Hear Yee

"Gentlemen, gentlemen, look here, gentlemen!"

At Dutch's subtle signal, Mr. Trelawny, with a practiced flourish, leapt onto a stool behind the counter and bellowed, his voice cutting through the din of the Veteran Club. All heads snapped towards him.

"Oh! It's Mr. Dutch! Dear Mr. Dutch, you've finally graced us with your presence! I want to work for you, esteemed sir! My marksmanship is keen, and I possess the strength of a bear! Oh sir, please accept me, my mother is grievously ill, I cannot bear to witness her suffering! Esteemed Mr. Dutch, I only require thirty dollars a month, a mere pittance for any task, be it moving goods or acting as a gunman! Please, sir, please take me in!" A wiry veteran, his face etched with desperation, sprang to his feet, pleading with outstretched hands.

"Damn it, ain't that Mr. Callahan? Not Mr. Dutch, you damn scoundrel, you even got the name wrong!" another gruff voice roared, elbowing the first.

"Sh*t up!" a third retorted, shoving the second. "He didn't get it wrong, sir! Mr. Dutch is using the alias Arthur Callahan! Not even knowing this makes me doubt your loyalty now, you ignorant bastard!"

As everyone craned their necks, eyes fell upon Dutch, seated with calm authority in front of the bar. Who in Valentine, by this glorious epoch, didn't recognize "Mr. Dutch," or rather, "Mr. Arthur Callahan"?

Whether it was the Sheriff, practically orbiting him daily with a gaggle of fawning deputies, or the very clothing store, or this newly opened Veteran Club – each venture hammered Mr. Callahan's name into the very fabric of Valentine. Some, the more astute ones, had even sniffed out his true, wanted status.

But again, what did it matter? The man had an endless stream of loyal subordinates, a veritable army. What fool, a commoner who couldn't even afford a decent gun, would meddle in such a perilous business? What's more, the Sheriff and "Mr. Dutch" were thick as thieves, closer than brothers.

Those few who had dared to report him to the Sheriff's office during this period had quickly found themselves arrested, then savagely beaten for their troubles.

In terms of both assets and sheer manpower, Dutch was already the undisputed, iron-fisted ruler of Valentine! No one dared to cross him blindly. And in such turbulent times, attempting to report him across state lines was an even more perilous gamble, a fool's errand that could easily end with one abducted and skinned by the damned Skinners halfway to their destination.

Adding to Dutch's burgeoning legend, word had spread like wildfire about the Hope Ranch. Female workers, taking leave to visit home or buying goods in Valentine, had, with their joyous chatter, revealed the astonishing truth of their wages and working conditions. This had completely ignited a feverish craze among the women of Valentine.

Bar ladies, dishwashers, even weary housewives now thronged Dutch's clothing store three times a day, their eyes wide with desperate hope, inquiring about the latest job openings. The men, bless their eager hearts, were even more desperate to enter Dutch's factory, even for the most back-breaking porter jobs.

The fifty dollars a month, with food and lodging, utterly eclipsed the paltry wages they'd been grinding out for years.

Now, in Valentine, even though everyone knew Dutch was a wanted man, the very thought of reporting him was unthinkable, an act of sheer madness. Every soul, regardless of gender or age, harbored but one fervent desire: to enter Dutch's factory!

Not to mention, with the triumphant opening of the Veteran Club, Dutch was already revered as a quasi-divine leader by these men. If anyone dared to report Dutch, these veterans, fueled by loyalty and a deep sense of belonging, would, by God, burn down their entire family!

Thus, Mr. Dutch Van der Linde had truly, definitively, established an unshakeable foothold in Valentine.

Seeing the veterans cheer and buzz with excitement, Dutch smiled, a beatific expression spreading across his face. He extended a hand, a regal gesture of greeting. "Hello, gentlemen, ladies. It's a profound pleasure to see you all gathered here at the Veteran Club."

He was immensely satisfied with the roaring enthusiasm of the crowd. Very good, he thought, his mind already spinning new schemes. Valentine was swiftly becoming his personal fortress, but it still lacked one crucial element. Mere reverence wasn't enough! The strongest bonds in this damned world were forged in the unbreakable crucible of shared interest.

He had to shower the people of Valentine with genuine, tangible benefits. Only then would their relationship become as strong as iron! And establishing the Veterans Mutual Aid Association was precisely for this reason: he would bind these veterans to him with real, inseparable benefits, making them his most steadfast supporters, his most fervent, unyielding followers.

Dutch's smile was so gentle, so utterly refined; his movements so graceful, so gentlemanly; his voice so elegant, so captivating, that these rough-hewn veterans, captivated by his charisma, all rose to their feet, cheering and exulting, their voices rising in a wave of profound respect for "Mr. Dutch."

"Dutch! Dutch! Dutch! Dutch!"

These veterans, their right hands raised in unison, roared his name, their voices gradually merging into a unified, fervent, and, astonishingly, disciplined roar.

Dutch threw his head back and laughed heartily, spreading his hands in a grand, stopping gesture. "Alright, gentlemen! I have fully experienced your overwhelming enthusiasm! Oh, gentlemen, thank you for your boundless affection; I truly feel unworthy!"

As Dutch spoke, these already surprisingly disciplined veterans ceased their chanting, one by one, their eyes burning with an almost zealous devotion, fixed upon Dutch as he stood before the bar. Dutch rose from his chair, walking slowly to the center, then launched into an impassioned speech that seemed to hang in the air, electric with his conviction.

"Gentlemen, life is a damned arduous journey; merely growing up is a struggle against the odds. And upon that already arduous path, you, by the grace of God, survived the exceedingly cruel battlefield! Gentlemen, I believe that alone is worth a damn toast! Cheers!"

Dutch raised his glass high, offering his highest respect to the throng below. His manners were exquisitely thoughtful, his movements impeccably gentlemanly, his words so utterly infectious, that every man below raised his glass in deep, solemn agreement.

"Yes, Mr. Dutch, even now, I can hardly believe I survived that hellish battlefield!"

"Ah" one old man wept, tears streaming down his weathered face, "but when I returned home, I found my parents had long since withered into dust, and my beloved, she had already married another…"

"Cheers!"

One by one, everyone raised their glasses, their faces etched with a poignant solemnity as they clinked invisible glasses with Dutch from afar. And Dutch's sermon continued, his voice a mesmerizing balm.

"Gentlemen, the battlefield is a damnably cruel mistress. You faced death, faced unimaginable hardship for our very homeland, and for that, you are truly admirable. It is because of your sacrifices that we can live in fragile peace behind you.

Initially, I believed that after such immense contributions, you should have been showered with corresponding rewards and the most excellent treatment! However, from what I have observed, for some unknown, nefarious reason, those of you who gave everything for America did not receive the treatment you so richly deserved!

"Damn it, gentlemen, this simply will not do! You are the heroes of the nation, the greatest fighters, the noblest warriors! You deserve preferential treatment, you deserve proper settlement, a damn comfortable life! But damn it, look at what the American Congress has done now?!

You honorably retired from that cruel battlefield, yet there is no trace of the rewards you were promised, and the glory you deserved has been embezzled! They haven't even fulfilled the promises they made regarding the treatment you were supposed to receive!

"Oh, gentlemen, do you know how distressed, how utterly heartbroken I was when I saw veterans begging on the streets?!"

Dutch's voice swelled with a dramatic crescendo, full of infectious indignation, his tones rising and falling with a rhythm that captivated every soul. This couldn't help but make the veterans below, as they listened, feel their faces flush with a burning indignation, with a deep-seated dissatisfaction towards America, and with a simmering resentment towards their own wretched lives!

"Oh, Mr. Dutch, you are so right! These damned politicians promised us the moon and stars before we went to war, but after we returned from the war of blood and fire, these damned people turned their backs on us! They even used guns to suppress our rightful resistance! Damn them! My own comrade didn't die on the battlefield, but inexplicably perished during interrogation by our own damn people! This goddamn Congress!" a veteran roared, his face contorted in a mask of fury.

"Mr. Dutch, you are so right! These damned people have never cared about us; they only care if their own selfish interests are harmed!" another shouted, slamming his fist on the table.

"Mr. Dutch, you are my confidant, sir! I, I don't know what to say anymore, but I know that only you are truly standing with us!" A grizzled old soldier, tears in his eyes, pounded his chest.