This dude looked like he was still processing his demise three centuries later.

  Stephen watched the corpse twitching on the ground, still clinging to life.

  He wasn't one for half-measures, so he grabbed his Bowie Knife and plunged it straight into the guy's heart.

  The blade pierced his heart perfectly, finishing the job for good.

  "Thump!"

  Suddenly, a weird noise came from a corner. Stephen spun around, but saw nothing.

  The sound came from inside the room. Stephen pulled out his Bowie Knife and slowly moved towards the door.

  The door was shut tight. Stephen gently pushed, but it wouldn't budge.

  He raised his right leg and kicked the door, sending it flying.

  "Bang!"

  With a deafening crash, the wooden door and its frame were blasted off its hinges.

  The flimsy shack seemed like it would collapse after that kick.

  Stephen didn't rush in, but looked around a bit, making sure it was safe before entering.

  This was where those guys were playing cards. Money was scattered on the table, looked like quite a bit.

  Stephen's gaze went past the money, landing on something under the bed.

  Some dumb thug had stuffed his head under the bed, completely forgetting his ass was still sticking out.

  The guy was shaking like a leaf, that weird noise was him.

  Is this what they call, head in the sand?

  Stephen chuckled, and plopped down on the bed.

  Then he held his Bowie Knife upside down, and stabbed it hard into the mattress, the sharp blade buried under the bed.

  "Ah! Don't kill me! Please, I just joined them, I didn't do anything..."

  The sharp blade, now slick with blood, landed inches from his face, petrifying him.

  "Get out here if you value your life!" Stephen barked.

  The guy trembled even more, and figuring he couldn't hide, he slowly crawled out.

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  "Heh, well, well, well, look who it is."

  Seeing the guy's face, Stephen couldn't help but smile. It was Juan Anderson, the guy who'd led him here.

  This guy was definitely a rookie, how pathetic?

  "What're you hiding for?" Stephen asked curiously.

  Juan looked at Stephen, seemingly terrified, and stammered, "I... I'm scared."

  "Pfft!"

  Stephen burst out laughing, "Seriously? How does Del Lobos recruit anyone?"

  Even the O'Driscoll gang wouldn't want someone this useless.

  Hearing that, Juan looked helpless and sighed, "I didn't want to join them either, but I'm Mexican."

  "So, Mexicans have to join Del Lobos?"

  "Pretty much. Down here, joining the Del Lobos is the only way to get by if you're coming up from Mexico."

  "Del Lobos is all Mexicans. Anyone from Mexico who comes to America automatically becomes Del Lobos. You can't say no."

  Seeing Stephen didn't seem like he was going to kill him, Juan sat down on the floor.

  He said with a bitter face, "I just wanted to come to America and find a good job. But they told me if I didn't want to die, I had to roll with them."

  "I don't want to hurt anyone, but I'm scared..."

  Looking at the guy's youthful, almost childlike face, Stephen shook his head.

  "In a way, they're not wrong. If you're alone, you might die any day."

  If you don't have skills, you're dead meat in the West.

  Ignoring the poor sap, Stephen stood up.

  He wasn't going to kill him, especially since he had warned him to run when he led the way. Stephen figured the guy was alright.

  There was a lot of money on the table. Figuring he was already here, Stephen stuffed it all into his bag.

  "Here, finders keepers."

  Stephen thought for a moment, then grabbed a handful of bills and tossed them to Juan Anderson, "Take the money and run. Someone like you will just die if you stay with Del Lobos."

  Without waiting for a response, Stephen grabbed his weapons and headed out.

  "You... you're not going to kill me..."

  Juan asked Stephen's retreating back, trembling.

  "No, you want me to?"

  Stephen asked, carrying his Bowie Knife with a curious expression.

  "No...no, I..."

  Juan stood there, at a loss.

  "I don't want to stay here...I want to leave, but I don't know where to go..."

  Stephen looked at the confused young man and shook his head. "Go East. Find a big city, get a job."

  With that, Stephen turned and left.

  The gunfire outside was sporadic. Charles must have taken out the rest.

  Stephen put away his Bowie Knife, pulled out his pistol, and prepared to end the fight quickly.

  As soon as he stepped outside, Stephen saw Charles punch a thug, knocking him to the ground.

  Then he quickly pulled out his short shotgun, pointed it at the guy's head, and pulled the trigger.

  The shotgun was powerful. The buckshot turned the guy's head into swiss cheese, splattering white and red everywhere.

  The brutal scene shattered the remaining thugs, and two of them dropped their weapons and tried to run.

  Stephen raised his rifle and shot one down.

  As he worked the lever, ready to shoot the second, an arrow hit the guy in the back of the heart.

  Stephen lowered his rifle, it was Charles.

  That guy was good with a bow.

  "Hey, man, you could've waited. I wasn't finished having my fun."

  Stephen looked at Charles running towards him, smiling.

  "These guys were a joke. Thought they'd put up more of a fight."

  Charles looked at Stephen, moving around just fine, and felt relieved.

  Then he saw the blood on his shoulder, his whole arm was red, and asked nervously.

  "Are you okay?"

  Stephen looked down at his injury, waved it off and said easily, "It's nothing, just a scratch, I'll be fine in a couple days."

  "I should have come sooner," Charles said, feeling guilty.

  Stephen patted Charles on the shoulder, smiling, "It's okay, I'm fine."

  "There's a boat by the river. Can you row?"

  Stephen pointed at the boat by the docks and said, "I'm not great at rowing, I can just barely get it moving."

  Charles nodded, "No problem, I'll get us back."