As I sit here watching the sunset over Big Valley, the weight of my choices presses down harder than any saddle ever did. Being an outlaw ain't just about dodging bullets or outrunning posses – it's the ghosts of decisions past that truly gun you down in the end. Looking back on this twisted odyssey with the Van der Linde gang, I can't help but tally up the moments where my grit turned to foolishness, my loyalty became a noose. Damn, if I had a nickel for every time I chose wrong... 🤠💔
Walking Away From Eliza and Isaac
When Eliza told me she was carrying my child, fear hit me like a buckshot to the gut. I thought leaving meant protecting them from this godforsaken life – turns out I just left 'em defenseless. Finding their graves... Christ, that hollow feeling still claws at my ribs when I see Jack Marston laugh. Could've ridden off into the sunset with them, started fresh. But nah, I chose Dutch's pipe dreams over fatherhood. What kinda man does that make me? Reckon I'll never shake the image of Isaac's tiny shoes by that headstone.
Enabling Strauss' Dirty Work
That slimy snake Strauss – preying on the desperate while hiding behind Dutch's coattails. I knew squeezing folks like Thomas Downes was rotten to the core, but I played muscle anyway. Funny how I'd rob a train without blinking, yet shaking down starving families? That sat colder than a Montana winter. We used to be robin hood types, helping strangers. Somewhere along the way, we became the wolves. My fists still remember the tremble of those debtors – shame's a heavier burden than any debt ledger.
Springing Micah From Strawberry
Biggest goddamn mistake of my life, bar none. When Dutch ordered me to bust that rat Micah outta Strawberry, every instinct screamed let the bastard hang. But loyalty... always the damn loyalty. Watching him torch that town was like pouring kerosene on our own funeral pyre. Should've put a bullet between his eyes right there in the cell. Instead, I unleashed a plague that poisoned Dutch, got folk killed, and turned us into Pinkerton bait. That snake’s smirk haunts my nightmares – should’ve trusted my gut when it yelled nope, not today Satan.
Sparing Those Pinkerton Vultures
Fishing with Jack – sweetest moment I'd had in years – ruined when Milton and Ross cornered us. They offered me freedom for Dutch's head. But with Jack's innocent eyes watching? Couldn't stain that boy's soul. Still, not capping those two when their backs were turned? Pure idiocy. Could've bought the gang time, saved John's future. Instead, I gambled on honor in a world where honor gets you six feet under. Sometimes I wonder if sparing them damned us all more than any bank heist ever did.
Beating Thomas Downes to Death
Anger's a wildfire – burns everything including yourself. When Thomas coughed blood in my face during that beating, I brushed it off like trail dust. Now? Every damn breath rattles with TB. Killed a sick man for pocket change, and got a death sentence as a souvenir. The irony tastes more bitter than cheap whiskey. That moment's etched in my bones: his wheezing, the way the light left his eyes... all 'cause I was too stubborn to defy Dutch. Should've walked away. Damn should've walked away.
Letting Mary Slip Through My Fingers... Twice
Mary... hell. Seeing her again in Saint Denis was like sunlight after years in a cave. When she begged me to bolt – just grab that train and vanish together – part of me screamed yes. But the gang's siren song drowned it out. Chose bullets over breakfasts, campfire smoke over porch swings. Watching her letter burn later? Felt like cremating my own heart. Love ain't a luxury in our line of work, they say. Bull. It’s the only damn thing worth fighting for.
Blind Loyalty to Dutch Till the Bitter End
Dutch raised me, gave me purpose when I was just a scrappy kid. But loyalty shouldn't mean swallowing poison. Even when he went off the rails – Blackwater, Guarma, Micah's whisperings – I bit my tongue. Kept telling myself he's got a plan. Well, surprise surprise: the plan was a one-way ticket to hell. Watching him morph from father figure to mad king? That betrayal cuts deeper than any knife. Should've called him out sooner or ridden off with John when I had the chance. But family... always family.
That Final Crossroads: Gold or Redemption
Beaver Hollow's last stand – smoke, screams, and the stench of endings. Had two paths: haul John to safety or scramble back for Dutch's blood money. Thank God I chose John. Seeing him reunite with Abigail and Jack? Only clean thing I've done in decades. But Lord knows the temptation was there – that greedy devil on my shoulder whispering take the gold, Arthur. Would've died a rich villain instead of a broke sinner. Funny how death clarifies things...
| Mistake | Consequence | My Biggest Regret |
|---|---|---|
| Leaving Eliza/Isaac | Their deaths | Not choosing fatherhood |
| Enabling Strauss | Preyed on innocents | Losing my moral compass |
| Freeing Micah | Gang's downfall | Ignoring my instincts |
| Sparing Pinkertons | John's future doom | Protecting Jack's innocence over practicality 🤠 |
So here I am, coughing under these stars, wondering if any good I did outweighs the wreckage. Redemption’s a fickle beast – always just over the next ridge, but the trail’s littered with what-ifs. Maybe that’s the curse of living with iron on your hip: you save some, damn others, and pray the scales tip right when the Reaper comes calling. In the end, we’re all just... weathering the storm, ain't we?