Outnumbered? I'll conquer America with an unlimited number of suicide soldiers.

Chapter 54 The Kavira Tribe (Please Subscribe)

The Saint-Gabriel Mountains.

In another, more secluded valley, the entrance is hidden by dense forest.

The morning sun was just right, neither too hot nor too cold.

Dozens of rescued young Indians were lined up in a row, each holding a Pacific Type 1 rifle, maintaining the most basic standing and firing posture.

With the wooden stock against their shoulder, their arms outstretched to support the handguard, and their fingers pressed against the trigger guard, they had been practicing this position for an hour. Their arms ached terribly, but they dared not put it down.

"The guns you're holding only weigh four kilograms, and you can't even hold them for a short while? You still want to kill white people for revenge?"

Chongyue walked ahead, occasionally bringing his face close to theirs, watching their clenched teeth, and trying to persuade them in their tribe's language.

"If all else fails, just give up. Forget about the blood feud, forget about the tribe. Just find a comfortable haystack to lie down in every day, bask in the sun, and eat something."

Wouldn't it be better to be like those domesticated wild dogs, tail between their legs, scavenging scraps at the edge of white-skinned farms, and finally dying silently in excrement?

Warhawk's arms trembled uncontrollably, but he still roared, "No, absolutely not!"

"I want revenge! I want to kill all the white people and make them experience the pain I've suffered!"

"You have guts and perseverance, not bad, I admire you." Chong Yue flashed a bright smile. "Everyone, ten more minutes of holding your guns!"

A suppressed gasp, a mixture of pain and despair, rose from the ranks.

No one protested, no one backed down; their arms just trembled more violently.

Just then, Zeng Tai's voice clearly rang in Chong Yue's mind.

"Chongyue, you need to be extra careful over there lately."

Chongyue gestured for his companions behind him to come forward and help watch the training, while he turned and walked to a relatively quiet spot to the side, respectfully replying in his mind, "Sachem, what should we be careful of?"

"Beware of traitors, bah, beware of collaborators."

Inside Chinatown, Zeng Tai was leisurely sipping a bowl of steaming pork offal porridge with a plate of pickled vegetables.

"The white people in California have really been pushed to their limits this time, and they've completely lost their temper."

"They sent official letters to every large Native American tribe they could find, asking them to help identify the killer or they would be considered accomplices."

"When you rescued people the day before yesterday, didn't you let go of a few guys who didn't want to join and were clamoring to go back to their own tribes? Be careful they don't come back with their men to capture you."

Chongyue recalled the faces of those people and said in a deep voice, "Please rest assured, Sachem, we have already changed camps and sent people to keep watch outside their tribe."

"And if some fool really does bring people over," he sneered, "then I wouldn't mind speeding up the destruction of their tribe."

"Well, it's good that you have precautions and contingency plans," Zeng Tai said, then cut off the contact.

Yuan Guang, who was in charge of the gold mine, contacted him, but he didn't know what it was about.

Chongyue slowly exhaled a breath of stale air, bringing his attention back to reality.

He looked at his companions patrolling not far away and called out, "Baiyun, Heitu!"

Hearing the shout, the two immediately ran over: "Chief, what's up?"

Chongyue said, "I'm giving you two a task. When you're on patrol, occasionally go to the valley where we were before and make some noise to create the illusion that someone is still living there."

Black Earth scratched his head, puzzled. "Huh? Why, Chief? Didn't we already move here? Isn't this just pointless?"

Chongyue glared at him and explained, "Those Yokuts and Kavila who were released might bring back white people."

If the old valley is completely abandoned, they might just let it go if they come up empty-handed. But if they find signs of recent activity there, followed by a hasty retreat—”

He sneered, "What will the white people think? Will they think that we got wind of it beforehand and that's why we ran away?"

"At that point, the person leading the way won't be able to explain themselves, and the white people will suspect they're up to no good."

After hearing this, Baiyun revealed a mischievous smile: "Chief, you're so naughty, I like it so much."

Chongyue waved his hand impatiently and said, "Get out of here, get back to work."

Meanwhile, in the San Bernardino Mountains.

In the tribes of the Kavila.

In the center of the tribal settlement stands a striking two-story wooden house. Its sloping roof and stained-glass windows contrast sharply with the surrounding thatched huts.

On the balcony of the second floor of the house, Juan Antonio, the tribal chief, who was about fifty-two years old, was lying on a soft sofa with his eyes closed, enjoying the warm afternoon sun.

"Father, Father! A white man has come and is looking for you by name."

With a series of rapid thumps, a middle-aged Native American man ran up, looking somewhat panicked. "Their faces and tone were very unpleasant, like they were there to cause trouble."

Antonio opened his eyes abruptly, puzzled. "White people? What are they doing here again? It's not even the season for trading furs and mountain goods!"

Upon hearing the last sentence, he immediately frowned: "Looking for trouble? Why? Have some people from the tribe been causing trouble in the white people's town lately?"

Antonio dared not delay, immediately got up from the sofa, went downstairs and out the door, and quickly met the white horse team outside the tribe.

Although it was called a horse team, there were only three people, but they carried a sense of oppressive dominance from above.

Two young men, who appeared to be attendants, rode on horseback, holding Springfield carbines, their wary eyes constantly scanning the uneasy-looking Indians in the distance.

The leader was a white man in his forties, dressed in hunting attire. He rode a tall, dappled horse, his face grim, and he frequently pulled out his pocket watch to check the time, appearing extremely impatient.

"Boss, this red-skinned chief has an interesting name, Juan Antonio? A Native American savage, does he deserve such a respectable name?"

"I heard that it was given to him by Father Juan, who brought civilization to this place, many years ago when he was baptized."

As the group was chatting, an elderly Native American man with wrinkles on his face approached them from a distance.

"Mr. Thomas Baker, what brings you here?"

Antonio forced a smile, but before he could take more than a few steps forward, the attendants on either side of Baker's horse almost simultaneously raised their carbines, the dark muzzles pointing at him.

Antonio froze instantly, his smile frozen on his face.

"Mr. Antonio is an old friend of ours, there's no need to be so wary."

Baker slowly raised his hand, gesturing for his men to lower their guns, his tone calm. "I apologize, Mr. Antonio. The Native Americans in California have caused quite a bit of horrific trouble these past few days. My men were just worried about my safety and overreacted a bit. Please don't take offense."

Native Americans, trouble?

Antonio, keenly aware of the meaning behind those two words, forced a smile and said, "I understand, I understand."

"Mr. Kobek, we Kavila people have always been law-abiding citizens. The trouble caused by the Indians outside has nothing to do with us, does it?"

"Whether it matters or not is not up to you, Mr. Antonio."

Baker narrowed his eyes, pulled an envelope stamped with official wax from his pocket, and tossed it onto the ground in front of the horse.

"This is an official letter from the state government. Open it and take a look yourself."

Antonio picked up the official letter from the ground, tore off the sealing wax, and took out the letter. His expression immediately changed: What did it mean that he had to hand over his accomplices within a limited time? What did it mean that he had to provide intelligence to cooperate with the search?

"Damn it, no one from their tribe could possibly participate, so how are they going to hand over the people?"

"Mr. Baker, you know us well. Four years ago, that madman Gala from the North wanted to start some kind of Pan-Indian Rebellion and encouraged us to join. We captured him and handed him over to you."

Antonio took a deep breath and stepped closer, saying, "It's impossible for such a person to exist in our tribe."

Baker remained unmoved, his expression unchanged: "Mr. Antonio, it's not that I'm targeting you, it's the will of the state government, and all Native Americans in California must do this."

He took out a cigar, lit it in front of everyone, took a deep drag, and blew the smoke into Antonio's face.

"The trouble caused by your compatriots has gone too far, exceeding the limits of what everyone can tolerate. Now, you and your tribe only have two paths ahead of you."

His tone was chilling: "Either you cooperate with the investigation until we find the murderer and close the matter, or we'll let the federal army investigate."

Upon hearing this, the middle-aged man behind Antonio angrily retorted, "Who the hell are you trying to scare?! Why should you investigate whenever you want?"

We didn't do it, and that's it. If you're so capable, let the army—"

Snapped!

Before he could finish speaking, the middle-aged man received a sharp slap across the face, leaving five clear finger marks.

Antonio, his face grim, gritted his teeth and said, "Shut up, you idiot!"

He slowly withdrew his trembling hand and looked at Baker again: "Mr. Baker, I agree. How would you like the investigation to proceed?"

Soon, all the able-bodied men in the tribe were summoned and gathered in an open space.

More than a hundred people stood shoulder to shoulder, jostling and huddling together, with various hushed discussions emanating from the crowd, which coalesced into a buzzing sound.

"Mr. Baker, apart from the twenty or so men who are out hunting, almost all the able-bodied men in the tribe are here," Antonio said to Baker, pointing to the crowd.

"They'd better actually be hunting in the mountains, rather than doing something else out there."

Baker glanced at him and said calmly, "Have them line up in a row, don't huddle together. Then, everyone, put both wrists up high so my men can see them clearly."

Antonio turned to face his people and shouted a few words in Cavilla, his tone stern, demanding that they obey.

The crowd stirred slightly, and under the urging and shoving of several prominent figures, they managed to form several uneven and crooked rows, and extended their wrists.

Baker nodded toward his two guards, who, with their hands on their revolvers, cautiously approached the formation, glancing at each of their hands.

Soon, they pulled a few people out of the crowd and brought them to Baker and Antonio.

"Mr. Baker, these people are highly suspicious."

Baker said slowly, "Mr. Antonio, please explain."

Antonio forced a smile and said, "Mr. Baker, what's there to explain? They've been in the tribe these past few days, and I don't know why you dragged them out."

"Yeah?"

Baker sneered, grabbed a strong young man's hand, and showed Antonio the purplish-red, even somewhat festering, ring-shaped wound on his wrist: "Then explain the binding wounds on their wrists? These kinds of friction wounds can only form after the hands have been bound with rope for many days."

"Just two days ago, courthouses and prisons in several parts of Southern California were attacked by Native American mobs, and a group of Native American prisoners held for crimes were abducted!"

He stared intently into Antonio's eyes, grinning maliciously. "Mr. Antonio, you, chieftain of the Cavira, can you explain to me—why, at this very moment, have several men in your tribe with freshly bound wrists? Don't tell me this is just a coincidence!"

"Explain what?"

Behind Antonio, his son gritted his teeth and said, "You were the ones who first captured our tribe and enslaved them. Weren't Black Bear and his men even allowed to escape?"

Baker sneered, completely unconcerned by the other person's words: "So, you really are colluding with those thugs?"

Antonio glared at his son and said, "Mr. Baker, my son has already made it very clear that they are just lucky ones who escaped by sheer chance, not the thugs you are looking for."

"The truth isn't revealed by your words, but by our investigation," Baker retorted. "You say there was no collusion, and then there was no collusion?"

"I understand the rules, Mr. Baker, I understand the rules."

Antonio told Baker to wait a moment and then quickly returned to his home.

He took out a small wooden box from under the bed. When he opened it, a dozen or so gold beans of varying colors, each the size of a soybean, and a natural gold nugget about the size of a pigeon egg appeared before his eyes.

He stared at the gold, feeling a pang of heartache. But when he thought of Baker's cold gaze and the threat behind his words, he gritted his teeth, grabbed the heavy gold nugget, and held the two largest gold nuggets in his palm.

He returned to the open space, stuffed the gold dog head into Baker's hand, and handed the two gold beans to the two guards respectively.

"Mr. Baker, this is a small gift from us in Kavira. Please accept it."

Baker's self-glow fell on the gold nugget, and a satisfied smile slowly spread across his lips. He tucked the nugget into his pocket and said, "It seems to be a misunderstanding. I have always known of Mr. Antonio and the Cavira tribe's loyalty and law-abidingness."

"However, Mr. Antonio, as you understand, the state government's official letter has arrived, and we still need to go through the necessary procedures to give an explanation to our superiors."

"Could you please ask them if they heard or saw anything on their way back?"

For example, which direction did that group of lawless thugs go? In which mountains or valleys might they be hiding?