Red Dead Redemption 2: From Gaming To Cowboy

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The sheriff studied him before shaking his head and letting out a sigh, "You truly got a knack for walking into trouble, son. You got that crazy bastard Edmund and now become a nuisance to Cornwall. But… you handled it right. Just remember, Cornwall ain't the type to forget a slight."

"Neither am I," Caleb said quietly.

Sheriff Malloy clapped him on the shoulder. "Come on. Let's get a drink. You and I earned it after what happened."

Caleb sat at a corner table in Smithfield's nursing a bottle of beer alongside Sheriff Malloy who had gone to the counter. The saloon was lively, piano music, laughter, the clink of glasses, but his mind was elsewhere.

He was thinking.

The first confrontation in front of Keane's Saloon had been a spark that caught Cornwall's eye, but the second one, right in the middle of the damn main street, beside Sheriff Malloy, had done worse. It hadn't just made him a nuisance.

No, it had humiliated Cornwall as the spark had turned into a blaze. Caleb could still see the flash of rage in the baron's eyes, the way the man grit his teeth like someone chewing iron filings, unable to process that a "backwater deputy" like Caleb Thorne had the audacity to challenge him publicly. Twice.

Once could be dismissed. Twice? That was a vendetta. That was blood in the water.

Cornwall wasn't the kind to forget, not a slight, not a bruised ego. Caleb wasn't sure if he'd embarrassed the man more by standing up to him or by standing next to a lawman while doing it, but either way, the outcome was the same, he'd become a thorn in the side of one of the most ruthless men in the West. The sort of man who didn't lose, not without paying someone to fix it, or bury it.

Caleb sighed and sipped from the bottle of beer in front of him. It tasted bitter now. Laughter and piano music filled Smithfield's Saloon, but his mind was churning, his instincts scraping against the back of his skull like a rusty knife on bone.

He knew how this game went.

If Cornwall was turning his attention toward him, then it wouldn't be long before the Pinkertons were sniffing closer too. They were already hunting Dutch and the gang. Caleb had just thrown fuel on the fire.

His face, his voice, had surely registered somewhere in Cornwall's books. The man didn't just carry grudges, he printed ledgers of them.

His role in Valentine, all of it, the hero of the town, the bounty hunter bringing in many bounty targets with the biggest Drew Dallas, the man standing shoulder to shoulder with the Sheriff, it could all be burned away by the heat of Cornwall's vengeance.

If he stayed, he risked Valentine. And worse, he risked the gang.

He took another drink. Then another. It wouldn't do to drown his thoughts, but it helped soften the edges.

What worried him most was what this attention could trigger. He didn't know how the butterfly wings of his actions might've shifted events.

Maybe Jack's fishing trip with Arthur still happened, but maybe not. He'd pushed John to spend more time with Abigail and Jack, to be more of a father. There was a good chance it would be him that took Jack out to the river instead of Arthur now.

If that happened, then Milton and Ross would approach John instead. Either way, the result was the same, government snakes slithering in close, making threats and offering rotten deals.

And once they had a scent… they never let go.

They'd be watching. They'd be waiting. And then they'd strike.

He had to get the gang out before that happen. Fast.

Which meant he had to get back to camp. As soon as possible.

He set the empty beer bottle down on the table and pushed himself to his feet. His legs felt heavy, but not from the alcohol, from the weight of what was coming.

With a slow turn, he made his way across the saloon to the bar counter, where Sheriff Malloy and Mr. Douglas, were in a middle of a conversation. From the sounds of it, they were deep into their third round of whiskey and second round of Cornwall bashing.

"…son of a bitch thinks he can stroll in here and bark orders like he owns the whole county," Mr. Douglas was saying, shaking his head. "Ain't right. Ain't right at all."

"He does own a chunk of the damn county," Sheriff Malloy muttered back. "But that don't mean he gets to own us."

Caleb cleared his throat gently and offered a nod. "Sorry to interrupt, gentlemen. Sheriff, can I have a word?"

Mr. Douglas gave a curt wave with a knowing look, stepping down the bar toward a pair of laughing ranchers in need of refills. Sheriff Malloy turned to face Caleb, the warm buzz of whiskey dulled in his eyes by the serious expression Caleb wore.

"What's on your mind, son?"

Caleb paused for a moment, considering how best to say it. Then, with deliberate calm, he said, "I think I need to disappear from Valentine for a few days. Let the heat die down."

Sheriff Malloy blinked. "Disappear?"

"Cornwall's not gonna let this go," Caleb said. "I have made myself too much of a thorn on his side. Twice. That ain't a wound he'll just forget. And now Cornwall's fixated on me now. If I stay, he'll make Valentine pay for harboring me. If I go, his anger stays directed at me not the town."

Sheriff Malloy was silent and studied him for a long moment , then sighed, his brow furrowed and he leaned in a little. "You sure about this, son? Valentine may be a small town, but we ain't scared of a fight. Hell, you've done a lot for this place in a short time. We got your back. And riding out alone? Cornwall's got eyes everywhere."

Caleb felt a warmth stir in his chest, but he didn't let it rise too far. Loyalty was a double edged thing, cut both ways.

"I know," he said. "And I'm grateful for it. But it's because of that I need to go. I stay here, and I drag you all into my mess. Cornwall won't stop at me. If he thinks hurting this town makes me flinch, he'll do it. I'd rather his men come for me in the wild than start a war here."

Sheriff Malloy let the words settle like dust on a casket. Then he sighed and set down his glass.

"You got that look in your eye like a man who's already made up his mind. Can't talk you out of it, can I?"

Caleb shook his head. "I need to do this. I'll be back. Just… not until the air clears."

Sheriff Malloy nodded slowly, then clapped him once on the arm. "All right. I'll honor that. You done right by this town. You always got a place here. When you leavin?"

"Thanks, Sheriff," Caleb said softly. "I'll be gone by tomorrow. Maybe tonight, if I can get Morgan ready before midnight."

"You ride safe," Sheriff Malloy replied. "Keep your head low. You've stirred a hornet's nest. You're a stubborn bastard, son. But… I respect it." He extended a hand. "Stay alive out there."

Caleb shook it firmly. "Planning on it."

As Caleb turned and made his way out of Smithfield's Saloon, stepping into the afternoon sun and air, he looked toward the direction of Horseshoe Overlook and thought, Time to get moving.

By the time the moon had come out and the air had turned cool, Caleb had his finished packed his guns and essentials and Morgan was ready to ride as well. The sky was a vast navy sea above, stars pricking through like scattered diamonds.

He wore his newly bought Dewberry Creek Outfit, his Lancaster and Pump Action slung on his back, his Navy and Schofiled revolver on his hips, and his Springfield rifle, Bow, and double barreled shotgun on Morgan's saddle. Valentine's lights shimmered behind him as he leave the town.

He rode silent, taking the longer way around the Dakota River, skirting any visible roads, just in case any of Cornwall's men or bounty hunters were already sniffing around.

Morgan's hooves padded softly over the dirt as they passed thickets of pine and low hills, a quiet vigil to Caleb's thoughts. He then reached Horseshoe Overlook before midnight.

When he reached back to camp, Caleb could feel something was off.

The usual soft murmur of camp life—pots clanging, kids laughing, Bill grousing about something pointless—was thinner tonight. More tense. Like everyone was keeping one ear turned for bad news that might come riding over the hills.

Morgan gave a soft huff as Caleb dismounted and led him to the hitching post. He gave his companion a reassuring pat before turning toward Dutch's tent. That's when he heard it.

"Caleb! Come here, son!"

Dutch's voice, loud and firm, cut through the camp like a bullet through glass.

Hearing that, Caleb turned his head and immediately walked with purpose toward the tent, where the lantern inside threw a warm, golden glow against the canvas. The flap was already drawn open. Inside, Dutch stood near his desk, arms crossed.

Hosea sat nearby in his usual manner, calm, unreadable, but his eyes were sharper than usual. And Arthur… Arthur leaned against one of the tent poles, silent, with a steel gaze that told Caleb exactly how serious this was.

He stepped in, the air in the tent thick with tension.

Dutch didn't waste time.

"How is it back in Valentine, son?" he asked, voice low and measured. "Did Mr. Cornwall finally leave town? Does he have any suspicion about your identity… other than being a deputy?"

Caleb didn't flinch. He'd expected that question first.

"He doesn't suspect anything beyond the badge," Caleb replied evenly. "If anything, he hates me more for being a mouthy deputy. I blocked him from throwing his weight around town. He's pissed, sure, but I made sure no one's questioning my cover. Sheriff Malloy's solid doesn't suspect a thing, and so are the townsfolk. As far as they're concerned, I'm just the hero deputy with a big sense of justice. And I made damn sure Cornwall thinks that's all I am."

Dutch's eyes narrowed, but it wasn't suspicion. It was calculation. Weighing the risk.

Beside him, Hosea nodded with a long, slow sigh. Arthur gave a subtle nod too, arms still crossed.

"That's good," Hosea said finally. "We don't need a rich man with large amount of money breathing down our necks."

But before Caleb could relax, Dutch's tone turned colder.

"Then let me ask you something else, Caleb," Dutch said, voice edged now. "Back at the saloon. Why didn't you tell me and Strauss there was danger coming? We could've left town immediately, avoided the mess. Instead, the two of us stayed there… waiting almost an hour for Arthur and John to bring in those sheep. That hour could've been the end of us."

Caleb felt the air in the tent shrink.

Arthur looked straight at him now, no longer leaning on the pole.

Hosea's brows knit together. "You knew trouble was coming, son? Why not say something sooner?"

He'd expected this.

This was the price of playing the game.

Caleb drew in a breath and exhaled slowly. No use dancing around it. Not entirely.

He activated his Persuasion (Lvl 2) skill, feeling a calm clarity roll over him, like slipping into a second skin.

"I wanted to tell you," he said, voice sincere, "but I didn't expect the danger to come that fast. I heard the rumors earlier that morning, about Cornwall looking for you, Dutch… for all of us. I was gonna head back right after I finished gathering more information to make sure it was solid. I thought I had more time."

Dutch didn't speak, didn't blink.

Caleb continued, weaving the lie with the skill of someone who'd replayed a thousand conversations in his head from his past life.

"I didn't know you and Strauss would be there, waiting for Arthur and John. I didn't know you were even in Keane's Saloon until I saw you both walk in. That's when I knew it was too late to risk a public warning. Keane was nearby, and there were other patrons. If I said the wrong thing, the whole town might've caught wind of it."

...

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 1)

- 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)

Money: 1463 dollars and 45 cents and 2 gold nuggets

Bank: 320 dollars, 4 gold bars, a large bag of jewelry, and 3 gold nuggets