The Creators: From Night City

Margaret

October 1899, 3

At this time, the newspaper in the hand of the gentleman on the cast iron bench opposite the house came in handy.

With the help of the Saint Denis Times in the other party's hand, Jiang Bing easily determined the current time.

1899 3 Month 15 Day.

This was obviously inconsistent with the information left in the note. When Jiang Bing thought about the current security level in the west, he felt a little uneasy.

I hope he won’t be intercepted by bandits on the way.

Without even entering the house, Jiang Bing reached out and picked up the Quetzalcoatl lantern at his waist, and a light white mist began to spread around him.

He planned to follow closely and take the 'train' to Emerald Ranch to look for his employees.

In universal values, time cannot be measured by money.

But in the eyes of the 'Ghost Train', time can be measured by death. With only two deaths, Jiang Bing can save four to five hours of commuting time.

And there was $2.25 for the train fare.

The Emerald Ranch was still in its same state, and the smell of livestock manure filled the entire ranch.

Every spring (around April) is an important day for cattle breeding and cowboys to go to the market (cattle migration). As the largest ranch within a radius of 4 miles, Emerald Ranch has naturally become a matchmaking place for various breeding bulls and cows.

Cowboys drive their employers' property and gather here in groups of three or five. In order to fully fertilize the cows, they will stay here for more than half a month.

The breeding bulls need to work hard day and night and sacrifice their lives to pave the way for the growth of the herd.

With so many people coming, Hal's hotel naturally did a booming business.

Jiang Bing pushed open the door of the hotel's salon. At noon, there were actually several tables of guests sitting in the hall.

A dozen cowboys were all wearing practical and durable denim shirts and canvas pants, and wide-brimmed hats. Their faces were dull and their bodies were covered with dust and livestock manure.

Almost all of them had patches of deerskin or canvas on their knees, elbows or buttocks, silently showing off their hard lives.

Cowboys sound like rich people, but they are often extremely poor.

It all stems from the "cowboy profit-taking system."

After 1880, land oligarchs have controlled ranches in most parts of the West. As the employment market has evolved to this day, shrewd capitalists have long learned to transfer profits and risks to these low-level old cowboys who live in the open air all day long, face heavy physical labor and various life threats at all times through the "cowboy share system."

Most partnership employment contracts stipulate that cowboys must provide their own horse equipment to work, work hard for a year, and only then can they receive a 15-25% share of the added value of the herd at the end of the year. However, the prerequisite is that the herd cannot be damaged. If there is damage, compensation will be deducted from the share.

They go to market in spring, drive away wild beasts in summer, prevent floods and disasters, brand animals in autumn, shear wool, maintain fences in winter, and care for sick animals. They are around the smelly livestock every day, all year round.

Of course, some people will choose a more stable employment system, in which case their income will be in the form of daily or monthly wages, plus food and lodging provided by the employer.

But in reality, the wages they receive are very meager and often deducted. In addition, they have to pay for their own equipment and have no insurance against injuries, which means that poverty is always chasing them.

Cowboys, who sound cool, free and full of western charm, are actually victims of industrial civilization devouring the traditional agricultural and pastoral economy.

They use their flesh and blood to maintain the nomadic mode of production that is about to disappear, but are permanently solidified at the bottom because of capital's monopoly on land, transportation and means of production.

When Wall Street began to speculate on "beef futures" (the Chicago Mercantile Exchange officially launched this item in 1899), the labor value of these real producers had been completely alienated into financial symbols.

For example, a bill of exchange, or a string of cold numbers listed on a trading board or a futures contract.

Doesn’t it sound very similar to Night City? Beneath the seemingly free employment relationship lies a cold mechanism that completely commodifies human labor.

People seem to have choices, but in fact all choices have been framed in advance.

It’s the same old saying, history is a circle. After going around in circles, you will always find that most things seem familiar.

Not surprising.

The cast iron pot on the table emitted white mist mixed with the aroma of oregano. The cowboys used tin spoons to dip into the bubbling soup, blowing on it while eating the delicious food stewed into a mess.

A few people also ordered the most classic Western dish, baked beans in tomato sauce, which tasted delicious when paired with dry bread that was so hard that it hurt their throats.

The air was filled with the smell of tobacco and bitter coffee.

The innkeeper Hal was obviously quite impressed by Jiang Bing.

"Mr. Sabul, are you back?"

"Isn't Margaret with you?"

Jiang Bing sat on a high stool beside the counter under the gaze of a group of cowboys.

"In fact, that's exactly why I came here. She went home a few days ago, saying she was visiting relatives, but she hasn't returned yet. I'm worried about her, so I wanted to ask you about her address so I can go check it out."

Hal placed a cleaned glass in front of Jiang Bing and filled it with whiskey. "It's rare to find an employer like you."

Jiang Bing simply picked up the cup and carefully felt the oiliness. The faint peat flavor and the taste of nuts, dried berries, and dark chocolate intertwined in his mouth, forming a unique balance of sweetness and spiciness, and he gave his own opinion.

taste not good.

"Margaret's family lives to the north of Guthrie Farm, near the central overflow lake." The thoughtful innkeeper also found the map and marked it for Jiang Bing.

Chapter 226 God Waits for the Train to Arrive

The destination was not too far from the Emerald Ranch, so Jiang Bing planned to walk there.

Along the way, a large number of dark clouds began to gather, and the smell of rain became stronger and stronger in the air.

A heavy rain is brewing.

The vast western land is sparsely populated. As humans are social creatures, only a very small number of individuals can get used to living alone. Most people still like to huddle together for warmth.

This is also the reason why the most primitive villages were formed.

The gathering place in front of Jiang Bing can be called a small village.

The roads are connected, the chickens and dogs can be heard, and more than a dozen small wooden houses are crowded together, as if they want to keep each other warm.

Beaver Village

At the entrance of the village stood a plaque made of split logs with the name of the village written in hasty words.

It was almost noon, but there was not a trace of smoke rising from the village.

Most of the village was silent, except for one house where many villagers gathered and were making a lot of noise.

From a distance, Jiang Bing could hear the discussion coming from the wind.

"See that burnt barn at the Johnsons'? Margaret, I'd say, shouldn't have trusted those devils in snakeskin hats—they came for some safety tax last fall and even took the copper kettle I had hanging on the porch."

"That girl's probably suffering in a shanty down by the Colorado River right now. I heard there's a new scoundrel with a scar on his face who's been ganging up on the Odrius gang. He's been harassing girls..."

Jiang Bing already had a bad feeling in his heart.

The burning smell floating in the wind confirmed Jiang Bing's guess.

A wooden house with its door wide open. The room looked like it had been swept by a typhoon, with cups and plates scattered around in a mess.

Next to it was another wooden house that had collapsed due to the flames. Jiang Bing smelled the familiar smell of protein being baked by high temperature.

More people gathered in the open space, filled with righteous indignation, but they were just timid and spoke harshly, discussing things that were impossible to happen.

"I went to Strawberry this morning to deliver cattle, and the sheriff's office has a reward posted—Colm's head is valued at $1,500." A man dressed like a cattle ranch shook his yellow teeth, his face full of indignation. "That's enough to buy twenty Angus bulls, but the reward has been there for so long, who dares to claim it?"

"My cousin met the Van der Linde gang at Flatneck Station! They said that the legendary thief Dutch has a way to deal with them..." A young boy dressed like a farmer, whose ambition had not yet been plundered by the world, stiffened his neck and wanted to refute the cattle house, but halfway through his words, he was glared back by his father's stern eyes.

"Margaret borrowed the money at high interest, but she paid it back. I heard the old man yelling like that when Johnson was shot."

"I will take vengeance on them with great wrath." A bespectacled grocer sat in front of the door, his hands folded on his chest, praying softly, as if he wanted to seek an answer from his God.

"Exodus 32, the idea is good, but unfortunately, you are not Moses, and there is a high probability that there is no God in this world."

A cold voice interrupted the grocer's prayer.

"What are you doing here, you rude Oriental?"

Jiang Bing leaned his cane in front of him and said, "I'm Margaret's employer. She hasn't been home from visiting her family for a long time. I came to see her."

The owner looked at Jiang Bing with pity and then sighed.

"So you are the kind employer. I heard Johnson mention you before."

"Margaret was taken away by the Odris Gang. Her uncle was shot several times when he tried to stop them. His body is still burning in the house."

This religious old man seemed to have a good relationship with the deceased Johnson. For the sake of the old cowboy, he spoke up to advise Jiang Bing.

"You've seen it all. Margaret can't continue to accept your employment in this situation. Go back and don't get involved in the affairs of the Odris Gang. They kill people without blinking an eye. Be careful that you might get involved too."

Jiang Bing nodded the Quetzalcoatl lantern on his waist, and a few wisps of cold white mist gathered into the lantern from all around.

"That won't do. After all, I paid him a year's salary in advance. They're touching my people."

"Your people, his people," the grocer said self-deprecatingly. "Even God has to wait for the train to arrive these days. Reason doesn't apply here. Even Mr. Cornwall has to donate a few Gatling guns to the St. Denis police station from time to time to ensure safety. What can you do?"

"There's not much I can do." Jiang Bing tapped the ground lightly with his cane.

"The best we can do is send them to the train station and have a good chat with God who is waiting for the train to arrive."

The grocery store owner didn't understand the reason, so he ignored it and continued to pray with his head down.

"All you who are passing by, is this not a problem for you..."

"The weapon of criticism cannot replace the criticism of weapons." Jiang Bing left behind this golden advice and did not stay any longer. Under the cold gazes of many residents, he followed the horseshoe prints on the ground, chased out of the 'Beaver Village' and headed towards the wilderness.

Dark clouds were gathering, and the heaven and earth seemed to sense the hostility in Jiang Bing's heart at the moment, which was dark and terrifying.

The weather is not good and heavy rain is about to come.

The horseshoe prints could not withstand the heavy rain, so a strong wind suddenly blew up in the wilderness, pushing the sudden downpour back into the clouds.

Jiang Bing's speed was unreasonable to begin with, and now with the air currents surrounding him, he was like a ghost in the daytime, following the horseshoe prints, crossing mountains and ridges, wide streams, high hills, dense forests and low slopes, all without his feet touching the ground, passing by in a flash.

Until he saw in the distance the "shack on the lower reaches of the Colorado River" that the village woman had mentioned earlier.

The wind stopped immediately and there were bursts of thunder in the sky.

Like a rebound retaliation caused by the forced postponement of rainfall, heavy rain poured down in an instant, and the continuous raindrops almost formed a line, filling the entire sky and earth.

The only sound between heaven and earth was the violent rain, and the raindrops hit the grass and trees, making a "rustling" sound.

In this situation, people's vision is extremely limited. Due to the interference of the rain curtain, ordinary people's perception cannot even reach five meters in front of them.

Jiang Bing walked towards the camp with a gloomy face.

Before they reached the destination, Jiang Bing heard a man's dirty talk and Margaret's cries.

He glanced briefly over the camp.

In the very center was a bonfire shivering in the pouring rain. The simple awning could not completely block the wind and rain that hit like a wall. Six or seven members of the O'Driscoll Gang huddled around the bonfire, scooping beans from cans and drinking moonshine in big gulps.

The horses were tied in the lee of the camp.

A dozen wooden boxes were piled on an untied freight wagon, and empty wine bottles were scattered all over the ground.

This was apparently one of the "takeaways" from the O'Driscoll gang's previous robbery.

Chapter 227 This Child is Like Me

Two tents were hastily erected not far from the campfire. The rather translucent tents were illuminated by the fleeting lightning, casting two entangled figures on the tarpaulin.

Margaret's angry curses and the man's obscene words came from it.

Jiang Bingting didn't even stop and skillfully started the inevitable killing.

With his walking stick tucked under his arm, he walked into the camp as if no one was around, and picked up a kitchen knife from a box nearby.

A gang member finished the moonshine in his hand, and after a brief quarrel with the rest of the people, he staggered and walked reluctantly into the rain, wanting to go to the carriage to carry new moonshine.

What greeted him was a kitchen knife mixed with rainwater.

The long and narrow kitchen knife pierced through the hard skull under the unstoppable force, penetrating the target's entire skull like a hot knife cutting butter, and the tip of the knife went through the bone from the back of the opponent's head.

Jiang Bing gently raised his hand, as if picking up a dead chicken, lifted the other person up high, kept his feet off the ground, and nailed him to the carriage next to him.

Then he carelessly barged into the shed.

The relaxed and comfortable atmosphere made the Odris gang members unable to react for a moment to who was the host and who was the guest.

It was not until Jiang Bing casually picked up a thug sitting on the ground, tore off one of his thighs, and stabbed the thug's thigh bone into his chest amidst the blood spurting all over the air, and then nailed it to the wooden wall of a shed nearby, that the people around the campfire suddenly panicked with fear.

People who hang out in the western wilderness, especially these bandits, are more or less capable. I can't say anything else, but they are brave and have good marksmanship.

Amid the bandits' cruel grins, gunshots rang out in the wooden shed.