Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 448 Wild West!

The clock atop the town's church ticked away slowly in a suffocating tension.

On the main street of the town, every face was tense, and every hand holding a gun was sweaty.

No one dared to breathe loudly; only the wind whipped up dust as it swept across the empty streets.

Mayor Greenwood hid behind a cargo wagon, staring intently in the direction of the blacksmith's shop;

Sheriff Buck Raven, standing beside him, had his finger on Colt's trigger, his eyes like knives.

At the blacksmith's shop, Old Joe and his men, relying on the thick brick walls and piles of iron, were equally on high alert.

A few crude curses coming from the tavern added fuel to the already simmering fire.

The Pinkerton detectives and federal marshals were caught in the middle, unable to move forward or backward. They were too few in number and were now the target of suspicion from both sides.

The Pinkerton leader leading the group was sweating profusely; he knew things were not going to end well today.

at this time--

"boom!"

A gunshot rang out without warning! It's unclear whose gun misfired...

Perhaps it was due to nervousness that my finger accidentally clicked down; or perhaps it was a bullet that had been baked by the sun for too long that took matters into its own hands.

But in any case, that gunshot was like a match thrown into a powder keg.

"Fire!"

"Kill them!"

The long-suppressed fear and hostility erupted instantly!

Shouts, curses, the sound of bolts being pulled back, and the sound of bullets being chambered filled the air!
Immediately afterwards, a barrage of gunfire engulfed the entire town of Windbreak!

"Crackling and popping—bang—!"

Bullets flew everywhere! Window glass shattered with a crash, and wood chips flew in all directions.

Empty bullet casings clattered and fell to the ground.

The scene was completely out of control!
The mayor's men and the blacksmith's men almost simultaneously unleashed a hail of bullets in each other's direction.

The Indian warriors quickly sought cover, their rifles spitting fire, and joined the battle.

Pinkerton detectives and federal marshals were caught in the crossfire!
"Damn it! We're stuck in the middle!"

Just as a federal marshal shouted, a bullet grazed the brim of his hat and knocked it off.

"Back off! Get cover!"

The Pinkerton leader roared.

Bullets whizzed past them, hitting the walls and ground behind them and kicking up clouds of dust.

They were outnumbered and their firepower was completely suppressed.

A young detective was shot in the shoulder, groaned, and fell to the ground; those around him quickly dragged him to the back of a carriage.

Someone from the mayor's side shouted, "They're in cahoots! Pinkerton was invited by Old Joe!"

Someone from the blacksmith's group, with red eyes, retorted, "The bailiffs are Greenwood's lackeys!"

Pinkerton and the bailiffs were now completely speechless.

They tried to explain, but the deafening gunfire and the constant falling of their comrades made them realize that staying there meant certain death.

The Pinkerton leader made a snap decision: "Retreat! Retreat to the back of the tavern!"

The remaining men fired wildly in both directions while dragging the wounded, retreating in a sorry state towards the stables on the side of the tavern.

Bullets followed their footsteps, keeping them unable to lift their heads.

Pinkerton detectives and federal marshals finally managed to scramble into the relatively sturdy stable, close the door, and take a headcount.

Several of them were wounded, and although no one died, they were temporarily unable to join the battle outside.

With Pinkerton and the marshals backing down, the other two factions on the street were able to act even more freely.

They already wished the other party would die immediately, and now that there was no one in the way, they were even more bloodthirsty.

Old Joe's men chanted a slogan: "For Windbreak Town!"

The mayor's men responded with bullets: "Defend our home!"

The gunfire became more frequent and frantic than ever before.

"Ah!" A young man who was trying to rush out of the blacksmith shop was shot in the chest, screamed, swayed, and fell to the ground, where he did not move.

Almost simultaneously, an old hunter who was shooting from the porch on the town mayor's side was also hit in the neck by a bullet that came from nowhere.

Blood gushed out instantly, and he collapsed, clutching his wound, his body convulsing.

Casualties began to appear, and quickly.

What was just a standoff and sporadic firing has now turned into a life-or-death positional war.

People were falling down every now and then, and screams of agony echoed throughout the room.

Bullets whistled through the air, striking the wooden wall and leaving gaping holes through which light shone.

In a room on the second floor of the tavern, Lionel and Black Knight were crouching close to the inner wall.

"Whoosh—Pfft!"

A bullet pierced the wooden wall of their room and hit the wardrobe across the way, sending wood chips flying.

Then came several more muffled "thuds," and several more bullet holes appeared on the wall instantly.

Sunlight streamed in through the holes, forming several clear beams of light in the dusty air.

Black Jazz cursed, "Damn it!"

He lowered his body even further, gripping the shotgun tightly in his hand.

But his shotgun was useless at this moment; outside were dozens of guns that had gone berserk. Lionel obediently stayed far away from the windows and walls facing the street, but some bullets still came in at an angle from the floor.

"Bang—" Another bullet pierced the wall, shattering a ceramic jar on the table, spilling water all over the floor.

Lionel shouted, "We can't stay here! These planks won't stop the bullets!"

Black Knight roared, "I know! But you'll die even faster if you go out now!"

Lionel held out his hand to him: "Give me your pistol!"

Black Knight hesitated for a moment, then, remembering what Lionel had just told him, gritted his teeth, took the Colt revolver off his waist, and tossed it to Lionel.

Gunshots, shouts of killing, and screams continued to come from downstairs, making the two feel as if they were trapped in a wooden box that could be torn apart at any moment.

Lionel picked up the pistol, tucked it into his waistband, and leaned against the cold wall, experiencing for the first time the true cruelty of the American West.

Black Knight gave a smile that looked more like a grimace: "How about it, great writer? This is much more exciting than your stories, isn't it?"

----------

The gunfire gradually subsided. Both sides were exhausted and scared, after all, everyone only has one life.

On Mayor Greenwood's side, two people died and five were injured.

Old Joe the blacksmith fared even worse; three were dead and seven were wounded, including himself. A stray bullet grazed his arm, and blood soaked through his sleeve.

The casualties of the group of outside gunmen in the tavern are unknown, and the rest of them are hiding inside the tavern, too afraid to show their faces again.

The streets were filled with the smell of gunpowder and blood; the wounded groaned on the ground, but no one dared to help.

Both sides hid behind cover, panting heavily, glaring at each other.

Their hatred remained, but a deeper suspicion began to emerge.

Old Joe, clutching his bleeding arm, yelled at the mayor, "Greenwood! You fucking called Pinkerton and the marshals to mess with me?"

Mayor Greenwood immediately retorted, "Bullshit! Those cops were clearly hired by you, you bastard, to arrest me!"

"I don't know them at all!"

"I don't know him either!"

There was a moment of silence on both sides.

do not know?
If Pinkerton and the bailiffs weren't called by the other side, then what were they there for? Surely they weren't just passing by and looking at the scenery?

A terrifying thought crossed the minds of both leaders—

They just now... it seems like they were shooting bullets at the people in uniform.

Injured Pinkerton detective, assaulted federal marshals...

This is a federal felony! It's a gallows offense! At the very least, you'll spend the rest of your life in jail!
Moreover, those Pinkerton guys are notorious for being vindictive; if someone hurts one of their people today, they can mobilize hundreds of detectives to raze the town to the ground tomorrow!
The two groups that had been shouting and threatening each other just moments before now felt a chill in their hearts. The corpses and wounded on the street were still in front of them, but an even greater fear had gripped them.

A strange silence suddenly fell over Windbreak Town, with only the groans of the wounded and the sound of the wind reminding people of what had happened.

On the second floor of the tavern, Lionel observed the situation below through bullet holes.

He saw both sides stop shooting, heard them shouting, and saw the anger on their faces turn into confusion, and then from confusion into fear.

Lionel whispered, "Oh no, they're joining forces."

Black Knight was inspecting his hunting rifle when he heard this and was taken aback: "Join forces? They were just about to shoot each other."

Lionel explained quickly, "That was just now. Now they all realize they've made a huge mistake."

Assaulting U.S. Marshal Pinkerton—no one can escape this charge; everyone has leverage over them, which is the same as having no leverage at all.

What are they most afraid of right now?

Black Knight wasn't stupid; he immediately realized, "Afraid that we survivors will go around spreading rumors?"

Lionel nodded, his expression grave.

Once the two groups below realize what's happening, their only option for self-preservation is to join forces and eliminate all the "outsiders"—including the two of them, as well as the injured detectives and bailiffs in the stables.

Only in this way can we unify our narrative and cover up today's events as a "gang fight" or an "Indian attack."

Lionel told Black Knight, "If you want to live, listen to me. We absolutely cannot let them react. We must get there before they do."

Black Knight looked at Lionel: "What do you suggest we do?"

At this moment, the scholar he had kidnapped possessed an aura that compelled him to submit.

Without another word, Lionel rushed to the bedside and ripped off the dusty gray sheet.

Then he took the ink that Black Knight had taken out for writing poetry, poured it into the leftover water glass, and shook it.

Unable to find a pen, he dipped his finger in diluted ink and hastily wrote two huge words on the bed sheet:
Stop
misunderstanding
He rolled up the sheet, walked to the window that had been shattered by bullets, and carefully hung the sheet out.

The bed sheet, like a strange flag, unfurled in the breeze, its crooked handwriting particularly striking.

Those below immediately noticed the sudden appearance of the white flag.

"Look! Upstairs at the tavern!"

"What does it say?"

"Stop... Misunderstanding?"

Everyone's eyes were attracted.

Lionel took a deep breath, mustered his courage, and walked to the window, exposing himself to both of their gazes.

He raised his hands to indicate that he had no weapons, then shouted down, "Friends of Windbreak Town! Listen to me!"
Thank you, Mayor Greenwood and Mr. Joe, for protecting me! It was all a misunderstanding! A huge misunderstanding!

His voice echoed clearly in the quiet town.

"Protect?"

"Misunderstand?"

These two words seemed to have a magical power, instantly reaching the ears of the mayor and Old Joe, and immediately dispelling the terrible thoughts that had just arisen.

(The author wrote "literary genius" but "gun genius," so I'll stop here. There will be another update later. Please vote with your monthly tickets.)
(End of this chapter)