Duty

Arthur, having just returned from his latest grim duty, fell into his usual, introspective reflections outside the cabin. He was always so damn prone to reflection; his battered diary was practically bursting with them, pages crammed with existential angst and observations. In the quiet solitude of the camp, he loved to reflect most of all, always sharing his tumultuous inner feelings with the ever-patient Mary-Beth or the surprisingly insightful Karen.

Damn it, he often thought, a wry smirk tugging at his lips, his delicate inner self didn't quite match his robust, brawny exterior. At least the equally robust Mac never reflected; that brute always did whatever he wanted, consequences be damned. Perhaps, Arthur mused, reflection was the meaning of so-called salvation, the slow, agonizing path to redemption. But how truly great were their mistakes? In this brutal era, in this sprawling, untamed America, the mistakes made by all the self-righteous upper-class individuals far exceeded anything the Van der Linde Gang had ever done.

Not to mention anything else, just the relentless, genocidal slaughter of the indigenous peoples and the abominable triangular slave trade had already made the very foundations of this nation deeply, irrevocably sinful. So, was salvation truly salvation? Or was it, like the wretched Mr. Downs, a cruel, self-deceiving farce?

Arthur continued to reflect outside, lost in his philosophical musings, while Dutch, inside the cabin, had already begun to enjoy his life, a picture of serene contentment.

"Scratch!" A match flared, its sudden light illuminating Dutch's face for a fleeting moment, as he lit the expensive cigar clenched between his teeth. Dutch held the middle of the cigar between two fingers, took two deep, satisfying puffs to ensure the tip was fully lit, and then exhaled thick, fragrant smoke, filling the room with the rich, luxurious aroma of the cigar.

"Good morning, Dutch." John walked out of his room, still a bit groggy, rubbing sleep from his eyes, his hair, as usual, a disheveled mess.

"Good morning, John." Dutch replied warmly, then his gaze shifted to Mary-Beth, who was sitting on the sofa, engrossed in a book, a faint, intellectual aura about her. "Oh, Mary-Beth, I heard you've been writing a book lately. Damn it, I knew you were a cultured person, a true lady of letters!"

"Haha, Dutch, I'm just trying it out." Mary-Beth smiled, a modest blush creeping up her neck. She took out her pen and paper, and continued diligently working on her book.

Dutch stared blankly at the paper and pen in her hand, his eyes suddenly unseeing, and a small, insidious plan, a devious scheme, abruptly popped into his mind. The power of public opinion is immense; I think I need to control the public opinion in my territory!

Dutch quietly smoked his cigar, his mind a whirlwind of continuous brainstorming, plotting his next move. He wasn't going to interfere with external public opinion, not yet. Because American congressmen weren't fools; in fact, the newspapers outside were already firmly under their control, meticulously manipulated to always keep them on the side of justice, to paint them as the righteous ones.

These were all tactics they had already mastered, refined over decades. Dutch was certain that if he tried to manipulate external public opinion, he would face a brutal pincer attack from the relentless Pinkerton Detective Agency and the full, unyielding might of the United States Army.

But while external public opinion was a formidable beast, difficult, almost impossible, to control, internal public opinion he could, with cunning and precision, manipulate. For example, he thought, a sly grin playing on his lips, he could establish a Valentine newspaper, only controlling public opinion within Valentine, to ensure that their internal public opinion remained impregnable, a fortress of loyal minds.

In other words, it was about eroding little by little, eating as much as one's strength allowed, and gradually expanding the sphere of public opinion he could control as his strength grew, as his empire expanded. By the time the American upper class, those smug, self-serving bastards, realized his public opinion was becoming a threat, by the time they truly woke up, they would already be unable to deal with him, too late to stop his insidious influence.

Thinking of this, Dutch looked up at Mary-Beth, his eyes gleaming with a newfound purpose. "Mary-Beth," he began, his voice imbued with a sudden, captivating seriousness, "I have a plan!"

"Ah?" Mary-Beth looked up at Dutch in surprise, her pen poised in mid-air.

Dutch looked at Mary-Beth with a grave, earnest expression, his gaze intense. "Mary-Beth, I just thought about it: public opinion is a very powerful weapon, sometimes it can make others collapse without a fight, simply by twisting their minds. So we need to firmly grasp this weapon in our hands, at least in our territory! And you, dear lady, love to write and read, you understand the power of words. Therefore, you are the best candidate for my plan, the perfect general for this silent war!"

Dutch leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "How about this, Mary-Beth, when we go to Valentine later to recruit workers, we'll discuss with the Sheriff about opening a private newspaper in Valentine, only reporting on Valentine and our factory. And this newspaper will be controlled by you, Karen, Tilly, Miss O'Shea, and Mrs. Morgan. Of course, this might take some time, as we need to purchase copying equipment, presses, and ink."

His eyes brightened, a wicked gleam in their depths. "Let me think, the name of this newspaper will be 'Hope Factory Newspaper'. It will mainly report on the factory's situation and the workers' happy lives, ensuring that everyone in Valentine, after reading the newspaper, will even dream of working in our factory, will yearn for it!"

Dutch paused, his smile widening, the full extent of his cunning laid bare. "But at the same time, this newspaper needs to be copied in two different versions. The one sold to the public in Valentine will mainly report on the beautiful lives of our factory workers, ensuring that everyone in Valentine yearns to join our factory, to become part of this paradise.

And for the workers inside our factory, there needs to be different content; these contents will report more on the miserable, wretched lives of people outside, and also report more on how much the people in Valentine desire to enter our factory, how desperate they are! This way, the workers inside the factory will unconsciously feel lucky to be able to work for us in our factory, feeling profound gratitude, and will also unconsciously feel superior to outsiders, which can effectively enhance the cohesion and burning enthusiasm within the factory. It can also encourage outsiders to aspire to the factory, yearn to enter the factory, and even unconsciously identify themselves as future factory employees, thereby actively defending our factory and spreading its glorious reputation outside!"

Dutch's eyes, with a mere, casual glance, conjured up schemes and insidious tricks. Damn it, Arthur would later write in his diary, this guy is ridiculously cunning! The external newspaper would talk about how good the factory was, and how excellent the workers inside were. This was a typical 'Reader's Digest' method, which in modern times could cultivate a large number of 'fine American' and 'runaway' individuals, those who would abandon their homes for the promise of a better life.

In this era, it would probably only turn Valentine into the Van der Linde Gang's personal harem, its populace from then on indoctrinated to become one 'fine Van' after another, even taking perverse pride in it and desperately wanting to squeeze into the exclusive gates of Hope Happiness Ranch.

And internally, it would talk about how much people outside yearned to enter the Hope Happiness Ranch, and how miserable their lives were, thereby creating a stark contrast with the workers' idyllic lives. They would be proud of their identity, fiercely loyal, and would dedicate themselves to the factory and the Van der Linde Gang at all costs, even their lives! This was a classic ideological imprint, a psychological manipulation of the highest order!

Damn it, Arthur would reflect, a shiver running down his spine, with both genuine welfare and the insidious blessing of ideological imprints, it's hard to imagine what these affected people would become! He was afraid these workers, blessed by ideological propaganda and genuine welfare, would only listen to Dutch's teachings night after night, their minds utterly consumed:

Damn it, Arthur thought, a grim smile on his face, this is Dutch's damn plan! To build the entire Hope Ranch into a dream factory that they can see and touch, but need luck to enter, this is the only way to effectively inspire everyone's loyalty and obedience, to turn them into willing cogs in his machine!