America 1883: The Western Homeland

Chapter 6 Horses and Carriages

"You just said you'd give me a discount next time you buy livestock?" Tom said casually.

"That's right!" the agent blurted out, unable to deny it any longer.

"Don't wait until next time," Tom waved his hand. "Give me four horses that can pull the carriage. They need to be strong. Don't try to fool me with old horses."

"……good!"

The agent quickly led out four strong, healthy horses in their prime.

Although Tom didn't know much about judging horses, he could still tell from their compact size and sturdy legs.

"How many?"

"Sixty dollars!" That price was indeed fair. If it weren't for the fact that this kid had really subdued this "demon," he would never have agreed.

"Sixty dollars?" Tom didn't even flinch. "I only have thirty dollars."

"What?" The manager's pale face instantly turned red, and he was so angry that his face turned purple. He opened his mouth to start cursing.

Tom frowned slightly.

Just then, the green mule beside them suddenly shook its head and let out a long, sharp neigh, full of wildness and warning.

The agent's open mouth froze in mid-air, as if he had been choked.

"How much?" Tom's voice was still not loud, but it hit the agent's tense nerves like a stone.

The agent, frozen in place, swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "You...you decide what to give!"

This surprised Tom. "Thanks." Without saying a word, he stuffed the only thirty dollars in his pocket into the agent's sweaty palm.

Do you have any spare covered wagons?

The agent, recognizing the amount of money in his hand, suddenly regained his composure, his eyes widening in shock: "What did you say?!"

"A covered wagon," Tom repeated calmly, "an old one, as long as it works."

"No! Nothing at all!" the agent practically shouted, spittle flying everywhere.

Okay. Tom thinks this old guy's probably on fire.

Since there was no vehicle, they had no choice but to lead the four horses back to town themselves.

After completing the transaction, Tom, with the broker's face as black as the bottom of a pot, led his newly bought horse, followed by the majestic blue mule, and finally disappeared into the dust raised by the cattle and horse market.

Little did he know that his story with the blue mule had only just begun.

On the dirt road back to town, Tom led four horses, secretly amazed: these animals were surprisingly obedient, following him step by step without missing a beat.

"I'm really lucky!" he muttered.

Unbeknownst to him, the blue mule behind him had bright eyes that occasionally swept over the four horses, its gaze calm yet scrutinizing.

As soon as we stepped into the town, a passerby gestured toward the carriage shop: "New here? The livestock need to be stored there."

Tom walked up to the counter, but the businessman, who had his head down, didn't even lift his eyelids.

Tom tapped the table: "What if it gets lost?"

A merchant's lazy voice drifted from behind the counter: "I'll compensate you at the original price!"

He had already done the math in his mind: four ordinary horses for pulling a cart, plus a skinny, low-quality mule, how much could they be worth? He could afford to pay for it!

While the formalities were being processed, a sudden uproar erupted from not far away, like boiling water being poured into a pot of hot oil.

"What's going on over there? Why is it so noisy?" Tom couldn't help but stand on tiptoe and look around.

"Auction!" The merchant said without looking up, throwing out the three words like pebbles.

An auction?

Tom's eyes lit up instantly.

As soon as the money left his hand, Tom plunged into the crowd.

When people saw his mud-covered, tattered clothes, their eyes revealed understanding and sympathy.

In this western wilderness, encountering robberies is all too common, but seeing such a young boy suffer like this is heartbreaking.

Tom managed to squeeze to the front through the crowd.

His ears were filled with chatter, and he understood that this was a small secondhand market, mostly selling worn-out household items.

"One covered wagon!" the auctioneer shouted.

The wagon looked quite old; the wooden frame was worn white, and the canvas canopy was patched, but the wheels were still fairly intact, and the frame hadn't fallen apart.

"Five dollars!" Tom's voice sounded particularly crisp amidst the buzzing.

The auctioneer struck the gavel: "Sold!"

Tom felt cheated when the hammer fell so quickly, but he had no proof!

And just like that, Tom had his own covered wagon. It was old, but at least he could still get around.

Following the directions of others, he drove his covered wagon to the carriage shop. The merchant glanced at the dilapidated wagon and snorted, "Not bad taste!"

Tom took it as a compliment.

The formalities are complete.

"Remember," the merchant added slowly, "if something stays here for more than thirty days, it'll have to go up for auction."

Tom suddenly realized that all those things he had just filmed were from this source!

He turned to leave when he caught a glimpse of a familiar bluish-gray shadow out of the corner of his eye. The blue mule had somehow wandered out on its own and was rubbing its wet nose against his arm.

"You don't want to stay here?" Tom was a little surprised.

The mule nudged his arm with its big head and purred.

"Yes," Tom patted the mule's neck, "it's coming with me."

The merchant from the carriage company shrugged, his eyelids drooping again: "Suit yourself!"

As Tom walked along the dusty street leading his blue mule, he realized that passersby were staring at him as if he were some rare object.

He looked down at himself: covered in mud that had dried into a hard shell, his pants torn and frayed, he looked exactly like a little kid who had just crawled out of a mud pit.

This won't do. He turned and went straight into the steamy bathhouse on the side of the street.

When he stepped out of the bathhouse and onto the streets of the small town, he was a completely different person.

Hot water washed away the dirt and fatigue. The new coarse cloth shirt and work pants, though rough, were clean and crisp. I also had a simple meal.

This cleaning and grooming cost him a full thirteen dollars.

Karln Inn.

"Oh, you finally decided to come back?" Elsa sat in a chair in the restaurant, her gaze sharp as a knife, scrutinizing Tom's brand-new coarse cloth clothes from head to toe.

"He went to buy horses," Tom said, not bothering with further explanation. "Margaret knows."

"She has no idea you've gotten new clothes!" Elsa persisted, a playful smile playing on her lips.

Tom ignored her. "Dad's still not home?"

"No!"

"They also borrowed Aunt Claire to check if the newcomers had smallpox."

Looking at the sky, it's time to go back.

"Come on, come upstairs with me!" Tom grabbed Elsa's wrist and pulled her outside.

"Tom!" Elsa struggled but couldn't move him; her voice held a hint of annoyance. "I already told Margaret I'd stay downstairs!"

Tom tightened his grip, holding her like an iron clamp, half-dragging and half-pulling her away.

Suddenly, a thick arm appeared in front of me!