I’m hungry. I’m starving.If I hadn’t caught a rattlesnake and grilled it over a fire, this body would’ve collapsed from malnutrition more than once.Jerky and snake alone kept me alive, but they were nowhere near enough to fill the gut.Which way will lead to a road?The slavers had tried to sell Lee Maksan to a Southern plantation owner and were moving along an overland route linking West and East.When Lee Maksan seized his chance back then, he’d sprinted south for days on end.Which meant if he went the opposite way now, he could find the road again.So he rode north.The saddle chafed his thighs. His tailbone ached from the constant bounce, but he was growing used to riding.But satisfaction would get him killed.Horse and rider were one; the path he thought should be the path the horse took.If he didn’t want to die in the West, he needed unity of mind and mount.And after that—unity of mind and gun…Maybe it was the mix of a Joseon man’s memories.Whatever the case, even if it sounded like nonsense, he needed that level of resolve.That’s how unknown the dangers of the West were.He needed to train to shoot and light fire from the saddle.Even on horseback, Lee Maksan never stopped, adapting to an unpolished body and forcing it to move as he thought.A plain spread endlessly like a rippling sea.He ran north for three days along a horizon that looked welded to the sky.And at last—Far off on the prairie, a wagon crossed from west to east.From that moment his head got complicated.How would they treat a strange Asian?Was he going to get shot for riding up without a word? A thousand thoughts jammed in.Even so, he pushed the horse and went.Clop, clop.When the distance closed to about fifty meters,the other side reacted at once.“Stop! Come any closer and I’ll put holes in you!”A man in his thirties sitting on the box seat raised a revolver and bluffed. The woman beside him leveled a rifle.Naked hostility burned in the couple’s eyes.It’s the West, all right…They looked ordinary, but they were armed with guns.If he went any closer, they seemed ready to fire.In this era, it was entirely plausible.Instead of speaking, Lee Maksan kept his distance at roughly a hundred meters and followed.The white couple fretted about their rear, but shooting to drive him off without cause felt burdensome too.Besides, they would soon link up with the Oregon Trail where wagon trains lined the route.They could only hope nothing happened until then.Lee Maksan stared at the wagon’s tail and held a set distance.It really is something.A “prairie wagon” like the ones he’d seen at the museum days ago was rolling along before his eyes.The boat-shaped, four-horse wagon had a canvas open at front and back, and with all the cargo its pace wasn’t fast.Lee Maksan weighed the value of the white family.Information, connections, provisions.Of those, connections came first.Even if he found a town, getting inside wouldn’t be easy. To peel away white hostility, he’d either need power enough to ignore it or a reputation he’d built.As he was now, he’d get shot going into town just to drink water.Racism that wouldn’t vanish from American soil even a hundred years later—especially at this moment, it was foolish to expect the first white person to smile and greet an Asian.If he wanted to wedge into white society, he had to make a tie somehow. That was the first thing to do in the West.Connections with whites, huh…While Lee Maksan was chewing on it,a boy poked his head out of the wagon.He raised a long spyglass to his eye and studied Lee Maksan.“Hi.”Lee Maksan waved and added a capitalist smile.Maybe it was too much— the boy ducked back inside the canvas.“Kid’s shy.”But contrary to Lee Maksan’s thought, the boy went up to the front of the wagon and shouted,“Mom, Dad! He’s a scrawny skeleton Oriental! One of those idiots who crossed the sea to dig gold!”“Conall. Even so, watch your mouth, will you?”“Everybody calls ’em coolies!”“That doesn’t mean you should.”The mother shook her head, and when the father, James, held out a hand, the son passed him the spyglass.“Dressed almost like us, and you say he’s a coolie?”“I’m sure of it!”They called the Asians who came to dig gold “coolies”—basically meant slave.After the Black slave trade was banned, it was a term for contract laborers brought from China or India.James looked through the glass at Lee Maksan.With the wagon’s canvas open front and back, a turn of the body was enough to see him.Under the cowboy hat, the features and skin tone were unmistakably an Oriental coolie.“…It does look like you’re right.”“Let me see that.”The wife snatched the spyglass.“It’s true, dear. The horse he’s riding and his clothes look taken from someone else… What if he’s after our goods too?”“He isn’t closing in yet—let’s watch him.”“I’ll keep our rear covered.”The unfamiliar Asian set the wife and son on edge. In this era, if you didn’t kill, you got killed.“He looks pretty starved. What if we offer food and water? Calm him down and then shoot.”The thirteen-year-old son’s mouth was outrageous.But not entirely wrong.Sunset was near, night coming on.Better to remove a hazard than drag it behind you.But what if they failed?He was alone; they had a family to protect.A preemptive strike carried too much risk.James tousled his son’s hair.“We won’t be able to talk with an Oriental anyway. We’ll join the Oregon Trail soon—watch him till then.”When a big rock outcropping loomed in the middle of the prairie,the wagon wheel hit a snag and trouble flared.A thin iron tire hugging the wood had popped up and needed fixing.Wagon wheels breaking was common.But the Asian behind them and the threat of an Indian raid gnawed at them. Right now was prime time to become prey.“Of all times for this.”“You focus on the repair. I’ll keep him covered.”The wife gripped the rifle, jaw set.The wagon soon rolled to a stop.Seeing this, Lee Maksan narrowed his eyes.A broken wheel?If he approached, a needless misunderstanding was guaranteed.He took the reins and brought his horse to a halt.His tailbone had been aching anyway.He dismounted, twisted his body this way and that, and did some light stretching.Watching through the glass, the son swallowed hard.“Th-the coolie… he’s loosening up! Looks like he’s getting ready to attack!”“How’s his face?”“Blank. Like there’s nothing going on in there.”“Oh dear…”The wife’s expression turned grave. James, elbow-deep in the wheel, spoke lightly.“If he’s been in the saddle long, he might do that. If he meant anything else, he’d have attacked in passing.”“You’re awfully optimistic, aren’t you.”The wife pouted beside him.Her husband’s temperament was unimpeachable, but it didn’t fit the rough West.Maybe that’s why she took it on ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) herself to be wary of even small things in his place.Same for their son.Meanwhile, after stretching, Lee Maksan paced around to read the terrain.And far off, a dust cloud caught his eye.A buffalo herd?He mounted up and climbed to slightly higher ground to check the source of the dust.Son of a—!Startled, Lee Maksan wrenched his direction.Seeing this, the son yelped.“Mom! The coolie’s riding this way!”Lee Maksan was galloping hard toward the wagon.Panic rising, the wife looked to her husband.He was grunting, unable to seat the iron tire around the wooden wheel.They were still far, but the wife thumbed back the hammer on her rifle and aimed at Lee Maksan.Just then—“Indians!”Lee Maksan’s voice rang across the plain.“!”The wife, face going pale, looked at her husband.“Dear…?”“Almost… got it. Damn!”He wrestled the tire band, but it wouldn’t bite, and frustration boiled.“Dear! What about him?”“Don’t shoot—just keep him covered!”The son checked the Indians’ position through the glass; the wife didn’t take her sights off Lee Maksan.As the gap closed, he raised both hands to reassure them.“A group of Indians is coming this way!”“Wh—?”The wife’s eyes widened. James paused and stared at Lee Maksan.“You… can speak our language?”“Is that what matters right now.”Lee Maksan glanced at the iron tire James was holding—thin, round like a hoop, meant to keep the wooden wheel from slipping off.“Let me help.”The wife flinched; her pupils quivered.The muzzle stayed trained on him, but he ignored it and swung down from his horse.“What do I do?”“Here… press here.”The job was simple.Force it in with strength.But what strength did a half-starved Lee Maksan have?Only by throwing in everything—James and the boy adding their weight until they were about to bust a gut—did they finally get it seated.It still looked a hair proud…That was close.Acting like it was nothing, Lee Maksan pulled a whiskey bottle from the small bag hanging on his saddle.The wife’s eyes went round.My God—he’s going to drink at a time like this!?Their eyes met—her brow knit tight.She flinched and re-gripped the rifle.“Do you have any oil?”“Oil…?”“You’ll need it to deal with the Indians.”“If it’s oil, here!”Rummaging in the wagon, the son held something out—a can filled with oil.Either their suspicion had dropped, or desperation over the Indians had won. Likely the latter.Into the whiskey bottle, in which a little was left, Lee Maksan poured alcohol and oil, swirling it as he spoke.“Head out first. I’ll hold the Indians.”“Y-you’ll hold them?”James and his wife, stowing gear back into the wagon, stared at him, dumbfounded.An Asian coolie who spoke their tongueclaiming he’d handle the Indians was not easy to swallow.“This isn’t the time to just watch.”One glance behind and James and his wife scrambled onto the wagon. The Indians were close enough to see with the naked eye.“Hyah! Move!”At the crack of urgent lashes, four horses kicked up dust and lunged forward.Lee Maksan stuffed cloth in the bottle’s mouth and let a long tail of cloth hang like a bandage, soaking it in oil to make a wick.A firebomb thrown together in short order.Weak in power, but the best weapon he could make right now.The ground was the problem. If he threw a firebomb onto soft dirt and sand, it would likely fail.The one mercy: the rock hill ahead was strewn with small stones.I’ll settle it there.He swung into the saddle, flicked a glance back, then drove ahead.“Hyah!”The wagon tore across the plain,Lee Maksan running behind it.At four o’clock, seven Indians were closing fast.

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