lovenovelstory Chapter 73 Tom's Desperate Counterattack
Chapter 73 Tom's Desperate Counterattack
"Sheriff! Before the judge struck the gavel, you were just a suspect! How dare you openly resist a bailiff?"
A man in his thirties, impeccably dressed in a suit, spoke in a deep voice, his gaze sharp as a knife, confronting the sheriff. "Forget about that murder case, we could shoot you on the spot based on what you're doing right now!"
Sweat beaded on the sheriff's forehead as he made a last-ditch effort: "What right do you have to illegally enter the police station?"
The bailiff offered no explanation, his tone icy: "Sheriff, you are suspected of murdering Mr. Covington, a New York businessman. As law enforcement, you have the authority to take you into custody immediately!"
The sheriff's gaze swept over the dark muzzle of the gun, his facial muscles twitching with struggle.
"It's just temporary detention! If you're innocent, we'll release you!" The bailiff softened his tone, trying to break down his resistance.
The words of comfort seemed to have worked.
The sheriff's tense shoulders relaxed, his fingers loosened, and the heavy pistol clattered onto the table.
The bailiff deputy next to him reacted quickly, snatched the gun, and neatly handcuffed him.
As he was being led out of the office, the sheriff whirled around, staring intently at Tom in the corner, and roared, "I'm not the murderer! He is!"
Tom shuddered at his gaze and instinctively shrank back.
It portrays the victim's image vividly.
Only the bailiff and Tom remained in the office.
The bailiff reached out and pulled Tom, who was still slumped on the ground, to his feet.
"Are you really the sharpshooter Tom that William was talking about?" The bailiff looked Tom up and down, his eyes scrutinizing him.
Tom grinned, then sat down in a chair and rubbed his numb wrist. "You'll have to ask William himself about that."
He was also wondering to himself, how could William, a Texas Ranger, know a federal marshal in the East?
As bailiff Jim Taylor unlocked Tom's handcuffs, his tone still skeptical: "Hopefully William hasn't misjudged him."
The two walked out of the police station together.
Jim had to go back to the bailiff's office, while Tom had to find skinny Zach.
Watching Jim's departing figure, Tom frowned, his mind churning with questions.
"Tom!" Zack's voice came from the street corner. He jogged over, circling Tom anxiously. "Are you alright?"
Tom shrugged and cracked his knuckles. "Great. But, buddy, we need to find somewhere else to stay."
If it weren't for those Covington cowboys causing trouble, he would be lying comfortably somewhere by now.
Tom turned around, his destination clear: Deep Valley Bar.
Early in the morning, he knocked loudly on the bar's tightly closed door.
The bar owner, Dan, with messy hair and bloodshot eyes, opened the door a crack. After seeing that it was Tom, his face was filled with "I have no will to live".
Tom didn't care about any of that and squeezed straight in, leaving Dan's helpless gaze behind.
"I need to find you today to rent a place."
Tom expertly pulled a bottle of fine whiskey from the bar, poured himself and Zack a glass each, took a sip, and clicked his tongue, "Much better than the stuff in our old barrels."
Zach took a big gulp, choked and coughed, nodding repeatedly.
Dan, standing to the side, let out a heavy breath, like an enraged bull: "Don't you know bars are closed in the morning?!"
Tom swirled his glass, not even lifting his eyelids: "Of course I know. You guys partied until midnight last night, so of course you have to rest this morning."
"You knew that, yet you still came banging on the door so early in the morning!" Dan raised his voice.
Tom finally looked up at him, a half-smile playing on his lips: "Dan, this bar is my territory. Do I need to report to you beforehand when I come?"
His fingers traced the handle of the revolver at his waist, intentionally or unintentionally.
Dan instantly felt as if he had been choked, his face turning red. After holding back for a long time, he finally grabbed the bottle in frustration, poured himself a large glass, and gulped it down.
The fiery liquor seemed to barely quell his anger.
Tom didn't rush him, and poured himself another glass.
After a long while, Dan slammed down his cup, wiped his mouth, and his eyes regained some clarity: "I do know of a ranch that's eager to make a move."
"How big? Why are you selling it?" Tom asked, perking up.
“More than three thousand acres. I heard… it’s going to Oregon,” Dan replied.
Tom was taken aback.
Oregon? That's a strange reason.
Dan saw through his confusion, snorted, and said with a touch of local sarcasm, "The winters in this godforsaken place can freeze half your life off! Lots of those tender seedlings from the east can't withstand Montana's razor-sharp winds and run away!"
He paused, then added, "Unable to stand this freezing cold, naturally I packed my bags and left!"
"Can we rent it?" Tom pressed, already calculating in his mind. After all, once they survived this damned winter, they still needed to head to Oregon in the spring.
Dan seemed to read his mind, raising an eyebrow: "What, you want to go to Oregon too?"
He shook his head. "You'll have to ask the rancher yourself. Anyway, the word is that he's eager to sell."
"That's right," Tom nodded, his tone filled with longing for warmth, "Oregon is much warmer than this godforsaken place."
What he said is absolutely true.
Montana is located in the northwestern corner of the United States, bordered by Canada to the north and surrounded by several states on the east, west, and south sides.
The terrain is completely different; to the east lies an endless plain, while to the west plunges into the rugged Rocky Mountains.
The worst thing is the weather. It's a typical continental climate. Summers are bearable, but winters are absolutely freezing!
In winter, Montana is a giant icebox.
Especially on the eastern plains, fierce winds from Canada, accompanied by blizzards, cut like knives and steal away all the heat.
Not to mention the mountains to the west, where heavy snow often blocks the way.
rainwater?
That depends on the weather; most of the rains occur between spring and summer, and the mountains get a larger share.
As for summer, it's a blessing from heaven that the climate is relatively mild and pleasant.
"Let's go check out the ranch first!" Tom made the decision.
Bar owner Dan sighed and resignedly led the way.
Fortunately, the rancher's family had already left Bozeman, and the entire ranch was empty.
When Tom stood on that land of more than three thousand acres, his gaze swept across the shimmering tributary of the river in the distance. Although it was only the end of the river, it was enough to feed the livestock on the ranch. In an instant, he made a decision: Buy it!
After some haggling, Dante Tom engaged in a verbal battle with the rancher.
Ultimately, the deal was settled at an astonishingly low price of $0.5 per acre.
Throughout the entire process, Tom remained an outsider, arms crossed, silent and simply observing.
Tom didn't realize something was wrong until he stepped into the land application office.
The clerk greeted Dan familiarly, but her eyes narrowed sharply when they met Tom's gaze, followed by an undisguised look of surprise and curiosity.
The procedures were completed very quickly.
The clerk couldn't help but steal a few more glances at Tom, his Adam's apple bobbing as he hesitated to speak.
Tom knew perfectly well that the news of the sheriff being handcuffed and taken away by federal marshals in public had probably already spread to every corner of Postman.
Just before that, he himself was a "suspect" who was handcuffed and taken to the police station by the sheriff!
Who would have thought that this seemingly insignificant immigrant would become like a magnet, getting involved in the deaths of New York tycoons and ranchers, and even personally sending the local sheriff to the bailiffs' prison van!