The American Kill Line: I Can Predict the Future

A century ago, the Hunt family was considered a "wealthy family" in McMullen.

At that time, McMullen was still a desolate place. The first generation of Hunter used all his savings to lead his family members to acquire 15000 acres of contiguous native ranch land.

After the Civil War, the demand for beef surged dramatically, and Texas longhorn cattle have a powerful digestive system and eat almost anything.

The first-generation Hunter family quickly established themselves as a prominent family in McMullen by taking advantage of their early start.

However, as the saying goes, even the most powerful families cannot withstand the erosion of time.

Besides, Texas doesn't really have a primogeniture law.

Generation after generation, the pastures were divided among the descendants.

In addition, there were severe droughts, rinderpests, and dust storms in the 30s.

In years of disaster, when there is no money to buy feed for disaster relief, the only option is to sell off marginal wasteland to save lives, generation after generation robbing Peter to pay Paul.

Later, with the rise of the New York metropolis, the descendants of the Hunter family, unwilling to endure the sun-drenched poverty of the ranch, sold off their share of ancestral property, moved to the city to work and settle down, and completely broke away from the land.

Old Hunter's branch is quite remarkable; they've managed to hold out until now without losing an inch of the ranch.

Ron got off at San Antonio International Airport in Texas, got into a car prepared in advance by the security company, and headed straight for his hometown of McMullen.

Time flies, and the two trips home were only a little over a month apart.

My feelings, however, were quite the opposite.

Instead of the high-rise buildings made of reinforced concrete, there are rolling bushes and the occasional glimpse of elevated feed troughs.

Ron rolled down the car window a crack, and hot air rushed in, carrying the scent of mesona trees and hay.

Even the horse manure by the roadside seemed so endearing.

The car slowed down and turned onto a winding gravel road from the yellow road sign.

This place hasn't changed in thirty years; to be precise, it hasn't changed much since his grandfather's generation.

A faded campaign logo was nailed to a utility pole, and a mailbox stood crookedly at the entrance to the dirt road, the letters on it illegible from wind and sun.

The three vehicles swayed and rattled along the bumpy, gravel road.

Before long, the outline of the red brick house became clear. The exterior walls had faded, and the old cowboy hat with its worn brim was still hanging under the porch, just like Ron remembered.

The car stopped at the fence, and a dark brown shadow rushed out from the side of the house, barking wildly at the outside.

Ron laughed and waved from the car window: "Cooper!"

Immediately, he pushed open the car door and got out.

Upon hearing the familiar voice, Cooper began to sob and groan as he tugged at the wooden gate of the fence.

The moment the wooden door opened, Cooper pounced, placing his front paws on Ron's legs and nuzzling his palm with his warm nose.

Ron crouched down and rubbed Cooper's head, and Cooper kept sniffing his little master's face with his wet nose.

This is an Australian Cattle Dog, eight years old, with its coat turning grayish-white, and its hind legs are noticeably weak when it runs.

Just then, a noise came from the porch.

Ron looked up and saw his mother standing in the doorway, her apron still covered in flour.

"You're back, little Ron." She stood there with a kind smile on her face.

The sunlight shone on her gray hair, and the crow's feet at the corners of her eyes seemed to have increased a little more than a month ago.

"mom!"

Ron quickly stepped forward and hugged his mother.

Winnie, whose Chinese name is Huilan, reached out and patted his arm, then carefully looked her youngest son over: "You've lost weight."

"Mom, every time I come back you say I've lost weight. In your eyes, I'm almost thinner than Cooper."

To prove he hadn't lost weight, Ron rolled up his sleeves: "Feel it, don't I look a bit stronger than when I came back last time?"

Winnie said with a smile, "Yes, my little Ron is doing very well."

Only then did she notice the group of people still standing outside, and asked, somewhat puzzled, "Are they your friends?"

"I guess so," Ron called out as he turned around.

"Simon, come in. This is my hometown, my territory. There will be no danger."

Simon nodded slightly and gave a command gesture to the team behind him.

It's not about lifting security, but about coming in and changing tactics.

From the moment he entered Texas, he was on edge.

"Let me see which important person has come to my territory."

Old Hunter was wearing an old cowboy hat that covered most of his eyebrows and eyes, and a dark work shirt. He had just returned from hunting on horseback, with an AR-15 slung over his shoulder.

Behind him was Arthur Hunter, dressed similarly, bearing a striking resemblance to the old Hunter, but much stronger.

He carried the Mini14, his eyes warily fixed on the group of uninvited guests, not even noticing the white-tailed deer that slipped off his horse.

Simon and his colleagues reacted very quickly.

Almost as soon as the Hunters appeared, they protected Ron and drew their weapons.

Two lurking security guards had already set up sniper rifles inside the car, their sights firmly locked onto the two men's vital points.

The air froze instantly, ready to explode at any moment.

Ron was immediately at a loss, and hurriedly shouted, "Simon, they're my family! Damn it, put down your guns, they're on our side!!"

Old Hunter looked toward his youngest son, following the sound of the shout.

Even though he knew last night that his youngest son was coming back, he didn't sleep well all night.

But at this moment, there was no pleasant expression on his face. He roared, "This is how you come back? Very well!! Now, immediately! Take your men and get the hell out of here! I'll pretend I never saw you today!!"

"Frank, Ron just got back." The eldest son was a little reluctant to part with his younger brother.

Old Hunter turned around and yelled, "Shut up! Didn't you see a bunch of Mexican drug dealers break into your house? They could hurt your family at any moment. Now, go get help, leave this to me."

If his youngest son came home in a luxury car, he would truly believe that his youngest son had made a fortune in New York.

But he returned with a group of fully armed, menacing-looking guys.

That's not just about making money.

Instead, they are always in danger.

Old Hunter had his share of trouble in his youth; these men weren't just ordinary bodyguards, but people who had actually killed, and more than one at that.

Professional and ruthless.

Aside from being a drug dealer, he couldn't think of anything his youngest son could do to get home in this way.

At that moment, old Hunter felt both heartbroken and disappointed.

Ron is now completely helpless, like mud has fallen into his pants, unable to explain himself no matter what.

He could only order Simon and the others to put down their guns first, and then looked to his mother for help.

Winnie took a deep breath, stood in front of her youngest son, and said to her husband:

"Frank, put down your gun. No matter what, he's Ron Jr., and I trust my Ron Jr. won't hurt his family."

Hearing his wife's words and seeing that the men had disarmed, old Hunter spurred his horse into the enclosure.

But the safety on the gun was never engaged.

Arthur, who hadn't left, was the same.

Upon reaching him, old Hunter dismounted, brushed past his wife, and gazed at his youngest son:

"Kid, tell me, what's the purpose of your return this time?"

Ron forced an awkward smile: "Dad, would you believe me if I said I just missed you guys?"

"I believe you." Old Hunter nodded without hesitation, then asked, "But besides this, what other purpose do you have in coming to Texas? Don't try to fool me. I raised you; I know you better than I know myself."

Yes, Dad knows me too well.

If it weren't for the "premonition," I would have fled to Mexico after killing that adulterous couple.

At this point, even if they weren't drug dealers, they were still thugs.

Fortunately, Ron was prepared.

Just as his father understood him, he also understood his father very well.

So he took a newspaper out of his pocket.

It was that newspaper that detailed how it made its fortune and then plundered the euro.

Unexpectedly, this defamatory statement became the only evidence that proved he had become incredibly wealthy in New York.