America 1883: The Western Homeland

Chapter 76 Preparing for Montana's Winter

Tom had just parked the car in front of the ranch house.

The tall, thin Zach emerged from the house covered in dust.

"Tom, it's all cleaned up!" Zack wiped his brow. "That rancher up ahead was really stingy; he left nothing behind, not even a metal pot!"

Tom's heart skipped a beat: "Where's the bed?"

That's the stuff you use to sleep at night!

"The bed is still here!" Zack nodded quickly.

"That's because they can't pull it away!" a mocking voice interjected.

The bar owner, Dan, had been leaning against the side, giving Tom a meaningful look: "Tom?"

Tom Dutton, the Secret Service agent using the name "Lee White," showed no embarrassment at being exposed. He simply lowered his voice and said in an unquestionable tone, "Remember, I am Tom Dutton. Forget about other names."

Tom's serious expression left Dan momentarily unsure of his true intentions, but his purpose for coming was clear, regardless of whether you were Tom or Lee White.

"Seeing that you bought cast iron furnaces," Dan said, looking at the furnaces, "you'll need coal for winter, right? The railway company happens to have a batch of discounted coal to release; do you want some?"

Tom never expected Dan to be there to sell coal.

"How much can you earn here?" Tom asked as he and Zack began unloading the truck.

Dan didn't answer, but looking at the piles of new belongings Tom was carrying down, he couldn't help but ask, "Are you really an immigrant?"

This hand, it doesn't look like someone driving a caravan at all.

A single purchase can easily amount to tens or even hundreds of dollars, which is quite extravagant.

Tom didn't respond and he and Zack carried the things inside.

The new ranch house was completely different from the Covington's.

Axe-cut pine walls press against a dusty granite foundation, a steep sod roof juts out from a wide veranda, and a few crooked pine pillars cast fence-like shadows.

On the east side, four oak logs form a pyramid-shaped smoked meat rack, from which dripping bison ribs hang, while ants scurry about in the hardened blood pools below.

Next to it was a sloping-roofed tool shed, with a broken yoke visible through the half-open door.

Under the eaves, the crossbeams are covered with practical ornaments.

The ground was covered with flat shale, and a cast iron anvil stood in the central depression, covered with shiny silver hammer marks.

Adjoining the east wall is a large, all-wood platform: the surface is paved with rough larch logs, with cracks large enough to fit a thumb, revealing hardened alfalfa debris underneath.

Eight pine wood pillars with bark still attached were deeply rammed into the ground, and the one in the northwest corner was still wrapped with a piece of tinplate with the nail tips facing outwards, for bear protection.

The tar coating on the wooden wall was uneven, and under the scorching sun, it cracked into a tortoise-shell-like pattern.

The windows were covered with greased parchment and fitted with removable pine boards, the latch holes worn smooth and round.

The oak door frame bears the marks of time, with the color of the fresh wood not yet faded.

After unloading the goods and settling the fare, Tom was about to go inside for a closer look.

"Fifteen dollars a ton!" Dan's voice was fast and urgent, as if he were throwing away a great deal.

Fifteen? Tom didn't even blink.

Seeing his lack of reaction, Dan grew impatient: "You think it's too expensive? This thing can save lives in winter! You have no idea how awful the winters have been these past few years, I bet this year..."

“I don’t care how much you make,” Tom interrupted him, his tone curt, “ten dollars a ton.”

"Ten dollars?!" Dan nearly jumped up. "You're dreaming! You couldn't even buy that much in the East!"

Dan roared until his face turned red and his neck bulged.

Tom doesn't care whether he can buy it or not.

If all else fails, we can burn firewood.

Go talk to Uncle Sam about getting a few tons of firewood. His son is a good cowboy; he'll definitely be able to chop wood.

Dan, oblivious to Tom's calculations, assumed he was hesitating and quickly lowered his voice, feigning pain: "Coal is a hundred times better than firewood! Thirteen! Thirteen dollars is the lowest I can find!"

Dan's enthusiasm aroused Tom's suspicion.

Even if he were to buy coal, how much could he possibly buy? Is it worth putting in so much effort?

"Twelve," Tom quoted the new price, then added, "ten tons."

Regardless of how cold this winter is, Tom wants to have a warm winter!

Dan's angry roar, which was about to erupt, caught in his throat, and his mustache instantly bristled: "Haha! Good! Tom, I really suspect you're a rich businessman from the East!"

Tom ignored Dan's teasing and asked, "How's the coal quality?"

"Don't worry about that! I'll vouch for it with the bar!" Dan patted his chest, practically swearing an oath.

quality?

Tom knew what was going on.

Anyway, the bar is in town, it can't run away.

"Where can we find workers to build houses?" Tom asked Dan directly.

Currently, the ranch has only two buildings: the main house has two bedrooms, and the living room also serves as a kitchen; the other building is the workers' quarters, which has only one bedroom, a kitchen, and a living room.

Tom's family of twelve couldn't fit even if they tried their hardest!

He was thinking of building a new house as soon as possible, and then selling it when he left in the spring, so he shouldn't lose too much money.

"Building a house now?" Dan's eyes widened as if he'd heard a fantasy. "Good heavens! The ground's almost frozen solid!"

He shrugged vigorously, practically screaming "Are you crazy?" on his face: "This isn't the right time, it just won't work!"

Tom didn't refute, he just nodded.

Dan received a satisfactory answer and left contentedly.

Before leaving, he casually asked Tom, "What's the name of the new ranch?"

Tom was taken aback; he really hadn't thought of that.

At lunchtime, a pot of stewed meat smelled delicious.

Tom stirred the bubbling meat in the pot and asked Zack, "What should we name the new ranch?"

Zach, engrossed in the stew on his plate, didn't even look up. "I see other ranches use surnames, so how about Dutton Ranch?"

As he spoke, his eyes remained glued to the iron pot.

This stew was heavenly for the pioneers who had been toiling in the wilderness for half a year.

Even if there were bison, you couldn't eat fresh meat every day.

"Dutton Ranch?" Tom frowned. "Too ordinary! It needs to be something special."

The two chatted and ate, and soon the pot of stewed meat was empty.

Sunlight streamed lazily through the greased parchment-covered windows, casting its rays onto the carpet in front of the fireplace.

After they had eaten and drunk their fill, their eyelids began to droop.

"hiss--!"

A sharp neigh of a horse abruptly shattered the silence!

Tom sprang up instantly, the revolver at his waist already in hand, and he darted outside!

Zach followed closely behind.

As soon as I rushed out of the room, I saw two tall, magnificent horses galloping wildly across the open grassland!

It's rare to see a snow woman running around like crazy, but the mudfish was practically leaping and bounding into the sky.

Tom's heart skipped a beat, and his gaze swept across the precious wine barrels under the eaves with lightning speed!

On one of the whiskey barrels, there was a clear yet messy large hoof print!

The culprit is obvious!

"Loach—!!!" Tom's roar echoed like thunder throughout the ranch.

The mudfish, which was frolicking, suddenly stopped, tilted its big head, and its "innocent" big eyes flashed with "shrewdness" as if it knew nothing.

It seemed to instantly understand Tom's anger.

The next second, the cunning guy fell to the ground with a "plop" and rolled around on the spot!

It was hissing and making noises, as if it had suffered a great injustice!

Tom: "..."

"Pfft!" Zack couldn't hold it in any longer and suddenly turned his back, his shoulders shaking.

Tom's lips twitched, and he said irritably, "Alright, laugh if you want to, don't hold it in!"

"Hahahahaha—!" Zack's hoarse laughter could no longer be contained, mingling with Tom's lingering anger, crashing against the wooden wall and drifting into the azure sky of Montana.

As dusk fell, wisps of smoke rose from the rooftops of the ranch.

In the kitchen, three large iron pots were steaming over the stove.

In the distance, a group of people was slowly approaching the horizon of the pasture.