Buffalo Bill Cody is an emblematic figure of the West who tasted every trial the frontier could throw at a man.Only one thing sticks in my craw.What made his name ring across the world was a show called Wild West—a hype-laced spectacle that minted the cowboy-and-Indian template for Westerns.In a West crowded with braggarts who swear they took on thirty to one, what do you expect from a showman?You have to figure a fair bit of bluster crept into the first half of his life.Even so, I believe. Buffalo Bill Cody.Grow up a hard man fit for the wilds, Buffalo Bill…Certain he would someday be a strength to him, Max stroked the hair of the future Buffalo Bill.“William! Get your father home, now!”The man treating Isaac shouted. Thanks to the quick work of the town doctor, Isaac’s condition wasn’t serious.In the original timeline, the belly stab out of the two knife wounds would have killed him within a few years.Now it was a single shoulder wound—Max had bent the event off its rails.When are you going to sit there and untangle all that?The mere fact he was breathing here in Leavenworth was already a warp in history.Butterfly effect my ass—if you’re going to fuss over that, you might as well not step out the door.While Max was thinking, the future Buffalo Bill clenched the bullet in his fist and went back to his father.A strapping man braced Isaac up, and William trotted along behind.And when they stepped out of the store, he dipped his head toward Max.Who knows when they will meet again.Things are going to get interesting.Max smirked and gave a small wave.It’s still a little early to call this the full-on Western era.For true lawlessness—outlaws and gangs, sheriffs and cowboys swarming until the frontier turns wild for real—you have to wait until the Civil War ends.In other words, a few more years yet.And when that time comes, the legends who will stamp their names on the age of westering will swarm to Kansas. What Max needed most:I’ll have to make comrades.No matter how rich you are or how sharp your skill, alone you’re dog meat.Teammates you can trust to watch your back are the greatest asset and weapon. Max, who had lived as Special Forces and a mercenary, knew the importance of a team better than anyone.The future Buffalo Bill Cody was part of that groundwork. Handing over a bullet as a token made him cringe, but it had its meaning.When the Rively’s Store fracas ended, Max went back to the wagon where James’s family waited.George stayed—said he had things to discuss with the proprietor of Rively’s Store.Max took a gun from the wagon and spoke to James.“I’ll head home first.”“Alone?”“Why, did something happen?”Mary asked with worry tight on her face.“Nothing good will come of us sticking together here. And if you stop by the grocer…”Max told Mary the things he meant to buy. ****The grocer.I have no damn idea!Hands on her hips, Mary’s face was full of irritation. James finally had to ask.“What’s wrong?”“I can’t find the peppers Max keeps talking about.”“What peppers?”“He said to buy peppers that are ‘deliciously hot’—how am I supposed to know what that means? He needs to just eat what he gets!”“I’ve got nothing to say to that.”After the hard slog through the grocery, they hit the dry-goods store too—to buy spare underwear and clothes for Max, who would soon head to Lawrence. I didn’t crave Korean food even as a merc—why the hell am I jonesing for it now.It must be the tongue of Lee Maksan, the original owner of this body, begging for it.But Korean food on the frontier? Get real.No soybeans, no doenjang. No doenjang, no meju flour for gochujang.Layer upon layer of hills.So he landed on red pepper powder.It’s native to Mexico, so it had to be around.“What’s this.”“Peppers.”“How do you call this peppers—it’s a bell pepper.”“No, they said peppers. Hot ones.”“Hm.”Max bit into a stubby, bell-pepper-looking Chile.“Ghk.”It was hot as hell. Worse than he’d imagined.“But it doesn’t taste good.”“So what is this ‘deliciously hot’ thing.”“Cheongyang chili.”“I said we don’t have it!”He settled for trying this instead.It was winter, so he set peppers out to dry in the midday sun, and when the sun went down he lined them up in front of the iron stove to finish drying.“You don’t baby gold like that.”“If we touch those, Max, bro’s going to shoot us, right?”Mary nodded at Conall’s line.That’s how devoted Max was to drying peppers.A few days later, when he asked the mill to grind them, Mary was appalled.“Are you out of your mind? You think they’ll do that where they grind wheat?”“Tell them we’ll pay a dollar.”“Wow! A whole dollar to grind this crap?”‘This crap,’ huh…Briefly stung, Max swore he’d show Mary the true taste of ground pepper.Christmas Day.Stew with potatoes and meat, and turkey, sat on the table. With a table that rich, the prayer they said every day ran longer for Christmas.Max cracked a slit eye and readied to dump pepper powder into the stew.At last James’s long-winded prayer ended.Max showered the stew with pepper powder.Taste aside, the look of it alone made him happy. The moment he put a spoonful in his mouth—That’s it.“Crying again? What the hell is this.”“Max, bro—lot more tears than you look like you’d have.”These are Lee Maksan’s tears.Mary and Conall kept sniping, and Max coaxed them—try it.“Is it that good?”“I’m already worried you’ll be shedding tears of joy.”“That so…”“You’ll know once you taste.”Before the scarlet broth, the family’s forks hovered. Mary hesitated a long while like it might be poison.The real surprise was Conall.Maybe this is Max, bro’s secret!The source of that uncanny skill with gun and blade.Conall went in bold and ate the stew.James and Mary were thinking much the same.The wellspring of an inhuman edge. None other than pepper powder.“Urrgh!”“Hot as hell, Max, bro!”“This is food?!”“Once you keep eating it, it’s weirdly addictive.”“I’m out.”Mary pushed her stew to one side; James and Conall still forced it down. The pioneer spirit of the West lived and breathed in them.That’s the spirit of challenge.Having had spicy food for the first time in ages, Max happily polished off the whole stew.And that night James’s family suffered a gut-twisting agony.Max too. He just spent the night in the storehouse so they wouldn’t see. Before long a month flashed by.In that time Max’s body clawed out of malnutrition and looked like it could put some force down.Time to head for Lawrence, where Holliday was.He armed himself with one Colt Dragoon, two Navys, and two Sharps rifles…Thunk.One rifle’s sling snapped.This is… bad luck.What an omen on the day he set out for Lawrence.Frowning, Max stashed the rest of the guns in the room and packed a gunpowder horn and about a hundred copper bullets.Just superstition. Shoo, shoo.“Max, bro! You’ll come back on weekends, right?”“Hard at first—once I settle in some.”“Don’t go sticking your neck out unless you have to. Eat your meals. Not that you need me to say it.”Mary and Conall saw him off with reluctant eyes.“If anything happens, you let me know at once.”“Got it. Don’t worry—take care of yourself.”No phones, not even telegraph poles to tap Morse—sending a person was the only way to get word out.“If you see armed men in town, don’t go anywhere. If anyone asks about me, just talk like I’m a stranger. You can bad-mouth me too.”“Hey, how could we.”He was a stranger, truth be told, but Max had already settled into the family. Which made him worry more.Only after leaving a few last cautions did Max swing into the saddle. He left James’s family behind and turned his horse southwest.Less than three hours to Lawrence.The way ran through open prairie, clumped with weeds here and there.Shadows of clouds dragged across the field.As he rode, wind with a knife’s edge brushed Max’s cheek.Bang!A gunshot rolled over the prairie. Max took up the reins and bled speed.Not far.The direction was the road toward Lawrence.And the shot wasn’t the last.Felt wrong the moment that sling snapped.With a frown, Max moved toward the sound.“Die, you bastards!”“Quit yelling and come up here, you punks!”Bang! Bang!Three on a low hill, seven below—both sides cursing and firing at each other.Max tied his horse to a rock, took his spyglass and rifle, and set up on a higher hill than both.Let’s have a look.He checked the ones taking it first.Pressed hard, they hid behind rocks on the hill and poked shots now and then. It looked less like they meant to hit and more like they were stalling to keep the others from closing.Waiting on reinforcements.He checked the men below. A few faces there he knew for sure.Border Ruffians.An armed outfit, champions of slavery.The same bastards from Jackson County, Missouri—from in front of the inn.So the other side are the abolitionists.Max stayed prone and watched.Then he caught two Border Ruffians peeling out wide.The men on the hill hadn’t noticed yet.They’re going to take one in the back and die like fools.After a short debate, Max drew the rifle, thumbed the hammer back to cock it, and set a percussion cap.About two hundred meters.A little farther than the buffalo hunts.But counting on the copper bullet’s accuracy, it wasn’t out of reach.Click.Max took aim at the Border Ruffian creeping up like a rat.He gauged the wind on his cheek and breathed in, then let a little out.He didn’t fire right away. He meant to let them know they had help—by waiting for the enemy’s gunfire to die.When the sight picture settled, Max stilled his breath. Then he stroked the trigger so soft it felt like he hadn’t pulled at all.BANG!Click.More important than checking the hit was reloading.Flat on his back with the muzzle up, he tugged the trigger guard and rammed a paper cartridge into the chamber with the block dropped.Every time he did it, he felt it—this loading routine had to get simpler.And he needed a scope.A ghillie suit wouldn’t hurt either.Plenty to do.Down below, the Border Ruffians’ rage carried.“You cowardly bastard!”“Show yourself, whoever you are!”Show you what.The way they scattered at the first shot was pathetic.Click.Max went prone again and took aim.The one he’d hit crawled, clutching his shoulder. The rest were jerking their mounts around, flustered.Max searched for the other flanker, but the range had already stretched.He got far in a hurry.Rather than gamble on a low-percentage shot, he picked another target.One of the men who’d ogled Mary lecherously in front of the inn slid into view.Max’s eyes tracked the man’s frantic motion. He settled his breathing and waited for the lull in gunfire again.Bang!Max snapped the shot into the quiet beat.Instead of reloading, he raised the spyglass.Looked like the round hit an arm—the horse spun and the man howled. Then they began to pull back together. “An Oriental?”The men Max had helped stared in a daze.“Any of you hit?”“Huh? Oh—us? We’re fine. But… you fired those shots just now?”“Yes. Exactly two.”The charm of a sniper is that you never know when his round is coming for you.One sniper erasing a whole company—easy to imagine.While the three men clicked their tongues at Max’s shooting, a column in the distance kicked up dust and thundered closer.“Ho—boss is coming!”Grins broke over their faces while they waited for the riders.Max kept his face even and thought:A ‘boss’…They weren’t Rangers, and they sure weren’t Army.That left one option.Jayhawkers.Jayhawkers—an armed force fighting on the abolitionist side.The mirror-opposite of the Border Ruffians.Those two camps were the prime movers of the bloodbath called Bleeding Kansas.Soon after.The leader who brought the troop in asked for the run-down the moment he arrived.From the sound of it, the advance party had blundered into the Border Ruffians and the fight broke out.“So this Oriental drove them off?”“Yes. We were dug in behind that rock until you got here, boss.”The leader looked Max over again.Early forties. Clean-shaven, with downturned corners to his mouth that gave him a cold cast.He looked Max up and down and spoke.“An Oriental from Leavenworth… you the one who saved Isaac Cody?”There’s Isaac Cody again.Max nodded for now.An Oriental here was a near curiosity.Whatever he did, word spread, and it wasn’t hard to pin the ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) name to Max.Expression unchanged, the leader went on.“After Isaac Cody, now you’ve saved my men.”“I just happened to stumble in.”“Your name?”“Max Jo.”The leader nodded.“You’re headed to Holliday. Come along with us.”Man knows a lot.Max had figured reinforcements would be coming anyway. And if this man knew Holliday, riding together wasn’t a bad play.As Max swung into the saddle, the leader threw him a line.“By the way, why is an Oriental out here—”Right then.Max suddenly twisted his upper body toward one quarter and snapped a pistol out.Bang!“What—what was that?”“You little bastard—what are you doing!”Max fired so fast no one had time to react.The men fumed at the shock; the leader stared at where Max’s barrel pointed.“The one I hit earlier was hiding like a rat. I finished the job.”No sooner were the words out than one of the men ran over. He dragged back a man by the scruff—freshly shot.“H-he’s not lying, boss.”The leader’s eyes cut back to Max.Their gazes met, and Max spoke.“Shall we finish the talk we started?”The leader’s pupils quivered—and then he burst into wild laughter.“To think I’d meet an Oriental with this kind of fire. That draw is lightning, and your gun-hand’s a marvel.”With that cold cast, both his words and his laugh came out awkward. Still, he kept a smile and went on.“If you need something, say it. I rest easier when I pay what I owe.”“Then… forgive me, but who are you?”Shoulders shook around them.The leader’s smile vanished; his lip twitched as he answered.“James Henry Lane.”“Ah. I see. An honor to meet you.”At the moment, a representative in the Indiana House.And soon to be commander of the Jayhawkers—this was Max’s first meeting with James Henry Lane.The snapped sling strap was not misfortune. It was luck.

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