[ T/N: Mass Update Progress Updated 2/20]
Chapter 16: wolf king satchel
Johnny scratched his head in embarrassment; he hadn't expected a straight arrow like Arthur to end up every bit as disheveled as himself.
The women of the Gang truly are terrifying.
Just then Pearson pushed the door open, a snow-white satchel in his hand, trimmed here and there with scraps of deer hide.
He chuckled as he walked in.
'Mr. Van der Linde, here's the pack you asked for. Oh, you know, I worked all night to finish it—just so I could help you sooner.'
'After all, you're the only one willing to listen to the tales of my glory days.'
Johnny stood there, his face a mix of resignation and speechlessness.
He muttered inwardly that, if he hadn't needed something, he never would've endured the 'Tiger of the Van der Lindes' droning on about the same trivialities over and over—like a wagon wheel spinning in place.
Still, he forced out a smile; the man had stayed up all night to finish the work.
Then Pearson handed the satchel over. Johnny snatched it eagerly.
A fine pack from the so-called Legend-Maker of the East—just thinking about it set his heart racing.
He began to examine it at once.
First he rubbed the surface, gently but impatiently, feeling the texture of the hide.
After a moment he had the whole structure figured out.
The exterior was stitched from tough wolf hide and the animal's soft under-fur.
Key spots were accented with deer hair, making the bag both handsome and practical.
He opened it and found the interior divided into compartments of every size. Larger ones could swallow a whole box of bullets;
smaller pockets were perfect for the chewing tobacco a Gunman favored. There was even a place for dollars and coins—thoughtfully designed.
Seeing Johnny's satisfaction, Pearson's grin widened, as if to say he was no mere stew-stirrer.
Johnny produced a pocket watch in thanks; he'd already paid, but Pearson had pulled an all-nighter for him.
'Uncle Johnny! Can I have your old satchel? Every other uncle here has one.'
Young Jack looked up at him, utterly sincere.
By the hearth Abigail disapproved of Jack's Cowboy dreams, but under John's sharp stare she said nothing.
'Of course, little Jack. Happy to help.' Johnny emptied his old bag into the new wolf king satchel, shook the dust from the bottom, and held it out to the boy.
Watching Jack dance with joy, everyone felt it was worth it; this was what set the Van der Linde Gang apart—they were a family.
Johnny slipped away, hiding his light under a bushel. Outside he told Arthur this trip wasn't only to bury his parents; he would kill nineteen wolves to repay nineteen years of their care.
Arthur agreed, but two men weren't enough, so they would ask their pal Charles.
Charles disliked killing for anything but survival, yet after hearing Arthur out he agreed to help.
His hand was injured; he could only track the quarry.
While they prepared, Johnny opened his system panel to check his bond progress.
[Jenny Kirk]
Bond Value: 86
All perks copied.
[Arthur Morgan]
Bond Value: 88
Three perks acquired; details available.
So everything except Dead Eye was his; once he officially joined the Gang it should be complete.
He had plenty of perks, but most were support; the only combat-ready one so far was Western Cowboy.
When the hands of the clock crept toward noon, Arthur finally returned.
Johnny stacked the surplus supplies beside the wagon, keeping only a few tins and a full kettle of hot water, then readied to leave.
The three moved in unspoken accord. Arthur and Johnny vaulted onto the driver's seat while Charles, injured, slipped into the bed to check every arrow for soundness.
Just then Johnny turned, voice firm: 'Arthur! Mr. Smith! We're missing one vital thing for hunting this many wolves—bait.'
'Let's swing by Adler Ranch. There are fourteen ODriscoll corpses I left there; my fish will love the feast.'
Arthur gaped; he'd thought Johnny had simply been too lazy to bury them.
Charles mused that this harmless-looking man was black-souled inside.
Both nodded. The usually taciturn Charles spoke up: 'Mr. Van der Linde, what do you think of hunters who kill for sport?'
Johnny knew Charles disapproved of needless slaughter. 'Mr. Smith, I understand. I need to kill these cunning wolves to settle a score with myself.
Second, I do need the meat and hides for my own survival—it's a kind of calling.'
'And Mr. Smith, eastern civilization is rolling in like a locomotive; even Blackwater Town is starting to industrialize.
Soon these animals will be driven from their homes the way the Native Americans were, left to scrape by in forgotten corners. Capital is like that; one man is too small to stop the march of civilization.'