America 1881: They Call Me Legend

Leland Stanford, the first governor of California, the founder of Stanford University, and the founder and majority shareholder of the Central Pacific Railroad.

At this time, he has been a federal senator for more than a year.

However, a year ago, his 15-year-old only son Stanford Jr. died of typhoid fever.

Old Stanford, immersed in the grief of losing his son in old age, basically ignored the affairs of the railroad company.

But the successive strikes have left the company's managers in a state of distress.

Especially after receiving a telegram from Shiquan Town.

It was also the first time they encountered a joint strike by Chinese and white workers.

After discussing for a long time, the management still did not dare to make decisions without authorization.

In the end, it was up to Stanford to make the decision.

Stanford's mansion is located on the "noble hill" overlooking the bay, from which you can see the panoramic view of the entire bay area.

"The master is not in a good mood this morning, remember, you must not mention his son!"

At the entrance of the mansion, Mr. Weber, the general manager of the butler company, said.

Afterwards, Webb was taken to the second-floor terrace.

Mr. Stanford, with white beard and hair, sat there alone, blowing the sea breeze, looking at the sea under the cloudy sky.

"My lord, Mr. Weber is here."

The butler said softly.

Mr. Stanford didn't seem to hear what the butler said, and he still sat there motionless.

The butler gave Weber a wink.

"Mr. Stanford, the sea breeze is too strong, you should pay attention to your body."

Waver cleared his throat, amplified his voice slightly, and said.

Stanford then turned his head as if he had just woken up from a dream.

He looked very haggard.

"What's matter?"

Weber stepped forward and handed a document to Stanford.

This is a statement compiled by management based on various sources of information.

"Our suggestion is to quickly contact the governor of the Wyoming Territory to see if the militia can be sent there."

he said cautiously.

"If the Chinese workers join forces with the white workers, the people in our mines will be very dangerous."

Stanford put the file on his lap, resting his hand on his forehead, flipping through it.

When his eyes swept to "Shiquan Town", he stopped.

The old man's expression became painful.

He covered his eyes with his hands, as if crying, but there were no tears:

"Oh, Shiquan Town, when the coal mine opened there, I still carried the sign that Little Stanford unveiled. At that time, he had just learned to walk, and I asked me to hold him up!"

"Oh my child, my poor child"

Stanford muttered until he couldn't speak anymore.

The old man fell into his sorrow again.

Weber was very embarrassed.

He never expected that this could also bring back memories of the old man.

He looked at the butler standing at the entrance to the terrace.

The housekeeper's expression was indifferent, roughly meaning:

The sin you made yourself, just stand there and wait.

After being blown by the sea breeze for more than half an hour, Weber finally waited until Stanford spoke again:
"Go to a detective agency to solve this matter, don't make too much trouble."

The old man's attitude towards the Chinese laborers is extremely complicated.

Among the capitalists on the west coast, he was the earliest and most supportive of hiring Chinese laborers.

the reason is simple.

They are industrious, able to endure hardships, and honest and obedient.

Stanford did not treat these workers from across the ocean equally.

He is indifferent to these lives.

Under every sleeper of the Pacific Railway, there are buried bones of Chinese laborers.

Without these Chinese workers, there would be no railway that runs through the east and west of the United States today.

Until a year ago, he lost his only son.

During this time, old Stanford has been reflecting.

Is this a kind of punishment from the heavens for him to send a white-haired man to a black-haired man, making him lose his only descendant.

In the words of the Chinese, is this a kind of retribution in the dark?

"So, which detective agency to hire?" Weber asked.

"Go and deal with it yourself, I'm tired." Stanford lost his mind again, looked at the bay again, and stopped answering.

Seeing that he couldn't get a reply from the old man, Weber had no choice but to back out.

After returning to the office, Weber was very worried.

According to the original practice, this kind of matter is usually handed over to the Pinkerton Detective Agency.

But now the Pinkerton Detective Agency has withdrawn from California and the entire West Coast.

Where can I find a private detective organization of its size and level?

He let out a long sigh.

"What's the matter? Manager?" Seeing that Weber was frowning, the assistant asked from the side.

"The old man won't allow the army to intervene, and wants private detectives to handle this matter." Webb rubbed his face with his hands, "But the ghosts of Pinkerton's gang are gone, so it's possible that I should go to Austin To invite them?"

The assistant smiled when he heard Weber say that.

Weber saw the assistant's smiling face through his fingers, very dissatisfied:
"What are you laughing at? Is this very happy for you?"

The assistant buried the smile at the corner of his mouth back, and said seriously:

"Manager, I know there is a detective agency in California that can handle this matter, and their abilities are no worse than Pinkerton's."

"Oh?" Weber sat up straight from his chair as soon as he heard something was going on, "Which detective agency?"

"The Frontier Detective Agency, which emerged in the past two years, has been doing some armed escort business before. It has a very good reputation. The boss is a Wyoming man with a beard. It is said that he used to be an experienced bounty hunter."

"It's perfect for us to entrust this business to him."

the assistant said.

"That's it." Weber clapped his hands violently.

Let the private investigators in Wyoming deal with those damn workers, and they will get twice the result with half the effort!
More than a week later, Hanif showed up at the Carbon County train station with dozens of detectives from the Frontier Detective Agency.

They got off the train and headed straight for the coal mine in Shiquan Township.

Riley and the overseer stood far away on the hillside and craned their necks to watch.

Now there are a few more people around them, all managers of Well No. [-].

Work stopped over there, and these people had nothing to do, so they came to join Riley and the others.

The blacks and fishermen on the river did not make things difficult for them, and transported them here very politely.

However, a "small" fee was charged.

"You guys are expected!" Riley ran down the hill, came to Hanif, and held his hand tightly.

This week he lived in fear. In his dreams, he dreamed that the Chinese laborers rushed in fiercely with guns and pointed them at his head, then yelled at him in a language he could not understand, and slapped him in turn.

"Don't worry! With me here, you are safe!" Hanif took his hand out of Riley's and stroked his beard.

"So when do we start work?" Riley asked eagerly.

"Huh? You mean, that thing?" Hanif looked at Riley with playful eyes.

He made a gesture of cutting his head.

Riley shook her head hurriedly:
"No, no, you don't have to play such a big game. If it's not a last resort, don't do it."

Hanif was thoughtful, but did not speak.

Seeing that Hanif was silent, Riley whispered:

"If it really gets to that point, it's not impossible, but it can't make too much noise."

He is happy with Hanif.

This person is very knowledgeable at first glance, and he grasped the key to the problem as soon as he came.

Although the shot is a bit ruthless.

But in his opinion, in this situation, how can we turn things around if we are not a little bit harsher?