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Dutch's play with the Grays meant the gang would be entrenched in Rhodes for some time. But he couldn't just leave. Not without raising suspicion. He'd need a cover. Maybe he could use a scouting trip or even say he goes back to Valentine to check on the situation there. Something mundane enough to avoid questions but plausible enough to justify a few days' absence.
He'd talk to Hosea in the morning. The old conman had begun to show that he had a soft spot for him, kits like what he had for Arthur, and if anyone would help him slip away with good reason, it was Hosea.
For now, though, sleep.
Caleb lay back on his bedroll, folding his arms behind his head. The sounds of camp lulled him, Javier's guitar, the murmur of voices, and the occasional burst of laughter were what he heard as he slowly fell asleep.
The sun had barely begun to peek over the tops of the Clements Point gentle slopes when Caleb stirred awake. The first songs of the morning birds filtered through the trees, and camp was just starting to wake. A few distant voices, the clatter of Pearson's pots, and the hiss of boiling water drifted through the morning stillness.
Caleb rose from his bedroll, still stiff from yesterday's excitement. He stretched his arms up and began his usual morning routine, silent, steady movements that had become second nature to him since arriving in this world.
Ten minutes of dynamic stretching, then calisthenics, push ups, and sit ups in one clean flow. He'd found early on that discipline was one of the few constants he could carry over from his old life, something to anchor him in this strange world of bandits and bullets.
Once he was done, sweat glistening lightly on his brow, Caleb wiped down his face and walked toward the central part of camp.
Hosea was already up, seated at his usual spot by the round table, a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and a worn leather bound book in the other.
He looked every bit the old gentleman con man and thief he was. Calm, contemplative, and sharp as a knife dulled by nothing but age. When he heard Caleb's footsteps approach, Hosea glanced up over his book and gave a tired but warm smile.
"Well, good morning there, Caleb. Sleep alright?" he asked with genuine curiosity.
Caleb returned the smile and nodded. "Slept better than I have in days that's for sure," he replied as he pulled up one of the wooden chairs and sat beside him, surprising Hosea.
The older man blinked, slowly closing his book and setting it aside. He turned in his chair to face Caleb, his interest piqued. "Well now… this is new. What brings you to my side so early, son? Not that I mind, but you usually keep your mornings to yourself or with Mary-Beth."
Caleb chuckled at that, rubbing the back of his neck. "You're too perceptive, Hosea. But you're right, I do have something I wanted to talk to you about."
He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping low. Hosea, noticing the shift in tone and the subtle glance Caleb threw around the camp to make sure no one was close enough to overhear, also leaned in. His eyes narrowed in thought.
"This isn't about Dutch's 'no guns in Rhodes' idea, is it?" Hosea asked in a quiet voice. "Because if it is, I promise you, Arthur and I are doing our best to temper him. The plan's cautious, more than the one we planned before. We're keeping an eye on everything."
Caleb raised a hand gently to interrupt. "It's not about that. I mean, I do have my reservations but I trust you and Arthur to hold Dutch back if things get out of hand."
Hosea smiled faintly and patted Caleb on the shoulder. "That's kind of you to say. So then, what is it?"
Caleb took a breath, his eyes serious now. "I want to go back to Valentine."
Hosea's brows lifted, his head beginning to shake before Caleb leaned in again and whispered, "Wait, just hear me out first."
He paused for a second, letting the old man reset. Then he continued. "I think the heat there must've died down by now. The Pinkertons and Cornwall's men have been chasing shadows ever since we left. Plus, they don't even know I'm part of the gang. I kept a low profile. I didn't leave much of a trace, no wanted posters, no crimes tied directly to me. I could blend in again. Just another passerby."
Hosea didn't respond right away. He stared down into his coffee, turning Caleb's words over in his head. Then, without looking up, he spoke in the same quiet tone. "I understand the logic, but let's not pretend you didn't make yourself known to Cornwall. You did block his men twice. You got his attention, Caleb. And you know as well as I do, Cornwall isn't the kind of man to forget a face."
"I know," Caleb said, not defensive, but calm. "But that's why I have to be smart about it. Go in during daylight, stay low. I'll wear something different. Take my time. I left a few things behind, some gear and some money. Plus… I might be able to pick up rumors. What the Pinkertons are doing. Where Cornwall's attention is focused now. All that intel could help us."
Hosea let out a long breath, leaning back in his chair. "I don't like it," he admitted. "But I can't deny it might be worth the risk."
He took another sip of coffee, then set the tin cup down with a soft clink. "Alright, son. I'll let Dutch know it was my suggestion, that I sent you back to Valentine to see what we might learn. Just don't make me regret it."
Caleb smiled. "You won't. I'll keep my head down."
"When are you planning to leave?"
"Today," Caleb said. "The sooner I go, the cleaner the trail. Less chance of Dutch asking too many questions."
Hosea gave a small grunt as he rose from his seat. "Then make sure you get something warm in your stomach first. Pearson's stew may taste like river mud, but it'll keep you from keeling over halfway to town."
Caleb nodded and stood as well. "Thanks, Hosea. Really."
The older man gave a half wave over his shoulder as he wandered off to find Dutch, probably rehearsing the best way to phrase Caleb's absence as necessary and inconspicuous.
Caleb turned on his heel and made his way toward the stew cauldron. The scent of over boiled meat and onions wafted from Pearson's pot as Caleb grabbed a tin bowl and ladled a modest portion for himself. He'd just taken a seat on a log near the fire when a soft voice piped up behind him.
"Morning, Caleb."
He turned to find Mary-Beth approaching, her hair loosely tied and a faint smile tugging at her lips. She looked refreshed despite the early hour, and there was a certain light in her eyes that made his heart jump slightly.
"Morning," he greeted, offering her a spot beside him. "You sleep okay?"
She sat gracefully next to him and nodded. "Better than usual, must be due to our date at Rhodes yesterday."
Caleb smirked. "Yeah… me too."
They shared a soft moment of eye contact before Mary-Beth noticed how Caleb geared himself up like he was going to go out.
"You going somewhere today, Caleb?"
"Yeah," Caleb said after a moment. "Just for a few days. Gonna scout back toward Valentine. Hosea signed off on it. Gonna check on the heat, see if the Pinkertons or Cornwall's men are still sniffing around."
Mary-Beth frowned slightly. "Isn't that dangerous?"
"Yeah. A little," he admitted. "But I'm not going in blind. I'll be careful. Real careful."
She nodded slowly, her fingers curling around the edge of her skirt. "Well… just make sure you come back."
Caleb grinned. "Wasn't planning on dying in a cow town."
"Still." She looked at him, serious now. "Promise me you'll be careful. And come back in one piece. I—"
She stopped herself, blushing again, then smiled. "I'll be waiting."
"I promise," Caleb said, his voice low.
They shared one last look before Caleb finished his stew, stood up, and then headed toward Morgan. As he mounted up, he cast one last glance over his shoulder, Mary-Beth stood near the fire now, her arms folded, watching him with something soft and unreadable in her eyes.
Then he flicked his reins, nudging Morgan forward, and the sturdy gelding obeyed with a quiet snort. They trotted out of Clemens Point, weaving through the thick forest brush that acted as the gang's shield from prying eyes. Caleb kept his eyes scanning the undergrowth as they moved, a cautious habit born of months in this world, never letting his guard down.
Once they broke through the treeline and onto the dirt road, he gave Morgan a light squeeze with his heels, and the horse picked up speed. The road heading north through Scarlett Meadows was familiar now, every bend and tree etched into his memory. As he rode, he mentally reviewed his plan, running through what he'd say, what questions he'd ask, and how he'd act. Calm, neutral, disinterested. Just another passerby.
Ten minutes passed, and the landscape subtly changed. He reached the boundary between Scarlett Meadows and the Heartlands. The air was drier here, the grasslands wider and windier. Herds of deer moved in the distance, and the occasional fence line or windmill broke up the rolling terrain.
Then after another thirty five minutes' ride from the border, Valentine loomed ahead, the dusty town nestled in a low valley, smoke curling from chimneys, and the clatter of hooves echoing down its streets.
The town looked the same as ever, a little rough around the edges, but alive with motion. Caleb slowed Morgan as he passed the train station and then the auction yard, nodding politely at a few ranch hands who hardly looked twice at him.
He guided Morgan to the right, approaching the sheriff's office that stood squat and solid in the center of town, just off the main thoroughfare. Caleb dismounted smoothly, tying Morgan to the hitching post. The gelding whinnied softly, swishing his tail, seemingly at ease.
Caleb dusted off his coat and stepped up onto the wooden porch of the sheriff's office. The door creaked as he pushed it open.
Sheriff Malloy was sitting at his desk, a cup of coffee in one hand and a stack of papers in the other. The man looked up, his eyes narrowing for a split second before widening in recognition.
"Well, I'll be damned," Malloy said, rising from his chair. "Caleb Thorne. Didn't expect to see you back in town so soon."
Caleb stepped forward, shaking the sheriff's offered hand firmly. "Sheriff. Sorry to surprise you. I just came to check on the situation. See if it's safe."
Sheriff Malloy nodded, releasing his grip and motioning toward one of the wooden chairs near the desk. "Sit. Sit. You want some coffee?"
"No thanks," Caleb replied, taking the seat offered.
Sheriff Malloy eased back down with a grunt. "Things've calmed some in these past few days. After you left, Valentine was crawling with strangers and out of town agents. Folks in dark coats, real serious types. Called themselves Pinkertons. Others, I figure, were Cornwall's boys. They were asking questions about the Van der Linde gang."
...
Name: Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 7/10
- Agility: 6/10
- Perception: 8/10
- Stamina: 7/10
- Charm: 5/10
- Luck: 6/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl 2)
- Rifle (Lvl 2)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl 2)
- Past Life Memory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl 1)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl 1)
- Sneaking (Lvl 2)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl 3)
- Poker (Lvl 3)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl 1)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl 1)
- Dead Eye (Lvl 2)
- Bow (Lvl 2)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl 1)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl 0)
- Crafting (Lv1)
- Persuasion (Lvl 2)
- Mental Fortitude (Lvl MAX)
- Cooking (Lvl 2)
- Teaching (Lvl 1)
- Germanic Language Proficiency (Lvl MAX)
- Inventory System (Permanent - 5x5x5)
Money: 502 dollars and 96 cents
Inventory: 1111 dollars, 2 gold nuggets, 1 gold bar, 4 silver rings, and 1 Double Action Revolver
Bank: 320 dollars, 4 gold bars, a large bag of jewelry, and 3 gold nuggets