Back at the Ranch

The trip to Van Horn Trading Post had concluded perfectly, a brutal, yet efficient, success. However, this was merely the beginning of Dutch's grander design. To truly establish an arms factory, the audacious dream that burned bright in his mind, the Van der Linde Gang needed to ensure a sufficient, unwavering supply of intricate machinery, robust raw materials, and, most crucially, brilliant researchers—none of which could be lacking.

This, Dutch knew, was truly a monumental headache, a Gordian knot of logistics, especially the raw resources, which necessitated the urgent advancement of his plans in New Hanover. But for now, it didn't matter; they just needed to proceed step-by-step, meticulously, and the myriad problems would, eventually, be resolved.

Time, flowed slowly, carrying them forward. In the blink of an eye, three bustling days had passed.

Inside Hope Ranch, the very air hummed with a newfound vitality. The sky had just begun to lighten, bleeding from indigo to a pale, hopeful grey. In this particular area, nestled near the imposing, snow-capped mountains, it was only around six in the morning, a time most decent folk were still deep in slumber. However, Hope Ranch was already teeming, bustling with furious activity, a hive of industry and burgeoning domesticity.

After all, with over two hundred souls now living within its burgeoning borders, there were bound to be early risers and late sleepers. And although the rigorous demands of their new work ensured that everyone's rest times were largely similar, small, charming differences would still inevitably emerge, painting a vibrant tapestry of life.

Compared to three short months ago, Hope Ranch had undergone a massive, almost miraculous transformation. First, the very atmosphere was noticeably livelier, infused with a strong, palpable sense of everyday life, of home.

Second, due to Dutch's meticulous, standardized management, the ranch appeared remarkably orderly, utterly devoid of the chaotic disarray that still plagued parts of Valentine. Coupled with Van der Linde's unique, almost paternal "family-style" management, the workers truly, genuinely considered this place their home, their sanctuary, which instinctively led them to maintain the cleanliness and meticulous order of their 'family,' their communal haven.

And at just six in the morning, many male and female workers had already risen, their faces bright with purpose.

"Hey, Griffin. Up so early to sun the quilts?" A couple, a man and a woman, seemingly lovers, strolled intimately hand-in-hand around the ranch's burgeoning pathways, their faces soft with affection, occasionally offering a warm greeting to passersby.

"Hahaha, Jennifer, you two lovebirds are up so early?" the female worker, Griffin, a robust woman with a booming laugh, called out from where she was vigorously hanging quilts on a line. She winked mischievously, her eyes crinkling. "My goodness, you're not planning to sneak off and roll around in the hay over there, are you, eh?! Get a room, you rascals!" Her booming teasing made the young couple blush furiously, waving their hands repeatedly, their faces beet red.

"My goodness, Griffin, you're so annoying!" Jennifer squeaked, burying her face in her lover's shoulder. The two ran off, a little shyly, their laughter trailing behind them, hurrying towards a less crowded area of the ranch, desperate to escape Griffin's relentless teasing. But this area, too, was now full of bustling factory workers, and anyone who saw them would inevitably tease them, making them even more bashful, their blushes deepening.

It wasn't just these two who would be subjected to such good-natured teasing; there were quite a few couples who had risen early for clandestine dates, their whispered conversations mingling with the chirping of early birds. Since families with young children had mostly been moved to the more urban Shady Belle to ensure their children could attend Saint Denis schools, those remaining here were either young couples without children, or with older, independent children, or eager single young men and women.

So, it was perfectly normal, almost inevitable, for these unattached souls to gather, be attracted to each other, and, in time, become couples, forming new families within the Van der Linde fold. In fact, in just three short months, three couples had already moved in together and officially, joyously, married under the gang's watchful, benevolent eye. For them, this ranch, which carried the vibrant beauty of their youthful dreams and their burgeoning hopes for a better life, was now their future, their eternal home.

Van der Linde's management system was also surprisingly lenient. Aside from meticulously managing work hours, he never, ever interfered with their personal lives after work, allowing them the freedom to live and love. Instead, the gentlemen and ladies of the Van der Linde Gang often mingled with the workers, sharing meals, drinks, and stories, which gave these workers a greater sense of belonging, a profound feeling of being seen and valued.

The idea of treating the factory as one's home, a statement scoffed at with cynical laughter in modern society, had, unexpectedly, miraculously, come true at Hope Ranch in this rough, unforgiving era. It was hard to imagine why Van der Linde possessed such profound, captivating charisma. He had merely opened a factory and barely managed it, yet the less he managed, the more these people integrated themselves, the more they poured their very souls into their communal home. Damn it, Arthur often thought with a grim shake of his head, he was the sun of the entire Hope Ranch!

As the sun slowly climbed higher, painting the eastern sky in hues of rose and gold, the sounds of Hope Ranch grew louder, more vibrant. Men and women emerged from their respective wooden rooms, their faces bright with sleep-softened smiles, greeting each other warmly before heading to wash up at the communal pumps. They chatted jovially while splashing water on their faces, and some carried basins to the well to do their laundry, their voices mingling in the morning air.

The men and women who had risen early for their secret strolls had also returned to the bustling residential area, just as several cooks, their faces flushed from the heat of the stoves, finished preparing a hearty breakfast. Groups of men and women who were close, friends or lovers, gathered together, laughing, their conversations like cheerful birdsong, converging at the meal distribution point to eat their fill.

After finishing their meal, their stomachs full and spirits high, these male and female employees playfully, eagerly headed from various directions towards the factory buildings. As it was time for work, their faces showed no fatigue; instead, they were radiating vigor, their eyes bright with purpose! Their spirits shone brightly because they were well-fed, well-clothed, and utterly without worries. They were full of boundless energy, awaiting the start of their meaningful work.

In Hope Ranch, there had been almost no conflicts or dissatisfaction in the past three months. Everyone's life seemed to mirror the ranch's very name: hope . And they had truly, against all odds, found happiness here, in this unexpected sanctuary. Therefore, they were completely captivated!

"Scratch!" Arthur pushed open his wooden cabin door, the sound a small rupture in the morning's peaceful hum, and walked out. He casually struck a match on the sole of his boot, the small flame flaring, before lighting the cigarette he held pinched between his lips.

"Phew!" He exhaled a deep puff of smoke, the grey cloud momentarily obscuring his face. Then, holding the cigarette loosely, he leaned his arms on the wooden cabin's railing, his gaze fixed on the bustling ranch houses before him. It was time to start work, and dozens of ladies, their faces beaming, their movements light and carefree, were happily walking together, laughing, towards the factory buildings. Upon seeing Arthur standing outside the wooden cabin, they respectfully greeted him one by one, their voices warm and sincere.

"Mr. Morgan, you're back!"

"Good morning, Mr. Morgan! Mr. Morgan is back, so Mr. Van der Linde must be back too!"

"Oh, Mr. Morgan," one particularly bold woman called out, a playful glint in her eye, "I have some Kentucky Bourbon I bought in Valentine last time. Would you like some?"

The ladies showed no fear towards Arthur, no sign of the guarded apprehension he was used to from civilians. Instead, their faces were filled with genuine respect and palpable affection. "Oh, ladies, good morning!" Arthur returned their greetings with a warm smile, feeling a profound, heartfelt emotion swelling within him as he looked at their vibrant, rosy cheeks, their eyes shining with contentment.

Three months ago, when he first saw these ladies, when they had first descended from the snowy mountains, they were all sallow and emaciated, their bodies weak, their eyes hollow and devoid of color. When competing for the meager job opportunities, they had been like starved beasts, fighting until their heads bled, some even plotting in the dead of night to kill those who had secured a position, desperate for mere survival.

Yet, in just three short months, these very same ladies had become plump, their complexions rosy and healthy, bursting with energy. Their faces always carried gentle, genuine smiles, their entire beings radiated vitality, and their behavior was even polite—a world of difference, a miraculous transformation, from the wretched state he had first witnessed three months ago!

Originally, Arthur, for all his perception, hadn't felt a significant, fundamental change in the gang's essence over these three months. Although they had bought land, founded a factory, and opened a clothing store, they were still engaging in brutal gunfights with Signor Bronte's men in Saint Denis, with Colm's men at Hope Ranch, and with thugs at Van Horn Trading Post. This constant violence, this endless bloodshed, made him stubbornly believe that the gang's core, its brutal nature, hadn't changed at all.

But upon seeing these ladies and gentlemen, their faces literally beaming with hope and happiness, their eyes shining with a profound sense of security and belonging, he suddenly realized, with a jarring clarity, that they had, without knowing it, built deep, indelible connections with so many people.

They were now, undeniably, the very center of these people's lives, the anchor of their existence. And in doing so, they truly had embarked on the noble path Van der Linde had so eloquently, so fervently spoken of, the path towards a new, better world.

"Damn it, why do I suddenly feel so much pressure!" Arthur muttered to himself, his brow furrowed, a sudden, heavy sense of responsibility settling upon his broad shoulders, weighing him down with its profound, exhilarating burden.