Henry had no intention of working with anyone else to ambush the McKinley cavalry. His methods involved too many secrets that couldn't be shared.
Besides, every one of those riders was a target he needed to "release" personally.
As for warning the farmstead, there was no need. Once the shooting started, the sound would be all the warning they needed.
The only question left was where to set the ambush.
Henry had always eaten his carrots, and his eyesight was sharp. He had no issues with night blindness. He'd also noticed that since his first constitutional upgrade, his vision in the dark had improved significantly, though it wasn't true night vision.
In this season near Denver, the sun didn't set until 8 PM, and it rose again at 5:30 AM. The days were long. If he set out around 4:30 in the morning, he'd be right on time.
With his plan settled, Henry began to prepare his supplies, cleaning and filling ten waterskins, and packing a tent, bedroll, and insect repellent.
Next, he took a full inventory of his arsenal.
First, the Winchester 1873 rifles. He had 47 in total, including two of the high-precision "One of One Thousand" models, along with 4,240 rounds of .44 caliber ammunition.
Second, the Colt 1873 Single Action Army revolvers. He had 47 of these as well, which used the same ammunition as the rifles.
Third, the Colt 1878 Double Action revolvers. He had 8 of these, with 897 rounds of ammunition.
He also had 52 throwing knives and 49 miscellaneous daggers and sabers.
Finally, there was the unique revolver taken from the first outlaw leader who had attacked the town. It was a LeMat revolver, a special design that combined a revolver and a shotgun. The cylinder had nine chambers for pistol rounds. Below the main pistol barrel, aligned with the cylinder's central axis, was a second, larger smoothbore barrel for firing a single shotgun shell. The user could switch between modes by simply flipping a switch on the hammer.
This particular LeMat was chambered for .44 caliber pistol rounds, and its shotgun barrel was a 20-gauge, capable of firing a devastating 15.6mm blast. It was a hand cannon.
Its disadvantage was its immense weight, which made aiming, firing, and reloading difficult. In the heat of battle, reloading was nearly impossible. But when you needed a single, overwhelming blast of firepower, one shot was all you needed.
Henry spent the next hour meticulously loading every single firearm, disengaging their safeties, and arranging them in his storage space.
He then took out the large copper kettle. The water inside was still scalding hot. It seemed that time stood still for any object placed within the golden sphere.
He set his alarm clock and went straight to bed. He had five hours to sleep.
At 4:30 AM, the alarm clock's jarring ring woke him. Ten minutes later, he was in the Sheriff's stable, saddling his quarter horse and storing some hay for the journey.
By 5 AM, he was riding out of town. The sky to the east was just beginning to turn a pale, fish-belly white. The wilderness was no longer pitch black, but bathed in a dim, hazy light.
Henry spurred his horse, galloping across the plains and through the mountain valleys. He breathed in the cool, clean scent of the morning grass and felt the free wind on his face. A feeling of heroic, untamed freedom rose in his chest.
Meanwhile, ten miles away in a temporary camp, a column of armed riders was preparing to move out.
Their commander, a man named Oliver, barked out his final orders.
"...kill all the men... don't get yourself killed by a woman just because you're having some fun, make sure they're completely subdued... leave two women or a couple of older kids alive at the farmstead... all valuables will be pooled and divided equally... and after you take down Henry, do not desecrate his body. He's a true man of the West."
A dozen minutes later, Henry reached the hill he'd scouted in his mind. He tied his horse's reins with a slipknot to a Colorado blue spruce and left a small pile of hay for it to eat.
He stood at the crest of the hill, looking down at the vast, hazy wilderness below.
Dawn was coming. The desolate lands of the West were taking a deep breath, waiting for the sun to rise again.
Immersed in the wild, rugged, and majestic beauty of the frontier, Henry found himself pondering a profound question: what was his purpose now?
To be brought to such a magnificent time and place, to be given such a powerful gift… a man must do something with it, right?
He thought back to his life as Zhang Tianyuan. His working-class parents had died in a car accident when he was in middle school, leaving him with nothing. His only family was his older sister, Zhang Tianfang, who had just graduated high school. She gave up her chance at college and took a menial job in a small city to support him through his education. She only married after he was a junior in college.
He had excelled, getting into a prestigious architecture program at a top university in Shanghai. He was smart and good-looking, and in his sophomore year, he fell in love with a girl from the city a year below him.
But after he graduated, her parents had fiercely objected to the relationship. After a bitter struggle, they agreed to give him a three-year trial period.
Shanghai was a brutal city for a boy with no connections. A year later, his girlfriend graduated and took a government job arranged by her parents. The gap between them grew wider.
A large construction company offered him a job in Africa. The pay was excellent; he could make 200,000 to 300,000 yuan a year. He had to sign on for at least three years, but he saw his chance. He discussed it with her, and then, determined, he set off to make his fortune, hoping to save enough to finally marry her.
In the first year, her letters became less frequent. The second year, they were rare. When he finally got a two-week leave and rushed back to Shanghai to see her, she broke up with him.
The girl he knew from university was gone, her values and worldview reshaped by her new life. The distance between them had become a chasm.
After several failed attempts to win her back, he returned to Africa, his heart a hollow shell.
He worked for four more years. He returned home to visit his sister and her family, only to suffer the greatest blow of all. His sister and her husband had taken his entire life's savings—over 1.3 million yuan—from his bank account.
They had used it to buy a house, a car, and a small supermarket.
It was the same bank account his sister had opened for him when he started college, the one she used to send him living expenses. He had never changed the password. Before leaving for Africa, he had given her the card for safekeeping, telling her to take what she needed if she ever ran into trouble. His own salary was deposited directly into it.
His brother-in-law refused to see him.
He looked at his sister, who looked far older than her years, her face etched with guilt and anxiety. He looked at his two young nephews. He said nothing. He just told her to live a good life, and then he walked away.
He returned to Africa alone. Not long after, he was kidnapped by local militants. He was rescued by chance by a squad of French mercenaries, and in the process, he shed blood for the first time.
He had learned French during his years in Africa. Tired of his pointless, drone-like existence, he saw a new path open before him.
And so, by a twist of fate, Zhang Tianyuan became a mercenary.