Expansion

Under Dutch's shrewd, almost god-like command, the gang members sprang into action once more, a well-oiled machine driven by ambition. The factory's operations were now miraculously self-sufficient, humming along with minimal oversight, freeing the gang members for their primary, glorious responsibility: executing the intricate, audacious tasks assigned by Dutch.

Carriages, a veritable fleet now, streamed out of Hope Ranch, their wheels churning dust as they swiftly headed towards Valentine. Each carriage, a testament to Dutch's meticulous planning, carried a grim-faced gunman, ensuring safety during the journey through the untamed wilds. Since the wooden cabins at Hope Ranch were fully constructed, sturdy and welcoming, the eager female workers could finally move in today, their faces alight with anticipation.

After a week, the newly ordered sewing machines, gleaming and efficient, had also arrived at the factory. Everything was now meticulously ready, awaiting only the influx of the fresh workers, the lifeblood of Dutch's burgeoning empire.

Dutch's clothing styles, a brilliant fusion of practicality and panache, had sparked a veritable craze in Saint Denis and even across the entire sprawling West. To ensure the smooth, inexorable development of his clothing store, he planned to find an opportune moment to speak with the ladies of the influential Jones Family, allowing them to expand the business into the East as a franchised enterprise, a vast, untapped market. However, all of this, all these grand plans, would have to wait until after the crucial recruitment drive in Valentine.

Time flowed slowly, marked by the steady rhythm of carriage wheels and horses' hooves. After a two-hour journey, Ms. Grimshaw, grim-faced and efficient, successfully led her procession of carriages and eager ladies into Valentine.

The carriages stopped uniformly, forming a neat, impressive line along the main street of Valentine; a dozen gleaming vehicles arranged with military precision, presenting quite a sight, an almost theatrical display of power and prosperity. Immediately, passersby on Valentine's dusty streets looked towards the scene, their jaws dropping, discussing animatedly, their voices a rising hum of speculation.

These carriages all bore the unmistakable Van der Linde Gang's insignia, now a symbol of both fear and hope, and the accompanying gunmen wore the exclusive, stylish uniforms of Van der Linde Gang gunmen. This particular style of clothing, sleek and imposing, was already well-known to the people of Valentine, a symbol of Dutch's rising power. Thus, the crowd's discussions grew even more fervent, their whispers escalating into excited exclamations.

Women passing by on both sides of the street involuntarily stopped in their tracks, their faces serious, their eyes wide with a desperate, almost hungry longing as they looked towards the carriages.

"Oh my goodness, could this be Mr. Van der Linde preparing for a new recruitment drive?! Quick, quick, quick, let's go forward!" Someone suddenly blurted out, a desperate, hopeful cry that pierced the general hum. And in an instant, like wildfire, the news of the Van der Linde Gang's recruitment began to spread spontaneously, erupting through the streets, even before it was officially announced by the meticulous Ms. Grimshaw.

"Ah, don't push! Let me in, please, let me in, I need this job! My husband is sick, and our family can no longer make ends meet!" a gaunt woman shrieked, her voice raw with desperation, struggling against the surging crowd.

"Bitch, whose family is doing well, eh?! Damn it, trying to use pity won't work on me, you conniving whore!" another woman snarled back, pushing with all her might.

"Oh my goodness, the Van der Linde Gang seems to be recruiting! Wife, quick, quick, go sign up, you hear me?!" A man roared, shoving his terrified wife forward.

A bustling, chaotic clamor continuously erupted on the street, a symphony of desperation and hope. Ms. Grimshaw had not even begun to instruct the ladies to publicize the recruitment, yet shouts, pleas, and curses were already echoing through the muddy streets of Valentine, a spontaneous, uncontrolled frenzy. And the ladies, one by one, ran wildly through the streets as if possessed, driven by an invisible, powerful force.

"D*mn it, don't push!" The door of the saloon opposite the clothing store was violently pushed open by a provocatively dressed lady, her clothes disheveled, her face a mask of frantic determination. She squeezed out frantically, stumbling and crawling towards the carriages, a desperate creature seeking salvation.

However, as soon as she ran out, prostitutes, one after another, squeezed out from the saloon door behind her, a torrent of desperate women. They even lost their shoes in the mad scramble, completely disregarding Valentine's muddy, filthy ground. Some, in their frantic rush, even had their skirts not fully pulled up, exposing their pale chests and bottoms, looking utterly disheveled, a chaotic, almost comical sight.

But even so, even at their most disheveled, their dignity stripped away, they paid no heed, struggling with all their might, pulling and tearing at those in front, desperate to get a little further, a little further, into the promised land.

"Please take me in, Master Van der Linde, I want to work for you! I'll do anything!"

"Ahaha, you are my salvation, please take me in, I don't want to live without dignity anymore, please!"

"Master, you can do whatever you want with me, as long as you take me in, as long as you take me in!"

Cries, desperate pleas, and even furious curses from those unable to push past others had already begun to ring out, a rising crescendo of human longing. This commotion continued to escalate, spiraling into a full-blown riot.

Accompanied by the shouts and chaos of women on the street, female workers from nearby and even housewives from further away, their faces grimly set, ran towards the scene like lunatics, their hopes blazing.

There were even men who, in their desperate attempts to secure a spot for their wives, tried to push their way in with them, their elbows sharp, their faces contorted. And some, bolder, more desperate, even came out with guns, ready to forcefully threaten those in front to give way, to clear a path for their families.

The disturbance grew larger and larger, to the point that even Sheriff Malloy of the Valentine Police Station, a man accustomed to chaos, had to organize police patrols, his face a mask of bewildered concern. Every household now had its doors wide open; women didn't even bother to close them, just to run faster, to reach the carriages, to grasp their last chance.

Bars were also severely affected, as prostitutes and dishwashing female workers all ran out, abandoning their meager, demeaning livelihoods for a glimmer of hope. A bustling, desperate clamor continuously echoed, a deafening roar of human ambition, and the entire street was now packed, shoulder to shoulder, with the women of Valentine, a sea of desperate faces.

Then, their excited and desperate emotions were completely ignited when Mary-Beth and Mrs. Morgan, two beacons of refined elegance, calmly walked out of the clothing store, carrying feminist signs that proudly listed the recruitment quotas. Immediately, insane, piercing screams and desperate pleas almost completely drowned out all other sounds, a raw, primal cry from the depths of their souls!

"Ahhh!!! Please recruit me! Please recruit me!!!"

"Oh, my God! My God!!! Van der Linde is recruiting, Van der Linde is really recruiting! Ahaha, I've waited too long, my God, my deity, my everything! Van der Linde, my everything!!!"

"Recruit my wife! My wife can do anything! Sir, she can do anything!!! She's strong, she's loyal!"

The ladies completely erupted; they even started fighting among themselves, scratching and biting, charging forward like mad zombies, their eyes wild with hunger. While the men, a covetous gleam in their eyes, watched the melee, also desiring these precious recruitment spots, knowing their lives, too, depended on it.

Sh*t! Now the entire damn Valentine knew, with an undeniable certainty, that once they entered Mr. Van der Linde's factory, their lives would directly, miraculously, change class! During this time, they had often seen workers from the Van der Linde Gang's factory coming to spend money in Valentine; they were all lavish, their pockets seemingly overflowing, as if money meant nothing to them.

Those d*mn one-dollar compact powders were held by every single female worker, a luxury beyond their wildest dreams, and five-dollar train tickets were bought on a whim, a casual indulgence. D*mn it, who in Valentine could afford a five-dollar train ticket these days? A family's entire monthly expenses were only about ten dollars, a pittance.

They were all plump and healthy-faced, their complexions glowing, full of rationality and civilization, as if they were true ladies of the upper class, living lives of impossible luxury. And listening to their accounts during this time, even their high spending was just the most ordinary, unremarkable part of their lives, a mere footnote to their newfound prosperity.

According to them, the Van der Linde Gang's factory provided free food and lodging, two days of precious family leave per month, and only required twelve hours of work per day! This meant they could save their entire twenty-five dollar monthly salary, a sum unheard of in their previous lives! Furthermore, according to them, Mr. Van der Linde, with his boundless benevolence, considering the welfare of the workers in the factory, specifically opened a new factory outside Saint Denis, relocating workers with children there, and personally used his invaluable connections to ensure their children could attend school in Saint Denis!

D*mn it, that's schooling!!! Who in Valentine has ever gone to school? No one! Absolutely no one among the common folk! And for those children to go to school, it meant they would emerge as educated intellectuals, their minds sharpened, and countless jobs would actively seek them out! Their class would change directly from then on, a generational leap into prosperity! Oh, sh*t! No parent, no matter how cynical, could refuse such an overwhelming temptation, and even unmarried people would go completely crazy because of this irresistible promise of a better future!

At this stage, America wasn't as fantastical, as utterly detached from harsh reality; there were no so-called biological parents, children, or grand pronouncements. The future, plain and simple, was still the main theme of their desperate struggle.

And these people, oppressed by life for nearly half their lives, their spirits crushed, suddenly had an opportunity, a golden opportunity that, once entered, could change their future and their children's future forever. Who wouldn't go crazy? Who wouldn't fight like a wild animal for such a prize? Again, even hardened prostitutes, women stripped of all dignity, went crazy, shedding their last vestiges of shame and decorum for this chance!

To these people, who were so oppressed by life they could barely breathe, Dutch's conditions, his whispered promises of a better life, were their true gods, their only salvation! The people on the street went completely, utterly crazy.

"Bang bang bang bang bang!!!" Ms. Grimshaw, her face grimly determined, had no choice but to fire her shotgun into the air, a series of deafening warning shots. This finally, violently, slowed down their frantic actions and stopped them from fighting each other, a brief, terrifying pause in the chaos. But even so, the fervent, desperate gaze in the eyes of this crowd sent chills down one's spine, a terrifying testament to their yearning.

At least, it sent chilling tremors down the spines of Mr. Milton and Mr. Ross, who stood in the deceptive calm of a small saloon in the distance. "Snap!" Mr. Milton even crushed the cigar in his hand, its tip breaking off, forgotten. His face was extremely gloomy, his gaze passing through the saloon window to the chaotic, screaming street outside. Ross, beside him, exclaimed, his eyes wide, filled with a profound, almost paralyzing shock:

"Mr. Milton. I think we can no longer contend with Dutch. He seems to have become formidable now, a force of nature!"

"Indeed, Mr. Ross. Dutch Van der Linde, truly astonishing..." Milton replied, his voice barely a whisper, his usual arrogance replaced by a chilling realization. With such a massive scale of operation, and such overwhelming public support, Dutch Van der Linde was no longer merely the wanted criminal they could easily hang from a lamppost.

Even if they now possessed cross-state enforcement authority, given Dutch's current, terrifying influence, they could only pursue legal channels to prosecute him, at most secretly arresting Dutch and swiftly bringing him to trial before his loyal masses could react. But Dutch's formidable strength and chilling resilience made it utterly impossible for them to secretly arrest him, to simply snatch him away.

Milton and Ross stood in the saloon, sipping their whiskey, their hearts chilling to the very bone. They had been pursuing Colm, that elusive fiend, all this time, a convenient distraction. And since Dutch had not, until now, caused any direct trouble for the federal government, they had no immediate means of enforcement, no legal pretext to move against him.

So they hadn't yet visited Dutch's factory. If they had seen Dutch's five small, unassuming bunkers, the impenetrable fortresses hidden in plain sight, their hearts would probably be more than just chilling now; they would have utterly frozen in their chests, paralyzed by the sheer, overwhelming power arrayed against them.