Shady Belle

"Davey! Mac! Marston!"

Arthur's shouts, hearty and clear, rang out on the muddy road outside Shady Belle, punctuated by the rhythmic thud of hooves. A trio of riders, Dutch, Hosea, and Arthur, swiftly approached the dilapidated mansion.

"Hey, Arthur!" Bill, ever vigilant on guard duty nearby, heard the calls and quickly stepped forward, waving a hand in greeting, his face crinkling into a surprised grin. "Oh, Dutch, why did you come too?" he asked, looking at the three new arrivals with genuine astonishment.

"Ha, Bill," Dutch chuckled, riding forward, dismounting as he followed Bill towards the house. "The arms business just got a proper start, so of course I need to come and see. You've done an excellent job these past few days, Bill." He clapped Bill on the shoulder, a rare, genuine gesture of praise for his efforts.

"Indeed, very good, Bill." Arthur, following closely behind Dutch, leaned in slightly and patted Bill's shoulder, a grin on his face.

"F*ck! Morgan, you have no right to praise me like that!" Bill's face instantly twisted into a frown. He brusquely swatted Arthur's hand away, a comical look of indignation on his face.

"Hahahahaha." Arthur threw his head back and laughed heartily, settling back into his saddle, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Without the insidious grip of tuberculosis, his spirit was soaring, far better than his tormented self in the game.

With the gang thriving and his tumultuous relationship with Mary back on track, he found himself temporarily devoid of anything to genuinely complain about. His entire demeanor had subtly shifted, a lighter, more vibrant air clinging to him.

"Hahaha, alright, Arthur, don't provoke Bill anymore." Hosea, a gentle smile on his face, followed the trio, walking leisurely towards the Shady Belle house.

At this moment, Davey and the others inside the mansion had already heard Arthur and Dutch's voices. Their faces lit up with anticipation, and they quickly strode out into the humid air.

"Dutch, you've come at just the right time!" Davey exclaimed, a wide, excited grin splitting his face as he greeted Dutch. "We've recruited a new member, who seems to be your favorite kind of scientist!"

"Oh? Is that so, Davey?" Dutch's eyebrows shot up in delighted surprise. "Oh, damn it, you guys have really done a great job lately. I was truly shocked when I received the rifles you sent back in Valentine!"

Behind Davey, John, Mac, Sean, and Lenny also emerged, their faces grimly satisfied. Seeing Dutch engaged in conversation with Davey, they instinctively held back, not wanting to interrupt the flow of the Big Man's praise. John, ever laconic, offered a quiet greeting to Arthur.

"Arthur!" John nodded, a brief, almost imperceptible tilt of his head.

"Marston. Are your… injuries better?" Arthur walked over, a curious mixture of concern and mild disappointment on his face as he observed John's perpetually disheveled hair and quiet demeanor. He felt a pang of concern that John wasn't living up to his full, roguish potential.

In the game, John often seemed a bit out of sync with the gang in the early stages, particularly in Chapter Two, where he'd famously stand aloof under a tree every day, hatless and silent as a grave. This was primarily due to his recent return to the gang and his lingering discomfort.

Moreover, at that time, he couldn't quite accept Abigail and Jack, and Arthur, in his twisted perception, always felt John had betrayed the gang (it was less betrayal, more disappointment that John would abandon the core principle of loyalty for a woman and child, a truth Arthur, devoted to Dutch, couldn't tolerate).

So, John indeed didn't appear very active at first. However, as the story progressed, he gradually shed his aloofness, becoming more and more vibrant.

But during this time, with the gang's relentless progress and the slow, inevitable march of time, the unspoken gap between the two men was also narrowing. For instance, Arthur would now actively seek out conversation, even if it was a somewhat belated inquiry about John's old injuries. Please, it's been almost two months since they came down that snowy mountain, and you're only asking now?

John nodded, a hint of awkwardness on his face.

Meanwhile, Davey and Dutch were deep in enthusiastic conversation. As they spoke, Dutch's gaze swept over the gathered members, praising them with unreserved, almost theatrical, enthusiasm:

"Excellent, Davey, Mac, John, Sean, Lenny, and Bill. You've done an excellent job, gentlemen! You successfully repelled Signor Bronte's forces and, more importantly, completed my plan to a tee! Excellent! Since Signor Bronte wants to be the emperor of his Saint Denis, then, by God, we will confine him within Saint Denis!"

Dutch's voice hardened, his eyes gleaming with strategic intent. "Sean, Lenny, you two go with Hosea to find some people to renovate this place. Also, the bunkers I mentioned before need to be arranged; Hosea, you should lead these two kids to complete that. The location for the bunkers will be exactly according to what we planned last night."

His gaze became distant, envisioning his grand design. "Saint Denis is close to Guarma and is also a crucial port and transportation city; it can be said to be the entire West's transportation hub! So we must firmly grasp this city in our hands! In the future, it will be our only maritime thoroughfare and Guarma's most secure umbilical cord!"

"Alright, Dutch!" Hosea nodded, his face grimly determined. Last night, as the three of them rode from Vulture Ranch, they had already thoroughly discussed this issue.

Although Guarma's location was strategically perfect, offering convenient and secluded maritime transport that cleverly bypassed excessive governmental control and scrutiny, its inherent lack of resources was a major, glaring drawback.

Therefore, Saint Denis became utterly paramount, the beating heart of their future supply lines. As the West's primary port and railway center, whether for transporting vital ore, steel, coal, or various other raw materials, Saint Denis could, and would, firmly control Guarma's very lifeline.

This, precisely, was why that damned warlord on Guarma regularly attended the lavish banquets of Saint Denis's upper crust; he needed to cultivate good relationships to ensure Guarma's sustainable development, its very survival.

Therefore, to guarantee the smooth, uninterrupted transportation of supplies to Guarma when the time came, Saint Denis must be controlled, firmly and absolutely, by the Van der Linde Gang. And building formidable bunkers or impregnable fortresses outside Saint Denis was not just a suggestion; it was an absolute necessity.

And Shady Belle, with its secluded location and sturdy, two-story villa, was the ideal fortress construction site he had planned with Hosea last night. It was sufficiently hidden, and the existing villa was robust enough. All that was needed was to erect massive walls around it, construct four strategically placed bunkers, and acquire seven or eight Maxim guns, and Shady Belle would be transformed into the most formidable fortress in the West, firmly controlling the lifeline of Saint Denis.

"Sean, Lenny, let's go, kids." Hosea gestured to the two younger men, and they mounted their horses, riding off with purpose, while Dutch and Arthur remained behind.

"Alright, Davey, let me see the scientist you brought me." Dutch shifted his gaze from the retreating figures of Hosea and the others, then looked at Davey, a glint of eager anticipation in his eyes. "I hope this gentleman can give me some surprises." He paused, then added, "Also, we need to go to the Lemoyne Raiders' arms depot in Tall Trees Plains as soon as possible, otherwise it would be bad if those damned scumbags got away with our rightful spoils."

Dutch followed Davey into the dark, shadowed interior of the Shady Belle house. The arms business was something he had always desperately wanted to establish, but the legitimate channels for it were, for a man of his infamous status, virtually non-existent. Regular, above-board channels were impossible. So, the only way was through irregular, indeed, highly irregular channels, such as, for instance, the unfortunate Lemoyne Raiders.