Reborn in 1878: America's Number One Bandit

Chapter 36 Conquering the enemy without fighting

The pieces that Lawson had placed earlier finally came in handy.

Sheriff Miller probably never dreamed that there was an enemy spy among his own men.

The two assassins cannot return to Wildfire Town after completing their mission.

Otherwise, what would happen if everyone else died and only the two of them went back?

Some places arrange for them.

Moreover, with Sonoma County police officers almost entirely killed or wounded this time, another batch can be placed in.

Return to the battlefield in Wildfire Town.

The officers were all trembling with fear.

At Thompson's feet.

Sheriff Miller's head was covered in mud and grass clippings, and he stared at him intently.

A young police officer could no longer bear it; his stomach churned violently.

He suddenly turned around, grabbed the sandbag, and vomited.

Partially digested beef, mixed with sour, putrid bile, splattered all over the ground.

The sound of vomiting triggered a chain reaction.

Several more people started gagging.

Sheriff Thompson looked grim.

This is a terrifying art meticulously crafted by the devil.

at this time.

A male voice with a heavy Irish accent drifted over from the depths of the fog.

“You government-paid bastards shouldn’t have messed with our ‘wolf pack.’ We just wanted some money quietly, but you always wanted to be heroes. Now, the hero’s head is right at your feet. How does that feel?”

Thompson roared, "You cowardly Irish coward! If you've got the guts, come out of the fog and fight me for real!"

A low laugh came from the voice in the fog.

"Go all out? Like those pathetic wretches at your feet? No, no, Thompson, I'm in a good mood today and I'm going to do some mercy."

“I’m giving you one chance. Throw all your weapons on the ground—rifles, revolvers, and the little daggers you’re hiding in your boots.”

"Then take off your shirts, raise your hands, and get out of Strawberry Town."

“Go back to your own homes, fuck your wives, and drink your cheap whiskey.”

"otherwise."

"Your heads will also become new decorations on our saddles."

Thompson's heart sank.

This is the most vicious psychological tactic.

He shouted encouragement to his men: "Don't listen to his nonsense! The Irish are masters of lying and deception!"

They're trying to trick us into laying down our weapons so they can slaughter us one by one like lambs to the slaughter!

They must outnumber us, otherwise they would have attacked already! They're afraid of us!

The officers' gazes, however, involuntarily drifted toward their headless colleagues.

A police officer clutches the cross tightly to his chest.

"I'm sorry, Sheriff... I... I can't die here."

He threw the Winchester rifle on the ground.

He removed the holster from his waist and discarded it along with the Colt revolver and a row of spare bullets.

"Annie and I are getting married next month. I promised her I would come back alive..."

He raised his hands and walked towards the barricade: "I'm out of weapons! I'm coming out! Don't shoot! I surrender!"

Everyone watched as he walked step by step into the thick gray fog.

In the mist.

The Irish accent rang out again: "Don't be nervous, child. What's your name?"

“Billy… Billy Hanks,” the young officer stammered.

“Oh, Mr. Billy Hanks,”

The voice trailed off, "On behalf of the 'Wolf Pack,' I wish you a happy marriage in advance. A month from now, when you're holding your young, beautiful, and radiant bride, you'll be incredibly grateful for the decision you made today. Go on, enjoy your life."

"Th-thank you! Thank you!"

Billy felt like he'd been granted a pardon and scrambled away into the depths of the thick fog, his footsteps soon fading from sight.

He really did leave alive. This fact was like a boulder thrown into a still pond.

“Sheriff, my wife is due to give birth next week, I have to go back to be with her!” The second man stepped forward, throwing his gun while making excuses for his cowardice.

Once there's a second one, there's a third.

A middle-aged police officer said with a worried look, “Mr. Thompson, I have to go. My mom… she… she recently started dating a new boyfriend, you know, that guy doesn’t seem like a good person, I have to go back and check him out for her.”

The reason was so lame it was laughable, yet no one could laugh at it.

Following that, all sorts of bizarre excuses emerged one after another.

"I roasted a turkey yesterday and forgot it in the oven. If I don't get back to town soon, I'll burn it!"

"I...I have an appointment with the doctor today to see about my hemorrhoids!"

Thompson waved wearily: "That's enough, stop fucking making this up."

"Those who want to leave, may leave."

The remaining officers breathed a sigh of relief and stopped trying to find excuses.

They started throwing down their weapons.

Rifles, pistols, and ammunition belts were now discarded like worn-out shoes, piling up in a small mountain on the muddy ground.

With their hands raised, they walked into the thick fog one by one.

Less than ten minutes.

Behind the barricades, only Sheriff Thompson remained, all alone.

He stood amidst the pile of cold, hard guns.

There was deathly silence all around.

The sound of horse hooves sounded.

Finnian, riding a black steed, broke through the fog and appeared before Thompson.

Pull back the reins and clap your hands.

"Crack, snap, snap."

"Sheriff Thompson, you're the toughest cop I've ever met, a true hero."

"To show my respect for you, I'll give you a fair duel. Draw your gun, are you ready to meet your maker?"

Thompson's right hand rested on the holster at his waist, his fingers trembling slightly.

Draw a gun? He had no chance of winning.

The opponent is absolutely certain that they will kill you the moment you draw your gun.

To die here? For what?
For promotion and wealth? For that long-vanished honor?

After a while, his tense shoulders slumped.

He took off his holster and threw it on the ground.

"I can't die here either."

"I have more important things to do."

After saying that, he didn't look at Finnian again, and began to stagger towards the edge of town.

Finnian let out a burst of unrestrained laughter.

"You piece of shit! You castrated coward! Go back home! Go back home and tell your wife how you fucking ran away with your tail between your legs like a dog!"

"Tell her that it was Grandpa Finnian who spared your life, and that she should serve you well in bed tonight, you spineless coward! FUCK YOU!"

Thompson didn't turn around, but quickened his pace.

As the last policeman disappeared into the fog, Strawberry Town opened its arms to Finnian.

Finnian stopped laughing.

With a wave of his hand, thick fog billowed behind him, and more than thirty bandits armed with Winchester rifles appeared like ghosts.

"Bros!"

Finnian raised his rifle high and let out a beastly roar, "Time to collect the money!"

He took the lead and charged into the quiet town with his men.

Horse hooves pounded on the muddy streets, splashing up puddles of dirty water.

"Where have all those fat, greasy bastards gone?"

"Where's the mayor? Where's the councilor? Oh, we hanged them, hahaha..."

(End of this chapter)