America 1881: Legend of the West

Leland Stanford, the first governor of California, founder of Stanford University, and founder and majority shareholder of the Central Pacific Railroad.

At this time, he had been a federal senator for more than a year.

However, a year ago, his 15-year-old only son, Stanford, died of typhoid fever.

Old Stanford was immersed in the grief of losing his son in old age all day long, and basically ignored the affairs of the railway company.

But the successive strikes left the company's managers in a state of distress.

Especially after receiving the telegram from Stone Spring Town.

It was also the first time they encountered a joint strike by Chinese and white workers.

After discussing for a long time, the management still did not dare to make decisions without authorization.

In the end, it was up to Stanford to make the decision.

Stanford's mansion is located on "Noble Hill" overlooking the bay. From here, you can see a panoramic view of the entire bay area.

"Master is not in a good mood this morning. Remember, you must not mention his son!"

At the door of the mansion, Mr. Weber, the general manager of the housekeeping company, said.

Weber was then taken to the second-floor terrace.

Mr. Stanford, who had all white hair and beard, sat there alone, blowing the sea breeze and looking at the sea under the hazy sky.

"Sir, Mr. Weber is here."

The butler said softly.

Mr. Stanford seemed not to have heard the butler's words, and still sat there motionless.

The butler winked at Weber.

"Mr. Stanford, the sea breeze is too strong, you should pay attention to your health."

Weber cleared his throat, slightly amplified his voice, and said.

Stanford then turned his head as if waking up from a dream.

He looked very haggard.

"What's matter?"

Weber stepped forward and handed a document into Stanford's hand.

This is a statement of the situation compiled by management based on information from all aspects.

"Our suggestion is to contact the governor of Wyoming Territory immediately to see if they can send militiamen there."

he said carefully.

"If Chinese workers and white workers join forces, it will be in danger for us in the mines."

Stanford put the document on his knees, put his hand on his forehead, and flipped through it.

When his eyes swept to "Shiquan Town", he stopped.

The old man's expression turned painful.

He covered his eyes with his hands, as if crying, but there were no tears:

"Oh, Shiquan Town, when the coal mine there opened, I took little Stanford to unveil the sign. At that time, he had just learned to walk, and he had to hold me up!"

"Oh, my child, my poor child"

Stanford muttered until he could say no more.

The old man fell into his own sorrow again.

Weber was very embarrassed.

He never expected that this would also bring back the old man's memories.

He looked at the butler standing at the entrance to the terrace.

The butler's expression was indifferent, roughly meaning:

It's your own fault, just stand there and wait.

After being blown away by the sea breeze for more than half an hour, Weber finally waited until Stanford spoke again:

"Let's find a detective agency to resolve this matter. Don't make it too big a fuss."

The old man's attitude towards Chinese workers is extremely complicated.

Among the West Coast capitalists, he was the first and most supportive of hiring Chinese workers.

the reason is simple.

They are hard-working, able to endure hardship, and are honest and obedient.

Stanford did not treat these workers from across the ocean equally.

He was indifferent to these lives.

Buried under every sleeper on the Pacific Railway are the bones of Chinese workers.

Without these Chinese workers, there would be no railroad that runs through the east and west of the United States today.

Until a year ago, he lost his only son.

During this time, the old Stanford has been reflecting.

Is this a punishment from God, which made him lose his only descendant?

In Chinese terms, is this some kind of retribution?

"So, which detective agency to hire?" Weber asked.

"You can handle it by yourselves. I'm tired." Stanford's mind wandered again and he looked at the bay again without answering.

Seeing that he couldn't get a reply from the old man, Weber had no choice but to retreat.

After returning to the office, Weber was very sad.

According to the original practice, this kind of matter would usually be handled by the Pinkerton Detective Agency.

But now Pinkerton Detective Agency has withdrawn from California and even the entire West Coast.

Where can I find a private detective organization of comparable size and quality?

He let out a long sigh.

"What's wrong? Manager?" Seeing Weber's frown, the assistant asked from the side.

"The old man doesn't want the army to get involved and wants private detectives to handle this matter." Weber rubbed his face with his hands, "But the Pinkerton gang has disappeared. Do you think they want me to go to Austin?" Go and invite them?"

When the assistant heard what Weber said, a smile appeared on his face.

Weber saw the assistant's smiling face through his fingers and was very dissatisfied:

"Why are you laughing? Is this happy for you?"

The assistant buried the smile again and said seriously:

"Manager, I know there is a detective agency in California that can handle this matter. Their ability is no worse than Pinkerton."

"Oh?" Weber immediately sat up straight in his chair when he heard that there was something going on, "Which detective agency?"

"The Border Detective Agency has popped up in the past two years. It has been doing some armed escort business before. It has a very good reputation. The boss is a Wyoming man with a curly beard. It is said that he was an experienced bounty hunter in the past."

“It’s perfect for us to hand this business over to him.”

the assistant said.

"That's it." Weber clapped his hands suddenly.

Let Wyoming's private investigators deal with those damn workers, and you'll get twice the result with half the effort!

More than a week later, Hanif appeared at the train station in Carbon County with dozens of detectives from the Border Detective Agency.

They got off the train and went straight to the coal mine in Shiquan Town.

Riley and the overseer stood on the hillside from a distance and craned their necks to watch.

Now there are a few more people around them, all of whom are managers of Well No. 6.

Work was stopped over there, and these people had nothing to do, so they came to join Riley and the others.

The black people and fishermen on the river did not embarrass them and transported them over politely.

It's just that a "small" shipping fee was charged.

"I've been waiting for you!" Riley ran down the hillside, came to Hanif, and held his hand tightly.

He had been very frightened this week. He dreamed of Chinese workers rushing in with guns and putting them to his head. Then they yelled at him in a language he didn't understand, and then slapped him in turn.

"Don't worry! As long as I'm here, you'll be safe!" Hanif took his hand out of Riley's hand and stroked his beard.

"So when do we start working?" Riley asked eagerly.

"Huh? You mean, that thing?" Hanif looked at Riley with a playful look.

He made a head-cutting gesture.

Riley shook his head hurriedly:

"No, no, there's no need to play it so big. Don't do it unless you have to."

Hanif was thoughtful and said nothing.

Seeing that Hanif was silent, Riley whispered:

"If it really comes to that, it's not impossible, but it can't be too big."

He was happy with Hanif.

This person was very knowledgeable at first sight and grasped the key to the problem as soon as he arrived.

Although the attack is a bit harsh.

But in his opinion, in this situation, how can we turn things around without being more ruthless?