Reborn in 1878: America's Number One Bandit

Chapter 57 Dennis Kearney Must Die

Sacramento, the official residence of the Governor of California.

On Governor William Irwin's desk, two newspapers were spread out.

One copy featured a sketch of the beheading of Aaron Cross, a special envoy he personally appointed; the other contained photographs depicting the devastation suffered by the Irish immigrant community after the militia atrocities.

He was naturally angry about Cross's death.

But Buck's utterly foolish act of revenge gave him a terrible headache.

This idiot!

He couldn't find the main force of the bandits at all; he just acted like a mad dog, biting civilians indiscriminately!

He didn't burn down a church, he burned down a powder keg!

This has enraged Irish immigrants across the United States!

Countless telegrams of protest and condemnation were sent to his office one after another!
Northern California is even more chaotic than he expected!
We can't let Buck keep messing around like this.

If this continues, before the gang is even wiped out, California will be engulfed in a race riot!
"Get me to the telegraph room!"

Soon, two strongly worded telegrams were sent from the governor's residence.

The first letter was sent to Lieutenant Buck in Marin County.

"Immediately cease all retaliatory actions against civilians! Hold your positions and await further instructions! Any further disobedience will be subject to military law!"

The second letter was sent to the Sacramento garrison to be delivered.

The content is largely the same; the core idea is to first put a chain on Buck, this mad dog.

The governor paced back and forth in his office in frustration.

Federal Army? He can't mobilize them.

As long as those gangs don't openly raise the flag of rebellion and declare independence, Washington's bureaucrats won't send a single soldier.

Ultimately, he has to resolve this matter himself.

The militia is unreliable, the Pinker militia is unreliable, and Pinkerton has stumbled again...

Wait a minute! Pinkerton?

The governor abruptly stopped in his tracks.

We all have the same enemy; perhaps that means we can become friends.

After he sat back down at his desk, his emotions had calmed down considerably.

"Secretary, call the Pinkerton Detective Agency's Chicago headquarters."

“Tell them that the Governor of California, Mr. William Irwin, wants to speak with their boss.”

……

Marlene Farm, backyard.

The afternoon sun bathed the grass in a warm golden hue.

Lawson was shirtless, sweat trickling down his increasingly defined muscles.

The body of the greyhound that weighed less than 100 pounds at the beginning of his transmigration has now been completely transformed.

His 170-pound weight was evenly distributed across his upright frame, without an ounce of excess fat.

Now, several bottles of liquor stand fifty yards away in front of him.

He stood upright in place, his eyes slightly closed.

The next moment, he suddenly exerted force from his waist and hips, and the Colt Dragoon revolver, which had been quietly holstered, appeared in his hand as if out of thin air!
"boom!"

Fifty yards away, the rightmost bottle exploded!

"Phew, not bad!"

Lawson looked down at the artwork in his hands.

These are spoils of war seized from Cross's body.

As one of the largest and heaviest pistols of its time, the Dragoon Revolver was practically a miniature cannon that could be held in one's hand.

Its weight of over four pounds gives it unparalleled stability when firing.

The massive .44 caliber lead bullets were enough to easily penetrate the skull of an adult grizzly bear within fifty yards.

Now, this murder weapon has a new owner.

Although he doesn't need to personally show up and take action for the time being.

But deep down, he enjoys the feeling of controlling absolute violence!
Several core assassins, including Er Gou, San Gou, A Hu, and A Bao, are also undergoing the same training.

Their speed was equally terrifying.

Almost at the same moment that Lawson fired his shot, their gunshots rang out in quick succession.

"Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!" The remaining bottles were precisely targeted.

Their speed of drawing their guns and their accuracy are enough to make even the best marksmen in the West blush with shame.

But the fastest, without a doubt, is Lawson.

This is thanks to the comprehensive improvement in physical fitness brought about by the system upgrade.

His current nerve reflex speed, muscle strength and resilience have reached 1.8 times the peak of a normal human.

With such superhuman physical abilities, it would be difficult for him not to be fast.

At that moment, another piece of information appeared in Lawson's mind, and he smiled coldly.

Dennis Kearney.

That Workers' Party leader who rose to power by inciting anti-Chinese sentiment, that scumbag who clamored that "Chinese people must get out of America," is actually coming to Northern California in person.

Lawson had originally planned to send someone to San Francisco to deal with this scum once things in Northern California were settled.

Unexpectedly, he actually came to us on his own initiative.

Since you're here, don't leave.

Lawson saw right through Dennis's scheme.

This workers' leader is taking a huge political gamble.

He represents the face of all Irish people in America. If he is killed by so-called "Irish bandits," it would be tantamount to declaring to the world that these bandits do not represent the Irish people at all; they are just a group of thugs who do not distinguish between friend and foe.

In this way, he could use his death to clear the name of the entire Irish community.

Good at calculating.

"The Irish don't kill the Irish, do they?" Lawson murmured to himself, a hint of mockery flashing in his eyes.

"But who told you that the Irish gang was the only card I had in my hand?"

Dennis Kearney must die.

But his death must have been more meaningful.

Lawson chuckled and put the Dragoon revolver back into its holster.

Breaking this deadlock is quite simple.

……

Meanwhile, in San Jose, at the New Almadin mercury mine.

This is another world.

Countless mine shafts swallowed up tens of thousands of laborers.

The enormous steam lift roared, and its towering chimneys spewed thick, gray-black smoke into the sky.

This is one of the largest mercury mines in North America and one of the most important in the world.

Thousands of workers from all over the world live in the mining area.

Mexicans, Chileans, Cornish, Chinese, and of course, a large number of Irish.

The assassins sent by Lawson have successfully infiltrated the mining area as newly recruited laborers.

They soon discovered that things were much more complicated than they had anticipated.

As newcomers, they were assigned to do the hardest and most tiring odd jobs.

Some work deep in the mines, digging for ore with the most rudimentary tools, while others work on the surface, responsible for moving heavy ore and timber to support the tunnels.

The warehouse area, which stores large quantities of finished mercury products, is a forbidden area of ​​the mine.

The area was surrounded by a high fence with only one entrance and exit.

There are armed guards standing watch at the entrance all year round.

There were several watchtowers around the warehouse, and the people on them were also fully armed.

Any worker who came within 30 yards of the fence without permission would be yelled at or even warned with a gunshot.

The mine even has a private armed force of more than fifty people, composed of retired veterans.

These men were well-equipped and far more powerful than the sheriffs' teams in many small towns.

"New guy, look after your mom!"

A burly foreman lashed one of the suicide squad members on the back with his whip: "Get to work! Otherwise, you won't get any food tonight!"

The assassin expressionlessly hoisted a heavy sleeper onto his shoulder.

Once we start, I'll take you out first!

(End of this chapter)