Rout

Hope

Because Dutch, in his own twisted, magnificent way, truly gave them equality and respect, and, perhaps most importantly, he gave them a future and the elusive promise of happiness!

"Mr. Van der Linde, I love you! I am willing to dedicate everything to you! Mr. Van der Linde!!" The male worker, a grizzled veteran with tears streaming down his leathery face, held up the pocket watch with Mr. Van der Linde's stoic photo hanging proudly on his chest. He shrieked, his voice raw with fanatical devotion, wishing he could snatch up a semi-automatic rifle and personally gun down any opponent of Mr. Van der Linde!

Watching their fervent expressions, feeling the electric, almost suffocating atmosphere of devotion radiating from the assembled crowd, Dutch smiled, a slow, beatific grin. He slowly, gracefully, raised his hand, a regal gesture, and pressed it down, a silent command for silence. The cacophony instantly, absolutely, ceased. Every single soul, every man, woman, and child, absolutely obeyed all of Mr. Van der Linde's instructions, a silent, disciplined legion.

"Very good, gentlemen, ladies," Dutch began, his voice warm, resonant, filling the vast shed. His gaze swept over the sea of eager faces, each one reflecting his own confidence. "Seeing your happy lives, seeing your joy, I feel completely satisfied. My heart swells with pride." He paused, allowing his words to sink in. "I still remember, vividly, how you looked when I first saw you, not so long ago: you were alone and helpless, shivering from hunger and cold, despairing and numb, your spirits utterly broken. Your state, I confess, deeply shocked me at the time! It's hard to imagine that in this country, which so loudly, so brazenly, proclaims freedom, equality, and democracy, such undemocratic and unequal things could possibly exist! Damn it! Those damned Senators, those puffed-up politicians in Saint Denis, they only shout their pleasant slogans to gain benefits for themselves, filling their own pockets, without caring one whit about the lives of those below them!" Dutch slammed a fist lightly into his open palm, his voice rising in theatrical outrage.

"Damn it, this cannot be, gentlemen, ladies! This is unreasonable, this is unacceptable! You deserve more!" He spread his arms wide, a gesture of embrace, of protection. "So, from that moment on, I felt that perhaps you needed a little help. From that moment on, I felt that I, Dutch Van der Linde, should give you true equality, true freedom, and true democracy as human beings! A dignity that is your birthright!"

He took a step forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, yet still carrying to every corner of the shed. "So, I came. I began to recruit you as workers, to give you stable jobs, to give you decent lives, and to give you the happiness you rightfully deserve! And now, I'll be honest, gentlemen, ladies," Dutch leaned in, as if sharing a profound secret, "even if I pay you thirty dollars, fifty dollars, or even a hundred dollars a month, and even if I've recruited so many gunslingers, so many strong hands, the immense value created by you, my diligent female workers, still ensures I make a steady profit!" He paused, letting the implication hang in the air, allowing their minds to make the damning connection.

"What does this mean? Gentlemen, ladies? What does it truly mean? Damn it, it means that if they – those hypocrites, those exploiters – if they truly cared about you, then even if they gave you the same generous treatment as me, you could live a stable, comfortable life like you do now! Instead of being like stray dogs, scrounging and suffering, only able to live in the dark, forgotten corners of the city!" Dutch's voice swelled with righteous indignation, his mustache trembling with his passion.

"This won't do, gentlemen, ladies, this is simply not acceptable! You shouldn't live like this, you shouldn't be suffering from hunger and cold! You are the ones who truly create value, not just me, who only talks, or rather, those high-and-mighty Senators in Saint Denis, or even the distant, indifferent Federal Government!" He pointed a dramatic finger towards the distant, implied city.

"Gentlemen, ladies, listen to me closely: if they won't give you a happy life, then I will!" Dutch thumped his chest. "Before, I already gave you a stable standard of living, allowing you to no longer worry about food and clothing here. And today, I will give you something even more precious: a safe, secure living environment! Today is the most important day for our Van der Linde Gang! Because from today onwards, your lives will be completely, utterly different from before! From today onwards, our public order will gradually, steadily improve. There will no longer be any gangs, any criminals, or any unlawful members on our land! From today onwards, you will be able to hike to your heart's content, go on picnics, and travel across two large states without a single worry about your safety! From today onwards, New Hanover will become an absolutely safe place where you can live happily and develop peacefully!" He spread his arms wide, encompassing the vast ranch, the entire state, in his vision.

"And all of this," Dutch's voice soared, "all of this requires the unwavering dedication, the very blood and sweat, of our five hundred greatest gunslingers! Under my leadership, you will personally build a paradise of your own! In short, gentlemen, ladies, I will lead you to create your happy lives!"

Mr. Dutch Van der Linde stood before the rapt crowd, speaking with a captivating freedom. His voice was impassioned, enthusiastic, his gestures wildly flamboyant, and his 'Little Mustache' constantly trembled with his every emphatic word. His captivating charm was like a potent, intoxicating poison, utterly enchanting the workers and gunslingers below him, drawing them deeper into his spell. Just listening to his speech had already whipped everyone into a frenzy of excited devotion.

Especially when Mr. Dutch Van der Linde directly spoke about the tangible value they created and the nefarious thieves who stole their labor, their very essence, it made them even more utterly convinced, even crazier, their eyes shining with a dangerous light. The value Mr. Dutch Van der Linde obtained from their creation was, without question, what Mr. Dutch Van der Linde truly deserved! But it was utterly unacceptable, utterly enraging, that those damned American Senators and those damned capitalists obtained the value they created, hoarding it for themselves!

The fervent atmosphere on site almost literally blew the roof off the entire Hope Ranch. Everyone gathered together, screaming and roaring madly, their voices a primal crescendo. They were venting their past hardships, expressing their boiling anger at having their value stolen, and showing a profound, almost desperate love and gratitude for Mr. Van der Linde. Their voices spontaneously converged, a single, thunderous roar, and they all jumped desperately, their hands flailing, wanting Mr. Van der Linde to look at them, just once! The sheer cacophony of voices converged into a single, overwhelming wave of sound, and the echoes could even be heard faintly in the distant town of Valentine.

"Van der Linde!"

"Van der Linde!"

"VAN DER LINDE!"

"Let's ride!" Dutch bellowed, raising his left hand fiercely, a swift, commanding gesture. Amidst the workers' fervent, almost worshipful cheers, he took the lead, mounted his horse with a fluid motion, and rode out of Hope Ranch, a general leading his devoted army. And the five hundred gunslingers in their crisp, new uniforms were all practically vibrating with excitement.

Under Mr. Dutch Van der Linde's stirring, intoxicating speech and the feverish atmosphere it had created, they wished they could jump onto a Maxim gun themselves and follow Mr. Van der Linde to flatten all of Saint Denis, or anyone else who stood in his glorious path! Amidst the cheers of countless female workers and transport workers, their hearts swelled with an endless pride and a terrifying, unbridled excitement. Their faith, under this widely anticipated, almost messianic expectation, solidified into unyielding steel. This is how, Dutch knew, true steel was forged!

Carriages laden with grim-faced gunslingers rumbled out of Hope Ranch, each person radiating a quiet, deadly power. The Maxim guns and cannons on the carriages gleamed ominously in the morning sunlight, an ironic symbol, perhaps, of the dawn of peace Dutch promised. All rival gang members and desperate desperadoes would be completely eradicated under this hope, this new, brutal order. New Hanover would surely become the extinction ground for gangs, a clean slate for Dutch's vision!

"Oh, shit!" Arthur exclaimed, his voice hushed with awe, riding on his horse, looking at the mighty procession stretching out before him, and the throng of workers who lined the muddy road, cheering them on, even outside the factory gates. He felt his entire body trembling, a strange mix of exhilaration and cold dread, his hands and feet growing icy. This was a manifestation of pure, unbridled, excited palpitation, a physical reaction to the sheer, terrifying power he witnessed. This atmosphere, this collective fervor, was incredibly, frighteningly infectious. Even someone who didn't, truly didn't, believe in Dutch, would unconsciously begin to believe in him, swept away by this overwhelming tide of devotion.

"Hya!" Compared to Arthur's more nuanced, internal emotion, John was, as ever, much more direct. He fiercely kicked his horse's belly, urging it forward, galloping alongside the rumbling convoy, a grin splitting his face.

"Come on, Arthur!" John's voice, raspy but filled with glee, drifted back from afar.

Arthur finally couldn't hold back, a wild grin of his own breaking out. He spurred his horse forward, galloping to catch up. Only a crowd of excited, continuously cheering workers remained behind, along with the Van der Linde Gang's non-combat members, who were equally, uncontrollably excited, still screaming Dutch's name.

"Mr. Van der Linde is the best!" Jenny shrieked excitedly, throwing her arms around Karen, Mary-Beth, and Tilly, pulling them into a tight, joyful hug.

Abigail, Mary, and Miss O'Shea watched their retreating figures, a faint, almost imperceptible hint of worry clouding their faces. Pearson, the 'Tiger of Van der Linde,' had already launched into a boisterous retelling of his glorious achievements in the Van der Linde Gang, embellishing every detail for his captive audience. Only Hosea stood apart, his expression a tapestry of worry, his gaze sweeping over the fervent scene around him, then following Dutch and their receding figures until they were specks on the horizon.

"Oh, Dutch," Hosea murmured to himself, a heavy sigh escaping him, "is this really a good path? Partner. I… I feel like you're getting crazier and crazier!"

Before his worried thought could fully form, a hoarse female voice, sharp and determined, suddenly cut through the air from his side.

"Dutch, I'm going too!"

Sadie, her face set with grim resolve, spurred her fast horse from the factory, charging after the convoy, a one-woman army of vengeance. She wanted revenge, and Dutch and his group were heading out to eradicate gangs. Clearly, the O'Driscoll Gang, her personal devils, would be among them.

"Sadie!" Hosea called out worriedly, his voice filled with concern, but it had no effect. She was already gone, a blur of righteous fury.