Chapter 22
In Sacramento, California—a city where tens of thousands of immigrants who came in search of gold had settled—a man wearing a bowler hat and suit staggered as he got off a carriage.
Outwardly, he looked neat and fine, but inside, he was completely soaked in alcohol.
He pushed open the door marked <Backveind> and greeted them.
“Good morning.”
“Good morning, Mr. Bratt Burden.”
The Backveind train company was responsible for overall transportation between California and Oklahoma, and from there to the Mississippi River.
What they carried varied each time, but it was usually gold and copper.
Bratt hung his suit jacket on a hanger and glanced over the desk.
“There’s a lot today.”
“There was an accident at the gold mine last night. Apparently, a group of Mexicans caused a disturbance.”
“Do they have nothing better to do? They should be grateful just for being allowed to make a living. Damn Greasers.”
Bratt muttered the slur as naturally as breathing while flipping through the documents.
Perhaps because of his upset stomach, he felt even less inclined to work today.
Then something caught his eye.
Bratt waved an envelope at his secretary.
“What’s this?”
“It’s from Mollibay. It’s not addressed to you specifically, but it was sent to the Backveind California representative.”
“Did the mail carrier come in person?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
Bratt flicked the envelope with a suspicious look.
If his name wasn’t on it, it was usually an angry protest letter from natives telling them to tear up the railroad.
Mollibay might be a rural place, but it was somewhat developed, wasn’t it?
More importantly, he had never heard of natives hiring a mail carrier.
People who lived off skinning rabbits—where would they even get the money?
“This is bothering me.”
The last time he carelessly opened a letter, he ended up with shit on his hands, which made him even more hesitant.
After a moment of thought, he carefully tore open the edge of the envelope.
Rip.
Inside was a single sheet, more like a note than a letter.
Frowning, Bratt suddenly stood up and checked the train schedule on the wall.
“What’s wrong?”
“The train leaving for Oklahoma tomorrow—when does it return here?”
“Just a moment. The 9th.”
“The 9th…”
Bratt’s finger traced along the railroad slowly.
If nothing went wrong midway, on the 12th, the train would pass between Langdil Mountain and Turtle Rock.
The nearest central hub to that point was Mollibay.
It seemed like a tip about a train robbery…
Bratt frowned as he looked at the name written on the back of the note.
“Kim Jaei?”
A name he had never heard before—sounded like some beggar’s name.
He wasn’t sure whether to trust it.
There wasn’t any additional explanation either.
But considering they spent a large sum to send a mail carrier, it probably wasn’t a joke.
Bratt flicked the note toward his secretary and gave instructions.
“First, send a message to the Oklahoma branch. Tell them to prepare for a robbery when the train returns. Since the expected location is the wasteland, they’ll likely try to stop the train by blowing up or damaging the tracks. Emphasize that they should load plenty of repair technicians.”
“Yes, understood.”
“And the mail carrier who brought this—did he leave already?”
“No. He said he’ll be staying at a nearby inn for two days. Shall we prepare a reply?”
The secretary wrote down Bratt’s instructions on a memo as she responded.
Even though the smell of alcohol reached her, her superior’s strength was that he handled work decisively.
Though the fact that it was his only strength was also a weakness.
“Through the Mollibay sheriff’s office, find out what this Kim Jaei is. At the same time, contact Pinkerton.”
“Should we request railway inspection and nearby security?”
“Yes. Whether it’s here or Oklahoma, once it departs, it must never stop.”
“Understood. I’ll send the message.”
After the secretary left, Bratt brushed back his hair and fixed his gaze on the map.
Because of that, he failed to notice something.
A small article printed in the corner of the morning newspaper buried under the pile of documents.
-The infamous western bank robbers, the Roldiori Max gang, have all been killed. The gang leader Max’s corpse was received at the Mollibay sheriff’s office, while the remaining members were shot dead after committing a bank robbery at the Wells Fargo Ractover branch. The whereabouts of the $980 in damages have not yet been revealed, and it is unknown why the leader and his members moved separately. However, the bounty hunter who delivered Roldiori Max’s corpse was reported to be ‘Kim Jaei.’ There was no mention of whether this was an alias.
“Mr. Bratt!”
After some time, the secretary returned, calling out to Bratt with a troubled expression.
She shook her head as if she couldn’t understand it at all.
“Pinkerton says they can’t take the request.”
“What? Even knowing it’s Backveind security?”
Bratt was dumbfounded by the completely unexpected response.
This was a request from Backveind, after all.
If the robbery tip was real, did they even realize how much the compensation would be?
“They say there’s no suitable personnel at the office right now. They said it would be possible in about fifteen days. If it’s urgent, they could accept the request, but—”
“How dare they try to assign amateurs! Fifteen days is too late. What’s going on?”
“They’ve all been dispatched to escort a Wells Fargo stagecoach heading to Mollibay.”
“Mollibay?”
Bratt frowned as if he had misheard.
Was it really a coincidence to hear the name of that rural town twice in one day?
He stood there, speechless, before letting out a sigh.
If it were another company, it might be different, but when it came to Wells Fargo, there was no way around it.
Still unable to let it go, he muttered irritably,
“Damn it. What, is it worth a few thousand dollars or something?”
“Judging by the situation, it seems to be around $5000.”
“$5000? Why would that backwater need that much money?”
“I’m not sure of the details, but they said Mollibay hit the jackpot.”
“Ah… damn it.”
Then there was nothing more to say.
Bratt took out a cigarette and lit it.
Mollibay was a hub frequently visited by bounty hunters.
Some bastard must’ve landed a big one.
And of all times, it had to be now.
“……That mail carrier staying at the inn, right?”
“Shall we have him move first?”
“Yeah. Pay him double and make it fast no matter what.”
“Yes, understood.”
Bratt exhaled cigarette smoke as he examined the note front and back.
This guy Kim Jaei who knew about the bank robbery, and whoever snagged a bounty worth several thousand dollars—what on earth was happening in that backwater town of Mollibay?
He pinned a tack onto the wasteland area near Mollibay on the map.
***
“See anything?”
“No.”
In the middle of the wasteland, nothing could be seen except for yellowish rocky hills.
Four men with dwarfism scanned the east, west, south, and north with telescopes as they muttered.
“Focus on the railway. See if there are any traces.”
“Hm, do you think that bastard Max might be dead?”
“Honestly, I’d rather he be dead. He just sent us a location and that’s it.”
“Yeah. He said he’d tell us the date and time too.”
These were the Tomdi four brothers.
All born with dwarfism, they were known as the gang “Little Tomdis.”
Though small in stature, they were geniuses when it came to handling explosives, which made them infamous.
Roldiori Max had wanted their help, so as a sign of alliance, he had tried to send a letter along with his wanted poster.
The mistake he made was overlooking that death could come at any time.
“So what do we do? Drop this job?”
“We can’t. We’re starting to run out of money.”
“Same here. This railway belongs to <Backveind>, right? Check the location properly. Is this really where Max said to meet?”
“It’s correct. But we don’t know when or what time the train passes through here. Should we set up and wait until Max shows up?”
“What about going into town?”
They looked at each other, then turned their heads as if dismissing the idea.
Four men with dwarfism who all looked alike?
Even a fool would recognize them as the Tomdis gang.
“Huh? There’s something over there.”
“Where? Is it Max?”
“Next to that big rock in the west.”
At the second brother’s words, the others simultaneously raised their telescopes and turned their heads.
Far away… yes. Something was visible.
Faint, but clearly a person.
They mounted donkeys loaded with luggage and cracked their whips.
“Let’s go!”
The eldest carried bombs, the second food, the third daily necessities, and the fourth loot.
The donkeys ran in a line, and the Tomdi brothers drew their guns.
“A woman?”
A woman in a white shirt soaked with blood, her hair disheveled.
She staggered as she walked, then waved her hand upon spotting the Tomdis.
Perhaps she was genuinely glad to see them—she was even smiling despite being on the verge of collapse.
The eldest Tomdi muttered,
“Now all sorts of things are wandering the wasteland. Buffalo, Indians, and now a crazy woman?”
“Help me, help, I—”
“Hey, what are you doing out here?”
Her dried lips trembled as she smiled.
Looking closely, a broken arrow was stuck in her back.
“I-I’m Priscilla. Money, I have money. $980. It’s in Mollibay… I was waiting for the Wells Fargo, then I met someone from a mobile unit who had a horse named Onyx, but then Max died and the money turned into $5000, haah, wolves…”
Priscilla collapsed unconscious.
The Tomdis stared at her in disbelief.
“What the hell is this crazy bitch saying?”
“She just said Max died, right?”
“That’s what I heard too. What the hell happened?”
“Seems related to the owner of the horse named ‘Onyx.’ Should we take her with us for now?”
“What a hassle. Just splash some water on her.”
The third Tomdi poured the water he was drinking onto Priscilla’s face.
She gasped sharply, then sprang up shouting,
“You bastards! I’ll kill youuu!”
“Ah, shit.”
Thud!
Startled, the second Tomdi reflexively struck the back of her neck.
Priscilla collapsed unconscious again.
The brothers glared at the second irritably.
“Sorry.”
“Seriously…”
“Instead, one of us should disguise himself and go to Mollibay. Find out what’s going on with Max being dead and what this $5000 is about.”
They simultaneously started playing rock-paper-scissors.
Priscilla coughed up blood as she lay there, but none of them paid her any attention.
“Yes!”
“Ah, damn it!”
The fourth, who got picked, scratched his head.
“So I go check if Max is really dead first—”
“And find the owner of the horse named Onyx too.”
“Right. Considering she was rambling about $980 and $5000 on the verge of death, it probably isn’t nonsense.”
“Okay.”
If Priscilla regained consciousness, they could ask her directly, but judging by her condition, that didn’t seem likely.
The fourth stuck on a fake mustache under his nose and nodded.
“Wait. That arrow stuck in her back—it looks handmade.”
“Let me see. Yeah, it is.”
“Take that too. We’ll find out soon enough.”
“And buy some water and food on your way back.”
The fourth unloaded the loot and mounted a donkey.
Then he waved his hand as if to say he’d be back.
A tumbleweed rolled along the railway.