Reborn in 1878: America's Number One Bandit

Chapter 52 Cross's Head Is Missing

The Weeping Widow Pass.

Two cavalry units sandwiched Cross and his party between the narrow pass.

Cross stared at the scarred man with wildly disheveled hair in front of him, his left hand already quietly covering the handle of the revolver at his waist.

Muscles tense, ready to strike.

The one-eyed man and the skinny man behind him had also gripped their weapons with ferocious expressions.

Only Thompson was completely terrified.

Time seemed to slow down dramatically at that moment.

"Old thing."

Finnian's mocking smile deepened: "Are you waiting for your militia to arrive and surround me?"

"Too bad you won't be able to wait, are you surprised?"

Cross raised his chin, a cold smirk playing on his lips: "Bastard, there will be many people waiting for me in hell, but you will get there before me!"

Before he finished speaking, he immediately grabbed the gun handle.

Decades of military service have made him incredibly fast at drawing his gun!

Just as he drew his gun—

"Bang bang bang bang bang bang!"

A storm of lead bullets descended simultaneously from both ends of the pass!

In an instant, Cross was transformed into a showerhead.

Clumps of blood exploded on his body.

One-Eyed Dragon and Skinny Monkey were beaten to a bloody pulp by bullets before they could even fully draw their guns.

The horses were also shot and fell to the ground, pressing their master's body beneath them.

Sheriff Thompson, however, was completely unharmed.

He just sat there on the horse, letting the warm blood and brains splatter all over his body.

The gunfire stopped abruptly.

Inside the pass, only the thick, pungent smell of blood remained.

Finnian dismounted, walked to Cross's still slightly twitching corpse, grabbed his gray hair, and slashed the neck with the dagger in his other hand.

"Crack...knock..."

The sound of bones and tendons being severed was particularly jarring.

Finnian, carrying the head that stared blankly into the distance, walked up to Thompson's horse.

He shoved Cross's face right in front of Thompson's.

"Sir Sheriff."

"Whose scar is more handsome?"

Thompson leaned back forcefully, glanced again at the still-bleeding head, and felt another wave of nausea wash over him.

"Yes, it's you, Your Excellency. Of course, you're more handsome..."

"Hahahahaha!"

Finnian laughed wildly, slapping Thompson's pale face hard with his blood-stained hand.

"Sheriff, you've saved your own life again."

Upon hearing this, Thompson's tense nerves finally relaxed, and he slumped into the saddle.

"I'm taking Cross's head with me."

Finnian coldly said, "Go back and tell those trash in the militia that if they want their major's head back, they'd better come and cause trouble on our Irish territory!"

After saying that, he hung Cross's head on the saddle and mounted his horse.

"let's go!"

The two gangs of ruthless bandits drove off triumphantly.

The wind began to flow through the pass again, stirring up dust and blood.

Thompson stared at the empty pass, then at the corpses on the ground.

The governor's special envoy is dead.

Now, the trouble is big.

At the pass, several reporters appeared, peeking out.

...San Francisco.

At the San Francisco Sentinel’s printing press, the latest special edition was being printed at a record pace.

The front-page headline was even more sensational than before—"Butcher Beheaded! Governor's Special Envoy Cross Brutally Slaughtered, Northern California Gangs Openly Declare War on the Government!"

The newspaper caused an immediate uproar upon its release!

"What?! They actually killed Major Cross?"

"A decapitation? Have these Irishmen gone mad? What are they trying to do?"

Citizens were discussing the matter on the streets, and panic spread again.

The crime in Northern California has reached such a lawless level!
Of course, some people still hold onto their illusions.

"Don't worry, the main force of the California militia hasn't arrived yet! That's a regular army of five hundred men. Once they arrive, it will be the end for these robbers!"

"That's right! Use the Gatling gun to shred them to pieces!"

While the Sentinel was selling like hotcakes, the headquarters of the California Chronicle, located on another block away, was shrouded in gloom.

Editor-in-Chief's Office.

"Trash! A bunch of trash!"

Editor-in-Chief Martin was banging his fist on his desk with a rolled-up newspaper: "The Sentinel has snatched the first release again! What can you bunch of good-for-nothings do?"

The subordinate, shrinking back, explained in a low voice, "Editor-in-chief, the *Sentinel Gazette* has a small branch office in Marin County; their news sources are faster than ours..."

"I do not care!"

Martin spat in his subordinate's face: "Now, immediately! Send men to Northern California! That's where the news is going to explode!"

"There's juicy scoop everywhere! I need the firsthand, exclusive stuff! Got it?"

Soon, the task fell to two of the least popular interns at the newspaper.

Jerry, a greenhorn who just came from the East.

Having not experienced much physical abuse, he is still full of journalistic ideals.

Peter, a tall, skinny local boy, is glib and just wants to coast through his internship.

The two men, carrying a bulky wooden tripod camera and a pile of glass negatives, boarded a ferry bound for the north.

When they arrived in Marin County, the two were dumbfounded.

Completely clueless, I had no idea where to begin the interview.

However, the two still went to the county sheriff's office to interview Sheriff Thompson, the person involved.

As a result, before he could even say two words, Thompson cursed at him.

"Get out! All of you, get the fuck out!"

The two men were kicked out, looking disheveled and standing at the entrance of the police station, utterly dejected.

"FUCK!"

Peter spat angrily: "This godforsaken place is no place for a human to live."

"Then what do we do now?"

Jerry pushed up his glasses, looking equally bewildered.

"What else can we do? Just wander around."

Peter shrugged: "If we can't find any sensational news, we'll both be out of a job."

The two wandered aimlessly around the town, listlessly complaining as they went.

"Do you think that old bastard Martin did it on purpose?"

Peter muttered under his breath, “They sent two newbies like us to do such a dangerous job.”

"And him? He's probably hiding in his office, smelling his female secretary's big ass!"

Jerry, also feeling resentful, chimed in, "He's a complete bastard, a bully who picks on the weak and fears the strong. Last time he even withheld my royalties to buy Cuban cigars."

"It wasn't just cigars, I also saw..."

"Are you journalists from San Francisco?"

The two wanted to continue, but a voice suddenly came from behind them.

Jerry and Peter were startled and instinctively replied, "Yes, yes."

But before they could see who it was, a sharp pain suddenly came from the back of their heads.

Both of them fainted simultaneously.

(End of this chapter)