The waterwheel is not fast!

And, as he approached the white camp, he had all his soldiers prostrate on the ground to rest, and he came closer, looking closely through the hazy rain.

This white army was not well deployed, and probably no one would have thought that in such a rainy day, a team would be killed from their backs.

In the heavy rain, a few white sentry posts alternately patrolled, each with their heads down, and in such weather, they could do nothing, not even have a chance to smoke a cigarette to relieve their boredom.

The camp in the distance was not very visible in the heavy rain of the night, and only when the lightning swept by, could a faint clue be discerned.

The watermill crawled in the mud for a while, then staggered back into his ranks, silently taking out the rain-soaked meatloaf and eating it.

The soldiers followed suit.

If someone eavesdrops in the rain at this time, they should be able to hear the sound of silkworms chewing mulberry leaves.

Then the watermill stood up on its knees, carrying a dagger in his hand.

Behind him, there was the sound of brushing footsteps, but it was also just muffled by the thunder that followed.

The waterwheel slowly ran up, and the soldiers behind it followed suit.

There were no slogans, no shouts, and no commands.

It's like a hydraulic machine, silently pressing on it!

……

The rain was like a curtain, obscuring everything that was happening in the camp.

Three hundred Tonatiu soldiers rushed in from this end of the curtain, and by the time they came out of the curtain, the formation had clearly thinned out considerably.

Then they turned around and rushed into the curtain.

The horses scattered in all directions, taking a few steps in the pouring rain and then stopped, listening curiously to the strange sounds that began within the curtain.

One pony had taken a few curious steps inside, and in its limited life, it had heard only guns and neighing, and had never heard such a strange sound.

There were occasional gunshots in the heavy curtains, but they were still no match for the thunder, which was slightly equal to nothing.

***

The torrential rain stopped after three days of continuous rain.

The chief of the Hukpaha tribe sat on his horse and pondered something.

His tribe was the farthest, and it would take a long distance to return to his tribe.

Suddenly, he turned his head to look at the priest beside him: "Hey, don't you say strange?" The turtledove made such a big move in Brack Mountain, why didn't the white army react? ”

The priest was an old man who looked to be in his sixties, but he was actually no more than forty years old.

Wen Yan shook his head slowly.

"I can't figure it out! Fremont is not a forbearant person, he has always been ruthless, and revenge never sleeps overnight, why is this time so calm? ”

"Could it be that he was frightened by the turtledove?" Said with a smile.

The priest apparently did not take this as a joke, but thought seriously for a moment, but still shook his head.

"The strength of the turtledove is naturally extremely strong. Not to mention anything else, those three hundred musketeers alone, placed on this great plain, even a first-class tribe may not be able to match such strength. What's more, it is said that in the forest of the Sierra Madre to the south, he also has a large tribe of tens of thousands of people. Such a power is naturally unique among the Indians, but it is impossible to say that it frightens the white people because of this! The priest said.

"And how do you explain that there is no news from Fremont yet?" Sitting Niu asked. "We stayed in White Rock City for three days, and there was obviously no trace of fighting in White Rock City, and during these three days, there was no news of any fighting. This is not Fremont's style. ”

Fremont's style?

At the thought of this word, the priest couldn't help but shudder.

Three years ago, when Fremont and his expedition had just crossed the Missouri River, the Great Plains was still teeming with herds of bison, and the Sioux people were poor but well-fed.

As Fremont moved westward, vast swaths of bison died, leaving thousands of Sioux homeless.

If the Apache people in the south still had a seemingly beautiful option of 'surrendering', Fremont didn't even give them that option.

He never negotiated with the Indians, as if his duty was to slaughter.

Under his policy of massacre, the Sioux put up a fierce resistance, but with each fierce resistance, there was a more fierce slaughter.

I don't know how many rounds have passed, but now on the Great Plains, even the bison are about to become extinct, and the Indians who dare to resist are even fewer than the bison.

The so-called 'Fremont style' was formed in the midst of one massacre after another.

There was once a Nakota man named 'Stone' who beat up a white vendor for being deceived by him at the bazaar. And he threatened, 'Fair trade is the most important law in the world, and even the gods must abide by it.'"

That same night, Stone and his entire tribe of more than 200 people had their heads cut off and placed neatly at the entrance to the market.

"The safety of the person and property of citizens, this is a right given to us by God and the Federal Constitution, and anyone who dares to violate it, will pay the price!" Fremont said.

The Blackfeet of the Saskatchewan Valley were unwilling to pay the poll tax, and now, to see them, they had to dig more than two meters deep in the Saskatchewan Valley, where 2,000 Blackfeet were buried.

That's 'Fremont style'!

Anyone who dared to resist him, even those who spoke ill of him, could no longer live.

But what about turtledoves?

Seem...... Like, it's been another two weeks since he took over the Carlisle Industrial School?

Could it be that Fremont suddenly changed its 'style'?

Such doubts were not only had by the sitting ox and his priests, but also by almost all the tribes of the Great Plains.

On the one hand, they were excited that the turtledove would be able to raise the black flag on Mount Brak, but on the other hand, they seemed to be expecting something - the Tonatiu Legion, if only a few cantonment forts were uprooted, it would not be enough!

……

The chief of the Wapkut tribe, who was closer to the Bulak Mountains, made a special circle after leaving White Rock City to inspect his treasure land.

The chief himself dismounted, and lay on the ground in search of the strange yellow stone, which could heal all the sufferings of the world.

It didn't take long for him to really pick up a palm-sized piece of dog's head gold!

Excited, the chief decided to go on the extra mile. But he searched until dark, and found nothing else.

The chief only felt extremely lost, he couldn't understand why it only took him ten minutes to find a palm-sized piece of gold, but after an afternoon, he couldn't find anything.

Until he saw a white explorer, the frustrated chief immediately found the reason!

"That's him! Steal my gold! ”

"Shoot him!"