Chapter 252: The Cunning Colm
Van Horn Trading Port.
Colm hadn’t been having a good time lately.
He never expected to end up under Pinkerton’s watch—though, to be fair, Pinkerton had always been hunting them.
“Those damn bastards. All we did was rob a few trains, and they won’t let it go.”
“But they never would’ve guessed I’d come back, right? Let them keep searching New Mexico.”
A smug glint flashed across Colm’s face.
He had originally planned to turn himself in to Pinkerton, who had promised to help clear his name.
It was a trap—Pinkerton could have taken him easily.
But Colm got wind of it in time and chose to run.
The leak likely came from Cornwall’s side.
For a while now, Colm had been active in New Mexico, evading Pinkerton’s pursuit. Because of jurisdictional issues, Pinkerton was hamstrung, which gave Colm plenty of room to maneuver.
The crafty Colm then quietly boarded a ship and slipped back from New Mexico to Van Horn Trading Port.
“Boss, someone wants to see you. They say they’re from the Saint Denis Mafia.”
Just as Colm was congratulating himself on his clever escape, one of his men hurried over with the report.
Colm wasn’t surprised. He had worked with Bronte before.
“Let them in. Get a few bottles of good wine ready—we’ll entertain our friends properly.”
Colm had always wanted to go legit, especially after seeing how Bronte’s Mafia operated.
Davey’s story in particular left a deep impression on him—a wanted man who had transformed himself into a figure of Saint Denis high society.
That filled Colm with envy.
When he first heard about Davey, he was genuinely shocked. After fighting Dutch for so many years, it was a greenhorn who ended up becoming a success.
The irony wasn’t lost on him.
“Mr. O’Driscoll, it’s been a long time. Even in Saint Denis, I hear your name quite often.”
“Over in New Mexico, there’s probably no one who doesn’t know your reputation.”
“Who would’ve thought you’d suddenly show up in Van Horn again? I imagine those Pinkerton fellows are being run in circles by you.”
Martelli walked in smiling, greeting Colm warmly.
In truth, he’d met Colm no more than three times. Mr. Bronte had always looked down on these western cowboys.
But this time, he needed Colm to deal with the Van der Linde Gang, so courtesy was required.
“Mr. Martelli! I never expected you to come in person. That’s a real surprise.”
“You idiots, what are you standing around for? Go get the best liquor! I need to have a proper drink with Mr. Martelli.”
Colm sounded genuinely pleased, with more than a hint of excitement.
City gangs were worlds apart from outlaw bands roaming the wilds—especially when Bronte was involved.
A man of Bronte’s stature in Saint Denis was far beyond anything Colm could compare himself to.
Colm’s dream was to clean up his past, move into the city, and become someone like Bronte.
“We should definitely have a drink—but I didn’t come just for that.”
“I wonder, Mr. O’Driscoll, would you be interested in some news about the Van der Linde Gang?”
Martelli sat down across from Colm, smiling as he spoke.
The moment the Van der Linde Gang was mentioned, Colm’s expression darkened with anger.
“They’re my enemies. Enemies for more than ten years, Mr. Martelli.”
“That’s common knowledge out west.”
“But there aren’t many of them, and they keep a low profile. That makes them hard to track down.”
“That bastard Dutch is like a sewer rat—always changing camps.”
“Sure, they’ve got a few decent gunmen. Too bad I didn’t finish him off last time. If it weren’t for that accident, I would’ve.”
As he spoke, a trace of regret crept into Colm’s voice.
He felt that when he captured Arthur, he should’ve killed him outright instead of using him as bait to lure Dutch.
Instead, Arthur was rescued, and Colm lost quite a few men in the process.
If not for other complications, he might have died there himself.
After that incident, Colm had lost much of his appetite for going after the Van der Linde Gang.
Davey was part of the reason—Colm worried about provoking his revenge.
“Mr. O’Driscoll, an opportunity to wipe out the Van der Linde Gang is right in front of you.”
“I can provide you with plenty of weapons and tell you exactly where their camp is.”
“It’s a good location—no easy way out. All you need is enough men to surround them.”
“I think this grudge of more than a decade has finally reached the point where it should be settled.”
Martelli lifted his glass, took a sip, and waited for Colm’s reply.
He expected Colm to agree eagerly.
After all, they were mortal enemies—weren’t they?
But Colm’s reaction was surprisingly calm, with no sign of excitement at all.
“I think about killing Van der Linde every single day—that nauseating bastard.”
“But maybe now isn’t the right time. I’ve heard some things about the Callander brothers. They’ve made quite a name for themselves in Saint Denis and gathered plenty of followers.”
“The one who ruined my last plan was Davey Callander—ah, or maybe I should call him Mr. Land now.”
“So perhaps it’s better to wait for the right moment, Mr. Martelli. What do you think?”
Colm wasn’t a fool. To survive this long without getting caught by Pinkerton took real cunning.
He knew perfectly well that Bronte had more men and better weapons than he did—so why come to him?
There had to be a reason.
Of course, Colm wanted Dutch dead. The hatred between them was irreconcilable, especially after their last encounter.
But if Bronte wanted him to make the move, then there was no reason not to ask for something in return.
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