America 1883: The Western Homeland

Chapter 10 Joining the European Migrant Stream

"Do you fucking know how precious this wine is?!" Tom's roar made everyone's ears ring.

"Am I being too polite to you?!"

"Get up, you bastard!"

"F**k!"

The roar startled the birds in the treetops.

People around looked on curiously.

"Is that your son?" asked Shay Brennan, the captain of the guard, with a full head of silver hair and a snow-white beard, as he smoked a pipe.

"Hmm," James replied.

James looked at Tom, who was furious in the distance, and shook his head helplessly: "That mule has completely set him on fire."

"Is that his mount?" Thomas, the towering black man next to Shay and his most trusted lieutenant, also cast a curious glance.

"Hmm," James said. Although he didn't know much about "Loach," a mule who was addicted to alcohol was definitely not someone to be trifled with.

Shay and Thomas exchanged a glance. Well, it's a kid riding a mule!

The two tacitly steered the conversation back to business: "It's time to go to the cattle and horse market to pick out some livestock."

That's our food supply for the next few months.

The gap is not small.

Fortunately, the cattle and horse market in Fort Worth is not far away.

Tom kicked the mudfish a few more times to vent his anger, and the mule groaned and rolled over.

"Hey, Tom, you're famous now!" Elsa suppressed a laugh, took out her water bag, poured the whiskey from the bag into a hot water cup, shook it, and eagerly held it under his nose.

This unusual behavior made Tom wonder, "I'm out of money!"

"I know!" Elsa impatiently shoved the cup forward again. "Breakfast isn't ready yet! We're camping here for the next few days, not leaving."

"Not leaving?" Tom's attention was drawn in.

Elsa's lips curled into a smile. "These people, well, their legs are long enough, but unfortunately..." she drawled, winking mischievously, "like 'Short Legs,' they can't ride horses, and they don't have mules to ride! They'll have to practice here first on how not to get kicked by the horses!"

"Pfft!" Tom couldn't hold it in and almost spat out a mouthful of wine.

"Elsa!" His furious roar startled the dozing mudfish beside him!

Elsa, like a startled rabbit, took off running, her silvery laughter echoing throughout the camp.

Tom was so angry he could only glare at them helplessly.

The loud noise startled Margaret, who was frying tortillas, so much so that the golden tortillas nearly flew into the fire! "Tom—!"

"Yes, Mother! I'll go wash up right away!" Tom shrank back and slunk off to the bucket.

Behind her, Elsa's gloating laughter grew even louder.

Tom wiped his face haphazardly, water droplets running down his burning cheeks.

Tom looked thoughtfully at the murky water in the bucket.

He then took out the newly purchased whiskey barrel from the car.

They found coarse sand, pebbles, and fine sand by the river.

Lay pebbles at the bottom (to prevent clogging), then cover with a layer of washed coarse sand, a layer of crushed charcoal, and a layer of fine sand.

Three layers of cotton cloth were laid on top of the bucket (he contributed his own clothes!).

"Done!" he shouted, and poured the muddy river water he had just drawn up into his homemade filter bucket.

Unscrew the small tap at the bottom of the bucket.

Tick-tock...tick-tock...tick-tock...

The clear water, carrying a hint of coolness, trickled into the clean bucket below!

"Ha!" Tom's eyes lit up. It worked!

However, it would be more convenient to prop this bucket up on a shelf.

The charcoal-gravel filter is done, but how does the water taste? Hmm, I'll have to test it some more.

As he was pondering the dimensions of the wooden frame, a crisp sound of horses' hooves approached from afar, raising a small cloud of dust.

James reined in his tall, black horse, its snort puffing out white smoke: "Come with me!"

"Where are you going?" Tom asked without looking up, continuing to gesture with the wooden stick in his hand.

"We need manpower to herd bison in the wild."

Tom stretched lazily, his bones cracking. "Looking for Elsa? It's time to take your little cowgirl, whom you've personally trained, out for a spin."

James stared silently at the edge of the field for a long while before asking, "Really not going?"

Tom smirked. "See? I told you you didn't really want to take me on. Watch out, don't let the bull pick your nose."

"Protect them!" James's voice was heavy.

Tom nodded vigorously.

The sound of horses' hooves rang out again, quickly fading into the distance.

Tom buried himself in his work on his wooden frame, and as the sun climbed high in the sky and his stomach rumbled in protest, the frame finally stood firmly in place.

"Beautiful!" He rubbed the sawdust off his hands, quite satisfied with his work, before strolling over to the campfire.

Margaret dozed off, leaning back in the polished saddle.

Tom lifted the lid of the bubbling iron pot, and a rich aroma of beans mixed with the smell of salted meat hit his nose.

He scooped up a full bowl.

"Are you done with your work?" Margaret was startled awake by the noise and rubbed her eyes.

"Hmm. You should go back to your tent to sleep."

Margaret didn't reply, but silently poured him a cup of piping hot coffee.

Tom slurped down his bean porridge with coffee and munched on his crispy cornbread.

"What's that strange bucket for?" Margaret gestured toward the water filter bucket.

Tom's eyes lit up, and he grinned: "It filters muddy water! From now on, all our drinking water will be filtered through it, making it clean! Of course, boiling it is the safest option."

Margaret looked at her son's glowing face: "Where did you learn that?"

"My agent let it slip!" Tom said without batting an eye.

Margaret took a sip of her coffee, her gaze sweeping over the four sturdy horses pulling the cart on the meadow. Thirty dollars for four horses—it was clear how much the agent liked Tom.

"He's a kind person," she said softly.

"That's right!" Tom agreed, stuffing the last piece of biscuit into his mouth.

"Clean up after you finish eating."

"Yes, ma'am!"

Margaret got up to leave, but Tom's voice followed her: "When are they coming back?"

"Tomorrow." She didn't stop walking.

As dusk approached, Tom began collecting firewood.

The sound of footsteps pattering came from behind, and the mud-covered loach followed.

"Rolling in the mud again?" Tom bent down to pick up a half-dried branch, while the mudskipper drooped its ears and nibbled on the grass.

As dusk cast an amber glow on the river, a rustling sound suddenly came from the bushes.

Tom looked up sharply and saw five wild deer drinking water in the shallows.

The loach made an excited gurgling sound in its throat, but shrank back when Tom glared at it.

Tom held his breath and moved close to the riverbank.

The crunching sound of boots crushing dry leaves startled the deer herd. The oldest male deer suddenly raised its head and bellowed, its hooves splashing water.

The deer scattered and fled like exploding meteors. Tom swung his dagger, its cold light slicing through the twilight, and the blade precisely pierced the shoulder of the last male deer.

The stag collapsed on the pebble beach, howling in agony, its blood splattering everywhere!

As dusk began to fall, a slender figure could be glimpsed in the distance, carrying a bundle of brownish-red prey on its shoulder.

The camp erupted in chaos!

"Am I seeing things? That's a deer!"

"A wild deer, still steaming hot!"

"Where does this kid get his ruthlessness from?"

The chatter was like a bubbling pot of boiling soup, but Tom just kept walking forward in silence.

He suddenly realized that several familiar figures were standing in front of the tent!