Eagle

"Alright, Dutch, your plans are always… perfect," Arthur conceded, a weary sigh escaping him that was half admiration, half resigned exasperation. He nodded slowly, utterly and completely impressed, yet again, by Dutch's serpentine cunning. It was almost infuriating how Dutch consistently, miraculously, untangled the Gordian knot of various relationships and circumstances to reveal the single, most advantageous path forward.

Arthur was becoming more and more helplessly convinced by Dutch; it was like watching a master magician, even when you knew the trick, you still applauded.

"Next, my boy," Dutch purred, a sly, almost predatory grin spreading across his face as he leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming a light, rhythmic tap-tap-tap on the table. It sounded less like a contemplation and more like the beating of a drum of destiny. "Next… will be force. Van Horn Trading Post, bless its dusty little heart, no longer needs to exist in its current form. That place is absolutely perfect for us as a new gathering point." He gestured with a flourish of his hand, as if conjuring the entire future into being.

"It's ideally suited for transporting our clothing, for future supplies, and it's a magnificent, discreet harbor for our… specialized goods," he explained, a conspiratorial wink in his eye. "At the same time, it allows us to establish our very own legitimate transportation company, expanding our industrial reach, our empire. In short, Van Horn Trading Post is a very, very important place. However, before we prepare to descend upon Van Horn like a biblical plague, I think the new sheriff of Rhodes can be… one of our people." He tilted his head, a devilish glint in his eyes.

Rhodes, after all, was effectively in his hands. But he couldn't simply turn it into an anarchist state, a lawless den of iniquity. Whether it was the silent, bloody ballet of assassination or the Maxim-gun-laden 'bandit suppression,' these actions were already treading perilously close to Saint Denis's very bottom line.

Still, in the final analysis, they hadn't actually affected the Saint Denis regime itself. Aside from being a touch arrogant and sending a few hundred souls to meet their maker, they hadn't touched any truly 'red' lines that should never, ever be crossed.

But if he now, with brazen disregard, let the Van der Linde Gang simply move into Rhodes, openly controlling it and morphing it into a lawless wasteland, that would be a declaration of war. That would be an act of outright contempt for the Saint Denis regime, and for the Federal Government's precious laws. At that point, not only would the flustered aristocrats of Saint Denis have ample, undeniable reason to act against him, but even the distant Federal Government would stir, their slumbering wrath finally provoked.

Therefore, Rhodes still needed a sheriff, still needed a veneer of official presence, a public face of law and order. And to ensure that Rhodes was completely, absolutely, and utterly controlled by the Van der Linde Gang, this sheriff could only, must only, be a loyal member of Dutch's own flock!

"Alright, Arthur," Dutch continued, his eyes narrowed, a shrewd glint within. "Go take ten thousand dollars to the Lemieux Family. I think… Mr. Sunny Quell," he paused, casting a speculative glance at Mr. Quell, who was diligently patrolling downstairs with a rifle, his posture ramrod straight, "yes, Mr. Sunny Quell, can also take on the… demanding position of sheriff!"

Sunny Quell, the fellow who Dutch had mused could instantly transform into a terrifying Heydrich, if prompted. He was completely, utterly, fanatically loyal to Dutch Van der Linde. For him to serve as sheriff would be nothing short of perfection.

Ten thousand dollars to buy a sheriff's position might seem a paltry sum in the bustling, corrupt East, but out here in the rough-and-tumble West, it was by no means insignificant. Especially now that Rhodes had undergone Dutch's thorough, bloody 'sweeping' – it officially belonged to Saint Denis, yes, but in reality, Dutch still held its reins. Even if he didn't bother to pay for the sheriff's position, any new lawman who dared to show his face would inevitably, immediately, find himself dancing to Dutch's tune. The savvy nobles of Saint Denis could all see this crystal clear. For them, Rhodes had always been a nominal entity, a messy backwater. Before, it was controlled by Signor Bronte and those two dead families. Now, it was controlled by Mr. Dutch Van der Linde. Wresting control back from Mr. Dutch Van der Linde was undoubtedly a task of Herculean difficulty. So, why bother? Better to simply go with the flow, sell Rhodes, and pocket a cool ten thousand dollars from Dutch for absolutely no reason. It was like a fat, juicy pie falling from the sky right into their laps.

"Alright, Dutch," Arthur nodded, a half-amused, half-resigned look on his face. As Dutch instructed, he turned to begin the process of retrieving ten thousand dollars from Shady Belle's coffers, preparing to head into Saint Denis to conduct this overtly legitimate, yet deeply illicit, transaction.

Dutch sat back in his chair, a profound sense of self-satisfaction emanating from him, continuing to sip his coffee. His squinting eyes, gleaming with ruthless shrewdness, surveyed the bustling scene below.

The position of mayor of Rhodes was as easy as plucking a ripe apple from a low-hanging branch, within effortless reach. With this new layer of official backing, this convenient legal fiction, Dutch could begin building his impenetrable bunkers near Rhodes and start recruiting workers with the same effortless efficiency as he had in Valentine.

Next, it was time to turn his attention, like a coiled predator, to Van Horn Trading Post. And then, he mused, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across his face, it would be time to start buying equipment on a truly grand scale, conducting meticulous geological surveys, initiating the glorious manufacture of their own weapons, and finally, with a flourish, advancing on Guarma!

Just as Dutch was lost in this glorious reverie, contemplating his burgeoning empire, Charles's urgent, excited shout suddenly ripped through the air from downstairs.

"Dutch! Dutch! The Indians are coming, Dutch! They've reached Hope Happiness Ranch, Hosea sent word for you to come back! Dutch!" Charles's voice was practically vibrating with excitement and urgency, a giddy tremor in his words.

He was indeed quite, quite excited. For him, the arrival of the Indians held a deep, almost spiritual significance. Arthur had already told him about Dutch's previous, almost miraculous communication with the tribes. Since then, Charles had been fantasizing, dreaming, of this very moment, of the Indians finally arriving. If the Van der Linde Gang hadn't been so relentlessly busy during this period, he might have, in a burst of reckless empathy, ridden directly to the Indian gathering place to offer his assistance. He hadn't dared to hope that after all this time, these resilient Indians would actually come to Hope Happiness Ranch on their own accord.

"The Indians are here?!" Dutch exclaimed, bolting upright from his seat, the map forgotten. His face, usually a mask of cunning and composure, split into a wide, unbridled grin of pure joy.

"Excellent, Charles, excellent!" Dutch crowed, clapping his hands together. He glanced down at John, who was lounging and smoking downstairs, giving him a quick, authoritative nod.

"John, you wait here for Arthur. Charles and I will head back to the ranch first!" He then turned his full attention to the anxious Charles, whose excitement was almost contagious.

"Don't worry, my boy. Don't fret. Since they've come this far, they won't leave again. Hope Ranch will be their home, a true sanctuary."

Dutch and Charles quickly mounted their horses, riding with a renewed sense of purpose from Shady Belle towards Rhodes. They needed to get to Rhodes, to catch a train, and return to the ranch as quickly as humanly possible.

The arrival of the Indians was not a small matter; it was a momentous occasion. Although Rain Falls's tribe was small, numbering only about four hundred souls, it was a very, very important beginning! Once the news of this group of Indians seeking refuge, finding safety, and achieving true prosperity at Hope Ranch spread through the hidden networks of the tribes, there would be a continuous, unstoppable stream of desperate, hopeful Indians coming to seek refuge.

Dutch's grand plan, after all, was to confront America itself. Therefore, he would not discriminate against any race, any people, for these weary, displaced souls would all become his eager, loyal helpers in his inevitable confrontation with the United States Government.

Therefore, the more people who came to seek refuge, the happier, the more powerful, he would become.