Reborn in 1878: America's Number One Bandit

Chapter 86 Chinese Heroes!

The old pastor's roar ignited the entire square!

"Saved! We are saved!"

"God bless! God bless Baihu Anbao!"

Everyone went mad.

They rushed forward one by one, kissing the White Tiger team members' riding boots, crying and praising them!

Peter then raised his camera again.

"Stop! Don't move!"

"Crack!"

A flash of light captured Lu Yuan and his cavalry, along with the pile of grotesque heads on the ground, forever freezing that image in our minds.

……

Three days later, the storm swept across the entire United States.

The newspapers have gone mad.

The telegraph lines were nearly overwhelmed by a deluge of press releases from Northern California.

The San Rafael Dawn: A White Tiger Descends! Chinese Security Guards Engage in Bloody Battle Against Irish Gangsters!

The San Francisco Chronicle: The disgraceful retreat from Pinkerton and the demise of the California militia—who is protecting Northern California?

New York Herald: West Coast's Yellow-Skinned Heroes – White Tiger Security Guard Achieves Legendary Status in One Battle!

Jerry and Peter were both participants in and witnesses to the San Raphael massacre and the Battle of Dawn.

Their reports were filled with passion.

They abandoned flowery language and, based on their own experiences, vividly described that moment of despair.

"When Pinkerton agents chose to abandon their duties and flee in disarray, when Lieutenant Buck's militia battalion collapsed under the Gatling guns of the bandits, when we, unarmed civilians and journalists, were about to be publicly executed by the bandits!"

"They're here! White Tiger Security Company! They burst out of the thick fog like an ancient knightly order, erecting a defensive line between Saint Raphael and Hell!"

"They crushed the gang, hunted down more than thirty bandits, and brought back the heads of those devils. They are the ones who defended the safety of the town. White Tiger Security is the true guardian!"

The photograph taken by Peter even made it to the front page of the newspaper.

In the photo, Lu Yuan, who has a Chinese face, is riding a horse, looking cool and composed.

Behind him stood a strict formation of black cavalry, while in front of him lay a pile of bandit heads.

This photograph had a tremendous visual and psychological impact on the entire United States.

For a long time, in the minds of mainstream white society, the word "Chinese" has been associated with a fixed image: people with long braids, sweating profusely on railway construction sites, or huddled in corners of Chinatown smoking opium, thin and with a numb expression.

They were laborers, coolies, and the Yellow Peril, but they were definitely not warriors!

But the people in the photos completely overturn this stereotype.

None of these people had braids; instead, they all had neat short hair.

You can even vaguely see the bulging muscles under the black uniform.

That's a real man!

In comparison, those ruthless, cunning Irish gangsters who ultimately lost their heads were like a pack of barking wild dogs!

“They look different.”

In an interview, a Boston businessman pointed to the newspaper in astonishment: "Strong, upright, a million times more reliable than those loud-mouthed Irishmen!"

In this nationwide craze for white tigers, one name has been brought up again.

Dennis Kearney.

This former workers' leader is now like a rag stained with excrement, the first thing the Irish community itself has thrown into the trash heap!
"shame!"

"traitor!"

"A bastard who colludes with gangsters!"

The Irish Chamber of Commerce in San Francisco issued a public statement strongly condemning the political agitators led by Dennis, saying that their words and actions tarnished the honor of the Irish community, and announced their permanent expulsion from the Workers Party.

His death is no longer mentioned.

Die in the dungeon? Or commit suicide out of guilt? Who the hell cares?

He was now completely aligned with those headless Irish gangsters!
……

The town of Saint Rafael.

The reconstruction work is proceeding in an orderly manner under the supervision of Baihu Security.

When Lu Yuan announced that the main force was about to withdraw to the Strawberry Town branch, the residents began to feel afraid again.

"No! You can't leave!"

Pastor Hanks almost knelt down before Lu Yuan.

“Those bastards’ remnants are still in the mountains! If you leave, they will definitely come back for revenge! They will burn everything here!”

"Please, please, stay!"

The townspeople pleaded desperately.

Lu Yuan quietly observed the group of people. A few minutes later, he took out a document from his pocket.

"White Tiger Security Company provides professional long-term armed protection services. If Saint Rafael needs our protection, he can sign a contract with us."

Hanks took the contract like it was a treasure, didn't even look at the amount, and nodded frantically: "Sign! We'll sign! We'll sign no matter the price!"

Ten minutes later, a long-term security agreement, unanimously approved by the town's residents and worth a considerable sum, was signed.

A 20-man elite White Tiger squad will be stationed in Saint Raphael, responsible for the town's daily patrols and defense.

The costs are shared by the town's finances and the chamber of commerce.

Lu Yuan signed his name on the contract and then mounted his horse.

"Close the team!"

Strawberry Town, Marlene Farm.

Lawson breathed a sigh of relief as he saw that the matter was finally over.

Of course, those severed heads were not from his henchmen.

They were Irish thugs, robbers, and bastards who had been secretly captured from various places long beforehand.

Two weeks ago, Johnny and Finnian had already been cleaning up trash in the slums of Northern California, following his secret orders.

To die in place of the suicide squad is the only honor these bastards can have in their lives.

Night falls.

The thirty-six members of the wolf pack bandits reined in their horses in a rocky valley ten miles outside the town of San Rafael.

Finnian dismounted and walked toward another troop of cavalry that were already waiting there.

"Feed these things to the wolves."

His men behind him threw the linen bag that had sparked a frenzy in St. Raphael Square.

Johnny dismounted, expressionless, and picked up a head, examining its distorted features closely.

"FUCK! I know this idiot."

Johnny smirked: "Last week I got drunk at Red Lantern in San Francisco, hooked up with a 60-year-old prostitute, couldn't pay the bill, and got kicked out."

"Now he's actually proven his worth, becoming a stepping stone for White Tiger Security's rise to fame! Hahahaha!"

"What about us?"

One of the wolf pack members asked in a gruff voice, "Are we just going to leave like this? We haven't even fully devoured this piece of California yet."

Finnian glanced at him: "This is the boss's order. The wolf pack's mission in Northern California is complete. Now, it's time to shed this skin."

"Next, we're going to Texas."

"The boss said there's a much bigger battlefield there, with Comanche people, Mexican bastards, and ten times more fat sheep than California idiots!"

The wolf pack has completed its historical mission. Now, they will set off overnight and disappear from the map of California, becoming the first nail that Lawson drove into Texas.

As for California, Lawson is never worried that the safety situation there will improve.

The three fully-manned gangs – the Frenzy Dogs, the Quick Gang, and the Hyenas – remain lurking in the shadows of Northern California. Like hungry coyotes, they are ready to devour any unsuspecting prey.

If that's not enough, Lawson can easily assemble two or three more teams overnight.

The rules of this game have changed from who has the fastest gun to who is the banker!
……

One week later, Kern County, Southern California.

A brand-new two-horse carriage stopped outside James Harrison's Thousand Oaks Ranch estate.

Harrison, an elderly farmer in his sixties, stood on the porch, watching the young man get out of the car warily.

The young man was dressed in a well-fitting black suit, and his hair was neatly combed.

He looks like a banker or a lawyer.

As he approached the old man, he removed his top hat, revealing a stern face.

Good afternoon, Mr. Harrison.

The young man introduced himself: "My name is Adams, and I'm a business representative for White Tiger Security Company."

"White Tiger?"

Harrison frowned. "You mean that company up north that killed Irishmen, the ones in the newspapers?"

"He is a hero, sir."

Adams corrected, "We saved the town of San Rafael, and those reporters were our friends."

"I don't care who you are."

Harrison said gruffly, “This is Kern County, hundreds of miles away from your troubles. I have a dozen good lads and twenty guns. I don’t need security.”

Adams smiled, unsurprised by the answer.

He then took out a beautifully printed brochure from his briefcase and handed it over.

“Mr. Harrison, your ranch is the jewel of Southern California. Three thousand acres of pasture and more than five thousand cattle are the result of generations of hard work.”

“I’m just a salesman. But God, I read the newspapers every day, and those Irish bastards, they’re like a plague. They can’t stay in Northern California anymore, they’re definitely going to go south.”

“They’re mad dogs, Mr. Harrison, they’re capable of anything.”

At this point, Harrison's expression grew even more somber.

"Are you threatening me, kid?"

"Oh, no, no, sir, how could I dare?"

Adams immediately raised his hands, making an innocent expression: "Our White Tiger Security Company adheres to the absolute principles of freedom and voluntariness. We never force anyone to purchase our services."

He stopped smiling and looked directly into the old man's eyes.

"But insurance is only meaningful if it's purchased before a disaster occurs, isn't it?"

"Get out of my territory!"

"As you wish, sir."

Adams didn't try to persuade him further, bowed, and turned to get into the carriage.

three days later.

Harrison's neighbor, Rattlesnake Ranch, which also refused White Tiger Security services, suddenly caught fire in the middle of the night!

More than 100 tons of hay that was about to be transported were burned to ashes, the stables were blown up, and 30 of the best Quarter Horses were stolen!

An empty box of high explosives and a few curses hastily sprayed in white paint were left at the scene.

A masterpiece by the slutty dog ​​gang!
The next morning, a grim-faced Harrison sent men to drive a hundred miles to catch up with Adams' carriage and immediately signed a five-year, expensive silver-level security agreement.

White Tiger Security's business is now flourishing all over Southern California!
……

Sacramento, the capital of California.

Governor William Irwin was clutching the San Francisco Chronicle tightly.

The front page of the newspaper featured the photograph titled "The Trial at Dawn."

Fuck!
Irving's temples throbbed.

Buck, that idiot whose brain is full of horse manure!
Irving dispatched a full-strength state militia battalion of 500 men, one of his most elite mobile forces!

But now?

Less than a hundred terrified survivors returned.

The entire California National Guard, if you add it all up, has only about 1,500 members.

That good-for-nothing Buck caused him to lose a third of his armed forces in less than a month.

This caused his control over California to plummet to rock bottom!
"White Tiger Security..."

His stomach clenched again.

He hated these yellow-skinned mercenaries for stealing the limelight that should have been theirs, making the state government and militia a laughing stock across America, but he also had to thank them.

If those white tigers hadn't been miraculously rescued, if those Irish bandits had actually massacred Saint Raphael...

Irving shivered.

He could imagine the headlines the next day: "Incompetent Governor, Militia Defeated, Unarmed Townspeople Publicly Beheaded on California Soil!"

Then he doesn't need to worry about any of that bullshit re-election.

He would be impeached on the spot and torn to pieces by the angry public and his political enemies in the East.

From this perspective, the group of white tigers actually saved his life.

"perhaps……"

Irving muttered to himself, "We can still work together."

"Dong dong dong."

"Come in!"

The office door was pushed open, and his chief secretary poked his head in.

"Governor, the legislators have arrived, and Oak Chamber is about to erupt in chaos!"

"FUCK!"

At this moment, the Oak Council Chamber was so thick with smoke that people could hardly see their faces.

"I'll say it again, Governor!"

Representative Sharp was screaming shrilly: "This isn't some bullshit social problem, this is an invasion! We must, immediately, right now, completely ban Irish immigrants from entering California! Not a single one!"

"You're talking nonsense, Sharp!"

A rosacea-faced councilor slammed his fist on the table and stood up abruptly.

This man is named Patrick O'Malley, of Irish descent, and represents the San Francisco district.

"Ban? What the hell gives you the right to ban it?"

O'Malley, spitting as he spoke, said, "Without the Irish, you bunch of bastards would still be traversing the Sierra Nevada by mule cart! Who! Who blasted those granite inch by inch with explosives and bare hands? Whose bones paved the Pacific Railroad?"

"Is he a madman like Dennis Kearney?"

Sharp sneered and flicked his cigarette ash: "Still that bastard who beheads people in San Raphael?"

"Dare you say that again?"

"I said!"

Sharp spoke each word with a disdainful grin: "You bunch of people are alcoholics, lazy, and violent! All you do is kneel in the church worshiping that son of a bitch of a Roman pope, and cause trouble!"
You are born to be disciplined! I propose that, until the gang's members are identified, all people of Irish descent be temporarily stripped of their voting rights!

"You! You bastard who spews powder everywhere! I'll fucking kill you!"

O'Malley, like a mad bull, grabbed a glass of water from the table and smashed it hard!

"quiet!"

Governor Irving, unable to contain himself any longer, slammed his fist on the table!
"Sit down, all of you! Patrick! You fucking sit down!"

O'Malley was panting heavily, but was eventually pulled back to his seat by the senator next to him.

(End of this chapter)