gnovel Chapter 35 The Texas Rangers Arrive
Chapter 35 The Texas Rangers Arrive
"Come out! You bastard! Come out and fight me!"
The other two surviving bandits were also driven by Old Scar's madness, and with bloodshot eyes, they leaned out and fired!
Tom was waiting for the moment when they would abandon their cover and go all in!
He suddenly stood up from the depression, no longer hiding, but standing as firm as a rock!
boom! boom! boom!
Three gunshots rang out, like the sigh of death!
First shot!
It hit a bandit who was loading his gun right in the chest!
He collapsed as if his bones had been removed.
The second shot!
It hit the wrist of another thug who had just stretched out!
His gun flew out of his hand, and he screamed as he retreated behind a rock.
The third shot!
Tom charged straight at Scarface! But Scarface was an old hand, and the moment Tom stood up, he instinctively made an evasive maneuver!
puff!
The bullet missed a vital spot, but instead pierced deep into the right scapula of the man holding the gun!
The lever rifle flew out of his hand!
The excruciating pain caused Old Scar to stagger, but his ferocity remained undiminished, his eyes filled only with mad resentment!
He yanked the dagger out of his boot with his left hand, and ignoring the blood streaming down his shoulder, he charged at Tom like a wounded mad bull!
This was his final, desperate charge!
Tom stared coldly at Scarface, who was covered in blood and had a ferocious expression, as he lunged at him.
He didn't even take a step back.
Just as Old Scarface lunged forward, the dagger whistling as it pierced his abdomen,
puff!
Old Scarface's charge came to an abrupt halt as he looked down in disbelief at the short knife embedded in his chest!
Tom stepped forward, his voice as cold as the Siberian wind: "Playing with knives? I'll make sure you die by my blade! Remember before you go to hell, Lucas was the wolf I fed. The Sun Gang, I destroyed them!"
Before he finished speaking, the muzzle of his Colt was already pressed against Old Scar's forehead.
Extreme fear erupted in Old Scar's eyes, and a hoarse, gurgling sound escaped his throat: "Demon...demon...devil...!"
boom!
Old Scarface's head exploded like a rotten watermelon, spraying red and white matter onto the scalding yellow sand.
The headless corpse fell heavily at Tom's feet.
Smoke filled the air, and the gunfire ceased.
The scorching wind whipped up dust and blew against Tom's blood-stained clothes.
Twelve corpses were scattered around the giant rock in various contorted poses.
The scalding yellow sand greedily sucked up the gushing blood, making a slight sizzling sound, and the air was filled with a strong smell of gunpowder, blood, and death.
Tom stood there, his chest rising and falling slightly, sweat and blood mixed with sand, outlining hard lines on his face.
A glance around revealed that the Native Americans had already put away their weapons and were standing quietly to watch the battle.
Their attack ceased when Tom rushed onto the battlefield.
His icy gaze pierced her like a knife: "Go! Go back and tell that old man that our friendship is over!"
The Indian chief who was communicating with the Sun Gang only glanced at Tom briefly before his gaze fell on the wild mare.
Finally, he nodded slightly to the mare, said nothing, and led the group away quickly.
"Don't go the way you came! Take another route!" Tom called out as the Texas Rangers drew closer.
The Native American figures disappeared into the distance without stopping.
But Tom could clearly feel the lingering, chilling hostility from the other Indian warriors in the air.
A thought flashed through Tom's mind like lightning.
If this speculation is true... then the ambitions of those indigenous people have probably never truly been extinguished!
Even after being driven to reservations and imprisoned like caged animals, they still couldn't forget this ancestral land...
But...don't you think it's too late?
Wouldn't it be better to stay in the reserve, even if it's a bit stifling?
Why insist on wading into this murky water!
Tom himself was unaware of the thoughts swirling within him.
An indescribable sense of sympathy had quietly grown in his heart.
This has nothing to do with stance; it's more like... a complex taste of the fate of those who struggle.
Tom didn't move until they had completely disappeared.
He blew a sharp whistle.
The loach swung its tail and trotted out from behind the thorn bushes.
Next comes cleaning up the battlefield!
He quickly searched among the corpses.
"Tsk...what a bunch of paupers!" Tom scoffed. The bandits didn't even have enough money to buy a few horses.
The only thing that brought him some comfort was a gold watch he pulled from a bandit's pocket.
Although it's far less exquisite than the one on the train, it might still fetch a few dollars.
As for the remaining guns and ammunition, what a pity.
He couldn't take them with him, because those people were coming!
"Clatter clatter clatter—!"
The rapid, rain-like sound of horses' hooves tore through the silence of the desert, approaching from afar with an invisible sense of oppression!
coming!
Twenty dark figures suddenly crashed through the sweltering heat, their hooves stirring up a sandstorm like rolling thunderclouds!
Beneath the wide-brimmed hat, his hawk-like gaze was cold and sharp; a coarse cloth shirt wrapped around his bulging muscles; and the leather belt slung across his shoulder gleamed with a deathly cold light under the blazing sun.
Click!
Twenty Winchester rifles were pressed against the shoulder sockets in unison, their dark barrels drawing deadly arcs in the air with the rise and fall of the horse's back!
The rapid hoofbeats came to an abrupt halt, and the dust settled slowly, revealing the menacing fangs of the Colt revolvers at their sides.
Twenty riders stood still, reined in their horses.
"Texas Rangers! Hands up! Bullets don't have eyes!!"
A thunderous roar slammed into our eardrums.
Tom slowly raised his arms.
The lead rider reined in his horse and stepped out of the ranks. Beneath his wide-brimmed hat, which billowed dust, his mustache was trimmed like the blade of a peeling knife.
His sinister gaze swept over the corpses scattered on the ground, finally settling on Tom.
"action!"
A massive hand cleaved down like a guillotine!
Twenty warhorses neighed and dispersed, their hooves stirring up a sandstorm shrouded in gunpowder smoke.
With a creaking sound as the leather reins tightened, the Rangers' encirclement closed in like an iron barrel.
The three men dismounted, their boots stomping into the bloody mud, and began to search through the corpses riddled with bullet holes.
Tom narrowed his one eye, his gaze like a poisoned skinning knife.
Before the dust could even cover the lingering warmth of the corpses, the cavalry, treading on the scent of blood, blocked their path.
At this moment, only two people were sitting upright on horseback: the leader with the mustache, and the old man next to him wrapped in a fine wool suit, the buttons fastened tightly all the way to his Adam's apple, looking like a model who was supposed to be shooting a pictorial for a coffin shop but had accidentally wandered into a slaughterhouse.
"You did this?" The rough voice of the man with the mustache sent chills down one's spine.
"They fired first," Tom said, pushing his thumb off the brim of his dusty cowboy hat. "I'm just sending them to hell first."
The deathly silence was broken by the cold thud of spurs hitting each other.
A dozen pairs of eyes swept over, and a dozen corpses were shot, their skulls ripped off.
A skinny boy of fifteen or sixteen? Slaughtered an entire gang?
"I want the truth!" The man with the mustache hooked his fingers around the Colt hammer, and the leather holster hissed like a snake spitting its tongue.
Tom suddenly grinned:
"Okay, the truth is..."
He suddenly raised his hand and pointed to the edge of the desert.
"See those two gunmen I hired?"
All heads turned toward the desert!
The mule was circling the wild horse, its hooves kicking up dust mixed with grass clippings.
The wild horse flicked its tail and glanced at the fool, causing him to retreat repeatedly.
The wind whipped up sand and swept across the open field.
The entire Ranger unit was deathly silent, like a graveyard!