With the gold bar in hand, Davey finally felt at ease.
The other two bars were much farther away, and reaching them by horseback would take too long. For now, it made more sense to head to Valentine, get some rest, and exchange the gold on the black market for cash.
As he rode, he couldn't help but admire the beauty of the western landscape. Along the dusty road, he passed several wagons and cowboys on horseback.
The more refined carriages even had armed escorts riding alongside.
The West had yet to fully merge with Eastern civilization—murders, robberies, and arson were still on the rise everywhere.
With his unshaven beard and imposing build, Davey looked anything but approachable.
Some of the wagon guards instinctively placed a hand on their holsters when they spotted him, wary of a possible ambush.
Out here, a skilled gunslinger could easily take down several cowboys without needing heavy weapons.
There was no "Dead Eye" like in the game—
that ability was only a mechanic designed to let players experience what it felt like to be a top-tier gunman.
By the time dusk fell, Davey finally arrived at the town of Valentine.
The cowboys who had been riding the same road as him visibly relaxed; though they outnumbered him, they could feel the pressure he exuded—the quiet dominance of a seasoned gunslinger over lesser men.
In the game, a player could circle Valentine in just a few minutes.
But in reality, the town was home to thousands of residents, packed with wooden houses and bustling streets.
The only downside was the overpowering stench from the surrounding livestock yards.
Davey found a decent-looking inn and decided to get some rest.
A bath was long overdue as well.
"Take care of my horse."
"Yes, sir."
At a regular inn, one night's stay cost about $1, with a bath running another 25 cents.
But the one Davey chose was Valentine's most luxurious establishment.
Here, a night's lodging cost $3, and a bath 50 cents.
It wasn't a place ordinary folks could afford.
A three-dollar room was nearly two days' wages for a laborer, and that didn't even include the bath.
The room itself was quite elegant—clean and well-maintained. What pleased Davey most, though, was that it had a private flush toilet.
After all, what kind of civilized town didn't have one?
Before long, an attendant knocked on the door to inform him that his bathwater was ready.
Bathing took place in a separate room—
a necessity in the West, where proper water systems hadn't yet been built, making water an expensive commodity. Most people went several days without bathing.
"Sir, would you like some help? Only 50 cents."
Davey had just undressed and stepped into the tub when he heard a knock, followed by a woman's voice from outside.
In the game, the scrub service also cost 50 cents—a fair price.
But in reality, that was only the starting fee. There were "extra services" available, though they came with additional charges.
Not something you saw in the game—but this wasn't a game anymore...
"Come in, ma'am," Davey said calmly, though there was a trace of curiosity in his tone.
When the door opened, his interest vanished instantly. He didn't even bother saying much afterward.
Still, he didn't send her away. After days on the road, he was filthy enough to need a proper scrubbing.
Ignoring the woman's subtle hints and advances, Davey let her wash him down thoroughly. When she was done, he asked the attendant to bring another bucket of hot water so he could rinse off again, and he casually handed her a 10-cent tip.
Tipping, at the time, was something only the wealthy did.
The custom had been imported from Europe—
wealthy Americans who traveled abroad brought it back as a way to show off their refinement and social standing.
Just a few years ago, there had even been a short-lived anti-tipping movement in the East, which, of course, ended in failure.
After helping Davey rinse off again, the woman was pleasantly surprised when he gave her a full dollar in tips.
Her "extra service" typically cost only 50 cents—25 cents if you bargained, sometimes even rolled into the standard fee.
It all depended on how generous the client was.
She and others like her worked across multiple inns, though cheaper establishments paid less for their services.
Before leaving, Davey casually asked about the black market's location. Once he got the information, he decided to take care of business before turning in for the night.
The black market was hidden away in a small shack down a narrow alley—
a place no one would find without directions.
Davey covered the lower half of his face with a scarf before entering.
Not out of fear—just to avoid unnecessary attention.
"Oh, a fine gold bar," the black market dealer said, eyes gleaming. "How much would you like to exchange for it, sir?"
Davey said nothing. He simply revealed the Colt resting at his hip.
"My apologies, sir—please forgive my rudeness," the dealer stammered quickly. "At the current rate, that bar is worth five hundred dollars. Will that do?"
"That'll do," Davey replied evenly. "No hundreds or fifties. Exchange it all into twenties and tens."
In the West, outside prosperous towns like Saint Denis and Blackwater, large bills were hard to spend and drew too much attention.
Smaller denominations were safer—and smarter.
...
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