Chapter 145: Chapter 131: The Wild Wild West

AN: I realized that the US no longer has a state or territory named Mississippi (due to the territory of Jefferson). Thus, the Missouri Territory (which is squashed between Anikegama and Akansa) will be Mississippi and where Kansas is in OTL will be Missouri.

Also, if you don't know who the characters are, refer back to Chapter 115.

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Cork, Mississippi Territory (OTL Red Oak, Iowa)
March 1st, 1809

Conor Murphy sighed as he sipped on some whiskey and looked out towards the open fields. He had just finished up planting the fields for the evening and was now resting on the porch of his large, farmhouse. He had managed to plant corn, soybeans, and wheat on a few dozen throughout the morning and afternoon, which was only a fraction of the hundreds of acres he owned. After working on the railroads for several years and saving up his money, he finally managed to buy some land out in the west to set up a farm. After some discussions with some of his fellow canal workers (Jack, Meng, and Jack's friend Song), he decided to join a "cooperative" with them and jointly work on their farms. As such, he and his group bought several hundred acres of land for themselves out in the Mississippi Territory and built a small town together, Cork. The town consisted of his small family (his wife [an Irishwoman he met in New York], two sons, and three daughters), his group members and their own families, and a few other Irish and Chinese that decided to settle in the area. The total population hovered just above a hundred, but it was slowly growing.

"Mind if I have some of that whiskey?"

The Irish immigrant turned to see a smiling Meng climbing onto his porch. Conor gave his longtime friend a lopsided grin and handed him a glass, "Of course."

After pouring a glass of the alcoholic beverage for himself, Meng settled onto the porch and sat with Conor in comfortable silence. The sun was setting beautifully off in the horizon and a warm, orange light basked the two men's faces.

"How you like that new planter?" Meng asked.

"Made my life a lot easier," Conor replied as he glanced at the rolling planter that rested next to his porch. The Cork Cooperative, which was the cooperative that Conor and his group founded, shared equipment with one another. Additionally, if a member of the Cork Cooperative needed money, they were given a loan with low interest to help their farm grow. It also acted as the middleman between the farmers of the Cooperative and buyers out in the east (towards Hamilton, the territory's capital, or other nearby towns). None of the farmers in the area was rolling around in money, but they were making enough to get by and some. Thus, it was crucial for the Cooperative to acquire new machinery and tools to improve the quality of the farms and the speed of harvesting/planting. Since none of them were rich, they all pooled in to buy a single piece of machinery or tool together (or multiple, if they had enough money) and rotated it around. The rolling planter was one of the pieces of machinery that the Cooperative bought and lent out to its members, and it was a godsend to Conor. "I just place the seeds inside, roll it around, and it plops down the seeds in no time."

Meng nodded, "Can't wait to use it. My back hurts from doing everything by hand."

"I never heard you complain about your back when we were digging that canal."

"I was twenty-four years old then."

The Irishman chuckled as he poured out another shot of whiskey, "Time flew by rather quickly. How are your folks doing?"

"The same. Mama is doing the same old thing and complaining about how there's not a lot of Chinese here. Yan is at home watching the kids."

Meng used his hard-earned money to "convince" a few Qing officials to allow his family to travel to America. He met his wife, Yan Tang, in Xin, but the rest of his family (except his wife and three children) were from China: his parents, his uncles and aunts, and his cousins. Many of them decided to strike out on their own, whether it was working on an infrastructure project or working in a factory. But Meng's parents and one of his male cousins decided to move to Mississippi with him.

"How about your life?"

"Jerry can walk now, just saw him take his first steps when I woke up in the morning. Ben is being taught by Susan, she's claiming that he's a genius but that's what mothers always say," Conor answered with a sly smile, earning a knowing nod from Meng. "The girls are growing up quickly, hard to believe that they can finally help around the farm. I got a letter from my folks back in New York. My sister is gonna graduate that university in New York soon with a degree in engineering if you can believe it!"

Just then, a nearby bush rustled and two pairs of eyes darted towards the source of the sound. Conor reached for his gun, which was hidden under the porch, while Meng gripped the whiskey bottle tightly. Before the two of them could make a move, a small man walked into their field of vision with his hands in front of him, "We're not Indians."

The man was short, shorter than Meng, who was barely one hundred and sixty-four centimeters. He carried a military rifle and wore a black uniform with a green hat sitting on his head. However, the most distinct part about the man was the two long and slightly bent knives hanging on the man's waistband. After looking at the man closely, Conor realized who the man was, "Gurkha."

Conor had heard stories about them before. The Gurkhas were fearsome warriors that were originally from some mountain nation in Asia. After the United States gave them weapons to give the British a beating, several of them immigrated to the United States to become soldiers for the United States Military. They hunted down Native Americans that attacked the United States in the west and were famously nicknamed "Jiibay" (Ojibwe for Ghost) due to their involvement in the Anikegama Territory. Only a few ever saw them in real life, and fewer remained alive after seeing them. They were basically legends out in the western frontier. To the Free Sioux Nation, they were invisible enemies that terrorized their warriors. To the Americans out in the west, the Gurkhas were their silent protectors, the spirit guardians.

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"Yes, Sergeant Hanuman Khadgi, at your service," The man gave the two men a crisp salute in his accented English, "I have been dispatched to inform you that there may be a large group of Indians heading in your direction."

After listening to his words, Conor's blood ran cold. Hostile Native Americans were uncommon now, thanks to the efforts of the United States Military. However, they still existed and a few of them raided American settlements every once in a while. It seemed like the inhabitants of Cork were unlucky, "Hostile?"

"Very hostile. My men and I spotted their camps hours ago and we scattered to inform nearby villages about them. We're pretty sure they will be coming close by here once they begin to move. One of my men is on horseback and he is going to rouse the local Army unit to fight against the invaders, but I suggest you evacuate as a precaution."

"How large is the group?"

"Fifty or so."

"We have around three dozen men here that have arms and can fight. We can call upon the inhabitants of Red Oak to come and help us as well. We will hold our ground."

Sergeant Khadgi frowned, "If you are going to fight, then I suggest you get the women and children out of here first. I will gladly help you defend, should they come through here."

"Agreed," Meng said, finally releasing his grip on the whiskey bottle, "I'll tell Yan and my mama and papa to evacuate with the kids. After that, I'll warn the others."

As Meng ran off, the Gurkha turned to Conor, "Where is Red Oak?"

"About five kilometers north..."

"That's not too far," Sergeant Khadgi stretched as he looked squinted his eyes towards where Red Oak was, "Do you have a horse?"

"Of course..."

"Never mind. Use it for the evacuation. I will run there and back within forty minutes. I should have enough time to prepare for the incoming Indians."

Conor belched, "Forty minutes? Even if someone ran their fastest, it would take an hour or so!"

"Ah, but you see my friend," The Nepalese cracked his neck and grinned, "I am a Gurkha."

For some reason, the Irishman was confident that the man in front of him could absolutely run ten kilometers within forty minutes. "After this ordeal is over, please stay over at my house for a meal and a drink."

"But the Third Amendment says no quarter?"

"Yes, but I would like for you to stay at my home for a bit."

The sergeant took off with a wave and an affirmative nod, leaving Conor alone to begin the evacuation efforts.

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