BSI Chapter 67 The Big Rancher Wants to Bully the Small Immigrants
Chapter 67 The Big Rancher Wants to Bully the Small Immigrants
"How can it be so cheap?"
As soon as he stepped out of the Deep Valley Bar, skinny Zach couldn't help but voice his doubts.
Tom's mind wasn't on the price of the ranch. As soon as he left the bar, he noticed a tail following him.
interesting.
Tom's lips curled into a playful smile. Without a word, he turned around abruptly and pushed open the creaking wooden door of the bar once more!
"Contact the rancher!" Tom's voice was firm and resolute.
The bartender's face instantly lit up with a smile.
Tom smiled too.
The deeper meaning behind their smiles was known only to themselves.
In the afternoon, about thirty miles from the town of Bozeman, on a patch of wasteland near a tributary of the Yellowstone River.
Tom finally saw the "Paradise Ranch" that the bartender had described as "one hundred dollars a year to rent, 160 acres of land, and the house to use as you please."
The area is about the same, maybe even a little more, and the grassland looks decent, being near a water source.
But that house… Tom almost laughed out loud.
What kind of stone house is that?
It's not even a decent wooden house!
It was just a makeshift shack made of a few broken planks, crooked and drafty.
Let alone enduring Montana's harsh winters, even a sudden downpour in the summer can soak you to the bone!
Tom pointed at the dilapidated shack, stared at the bartender, and said in a cold voice, "You call this habitable?"
The bartender, far from feeling ashamed, shamelessly laughed and said, "Hey, just fix it! The rancher even provides repair materials, and can even sell you firewood for the winter cheaply. The price is negotiable!"
The rancher was a middle-aged man, far removed from the typical image of a Western cowboy with a big beard; his face was clean-shaven, without a single stubble.
"Everyone's struggling," the rancher began, his voice like the straining of a rusty saw. "Seeing that you're an immigrant from afar, and don't have much money, I can... lend you a loan!"
The moment the sound entered his ears, Tom felt as if countless tiny insects were crawling all over his body, making him feel indescribably uncomfortable.
Sharp, piercing, with an eerie sense of familiarity... He was certain he had heard it somewhere before!
I can't recall it right now, but that feeling of disgust just won't go away.
Suppressing his nausea, Tom shook his head decisively: "I'm not renting it." He turned to leave.
Swish!
Five or six burly cowboys behind the rancher immediately stepped aside, blocking his way.
Zach's hand flashed towards the gun handle at his waist.
Tom raised his hand, subtly stopping his movement, his gaze sharp as an ice blade as he looked at the rancher: "What do you mean?"
"Since you're already here, there's no reason for you to leave empty-handed," the rancher said slowly in his shrill voice that could drive anyone mad. "Leave the money, and you... you can get lost."
"Oh?" Tom practically spat out the words, "Is this some kind of outright robbery?"
The rancher laughed as if he'd heard the funniest joke in the world: "New guy! Open your eyes and look! These five thousand acres of pasture along the Yellowstone River all belong to the Covington family! I'm in a good mood today, so I personally accompanied you on this long run. Isn't that worth your hundred dollars?"
Tom's knuckles turned white as he clenched his fists, enunciating each word clearly: "You guys have done this kind of thing a lot, haven't you?"
"Hmph," the rancher scoffed, "I'm bored out of my mind today and looking for some fun... Otherwise, do you think someone like you deserves to see me..."
boom!
A deafening gunshot suddenly rang out!
The rancher's smug expression froze instantly, turning into incredulous astonishment, and a bloody hole appeared between his eyebrows.
He didn't even utter a sound before falling straight backward.
Tom lowered his wrist, which was gripping the smoking revolver, and looked at the corpse on the ground, his tone laced with a cold sarcasm: "Sorry, I couldn't help myself. If you spoke like a proper man, you might be able to breathe a little longer."
It wasn't until Tom walked up to the rancher's body that the stunned cowboys snapped out of their daze and hurriedly drew their guns.
boom! boom! boom!
Tom flicked his wrist, and his two guns flashed like snakes spitting their tongues!
Before the cowboys could even fully draw their guns, they were struck as if by a heavy hammer and fell to the ground.
"No!" The bartender was so frightened that he scrambled to run away.
boom!
Zach decisively raised his hand and fired a shot, the bullet precisely piercing the bartender's thigh.
The bartender screamed and fell heavily to the ground like a tattered sack.
Zack lunged at the bartender, his boot slamming into his chest. "Tell me! Who is he? And who are you? What kind of trick are you playing?"
The cold muzzle of the gun was almost pressed against the bartender's forehead.
Tom crossed his arms and looked with great interest at the bartender who was trembling like a leaf on the ground.
"I...I was just a bartender delivering a message! I don't know anything else!" The bartender's face was deathly pale, his voice trembling with tears. "Those people are from the Covington family...I really..."
boom!
Gunshots rang out suddenly!
The bartender's words came to an abrupt halt, and his body jerked violently.
Tom strode forward, flicked the body with the tip of his boot, and turned it over. The bartender's hand was tightly gripping a pocket pistol hidden at his waist.
"Next time," Tom's voice was calm and even, yet carried a chilling edge, "be quicker."
Zach nodded emphatically, his gaze sweeping over the bartender's corpse with a complex expression, his Adam's apple bobbing.
The two men quickly set to work, using ropes to secure the rancher's and bartender's bodies to the back of two strong horses.
Tom's beloved horses, "Loach" and "Snow Woman," came in handy.
The evening air was slightly cool, and dusk was deepening.
The streets of Bozeman have shed their daytime hustle and bustle, returning to a somber silence.
However, the silence was shattered the moment the two men led three horses, two of which were dragging blood-soaked "heavy loads" into the town!
Exclamations, whispers, and even women's screams rose and fell.
Doors and windows on both sides of the street opened one after another, revealing countless horrified faces.
The bodies dragging behind the two horses left shocking dark red trails on the dusty street, their remains completely unrecognizable!
They went straight to the front of the police station.
Tom gestured for Zack to stay outside and guard the body: "Keep watch, call me if anything happens."
Then, he pushed open the heavy door of the police station alone.
The commotion inside had clearly alerted them.
The sheriff, an elderly man with white hair and beard, came out with several equally aged deputies, their faces solemn.
Upon seeing the horrific scene outside the door, the deputies almost instinctively drew their guns and pointed them at Tom!
"They're robbers," Tom's voice wasn't loud, but it clearly cut through the noise outside the door. His gaze locked onto the sheriff. "I have something to discuss with the sheriff alone."
The white-bearded sheriff's cloudy eyes lingered on Tom's face for a moment, then swept across the doorway, before finally waving his hand: "Come in with me."
Tom gave Zack a "stay calm" look and followed the sheriff into his office.
"Who are you?" The sheriff sat back in his worn-out office chair and got straight to the point.
Tom keenly sensed the other person's presence; he remained calm and composed, without the slightest sign of panic.
"Take a look at this." Tom didn't waste any words, directly pulling a leather ID holder and a specially made metal badge from his pocket and gently placing them on the table in front of the sheriff.
The sheriff picked up the badge and insignia, brought them close to the oil lamp, squinted, and ran his fingers over the patterns and lettering on them, examining them with exceptional care.