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That night, as Caleb settled on his bedroll, he felt the weight of the day settle into his bones, the long ride, the bitter encounter with the poachers, the adrenaline of the fight. But as his eyes drifted across the camp, pausing where Mary-Beth knelt beside the cooking pot, laughter on her lips, a warmth flickered in his chest that even Bill's drunken fury couldn't smother.
As he pulled over his thoughts, Caleb saw Arthur return to camp, his silhouette framed against the dim glow of the campfires. The crickets chirred in the night, the murmur of the gang's chatter weaving into the sounds of the wilderness. Arthur moved with the weariness of a man who had seen too much in a day, his boots stirring up little puffs of dust as he approached.
On the way to his bed, which was to the side of Caleb's bedroll, Arthur was stopped by Dutch near the main campfire. Dutch's voice was low but firm, his hands gesturing with an unmistakable authority.
Caleb couldn't hear the words, but he didn't need to. He saw Arthur's brow furrow, his face shift from confusion to something sharper, seriousness.
Dutch's gaze flicked toward Caleb's direction briefly, then toward Bill, who was snoring like a bear beside the whiskey bottles he'd drained dry. Caleb tensed slightly but forced himself to remain casual, watching the exchange without staring too hard.
Dutch finally clapped Arthur on the shoulder, murmured something, and walked off toward his tent, leaving Arthur to continue toward his bedroll. Caleb waited until Arthur sat down, exhaling as he took off his hat.
"You're back, Arthur," Caleb greeted, his voice soft but carrying in the quiet night. "What'd you gain from the poachers' camp?"
Arthur looked down, his tired face breaking into a faint smirk. "Not much, kid. A couple of dollars and some change. Got myself a bottle o' bourbon, though, so I'd call it a half win. Oh, and a letter."
Caleb chuckled, nodding. "Better than nothing."
Before he could say more, Arthur leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Dutch just now… told me you and Bill came to blows."
Caleb sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Bill was drunk, and started flapping his gums. Told him to sleep it off, but he wouldn't let it go. One word led to another… well, you probably know the rest from Dutch about what went on."
Arthur nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah. Bill's a fool, a drunken fool, but he's got his uses. He's insecure, Caleb. Wants to prove himself all the time. The best thing you can do with men like him is let most of it slide. But if he pushes again… hell, teach him another lesson like today. Don't take none of his nonsense."
Caleb smiled faintly, warmth creeping into his chest despite the exhaustion. "Thanks, Arthur. Appreciate the words."
"Get some sleep," Arthur murmured, settling back onto his bed. Caleb did the same, listening to the quiet hum of the camp until it lulled him into darkness.
The next morning came on fast, roused by the bustle of camp life, the clang of pots, the crackle of the fire, the low rumble of conversation. Caleb rose, shaking off the stiffness in his limbs.
He rolled his shoulders, stretched out his arms, and went through his morning exercise with practiced precision. Push ups, sit ups, calisthenics, and stretches to keep his body limber.
Finally, he jogged around the wooded perimeter of camp, feet thudding softly on the earth as the sun crept over the horizon, casting long, golden fingers across the trees.
When he returned, a light sheen of sweat on his brow, Caleb caught sight of John Marston leaning casually against a tree, a large piece of paper unfolded in his hands. Arthur stood nearby, crossing over to John as the two began talking in hushed tones. Caleb paused mid step, his sharp perception picking up just enough.
He knew this scene.
Uncle had gotten word to John, who picked it up from Mary-Beth while they were all in Valentine during their first visit there, the news of the train carrying rich people that would pass through Scarlett Meadows in the night.
It was a fat score for the gang since it passed through quiet plains, but it will also become the one that alerted Leviticus Cornwall of their presence around Valentine or in New Hanover at large, so Caleb knew it was going to be a dangerous game. But he also knew this was the moment, the prelude to the gang's plan to rob that same train.
And Caleb wanted to change some of the outcomes and how they do it. He approached casually, not wanting to intrude but determined to make his intentions known.
"Morning, John. Arthur."
The two men glanced his way. John grinned faintly, tipping his head in greeting. "Morning, Caleb. You're up early."
"Not early, just disciplined," Caleb quipped lightly, eyes flicking to the map in John's hands. "Looks like the two of you got something cooking."
Arthur gave John a look, then shrugged. "Not we, but Jonn here wanted to rob a train that passed through Scarlett Meadows. I ain't even sure of doing it, since stopping a train is a pain in the ass."
Caleb nodded his head as he crossed his arms loosely. "Stopping anything is a pain in the ass, Arthur. Also, if the two of you agree, I would like to help with this plan since you would need more than two men to rob a train. I got a good head and a good shot myself."
Arthur and John looked at each other, their eyes silently weighing Caleb's words, and after a heartbeat, they both gave small, almost imperceptible nods, a mirror of motion that spoke of hard earned understanding between two outlaws.
"Of course, Caleb, you can join in," John said with a grin, folding the map and tucking it under his arm. "Much better having you along than, say, Bill or Sean, no offense to either of 'em. Hell, we might actually pull it off clean." He shot Arthur a sly glance. "Now maybe you can help me convince this bull of a man to stop dragging his boots and get with the program."
Arthur groaned, a deep, grumbling sound from his chest, and rubbed his forehead like a man fending off a hangover. "Like I said, John, stoppin' a train's a pain in the ass. If we don't time it right, the law'll be on us faster than a dog on a steak bone. And we ain't in a position to stir up a hornet's nest, not now."
Caleb, feigning ignorance even though his mind flashed back to the countless hours he'd spent playing out this exact mission, furrowed his brow and nodded in agreement. "Arthur's right. If that train's passin' through quiet country like Scarlett Meadows and we don't manage to atop it, we'll be bringing the law right down on us. We need to lie low, not light a bonfire that says, 'Hey boys, we're right here!'"
John, to his credit, listened carefully, his mouth pulling into a tight line before the edges lifted in a wry grin. "But what if," he began, eyes glinting, "we could force the train to stop?"
Arthur gave a sharp bark of laughter, shaking his head. "Well, of course," he drawled sarcastically. "Why didn't I think of that?"
Ignoring Arthur's ribbing, John pressed on. "We get ourselves a wagon, full of something flammable, oil, kerosene, I don't care what. Put it right on the tracks. The driver sees it, he either stops or dies. There ain't a trainman in the world who wants to be cooked alive."
Arthur's brows lifted, surprise flickering over his rugged features. He gave a slow, appreciative nod, rubbing his chin. "Well, I'll be damned. That's actually… kinda brilliant. I agree with Caleb here, John, you're a damn genius."
John puffed up slightly, a smug grin spreading across his face. "Thank you, Caleb."
Arthur chuckled and gave John a playful punch on the chest. "That's a real idea! I think it's the first time you never had one of 'em."
John shoved him back. "Shut up."
Caleb watched their banter with amusement, as Arthur leaned in mockingly to trade John. "You might be the first bastard ever to have half his brain eaten by a wolf and end up more intelligent."
John rolled his eyes, spreading his arms. "So, we doin' this or what?"
Arthur gave a final grunt of concession and nodded. "Yeah, we're gonna need some ammunition, plenty o' guns, look real frightening, and some dynamite to open up the train."
John slapped his hands together. "Alright then! I'll get the supplies, I gotta head into town anyhow for Abigail. Don't even ask." He shot Caleb and Arthur a half amused, half exasperated look. "You two, go find us an oil wagon."
Arthur smirked, tilting his head. "Yeah, I know just the place. They're always headin' into that refinery."
Before leaving, John turned to look at Arthur and Caleb. "Leave it at the abandoned shack on the border, just north of a place called Dewberry Creek. Got it?"
Arthur waved him off. "Yeah, yeah, we got it. Go on, play house with Abigail."
John snorted and strode off, the map tucked under his arm, whistling to himself as he disappeared between the trees.
Caleb let out a quiet laugh, watching the interplay, feeling the warmth of camaraderie fill his chest. This was why he'd always been drawn to the Van der Linde gang, their messy, flawed, infuriating humanity. He turned to Arthur.
"So, the refinery?"
Arthur tipped his hat back and gave Caleb a grin. "Yup. You ready for a little bit o' mischief, partner?"
"Always," Caleb replied, his eyes gleaming.
The ride to the Heartland Oil Fields was long but uneventful, the sun rising higher and beating down on their backs as they crossed rolling hills and open plains. Arthur led the way, his figure steady in the saddle, while Caleb kept pace, eyes sharp for any sign of trouble.
As they approached the refinery, the rhythmic clang of hammers and hiss of steam filled the air. Wagons rumbled to and fro, laden with barrels of oil, and workers moved like ants across the dusty yard. Arthur pulled his horse into a grove of trees just beyond sight, motioning for Caleb to do the same.
"Alright," Arthur murmured, eyes scanning the operation. "We need one o' those wagons. Best not stir up too much noise if we can help it. You any good at sneakin' around, Caleb?"
Caleb grinned faintly, rolling his shoulders. "I've been known to be quiet when I need to."
"Good." Arthur's eyes sparkled with a touch of mischief. "We ain't lookin' for a shootout if we can help it. Let's keep this clean."
They slipped from their horses, crouching low as they moved toward the edge of the refinery. Caleb felt the familiar thrill of adrenaline in his veins, the edge between risk and reward, the sharp hum of purpose.
Together, they darted between stacks of barrels and crates, weaving through the shadows. Caleb's heightened perception and combined with his eagle eye, allowed him to track the movements of the workers with uncanny precision, noting the gaps in their patrols, the moments when eyes were turned away.
Arthur gave him a brief nod of appreciation as they reached the wagon.
"Alright, you get up there, I'll keep watch," Arthur murmured.
Caleb climbed swiftly onto the driver's bench, taking up the reins as Arthur slipped into the shadows. With a quiet flick, Caleb urged the horses forward, heart thudding as the wagon rolled out onto the main path.
A shout rang out behind them, a worker had spotted the movement, but Arthur emerged from the side, waving his hat and whooping like a madman.
"Woo! Go, Caleb, go!" The horses surged forward, hooves pounding, wheels rattling over the dirt road as Caleb drove them hard, Arthur leaping onto his own horse and falling in beside the wagon. Bullets cracked through the air behind them, but Caleb kept his head down, focusing on the road, the thunder of hooves filling his ears.
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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 2)
- Poker (Lvl 1)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl 1)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl 1)
- Dead Eye (Lvl 1)
- Bow (Lvl 2)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl 1)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl 0)
- Crafting (Lv1)
- Persuasion (Lvl 2)
Money: 731 dollars and 61 cents
Bank: 40 dollars, 2 gold bars, a large bag of jewelry, and 3 gold nuggets