It was late at night, but Tartai couldn't sleep.

Not only Tartai couldn't sleep, Tartai's cronies couldn't sleep either.

The red feathers of the Tartai tribe could not sleep all night not because of the defeat at dawn yesterday - if the slaves died, they could be captured again, and if the subjects ran away, they could be collected again. If the horses and armor were not lost, the Tartai tribe would not

It's considered damaging to the foundation.

It's because they were blocked on the river bank and couldn't move.

Where to go? The big and small bosses have been arguing for two days.

"That Yan! Dear gentlemen!" Chahan, an old slave, advised hard: "Look at your feet, it's all black! There's not even a piece of turf as big as your palm! This is a dead place! Let's go quickly! Let's go while we can!"

As Chahan spoke, he bent down and grabbed a handful of soil, bursting into tears: "My nobles, open your eyes! The two-legged people were so angry that even the grass roots were scorched! It was so cold that the children couldn't find firewood to keep warm."

He can only burn horse dung to make it wet! How can he plunder even if his eyes are sick from the fumes?"

The old slave Chahan wanted to leave, but the "nobles" of the Tartai tribe did not want to leave. The harvest of the robbery was related to their status and wealth, and even their life and death depended on the success or failure of the robbery.

Immediately, someone scolded the old slave Chahan: "Why are the crows shouting indiscriminately? The one who warmed the fire ordered you and I to cross the river from now on, but you can walk if you want to! The one who warmed the fire will not kill you, but he will kill the one with the quiver!"

Another Hong Lingyu, with gray beard and hair, said: "You can't walk, but you can't waste your time either. It's better to change the road and go upstream or downstream."

"Can you and I take the road of other ministries?" The person who just spoke became more and more angry: "Father, oh, father! Don't be silent! Either leave or fight! Make your decision!"

It turned out that the speaker was Tartai's son.

"Todog, don't be anxious." Tartai glanced at his eldest son and his eyelids twitched: "What you said makes sense."

Does Tartai want to leave? No, he doesn't want to. Now let go. Aren't those hundreds of subjects and slaves lost in vain?

But he also felt that he couldn't afford it - the Two-legged people were so vicious that they burned the West Bank to scorched earth. The Hud people relied on livestock to fight, and the livestock relied on eating grass to fight. If there was no grass to eat, how could they plunder?

I originally thought that the vanguard was a rare and lucrative job, but now I am in a dilemma, and Tartai also regrets it.

"I see that the two-legged people on the east coast are not as numerous as us. In yesterday's battle, they suffered a lot of losses." Tartai looked around, and the dried meat in his hand was almost twisted into floss: "Tomorrow, the disciples will be killed."

Divide into left and right wings and cross the river from upstream and downstream respectively, leaving my flag here to catch people on the other side."

"What if you are found out?"

"It doesn't matter if you are discovered. Go across the river as far as a horse. If they follow, you can continue to fish for them. They only have two legs and can't go far.

If they don't see through it, just wait for me to feign crossing from here, and then attack them from behind."

[Note: "As far as a horse" refers to a day's journey of a herding horse, about 10km]

"What if it still doesn't work?"

"If it still doesn't work, you and I will leave! You and I have tried our best, and the people who are warming the fire cannot blame you and me."

The red feathers in Tartai's department couldn't think of a better way, and one after another they agreed to Tartai's strategy.

Chahan was Tartai's personal slave, and his position was an extension of Tartai's authority. Although he was worried, Chahan could not object to Tartai's words.

The red feathers in Tartai divided the left and right wings, stopped arguing, and went back to their tents to sleep.

Chahan also returned to his residence, but he had no tent—none of the Terdun people below the leader had tents.

In winter, the weather turns cold, it is cold during the day and even colder at night, so ordinary tribesmen can only hold hot stones in their arms to keep warm.

Chahan's son and grandson also went out with the army this time. The father and son watched the bonfire and did not sleep.

"How is it? Father?" Chahan's son asked.

Chahan shook his head.

Looking at his son and grandson's eyes that were red from the smoke, the old man sighed heavily and lay down wrapped in his leather robe.

Chahan's grandson played hard with the horse dung and said angrily: "If we lose the battle, you and I will die. If we win the battle, the leaders will divide the wealth. They are like wolves who have finally tasted blood. Of course they will not

Let go easily."

"Shut up!" the middle-aged Hed man scolded his son in a low voice: "If that Yan hears it, pull out your tongue!"

"If he doesn't give up, I will talk about it all day." Chahan's grandson frowned and said to his father: "People who come and go say that in the Chihe tribe, even ordinary tribesmen can get wealth. But.

Tartai leader? He puts everything in his saddlebags and doesn’t give a single horseshoe to his men!”

The middle-aged Hed man couldn't stand up to his son and lectured angrily: "The Red River tribe is the Red River tribe, and the Tel Dun tribe is the Tel Dun tribe."

"All the Jin people are gone! What kind of Terdun tribe is there?!" Chahan's grandson became louder and louder as he spoke.

"Shut up!" The middle-aged Hed man flew into a rage, swung his arms and slapped his son hard in the mouth.

"boom!!!"

It was like thunder exploding in the ears, and the mouth shook so much that the earth trembled.

The horses neighed in fear, and old man Chahan jumped up suddenly, not as vigorous as an old man.

"What's the sound?!" Old Man Chahan's eyes widened like those of a cow.

"I..." The middle-aged Hed man was at a loss: "...Hit him in the mouth..."

"No!" Old Man Chahan shouted: "No!"

A flash of red light.

"boom!!!"

This time, the thunder exploded at the feet of Chahan's ancestors and grandson. Invisible fragments flew in the air, and a wave of air instantly pushed Chahan down.

Chahan's head hit something hard, his vision went dark and he lost consciousness.

Thirty meters away from the Tartai camp, Winters, whose hair was still wet, held up his saber and gave a stern order: "Get ready!"

Eighteen warriors crouched in the darkness behind Winters, each of them had purple lips and trembling bodies.

In front of Winters were four carefully selected burly warriors.

In order to avoid the Terton sentry post, twenty-two warriors followed Winters and swam across the river from two kilometers upstream holding sheepskin bags.

The Hurds probably didn't expect that they had inadvertently taught their enemies how to use sheepskin bags to gain buoyancy.

Four burly soldiers each raised a palm-sized iron-colored grenade to eyebrow height, with a long lead extending from the top of the iron ball.

Winters walked behind the four men. He did not strike the fire sickle, but the four gunpowder twists had already begun to burn.

"Throw!" Winters shouted.

Like discus-throwing competitors in ancient times, the four burly warriors strode forward, turned their bodies in a full circle, and used all their strength to push the grenade towards the Tartai camp.

The hissing grenade disappeared into the darkness, and Winters roared even over the dull explosion: "Again!"

The iron smelted by the young blacksmith Carlos from the iron peak ore was of poor quality and brittle. But Winters found a use for the brittle iron - making grenades.

Through improved technology, the weight of grenades produced in Tiefeng County has been reduced to less than 1kg.

The lighter weight eliminates the need to use the "hammer-ball" throwing method - that method is too dangerous, and the grenade will fly to the heads of friendly troops if you are not careful.

Everyone was running, the horses were neighing, and the Tartai camp was in chaos.

The horses were placed outside the camp with sticks and ropes on the tar platform of the cold-weather equipment to keep out the wind.

Strong light, gun smoke and loud noises, any one of them may cause the horse to lose control, let alone all three of them at the same time to stimulate the horse's senses.

A frightened horse possessed by the instinct to escape wildly kicked the surrounding horses, broke through the ropes, and ran towards the night.

More frightened horses ran rampant in the camp, trampling the crowd and spreading panic to more horses and people.

"Don't panic!" Tartai ran and shouted at the top of his lungs: "Open the rope fence! Disperse the horses!"

The rumbling military drums covered up the desperate cry of Tartai, and just one glance at the scene in front of them would make the knees of Tartai soldiers weak.

Hundreds - no, thousands of torches overflowed the river embankment like huge waves, rushed towards the river bank, floated to the surface, and pressed towards the west bank.

Actually want to cross the Bighorn River by force!

"How? How could it be?" Tartai grabbed a slave next to him who was trying to escape. With red eyes, he asked incoherently: "Beware of us! Two-legged people have to be careful of you and me! Why? They

Why cross the river?"

The usually submissive slave showed a fierce look on his face, pushed away the face, struggled to get on a horse without a bridle or a saddle, and walked away without looking back.

"Father!" Tartai's son, with two personal guards, suddenly found Tartai among the crowds of people running around: "What should I do?"

"False!" Tartai suddenly realized: "The Two-Legged Men definitely don't have so many soldiers, and those torches are all fake!"

"What should we do?"

"Draw your sword! Mount your horse! Go to the river bank!" Tartai roared ferociously: "Come up and kill each one!"

At the same time, on the east bank of the Bighorn River, Bart Schalling's voice was no longer hoarse as a human voice, and he was still shouting at his best: "Shout! Shout! [Herd] Tartai is dead!"

In yesterday's dawn battle, the two armies suffered almost equal casualties.

The night before today, Winters took away twenty of his best sergeants and veterans.

Bart Shilling only had a little more than one company of soldiers left, and he was able to create such a huge momentum by pulling out all the men, women, and children who could walk in the Ox Hoof Valley.

The soldiers rode on a raft made of door panels and logs, waving their arms vigorously to paddle, and sailed towards the other side of the river.

The mobilized civilians did not have the courage to cross the river and fight, so all they could do was shout.
To be continued...