Jack

Mr. Cornwall, in his vast ignorance and arrogance, could not have possibly predicted that a meticulously planned conspiracy, aimed directly at the heart of Dutch Van der Linde's burgeoning power, would vanish so quickly, dissolving like smoke in the wind.

It even ended up funding Mr. Van der Linde in reverse, enriching the very man it sought to destroy, a bitter, ironic twist of fate.

Of course, this astonishing turn of events still required Captain Monroe's crucial, if unwilling, help. He was merely a pawn in Dutch's grand game.

Under the oppressive shroud of the dark moon and the ceaseless roar of strong winds, the Wallace Fort military camp mutiny, a rebellion born of desperation, had finally ended. The last shots had faded, replaced by an uneasy quiet.

For these beleaguered soldiers, the fundamental, driving reason for their desperate mutiny was not malice, but simply to keep their jobs, to secure their livelihoods, and, most importantly, to ensure their happy, peaceful lives after retirement, a dream denied by the old system.

So, with the nefarious mastermind, Colonel Favors, dead, his body likely cooling somewhere in the mud, they no longer had any reason to mutiny, no cause to fight. A group of them excitedly gathered, their faces grimy but alight with relief, and found the fine, aged wine Colonel Favors had meticulously hidden in his personal quarters. Each man took a small, reverent sip, savoring its taste, and enjoyed it thoroughly, a moment of unexpected luxury in their bleak lives.

It wasn't until they had finished drinking, their thirst for wine momentarily quenched, that this group of disoriented but relieved people remembered, with a collective jolt, what they truly should do now. Their future hung in the balance.

In order to continue working for the enigmatic Mr. Van der Linde, and, more importantly, to guarantee their promised, perfect future, a hopeful, desperate future, a group of them excitedly surrounded Captain Monroe, pressing in close, and discussed their strategy for a full, tense hour, their voices low and earnest.

Captain Monroe, a man of quiet integrity, had always maintained a surprisingly good relationship with those local Indians, even actively helping them, which had always deeply displeased the bigoted Colonel Favors, leading to constant friction.

If it weren't for Mr. Van der Linde appearing out of nowhere, a force of nature, Captain Monroe would likely have faced execution for treason, a tragic end for his compassionate actions.

But now it was different; those very Indians, whom Monroe had championed, had allied themselves with Mr. Van der Linde, becoming part of his growing network. And the good relationship between the two parties, Monroe and the Indians, undoubtedly became the crucial channel, the only lifeline, for these desperate soldiers to plead their case.

Therefore, they decided, with a unanimous vote, to have Captain Monroe, on behalf of all the soldiers of Wallace Fort, ride to the distant Valentine to find the Indians working there. Then, through the Indians' direct connections and influence, Monroe would speak well of them, plead their case to Mr. Van der Linde, so he would pardon their mutinous actions and mercifully allow them to work for him, to join his new, benevolent order.

As night deepened, casting long, shifting shadows across the land, a swift horse, ridden by the determined Captain Monroe, galloped out of Wallace Fort, its hooves pounding a rhythmic beat on the muddy road, heading towards the distant, promising lights of Valentine.

This journey might take several arduous days, but hope was a powerful motivator.

However, Mr. Van der Linde, in his growing empire, was not short on time. He could wait.

Time slowly passed, marked by the rising and setting of the sun, by the gentle rhythm of life on the ranch…

"Cheep, cheep, cheep…"

The noisy, insistent chirping of chicks carried a frantic, almost panicked hint, a symphony of tiny bird calls.

Little Jack, who had woken up earlier than usual, his eyes bright with childish glee, ran after a bustling group of fluffy yellow chicks on the ground, his arms outstretched, overjoyed by the chase.

Last night, he had slept with Aunt Susan, her comforting presence a soft warmth. For some reason, his mother, Anna, who always slept with him, holding him tight, had not held him last night and had not yet woken up, her room still quiet.

When he had knocked on his mother's door just moments ago, he could only hear strange 'pia! pia!' sounds from inside, muffled and indistinct, but he didn't understand what they meant.

But Jack didn't care about that; his innocent mind was fully focused on play. He still preferred chasing and playing with the adorable chicks Uncle Pearson had recently brought back to the ranch.

After all, he wanted to be a sharpshooter, a legendary gunfighter like his father, so he had to practice his grappling skills with the agile chicks now, honing his future prowess!

"Don't run, you little rascals! I just want to touch you!" Little Jack yelled, his voice high and clear, giggling with pure delight as he chased after a dizzying group of chicks, darting around Hope Ranch. He stepped in chicken droppings everywhere, squishing happily, having an absolute blast, utterly oblivious to the mess.

"Oh, Jack! Darling, why are you up so early today, running wild?" A passing female worker auntie, Lucy, her face kind and tired, saw Little Jack's energetic, wild running and came over, her arms outstretched, to scoop him up into a warm hug.

"Aunt Lucy, is Anna awake yet?" Little Jack asked, unafraid, nestled comfortably in the female worker Lucy's embrace, already asking for his playmate.

The gang, the sprawling family of Hope Ranch, had changed a lot recently, evolving rapidly, and even young Jack, despite his inexperience and tender age, could subtly notice these profound shifts.

However, he genuinely liked the gang now, liked the changes, because there were so many more uncles and aunties here, new faces filling the camp, and the whole gang buzzed with a vibrant, infectious liveliness every single day.

Of course, the most important thing for his young heart was that there were now other children his age, peers to play with, which was what Little Jack liked the most, a true blessing.

Anna was one of them; she was also only four years old and loved to follow Little Jack everywhere, every single day, calling him 'Mr. Marston' with unwavering adoration.

Little Jack didn't know why she called him 'Mr. Marston.' He had told her countless times his name was simply Jack, but Anna still stubbornly insisted on calling him 'Mr. Marston.'

Little Jack was very troubled by this, genuinely perplexed by her insistence. Of course, he didn't know that his father, John, was the top-tier gunslinger in the Van der Linde Gang, their best shot. Nor did he know that his father was secretly the legitimate heir of the Van der Linde Gang, chosen by Dutch for succession. Or that his father was the new Chief Executive of New Hanover, the governor in all but name. Nor did he truly understand that his father was, even now, the next Senator of the Lemoyne Government, discreetly nominated by the new Saint Denis Government in Lemoyne: Mr. John Marston.

He only knew his father's name was John Marston, a simple, loving truth.

But he liked playing with Anna, after all, they were the same age, and that was all that mattered in their innocent world.

"Not yet, Jack, but Anna will be up in a bit, darling." Lucy, the female worker, said softly, patting his back. She meticulously wiped Jack's muddy shoes clean with a cloth, then gently placed him back on the ground, bending down to kiss him on the cheek. She then smiled warmly and waved goodbye to Jack, her hand fluttering, as she walked towards the bustling cafeteria where breakfast was already being prepared, its aromas filling the air.

"Okay!" Little Jack stood on the ground, his hands on his hips, no longer thinking about chasing chickens, because he had now, quite unconsciously, taken over his father's daily routine: he was the new Hello King of the West!

"Hi, Little Jack! You're up so early today!" a burly ranch hand called out, tipping his hat.

"Hi, Uncle Rosen!" Jack chirped back, waving enthusiastically.

"Jack, go play with Little Pauli later!" an older woman shouted, her voice kind.

"Okay, Aunt Fenton!" Jack promised, already thinking of their games.

"Oh, Jack, have you eaten yet, little one?" a passing worker asked, his face concerned.

"Aunt Susan has already fed me! Thank you, Uncle JD!" Jack replied politely, patting his belly.

Little Jack was very good, remarkably well-behaved for a child his age, already showing three parts of John's shadow, his father's charm and easygoing nature.

It was only then, as the morning sun climbed higher, that the door to the Van der Linde Gang's large wooden cabin was slowly pushed open, and Arthur, rubbing his eyes, walked out into the light.

"Click!" The sharp, metallic sound of a lighter flicking open, and Arthur brought the flame to his cigarette, inhaling deeply, the smoke curling around his face.

"Oh, Mr. Morgan!" The greeting came almost as soon as the cigarette was lit, a familiar refrain.

"Hey! Partner! Don't call me Mr. Morgan, our status is equal, partner!" Arthur called out, waving his hand, sternly adhering to Dutch's ideology of equality, a principle he now genuinely embraced. He puffed on his cigarette, a small smile playing on his lips.

Then, the two, one big and one small, a grizzled outlaw and an innocent boy, couldn't stop. It was their morning ritual.

"Hey, Jack!" Arthur called out, his voice gruff but affectionate, offering a small wave.

"Hello, Mr. Morgan!" Little Jack chirped back, a wide, innocent smile on his face, waving with enthusiasm, utterly endearing himself to Arthur.