Murfree

The cold, unyielding muzzle of a gun pressed directly against the back of Dutch's head, the hard, metallic sensation a sickening violation.

His eyes, usually warm with charm, instantly turned cold, icy daggers. Damn it, he thought, a familiar surge of fury, what he hated most in this damned world was being threatened, especially by these damned, inbred scumbags. He didn't even need to turn around, didn't need to see their faces, to know the exact, revolting identities of the two people behind him.

"Sh*t!" John, the only one across the flickering bonfire not directly targeted by a gun, moved with lightning speed. Two pistols materialized in his hands, their barrels gleaming ominously as he aimed them with chilling precision at the two shadowy figures behind Dutch and Arthur.

"Oh ho ho, buddy," one of the Murfree Brood sneered, his voice a guttural growl, "you'd better put down your guns, otherwise we can't guarantee whether these two will live or die!"

Arthur slowly, deliberately, raised his hands, his gaze like a wolf's, sensing every minute movement of the grotesque figure behind him. He wasn't worried at all about having a gun pointed at his head, not truly.

But if Dutch's head, the very brain of their operation, was being pointed at with a gun, then Arthur would be consumed by a blinding, murderous rage. Damn it, he thought, this was their father, the leader of the Van der Linde Gang!

Dutch didn't make any sudden move, not even raising his hands in feigned surrender. Instead, he remained utterly still, his voice a calm, chilling query. "The Murfree Brood, right?"

"It seems you've heard of us, gentlemen. Hahaha." The Murfree Brood member behind Dutch snickered, a repulsive, wet sound.

"Since you've heard of us, then you should know that the land under your feet belongs to our Murfree Brood! Be careful next time you camp, or your heads will be blown open! Hahaha..." The Murfree Brood member behind Dutch laughed loudly, a crude, menacing cackle, even making a subtle, threatening gesture, wanting to strike Dutch's head with the gun in his hand.

"No, gentlemen," Dutch replied, his eyes icy, fixed on John's face, "I think compared to us, your heads should be the first to be blown open!" Almost with that first, imperceptible glance, John understood Dutch's precise, murderous intention. The next moment.

"Bang!"

Two bullets shot out from the revolvers in John's hands. Although he fired one shot from each gun, the two reports were so perfectly synchronized, so utterly simultaneous, that there was only a single, deafening gunshot. Accompanying the gunshot, two sickening sounds, like ripe watermelons bursting, rang out directly behind Dutch and Arthur. Then, a warm, viscous liquid splattered onto their backs and into their hair, a grotesque shower of blood and brains. Two limp bodies, utterly lifeless, crumpled to the ground without any strength, leaving two rapidly expanding crimson pools.

"Damn it, we'll camp wherever we want to camp!" Arthur roared, spitting a curse, then, with a savage grunt, reached out and dragged the two still-twitching bodies towards the nearby woods, their limp forms leaving a bloody trail.

"Nieegh!" The two Murfree Brood horses, sensing the sudden, brutal shift in atmosphere, neighed frantically, their eyes wide with fear, and bolted away, disappearing into the darkness. The two who had just been spouting wild, arrogant words were now two still slightly warm corpses, completely lifeless, their brief reign of terror extinguished.

Dutch calmly pulled out a pristine white handkerchief from his immaculate clothes, then, with an almost fastidious elegance, wiped away the blood splattered on his face. His expression remained unnervingly calm, but his eyes, usually so charismatic, were chilling, radiating a cold, implacable fury. Even John, who stood nearby, grim-faced, felt a shiver down his spine and instinctively averted his gaze, reluctant to meet that terrifying intensity.

"I think some people in this place are tired of living!" Dutch calmly tossed his blood-stained handkerchief into the roaring bonfire, his gaze dark, fixed on the fabric as it curled and burned in the flames, his tone incredibly composed, devoid of any emotional tremor. But whether it was John, standing by, or Arthur, who had just returned from summarily disposing of the bodies in the woods, they all knew, with a certainty that chilled them to the bone, that Dutch was truly, deeply angry this time.

"What do we do, Dutch?" Arthur asked, wiping the blood from his own face with the back of his hand, a few sparks of anger also simmering within him. Damn it, he thought, they hadn't suffered such a great injustice in these past two or three months! Having a gun pointed at their heads, such an intolerable, humiliating thing, they hadn't even experienced it in the utter chaos of Blackwater Town!

"No rush, Arthur, no rush, my boy." Dutch's voice was still terrifyingly calm, a low, dangerous purr. "Assassination in a fit of pique is boring, utterly unsatisfying. Compared to the three of us sneaking out at night to assassinate these damned bastards, these inbred vermin, I prefer a grand, insane massacre. A glorious, strategic slaughter with thousands of gunmen and hundreds of Maxim guns and cannons!

I will not only kill their bodies, Arthur, I will crush their very souls! I will slaughter them like livestock, like the filthy animals they are! I will wipe out their entire family, every last one of them! These damned inbred bastards are no longer worthy of being human, so they can only be hunted and slaughtered by us like wild beasts. I will let their corpses litter the forest, a grim testament to our wrath!"

Dutch spoke the most terrifying consequences with the calmest, most dispassionate words, his eyes burning with a chilling vision of retribution. That's right, he loved to torture and kill, not with crude, personal savagery, but with overwhelming, impersonal, technological force.

Surrounding these Murfree Brood members like trapped prey and then systematically sweeping them with Maxim guns, that was what he considered the most satisfying, most fitting method of extermination! Letting them die miserably, in endless fear and utter helplessness, that was the ending they truly deserved!

"Ah! Alright, Dutch, I think they deserve it." Arthur took a deep, shuddering breath, then nodded with some difficulty. Although Dutch's brutal vision felt a little different from the "chivalrous hero" philosophy Dutch had ostensibly taught them, if the target was the Murfree Brood, then it seemed completely understandable, entirely justified.

Gangs like the Skinners and the Murfree Brood were notorious, utterly disgusting scourges of the West. Not only did ordinary, decent people view them as a plague, but even most other gangs, for all their own lawlessness, could hardly tolerate their disgusting presence, their abominable practices.

Just like Van Horn Trading Post, also in New Hanover, although technically located in Murfree Brood territory, there were no Murfree Brood members at all within the entire Van Horn Trading Post. Even these damned, hardened gang members, the lowest of the low, couldn't tolerate their presence, a truly telling indictment.

John remained a silent observer, not saying a single word, but with a subtle, almost imperceptible gesture, he took out his small knife and quietly, decisively, cut off some of his overly long, disheveled hair, tying the rest behind his head with a piece of rope, a grim, silent promise to himself.

Damn it, he thought, a flicker of grudging realization in his eyes, it seems threats are far more effective than verbal education.