America 1881: They Call Me Legend

Chen Jianqiu and Asuka stayed here for a while.

While avoiding the patrols of the federal cavalry, they surveyed the details of the land.

This is indeed a good place to settle down.

Especially on the south bank of the river, it can not only enclose a ready-made pasture, but also open up a large area of ​​agricultural land.

The people of the Oklahoma Colonization Association really have a good vision, but in their plan, the land on the South Bank has been divided up.

"It's here!" Chen Jianqiu stepped on the soft soil and said.

A group of people left the place after drawing a detailed map of the surrounding area.

The day when the Oklahoma region will open is getting closer.

The news of the opening also spread in the east and west through various channels.

More and more people are flocking to open border areas.

Most of these people are new immigrants.

They didn't catch up with the previous Western Lands opening.

This is the last chance.

Congress established two land offices in Kansas.

There are about a dozen land affairs officers who are in charge of the land registration.

According to the "Homestead Act", these American citizens only need to pay a registration fee of 10 US dollars to receive no more than 160 acres of western state-owned land here as a share.

Of course, if they lived or farmed the land for five years later, they could keep the land as their own for $1.25 an acre.

During this time, the threshold of the land office's gate was broken.

Those who came to register formed a long queue outside the gate, the queue was as long as one kilometer.

However, what was different from the past was that among the applicants this time, there were a large number of yellow-skinned faces.

"Are you an American citizen?"

Behind the desk, the land affairs officer repeatedly checked the identity information handed over by a Chinese on the opposite side.

Beside him, there were several federal soldiers with guns to maintain the order at the scene and protect the safety of the affairs officer.

"Yes, sir, naturalized the year before last."

The Chinese spoke proficient English and said in a gentle manner.

He was wearing a commoner garment and was bald at the back of his head.

"But as far as I know, after the bill comes out, no Chinese can obtain American citizenship." The officer's expression was very serious.

"My father was a legal citizen many years ago. I was born in the United States and paid taxes legally. I don't steal or rob." The Chinese said calmly.

The affairs officer is still skeptical.

"What did you do before you came here?" he continued.

"I'm a worker, an oil worker, working in the Roswell refinery, sir." The Chinese replied.

The steward glanced at the thick calluses on his hands.

He began to check the document again, trying to find a trace of falsification.

Unfortunately, this information is true and there is nothing wrong with it.

"Why is it so slow in front?!"

"Hey! Can you hurry up!"

"I've been queuing up since yesterday, what a fucking ink blot!"

The people at the back of the line saw no movement and began to express their dissatisfaction.

Most of them are red-necked, straightforward, rough, and proud of being illiterate.

"Shut up! You country bumpkins, if you don't want to register, you can go back now!"

The federal officer maintaining order shouted at the team.

Sure enough, those red necks are more used to this way of communication.

They quickly shut up and returned to their own team.

But the clerk didn't bother to worry about the identity of the Chinese in front of him anymore.

After charging him the ten-dollar registration fee, the clerk stamped the registration document and handed it to him.

It was not the government that first noticed the presence of the Chinese.

It's people from the Colonists' Association squatting near the land office.

This man was a "loser" in the general sense of the environment at that time. He perfectly missed every land distribution in the westward movement in recent years.

Either he didn't make the trip himself, or the bank and the big landlords made a trick to take the land away.

Otherwise, he would not have been reduced to living in a tent in the Colonial Association.

Being robbed and terrified, he keenly sensed something.

So we rushed to the headquarters of the Association in Arkansas City at the first time.

"President, the Land Registry found a lot of yellow-skinned Chinese!" He panted to Couch.

"Chinese? Are you awake? Where do they have the right to acquire the land?" Couch disapproved.

"No, there are many Chinese in Roswell." The braided man knew a little more, "They all seem to have citizenship."

He thought for a while and made a suggestion: "Should we talk to their people, I always feel that these people are organized."

Couch was a little unhappy when he heard this:
"What are we talking about? We have close to a thousand fully armed soldiers, heavy weapons, and the support of tens of thousands of people from the association. What is there to talk about with these Chinese?"

"At that time, just like those who have not joined the association, as long as they dare to act rashly, we will clean them up!"

The braided man thought right, so he stopped talking and turned around to go out.

Couch suddenly remembered that there was still something he hadn't explained, and he yelled at the back of the braided man:
"By the way, don't forget to go to the camp to pull people!"

When Couch said the camp, he was referring to the state line in the Kansas and Oklahoma area.

Now it's full of people.

Every few kilometers there will be a camp made up of tents or simple shacks, where pioneers from all over the country gather.

Caravans were parked everywhere, containing all the belongings of the gang.

Even so, they were still apprehensive.

Opening up wasteland is a very difficult thing. The lack of seeds and farm tools may make things that were originally hopeful become hopeless.

"The Oklahoma Colonial Association sincerely invites all friends to join! Here, you no longer walk alone, we will be your strong backing!"

The braided man led a few people to the camp on horseback.

He and his assistant jumped from their horses and began handing out leaflets printed by the association to those who walked around the camp.

Soon someone became interested in this and joined in:

"Is your association serious?" asked a farmer with brown whiskers.

The braided man turned his head and stared at him inexplicably: "We now have tens of thousands of association members, what do you think?"

"Oh." The bearded man hurriedly asked, "Then is there any benefit to joining the association?"

"Of course there is. Joining the association can give you priority in obtaining good land, and you can also get our protection!" the braided man said with certainty.

He pointed vaguely to the place beyond the state line:
"At that time, most of the land here will belong to our association."

The bearded man nodded honestly, he hesitated for a moment, and asked:

"Um, so, is there any fee?"

"Yes, when you join the membership, you pay a one-time membership fee of 3 dollars and a yearly membership fee of 2.5 dollars." A member of the association next to the man with braids said.

The bearded man turned his head and left.

The registration fee of 10 US dollars is already a huge sum of money, and now you have to pay 5.5 US dollars to join the meeting. Why don't they grab it?
"Hey! 5.5 dollars for the protection of more than 1000 warriors! It's a good deal!"

The braided man shouted at the bearded figure behind him.

There are many other peasants who left together, they are all poor and white proletarians.

"You fools will regret it in two weeks," Braid said bitterly.

However, there are still many people who still have money willing to join in. They surround the braided man and chatter:
"We'll be given the best land then, right?"

"That's right, we found a piece of fertile land on the south side of the North Carnedine River, as long as you follow us, the Land Association will distribute that piece of land to everyone!" Braid said solemnly.

Just as he was busy describing the "Garden of Eden" to the bright-eyed new members, his assistant suddenly stabbed him on the arm:
"Tom, what do you see that is?"

The braided man raised his head, and suddenly found that there were still people "soliciting customers" in the camp, and they directly held up signs.

He read the phrase on the sign:

"Farmer Supply and Marketing Cooperative? What the hell is this?"