Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 447: On the Verge of Explosion!
Just as Lionel was shocked by the fact that the town's mayoral election was also a "double agent" affair, Amos Greenwood also moved to the vicinity of Black Jazz.

The old mayor said to Black Knight, seemingly casually, "Mr. Bolton, although Windbreak is a small town, some people will agree to anything for their own selfish interests."

We old folks just want to protect this land and prevent outsiders from eating it up.

He sighed: "Sometimes, maintaining the status quo is harder and requires more courage than expanding. Especially when facing 'external forces' of unknown origin."

He gave Black Knight a meaningful look; Black Knight crossed his arms, stared back at him coldly, and made no comment.

The dance continued. The melody of "The Beard Song" repeated itself, and the men sang in unison:

"A tuft of beard, a tuft of beard, a tuft of beard"
Big beard, thick beard
My beard, your beard
Say its name—'Beard'.

A tuft of beard, a tuft of beard,
As long as you have a tuft of beard.

The girls giggled shyly, the lights flickered, and the shadows swayed.

Lionel, however, showed no amusement whatsoever; he had little interest in the dark side of 19th-century American elections—after all, he'd read "Running for Governor."

But now he'd rather have a few strange kids hug his legs and call him "Dad" than get involved in this mess.

He and Black Jazz were like two chess pieces, being pushed back and forth by both sides, each trying to pull them to their side.

He just wanted the dance to end quickly, and for the night to pass by fast.

Unbeknownst to him, in the far darkness, Pinkerton detectives and state troopers on horseback were searching for their trail town by town.

The dance finally came to an end. The men gently turned their female partners, bowed, and the dance concluded.

Lionel released his dance partner's hand as if he had been burned, quickly thanked the young woman, and returned to Black Jazz's side.

He had just been thinking of using tonight's dance to escape the kidnapping, but now he sees that both factions in town are far more dangerous than Black Jazz!
"We have to go," Lionel said in a low voice. He didn't want to stay here for another minute.

Black Knight didn't speak, he just nodded.

Taking advantage of the moment when the crowd became noisy and chaotic again, the two quietly slipped out of the playground. Old Joe and the mayor had already achieved their goals and did not stop them.

Back in their room on the second floor of the tavern, they closed the door, shutting out the noise from outside, and finally breathed a sigh of relief.

Black Knight made a decisive decision: "We can't stay in this godforsaken place. Let's leave before dawn, straight ahead, without stopping!"

Lionel completely agreed; he just wanted to get out of this troublesome place as soon as possible.

He lay down on the bed, but couldn't fall asleep. He kept his ears perked up, listening to the sounds outside, afraid that someone would knock on the door again.

Fortunately, the latter half of the night was relatively peaceful.

As dawn broke and the eastern sky began to lighten, the town was still fast asleep. The two had already finished getting ready and quietly made their way to the tavern's stables.

The stables were dimly lit and filled with the smell of hay and horse manure.

Their two horses were tied in the corner, but the horses, which usually snorted and pawed at the sound of their owners approaching, were now listlessly hanging their heads.

Even when they saw them coming, he barely twitched his ears.

Black Knight's face darkened. He strode forward, reached out and touched the horse's neck. It was cold and damp to the touch, and the horse's breathing was very weak.

Black Knight said bitterly, "We've been drugged. Someone doesn't want us to leave Windbreak Town!"

Lionel's heart sank.

Who is it? Old Joe? Or the old mayor? Both seem to have a reason.

Black Knight made a quick decision: "Go back! Go back to your room. Going out now will make you a sitting duck."

The two quickly retreated to the second floor of the tavern and locked the door.

Black Knight placed his shotgun beside him, his face grim as he stared at the gradually brightening sky outside the window.

Their escape plan failed before it even began; they were trapped.

As time went by, the town awoke, but also welcomed new uninvited guests.

First, on the outskirts of the town, seven or eight tents had been erected at some point, and a dozen or so Native American warriors were silently moving about there.

They were strong and muscular, with painted faces, knives and axes hanging from their waists, and bows and rifles on their backs.

They didn't enter the town, but simply set up camp there, like a flock of vultures, coldly watching Windbreak Town.

They were from a nearby reserve and would occasionally come to trade furs, but it had been less than a month since their last transaction, which was clearly unusual.

The townspeople watched from afar, whispering amongst themselves, their faces filled with unease.

At almost the same time, another group of people entered the town from another direction.

These were a dozen or so fierce-looking gunmen, dressed in dirty denim, riding horses and striding casually across the main street.

Rifles hung from their saddles, and the holsters of their revolvers were open, brazenly displaying their military might.

They went straight into the tavern, occupied the largest table, ordered strong liquor, and started making a lot of noise and gambling, oblivious to everyone else.

Local patrons quickly moved away, and the bartender turned pale with fright, his hands trembling as he served the drinks.

No one knows where these outlaws came from or why they came.

Old Mayor Amos Greenwood, looking out the window from his office, frowned deeply. He had no idea where Old Joe had hired the gunmen. Old Joe, the blacksmith, was also in his shop, witnessing the same scene, and cursed inwardly that these Native Americans had indeed sided with Greenwood.

The atmosphere in the town instantly became tense, and ordinary townspeople hid at home, not daring to go out at all.

The main street was deserted, with the occasional burst of gunmen’s laughter coming from the taverns, and wisps of smoke rising from the Indian camp.

Around noon, the situation became even more complicated.

Several fast horses rushed into the town like a whirlwind; the riders wore dark coats and wide-brimmed hats.

They headed straight for the tavern, reined in their horses, jumped off, and strode inside.

The middle-aged man in the lead had a cold expression. He glanced at the gunmen in the tavern but ignored them. Instead, he walked directly to the terrified bartender.

He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket, unfolded it with a "whoosh," and slapped it on the bar.

There was a sketch of a person's head on the paper. He asked, "Have you seen this distinguished gentleman? Look carefully and think it through before you answer."

You can't afford the consequences of lying to us at Pinkerton.

The moment the word "Pinkton" left his mouth, the gunmen in the pub tensed up as if they'd heard a death knell, their hands gripping the handles of their guns.

Looking at the portrait, the bartender immediately thought of the younger of the two "election inspectors" upstairs, and his legs spun around.

Pinkerton! These guys are Pinkerton detectives! Damn, they're definitely government agents!
He opened his mouth wide, making a "clucking" sound in his throat, but couldn't utter a single word.

A tremendous fear gripped him, stemming from both Pinkerton's threat and the warnings from the mayor and the blacksmith.

And those two mysterious "big shots" upstairs, who are referred to as "honorable gentlemen" by Pinkerton's detectives, are clearly even more formidable.

Just as the bartender was about to collapse, the sound of horses' hooves came from the street again, and several federal marshals in uniform rode up on horseback.

They were also in a hurry, with the lead officer clutching a portrait in his hand. They didn't go into the pub, but went straight to the sheriff's office.

As soon as Buck LaVine came out to greet him, the head of the federal marshals handed him the portrait: "Sheriff, has this distinguished gentleman come to town?"

Buck LaVine stared at the portrait, his pupils suddenly contracting. It was "Arthur Morgan"! He was "the distinguished gentleman"?
Damn it, they really were sent from above to supervise the election; they must be trying to bring down both the mayor and him.

Old Mayor Amos Greenwood and Blacksmith Joe received the news almost simultaneously, but also almost simultaneously misunderstood it.

The old town mayor—

Pinkerton detectives? Federal marshals? That bastard Joe must have conspired with the state to get me out of office!
No wonder he was so arrogant yesterday, even daring to hold a dance party; it turns out he had so many "reinforcements"!
Those two guys named "Morgan" and "Bolton" were indeed their people. No wonder they were so cold to me after attending the dance last night!

Old Joe the blacksmith—a Pinkerton detective? A federal marshal? Damn it! That old fox Amos! He must have realized I was going to win, and he's resorting to desperate measures!

He used his connections to call in Pinkerton and federal marshals, trying to arrest me as a criminal. No wonder he was so calm today!

Those two guys named "Morgan" and "Bolton" were definitely one of their people. No wonder they weren't interested in my dance last night!

The misunderstanding snowballed, and fear and suspicion completely dominated both sides' minds.

Amos Greenwood immediately summoned all the townspeople who were loyal to him, and they gathered in front of the town hall with shotguns and axes, as if facing a formidable enemy.

He sent someone to inform Sheriff Buck Raven, asking him to "maintain order," which was actually a preparation to fight the "rebellion."

Seeing this, Old Joe's eyes turned red, and he roared for his supporters to take up arms and gather around his blacksmith shop.

Looking at the Native Americans outside the town and then at the crowd gathered in front of the town hall, he felt surrounded and had to fight to the death.

The Pinkerton detectives were baffled to see the town suddenly tense, with two groups of people facing off with weapons.

They cautiously retreated from the tavern, hid behind their horses, and placed their hands on their guns, observing the situation.

When the federal marshals came out of the sheriff's office and saw this commotion, they immediately drew their pistols in alarm.

The gang of desperate gunmen in the pub, seeing the sudden standoff outside and the arrival of Pinkerton and federal marshals, assumed they were being targeted.

They also grabbed their weapons and took cover in the tavern windows and doorways.

On the outskirts of the town, the Native American warriors noticed the commotion inside and, thinking the operation had been brought forward, unloaded their guns and began to enter the town.

The atmosphere on the main street of Windbreak Town was extremely tense.

The town hall was on one side, and the blacksmith shop was on the other, separated by an empty street.

Pinkerton detectives and federal marshals were caught in the middle, at a loss; gunmen in the pub were watching intently; and in the distance, the Indians were slowly approaching.

The sounds of bullets being chambered echoed incessantly, accompanied by heavy breathing and suppressed curses.

A chaotic battle is about to break out.

Lionel and Black Knight were hiding in a room on the second floor of the tavern, watching the absurd and dangerous scene below through a gap in the curtains.

Lionel muttered to himself, "This is unbelievable!"

Black Knight licked his dry lips and gripped his shotgun tightly: "Get ready. Chaos is our only chance."

Lionel then asked him a strange question: "Mr. Black Knight, I heard that although you have robbed the post stations more than a dozen times, you have never killed anyone, is that right?"

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(End of this chapter)