Reborn in 1878: America's Number One Bandit

Chapter 19 The End of Apple Manor

Night fell like a soaked black felt blanket, pressing heavily over the vast apple orchard.

Farm owner Abel Clark sat in front of the fireplace, sipping his spicy whiskey.

Flames danced in his bloodshot eyes.

He didn't know why, but he always felt uneasy.

There was something off about the three Chinese people I met during the day.

Especially the young man who was leading the group, whose eyes were as calm as a deep well.

This isn't right.

Chinese laborers should act like Chinese laborers: humble, timid, and bowing and scraping to white people.

That young man was so calm.

"Damn it, whatever."

Abel took another big gulp of wine: "If I see this again, I'll just shoot him dead, so I won't have to worry about it."

He swirled his wine glass, beginning to contemplate his upcoming bountiful harvest.

The apples are growing exceptionally well this year, hanging heavily on the branches.

Once this batch of fruit is sold, it will bring in a large sum of money.

Just as he was lost in his fantasies, the hunting dog guarding the yard suddenly started barking wildly.

"What's going on?" Abel frowned, stood up with his wine glass in hand.

Before he could even reach the window, the barking stopped abruptly.

"boom!"

The sturdy oak door was kicked open.

The two farm caretakers were riddled with bullets from the barrage of fire at the entrance.

A group of uninvited guests rushed in.

Eighteen tall, burly men, all with Irish faces.

Abel's drunkenness vanished in an instant.

He instinctively reached for the hunting rifle hanging on the fireplace, but a cold muzzle was already pressed against his forehead.

"Don't move, old man."

Abel stiffly raised his head and saw the person's face clearly.

He was a red-haired man with a hideous scar that ran from his brow bone to the corner of his mouth.

Boom!

Abel felt as if his world had collapsed.

He recognized that face!

It's right there on the wanted poster posted outside the town sheriff's office!
They attacked Parker Manor and broke that fatso's leg.

They massacred Wildfire Town, wiped out the entire police station, and even killed the sheriff!
It's this gang of thugs!

Abel's legs went weak, and he almost collapsed to the ground.

Ruined.

This group of desperados dared to slaughter even the police.

His shotgun was snatched from his hand, and a hard object slammed into his head.

Abel screamed in agony, seeing stars.

Scarface—Fenian—looked down at him.

“Listen, old man.”

Finnian patted Abel's face with the barrel of his gun: "I'm giving you a chance. Hand over all the money in your house, cash, silver dollars, everything. If you dare to try anything..."

Faced with the threat of death, Abel had no choice.

He led the bandits to open his cabinet.

They took out the silver dollars and the eagle eagle from inside.

Finnian's men counted the money and looked up to report, "Boss, less than three hundred."

Finnian frowned, making his scarred face look even more menacing.

He stepped on Abel's chest.

"Are you kidding me? Such a big farm, and this is all the money you've got?"

"I'm not kidding you! This really is everything!"

Abel, sweating profusely from the pain, stammered, "All my money is in the orchard! Once these apples are sold, I'll have money! Really!" Finnian stared into his eyes for a long time, seemingly trying to determine the truthfulness of his words.

"Search!" He lifted his foot and coldly uttered a single word.

The bandits immediately scattered and rushed towards the stables and warehouses outside the house.

A moment later, his men returned to report that they hadn't found the money, but they had found several well-maintained hunting rifles and a group of people.

When the group of "people" were led into the brightly lit room, everyone fell silent.

There were seven or eight children, all of whom looked to be only twelve or thirteen years old. They were so thin that they were skin and bones, and their bodies were only wrapped in a few tattered pieces of burlap, which did not even cover their bodies properly.

They were filthy, covered in wounds and grime.

They are Native Americans.

"Who are they?" Finnian's tone was unreadable.

Abel said dismissively, “A few Native American brats, I bought them from human traffickers. Just working slaves.”

"We are not slaves!"

The oldest-looking Native American boy shouted, "He made us work day and night in the orchard, we didn't get enough to eat, and he often beat us! Five of our companions have already been worked to death!"

"Shut the fuck up!"

Abel was furious and rushed forward to slap the boy, but was stopped by the bandits beside him.

He retorted to Finnian, "Don't listen to this little bastard's nonsense! Indians are uncivilized savages, no different from livestock, they can't even be considered human!"

Finnian suddenly sneered.

"Barbarians?" He pressed the gun to his chin and sneered, "You white pigs, you shout about God, you call yourselves civilized, but you do the things only a fucking animal would do. Tell me, who's the real barbarian?"

Abel was speechless, but still maintained an indifferent expression.

In his view, enslaving Native Americans was a matter of course.

Finnian was too lazy to argue with him.

He pulled a sturdy piece of parchment from his pocket and threw it on the table. "Since you have no money, then write an IOU."

"IOU?"

“That’s right,” Finnian said calmly, “Thirty thousand US dollars.”

“Thirty thousand? You’re insane!” Abel screamed. “My entire farm, including all those apples, wouldn’t even sell for thirty thousand dollars!”

"Bang!"

Finnian smashed the butt of his rifle into his face again, making his mouth bleed.

"This $30,000 is not for buying your farm."

He whispered in Abel's ear, "It's to buy you, and the lives of your whole family."

Abel broke down.

"I'll write it," he said, his voice trembling. "If I write it, will you really stop killing us?"

"We Irish are people of our word, and we keep our promises the most."

Finnian patted him on the shoulder: "I promise, as long as you write the IOU, my brothers and I will absolutely not lay a finger on your family."

Abel quickly picked up his pen.

"Wait a moment."

Finnian stopped him: "Write the date a year ago. As for the creditors... leave it blank for now."

Although he found it strange, Abel dared not object and could only comply with the request, writing down an absurd IOU with trembling hands.

He was frantically calculating in his mind.

It's okay, I'll go to the county police station to report it as soon as it's light!

This IOU was written under duress and has no legal effect whatsoever!

At that time, not only will the IOU be voided, but the police will also arrest all those damned thugs and send them to the gallows!
After he finished writing, he handed the IOU to Finnian.

Finnian put away the IOU with satisfaction, but did not leave immediately as Abel had expected.

He turned around and took bread and jerky from the kitchen, which he then distributed to the group of Native American children.

The children were starving, so they grabbed the food and wolfed it down, getting food all over their faces.

After they had eaten their fill, Finnian revealed a devilish smile.

He stuffed the hunting rifles and revolvers he had found in Abel's house into the hands of the Native American children.

"Do you want revenge?" he asked.

(End of this chapter)