As Stephen stepped out of the stable and onto the streets of Valentine, night had fully descended.

  The stable faced the town's main street, and the various shops lining the road were lit up, creating a cozy atmosphere.

  Few people wandered the streets, save for a few drunken patrons staggering out of the saloon, aimlessly wandering around.

  Stephen pinched his nose and, stepping carefully around the mixture of manure and urine, headed towards the saloon.

  After being up in the mountains for so long, it was time to treat himself to a good meal.

  Pushing open the saloon doors, a mixed scent of food, alcohol, sweat, and other strange odors wafted out.

  This was one of the reasons Stephen disliked so-called civilized society – it simply smelled terrible.

  "Martin, a beer for me, and one for yourself."

  Stephen casually approached the bar, tossed two coins in front of the bartender, lit a cigarette, and leaned against the counter.

  "Long time no see, Stephen. I thought you were dead," the bartender said, taking the coins and placing a beer on the counter.

  "What are you talking about? Do I look like someone who's about to kick the bucket?" Stephen chuckled.

  "You haven't shown your face in months. You know, when a bounty hunter like you disappears for months, it usually means they're pushing up daisies." Martin shrugged, giving him a knowing look.

  "Don't compare me to those fools." Stephen lifted his beer and drained half of it, then slammed the bottle back down on the bar.

  "Where's old Jack?" Stephen casually asked.

  "Upstairs. Looks like you're here for something." Martin grinned. "He's in the private room upstairs."

  "Thanks. Get me, no, get two meals ready. I'll be down to eat later." Stephen turned and headed upstairs.

  An accomplished bounty hunter knows exactly where to find the information he needs.

  And in this era, the easiest places to gather news were the saloon, the black market, and a few others.

  This saloon was ostensibly just that, but the occasional black market operation was not out of the question.

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  Stephen ambled upstairs to the small room at the end of the hall.

  A giant of a man was sitting outside the door, easily over six feet tall and built like a brick house. His thighs were probably thicker than Stephen's waist.

  In later years, this guy would be a top NBA prospect.

  This was Tommy, old Jack's son, a simpleton with a head full of muscles.

  "Hey, Tommy, how's it going?" Stephen said, offering him a cigarette.

  "Not bad. All the men in this damn town are softies; they're afraid to fight me. You're more fun, though." Tommy was excited to see Stephen.

  "When are we going to have another go?" Tommy rubbed his fists together with anticipation.

  "Not today. I need to see your dad about something important. Maybe later." Stephen clapped the big lug on the shoulder. "I'll fight you when I get back."

  "Alright," Tommy said, his face falling with disappointment. He listlessly opened the door behind him. "Come on in, my friend."

  Stephen entered the small room. It was cluttered, with various strange items piled almost to the ceiling.

  In the center of the room, a small table was lit by an oil lamp.

  A skinny old man sat behind the table, engrossed in a book.

  "Long time no see, old Jack." Stephen casually plopped down in the chair opposite him.

  "You haven't croaked yet? That's a miracle," old Jack croaked, his voice like sawing wood.

  Stephen dug around in his ear, pulled out a large wad of wax, and flicked it into a nearby vase.

  "You come here just to pick your ears for me?" old Jack frowned.

  "Of course not. I have an important matter to discuss." Stephen said, smoking cigarette. "Tell me, where can I find the O'Driscoll gang around here?"

  "You're playing with fire now, huh? You dare to mess with those guys?" Old Jack laughed. "Even if I told you, do you have the guts to bother them?"

  Stephen looked confused. "Do I look that timid to you? I think I'm pretty brave."

  "It has nothing to do with being brave, those guys are ruthless killers." Old Jack shook his head. "What do you want with them?"

  "Just a little personal business, you know," Stephen said casually.

  "Don't lie to me. What personal business could you have with those guys?" Old Jack shook his head. "You want to make trouble with the O'Driscoll gang?"

  "You're too clever for your own good, nothing escapes you." Stephen spread his hands. "Will you help me or not?"

  "This is a big risk for me. If they find out I betrayed them, I'm finished." Old Jack said seriously.

  "So, it costs extra."

  Stephen knew it. Old Jack was a greedy bastard, ready to sell his own wife for enough money.

  He pulled out the bag of jewels that Dutch had given him and dumped it on the table, creating a flashy display.

  "Is that enough?"

  Old Jack eyed Stephen suspiciously, seemingly unable to believe that the bounty hunter could have so many valuables.

  He grabbed a necklace and examined it closely under the light of the oil lamp.

  "You're trying to pull a fast one on me! This stuff is worthless!" Old Jack looked at Stephen grimly.

  After so many years in the business, he could instantly tell how much the jewels were worth.

  "Take a closer look. It's still worth something. Besides, I just want some information, I don't need you to do anything, right?" Stephen said innocently.

  "The clinic, right next to the sheriff's office."

  Old Jack thought for a moment, then said, "Some of the O'Driscoll gang are hiding out in the clinic next to the sheriff's office. They're using it as a base for some black market deals."

  "Next to the sheriff's office?" Stephen repeated, incredulous. "You mean..."

  "That's right." Old Jack chuckled. "They've bribed the deputy sheriff."

  "What about Sheriff Malloy? Has he been bought off too?"

  "More or less. Our sheriff is too busy juggling his wife and his mistress to care about this." Old Jack sneered. "As long as those guys pay their dues, he doesn't give a damn."