America 1883: The Western Homeland

Chapter 23 Interrogation of the Fugitive Bandits

In the western wilderness, the rising sun casts a blood-red light.

A dark shadow darted across the ground, following the hastily trampled hoofprints of the fleeing bandits, heading straight southeast!

The loach's four hooves flew, its heavy breathing exhaling white vapor, its astonishing endurance gradually eroding the distance.

Finally, Tom's "vision" suddenly locked on!

Three desperate men were running wildly and recklessly across the boundless wilderness!

Tom's eyes were cold as he steadily raised his right hand, Winchester.

Bang! Bang! Two precise shots, not killing—the first shot tore through the hind leg tendon of the last escaped bandit's horse, the startled horse neighing and rolling to the ground, throwing its rider violently away.

The second shot almost simultaneously broke the barrel of the rifle in the second fugitive's hand, causing his hand to split open!

The third remaining bandit, terrified, spurred his horse on, attempting to accelerate.

Tom pulled out the Colt with lightning speed with his left hand, bang!

The bullet grazed the man's earlobe with pinpoint accuracy, the scorching shockwave almost scorching his skin.

"Dismount! Or the next one will be in your spine!" Tom's voice was like the whisper of death.

The third fugitive was terrified and suddenly reined in his horse.

The three collapsed to the ground, one with a broken leg howling in pain, another clutching his hand and trembling, while the third looked ashen-faced as Tom rode his mule closer like an iron tower.

Tom didn't dismount his mule; his gun, like a venomous snake, was locked onto the third fleeing bandit: "Names? Who sent you?"

His eyes darted around, attempting to resist: "I...I don't know...bandits..."

Bang! Without hesitation, Tom shot the head of the amputee fleeing bandit, splattering red and white matter all over the face of the third bandit.

"So you really are bandits!" Tom's voice grew colder. "Last chance. Your name, or you watch your last comrade's head explode."

The third escapee completely broke down, his crotch soaked, the stench of blood and stench filling the air. He screamed hoarsely, "It's...it's Gunn! Lucas Gunn! He...he's our leader! He told us to pretend to be bandits...to create chaos...to scare the cattle so we could take them!"

"Gunn?" Tom frowned, his gun barrel motionless. "When did he ever provoke someone like that?" He couldn't understand why those skinny bison would warrant such a large-scale operation.

The fugitive roared like a broken bellows, "We're from the Sun Gang! We...we've got our eyes on you bison!"

Tom's lips curled into a cold smile, and he suddenly raised the muzzle of his gun, pressing it against the forehead of the last terrified fugitive: "Is what he said true?" His voice was not loud, but it was like a knife chilled to the bone.

"You! Speak!" Tom's question was like a thunderclap.

The fleeing bandit, whose head was being held against a metal rod, trembled violently, his teeth chattering: "He...what he said...is...it's true!"

boom--!

A flash of gunfire! The third fugitive's head exploded like a rotten watermelon, splattering red and white matter all over the last man's head and face!

"Bullshit!" Tom roared, his voice thick with gunpowder. "You fucking have one more chance!"

The last fugitive was gurgling in his throat, his eyes almost bulging out of their sockets, the fear of death overwhelming him. "Tell...tell me...you...you spare my life?" His voice trembled uncontrollably.

Tom's finger slipped onto the trigger without hesitation!

"Robbing the cattle is a cover!" the escaped bandit shouted with all his might, before the bullets could be fired. "The real target is the immigrants' property! Valuables! Gold! Women!"

The gun barrel paused slightly.

Tom's eyes locked onto the coyote that had intruded into his territory like a grizzly bear: "You've been watching us all along?"

"No...no!" The fugitive shook his head frantically. "It was...it was a message delivered by someone!"

These words, like a red-hot iron rod, slammed into Tom's brain! His eyes instantly became more terrifying than a wolf in the desert night: "Who?"

"Yes...yes..." The fugitive's eyes flickered, and he still tried to struggle.

"Not talking?" Tom lowered the gun again, his voice so cold it could crack stone. "You think I can't find out? Then... I'll make sure you die ten times worse than those two!"

"The Clayton Gang!" The fugitive's mental defenses completely crumbled, and he screamed, "It's Baker from the Clayton Gang! That son of a bitch Baker!"

Clayton Gang? Baker?

A completely unfamiliar name.

Tom frowned deeply. "Why did they pass on the message?"

"I...I don't know! I really don't know!" The last escapee's face was covered in snot and tears, and Tom could see his terrified expression clearly. He wasn't lying.

Clayton Gang… Sun Gang… Damn it! It's only been a few days? This entire immigrant group, with their families, has already been targeted by two local thugs!

"Where are your people hiding? How many are there?" Tom's voice was like a grinding wheel sharpening a knife, making one's ears ache.

The fugitive shuddered at the murderous aura and blurted out, "They're scattered...scattered like hyenas! Livestock Market, Fort Worth, Clefthoof Valley...they're usually quiet, only gathering when there's work!"

"How many people exactly?"

"Only...only Clayton knows!"

The fugitive, seeing the cold glint in Tom's narrowed eyes, shrieked, "This time...this time they've definitely brought everyone who can breathe! Over at Clefthoof Valley...I reckon there are less than ten left. Look...look at the livestock!"

"Anything else?"

"There are people buried along the road to Dallas! How many... I really... I have no idea!"

Tom leaned down, his eyes like two red-hot nails, fixed on the fugitive's face: "Where... is Clayton?"

"Fort Worth... Fort Worth!" the escapee hissed, terrified that a second's hesitation would send his head flying. "White... White Elephant Bar! He... he often goes there!"

"Do you have family?" Tom's voice was deep, like muffled thunder rolling across a distant wasteland.

The last fugitive, as if grasping at a straw, nodded his head vigorously: "Yes! Yes! I... I have a younger sister! She's in town!"

A morbid hope flashed in his eyes, and he even forced a fawning, twisted smile. "If...if you like her, I...I'll send her away right now..."

puff!

Tom's fist was faster than his words!

A hook punch, accompanied by a gust of wind, slammed into his chin, the dull thud of bones shattering clearly audible!

boom!

The fugitive didn't even utter a sound before collapsing to the ground like a tattered sack, completely unconscious.

Tom shook his numb fingers, his eyes like icy blades, fixed on the limp body, the suppressed rage in his chest erupting into a thunderous roar:

"You bastard! I'm sparing your life only because of your sister! If I hear your filthy mouth spewing shit again, the next shot will be aimed at your crotch!"

He ignored the muddy mess on the ground and yanked the reins hard.

The loach let out a hiss and turned the mule around.

Under the crimson sunrise, Tom's figure, like a silhouette of revenge, swept away in a cloud of dust.

All that remained were the unconscious survivors, two headless corpses, and the chilling aura of death echoing through the wilderness.

After an unknown amount of time, the scorching hot wind, carrying sand and gravel, like rough sandpaper, finally roused the unconscious fugitive.

He sat up abruptly, still shaken, and fumbled around his body, finding that his arms and legs were still there!

His head was still on his neck!

"Damn it! I'm lucky to be alive!"

He spat out a mouthful of blood and scrambled towards the nearest stray, frightened horse, leaping onto its back with both hands and feet!

The whip lashed down hard!

"drive--!"

A man and a horse, without looking back, galloped desperately across the still-bloodied wasteland towards Fort Worth!

He was completely unaware! A cold gaze had already locked onto him!