Leland Stanford, the first governor of California, is the founder of Stanford University, and the founder and majority shareholder of the Central Pacific Railroad.

At this time, he had been a senator for more than a year.

A year ago, however, his only son, 15-year-old Stamford Jr., left him with typhoid fever.

The elder Stanford was immersed in the grief of losing his son in old age, and basically did not care about the railroad company.

The successive strikes have left the company's managers frustrated.

Especially after receiving a telegram from the town of Stone Springs.

It was also the first time they encountered a joint strike by Chinese and white workers.

After a long day of discussion, the management still did not dare to make decisions without authorization.

In the end, it was Stanford who had to make the decision.

The Stanford mansion is located on the "Noble Hill" overlooking the bay, offering a panoramic view of the entire Bay Area.

"The lord is not in a very good mood this morning, remember, you must not mention his son!"

At the door of the mansion, Mr. Webb, the general manager of the butler company, said.

Subsequently, Webb was taken to the terrace on the second floor.

Mr. Stanford, with his white beard, sat alone, blowing the sea breeze and looking at the sea under a hazy sky.

"Sir, Mr. Webb is here."

The butler whispered.

Mr. Stanford sat there as if he had not heard the butler's words.

The butler winked at Webb.

"Mr. Stanford, the sea breeze is too strong, you should pay attention to your body."

Webb cleared his throat, amplified his voice slightly, and said.

Stanford turned his head as if he had just woken up from a dream.

He looked very emaciated.

"What's the matter?"

Webb stepped forward and handed a document to Stanford.

This is a fact sheet compiled by management based on information from various sources.

"Our suggestion is to contact the governor of Wyoming Quasi-State quickly and see if we can send the militia over."

He said cautiously.

"If Chinese workers and white workers join forces, our people in the mine will be very dangerous."

Stanford rested the document on his lap, his hand on his forehead, and flipped through it.

When his gaze swept to "Stone Spring Town", it froze.

The old man's expression turned painful.

His hands covered his eyes, as if he was crying, but there were no tears:

"Oh, Stone Springs, when the coal mine opened, I still carried the sign unveiled by Little Stanford, and at that time, he had just learned to walk, and I still wanted to hold him!"

"Oh my child, my poor child"

Stanford muttered until he couldn't say any more.

The old man fell into his own grief again.

Webb was very embarrassed.

He never expected that this would also bring back memories of the old man.

He looked at the butler who was standing at the entrance to the terrace.

The butler's expression was indifferent, which roughly meant:

Stand there honestly and wait, your own iniquity.

After being blown by the sea breeze for more than half an hour, Webb finally waited for Stanford to speak again:

"Let's go find a detective agency to solve this matter, don't make too much trouble."

The old man's attitude towards Chinese workers is extremely complicated.

Among the capitalists on the West Coast, he was the first and most supportive of the hiring of Chinese laborers.

The reason is simple.

They are hardworking, able to endure hardships, and honest and obedient.

Stanford does not discriminate against these laborers from across the ocean.

He was indifferent to these beings.

Under each section of the Pacific Railway, the bones of Chinese workers are buried.

Without these Chinese workers, there would be no railroad that runs through the east and west of America today.

Until a year ago, he lost his only son.

During this time, the elder Stanford has been reflecting.

Is this a punishment from God for him, so that he can send the white-haired man to the black-haired man, and let him lose his only descendant.

In the words of the Chinese, this is not a kind of retribution in the dark.

"So, which detective agency to hire?" Webb asked.

"Take care of it yourself, I'm tired." Stanford's distraction drifted again, and he looked back at the bay and said no more.

Seeing that there was no reply from the old man, Weber had to retreat.

Back in the office, Webb was sad.

According to the old practice, this kind of matter was usually handled by the Pinkerton Detective Agency.

But now the Pinkerton Detective Agency has withdrawn from California and the entire West Coast.

Where can I find a private detective organization of the same size and level?

He let out a long sigh.

"What's wrong? Manger? Seeing that Webber was frowning, the assistant asked on the side.

"The old man didn't let the army intervene, and asked a private detective to deal with this matter." Webb rubbed his face with his hands, "But Pinkerton's gang of ghosts don't know where they are, do you want me to go to Austin to invite them?" ”

The assistant smiled when he heard Webb say this.

Weber saw the assistant's smiling face between his fingers, and was very dissatisfied:

"What are you laughing at? Is this a joy for you? ”

The assistant buried the smile on the corner of his mouth again, and said:

"Manager, I know there's a detective agency in California that can handle this, and they're no worse than Pinkerton."

"Oh?" As soon as Webber heard that there was a play, he immediately sat up straight from his chair, "Which detective agency." ”

"The Border Detective Agency, which came out in the past two years, has been doing some armed escort business before, and has a very good reputation, and the owner is a Wyoming man with a cocked beard, and it is said that he used to be an experienced bounty hunter."

"It's only fitting that we hand over this business to him."

The assistant said.

"That's it." Webb clapped his hands violently.

Let Wyoming's private investigators deal with those damn workers, and you'll get twice the result with half the effort!

A little more than a week later, Hanif showed up at the train station in Carbone County with detectives from dozens of Border Detective Agency.

They got off the train and headed straight for the coal mine in Shiquan Township.

Riley and the Overseer stood far away on the hillside and craned their necks to watch.

Now there are a few more people around them, all of whom are the managers of Well No. 6.

There was a stoppage over there, and the men didn't have much to do, so they came to meet up with Riley.

The negroes and fishermen on the river did not trouble them, but graciously transported them.

It's just that a "small" boat fare was charged.

"I'm looking forward to you!" Riley ran down the hill to Hanif and held his hand tightly.

He had been terrified for the week, dreaming of Chinese workers rushing in with guns and putting them to his head, scolding him in a language he did not understand, and slapping him in turn.

"Don't worry! With me, you are safe drops! Hanif pulled his hand out of Riley's hand and stroked his beard.

"And when are we going to start working?" Riley asked eagerly.

"Huh? You mean, that thing? Hanif looked at Riley with a playful look in his eyes.

He made a gesture of shaving his head.

Riley hurriedly shook his head:

"No, no, you don't have to play so big, it's a last resort, or don't do it."

Hanif was thoughtful and didn't speak.

Seeing that Hanif was silent, Riley whispered:

"If it really comes to that point, it's not impossible, but it can't be too big."

He was very happy with Hanif.

This person is very knowledgeable at first glance, and he grasps the crux of the problem as soon as he comes.

Although the shot is a bit ruthless.

However, in his opinion, in this case, if he is not ruthless, how can he turn things around?