"Alright, Arthur, you guessed right—I am here because of the moonshine business."
"Not long ago, my moonshine operation at Emerald Ranch was hit. The Laramie Gang did it. Laramie—you remember him, right?"
Davey spread his hands as he spoke.
Arthur nodded. "Of course I remember that bastard. They're a pack of criminals who'll do anything. But how'd they get the guts to go after you Callander brothers? Did they forget the lesson from back then?"
The Van der Linde Gang had clashed with the Laramie Gang before—honestly, they'd clashed with most gangs. And it was obvious the Laramies were in no position to provoke the Van der Lindes.
"Who knows what they were thinking. Maybe someone waved too many greenbacks at them."
"Arthur, the word I got is that one of the employers behind the Laramie Gang is the Braithwaite family here in Rhodes."
"He's making moonshine, I'm making moonshine—and mine tastes better and sells cheaper. So they panicked and tried some dirty tricks to sabotage my business."
"That's why I'm here—to return the favor."
Davey laid it all out; there was no reason to hide any of this from Arthur.
"Oh, well then, Davey, you really came at the right time. That moonshine still we busted? It belonged to the Braithwaite family."
"And we stole a whole wagon of their moonshine—but we didn't know who to sell it to."
"Hosea came up with an idea: haul the whole wagon straight to Braithwaite Manor and sell it to the old lady, Catherine."
"Ha! She nearly lost her mind. Told us to bring it to the saloon and give it away for free."
"But then the Lemoyne Raiders showed up at the saloon looking for trouble. Hosea almost got killed. He's definitely getting old."
"I suspect old Lady Catherine tipped them off, hoping they'd take us out."
Arthur took a sip of his drink as he told the story.
In 1861, the Civil War broke out in the United States. It dragged on for four years and ended with the Confederacy's defeat.
Even though the South's loss had been inevitable— and even though thirty years had passed—many former Confederate soldiers, and many Southerners, still refused to accept the result.
They clung to the belief that the war's outcome could still be overturned, that the rights they once held could be restored.
Especially the former slave owners who had lost their power over black people. So groups of ex-Confederates began gathering again.
Led by a former Confederate soldier named Lindsay Wofford, he rallied scattered veterans, disenfranchised white men, and young reactionaries.
Together they formed an armed group made almost entirely of ex-Confederates. Since they first operated in the state of Lemoyne, they came to be known as the Lemoyne Raiders.
"Oh, old lady Catherine… fuck, I hate that name, Arthur."
"It's the same name as a very, very good friend of mine—young, beautiful, sharp as they come."
"It just disgusts me. Makes me want to pull my gun on her right then and there. Or she could at least change her name."
Davey said, exasperated.
This was normal across the country. Names like Davey, Mac, John, or Arthur were shared by tens of thousands of people. Folks usually relied on surnames to tell who was who.
So when Davey needed a new identity, he didn't need to change his first name—just tweak his surname a bit.
Arthur was currently using the alias Arthur Callahan, also a surname change. The name Arthur was everywhere across the country—many parents named their children after King Arthur.
Among friends, people used first names; formally, they used surnames. Within the same family, only elders or the eldest son used the surname title.
Take Mac, for example. As the younger brother, he couldn't be called Mr. Callander—only Mr. Mac.
"Oh fuck, Davey—how come you know another beautiful lady? Why've I never heard about her? Tell me, Davey, is this Miss Catherine even prettier than Miss Stella?" Mac asked, sounding irritated.
He had to admit—he was jealous.
He thought Stella was Davey's interest. Turns out there was someone else.
"It was a wonderful encounter, Mac. And Miss Stella was actually introduced to me by Miss Catherine."
"Alright, enough of that—it's putting me in a foul mood. But you, Sadie… you really shocked me."
"The last image I had of you was back in that blizzard—shivering when Arthur rescued you."
"Looks like you've climbed out of your grief. That's worth a toast, isn't it?"
Davey laughed. He had no intention of talking about women with Mac; that was a good way to start pointless trouble—and pointless trouble between brothers was even worse.
"Davey, call me Sadie. Don't call me 'ma'am.' And you're right—that is worth a toast." Sadie raised her glass.