Chapter 72: New Outfit
By the time he returned to camp the sun was already sinking, a blaze of sunset flooding the horizon.
Johnny strode into the tent in high spirits; after a short rest he resolved to use the last of the daylight to push his Dead Eye perk another step forward.
Ever since the skill had reached rank two, one thing after another had kept him busy and he'd had little chance to invest in further upgrades.
Even though the ODriscoll Gang was running wild around Valentine, the whole countryside crawled with lawmen, leaving almost no safe opening to act.
Worse, he knew the Deputy Sheriff was on the take with the ODriscolls—money changed hands in the shadows.
If he started a fight now, it would invite trouble and could wreck the good position the Gang presently enjoyed.
Thinking this, Johnny gave a helpless shake of his head and focused on the translucent panel floating before him.
On it, the requirements for the next Dead Eye rank were spelled out clearly:
First, kill three or more enemies in a single Dead Eye sequence twenty times—current tally 2/20;
Second, seek advice from a renowned Gunslinger three times—progress still 0/3.
Looking the list over, Johnny exhaled.
'Getting Dead Eye to the next rank is going to be a long road,' he muttered.
Small wonder: Dead Eye was a red-tier perk with a sky-high ceiling.
Every rank-up brought a staggering leap in capability.
At rank two his reflexes were already twice as fast, letting him shoot quicker and truer.
So he went looking for Hosea.
Hosea had been idly reading a novel; hearing Johnny's request, he happily agreed.
The two of them set up a little 'Elder Mango Classroom' down by the creek.
Hosea demonstrated the rolling-block rifle: when to fire, at what range, how to breathe, how to squeeze the trigger.
They hunted until full night, then rode back to camp each with a white-tail deer across the saddle—every skull drilled by a single tiny hole.
The next day
Susan woke Johnny while dawn was still only a promise.
She told him reporters would swarm him later and he had better look presentable, then hustled him off to wash.
A shave and a dab of pomade, she insisted.
Under Susan's supervision Johnny shuffled to the washstand.
Arthur, just finishing up, scowled. 'Ms. Grimshaw, you play favourites! You wake him with a lullaby and me you shake like a rag doll—hardly fair!'
Susan ignored the grumbling; once she'd finished shaving Johnny she fetched clothes from the line.
'The girls laundered these—put them on.'
'Try this Cowboy hat. That old cattleman's wreck you wear won't do for your station. I bought one close in style; I think you'll like it.'
She even started dressing him; Johnny, flustered, protested he could manage.
Dutch and Molly strolled over. Dutch beamed.
'Johnny, I twisted Miss OShea's arm—she's giving you a haircut. Make it count.'
The whole Gang was taken aback.
Miss OShea was even more of a recluse than Trelawny; she cared for nothing but her romance with Dutch.
In minutes she had him in a slick left-side parting, pomade gleaming; the new Cowboy hat tipped the transformation from boy-next-door to bona-fide Western Cowboy.
A poncho would complete the picture—shame Valentine was too blistering hot for another layer.
When he was dressed Johnny returned to his tent, took the bolt-action rifle and the carbine repeating rifle from the chest.
With the carcano rifle and the repeating shotgun already on his horse, the weapon roll was stuffed full.
Poor my dog would have to bear the weight for now; tonight he'd strip the kit so the horse could rest.
'Mr. Van der Linde, big day—let me groom your horse for you,' Kieran called, bucket and brush in hand.
Johnny read the offer for the olive branch it was and thanked him warmly, reminding him not to miss Pearson's breakfast.
As Pearson's cooking scent drifted across camp the others stirred to life.
Mary-Beth, heading to wash, spotted Johnny in full regalia chatting with Pearson.
'Look, everyone—Johnny's turned dandy! And up before noon—miracles do happen.'
The women clustered, giggling; even Arthur and Sean, champions of lip, joined the chorus.
'I used to claim the title of peacock,' Arthur crowed, 'but I never strutted half so bright!'
Johnny, battered veteran of a hundred Arthur-roasts, fled to Ms. Grimshaw for rescue.
After breakfast nearly everyone donned their finest as if for a grand ball.
Uncle told Dutch he'd rather stay behind and guard the outfit's valuables.
Strauss also begged off, saying he needed to balance the ledgers.
The others thanked the two and rode out together.