Chapter 16 Sixteen, the disappearance of the black eagle

Chapter One One year a ferocious gang harassed for months the region from the Texas border to the Rio Grande.This infamous bandit is especially deterrent to the optic nerve.His personality has earned him such a title: Black Hawk, Bad Frontier.There are many frightening rumors about him and his party members' misdeeds, which are recorded one by one.Unexpectedly, within a second, Black Hawk disappeared from the earth, and no one has heard from him since.Not even his bandits can solve the mystery of his disappearance.The frontier ranch and the hamlet feared that he would come again and plunder the Gran Meadows.But he didn't show up again.

As this story is being written, it is time to make the fate of the Black Hawk public.A bartender in St. Louis whose account provides the beginning of this story.As he reluctantly nibbled at his free lunch, his greedy eyes fell on Chicken.Ruggles' appearance.Chiken was a bum.His long nose like a chicken's beak, his insatiable appetite for poultry, and his habit of satisfying this appetite without breaking a penny were the reasons his fellow vagabonds gave him his name. Doctors agree that drinking alcohol with meals is not a healthy habit.Bar hygiene is the other way around.Chiken neglected to buy a cup to accompany his meal.The waiter went around the counter, grabbed the inconsiderate diner by the ear with a lemon squeezer, dragged him to the door, and kicked him into the street.

Because of this, Chiken's mind was drawn to recognize the signs of winter.The night was cold, and the stars cast an inconsiderate light; people came and went in two self-absorbed, shoving streams in the street.The men had put on their coats, and Chiken knew perfectly well that coaxing a few pennies out of those big button-inward pockets was getting harder, and it was time for his annual southward move. A little boy, maybe five or six years old, staring at the confectioner's window, salivating, stands holding an empty two-ounce vial in one hand and clutching it tightly in the other. Something flat and round with a shiny polished rim.The circumstances provided a suitable display for Chicken's genius and adventurous spirit.He scanned his surroundings, making sure no official rivals were prowling the vicinity, and then stalked his quarry.The boy had been taught to view the seduction of altruism with extreme suspicion, and coldly resisted the other party's prompting.And Chicken understood that he had to make one of those desperate, downcast people speculate, that fortune sometimes depended on those who fought for its favor.The nickel was his capital, and he had to risk it to win what was tightly clutched in the boy's chubby hand.It was a terrible lottery, and Chiken knew it.But he had to use strategy to get there, because he was utterly afraid of robbing children by force.

Once, in a park, driven by hunger, he attacked a bottle of emulsified baby food that belonged to the owner of a pram.The indignant baby opened its mouth so quickly, pressed the button to communicate with the sky, and reinforcements arrived, resulting in Chiken spending thirty days in a warm and comfortable cage.That's why he said so, god boy.He began subtly asking what sweet the child would choose, pulling out the situation he wanted step by step.His mother told him to go to the pharmacy and buy painkillers for a dime in a bottle; he must keep that dollar in his palm; he must not talk to anyone on the street; he must let the pharmacy The person inside wrapped the change and put it in the pocket of his trousers.That's right, the trousers have two pockets!His favorite desserts are creamy chocolate.

Chiken walked into the store and speculated.He invested all his capital in candy stocks, purely to pave the way for greater risks later on.He gave the candy to the child, satisfied with the realization that intimacy had been established.After that, it was easy to get the leadership of the expedition, and he took the investment property in his hand and directed it to a good pharmacy he knew well on the same block.In the pharmacy, Chicken passed the dollar with paternal air, and called for the medicine, while the kid crunched the candy, glad that someone was in charge of buying it for him.Then the investor rummaged through his pockets, found a coat button, part of his winter pack, wrapped it carefully, and placed the plausible change in the pocket of the convinced child. inside.He turned the boy to face home and patted him kindly on the back for Chicken's heart was as soft as his furry namesake's. A bonus of 1,700 percent has been reached.Two hours later, an Iron Mountain freight train locomotive trudged out of the yard for Texas, dragging a train of empty freight cars behind it.In one of the cattle wagons, Chiken lay comfortably, half buried in fine wood shavings.A quart bottle of cheap whiskey was in his comfort zone, along with a paper bag of bread and cheese.Mr. Ruggles was traveling south in his private compartment to escape the winter.

[Note] means chicken.Chiken, chicken in English. Chapter two Over the course of a week, the train was hauled heavily southward, with movements and stops, all vehicles controlled with ease, but Chiken insisted on staying on board, leaving only when his hunger and thirst needed to be satisfied it.He knew that the train had to travel south to the Cowland, and San Antonio was its heart and his destination.There the air is wholesome and warm; the people are generous and long suffering.The bartender there wouldn't kick him.If he took too long to eat or was in one place too often, they cursed him like reciting a classic without passion.They drew their breath so seldom did they stop before a rich inflection that Chicken often devoured a good meal in between the insults.There, the season is always like spring; the nights in the shopping district are pleasant, with music and merriment: except for a period of slightly cold weather that is not often, one can comfortably sleep outdoors, perhaps indoors should not be Hospitality.In Texarkana, his car turned onto the tracks of the International Great Northern Railway and continued south until it finally climbed over the Colorado Bridge in Austin and flew like an arrow toward San Antonio.Chiken was sound asleep when the train stopped in the city.Ten minutes later, the train left the station for Larodo, the end of the line.The empty oxcarts are scattered along the way at the loading points where the ranches load their livestock.

When Chiken awoke, his car was motionless.Looking through the slats, he saw a clear, moonlit night.He climbed out and saw his car and three other cars thrown on a small diverge, surrounded by desolate and silent countryside.On the side of the track, there is a cattle pen and a livestock passage.In the middle of the railroad bisecting the vast, misty prairie ocean, Chiken and his insignificant repertoire of vehicles, he was as helpless as Robinson Crusoe was with his inland ships.There is a white stake next to the railway.Chiken stepped forward and saw that it read: San Antonio, 90.La Rodo was about as far south as it was deep.He was almost a hundred miles from either town.In the sea of ​​mystery around him, the coyote began to scream.Chiken felt alone.He was uneducated in Boston, nervous in Chicago, no place to sleep in Philadelphia, drunk in New York, drunk in Pittsburgh, yet he was never so alone .In the silence, he suddenly heard the neighing of a horse.The sound came from the side of the railway to the east, and Chiken began to look in that direction with trepidation.He climbed high on the wavy granma grass, because in this desert everything that could possibly be made him afraid of snakes, rats, robbers, centipedes, mirages, cowboys, fandango Dances and tarantulas and tamales he'd read about in storybooks.When the horse was startled, there was a snort and a thunderous rush, which made him tremble with terror, and circle around a clump of prickly pears, with its grotesque and menacing row of round heads high up.The horse skipped about fifty yards and then resumed grazing.However, in the desert, there is one thing that you are not afraid of.He was raised on a farm, he handled horses, he understood them, and he could ride them.He followed the animal, approaching it slowly, speaking comforting words.The horse looked gentle after the first gallop, protecting the end of a twenty-foot noose trailing in the grass behind him.All he needed was a little time to get the rope attached to the ingeniously designed bridle like a Mexican knight.After a while, he was already on the horseback, let the horse choose its direction freely, and walked away at a leisurely pace, it will take me somewhere, Chiken said to himself.Running freely on the prairie under the moonlight, even for Chiken, who hates hard work, this should be considered a blessing, but his heart is not here.He had a headache; he was getting thirsty; the mount that had brought him luck might take him somewhere uncertain, somewhere full of melancholy speculation.Now, he noticed that the horse was heading towards a definite goal.The grassland in this area is flat, and the horse keeps moving in a straight line, like an arrow shooting to the east.Rounding hills or wadis or impassable, thorny bushes, guided by its infallible instinct, it ran fast again.Finally, on the side of a gentle slope, it suddenly slowed down and walked with a big face.A stone's throw away, there is a small clump of tamarind trees; under the tree is a mud-walled hut, like a Mexican building with a single room on vertical piles, with mud on the walls and a roof covered with leather or reeds.As any experienced eye can see, this is the command center for a small sheep ranch.In the moonlight, the grass in the nearby fence was flattened by the fine marks of sheep's hooves.Items related to the place were thrown here and there: ropes, bridles, saddles, sheepskins, wool bags, feed troughs, and camp debris.At the rear of the two-horse carriage near the door, there is a bucket of drinking water.Harnesses were piled in disorder on the poles of the carriage, soaking up the dew.

Chiken dismounted and tied the horse to a tree.He heyed over and over again, but the horse remained silent.The door was open, and he entered with great care.The light was not bad enough for him to see that no one was in the room.He struck a match and lit the oil lamp on the table.This is exactly the kind of room a single shepherd has, where the owner is content with the necessities of life.Chiken rummaged expertly until he found what he could hardly have hoped for, a small brown jug still containing almost a quart of what he craved.Half an hour later, at this moment, a pugnacious game opponent staggered out of the house.

He put on the full garb of an absent shepherd for his own rags.He was very stylish in a rough brown suit with an offbeat Spanish jacket.He put on his boots and spikes, humming with every step.Around his waist was a belt, fully loaded with bullets, and two holsters, each containing a large revolver.He searched around and found some blankets, a pair of saddles and bridles, which he draped over his steed.He mounted his horse and galloped away, singing an out-of-key song loudly. Bud is composed of desperadoes, fugitives, cattle and horse thieves.The bandits of gold camped in a secluded place on the banks of the Frio.In Rio Grande County, they are famous for their savagery, and has anyone ever been able to compare with their dog gall?So Lieutenant Kinney's patrol team was ordered to search for these guys.Bud.King, the wise leader, instead of cutting a closely pursued path for the enforcers, retreated briefly with him, as his followers wished, into the far and remote thorny valleys of Frio up.Although the retreat was cautious, it did not come close to Bard's famous courage, a point that sparked debate among gang members.In fact, BudBehind closed doors, King's followers debated to some extent his suitability as a leader.Bard's ability or prowess had never drawn criticism before; but his glory was dimmed in the light of a new star (as was the fate of glory).The gang's emotions crystallized into an opinion that Black Hawk could lead them to greater glory, greater good, and better courtesy.The Black Hawk aka the Frontier Terrorist has only been in the gang for about three months.One night, when they were in camp on the water of the San Miguel, a rider on a well-groomed horse charged into their midst.The newcomer has a strange appearance and is shocking.A hooked nose, with predatory curves, protruded from a mass of bristly, dark blue beard.His eye sockets were deep and fierce.Dressed in spurs, sombrero, boots, and armed with a revolver, he was drunk and fearless.In a county watered by the Bravo River, few would want to violate Bud.Kim's camp.But the bird of prey crashed fearlessly among them, yelling for something to eat.On the vast grasslands, hospitality is the usual thing.Even if your enemy walks across your terrain, you'll have to feed him before you shoot him.You have to empty your food first, fill his belly, and then empty your bullets.So, the uninvited guests were seated for a feast.He was a talkative fellow, full of the most incredible tales of adventure and gallantry, in sometimes obscure but entertaining language.To Bud.King was a new stimulus to those who had a hard time meeting any new type.They listened with delight to his boasting, his bawdy and unfamiliar jargon, his knowledge and contempt of life, the world, distant places, and the bold confessions with which he expressed his thoughts and sentiments.

Compared with their guests, these fugitives were a bunch of bumpkins, just as he babbled when he was coaxing dinner at the back door of the farmhouse, these guys were his puppets.True enough, his ignorance was not without reason, for bad people in the Southwest don't go to extremes.These brigands, perhaps with good reason, were sent to little fish-fry parties, or hickory-nut fairs, all attended by good-natured bumpkins.Delicate in manners, sluggish in their walk, limp in their voices, ill-dressed; none of them could produce evidence that they had earned lawlessness.The splendid visitor was feasted for two days in the camp.Then, with everyone's approval, he was invited to join the gang.He agreed, registering the astonishing name of Captain Monteresor.This was immediately rejected by the bandits, and the name was changed to Pig, as a compliment to his master's formidable and insatiable appetite.For the next three months, Bud.King ran the business as usual, avoided face-to-face encounters with judicial officials, and was content with a decent bonus.On the other side of the Rio Grande, the mob safely stole some excellent horses and a few herds of fat cattle from the pastures, and bartered them for a fair amount of money.Mobs often charged into small villages and Mexican settlements on horseback, terrorizing the residents and looting them for supplies and ammunition.It was in the course of these bloodless raids that Pigg's savage appearance and terrifying voice earned him a far greater reputation than the soft-spoken, melancholy-faced thugs would ever achieve for a lifetime. Bright.The Mexican who is best at naming, first called him Black Hawk.These Mexicans often frighten children by telling frightening stories about a robber who snatched them away with his long beak.Before long, the name spread, and Black Hawk, the terror of the frontier, became a factor of approval in newspaper bombast and ranch chatter.From Nueces to the Rio Grande River, there is a desolate and fertile wilderness, in which there are cattle and sheep pastures one after another.The size of the ranch was unlimited; the inhabitants were few; the law was mostly a letter, and the marauding met little resistance until the smug, fancy-dressed Pig did too much advertising for the mob.Then, Ginny's patrol team drove to the boundary, Bud.King understood that meant brutal and sudden engagements, or temporary retreats.He thought the risk unnecessary, and he took the gang to a little-known spot on the banks of the Frio, hence the above-mentioned discontent among the mob.The move to impeach Bard was premeditated, and Black Hawk's successor enjoyed popular support.Bud.Jin is not unaware of this, he put Cactus.Taylor, his trusted lieutenant, called aside to discuss the matter.

If the guys, Budd said, aren't happy with me, I'm willing to step down.They objected to my command over them.Especially since I decided to be in Sam.We hid in the jungle as Ginny's force approached.I want them to avoid a bullet or go to prison under the law of the country, and they attack me and say I am not good. It wasn't that serious, Cactus explained, they were crazy about Pig, that's all.They were going to take their mustaches and his nose against the advance of the patrol vanguard. Piglet's no big deal at all, Bud mused, and I've never seen him do anything solid to show he's anything.He can roar quite well, and he stays where you put your horse astride.However, no one ever exposed him.You know, Cactus, we have not quarreled since he followed us.Piggy is okay with scaring the Mexican kid and destroying the shops at the crossroads.I think he's the best canned oyster pirate and cheese pirate ever, but what about his appetite for war?I know, you might think that some citizens longing for a serious indigestion trouble, they have to take a dose of medicine: bullets. That's what he used to say, Cactus said, and he straddled his legs and swindled and swindled, claiming to have seen elephants and heard owls. I know, Bud snapped back in that eloquent skeptical phrase of a cowboy, but that's challenging me!This conversation took place one night in the camp while the rest of the gang lay sprawled around the fire, slowly eating their supper.When Bard and Cactus finished talking, they heard Pigg lecturing the others in a terrible voice, while, as usual, he was busy filling his voracious appetite, though never What's the use, he was saying, of traveling thousands of miles, chasing those little red bulls and horses?Really boring.Riding through bushes and thornbush, a day's thirst that even a brewery can't quench, let alone a meal!oops!If I were the leader of this group, do you know what I would do?I'll grab the train.I'll make the express train bloom, get hard dollars, and you'll get a lot out of it.I'm tired of what you're doing.A cheap pastime like cattle hunting makes me miserable. third chapter Later, a delegation waited for Bard.They had one foot on the ground, chewed twigs of granma-grass, and talked around the bush because they didn't want to hurt his feelings.Bud knew what they meant in advance, so he didn't make things difficult for them.Bigger adventures and bigger bonuses, that's what they want.Pig's suggestion of robbing the train excited their imagination and added to their admiration for the bribe and audacity of the abettor.They were so dull, unsophisticated, and customary, they were bushmen, that it never occurred to them before to stretch their habits beyond the conventions of stealing cattle and shooting their acquaintances to be involved in risk.Bud sincerely stated that Black Hawk should accept a test of leadership, agreeing to take the second place in the gang after that. After back and forth consulting, studying train timetables, and discussing the terrain of the area in depth, a time and place for the ambitious undertaking was determined.By then there will be a fodder famine in Mexico, a cattle famine in some part of the United States, and a brisk international trade.The railroad that connects the two republics carries a lot of money.It was agreed that the most likely place of prospective robbery was Espina, a small station on the International Great Northern Railway some forty miles north of Lorado.The train stopped there for a minute; the surrounding country was deserted and uninhabited; the station was just a house of attorneys.Taking advantage of the darkness, Black Eagle led the gang and set off on horseback. When they reached the vicinity of Espina, from morning to night they camped and hid in a bush which was not more than a few miles from the station.The train was due to reach Espina at half-past ten at night.They could rob trains and carry their loot far across the Mexican border before dawn the next day.To be fair, he showed no sign of flinching from the responsible honor bestowed upon him.He carefully assigned his men to their posts, assigning them tasks with precision.In the bramble bushes on either side of the railway, four thugs were ambushed on each side.Gozzini.Rogers goes to rob the station agent.Bronco.Charlie was in ambush on one side, and Black Hawk himself was in ambush on the other.They would be the first to subdue the engine driver and the fireman, forcing them to get out of the train and go to the rear.Then, the express passenger train will be ransacked, followed by the escape.No one was allowed to move until the black hawk fired the signal.The plan worked flawlessly. Ten minutes before the arrival of the train, each thug took his place and hid himself completely in a thicket of brambles that grew almost as high as the railroad tracks.The night was dark and gloomy, drizzled with drifting clouds from the bay.Blackhawk crouched behind a bush not five yards from the railroad, two revolvers strapped to his belt.Occasionally he took out a large black bottle from his pocket and raised it to his mouth.A star appeared at one end of the railroad, and in a moment it grew larger and brighter, becoming the headlight of an approaching train.The locomotive roared more and more as the train approached; the locomotive shone blindingly and approached the ambush bandits like a vengeful monster to bring them to trial.The black eagle clings tightly to the ground.Contrary to their estimates, the locomotive was not with him and Bud.Jin stopped at the ambush point, but rushed forward forty yards before stopping.The bandit leader got up from the ground and peered around the bushes.All of them crouched silently, waiting for the signal.Something exactly opposite the black hawk caught his attention.This is not a regular passenger train, but a mixed passenger and freight train.Ahead of him was a boxcar with the door ajar for some reason.Black Hawk stepped forward and pushed the door open a little.A dank, sour, homely, musty, intoxicating, beloved smell, calling strongly to memories of those happy days and pleasant travels of the past.Blackhawk sniffed the alluring scent like a homeless man smelling the roses that grew around his childhood home cottage.Nostalgia dominated him.He put his hand in, and the fine wood shavings, dry and elastic, curly and soft and charming, covered the floor.The drizzle outside had turned into chilly raindrops. The car bell jingled.The bandit unbuckled his belt and threw it to the ground along with the revolver, followed by his spurs and sombrero.The black hawk is moulting.With a slight jolt, the train started.The ex-frontier terror climbed into the boxcar, closed the door, and stretched out comfortably on the fine shavings, the black bottle pressed tightly to his chest.His eyes were closed, and a silly, happy smile hung on his horrible face.Chicken.Ruggles embarked on a journey home.A gang of daring gangsters lay motionless on their stomachs, waiting for the signal to attack.The train left Espina station unscathed.As the speed of the train increased, clumps of black thorns whizzed past the sides of the carriage. The courier of the express train lit his pipe, looked out of the window, and said emotionally: "A perfect robbery location." !