For the rest of the day, Brown was in a state of panic: Black's final warning made him worry every second, and maybe the next moment a dozen heavily armed Mexican bandits would burst into the bank, shouting "Robbery!" Hand over all the bills", while firing heavily at him with a machine gun. Pen "Fun" Pavilion www.biquge.info and then his muscles—every muscle—began to twitch involuntarily.

Brown once thought that he could face death calmly and even smile, because that Chinese killer would make him a hero who died defending the dignity and values of Americans, and will be remembered forever by later Americans; But now, he realizes that he is not ready to be a hero.

Survival is an instinct that humans have, but death is not. Of course, Brown didn't know this, but he really didn't want to die, and he wanted to live, even if it was huddled in a slum in a city: a dirty and shabby slum was a thousand times better than a dark, damp, cramped grave, anyway.

And even if he dies now, giving his life to defend the dignity and values of Americans, future Americans will not remember him, and in fact no one will know about the banker Henry. Brown's deeds. They will remember only a talented Chinese-American businessman who started a number of large businesses from scratch, a practitioner of the "American Dream", a role model for lower-class civilians and newcomers, and one of the worshipped American gods.

After his wonderful illusion of unrealisticity, it took Brown only a few minutes to figure out what reality was.

And...... Reality is always harsh.

He is just an obscure little stone on the Chinese's path to success, the smallest, not even worth the effort to kick away - but above all obscurity, never known - in that case, why should he continue to fight against that Chinese?

Brown had to admit that he had been making mistakes from the start, setting himself on fire and digging a grave for himself. Of course, it's not too late to correct this mistake...... Maybe it's not too late. The Mexican bandit has not yet appeared, he still has a little time to pack his luggage and bank deposits, and sneak away under the cover of night......

Yes, slip away, before it's too late.

Brown figured it out, and he got into action.

Bounced out of his chair, rushed out of the office, and into a lobby without a single client, he announced to two employees, "You can leave." ”

"Sir?" One employee asked, confused, and the other looked at him.

"Gentlemen, you may leave." Brown raised his voice and said in a tone that could not be questioned, "I have some business to attend to, and the bank is closed early today. ”

The two salesmen exchanged glances and then turned back together. "Sir, because, uh...... We heard that there was a Mexican bank robber in Sharton......"

"Yes." Brown secretly rejoiced: bank robbers, what a reasonable excuse. But on the surface, his expression was still extremely serious. The tone is too. "So you should leave immediately. I ask you to leave immediately. ”

The two salesmen exchanged another look. "Sir, we can stay and help you resist the bank robbers...... If those Mexicans show up. ”

"What!" Brown was startled. Of course, it's not just because these two guys actually want to resist the bank robbers, but more importantly, if they stay here, how will he sort out his savings? Such absurd ideas must be stopped immediately. "No, it's not necessary, I don't want to clash head-on with those Mexicans." He slowed his tone, "Gentlemen, get out, you're just bank employees, not bounty hunters or cops. Life is the most important thing. ”

“…… Well, sir. "The two salesmen were convinced." We're leaving now...... Sir, you should also leave as soon as possible. ”

"I'll be leaving soon, don't worry." Brown breathed a sigh of relief. However, when he noticed how quickly the two employees were packing their things, he realized that the two guys had long wanted to leave the bank - perhaps after they heard about the Mexican bandits.

They were just putting on a show and wanted to make a good impression on him.

Despicable liars! Brown cursed inwardly, and with a professional smile on his face, he watched the two employees leave. Then he closed the door and locked it with lightning speed he had never achieved before, then turned around and rushed to the safe at even greater speed.

But moments before he could touch the safe, someone started knocking on the door.

Mexican? They've arrived? Brown nearly tripped himself and his breath became rapid—and fortunately, he soon realized that he was wrong again.

"Henry. Brown, you old bastard, open the door! A familiar voice floated in through the crack in the door, "Listen, I'll count to ten, and if you don't open the door again, I'll blast your door open with a gun!" ”

Apparently, knocking on the door was a grumpy old cowboy who liked to speak with a pistol rather than his mouth, and of course there was one guy among the residents of Barstow: Bob. Miller, Brown's first and by far most important customer, was once the owner of a silver mine.

For Brown, Miller's demands amounted to God's will and had to obey, even though he had decided to secretly leave with all his savings.

He went back to the door and opened it, and Miller rushed in at once, like a gust of wind, and the kind that was covered with dust: Miller's face and body were covered with dust, and he looked like he had ridden a horse for dozens of miles in the desert. Brown wondered: What could make this old cowboy so anxious?

Of course, whatever that is, it must have something to do with banknotes, otherwise Miller wouldn't have knocked on the bank's door...... Then Brown began to regret why and guessed so accurately this time.

"I need my money." Miller walked around the bank, as if checking something, and then turned back to look at Brown, "Give me my money." ”

"Okay." Brown reached for the key and walked to the safe, "How much do you want?" ”

"All."

"All!" Brown was dumbfounded by the request he heard, and it took him a moment to come to his senses, "You just said it all?" You're going to take all the money? Are you kidding, Bob? ”

He asked a barrage of questions, but Miller's answer was just one word. "Yes."

"Why?" Brown thought he was going crazy: Miller had about fifteen hundred dollars in the bank, almost a third of the total amount of cash. Whether or not he had decided to run away with his deposits, it was always an incalculable loss to take out so much money at once.

No banker wants to accept such a request, he needs an answer.

Unfortunately, the old cowboy was in a very bad mood, and his answer was terrible, all with the smell of gunpowder. "Hey, man, you tell me clearly, that's my money, saving or withdrawing money, how much to save or how much to withdraw, it's all my business, it has nothing to do with you." He called, "Give me my money, hurry!" ”

"But you know, fifteen hundred dollars is not a small amount, of course, you want to take it, no problem, but at least you should tell me why......"

"Why?" Miller thought for a moment, "Okay. You know Charles. Who is Stevenson? ”

Brown involuntarily tensed. He knew Charles. Stevenson, this guy also runs a small bank. What does this mean? A few hours ago, Blake said Richard. Hills was killed by the Mexicans; Now that Miller is talking about Stevenson, could it be that he was killed by the Mexicans too?

His mouth began to knot. "Yes, huh...... Mexican...... Bank robbers? ”

"What are you talking about? What's going on with Mexicans and bank robbers? Miller asked rhetorically.

He doesn't know about the bank robbers in Mexico? Brown was stunned for a moment. So what's going on with Stevenson? He kicked the ball back again. "What did you just want to say?"

"Charles. Stevenson, that bastard ran away with all the bank's deposits! ”

Brown believes that this is the worst news he's heard today -- maybe a little earlier in the day, but until there's worse news, it's the worst, worse than the Mexican robbers.

Because he can think of the reason why Stevenson fled with the deposit, just like him, since he can't resist the full-scale invasion of that Chinese, he will make a fortune while he still has money in his hand. Unfortunately, he was able to think of reasons that every resident of Barstow could think of.

As long as they know what Stevenson does...... Bob. Miller was the first customer to ask for a withdrawal, but by no means the only one, nor the last. And he didn't have a chance to avoid it at all, because Miller was in the bank.

Charles. Stevenson, this guy has killed him badly.

"Why did that bastard do that?" Brown groaned weakly.

"Why?" Miller spat on the ground, "That bastard must have decided to run away with the deposit when he got the news that Tricell was going to build a new bank across from his little bank, but no one thought he would hide his intentions so well." ”

He spat harder. "You know what he did? He declares that he will fight Tricell to the end, and preaches around town that white people should deposit money in white banks that are half owned by white people, not in yellow monkeys' banks, and that everyone should support him. Ironically, the method he used was successful, and in just two days, the bank's deposit doubled...... Wait, why am I talking this nonsense? ”

Miller turned his attention back to Brown. "Give me my money."

"Of course," Brown could only reply, "but ......"

"Shut your mouth for a moment and listen, Henry. Brown! The old cowboy interrupted him impatiently, "I'm hurrying back to get my fifteen hundred dollars back before they're gone, not to talk to you or listen to your, so you'd better get the money to me now, while I'm still patient, or I'll tell you what's going to happen with a pistol instead of my mouth." ”

"Of course, of course, I'll give you the money now, old friend." Brown walked to the safe and complained, "I didn't plan to run away with my deposits......

"Oh, you didn't, so why did you close the door early?" Miller laughed, then changed his tone to become ferocious, "You can fool two fools working for you, but I won't be fooled." ”

"That's slander, I protest—"

"My money!"

Brown suddenly heard two terrible sounds, and his thumb turned on the hammer of the revolver. Miller had two .44 caliber revolvers made by the Chinese's munitions factory, and he had them with him at all times. Brown had seen the power of a pistol, and with a single bullet, his little head would turn into a rotten watermelon.

Old cowboys want to play for real. Brown's body trembled violently, and the keys in his hand rattled as if they were going to fall to the ground at any moment. But in the end, he squeezed it tightly, opened the safe as fast as he could now, and began counting the bills inside.

Brown was slow, and most of the money in the safe was change; And while he was doing this, Miller stood by, watching his movements with a wary eye, as if fearing some undue error in the count, if it did, he would correct it with his pistol—but fortunately at last it did not, so the old cowboy took his bill with great satisfaction, and strode away from the bank.

But, as Brown already knew, he was the first, not the only, and not the last - before he could sit down and catch his breath, the new drawer had walked into the bank.

Louis. Robinson, Brown didn't expect him to be the second, but the deputy sheriff had already made a straightforward request.

"I want my money, Henry, or it'll be too late." He meant, "A lot of people have already heard about it, and they're coming over soon." (To be continued, if you want to know what will happen next, please log in to the www.qidian.com, more chapters, support the author, support genuine reading!) (To be continued.) )