replayed the night's humiliation. They had been bested by farmers—farmers who had somehow outsmarted them. The thought was a thorn in his side.

Nearby, his second-in-command, a wiry man named Caleb, paced nervously. "We underestimated them, Silas. They're better organized than we thought."

"No," Silas snapped, his voice like a whip. "We got careless. That's the only reason they beat us."

One of the younger gang members, a lanky man with a fresh scrape across his cheek, muttered, "Maybe it's not worth it. That farm ain't worth losing more men over."

Silas's gaze snapped to him, cold and deadly. "You think we're walking away from this?" He stood, towering over the man. "They made fools of us. If we let that stand, every settler from here to Marietta will think they can defy us."

The young man swallowed hard, looking away.

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The News of Prosperity

The tension in the camp broke when a rider approached, his horse lathered with sweat. It was one of the gang's scouts, a wiry man named Amos. He dismounted quickly, his expression grim but laced with urgency.

"What is it?" Silas demanded.

Amos hesitated, glancing at the group before focusing on Silas. "I've been in Marietta. Heard talk about those settlers—Michael Clarke and his family."

"Go on," Silas said, his jaw tightening.

"They're building more than a farm," Amos said. "Word is, they've got a mill now. And a distillery in the works. They're planning to sell whiskey and flour. Folks in town are already talking about how they're gonna be rich before long."

The camp erupted into murmurs. The idea of the Clarkes and their neighbors prospering after humiliating the gang was a bitter pill to swallow.

"They've got money?" Caleb asked, his voice sharp.

"Not yet," Amos replied. "But they're set up for it. Give it a few months, and they'll have more coin than any of us have seen."

Silas's lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile. "Well, well. Looks like we've got more reason to pay them another visit."

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A New Strategy

Caleb frowned, his arms crossed. "We can't go charging in like last time. They'll be ready for us."

Silas nodded, his smile fading as he leaned over the fire. "You're right. This time, we'll be smart about it. No big show of force. No warnings."

"What're you thinking?" Amos asked.

Silas's eyes gleamed in the firelight. "We find their weaknesses. Hit them where it hurts. If they've got a distillery, we burn it. If they're storing grain, we poison it. Make it so they can't trust their prosperity."

One of the older gang members, a burly man named Jed, nodded in approval. "That'll send a message. Make them think twice about getting comfortable."

"And the town?" Caleb asked.

Silas considered this, his fingers tapping against his knife. "We spread rumors. Turn people against them. Make it seem like they're hoarding supplies, driving up prices, or stealing land that doesn't belong to them."

Amos grinned. "Divide and conquer."

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The Cost of Revenge

As the gang discussed their plans, one of the younger members hesitated, his face pale. "What if they fight back harder? Those settlers ain't weak."

Silas's gaze turned icy. "If they fight back, we crush them. One farm won't stand against the likes of us forever."

"But if we fail again?" the young man pressed, his voice trembling.

Without warning, Silas lashed out, striking the man across the face with the back of his hand. The force sent him sprawling.

"You don't fail," Silas growled. "Not if you want to stay breathing."

The rest of the gang fell silent, the only sound the crackling of the fire.

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A Dark Resolve

Later that night, as the others slept, Caleb approached Silas, who was staring into the dying embers of the fire.

"You sure about this?" Caleb asked quietly. "We're risking a lot."

Silas didn't look at him. "This isn't just about the farm. It's about control. If we let one group of settlers stand up to us, others will follow. We'll lose everything we've built."

Caleb nodded slowly. "And the Clarke boy?"

Silas finally turned to face him, his expression cold and unyielding. "Michael Clarke thinks he's smart. Thinks he can outwit us. We'll see how smart he is when everything he's worked for is reduced to ash."

The firelight flickered across Silas's face, casting shadows that made him look more like a demon than a man.

"Gather the men," he ordered. "We move at first light."

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