America 1883: The Western Homeland

Chapter 66 Bozeman, Montana

As Tom watched the dust kicked up by the migrating convoy gradually disappear in the direction of the Rocky Mountains, he could only hope that everything would be alright when they met again.

However, Tom couldn't possibly miss the intense, unyielding will to die emanating from Shay!

He was almost certain that once this mission to escort immigrants was over, barring any unforeseen circumstances, Shay would likely end his own life.

A private detective with such extensive experience, whose footprints have covered the entire western wilderness, died so quietly? What a pity!

"Zack, Cooper, Simone, what do you think?" Tom beckoned the three of them to his side, his gaze serious.

"Fifty dollars a month, room and board included, this kind of job is hard to find!" Simone was the first to speak, her tone revealing a realistic consideration.

"Cowboys are needed everywhere." Zack seemed a little absent-minded, more concerned with what to have for dinner than with this heavy topic.

Cooper immediately plastered a fawning smile on his face. "Boss! I, Cooper, am sticking with you! You can't leave me behind!"

He patted his chest and assured them.

Tom's gaze fell on Cooper's face, and a cryptic smile appeared on his lips, making Cooper's heart skip a beat and his forehead almost break out in a sweat.

"I...I'm Zack's older brother!" Cooper couldn't stand the look in his eyes and hurriedly brought up this relationship.

Zack, standing nearby, immediately distanced himself: "It's a watch! It's a watch!"

"Alright," Tom said, turning his gaze away. "Since you don't plan to leave for now, let's leave it at that. If you want to leave, just let me know."

His gaze lingered on Cooper for a final moment before he turned and walked toward his tent.

He had stayed up all night and desperately needed rest.

"Tom!"

Tom felt as soon as he closed his eyes when he was jolted awake by a rapid shaking.

He suddenly opened his eyes, and what came into view was his mother Margaret's extremely anxious face.

"Tom! Elsa's awake!"

Tom instantly snapped out of his daze, all his fatigue vanished, and he immediately got up and rushed toward the carriage.

Inside the carriage, Elsa was deathly pale, her forehead beaded with cold sweat.

Tom gently took her cold hand in his: "Elsa, tell me, where does it hurt?"

"My shoulder...it hurts so much..." Elsa practically spat out these words through clenched teeth, her body trembling slightly from the intense pain.

"What about other places? Your stomach? Your belly? Or under your ribs?" Tom pressed, carefully observing her reaction.

"Only... my shoulder!" Elsa's face contorted in excruciating pain.

Tom carefully examined her face and breathing, confirming that apart from the pain in her shoulder, there were no other hidden injuries on her body.

My anxiety eased a little.

"Make her willow bark soup, three times a day," Tom quickly explained to his mother, Margaret. "For the swollen shoulder, rub it repeatedly with cactus gel."

He paused, then added, "If it's still in a lot of pain... give her some whiskey!"

Tinea balm was the last resort; it was extremely addictive and deadly.

It must never be given to Elsa unless absolutely necessary.

Margaret gave Elsa the medicine as instructed and then carefully applied the gel.

However, the pain did not subside significantly.

"Tom..." Margaret looked at him helplessly, her eyes filled with heartache.

"Give her whiskey!" Tom had no other choice.

Elsa didn't have a fever, just pure, excruciating pain, and could only hope for the numbing effect of alcohol.

"Remember," he warned in a stern voice, "once she's drunk, you absolutely mustn't give her any more water!"

Only after Elsa fell into a deep sleep did Tom's family sit around the campfire and discuss their next steps in hushed tones.

"So, we're definitely going to Bozeman Valley?" Tom asked for a final confirmation.

James nodded vigorously: "Let's leave immediately after noon!"

The Bozeman Valley, a land that rose to fame during the gold rush, connects Caspar Castle and Bozeman.

The path they were about to embark on was the "Bozeman Trail," etched by the footsteps of pioneers.

"Okay!" everyone responded.

After a quick and simple meal, the group set off towards the Bozeman Valley.

Elsa climbed into Margaret's carriage.

Zach led the way in his carriage, followed closely by Margaret, Aunt Claire, the cook, and Simone, each driving their own covered wagon.

Cooper and Ennis were in charge of driving the cattle and horses.

James and Tom walked one after the other, one guarding the perimeter of the team and the other scouting ahead.

The journey from Kaspar Castle to the Bozeman Valley is not short.

They had to find a suitable campsite to settle down before the first snow fell!

As time passed and the chill deepened, the atmosphere of late autumn seemed to be instantly replaced by the harshness of winter.

As we traveled along, the wild grass on the grasslands grew increasingly withered and yellow, and the leaves turned from green to yellow, eventually falling and leaving only a desolate scene.

"Finally... we've arrived in Montana!" someone whispered.

At this moment, they have stepped into the vast land of Montana.

Golden October is just around the corner, while the legendary harsh winter is fast approaching!

"I'll go scout ahead!" Tom called out, leading Zack on horseback forward.

Bozeman Valley is essentially a small town that arose from the valley's topography.

Its rise is inseparable from that newly built train station.

The town of Bozeman was established less than a year ago, and the train station opened just a month ago.

The town is still a bit worse than Fort Worth, although the security seems better.

The main street runs north to south, with wooden buildings of varying heights lining both sides, all lined with shops.

Most of the particularly tall two-story buildings were bars or hotels.

"Let's find a bar first and see what's going on!" Tom suggested.

Although it was daytime, the bar was quite crowded. Savvy businessmen, idle cowboys, and weary miners gathered in twos and threes.

"What would you like?" a sharp-eyed young bartender asked from behind the bar.

He had a capable physique and exuded an aura of "don't cause trouble here."

The bartender's gaze swept over Tom, a tall, thin young man dressed in cowboy attire, with an even more nervous-looking companion behind him.

However, at Deep Valley Bar, the bartenders only care about money, not people.

If you have money, you're a customer.

"Whiskey, two glasses!" Tom said crisply.

The two sat down at the bar. Zack was clearly a little awkward, after all, it was his first time in a place like this.

Tom, observing this, casually asked, "Where can I find a place to rent?"

The bartender put down his glass: "Fifty cents for a bed, one dollar for a partitioned room, two dollars for a single room with a lock, by the day."

The tone was flat.

Tom didn't touch the alcohol; he simply slid a five-dollar bill across the bar and pushed it in front of the bartender.

"I need to rent the entire building for six months. Do you have any suitable options?"

The bartender glanced at the bright green color and shook his head: "No."

But noticing the disappointment in Tom's eyes, he lowered his voice and added, "If you have a large family... a small ranch by the river would be an option."

Seeing Tom raise an eyebrow, he continued, "One hundred dollars a year for 160 acres of land, the house is yours to use. However..."

He paused for a moment, then said, "We need to stock up on firewood quickly, winter is just around the corner."

Tom nodded his thanks, then pulled Zack up and left.

On the bar, two glasses of whiskey remained untouched, their amber liquid reflecting the dim light.