1840Indian rebirth

The soldier wanted to persuade again: "Many old people have become seriously ill or even died of illness."

"You are questioning one of the most outstanding shamans!" Mo Gu said angrily, and then emphasized again, "No one knows the plague better than me. My father is a survivor of the plague, and I have studied it for fifty years.

Three years of medical skills.”

He picked up the mask and put it into the hands of the soldiers: Put away your rudeness, young man, and this so-called mask!"

"...Failure to follow my advice will be the tribe's biggest mistake. You will inevitably pay a heavier price before you can understand the shamanic wisdom passed down from ancient times."

As he spoke, Mo Gu let out a long sigh, his expression melancholy and complicated. It was obvious that he truly believed what he said.

The soldier finally had no choice but to say nothing, turned and left the room.

Soon, most people in Sleeping Bear City, including prisoners, were wearing masks.

Only a few people insist on not wearing them, and they all believe in a similar concept - masks that cover the face will make the plague more terrifying.

Traditionally, Indians generally like to apply various paints on their faces to express victory, funeral, prayer and other meanings.

The reason why Indians were once considered red people was because they often painted their bodies with red paint, which led white people to mistakenly think they were born with red skin.

Since it is a pattern painted on the face, of course it must be made public.

Wearing a mask to cover up the pattern is equivalent to invalidating the pattern. Therefore, these people insist on refusing to wear masks in order to protect the patterns on their faces and to express some kind of resistance or independence.

What happened next was not unexpected. Stricter isolation and disinfection, as well as the popularization of masks, made the spread of the plague more ineffective, and the number of new infections dropped rapidly.

And those who insist on not wearing masks have become relatively vulnerable to infection.

Most of the new infections later came from these people who did not wear masks.

"Zhanbo, how is the current production of pistols?" Ma Shao asked while sitting in the chief's hall, writing at his desk.

“It has been basically unaffected by the plague.” Zhanbohui reported, “Now we can produce 800 revolvers per month. Before March, we will definitely be able to produce 1,500 to complete Santa Fe’s order.

"

"Well done." Ma Shao nodded.

Apache Arsenal has basically escaped the impact of the plague. This is not because the epidemic has passed, but mainly due to the characteristics of the distributed assembly line.

The distributed assembly line, which refers to the military production model of later East Asian island countries, is originally decentralized and does not require the concentration of a large number of people. Production can continue even in a state of national isolation.

The only trouble is to find substitutes for the infected workers. This is not difficult to solve. There are more than twenty infected workers in total. It is not a difficult job and it is easy to find someone to take over.

Mashao had always thought that the distributed assembly line was just a temporary solution, but now he found that it performed well during the epidemic, and he couldn't help but re-examine the significance of this production model.

In some areas, this model may exist for a long time, at least as a supplement to the centralized pipeline.

Zhan Bo asked: "Great Chief, after the production of 1,500 pistols is completed, will the arsenal continue to maintain production?"

"Of course." Ma Shao replied, "With the performance and price of Browning 1845, we can sell at least 10,000 units in the next two years."

"If the war goes on more intensely than I expect, 34,000 are possible."

After a pause, he continued: "Even if we don't increase the price and sell it at twenty-five dollars, the profit will be fifteen dollars per unit. If we sell ten thousand units, it will be a net income of one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Thirty thousand units will be four

One hundred and fifty thousand dollars."

"So we not only have to maintain production, but also increase production. This is also training workers and allowing more Apaches to join industrial production."

At this moment, the shaman Gray Stone came to the chief's hall - Gray Stone was the first person to recover, had antibodies, and was a shaman doctor, so he is now the main person in charge of epidemic prevention.

"Great Chief, Grinding Bones is infected." Gray Stone said.

Ma Shao was startled, then raised his head and asked, "When did it happen?"

Gray Stone's expression was both sympathetic and somewhat sarcastic: "He was infected at least three days ago, but he delayed coming to the hospital until today just to save face. Now he is almost dying."

Zhan Tong said disdainfully: "Is this old moth finally going to die? I remember the last time I saw him, he was still preaching that no one understands the plague better than him!"

Hui Shi nodded: "I'm afraid so. He's nearly sixty years old and smokes and drinks again. This time he's seriously ill and he probably won't be able to survive."

Ma Shao thought for a moment, stood up and said, "I'll go see him."

Then he followed Hui Shi to the ward and saw Mo Gu lying on the bed, coughing and wheezing in pain.

"Cough-cough cough cough!" At this moment, Mo Gu was coughing and shaking all over, sweat dripping from his forehead, his eyes were blurred, and his gray hair was so dry that it looked like it was exploding.

"Grinding bones." The horse whistle took a few steps closer.

Grinding Bones tried hard to calm down his coughing and wheezing, his eyes regained some focus, and he looked at Ma Shao: "Big... Chief... I..."

When he spoke, his tone fluctuated, his eyes were earnest, and his trembling voice sounded almost like crying.

When a person is about to die, he speaks well. At this moment, the horse whistle also felt a little compassion for this veteran moron.

However, Mo Gu's next words made his sympathy disappear instantly.

Just listen to Grinding Bones say with difficulty: "I... I contracted the plague not because of poor medical skills, but because of God's will. Good people don't live long!"

Horse whistle: "..."

"I advise you...repent as soon as possible and don't let Apache fall down anymore." The bone-grinding body twitched and he exerted all his strength.

The horse whistle still said nothing.

Mo Gu was in a daze, looking up at the roof: "The Great Spirit is calling me, and I am about to go to heaven. I have one more request, the Chief... please do not cremate my body... but bury it."

On a mountain with three peaks in the south, I dreamed that it was my destination."

"I understand." Ma Shao replied calmly.

After hearing these words, a bit of relief appeared on the bone-grinding face, and he gradually lay down, closed his eyes, and accepted the call of the Great Spirit.

After a while, he stopped moving.

The horse whistle asked: "Is he dead?"

Hui Shi stepped forward to check and nodded: "He's dead. He has no heartbeat and breathing."

As he spoke, he hesitated: "Great Chief, do we really want to bury the grinding bones in the south?"

"Of course, like all corpses in the plague, they were cremated directly." Mashao has been promoting cremation for a long time, not to mention the current epidemic.

In fact, what he most wanted to implement was a default donation system. Unless the deceased or his family members explicitly objected, all remains would be donated, similar to the organ donation system implemented in Spain in later generations.

However, there is no technology for organ transplantation yet, and the Indians do not have the ability to conduct anatomical research, so cremation is the only option for the time being.

"Remember to burn it thoroughly." Ma Shao said again.