Rivalry Road - The Bandits

As nightfall came, the group of bandits gathered around their campfire to discuss what happened that day.
"Why didn't you get the satchel, James?!," a bandit asked angrily.
"I would have had it, but she spit in my face! Who does that?!," said James.
"Well now we're stuck because of YOU!," another bandit said back.
The group of bandits were about 20 men and women strong. They all began to quarrel like school children who received a difficult assignment. Suddenly, a man stepped out of the night shadow. He was dressed like a general, different from the rest of the bandits. With a patch on his eye and scars on his face, long blonde unkept hair and large beard, he looked more like a pirate than a general. "Quiet down all of you!," the man commanded. They all fell silent.
"James, tell me about what happened on the road today," he asked in a compassionate tone.
"He pushed me, Friesdale!" James whimpered and put his head down in embarrassment.
"Pushed you?! Who?"
"The man on the trail. I remember him from our days of schooling in Blacksburg before we left."
"You know him? We can send you to Lynchburg as a scout."
"Not really, sir." James was holding something back from him. "He really pushed me hard, sir. I was left unconscious on the trail before the rest us showed up."
"How did he push you? Like a bull or a cow?"
"More like a raging demon bull!"
"Hmmm. Where were you standing when he pushed you?"
"I was in good position! I saw him coming! I moved to the right and then to the left, like this." James proceeded to show Friesdale how it happened exactly. The whole camp gathered around and watched James as he performed the tragedy with precision. "I maneuvered properly, but then he adjusted and then he...he PUSHED ME!"
The whole camp gasped in astonishment. "He can't do that!," a female bandit cried. "There's a code for the road and we all have to follow it you know!," another female bandit cried, demanding for justice.
"Well that's not right, James. Did you see the doctor?," Friesdale asked.
"I did, sir but the trauma that was left upon me needs to heal now."
"Hmmm. How long does it take to heal?"
"At least 30 years..."
The camp gasped.
"30 years?!," Friesdale asked with great confusion.
"Yes, sir. Thirty one to be exact. Trauma is very complicated."
Now, the campsite began to chatter quietly. "This was a simple job. We've never had this happen to us before," they whispered.
"Alright, quiet down everyone! James you did all you could. Leave to your tent and let the hurt pass," Friesdale concluded.
"What's in the satchel anyways?," James asked.
"It's a priceless artifact from the days of the Iroquois tribe. It has mechanisms that contain truth; knowledge that we do not possess. Regardless, it's worth a lot of coin. We could start our own town if we chose."
James exited.
"Everyone back to enjoying the fire and drink. I'm going to withdraw for the night and strategize."