Magnificent Guns of Seneca 6 by Bernard Schaffer Page B

dirt, then screwed the cap back on and went inside.  
     

 

     
    Chapter 7:    Men in Masks
     
     
     
    They put her in a cage.   A hollowed out wagon with barred windows and no seats.   Filthy, bug-infested straw littered the bare floorboards.   Ruth’s voice was nothing but a bloody scratch on the inside of her throat, worn out from shrieking at the sight of Willard Davis’s body flopping violently on the ground as the savage sliced through his forehead.   Willard lived throughout the ordeal, even as the Beothuk grabbed the last handful of loose skin and ripped it free then held it up in the air like some kind of trophy.   Willard screamed until finally one of the other natives walked over and put a bullet through his forehead.  
     
    Ruth wished she could cut the image out of her eyes.   It was like they’d become camera lenses and stayed open too long gawking at the sight of Willard’s agony until it was burned into them like photographs.   She wrapped her hands around the rusted bars covering the wagon’s windows and looked out at the natives on destriers surrounding them.   All of the women were packed inside of the caged wagon with her.   Elizabeth Hall had vomited all over her shirt and the stench made Ruth’s eyes water.
     
      She tried to see what had happened to the men from their church but could not see anything past the bare-chested riders.   They must be alive, she thought grimly.   I haven’t heard any more screaming.
     
    Elizabeth shoved Ruth out of the way and pressed her face against the iron bars, “Let us out!”   She yanked and pulled on the bars feverishly but it did little more than knock the rust off the bars until specks of it glittered in the sunlight.  
     
    Ruth got to her feet and laid her hand gently on Elizabeth’s elbow.   “Do not give up your faith, sister,” she whispered.
     
    Elizabeth’s face filled with rage, “What faith?   Don’t you understand?   Willard was wrong!   He was wrong about everything!”
     
    “I don’t believe that.”
     
    Elizabeth choked on her words as she staggered back and put her hand against the wall to keep herself upright as the wagon rocked them side to side.   She grabbed handfuls of her hair and bellowed, “Let me out of here!”
     
    Ruth returned to the window to see what effect Elizabeth’s frantic screeches had.   None of the Beothuk seemed to notice.  
     
    ***
     
    Toquame Keewassee looked back at the wagon and frowned.   “Do they have water?”
     
    The warrior next to him nodded and said, “There are skins inside of the wagon, but they will not drink them.”   Comee turned around in his saddle and said, “The ugly one is screaming again.   Do you want me to make her silent?”
     
    “No.   That will send the others into a panic.”
     
    “White women,” Comee said bitterly.
     
    Keewassee touched the necklace of colorful crystals around his neck that he’d taken from the wasichu’s dead body.   There was a yellow strand of hair tangled in the stones, the same color as the mass of blonde, bloody hair dangling from his saddle.   He picked up the scalp and turned it over to inspect the ruined flesh along the underside.   He spread the skin out on his saddle to dry in the sun and said, “We will meet up with the masked one past the mountain.   They will be silent soon enough.”
     
    ***
     
    The wagon stopped and Ruth immediately lifted her head, “What’s going on?”
     
    The other women were asleep on the floor, curled up to one another with the dark hay scooped up against them, drawn in like birds building a nest.   Ruth pulled herself to the window.   The sun was setting.   The sky was luminescent in blue and purple and the Beothuk were tending something over a lit fire.   They’re going to eat us, Ruth thought.   She opened her mouth to scream and stifled it with her fist.   She looked back at the other women and her first thought was, If I let them sleep, they’ll stay