America 1883: The Western Homeland

Chapter 2.1 Family Reunion

Night fell quietly, and the train, puffing out heavy air, came to a stop at Fort Worth station.

Passengers poured off the bus like a receding tide.

The platform was almost empty when a group of people slowly strolled off, with the young man at the back waving goodbye to the train attendant.

Just then, a figure suddenly caught Elsa's gaze.

Tall and imposing, a brown wide-brimmed hat weighed down his resolute face, and he had a thick beard. He wore a navy blue shirt over a brown vest, and high-waisted canvas trousers tucked into worn-out leather boots.

"Daddy! It's Daddy!" Elsa exclaimed with surprise.

"Elsa!" James Dutton immediately recognized his daughter.

Like a bird returning to its nest, Elsa instantly left the crowd and rushed into her father's broad and warm embrace.

Behind her, Margaret, Elsa's mother, gripped her youngest son John's hand tightly, her voice low and her gaze sharp as she swept over Tom: "I'll tell your father everything you've done!"

Tom chuckled nonchalantly, tugged at the rope in his hand, and the prisoner, bound like a dumpling at the other end, immediately glared fiercely at him.

"He'll be very happy," Tom said casually. "That guy's head is worth two hundred dollars."

James, who was immersed in the joy of reunion, suddenly froze.

He walked up to Tom and the prisoner, his sharp gaze sweeping over the bound man before settling on the rope in his son's hand.

"What happened?" James's voice turned somber.

A middle-aged man was tightly bound, and the one controlling the rope was his own son.

Claire's voice was like a knife chilled to the bone, stabbing directly at James: "Look at your good son! In the time it takes to take a train, he's transformed into a bounty hunter and even caught a conman! He's got some serious skills!"

Those who know Claire well know that this is a prelude to her rage.

"Huh?" James was a little stunned by this sudden information.

Tom looked almost exactly the same as when he left home.

The sixteen-year-old was still thin.

So, they just caught a wanted criminal on the train? Or a fraudster?

Tom shrugged, speaking as casually as if he were discussing the weather: "I ran into a bounty hunter from New York on the road. Bad luck, he died suddenly. The wanted poster ended up in my hands. Hey, what a coincidence, isn't it? I bumped into this guy on the train, just tied him up."

It's as easy as drinking water.

"James, my sons are all dead. How lucky you are to have two!" Claire's voice was filled with profound sorrow and suppressed anger, her withered finger pointing directly at Tom. "But this one is probably much more mischievous than mine!"

Well, it was clear from her words that she was genuinely worried Tom would do something drastic.

"Thank you for your concern, Auntie," Tom grinned. "We're family, after all. I feel sorry for you too, after all... you really don't have a son anymore."

"Tom!" Margaret's voice suddenly rose, filled with shock and anger.

"I was just trying to comfort my aunt," Tom said helplessly, looking completely innocent!

James frowned and snatched the rope from Tom's hand.

To avoid attracting more attention on the platform, he said in a deep voice, "Go to the police station first and hand the person over. We'll talk about the rest when we get back."

The group walked out of the station and came to the waiting carriage.

The crowd filed into the cramped carriage, but Elsa lingered, gazing longingly at the unfamiliar night view outside the station.

"Elsa!" James called out in a deep voice.

Elsa reluctantly got into the car.

James stayed outside the carriage and deftly secured the prisoner's ropes to the back of the carriage.

"Giddy up!" The coachman cracked the whip, and the carriage started moving.

The bound prisoners could only stagger and run behind.

Tom had barely settled into his seat in the crowded carriage when he immediately felt several icy, knife-like gazes. Without a doubt, they came from his mother, aunt, and sister Elsa.

He secretly grimaced. This dilapidated carriage had actually crammed six people in. Although little John was being held tightly in his mother's arms, the space was still so cramped that it was hard to breathe.

"Tom," Elsa couldn't hold back any longer, her probing gaze almost piercing him, "when did you learn to use a knife? And so...fast? It's terrifying!"

"A knife?" Margaret's voice suddenly changed.

"That's right! Mom!" Elsa exclaimed, as if she had found an outlet for her emotions. "He 'whoosh,' with that long knife! The man's arm was ripped open! Blood was gushing out! And there was a gun! The bullets 'bang,' and he 'whoosh,' dodging them! Like a shadow! God knows how he did it!"

She gestured excitedly as she recounted, embellishing and vividly describing how Tom subdued the armed criminal on the train.

Not only did Margaret and Claire turn pale upon hearing this, but even Tom, the person involved, was almost captivated by her description.

As her daughter recounted the story, Margaret's face gradually lost all color.

She clutched her chest tightly, her breath catching in her throat. Her gaze swept over Tom with a complex mix of emotions. The words that were about to come out of her mouth were swallowed back, turning into a trembling gasp: "I knew it... ever since you..."

"Elsa," Tom interrupted his mother coolly, glancing sideways at his sister who was still excitedly describing things, "did you just find Dad and can't wait to scare your mother to death here?"

"Huh?" Elsa blinked her big eyes, her face full of confusion, as if to say, "Did I say something wrong?"

Seeing the bewildered look on the girl's face, Tom rolled his eyes dramatically and spat out two words through gritted teeth: "Shut up!"

...........

Night had fallen, and the streets of the small town were deserted. Tom's family's carriage drove silently toward the police station without attracting much attention.

Once the carriage came to a stop, the group filed out and escorted the tightly bound prisoner into the dimly lit hall of the police station.

The sheriff on duty was a portly middle-aged man. He yawned and lazily took the wanted poster from Tom, squinting as he examined it under the light.

His gaze swept back and forth between the paper and the disheveled "zongzi" on the ground several times.

"The person... it's definitely this one," the sheriff tossed the wanted poster on the table and shrugged. "However, as for the reward... the station doesn't have any cash on hand right now."

Tom didn't speak, but tilted his head slightly. His young but sharp eyes, like those of a hawk, were fixed on the sheriff's face, and there seemed to be a faint smile on his lips.

"It's clearly printed on the wanted poster: If you have any questions, call this number." Tom tapped the number on the paper with his fingertip, his voice low but like a nail being driven into wood, "A thousand-dollar reward, Sheriff, think about it, what he did can't be a small matter, can it?"

Almost as soon as Tom finished speaking, James Dutton, who was standing next to him, adjusted his posture as if by accident.