The Scalp Hunters by David Thompson

over whose way is best?”
    Dega had a lot to ponder. He was still pondering when cottonwoods framed the horizon. He called to Evelyn.
    Evelyn heard him, but she didn’t slow. Since it was her idea to talk to the two warriors, she should take the risk of approaching them. She rode faster.As she entered the trees, she spied two horses. She plastered a smile of greeting on her face and made sure to point her rifle at the ground so the warriors wouldn’t get the wrong impression. She caught sight of the blue of a stream and heard the gurgling of water. Then she was in a clearing and saw a dead warrior on the ground in a pool of fresh blood and another warrior bound about the legs and a man who appeared to be a Negro or part Negro about to bash in the bound warrior’s head with the stock of his rifle.
    All this Evelyn took in at a glance. If she was surprised, so were they. No one moved. She thrust out her Hawken and thumbed back the hammer. “Hold it right there!”
    Plenty Elk was astonished that the white woman would come to his aid. Yet that appeared to be exactly what she was doing. He expected the black man to fight. Instead, Rubicon whirled and was in among the cottonwoods in several long bounds.
    Evelyn could have shot him. A light squeeze of the trigger and he was dead. But she refused to take a life unless she had no recourse. The black man looked back as the underbrush swallowed him. He grinned, as if he found it amusing that she hadn’t done anything.
    Dega arrived. He had seen the black man disappear into the vegetation, but he didn’t go after him. His concern was for the girl he cared for.
    Evelyn dismounted and went to the bound warrior. Drawing her knife, she slashed the rope around his legs, then stepped back.
    Plenty Elk had been dazed by his friend’s death. He had been dazed by the blow to his head. Now he was dazed again. He slowly sat up. “I do not know what to say.”
    Evelyn had heard Arapaho spoken a few times at Bent’s Fort and elsewhere. It was unlike any other tongue. To confirm her hunch, she propped her rifle against her leg and signed, ‘Question. You Arapaho?’
    There was no end to the shocks Plenty Elk was enduring. To be saved by a white woman was amazing enough. For her to know sign talk was beyond belief. He wondered if he was unconscious and dreaming. One glance at Wolf’s Tooth was enough to persuade him that it all was terribly real.
    â€˜Question. You Arapaho?’ Evelyn signed again when she didn’t get an answer.
    â€˜Yes.’
    Waku and the rest of his family came hurrying through the trees and drew rein.
    â€˜I called Blue Flower,’ Evelyn signed her Shoshone name. ‘Grizzly Killer my father. You know him?’
    Suddenly Plenty Elk understood. Yes, he had heard of the white Shoshone. A fierce fighter, by some accounts. It was said the man had taken a Shoshone woman as his blanket warmer and her tribe had adopted him. ‘Question. Your mother Shoshone?’ He asked because the white girl did not look as if she had a drop of Indian blood in her veins.
    â€˜Yes. My brother called Stalking Coyote. You know him?’
    Plenty Elk had heard of her brother, too. Campfire stories had it that the brother was savage and had counted many coup. ‘Yes.’
    Evelyn reckoned that her father’s and brother’s reputations would work in her favor. Few men would dare their wrath by harming her. ‘Question. Why your friend dead? Why black man try kill you?’
    â€˜Scalp hunter,’ Plenty Elk signed.
    Evelyn gave a start. If half the tales she’d heardabout scalpers were true, her friends were in dire peril. ‘Question. How many scalp hunters? Where them now?’
    Dega swung to the ground. He couldn’t talk with his fingers like they were doing. He must wait for Evelyn to tell him what was being said. In the meantime, he would show he was friendly.
    Plenty Elk was about to tell her