noveltune Chapter 8: Purchasing Supplies and Leaving the Town
Chapter 8: Purchasing Supplies and Leaving the Town
"How much money do you have left?" Elsa asked as soon as the horse was tied up.
Tom pretended not to hear and plunged into the shop.
The general store had a more varied selection of goods than Tom had imagined.
While James and Margaret were picking through their selections, Tom wasn't idle either.
Medicines: Quinine (for dysentery, $1.5 a bottle, give me two bottles), hemostatic powder ($1 a can, give me two cans), gauze ($0.8 a roll, give me two rolls).
Tom weighed the small vial of quinine in his hand. These days, counterfeit drugs were rampant, and he felt uneasy.
Drinks: Liquor in the West is ridiculously expensive. If you want to satisfy your cravings on the road, you can only buy bulk "fire throat" whiskey.
A large jar of five gallons, $8.
I also got a 20-gallon old whiskey barrel converted into a water barrel for $0.50.
Two more 20-gallon water tanks were added, $1.50 each, $3 for both.
Miscellaneous: 100 pounds of charcoal, $1.
A sturdy iron pot, $5.
Five pounds of coarse salt, $5.
Three pounds of precious sugar for $6.
Five pounds of energizing coffee beans for $2.5.
Thirty pounds of real potatoes, $12.
Two leather water bags, $6.
Four bars of soap, $1.
Three bars of soap, $0.5.
My wallet is completely empty!
Finally, the grocer, seeing that he was a big customer, not only filled two new buckets with boiling water and filled the water bag with bulk whiskey, but also gave him an extra set of tools: a flint and steel wrapped in old leather.
"It's great for starting a fire on the road!" the boss said with a broad smile.
Tom didn't refuse the boss's offer. He slumped onto the creaking carriage floor, his eyes scanning the passersby on the street like a brush.
Which one is the wanted criminal? Which one is the pickpocket? These thoughts raced through his mind.
Elsa landed lightly beside him, her skirt brushing against the wooden planks.
"Your purse is empty!" she said bluntly.
"I don't need you to remind me!" Tom retorted irritably, casually shoving a heavy leather water bag into her arms. "If you want some, just dilute it with some boiled water. It's yours."
"A gift for me?" Elsa's eyes lit up.
"Give it back if you don't want it."
"What's this?" She touched the few hard little things next to the water bag, then exclaimed in surprise, "Soap! Good heavens, it's soap!"
Tom rolled his eyes, too lazy to look at her naive and unsophisticated appearance.
"You're such a good brother to me!" Elsa's voice was full of affection.
"No," Tom corrected in a muffled voice, covering his face with his tattered felt hat, "I have short legs."
After saying that, he ignored her and went to rest by closing his eyes.
Before long, the supplies that Father James had bought filled their own covered wagon, and even the tailgate of Tom's old car was creaking and groaning from being stretched by several hard bags of beans and salted meat.
The wheels rolled over the scorching dust once more.
James nimbly mounted his tall black horse, while his mother, Margaret, pursed her lips and firmly gripped the reins of the wagon.
Elsa, holding the sleeping John, lightly jumped into Tom's car like a fawn, sat down next to him, and brought with her a girlish scent mixed with sweat, leather and dust.
"Don't look so down, kid. I'm pretty good with the reins too." Elsa's tone carried her usual confidence.
Tom didn't listen at all.
At this point, whether they went west or north, they had truly plunged headlong into the fangs of the west.
The road ahead is paved with the sky and the earth, and bullets and arrows may fly from the shadows at any time.
Bandits stalking like hyenas, painted faces flashing through the forest, and the wilderness that changes its face in an instant; thunderbolts can scorch camps, floods can sweep away wagons, and even the ground beneath your feet can crack open and devour people.
These things all crept up silently, like shadows that you can't shake off.
Tom gripped the reins tightly, his knuckles turning white.
He knew perfectly well that his way out was cut off, and his only option was to risk his life and carve out a path to survival from this desolate wasteland that devoured people without spitting out their bones!
As the wheels rolled over the last stretch of cobblestones in the town, Fort Worth was finally left behind.
Like wild horses breaking free of their cages, the two covered wagons headed north, carving two stubborn tracks through the swirling ochre-yellow dust.
Just as the sun dipped below the horizon, turning the river a molten gold, they finally reached the edge of the field.
A muddy river cuts through the wilderness, the shadow of a crooked old oak tree on the bank jutting into the water, and the conspicuous boulder next to it is the natural boundary marker that James mentioned.
"We'll camp here tonight!" James reined in his restless black horse, his voice cutting through the wind. "The main force will meet us at dawn tomorrow!"
He smacked his horse's flank with his boot heel, and like a shadow, he circled the camp. Sulfur powder from the saddlebags scattered, drawing a pale white warning line on the dust—a life-or-death talisman against snakes and scorpions.
As soon as everyone jumped out of the car, little John rubbed his sleepy eyes and rushed towards the riverbank.
"Elsa, keep an eye on John!" Margaret's shout mingled with the cracking sound of breaking branches.
Elsa darted forward and grabbed John by the back of his collar: "There are water ghosts in the river who steal dolls!"
She pushed the wriggling child toward Tom: "Hey! Want to play with John?"
Tom didn't even bother to lift his eyelids, as he was helping James unhitch the horse's yoke.
Four packhorses lowered their heads to graze on the wild grass on the bank. James' fingers flew, and in the blink of an eye, the leather rope twisted into a tight figure-eight knot around the packhorses' front legs.
"Did you see clearly?" He swung the end of the rope.
Tom remained silent, grabbed the reins of his horses, and fastened them with swift and forceful movements.
"thump!"
The loach had somehow slipped into the water and was now splashing around happily in the middle of the river, its fur plastered to its skeleton, making it look like a dried-up corpse.
"Set up camp," James uttered, grabbing his axe and heading towards the chosen clearing with swift, decisive movements.
Without saying a word, Tom picked up the hammer and the stake and followed.
For a moment, the only sounds at the camp were the pounding of mallets and the muffled thud of taut ropes.
James nailed the main stake in place, glanced at Tom's movements, and without stopping, said in a deep voice, "The stake is tilted, move it half an inch to the left."
Tom focused intently, made slight adjustments with his hand, and brought the object down steadily.
He nodded, his voice calm: "Understood. I'll manage by myself next time."
Just as the four canvas tents were set up on the riverbank, Elsa suddenly pointed at the meadow and screamed, "Good heavens! Tom's mule is possessed!"
The mudfish, dripping wet, was rolling around wildly in the gray soil. Mud and grass clippings covered its entire body, making it look like a walking mud monster from a distance.
"Ha! It's putting armor on itself!" Elsa laughed so hard she pounded the cart floor.
Tom's temples bulged with veins: "Mudfish!"
Hearing the sound, the mud ball scrambled to its feet and excitedly ran towards its owner.
Just as it was about to crash into Tom, it braked suddenly, its bulging muscles tensing instantly.
"Splash!"
The mud rained down on Tom's head and face.
The loach squinted, raised its neck, and let out a triumphant hiss like an old bellows.
Dead silence.
Immediately afterwards, bursts of laughter ripped through the twilight on the riverbank like thunderclaps.
"I'll fucking kill you!!!" Tom roared, wiping the mud from his eyes.
The loach had already darted off into the wilderness, its muddy rear end twisting into a mocking arc in the setting sun, and it would deliberately let out a couple of "hoo hoo" sounds every two steps.
The bursts of laughter on the riverbank, carried by the evening breeze, echoed against the rocky cliffs on the opposite bank.