The wheels of the carriage, the dust from the horse's hooves, and the slightly desolate pastures of Rhodes Town, these ordinary things together form a detailed silhouette of the western world.
Sir or Madam, you must be bathing in the peaceful spring. You must be on the way to the theater or killing time in a street hotel. If I ask you to review the history of a poor person now, I must be causing trouble for myself. But I have something to tell you, so that I can find some meaning for my barren life.
I came all the way from Horseshoe Lookout, tired of hearing the clatter of hoofs on the dirt, and breathing in the red dust blowing from Tumbleweed Town and the yellow sand filling the sky from Armadillo Town. Countless tiny particles were flying around me. His lungs and heart were spinning, as if the greatest development of this wilderness was the soil turned up by people and the moldy and smelly rotting grass on the road.
I am a farmer from Tahiti. When I was a child, I loved catching fireflies with a bug trap. At that time, I did not know that confining a creature would eventually lay the foundation for my disaster. At twenty years old, I was young and energetic, and always fantasized about stepping out of the manor and going to the outside world. After my family's mango orchard was mortgaged to pay off a debt, I excitedly boarded a four-passenger carriage to Saint-Denis with a little handout from the government, which at least spared me the fatigue of walking.
"I'm sorry, my dear lady."
Several times when I turned around to look back at my hometown, I bumped into a lady’s shoulder. I wasn’t angry because she called me a turtle with its head stuck out. After all, I was on my own journey and it was inevitable. There are some bumps and bumps in life, and I have to learn to accept them myself.
I remember that I was looking in the direction of home, but I didn’t see my hometown. I only saw the lost tumbleweeds carrying the fodder from the barn away along the trail. I gradually understood that outside the wilderness, there were only homes and cages...
May 13, 1899, Reagan County, Texas:
"You have read his story, child, and I hope you will read it again." A man was busy with something in his hands, as if he was whittling a stick. He looked at a child sitting on a stone pier not far away. , with a smile on his face.
"He was an outlaw, from a slave owner living on the family estate to a self-reliant explorer, to a legendary gunman who went on a rampage. Remember he was a boy like you, and he wrote his life with his pen , using profound words.”
The man pursed his lips and continued: "I don't want you to become a person like him, bloodthirsty and crazy. But I want you to learn how he faced the difficulties in life, or you can just look at him It’s good to have some insights from the story.”
"Dad, do you know such a person?" the little boy raised his head from the book and asked.
"Oh, yes, but I really hope not." The man smiled awkwardly, "At some point, he was my father's informant. Sometimes, hum...he made a lot of money in the name of official plunder. Full, if necessary, he will use his cowboy pistol to clear out anyone who gets in his way."
"He is really a villain, worse than little Peter." The child pinched his fingers and said with disgust on his face.
The man was proud of his son's consistent sense of justice. He nodded approvingly: "Yes, such a villain was killed in a robbery after all. He met someone with better marksmanship than him."
"Mom said, that person is you!" The little boy's face glowed, and his eyes became brighter than ever. "You are Detective Pinkerton - the hero who protects the world."
Hearing these kind words, the man's face showed a hint of sadness. Judging from his outfit, he has been away from this profession for a long time. He may need to provide his son with fatherly companionship and cannot always put himself in danger. .
It could also be some other reasons...
But little Jason doesn't care. He can ask his dad to cut him cool toys. He can listen to his dad telling stories about gunmen. He can watch his mom and dad rolling around on the bed. He can become a hero who protects the world after his dad quits. "From the beginning, Jason was convinced that he had a family.
"John Coster!"
A urgent cry came from outside the house.
"Go and play, don't let him find you." The man patted the boy's back, then walked carefully to the door and opened it for the man.
"John Coster! Brother John, long time no see. The residents of Reagan County are so welcoming. The butcher down the street pointed to your house after hearing your name." A stocky man appeared in the house.
"Ha, Miller brothers, right?" Excitement appeared on John's face.
"John, are the wife and children at home? Oh, where have they gone? I can see that your life is not satisfactory." The strong man looked at the wooden stick in John's hand and pondered.
"Miller, no one greets you like this."
"I said this because I saw it. I don't want my brother who has been away for many years to live like this." Miller walked to a wall covered with wooden guns and shook his head. "Brother, what you played before was really serious. .You actually chose such a life! Do you still remember that time in Beibei Snow Mountain? We made pistols out of scrap steel pipes and fought all the way down the mountain, capturing Johnnyt alive. After that, we received the call to kill Lange, the North American gun king. He could have killed your father, but you were afraid to move forward."
Lange's autobiography flashed through John's mind, and then he thought of his young son. He regretted the words he said to his son.
"Ashley gave birth to Jason at that time."
"We all have families. Without your support, Mrs. Fowler, Mike, and Liebert would all be dead."
"Langer's shooting skills are surprisingly good, damn it." The man said angrily, obviously he was a little shaken by that period of history.
"But when Lange's crazy eyes looked at me, you appeared. Why?"
"I don't want my son to live in a world with a legendary shooter."
"Is that your reason? So you shot me and saved my life."
"Stop talking, I've already quit." John waved him to stop.
Miller did not remain silent because of this: "Pinkerton once shielded Lange - I know this. After your father was killed, you were helpless in the face of the arrogant Lange, and the federal court did not sentence Lange to justice. "
"Langer is dead, this is the most fair trial!" John almost roared.
Miller snorted a few times: "Do you think the hatred will subside after you fired the gun and turned away? The Pinkerton Firm is still very domineering across the country and continues to protect bounty hunters who do not abide by the law. There will be more in the future. Many Lange appeared in the Great West. We all recognized the reality, so we all quit the Pinkerton detectives, and now they are our common enemies. You must know that Irving ordered Lange to kill your father! He coveted it at the beginning You and Lange's shooting skills are so good that you used Lange's hand to kill your father to sow discord between you and Lange. Now that Lange is dead, Owen's claws will reach out to you!"
"Owen Smith? That leader? That violent bastard is not easy to deal with. We have little chance of winning against him." John's attitude has softened somewhat, and he knows that what Miller said is true.
"John, I know you have some affection for Detective Pinkerton—we've all been there. We've dealt with so many sheriffs from South Carolina to New Austin, and we know Detective Pinkerton The reality of internal corruption... hey hey, they only have guns and hired men, and other than that they have nothing to compete with us."
"Even so, you can't get rid of them all."
"To capture the thief first, we only need to get rid of Irving. We have many options. Before Irving is completely wrapped up in the city, we can keep him in the era of great development forever. Besides, if you kill Irving, you will be repaid. Revenge for killing your father, your wanted order will gradually fade in the hearts of the remaining Pinkerton detectives. My John, you don't know that Detective Pinkerton is so persistent in pursuing you, and it is entirely thanks to Owen's behind-the-scenes efforts. "
"Who else knows this idea?"
"Mr. Fowler is thinking the same thing as me. There are still some young people who are dissatisfied with reality and are eager to join. Then there is you. You did not have official permission to kill Lange. You are wanted by federal and Pinkerton detectives. The streets, coupled with Owen's hatred, Detective Pinkerton will be looking for you all over the streets - I think you don't want your son to live in a world where he is always being hunted by bounty hunters."
"Miller, you are still the same as before. You have the same skills in persuading people, grabbing the focus and making the other party realize the seriousness of the problem. But you have ignored one point. We cannot get close to Irving at all. You have to know that there is no enthusiasm in the Great West. Not as effective as a loaded pistol."
"Oh, planning helps us, doesn't it?"
"Miller, let me think about it again, but let me tell you - revenge is a fool's game."
Miller didn't answer and was silent for several minutes. He hummed an ancient melody, and then sang with a strong voice: "We are resolute warriors. We hold steel shields. Under the guidance of the shaman, we charge at the colonists and slave owners with our swords."
John was infected by this long melody. Although he was not an Indian, this song could always stimulate people's arteries and make all timidity and hesitation be blown away by the wind. He seemed to have changed his mind: "We picked up the Vikings With their battle axes, following the direction of the six-pointed star array, they threw their axes at the gods they paid tribute to..."
