America 1883: The Western Homeland

Chapter 37 Tom's Intimidation

"Load the stuff into the car and take it back!"

Frank patted Walker on the shoulder, then turned to the expressionless Tom. "Son, you can go now."

Tom's heart sank.

Captain Walker's taut jawline was like a sharpened axe blade; there was a volcano about to erupt inside him!

"Frank! We can't let him go!"

Walker's voice was resolute. This time he didn't draw his gun, but the chilling determination in his voice was more intimidating than the muzzle of a gun.

"He was the last person to contact the bandits, and the one who shot them dead! He must be interrogated!"

Frank wasn't given a chance to refute at all.

Walker's bloodshot eyes were fixed on Tom, and he demanded sharply, "Speak! Were you one of their accomplices? Did you kill us to silence us when you found out we were here?"

Tom's pupils contracted sharply. The team members gasped.

Even Frank was so shocked that he gripped the gun handle tightly; this accusation was more venomous than a rattlesnake's fangs!

A gust of hot wind swept past, carrying sand and gravel that rolled along the ground, and a yellowish dust cloud covered the sky like a shroud for the dead.

"Framed?"

Tom was so angry he laughed, a cold smile curving his lips.

"These are the famous Texas Rangers?"

"Captain Walker!!!"

Frank roared, his voice booming across the desert, "Are you crazy? This is illegal!"

"Illegal? Who saw it? Who can prove it?"

Walker's eyes were bloodshot, and his pupils seemed to be burning.

He whirled around, scanning his teammates, his voice hoarse: "Three months! A full three months! What were we brothers risking our lives for? In the end, it's all because of this kid!"

His withered fingers jabbed Tom hard. "It's all fucking ruined!"

Tom instantly felt several piercing gazes directed at him.

The players didn't feel the same deep-seated hatred as Walker; instead, they felt exhaustion, helplessness, and an overwhelming sense of defeat.

"Don't blame him," Frank sighed, patting Tom's shoulder heavily, his voice lowering, "A month ago... his daughter died, smallpox. He... was on a case at the time, and missed seeing her one last time..."

Tom froze.

It is truly heartbreaking for an elderly person to bury their child.

"But that's no reason for him to harm me!"

"Arrest him! He's a suspect!"

Walker's roar, cracking and piercing, echoed across the vast desert, sending chills down one's spine.

Looking at his captain, who had completely lost control, Tom grinned, revealing a cold and provocative smile: "Mr. Frank, what if I... find clues? Would that prove I'm connected to the bandits, or not?"

In an instant, the desert fell into a deathly silence; even the wind stopped.

Walker's frantic contortions froze instantly, his eyes fixed on Tom with a sinister gaze.

Frank narrowed his eyes, his sharp gaze lingering on Tom's face for a moment before he answered decisively, "Whether they find any clues or not, it has nothing to do with them!"

The intelligence was clear: the bandits wanted to meet a Mexican businessman, or rather, an arms dealer.

From beginning to end, there was never any mention of a fifteen or sixteen-year-old boy!

It also didn't mention where these bandits' hideout was!

The burst of gunfire had attracted them, and besides the corpses scattered on the ground, only this boy remained at the scene.

Moreover, the crisscrossing bullet holes, scattered shell casings, and signs of battle on the ground made it clear to Frank, a veteran of decades, that this kid had been driven to the brink and was fighting back desperately!

"Even the kind-looking Frank has a burning desire to solve cases ingrained in his bones!" Tom glanced at Frank, then walked straight to a corpse and deftly pulled a short knife from a hidden pocket at his waist.

He held the bison-horn-scabbard folding knife in front of Frank: "Look at this!"

"With constant gunfire in Fort Worth, the women in the upscale brothels all carry these things in their waistbands—the hilts are inlaid with Texas iridescent bull's-eye stones, and the scabbards are engraved with the outline of 'Half an Acre of Hell'!" Tom's voice was resolute.

Frank's pupils contracted as he stared intently at the dagger, his fingertips tracing the cold engravings on the scabbard.

Walker, who had leaned closer, glanced at it and said impatiently, "What does that prove?"

"This means these guys are either local thugs in Fort Worth, or they've scouted the area!" Tom met Walker's gaze, speaking rapidly. "If you can find a photographer to take some pictures of these dead men's faces, or find an artist to paint their portraits and put a reward on them, those money-grubbing bounty hunters will naturally pounce on them like wolves smelling blood!"

The surrounding team members' eyes lit up, and their faces finally showed a bit of life.

Tom thought to himself: Are these guys really the Texas Rangers? Is this what the former Rangers are like?

"Haha! Kid, you've got guts!" Walker suddenly burst into laughter, slapping Tom hard on the shoulder with his large palm, making him stumble.

The other team members joined in the laughter, and the tense atmosphere, where Walker was determined to kill Tom, seemed to vanish with the sound of their laughter.

Amidst the jubilation, Tom's lips curled into a strange smile. His voice, though soft, clearly pierced through the laughter: "Captain Walker, don't you feel... something's missing?"

"What's missing?" Walker's smile was still on his face, and he didn't react for a moment.

Tom's smile grew even brighter, but his eyes remained devoid of warmth: "Apologize. You owe me an apology."

The laughter stopped abruptly.

The wind in the desert seemed to have frozen, leaving only a deathly silence that made it hard to breathe.

All eyes were fixed on Walker's face, which froze instantly.

"Walker," Frank's steady voice broke the suffocating silence, his face carrying an undeniable air of authority, "you really went too far just now. Apologize."

The team members' eyes nearly popped out of their sockets, as if they had seen a ghost. Their arrogant and unyielding captain, his Adam's apple bobbing a few times, actually managed to squeeze out three words through clenched teeth: "...I'm sorry."

Tom felt a chill run down his spine.

He never expected Walker to be so flexible and adaptable!

This ruthlessness—if someone can be this ruthless to themselves, would they show any mercy to others? A chill crept up Tom's spine.

"Actually, I don't need to prove anything to anyone." Tom's lips curled into a cold smile, his eyes sharp as a hawk's. His voice was not loud, but it was like an icicle piercing the heat of the desert.

"Think about it, I can take down these dozen or so bastards all by myself," he said, his gaze sweeping over the crowd before finally settling on Walker's face.

With a hint of dangerous amusement, he said, "Do you think... I have the ability to send you all to meet your maker before you even get close to me?"

Before the words were even finished!

Clang! Clang!

Two lightning-fast gun draws! So fast they left only afterimages!

boom!boom!

Deafening gunshots rang out almost simultaneously!

A dozen steps away, a rattlesnake that was about to raise its head suddenly had its head blown off!

Almost at the same instant, the lizard that had just climbed onto the rock also turned into a cloud of blood mist, with fragments flying everywhere!

Tom flicked his wrist, and the two guns slid back into their holsters as if they were alive, the movement fluid and effortless.

The desert fell into a deathly silence.

Only the echoes of gunfire clashed wildly across the empty Gobi Desert, tearing at everyone's eardrums and shattering the lingering illusion of ease.