America 1883: The Western Homeland

Chapter 26 Escaping the Lair

Tom held his breath, his "vision" in his mind like a circling eagle, taking in everything deep in the canyon.

Messy! Dirty!

This is the most direct impression of a bandit's lair.

Several makeshift shacks haphazardly constructed from withered branches lean precariously against the rock face, barely providing shelter from the wind and rain.

The campfire in the center crackled, and the burning cow dung emitted a unique stench of burnt and earthy smell that went straight into Tom's nose, making his throat tighten.

The most conspicuous thing is the low building in the corner, built of rough stones. It looks like an ugly square box, so solid that it is out of place with its surroundings and exudes an ominous feeling.

Everywhere you look, there are traces of the bandits' lives.

Dark, dried meat strips hung on the bare rocks.

The pale cow bones were carelessly discarded in the dust, while the gleaming saddle and greasy lasso were piled up to the side.

Several pried-open supply crates, clearly stolen, were piled up haphazardly.

Several Winchester rifles leaned against the rocks, their barrels gleaming coldly in the firelight.

The clothes, so dirty that their original color was no longer visible, hung on the rope like rags.

As Tom's "vision" penetrated deeper into the canyon, an intense, overwhelming odor storm suddenly assaulted his senses!

It was a pungent, foul stench from hundreds of cows gathered together, the fermenting sour smell of fresh cow dung, the choking smoke from burning cow dung in the campfire, the acrid, fishy smell from untanned hides, and a stench of sweat and the sour smell of rotting food. All of these mixed together to form a nauseating, foul miasma!

"Ugh..." Even from a distance, Tom felt a wave of nausea wash over him. He forced back the acid rising in his throat and cursed under his breath, "Damn it, have these animals pickled themselves up? How long has it been since they moved an inch?!"

"Moo—!"

The mooing of cattle rose and fell, mingling with the impatient snorting and pawing of mules and horses, creating a dull, resonant background noise in the narrow canyon.

"gather--!!!!"

Suddenly, a hoarse, cracking roar exploded like thunder in the sky above the canyon!

It instantly drowned out all the noise from the livestock!

"Da da da da—!"

Then came a rapid, frantic sound of horses' hooves approaching from afar, striking everyone's heart like drumbeats!

"Boss Lucas! What...what happened?!"

The few bandits left behind in the camp had faces full of confusion and fear.

Lucas didn't even have time to answer!

Like a wild beast driven mad by a hunter, covered in dust, pale-faced, and with his shirt soaked in sweat, he spurred his horse and charged straight toward the most conspicuous stone building!

"Grab your weapons!!!"

As he dismounted, he roared with all his might, his voice distorted by extreme fear and frantic running.

The camp erupted in chaos!

"Has the sheriff's spy infiltrated us?"

"Are they bounty hunters or the military?"

"Run or not? Where to run?"

A buzz of terrified whispers filled the air, a panic thicker than the smell of cow dung.

A few seconds later, Lucas reappeared in the low doorway of the stone building.

His appearance at that moment made everyone gasp. A heavy brass bullet belt was slung across his chest, and he was holding a loaded Winchester lever rifle tightly in his hand. The muzzle was trembling slightly, and his eyes were bloodshot, like a cornered beast at the end of its rope!

"It's biting us with its tail! Right at the valley entrance! Kill it!"

Lucas's voice was hoarse. He didn't explain who the pursuers were, nor did he mention why none of the men he had taken out had returned.

But this silent tragedy terrified the remaining five bandits more than any explanation could offer!

To drive Boss Lucas to this point, forcing him to flee back alone in such a sorry state to seek help... are these pursuers demons straight out of hell?

The five bandits guarding the livestock felt a chill run from the soles of their feet to the top of their heads, and their fingers instinctively gripped the barrels of their spears tightly.

Without Lucas giving any further orders, they scattered quickly like startled groundhogs, using the shadows of rocks and huts to find their own ambush positions.

Lucas also plunged into a crevice in a boulder, his gun barrel locked firmly on the canyon's only, narrow entrance.

Several pairs of eyes, like poisoned arrows, silently aimed at the bare valley entrance passage illuminated by the sunlight.

It's become a dead end!

All of this was reflected in Tom's "vision" without missing a single detail.

He lay silently behind a weathered rock outside the canyon entrance, a cold, mocking smile playing on his lips.

"Ha, just this one exit? Trying to trap us like this?"

Tom licked his slightly chapped lips, his eyes sharp as knives.

The canyon entrance is narrow and straight, offering a complete view. Charge in? You'd be a sitting duck! Only a reckless fool would do something so stupid.

He slowly retreated, his figure disappearing back into the deeper shadows outside the valley entrance, like a cheetah that had temporarily sheathed its claws.

Time flows silently, like sand slipping through your fingers.

The last rays of sunlight were swallowed by the inky blue night, and the boundless wilderness sank into a deathly silence.

A biting wind began to howl among the mountain rocks.

Whoosh!

At the top of the mountain, Tom tightened the rough hemp rope around his waist and tied it into a tight knot.

The cold, jagged rocks pressed against his back through his thin shirt.

Beneath their feet lay the deep abyss of Clefthoof Valley, a stronghold of bandits.

There is no second exit.

This only entrance is a death trap during the day, but it is also the only way out under the cover of night, or rather, the only way out for Lucas and his gang to die!

To cut the grass, you have to uproot it!

A cold glint flashed in Tom's eyes. The earth-shattering gunfight outside Fort Worth during the day had caused quite a stir.

Gunfire is the best fuse. Before long, the sheriffs who smelled the stench, or even the more troublesome cavalry patrols, will likely swarm around like vultures smelling carrion!

This nest of venomous snakes must be completely eradicated before they arrive.

The night was as thick as ink that couldn't be dissolved.

Tom's figure blended into the darkness. Relying on the clear "vision" map in his mind, he clung to the rugged rock wall like a gecko, moving silently downwards using both hands and feet.

The rough ropes rubbed against our palms, and each step was precisely planted in the protrusions or crevices of the rocks. After a long climb, the soles of our boots finally touched the cold sand and gravel at the bottom of the valley.

"Boss, it's pitch black! I bet that kid's scared out of his wits by now!" Deep in the canyon, one of the bandits left behind shrank his neck and complained in a low voice, his tone filled with exhaustion and a hint of barely perceptible relaxation.

"Yeah, boss, everyone's hungry! How about... we head back?" another voice chimed in, with a hint of probing.

"Should we...scout out a little further?" the third voice suggested hesitantly.

Lucas stood motionless, curled up in the shadow of a boulder, like a cold stone sculpture.

His eyes, wide open even in the darkness, were like those of a night owl, fixed on the only passage leading to the canyon entrance!