America 1881: Legend of the West

"Boss, why are we taking the train?" Sean, who had put on new clothes, asked Chen Jianqiu, who was looking out the window.

"Because it's fast." Chen Jianqiu's answer was as concise and concise as ever.

In addition to a heavy cowhide bag beside him, their horses, luggage, and even the stupid bird were all on the train with them, in the freight car at the back.

The leather bag was bulging and filled with green dollar bills. This was part of the half-life savings of the Jewish man Sigmund, and Chen Jianqiu found it in Thomas's lair.

There were not only the US dollars they had stolen, but also other things, such as guns, horses, bullets, and the white clothes of the Ku Klux Klan.

Chen Jianqiu returned home with a fully loaded cart.

He asked Browning to transport all the horses and some guns, plus the previous batch, to Zhang Danian; and then unloaded the rest in the gun shop's warehouse.

Then, he carried a big cloth bag and Browning from the car and got into the back room.

By the time he came out, he had officially become the major shareholder of Browning Gun Shop (Montrose branch) and Browning Gun Manufacturing Factory.

Chen Jianqiu glanced at the equity confirmation stamped on his hand and smiled.

He stuffed the paper into the leather bag beside him.

The train was bound for New Mexico, heading south. This railway was built along the Rocky Mountains in a north-south direction. God knows how many Chinese workers' lives and blood were consumed.

The scenery outside the train has also changed from the majestic green and snow-capped Cumbreras Pass to a hundred-mile wilderness full of cacti and exposed loess everywhere.

The front of this old-fashioned steam train sprayed thick white smoke all the way back, accompanied by the piercing sound of the whistle from time to time, drifting to Chen Jianqiu's window.

The railway itself was not paved flat, and genuine sleepers were used underneath, which made the train a bit bumpy and noisy. The noise it made when passing through each section of track echoed with the sound of the whistle, making Chen Jianqiu's head hurt.

He closed the window and returned his gaze to the car.

It was an ordinary car, with passengers boarding from various cities in Colorado, and some from further afield, such as Cheyenne, Wyoming.

Chen Jianqiu and his team kept a low profile and sat apart.

The Dannys were sitting at the front of the carriage. Theresa, probably a little tired from the long journey, fell asleep leaning on her husband's broad shoulders;

Asuka and Holmes were sitting two rows in front of them. Asuka's injury had improved greatly under Theresa's care, and there was no problem moving around. Holmes, on the other hand, said not to sit with Sean. together.

So the black man sat next to Chen Jianqiu.

As for Adam, he was sitting at the very back of the carriage. Chen Jianqiu didn't even have to look at him. He must have put his hat on his face at this moment, half-lying on the chair and sound asleep.

While other people would leave Montrose with more or less food or necessities in their bags, he filled them with bottles of wine.

In addition, if nothing else goes wrong, Hanif and Downey should also be on this train, but in other compartments.

After the Montrose incident, Hanif sent Downey to bring a message saying that they met Pinkerton's people about ten kilometers away from Montrose and that he was watching them.

As for the woman in red, she should go to South Carolina to collect the bounty now.

"Hey, boss, does that person across from you admire us?" Sean leaned into Chen Jianqiu's ear and whispered.

"Huh?" Chen Jianqiu looked across.

A middle-aged man was holding a notebook in one hand and a pen in the other. While writing something on the paper, he raised his head from time to time to observe them.

"Look, while he is doing what he is doing, he is secretly observing us." Sean said proudly.

"Sean, remember, next time you encounter someone who does this, it's best to run away. They should be Pinkerton detectives." Chen Jianqiu patted the black man on the shoulder and stopped talking to him.

He also began to observe the middle-aged man opposite him.

He wore a gray suit with a flat suit vest underneath. Like most respectable people of that era, he wore a bow tie at the collar, but the bow tie was a little wrinkled and a little crooked.

There are already some wrinkles on his face and his hair is naturally curly.

However, the most impressive thing is the thick beard under his nose, which is so thick that it almost covers his entire upper lip.

Seeing Chen Jianqiu looking at him, the middle-aged man felt a little embarrassed for a moment. He put away his notebook, walked over, and sat down on the seat across the aisle from Chen Jianqiu.

"Hey, hello, my name is Samuel Langham Clemens. I'm a writer. I'm sorry for looking at you so rudely just now." The middle-aged man greeted Chen Jianqiu.

Chen Jianqiu didn't speak, just smiled.

The middle-aged man thought that the two people with different skin colors in front of him could not understand English, so he smiled awkwardly.

But Sean spoke up: "Wow, are you really a writer? What I admire most is the writer. Are you very famous?"

Middle age is even more embarrassing.

"Well, actually, it's not bad. You must have heard of my pen name, it's Mark Twain."

Sean continued to blink his eyes, but Chen Jianqiu already understood who the person in front of him was.

One of the greatest American writers of the 19th century and the founder of American critical realism, he once worked as a navigator in Mississippi and South America. His pen name comes from the early sailor terminology - water is three feet deep.

Chen Jianqiu pushed away the illiterate Xiao Xiao's head and said to the writer with a smile: "I have admired the name for a long time. I have read your "Asceticism" and it is very good."

Mark Twain seemed a little excited when this obscure Chinese suddenly mentioned his work. In his forties, he was actually very famous, but he still didn't expect that a Chinese would read his book. Works from ten years ago.

"Ha, that book is about my experience more than 20 years ago. At that time, I was as young as you and wandered in the West." The writer was very happy, "My cousin was serving in Nevada, and I traveled a long way to find him. He was also on that trip. I met many Chinese people like you. They are hard-working and simple, but..."

"But what?" Chen Jianqiu asked calmly.

"But happy-go-lucky and insensitive." Mark Twain shrugged. "Forgive my bluntness, my friend."

Chen Jianqiu was not angry. He knew that the writer in front of him might be telling the truth.

Instead of continuing on the topic, they changed the question.

"What are you doing here?"

"Ah? Me? I just want to go out for a walk and see if there are any other inspirations. I will go to New Mexico for a walk and then return to California."

The writer did not mince words about his itinerary and purpose. He touched his arms and asked, "Do you want to smoke cigars, sir?"

But a sudden explosion from the front startled him, and the cigar in his hand fell to the ground.

The train came to a slow stop.

Several gunshots rang out, and then several hoarse voices came from outside the car.

"Get the hell down here, let's rob!"

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