"Ohoho," Dutch seethed, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "See, Arthur? What did I tell you? With an environment this chaotic, how can we possibly conduct business? Fuck! Once our gang is truly established, I will implement a new law: every single gang out here will pay me protection fees every month!"
Dutch was incandescent with rage. This time, his fury was raw, unbridled. These pathetic gunmen couldn't harm him or his men, no, but their bullets could scar his newly constructed houses! Dutch would not tolerate workers arriving to find bullet holes marring his walls. It would shatter their burgeoning sense of safety, utterly undermine his efforts.
"Shit! Dutch, these are our newly built houses!" Davey roared, his face contorted. "Otherwise, I'll take some men and personally wipe out every damn gang in the vicinity! These scumbags only want to reap what they haven't sown; they only destroy!" Davey, never a man of noble character—Charles had often branded him and Mac as scum—was nevertheless fiercely loyal. Like Bill, he rarely thought beyond the immediate, making his devotion absolute. But this simplicity also made him volatile, easily enraged. Now, seeing Dutch's magnificent plan defiled by these petty ruffians, they were all consumed by a cold fury.
Dutch's face was a mask of terrifying gloom. "Alright, boys, leave one alive. I want to know what gang they belong to. Damn it, trying to rob us?Who do they they are!"
"Alright, Dutch!" Arthur nodded, his own eyes blazing, and the gang surged forward, a disciplined wave of lethal force, guns already drawn.
"Bang bang bang bang bang…" Piercing gunshots tore through the tranquil ranch, punctuated by sharp, dying screams. Every member of the Van der Linde Gang was a seasoned killer. Even Sean, when performing tobacco missions, exhibited surprisingly accurate marksmanship. Arthur, however, was a monstrous force of nature; from brutal gunfights to savage close combat, there was no aspect of violence he didn't master.
The dozen-plus distant robbers, caught completely unaware, hadn't even dismounted their horses. Their weapons remained holstered, unraised. Yet, in the hands of these relentless monsters, they existed for a mere breath. From the first crack of gunfire to its abrupt cessation, less than five seconds elapsed. Eighteen lives brutally vanished from the world. Only one man remained, his pistol shot from his hand by Arthur, now utterly paralyzed by terror, his pants soaked.
"Ahhh! Monsters! You are monsters!!!" A wretched, primal scream tore from the man's throat. Before he could utter another sound, Mac, a hulking shadow of fury, dragged him from his horse and slammed two brutal punches into his face until blood spat and the man collapsed, whimpering into silence.
"No, no, don't hit me anymore! I was wrong! Please, spare me!" The man was beyond terrified, half-lying on the ground, pinned by Mac, desperately trying to scramble backward. This was unacceptable.
He simply could not process the horrifying spectacle he had just witnessed. Eighteen accomplices, fully six of them, had fallen the instant the first gunshots rang out! He swore he'd only heard one shot, yet six of his men were dead! As his own hand fumbled for his gun holster, only five of the remaining twelve accomplices were left standing. Then, just as his fingers closed around his weapon, his gun was expertly shot from his hand! Damn it, what kind of devils live on this ranch? Tears streamed from the man's eyes, pure, abject terror, as he watched, utterly despairing, as he was surrounded by a phalanx of hardened, muscular men.
"Sean, Bill, go and bring their horses back; these are valuable assets!" Dutch arrived, his stride unhurried, instructing the two men beside him. Then he stepped forward, coming to Mac's side. "Mac, let this gentleman enlighten us about his gang. I trust you'll elicit the truth."
Mac grinned, a chilling, predatory gleam in his eye. "Don't worry, Dutch, you know my methods." With that, he seized the man's hair, slamming a fist directly into his face. "You heard him, mister, speak up! What's your gang?" Mac's smile was menacing, his hand gripping the man's scalp as if he intended to tear it loose.
"Ow, ow, ow, I'll talk, I'll talk! We're the Buffalo Gang! We're the Buffalo Gang!" the man wailed, shielding his face, trying to block Mac's devastating blows. Mac could fight fifteen men at once; he was a force of nature, a living buffalo. Taking a punch from him was agony.
"Buffalo Gang? What kind of trash is that?" Mac scoffed, then pressed again. "Where's your gang's address? How many people are left?" He punctuated his questions with another punch to the man's face.
"Ow, ow, I'll talk, I'll talk! Our gang has no address, and no one left; I'm the last one! There were nineteen of us in total!" the man cried out, broken. They were merely a petty gang, usually too cowardly to commit crimes in protected towns like Valentine. They confined their bullying to lone travelers in the wilderness. Today, they had stumbled upon a seemingly newly built ranch, saw few people, and thought to try their luck. The result? In less than five seconds, every one of them was dead.
"A gang of nineteen men dares to rob a ranch?" Dutch mused, a contemptuous sneer on his face. "You truly have some audacity. Alright, Mac, you can dispose of him as you see fit; I'm done with him. Arthur, Hosea, come with me to Valentine. It's time we met with Mr. Trelawny. I trust he has good news for me."
Dutch then turned to the other men. "Oh, and Davey, Mac, Bill, Charles, go and release that young man, Kieran. I believe this long ordeal should have broken his spirit. Go with him and exterminate every single member of the O'Driscoll Gang! I will not have them raiding my supply wagons in the future!"
"Alright, Dutch!" Mac and Davey nodded, a grim satisfaction settling on their faces.
"Alright, Dutch!" Arthur echoed, holstering his double-action revolver, then turning back towards the stables to retrieve his horse.
Mac, without a moment's hesitation, brutally strangled the man to death with his bare hands, then joined Bill, Sean, and Charles in disposing of the bodies.
Dutch, Arthur, and Hosea rode their horses towards Valentine. This incident, brutal as it was, served as a stark reminder to Dutch: his factory desperately needed a formidable defensive force, especially given its remote location. Otherwise, these larger, more organized gangs would undoubtedly continue to cause trouble.