NOVEL NEXT chapter 12 - Leavenworth
The bouncer ran up to Max, panting, and spoke.
“Border Ruffians heading into Kansas. If you run into them on the road, no telling what they’ll do.”
Border Ruffians.
The armed pro-slavery shock crews out of Missouri—“border gangsters,” they called them.
The recent Kansas house election had been their wrecking job, and they were a crowd set to make even more trouble ahead.
“If you’re going, leave with some delay between you.”
Is that the effect of a dollar?
Or maybe that was just his nature.
Max looked at the bouncer and smiled.
“So it’s true—Border Ruffians have been pouring into Kansas.”
“They’re pro-slavery to the marrow. If they see you’re Oriental, they won’t just let you pass.”
“Unnecessary fights are to be avoided.”
They couldn’t know which Kansas town the Ruffians were moving to. So Max and the James family chose to delay departure.
“Why tell us, though?”
“Well, I hate the Border Ruffians too.”
“Surprising. I thought you backed slavery.”
The bouncer worked his lips, but said nothing.
After a couple of hours around the inn, the party decided to set out.
Max gave the bouncer a small wave.
“See you around.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
Leaving the bouncer’s sour face behind,
Max’s party finally headed for Leavenworth.
****
Western settlements were small concentrations of people—tiny compared to the big cities back East.
But there were places that rated the name “city.”
Among them, Leavenworth was the first city incorporated into the Kansas Territory, which had only about five thousand people total.
Back then, towns often took their names from men of merit or renown.
“Leavenworth was taken from Colonel Henry Leavenworth, who led the 1st Dragoons along that Missouri River and fought the Indians. And north of town there’s Fort Leavenworth.”
As they moved along the Missouri, James told the story of where his family would live.
It was a history not even twenty years old. Still—
Fort Leavenworth…
A fort was a stronghold—what you’d call a military base in modern terms.
Fort Leavenworth was the forward base for western expansion—the first permanent U.S. military installation that would endure into the future.
“Is there an armory nearby?”
“Those are mostly in the East. There are places that do simple repairs. The smithy where I work sometimes does it, they say. Why?”
“I’m wondering if I can work over my weapons.”
“That much is doable.”
James, who had handled supply and maintenance in the Mexican War, answered like it was nothing.
But what Max [N O V E L I G H T] wanted wasn’t just minor repairs.
Starting with the bullets, he meant to build weapons anew.
He hadn’t decided how far to push it.
Tune and upgrade to a reasonable line?
Or ignore the era outright and make weapons that were shocking for the time?
No rush yet.
He wasn’t satisfied with what he had, but it wasn’t unusable.
On weapons, Max chose to proceed with slack in the line.
By the time darkness laid itself on thick,
the party reached Leavenworth on the Missouri’s bank.
James didn’t stop—he moved to a spot set a little back from the river.
Blacksmith.
It was dark, but the wooden sign carved above the building could be made out.
Three workshop buildings.
About a hundred meters back stood a two-story house and a barn.
Plenty of land to spare—so they’d set the house well away from the workshop noise.
Clack.
At the sound of the wagon, the house door opened and a middle-aged couple stepped out. Children peeped from behind, staring at James’s party.
George Russell was a comrade who had fought the Mexican War with James—a fellow Irish immigrant.
He, too, had chased the Gold Rush, failed bitterly, and settled here in Leavenworth.
“George, have you been well?”
“I’ve just been waiting for you. Come on in—”
His eyes caught Max, and a flicker of discomposure showed. Same with his wife and children.
Wherever you went, an Oriental needed explaining.
James had to spend no small time outside the house telling the tale.
“So this friend took down the gang?”
“Yes. Indians too—thanks to Max, the family’s alive.”
He didn’t say it had been the Five Joaquins. No need to bring up the bounty.
Hearing the story, George dropped his guard and spoke.
“A remarkable fellow. Well, it’s late—let me show you the house you’ll be staying in.”
George had prepared a house three kilometers from his own for the James family.
Next to the split-level house stood a small barn; a large outbuilding of unclear purpose had been raised some distance off.
“I built it to start a ranch.”
“Hence the storehouse over there.”
They chose to look in on the odd storehouse later. Mary, excited, took Conall’s hand and toured the house.
“Sorry, there’s a lot lacking.”
“We’ll fill it in living here, bit by bit. It’s much nicer than I expected.”
“Glad you think so.”
George and James toured the house in a warm mood. Max followed them, eyes busy, silently.
It was his first time seeing a private home in this world, not an inn—lots to marvel at.
Much of it resembled what he’d seen in museums.
Overall, the house lacked nothing for a family of three—except for the rather inefficient iron stove when it came to keeping out the cold.
“Let’s talk details tomorrow.”
George headed back to his house. Max, unloading gear from the wagon, asked James,
“This place isn’t free, right?”
“Two dollars a month rent, or a hundred to buy.”
“How big is it?”
“Fifty acres.”
One acre runs about 1,224 pyeong in Korean measure; fifty acres was a whopping sixty thousand pyeong of land.
Two dollars an acre. Dirt cheap, literally.
Even if you bought now, it might take decades to realize gains.
Land cheaper than water.
Which meant there wasn’t much demand.
And in a few years the famous Homestead Act pushed by Lincoln would take effect.
With a few conditions, it was like in the movies—ride out, plant your flag, and the land became yours.
Outside the big eastern cities, real estate won’t be easy money.
Of course, if you bought land in what would become a developed center, you could make a multiple within ten years.
But even if Max knew the rough map of key towns ahead, buying and selling at the right times wasn’t easy. He didn’t even have citizenship—hardly a proper residency status.
“Planning to buy this place?”
“There’s the money you gave us.”
James smiled, pulling a bundle of cash from under the wagon floor.
The thousand-dollar bounty from Holiday.
On top of that, the cash seized from the gang was enough to buy the house and land and then some.
“Even so—if you buy land going forward, even if it’s pricier, buy in the center.”
“Why buy what we won’t live on?”
“Investment. Money’s like fertilizer—useless if you don’t spread it.”
“Sounds plausible. A lump like this came in and I wasn’t sure what to do. I’ll take your words to heart.”
“That said, buying just anything will ruin you. This place swarms with grifters.”
James nodded with a laugh. Then, as if a thought struck him—
“If something to invest in comes up, I’ll consult you first.”
“If you trust me, do.”
“Of course I do.”
James smiled and nodded.
Up to now, his choices had been about survival.
I’ve never thought of making money by investing, beyond scraping by…
Watching Max changed his mind.
The eye for the world, and the capacity to solve problems—far above his own.
Shame he’s Oriental.
James himself had shed the tinted glasses, but the world hadn’t.
A man who couldn’t even get citizenship—the Oriental status was a real weight.
There was a ceiling to how high you could climb.
Max knew it well.
The Civil War is the chance.
One of the rare chances in life to grab wealth.
The tycoons who moved the world economy would be born then. Rockefeller, J. P. Morgan, Carnegie, Vanderbilt—men who laid their foundations during the war.
Railroads, finance, oil, steel…
But—
Even if I jump in, would I best them?
Even with future knowledge, a mercenary and a businessman were different animals. Knowledge from books had limits.
So his conclusion: do what he could do best.
Lee Maksan’s body and Jo Yookang’s mind.
Thus made Max Jo.
Different meanings, but if the three-in-one lined up, he felt he could do anything.
First, get my abilities back.
Recover his conditioning, improve his body and his weapons. And before the Civil War broke out, build some power.
That would take money and…
Back to the same circle. Bounties really are the quickest cash.
Leavenworth didn’t look like a place where he’d meet such quarry.
Max and James pulled only the gear they needed immediately from the wagon and carried it into the house.
Once they’d roughed in the arrangements, it was already eleven at night.
Max spread buffalo hide over the hard frame with no mattress and lay down.
Under the oil lamp, he began writing something in a rough notebook.
Write it down before you forget—whenever it comes to mind.
Recording what was in his head was as important as eating meat.
The moment they’d arrived at the inn, Max had asked Mary to buy writing tools. So every night before bed, he jotted memories into the notebook.
Even if anyone saw it, they wouldn’t recognize the script; even if they could read it, it was laced with jargon—impossible to parse.
The James family took the second floor.
Max used a spare room on the first.
A quiet night.
Creak, creak.
Conall’s going to have a sibling soon.
Lying down to sleep, Max grimaced and covered his ears at the sounds from upstairs.
****
“Whoo. Cold as hell.”
Felt like ten below.
At first light, Max stepped outside and started with simple stretches.
With proper food, shelter, and clothing set, it was time to begin real conditioning.
The rising sun washed the plains, and Max started running around the house.
“Perfect for a forced march.”
A different era and place entirely.
At the point where his mercenary life had been on the downslope, he’d been handed youth again.
Even without trying, a heroic vigor welled up in his chest.
“Ahahahahaha!”
With blood hot and spirits high, a big laugh broke out of Max’s mouth.
Tak tak tak.
Mary, chopping vegetables in the kitchen, stopped her knife and looked out the window.
“He’s not normal either.”
Why laugh while running—like a madman?
Mary shook her head and went back to chopping.
Meanwhile, Max, still jogging, came to a stop in front of the storehouse set a little apart from the house.
No door, huh.
But when he stepped inside, a smile drew itself on his lips. It was exactly what he wanted.
The storehouse built for ranching looked at least three hundred pyeong.
In the biting cold of December,
with a little patch work, it would be suitable for training indoors.
Better yet, the well beside the storehouse could pull up plenty of water—no problem for setting up a smithy.
I’m claiming this.
Revolver and ammunition. Max weighed which to tackle first.