America 1883: The Western Homeland

Chapter 46 Non-combat Attrition of the Migration Team

The commotion caused by Tom and his group immediately alerted Captain Shay.

Without a word, he grabbed Thomas, mounted his horse, and sped off in pursuit.

As the sound of hooves faded, Shay had already reined in his horse and stopped in front of James.

The sight before him made his pupils shrink: the revolver in Tom's hand was still emitting wisps of smoke, and not far away, an immigrant sat slumped on the ground, his face filled with the terror of surviving a disaster, staring intently ahead.

By the dim moonlight, Shay saw clearly what had terrified the immigrants.

The carcasses of two adult gray wolves lay quietly on the grass not far away.

Seeing Shay arrive with the camp's men, the immigrant who had collapsed to the ground grasped at a straw and scrambled to hide behind the crowd.

It was only then that Shay realized that this was a grown man.

"Bring Joseph here!" Shay roared.

Joseph was the English translator for this group of European immigrants.

"I told you! No one is allowed to leave the camp after dark!" Shay's roar echoed in the night.

Joseph dared not delay and immediately turned to question the man.

To everyone's surprise, the man who had just been terrified suddenly seemed to have found an outlet, yelling back at Joseph, "We're human! Why should we be controlled by others?!"

Joseph was about to retort when the man stiffened his neck and turned to leave.

"Stop!" A cold, standard German voice suddenly rang out, nailing the man to his feet.

Tom walked step by step toward the man, the Colt in his hand gleaming coldly in the moonlight.

"I saved you." His voice wasn't loud, but it carried a chilling edge. "So, you're implying I was meddling?"

The man trembled violently as he looked at the gun barrel so close to him and Tom's cold face. His throat felt blocked, and he couldn't utter a single word.

"The captain's orders are that we are not to leave camp after dark!" Tom took a step closer, his tone intimidating. "Speak! Why are you disobeying orders?"

Faced with Tom's relentless pursuit and frosty expression, the man completely panicked and looked at Joseph pleadingly, "I...I won't do it again! Tell him! Tell him!!!"

Joseph looked at the man's terrified face and, feeling a pang of sympathy, tried to smooth things over: "Tom..."

Tom's gaze swept over Joseph like a knife, interrupting him directly: "Since you're the leader they elected, then keep your men in line! Don't let them talk back to your face! Otherwise, you can forget about being the leader!"

Joseph instinctively retorted, "We...we don't have a leader! Nor do we need one! We are free and equal..."

"There must be a leader!" Tom's voice was firm and unwavering. "And they must obey the captain's orders!"

Seeing Tom's unyielding and serious expression, Joseph was shocked and speechless for a moment, overwhelmed by his imposing presence.

Tom's gaze returned to the trembling man, his voice as cold as ice: "You say you won't do it again? Fine, I believe you this time."

He paused, each word striking the man's heart, "If there's a next time, I'll kick you—along with your family—out of the team! Because you owe me a life!"

The man, feeling as if he had been granted a pardon, nodded frantically and fled desperately toward the camp without looking back.

Joseph's Adam's apple bobbed, his gaze averted from Tom's still-childish yet sharp face: "I...I'll keep them in line!"

Tom didn't care what methods he used—as long as the group of European immigrants obeyed.

He turned to James, but the latter had already leaped onto his horse.

Suddenly, Tom's gaze was fixed on the direction from which the she-wolf had come.

He spurred his horse and charged forward, with James close behind, and the rest of the team spurring their horses to give chase.

A cave suddenly appeared behind the pile of rocks.

The surviving mother wolf was baring her bloody fangs and lunging at Tom!

Just as Tom raised his gun...

Four furry little heads peeked out from the shadows of the cave.

Clearly visible under the moonlight: a gray dumpling no longer than half an arm's length, its lanugo still standing upright and not yet fallen out, its ears drooping limply on either side of its head.

A wolf cub tried to escape, but its hind legs tripped over its front paws, and it rolled into a fur ball with a "gurgle," then shook its head and staggered to its feet.

The pink paw pads stepped on the gravel, leaving shallow marks like plum blossoms.

Tom's gun barrel froze in mid-air.

boom!

James was holding the Winchester rifle, smoke curling from its barrel.

"Whether it's the mother wolf or the cubs," his voice was as cold and hard as iron, "they are all wild beasts that can tear your throat open."

The wolf cubs suddenly let out intermittent whimpers: "Woo... whimper... woo..." like baby birds whose throats were being choked.

Tom's knuckles tightened on the trigger, but the image of their chilling wolf eyes as adults flashed before his eyes.

"Leave if you don't want to kill me!" James urged sharply.

"I want to keep them."

The air suddenly froze.

Even the horses were stamping their hooves nervously.

"No!" Captain Shay yanked on the reins. "Two-month-old wolf cubs simply can't survive!" He pointed to the cave, each word carrying a sharp edge in the night. "Once their fangs grow, the first bite they'll take will be your neck! I've seen countless wolf farmers either have their throats ripped out or be weeping at the graves of their dead cubs!"

Tom gripped the reins tightly, his knuckles turning white: "I want to try."

"If you're going to raise it, then take care of it yourself!" James's sharp gaze swept over him. "Don't forget you have five-year-old John clinging to your back!"

The boy suddenly laughed, the moonlight illuminating the curve of his lips: "A wolf cub like you dares to compare yourself to my brother?"

"Remember what you said!" James spurred his horse back, as if making way for a funeral.

Tom dismounted and ripped open his cotton shirt with a whoosh.

Four trembling gray furballs were wrapped in cloth still warm from his body. One of the wolf cubs unconsciously gnawed at his fingers with its milk teeth, leaving a damp, cool residue.

When Tom and Zack returned to camp with the wolf cub wrapped in a robe, the sudden cheers from the crowd startled the wolf cub, causing it to wriggle wildly in the robe.

Tom stared blankly at James, only to see a cold smile curving his lips: "You stopped Death."

"What do you mean?" Tom suddenly tightened his grip on the wolf cub's hand, and a faint whimper came from inside the fabric.

"The wheel crushed an immigrant's chest. He was instantly silent." James's voice was like a rusty saw scraping wood. "A snake bit through another immigrant's body, and when we found her... her body was swollen and bluish-purple."

He suddenly stopped talking, and in the dead silence, only the crackling of the campfire could be heard.

"And the third one?" Tom's throat tightened.

James's gaze swept over the cheering immigrants, finally settling on the boy's face: "Tonight's wolves... should have dragged away the third one."

A chill crept up Tom's spine. He finally saw the fear beneath those smiling faces—it wasn't a celebration of life, but a kneeling thank you for not dying.

The wolf cub in my arms sent a faint heartbeat through the fabric, like a candle flickering in the wind.

He recalled the records of the westward expansion in later historical books, and how the bones buried by the wind and sand were now haunting the tracks of every wagon.

Tom shoved the bundle of clothes containing the wolf cub into James's arms and dashed toward the nearest carriage like an arrow!

boom--!

The deafening gunshots ripped through the camp's clamor, freezing everyone in place. Their gazes were fixed on Tom as if drawn by a magnet!