Stephen, of course, was the one who made the first move.

  He looked at the two corpses at his feet, shaking his head with a touch of helplessness.

  He guessed he wasn't really cut out for assassinations.

  After taking out the lookout, he overheard snippets of conversation.

  He'd hoped to eavesdrop, maybe pick up some useful intel, but he'd accidentally made a noise.

  Now he had no choice but to act. Luckily, he thought quickly, impersonating the lookout, managing to lower the guards of the two men.

  When the two men fell, they made quite a racket, and a bandit near the campfire realized something was wrong.

  He started shouting his partner's name. When no one answered, he woke up the resting bandits.

  A bunch of people scrambled to their feet, grabbing their weapons.

  Sneaking around was no longer an option, so they would have to do this the hard way.

  He sheathed his long knife, drew the two Schofield Revolvers from his belt, and shot at a bandit attempting to check out the situation.

  The loud bang shattered the night, and as a blossom of blood appeared on the bandit's chest, the other bandits were completely shaken.

  The bandits didn't know how many people were attacking them, so they yelled curses and blindly fired into the woods.

  Stephen darted through the trees, his Schofield Revolvers spitting out deadly bullets. Almost every shot found its mark, sending another unlucky bastard down.

  That's when the O'Driscoll gang realized what was going on.

  Stephen fired a shot and moved in the forest, but because it was pitch black in the woods, no one could see him, so they shot at random.

  All of them were instinctively standing around the fire.

  The warm fire didn't make them safer, it just made them easier targets.

  They were in the light, Stephen was in the dark – a one-shot game!

  When they realized it, the bandits scattered to get away from the fire, but it was exactly what Stephen had hoped for.

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  Now that they were scattered, their fire was scattered, so it was easier to take them on.

  Stephen emptied his pistols, and two more went down.

  Sheathing his pistols, Stephen drew his Winchester rifle from his back and stood under a tree and took a deep breath.

  The bandits didn't realize they should save their ammunition, so gunshots rang out constantly.

  Bullets hammered the tree behind him, but luckily the tree was old, or he might have been shot straight through.

  It wouldn't last forever, guns back then didn't carry a lot of bullets.

  Before long, the gunfire behind him began to die down.

  Taking the opportunity, Stephen darted out.

  Two bandits were hiding behind a tree, back to back, shuddering with fear.

  "Damn it, who the hell is attacking us?!"

  One bandit sounded agitated. He tried to sound tough, struggling to keep himself composed.

  "I-I don't know. The cops? Another gang?"

  As soon as the words were out of his mouth, they heard a sound from the trees nearby.

  They whirled around and fired several shots in that direction.

  "Looking for someone?"

  A deep voice spoke behind them. Their hearts sank – they were in big trouble.

  They spun around, only to see a man pointing a gun at them. The dark barrel promised death.

  "Bye-bye." He gave them a smiling goodbye, then pulled the trigger.

  Bang!

  Stephen dropped the two with a single shot!

  The Winchester spit out a fan of buckshot, what do you expect.

  Once those two were down, the rest was easy.

  There were only about ten of them to begin with, and seven or eight were dead without them even seeing who was attacking them.

  It terrified them!

  The remaining bandits broke, hiding behind a big boulder.

  "Damn it, who is it?!"

  "We're the O'Driscoll gang. If we find out who you are, we'll kill you!"

  One of the bandits couldn't take the pressure. He stuck his head out and yelled the threat.

  "You better pray to God you never get..."

  Bang!

  A bullet slammed into the rock right in front of him, cutting him off.

  Sparks flew as bullet hit rock. He ducked back behind cover.

  Stephen fired a couple of more shots at their hiding place, but they all hit the rock.

  They were holed up well. It would be hard for Stephen to shoot them without taking a risk.

  Stephen shook his head, pocketed his pistol, and pulled a cylindrical object from his bag.

  Dynamite. The only stick left over from Beaver Hollow.

  Stephen didn't light it right away. Instead, he pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and took a puff.

  He moved the cigarette to the dynamite. The fuse sparked immediately.

  Stephen held onto the dynamite.

  Just before it was about to blow, he shot to his feet and hurled the dynamite over the boulder.

  The dynamite flew through the air. Seeing the dynamite, the bandits panicked.

  They spun around and tried to run, but it was too late.

  Stephen had been holding the dynamite for a while. It blew when it was over their heads.

  That military-grade dynamite sure was effective. After the explosion, the bandits lay strewn on the ground.

  Dynamite doesn't just kill you with the blast, it also kills you with the blast wave.

  When Stephen casually strolled over to survey the aftermath, two bloodied bandits were barely clinging to life.

  Stephen drew his long knife and asked one of the badly wounded bandits: "Where's Colm? Where are your other camps?"

  The man had been stunned by the explosion. He whispered, "I-I don't know. I..."

  Stephen cut his throat and sent him to meet his maker.

  This ruthless act broke the last bandit. When he saw Stephen turn towards him, he said:

  "Colm won't tell us where he is. I only know there's another camp north of Valentine. B-but I don't know exactly where it is."

  "I really don't know much. We were ordered to go to Emerald Ranch to set up a black market. We don't know anything else..."