Lee Maksan raced on, reading the terrain.When the gap with the Indians closed to around two hundred meters—Whoooosh.Thunk.“Oh, shit!”Feathered arrows quivered where they stuck in the wagon,Bang! Bang!and gunshots cracked, too.“Ahuuu! Ahuuu!”They herded their prey like on a hunt and added warning fire; the hair on his neck bristled.To seize good ground, Lee Maksan pushed his horse faster and overtook the wagon.He felt the woman’s flabbergasted stare between his shoulder blades.Sure enough, she shouted,“You said you’d shake them!”“Hand over the oil, you Oriental bastard!”The boy piled on. The closer the Indians got, the more mother and son tossed curses in tandem.Whatever.Letting it slide past one ear, Lee Maksan drew a match made with white phosphorus from his coat.A running horse. Wind drag.Using a so-called strike-anywhere match, he sparked a flame inside his coat and caught the wick.The hours he’d practiced on horseback paid off.When the wick had taken, he abruptly bled off speed.The distance to the wagon closed again.The white family’s eyes fixed on the bottle burning in Lee Maksan’s hand.What’s that?They all wore the same blank look.As the wagon skimmed past,Lee Maksan glanced at the family, then hurled the bottle back.The Indians were only thirty meters out.All their eyes snapped to the flaming whiskey bottle dropping to the ground.?Whump!Fwoooosh!The bottle shattered easily among the scatter of rocks.It wasn’t powerful, but the oil and alcohol spread, and flames leapt up in the horses’ path.Lee Maksan had targeted the Indians’ mounts.The timing was perfect.Neigh—!The horses went wild; a few riders tumbled off.The firebomb had worked well enough.Bang, bang!Galloping behind the wagon, Lee Maksan twisted and fired. For rattled enemies, the gunshots drove fear deeper.One Indian, though, came on with blazing eyes and a savage rush—he wore a puma’s head on his own.The leader?While Lee Maksan watched him closely,gunfire sounded from inside the wagon too.The wife’s covering fire.Bang!After the rifle, she even drew a pistol and sent rounds snapping.Seeing things go ill, the puma rider eased off.He shouted something at Lee Maksan, glared a last time, then broke off the chase and turned his horse.I don’t bear you any grudge.Indians robbed of much by whites.Whatever their pain, he had not the slightest thought of just sitting and taking it.If they attack, I strike back.In that, the line between good and evil was meaningless.In an age of unreason there were only two states—dead or alive.Tearing his eyes from the Indians, Lee Maksan looked to the wagon.The wife coughed into her fist; the boy looked away.Maybe because they’d cursed him, both faces were flushed red. ****Lee Maksan tucked in close behind the white family’s wagon.At some point, the horses that had been running full tilt began to quiver in the legs, spent.They need a rest.As the pace eased, the boy hooked both arms on the back and called out, a little composure returning to his face.“How come you speak our language so well?”“Why, is an Asian speaking English weird to you?”The blond boy nodded, eyes bright.Beside him, the wife watched for any sign that Lee Maksan might snap and fire. The wagon blocked the view, but she still hadn’t set down the rifle.“Truth is, this big brother here can speak five languages besides English.”“Wow, really!?”“Pfft. Es gracioso (yeah, right).”The wife snorted.Lee Maksan answered with a snort of his own.“Hmph. No confiar en las personas también es una enfermedad (not trusting people’s a sickness, too).”“My!”The wife’s eyes widened.Whatever the content, his Spanish was as smooth as his English.Does he really speak five languages?She wanted to test more, but unfortunately, the only ones she knew were English and Spanish.She pouted and slid her gaze off Lee Maksan.Just then, the husband, James, glanced back and spoke.“It’s getting dark, and the horses are tired. We should stop around here.”Who he was talking to wasn’t clear, but Lee Maksan answered naturally.“My horse looks as beat as I am—works out. Let’s rest here.”“What if the Indians come after us…”Anxious, the wife let her words trail. Lee Maksan asked,“Do you know which tribe those Indians were?”“Hereabouts it’d be the Navajo.”At her answer, Lee Maksan nodded.Among the American Indians, the Navajo were the strongest, wealthiest, and most adaptable.He went on,“This raid was probably impulsive. They saw the wagon stop and somebody egged them on. But they failed, and luckily no one died, so they’ll likely let it go.”This isn’t my usual way of talking.In his former life, Jo Yookang would never have gone on nitpicking like this.But now was the time to get close to them.He had to plant trust and confidence.Still a little unconvinced, the boy asked,“That’s all you’ve got?”“For starters, those raiders were young. Hot blood—probably acted on their own. Which means they’ll want to hide the failure.”“You talk like you saw it.”I did. In books.The Indians had been at war for centuries, and the older they were, the better they knew white habits.A sloppy raid brought blowback even much later; even in failure, a raid should be planned to be stealthy and meticulous.Even if the books were wrong, it didn’t matter.If they were green enough to raise dust across the open prairie, he could probably relax.Holding the reins, James studied Lee Maksan with curious eyes. He’d suggested resting here for the same reason.An interesting Oriental.The improvised firebomb, the composure while facing Indians—impressive.They decided to spend the night beside a big rock. James finally climbed down and offered a hand to Max.“James Harris.”My name is…He needed a new name—neither Jo Yookang nor Lee Maksan. To put down roots in America, it had to be easy to say and easy to remember.To honor Lee Maksan and keep his former surname, the name born was—“Max Jo. From Joseon.”“Pleasure, Max. Joseon, you said?”Of course he’s never heard of it.At this time, more than ten thousand from Qing China had flowed into California for the Gold Rush.Most folks assumed Asians were Chinese—or Indian.“Joseon and China are completely different countries. Like Britain [N O V E L I G H T] and France.”“Hm. In any case, thanks for earlier.”Shaking Max’s hand, James smiled and introduced his family.“This is my wife, Mary, and our son, Conall.”“Thanks for the oil back there, Conall.”“Aw, that was nothing.”Conall rubbed his nose and giggled.“By the way, your outfit—curious.”A lot was packed into that.For the sake of their future relationship, Max headed off misunderstanding and told them what had happened.From the far land of Joseon to here—the Harris family listened, rapt.“You almost ended up a slave on a Southern plantation.”“I’m not much good at picking cotton.”Conall snickered at Max’s line; when Mary shot him a look, he slapped a hand over his mouth.No one invited him along, but Max slid in among the white family as if it were natural.That whites ruled America was undeniable. Faster than he’d thought, he’d been able to get close to them.All thanks to the Indians.James used the wagon like a wall to set up camp. A hollowed rock behind made a decent sleeping spot.While they made various preparations, Max pulled bits of information from their chat.They were Irish immigrants, had been in California until recently, and their current location was Utah.Utah ran the gamut from desert to tundra. It was September, and the air was quite chilly; with the day-night swing, nights dropped cold.Crackle, crackle.James kindled a fire with buffalo dung. Warmth spread around them.Mary stuffed bread with bacon and beans for the meal.She made three, then cut a glance at Max chewing jerky,and made one more.Max’s mouth filled with saliva at the sight.A short while later,they sat around the fire and ate supper.Bread and meat in a belly fed only jerky…Max nearly teared up from fullness, taste aside.Eyes misting, he looked at the wife.“There’s no more.”Max’s face fell.James, smiling, asked,“So, Max—where’s your destination?”“Anywhere I can get to.”“So, no destination. How about going back to California? There’ll be more of your kind there.”It meant it’d be hard to last among whites.Max shook his head.“The goldfields are played out. Even if I go back, I can see how it ends, and the road’s no picnic.”“True. That’s why I left as well.”Many had chased the Gold Rush to California, and the successful were few. Most burned their savings with nothing to show and lived wretchedly.Even if they struck gold, outlaws would come to rob them, and even then, most of it turned out to be brass.Thinking it was gold, some fought to guard it and died like dogs.California now was no El Dorado.Reality was a gutter.There would be discoveries in Nevada and elsewhere, but that’s years off.While Max and James talked, Conall suddenly sprang up.“I gotta go take a leak.”“Leaving in the middle of dinner, honestly.”Mary rolled her eyes, and the urgent boy ran to the side of the wagon and dropped his trousers.Ssshhhh.The satisfying splash. But something faint was mixed in with it. Max’s head snapped around, and he yanked a knife from his belt.“W-what…!”James and Mary gaped, and Max rose in a flash and threw.Whirr— thock.Only when the knife stuck did the situation reveal itself.A snake’s head pinned on the blade writhed.“Oh, shit! Rattler!”Conall yanked up his pants and sprinted into Mary’s arms.Calmly, Max retrieved the knife with the snake.“You didn’t splash yourself, did you?”“Not at all!”Max smirked at Conall’s answer.James’s eyes shone at the perfect throw.“Judging by your age you’re no soldier, but your skills are remarkable in many ways.”“You flatter me.”James nodded at Max.It felt reassuring having him around.After a moment’s thought, he spoke.“If you’ve truly nowhere to go, how about coming with us?”A capable hand for a dangerous journey.Even so, the man was a stranger—and Asian.For a white man, it wasn’t an easy offer.Max had angled for this, but unlike most whites, James had no prejudice about race—so it was possible.Max looked to the wife.She didn’t look opposed either.The only thing that mattered now was where they were headed.Max asked James,“What’s your destination?”“Kansas. Along with Nebraska, it became a territory this year.”Before becoming a state, it had to be a territory. Before that it was nothing—just U.S. land.Even as a territory, statehood could take years, even decades.Kansas, huh…In America’s brief history, the big events were the War of Independence and the Civil War.And the tinder that lit the Civil War—Kansas.Later recorded as “Bleeding Kansas,” it would be stained with brutal violence for years to come.Be that as it may,from Max’s perspective, danger was the same no matter where you went in the West.A place all eyes would turn to—hell for some, but for Max a place to take wing.Finished with his thoughts, Max nodded.“Let’s go together. To Kansas.”

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