America 1881: Legend of the West

Dignity, or survival.

This is a problem.

As a glorious U.S. Confederate Army colonel and a white supremacist racist, Wiltord was at war with nature and man in his heart and was very tangled.

Going to Roswell to buy food from the Chinese was like a slap in the face.

From now on, every time I eat, when I see the bread in my hand, I will think that I bought it from the Chinese people I despise.

Wiltord didn't know if he would be able to eat in the future.

At least on the border, he probably wouldn't have the face to argue with Chen Jianqiu anymore.

But if he didn't buy it, he knew exactly what his soldiers would do after the food stocks were exhausted.

I'm afraid even the military camp will be demolished by him.

Don't talk about pushing him down, I'm afraid he will be lifted up directly and hit a tree.

The colonel was very confused and his brows were twisted into knots.

Seeing the commander's behavior, the quartermaster on the side came up to him:

"Sir, I have an idea."

Those who can become quartermasters in the army are either close confidants of the commander, or they are all talented people. How can they not see what their leaders are thinking?

"If you really can't show your face, I can pretend to be a caravan, just say I'm a grain merchant from Texas," the quartermaster said.

"What's the difference?" The colonel glanced at the quartermaster, "Aren't we going to have to buy from the Chinese in the end? Besides, haven't the military pays arrived this month? Where did we get the money?"

The colonel didn't know exactly how much money the army had on its books, but he knew that many soldiers still owed last month's salary.

The quartermaster chuckled:

"If you don't give me money, it doesn't count as a purchase."

Wiltord's eyes lit up, but then he shook his head:

"No, no, we have conducted reconnaissance in Roswell. The defense there is too solid. In addition to the stationed militia, there are also heavy weapons. Otherwise, I would have overturned them."

Wiltord shook his head.

The quartermaster's idea was quite to his liking, but it still seemed to have flaws.

"We don't need to go to the town of Roswell." The quartermaster said in a low voice, although there was no one in the warehouse. "There is a farm five kilometers south of the town. They usually trade grain there."

"I have dealt with Chinese people. The Chinese are very polite when doing business. They will look at you with a smile. Most of the time, they will adhere to the principles of 'suffering a loss is a blessing' and 'putting an end to trouble'." the quartermaster added.

Wiltord nodded, but then he felt something was wrong.

He glanced at the quartermaster:

"How do you know so clearly?"

"Ah, well, sir, when do you think we should set off?" The quartermaster hesitated, talking about him.

Wiltord did not continue to dwell on this matter:

"You should set off as soon as possible. If you wait any longer, I'm afraid the food in the military camp will run out."

Early the next morning, a convoy disguised as a caravan drove out of the military camp.

The soldiers in the convoy changed into farmers' civilian clothes, while the leading quartermaster wore a cowboy hat and brown overalls, looking like a grain merchant.

"Sir, is this the same destination as last time? Roswell Farm?" the quartermaster soldier asked in a low voice behind the quartermaster.

"Well, ah, shut up, when have we been to the farm?" The quartermaster glanced sideways at his confidant.

The soldier understood and immediately shut his mouth.

It was not far from the border military camp to Roswell. After the team advanced for five or six hours, they saw a touch of green on the distant horizon.

Thanks to the efforts of agriculturists from the Roswell Scientists Association and fertilizer plant engineers, a large swath of land south of Roswell has been turned into a farm.

Drought-tolerant plants such as peanuts, potatoes, and corn are grown here.

The water from the Rio Grande flows into the gullies of farmland along the built canals, irrigating this land that was once barren of grass.

The quartermaster led the team along the road through a beautiful field of sunflowers.

"Sir, what do you think that is?" A soldier pointed at a huge steel monster in a field not far away.

This thing looks like an oversized carriage or a smaller locomotive, with big and wide wheels, slowly moving forward, and the iron chimney standing next to it is emitting smoke and floating into the air.

Behind this behemoth was an equally huge harvester, harvesting wheat in the fields.

The quartermaster was stunned.

"Maybe, maybe it's a steam engine, or..."

He has never seen this thing before, so he can't explain why.

"It's a tractor, gas-powered."

A Chinese farmer sitting on the field ridge smoking a cigarette suddenly stood up, patted the ashes on his butt, and said in standard English,

"Mr. Ford invented it. It's still in the experimental stage. It can hold up to a dozen cows."

The surprise on the quartermaster's face remained.

He looked at the Chinese farmers:

"Can you understand me? Do you also understand this modern agricultural technology?"

The Chinese farmer looked at him like a country bumpkin:

"I just went to Stanford University Adult College to study agricultural technology science for half a year in the first half of the year. Now I am studying soil improvement here. May I ask which school you graduated from?"

The Quartermaster immediately shut up.

Strictly speaking, he is semi-illiterate.

The team continued along the road toward Roswell Farm.

Soon, they saw the gate of the farm.

There is a trading market in the open space to the south of the farm, which is very lively.

Because it is not far from the Roswell train station, many Texas farmers also come here to trade grain.

The quartermaster led the convoy through the gate.

He parked the convoy outside the warehouse.

He walked into the warehouse with ease.

"Move the potatoes out. Mr. Derek needs some potatoes. He came yesterday. We can't keep him waiting too long!"

A middle-aged Chinese man turned his back to the quartermaster, directing the busy people in the warehouse.

His name is Xu Youcai and he is the person in charge here. He is wearing a white sleeveless coat and a towel hanging around his neck to wipe away sweat.

The quartermaster walked up and patted him on the shoulder:

"Hey, are you busy? Xu?"

This is a very Chinese way of saying hello.

The man named Xu turned his head and saw that it was the quartermaster, and he also laughed:

"Ah, hello, Mr. Jefferson, long time no see. Why, are you here to sell grain again today?"

The quartermaster's expression was somewhat unnatural.

"Jefferson" was, of course, the pseudonym he used.

And every Chinese guy at Roswell Farm knows this name.

Because the quartermaster would sneak here every once in a while to resell military rations.