The wind and snow howled like banshees through the mountains, as if mourning the end of the Van der Linde Gang.
If Dutch died, the gang's downfall would no longer be a possibility—it'd be a certainty.
Hosea, worry etched into every line of his face, worked tirelessly to keep the group focused. He directed everyone to clean out an abandoned cabin, preparing a room for Dutch to rest and recover in.
Not long after, Arthur, Mac, David, and Micah returned from the white abyss. Even without Dutch's orders, they brought back the Valkyrie—just as foretold in the story.
"Mrs. Adler, you're safe now. I think… you can rest for a bit," Arthur said gently, lifting Sadie from behind his horse. A few of the women quickly rushed over to help her inside.
Only the so-called Legendary Rat—Micah—looked around, trying to slip inside and claim a warm corner for himself. But Susan stopped him cold, assigning him to share a cramped space with several others. Micah gritted his teeth, but under the cold stares of Arthur, Mac, and David, he had no choice but to slink away in silence.
The gang had been tight-knit before Micah ever showed up. Arthur, David, Bill—all of them were loyal. They didn't have ulterior motives. They only wanted to follow Dutch and Hosea's plan and build a future together.
If not for Micah, Dutch might've gone along with Hosea and Arthur's land scheme instead of robbing the steamboat in Blackwater. Everything changed when Micah slithered his way in.
Inside the cabin, most of the gang had gathered in Dutch's room, eyes full of worry. They checked on him often, watching for signs of life.
Arthur and Javier had been sent by Hosea to search for John.
Two days passed like a cold breath in the dark.
Then—
"Dutch is awake! He's awake! Oh my God! He's really awake!"
Miss Molly burst out of the cabin, slipping through the snow as she ran from house to house, shouting her joy with uncontained glee.
"What?! Dutch is awake? Oh hell—thank God!"
Arthur and the others came running from their quarters, half-dressed and full of hope. David and Mac even stumbled in their haste, slipping in the snow.
They didn't care.
Dutch had saved their lives in Blackwater. He'd stood his ground while the Pinkertons closed in. He could've fled—but he didn't. Their respect for him wasn't just loyalty. It was devotion.
Micah, of course, acted more excited than anyone. He leaned over Dutch's bed, dripping with fake sincerity.
"Oh Dutch, Dutch—my father! You're finally awake! I knew the Lord would—"
Thunk.
Dutch shoved him aside with a grunt. Micah stumbled back and shut his mouth, eyes flickering to Arthur, Mac, and David. He said nothing more.
Dutch blinked, dazed, as his gaze met Jenny and Abigail's tearful faces.
"Oh, Jenny… Abigail… Are we… in heaven? And who's that man lying beside me?"
From the other bed, a bruised and bloody John raised his head.
"Hey Dutch, it's me," he croaked. "I guess we're both still kicking."
This time, Dutch hadn't left anyone behind. He'd taken three bullets to bring them all back. Even John, who once had doubts, looked at him now with something close to reverence.
"Oh, Marston… why the hell are you in bed too?" Dutch asked with a weak smile.
Before John could answer, the door burst open. The gang poured in, breathless and bright-eyed.
"Dutch, you old bastard… You've pulled off another miracle," Hosea said, pulling up a chair beside the bed, voice cracking with emotion.
Dutch looked around at the familiar faces. Relief. Joy. Hope. All of it reflected back at him.
Damn, he thought. No wonder I transmigrated into this man. These folks… they'd follow him to the end of the world.
Then his eyes drifted—toward the back of the room.
There he was. The Legendary Rat. Micah Bell.
That bastard wasn't looking at him. He was scanning the room—probably trying to sniff out where the Blackwater money was stashed.
Not yet, Dutch thought. Let me heal first. Then I'll deal with you proper, you snake. And I'll peel that "legendary" skin right off you.
"Dutch… why didn't you run first?"
Mac stepped forward, eyes misting over. "We could've covered you!"
David nodded beside him. "You saved us. We'll never forget that."
Arthur exhaled quietly, a weight lifting from his chest. He even found time to crack a joke at John's expense.
Only Micah seemed to shift gears, his oily voice turning back toward the one thing he cared about.
"Dutch… my dearest, my father," he cooed. "I can't tell you how many times I prayed in these last two days. I was even thinking—if we could use the Blackwater money to buy medicine or—"
He was fishing. Trying to find out where Dutch had hidden the cash.
But no one paid him any mind. All eyes were on Dutch. His survival was all that mattered.
No one had died. They'd brought back the money. And now their leader was awake.
Outside, the wind still howled. But inside, the gloom had lifted. Laughter warmed the walls. Hope returned.
Miss O'Shea stayed beside Dutch, lovingly brushing his hair back, eyes filled with genuine affection. Jenny beamed as she flitted about the room, fussing over everything.
Dutch had taken an extra bullet to save her. That act alone sealed his place in her heart.
Lenny, nearby, watched Jenny with a wistful smile. The girl's light was hard to ignore.
The snowstorm passed, and the skies cleared—an omen, perhaps, of the gang's future.
---
Two Weeks Later
Dutch was nearly fully recovered—or, at least, that's what he claimed. According to him, the wounds were no longer an issue. He'd even spent a long, noisy night with Miss O'Shea, much to Arthur's dismay.
Arthur, who shared a wall with them, had ended up sleeping outside just to escape the ruckus. The man nearly froze.
One morning, with the snow finally tapering off, Arthur awoke to the sound of voices in the main room. Hosea and Dutch were already deep in conversation.
Dutch sat by the fire, hands outstretched toward the heat, a cigar between his fingers. His face was calm—almost serene.
Hosea, seated beside him, was less relaxed.
"Dutch… I don't think we can go any further east," he said. "The more we head that way, the more cities we find. Civilization. We can't live among those people, not the way we are."
Dutch took a long drag from his cigar, then exhaled slowly.
"Hmph… Hosea, don't you see it yet? The tide's already come in. One day, it'll cover every corner of this land. East, west—it don't matter. Civilization will find us."
"Then what? We run west? Hide for five, ten years? What about twenty?"
He turned to Hosea, voice gaining strength. "We're wanted men. That won't change. But if we're to survive—really survive—we have to learn to live with this America. The real America. One where money talks and the law walks beside it."
He leaned forward, eyes gleaming.
"We can't hide from civilization, Hosea. That dream about Tahiti? About mangoes and sunshine? That was just a fantasy. We'd end up hanging from a mango tree."
"No… We don't run anymore. We get ahead of it. We adapt. We lead."
Hosea didn't understand all of it. Hell, he didn't even know where Tahiti was. But even in his confusion, he believed Dutch.
Arthur did too.
So did Mac. And David.
They all believed the man who had dragged himself back from death to keep them alive.