Reborn in 1878: America's Number One Bandit

Chapter 27 Some People Don't Want Dignity

"Stop! Who is it?"

Brody and his officers were on high alert.

They all raised their shotguns and revolvers, aiming them in the direction from which the sound came.

The sound of hooves stopped.

A voice rang out from the darkness.

"Gentlemen, lay down your weapons and do not panic."

Three men dressed in black trench coats and top hats slowly emerged from the darkness.

"This case has been taken over by Pinkerton Detective Agency."

The Pinkerton detectives have arrived.

The leader was named Graves, a senior agent in the Pinkerton Chicago branch.

He squatted down, picked up a bit of soil from beside the rails, and smelled it.

"The amount of nitroglycerin was large, and the technique was very professional."

The explosives were positioned precisely at the weakest point of the curve, ensuring the locomotive and carriages derailed completely. This wasn't something an ordinary robber could pull off.

He walked to a guard carriage riddled with bullets and picked out a deformed bullet with his fingers.

".44-40 caliber, Winchester. They are providing crossfire from the high ground on both sides of the canyon."

Look at these bullet holes; they're densely packed, and most of them are concentrated in the lower and middle parts of the carriage. They had no intention of giving the people inside any chance of survival.

"Another Irishman."

Another detective beside him glanced at the survivor Jennings's statement and snorted coldly.

"They scam compensation money on construction sites, then form gangs and rob people everywhere once they're off the site. It's time to clean up this bunch of filthy potato bastards who only know how to drink whiskey and reproduce."

“A professional gang of over thirty people, well-trained, ruthless, and well-armed, is not something the local sheriff can handle.”

Graves gave his subordinates the order: "Send a telegram to the Chicago branch immediately and have them send the action team over."

But before that, we need intelligence.

I need to thoroughly investigate Marin and Sonoma counties. I need information on all the outsiders who have entered this area in the last three months, especially Irish people!

He added, "Also, send a safety recommendation to the headquarters of the Southern Pacific Railway. From today onwards, all their construction sites should be more cautious when hiring. Try to avoid hiring Irish people anymore."

In stark contrast to the outside world's turmoil, Marlene's farm is very peaceful.

Lawson opened his eyes on the soft, large bed.

The operation went very smoothly.

More than 25,000 silver dollars and US dollars have now been broken down into smaller amounts.

More than twenty British-American suicide bombers embarked on their journey to San Francisco in batches, taking different routes.

He never pursues speed; stability is his top priority.

Even if it takes seven days, it's all worth it as long as we can ensure that this huge sum of money is safely converted into the nickel needed for the next upgrade.

Once the payment is settled, he will be able to advance to level 8.

By then, the number of assassins updated daily will reach 47.

"I just don't know what expensive stuff I'll need to reach level 9."

Lawson stretched: "Hopefully it's not a fucking diamond."

He was calm and composed.

He gave Er Gou and San Gou some instructions, telling them to be on guard, then turned over and fell into a deep sleep.

The following day, news spread throughout the northern shore of the Golden Gate Strait that gun shops in Sonoma County had been looted and that a Southern Pacific Railroad pay train had been bombed, with all its guards killed. Panic and anger spread through pubs and streets in various towns.

"Those damn Irishmen again! I told you, they shouldn't be allowed to set foot on American soil!"

"What else can they do besides drinking, fighting, and causing trouble? A bunch of lazy parasites!"

“My neighbor’s farm employs a few Irish people, and I have to warn him to watch out for those drunks!”

With the deliberate instigation of Lawson's assassins, a strong sense of hostility towards the Irish began to brew.

Sonoma County Sheriff Brody is frantically working with the Pinkerton Detective Agency agents on a large-scale investigation.

In Strawberry Town.

The old men in the town council, along with Sheriff Barnes, finally began investigating Jack Anderson.

"He said he came from the south?"

In the smoke-filled room of the mayor's office.

Councilman Henderson, who was also a major landowner in town, slowly exhaled a smoke ring: "Isn't this timing a bit too damn coincidental?"

Barnes pondered, "Coleman Parker was just killed, and his beautiful wife inherited his entire business, then turned around and married this Jack, handing over three thousand acres of land. Even a third-rate playwright wouldn't dare to write such an outrageous story."

"Although from a procedural standpoint, everything is perfectly legal and there is not a single fault with it."

Congressman Henderson continued, "Gentlemen, we must understand one thing. Those three thousand acres of land in Parker are not ordinary wasteland; they are the most fertile and core asset of our Strawberry Town!"
That's the wealth of our Strawberry Town! How could it fall into the hands of outsiders without any explanation?

"What do you mean?" the mayor asked, looking at him.

“I mean, Sheriff Barnes,”

“You need to investigate this thoroughly. Is there some shady connection between this Jack and the murderer who killed Pike? The people need the truth, and Pike needs justice.”

If it can be proven that this was all a conspiracy, then this inheritance right will naturally be invalid. At that point, the county will administer the land, and our town council will naturally have the responsibility to ensure it falls into the hands of 'our own people.'

Sheriff Barnes paused for a moment, then picked up his coffee cup and took a sip.

"I will look into it."

As soon as those old foxes started making their moves, Lawson knew about it.

At this moment, he was leisurely crossing his legs.

Something was simmering in a large iron pot next to them.

The pot is stewing the bear paw of the black bear from last night.

Not far away, San Gou was tidying up the bear skin.

The entire pelt was glossy and smooth, with no damage except for an inconspicuous bullet hole in the left eye socket; it was practically perfect.

"Tanning it properly, don't ruin it."

Lawson advised, "Once it's done, go to town and find the best tailor to make us a bearskin coat. It'll definitely keep us warm in winter."

Strawberry Town is a great place.

He has made this his base of operations.

Since those old fogies in town who hold positions without doing anything are unwilling to follow the rules of the game.

They had to resort to underhanded methods to test his bottom line...

It's nothing. The existence of order means it can be broken and then rebuilt.

Since they don't want to be dignified, let's help them be dignified.

Replacing the mayor, councilors, and sheriff of Strawberry Town with our own people would be a good option.

(End of this chapter)