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Then her breath was stolen away when she saw the remains of tepees a short distance from the river. The poles were like the bones of skeletons sticking up from the ground.
Could this be . . . ?
A groan behind Shoshana caused her to turn quickly in the saddle.
She went pale and gasped when she saw a hatchet lodged in the young major’s chest, his eyes wide with disbelief.
She cried out when he suddenly tumbled from the horse to the ground, dead.
Frozen with fear, Shoshana remembered her father’s warnings about Mountain Jack, the scalp hunter! Could he have done this terrible thing to the kind young major?
Was . . . she . . . next?
With a pounding heart, and a fear so keen she felt cold all over even though the day was miserably hot, she grabbed her rifle from her gunboot, but dropped it in the next instant. A voice shouted at her from a nearby stand of aspens, telling her not to do anything foolish or she would be the next to die.
“Dismount,” the killer shouted at her in a gravelly voice. “And stay away from that rifle.”
Her knees trembling with fear of who might come out into the open, and horrified by Major Klein’s death, Shoshana slid slowly from the saddle.
She eyed the rifle. It was only a footstep away.
“Kick the rifle away from you,” the hidden man told her.
She did what he said, although reluctantly.
Then she watched as a sandy-whiskered man on a white horse rode out into the open, his rifle aimed at Shoshana. It didn’t take much thought to realize that this was the scalp hunter.
This was Mountain Jack! There was no doubt that it was he.
He’d been described as having sandy, bushy whiskers and a white horse. She observed that he also had steely cold gray eyes.
From even this distance, she could smell the stench of the soiled buckskin attire he wore.
“You murdering bastard,” Shoshana found the courage to say.
“You just shut up,” Mountain Jack growled out. “For now, I only want the major’s scalp. But if you say anything else to rile me, I’ll also take yours and be done with you.”
The realization that the man was going to scalp the young major made Shoshana turn her head away with the need to vomit.
She recalled George telling her that the scalp hunter not only killed Apaches for their scalps, but also white people who had dark hair. The young major had hair the color of an Indian’s, and it was almost as long.
“You are Mountain Jack, aren’t you?” she asked guardedly. “You’re the scalp hunter that everyone is talking about.”
“Yep, I’m that famed man,” he said, riding closer on his white mare. “But like I said, shut up or I’ll scalp you to shut you up.”
Shoshana fought the fear that was building within her.
But she had to pretend to be strong, even though every bone in her body was weak with fear of what this evil man might decide to do to her.
“You’ll never get my scalp,” she said bravely, defying him, her eyes again on her rifle.
“Just you try to grab that rifle and you’ll see how quickly your scalp can be loosed from your head,” Mountain Jack growled out. “I don’t want to be forced into doing what I don’t want to do. I have other plans for you first.”
“What . . . plans?” Shoshana gulped out, her courage waning. “You aren’t going to rape me, are you?”
“I don’t reveal my plans before doin’ ’em,” Mountain Jack said sardonically as he dismounted his steed. “You’d best get back on your horse and turn your head if you don’t want to see the soldier lose his hair.”
When he bent to a knee beside Major Klein, his knife drawn from its sheath, Shoshana felt a strange, rubbery weakness in her knees.
