1840 Indian Renaissance

1840.

United States of America, Midwest, an unincorporated territory.

On the slightly undulating plains, there are dozens of conical cowhide tents, which are the most common type of residence for the Plains Indians and are called "Tipis".

However, the Indians here did not enjoy the comfort of their homes. Instead, they were counted as corpses by a dozen white men armed with rifles, and their blood dyed the surrounding land red.

"We're rich, haha, these Apache scalps are worth more than two thousand dollars!"

"I think the bounty is at least three thousand dollars. Don't forget these grown men. Their scalps are worth a hundred dollars... Oh, and look, there are also furs in their camp, which can also be sold for a lot of money."

For a long time, colonial governments in America offered bounties on Indians. The bounties were often offered in the form of severed scalps. The price of the bounty varied by period and region, but was generally high.

For example, the bounty for a woman or child's scalp was fifty dollars, and the bounty for an adult male's scalp was one hundred dollars. In this era, Americans were still mainly engaged in agriculture, and most people only earned about fifteen dollars a month, which was enough to be considered a heavy reward.

Of course, it is not easy to get the bounty, especially when facing warlike Indians like the Apaches, and it is common to get yourself into trouble.

"A large bounty, we must have a good drink!"

The white people talked while showing smiles as if they had received a good harvest. Then they drew their knives and began to harvest their trophies - scalps.

"Thank God..."

There were many devout believers among them, and they prayed habitually. The scalps of dozens of Apache Indians, although most of them were women and children, could give almost everyone a bounty equivalent to a year's income.

There is only gratitude in the hearts of devout believers.

"Shit!" A young white man suddenly cursed. He was very angry because he accidentally hurt his hand while scalping an Indian.

"Why, man, didn't you say you'd done this before?"

A flash of embarrassment flashed across the young man's face, and he turned around and said, "Come and help me, Connor, my hand is injured."

Connor had an untidy beard and looked unkempt, but he was obviously an old hand. He was holding two intact scalps of hair in his hands, but there was not a trace of blood on his clothes.

He smiled and walked over: "Watch it!"

As he spoke, Connor raised his hand and stabbed the dagger into the back of the Indian's head. Then, he seemed to just shake his wrist left and right, and a neat circle of cuts appeared.

Then he grabbed the hair on the top of the corpse's head with his other hand and pulled hard. With a sound of tearing cloth, the bloody scalp was torn off!

"How is it, did you learn it?"

The young man did not answer, but frowned, as if he had discovered something, and stared at a conical tent at the edge of the Indian camp.

At this moment, a thin figure with a naked upper body, black hair and yellow skin suddenly jumped out of the tent and ran away desperately. He looked only eight or nine years old.

a child.

Or, fifty dollars.

"Ah, there is still a fish that slipped through the net!"

Connor was the first to react. He immediately put down the scalp in his hand, picked up the rifle and chased after him.

But at this time someone said: "Connor, don't worry about him. The Apache warriors of this clan seem to be coming back soon. I think we have to retreat as soon as possible!"

"It's just a little guy, he'll be fine soon!" Connor's voice faded away.

The Apache boy was quite far away and was running very hard, but it was obviously impossible for him to outrun an adult, and Connor soon caught up with him.

As the distance shortened, Connor raised his rifle and pulled the trigger.

"boom!"

Rifles, or rifled guns, are criticized by some people for their slow loading speed, but thanks to the rifling in the barrel, their shooting accuracy is much better than that of smoothbore guns.

The bullet hit the Indian boy right in the back, and his fragile body was immediately pierced by the lead bullet, with blood splattering everywhere!

The little guy screamed and fell to the ground.

Connor did not go over to harvest the scalp immediately, but out of good habit he had developed over the years, he first refilled his rifle with ammunition.

Pour sixty grains of gunpowder into the muzzle, then stuff the lead bullet wrapped in oil paper into it, then take a small wooden hammer and cleaning rod from the back, knock the bullet into the barrel and poke it to the bottom of the chamber to compact it...

Done in one go, well-trained.

It only took him more than half a minute. Yes, more than half a minute. This speed was enough to make him a qualified soldier.

Every time he finished reloading quickly, Connor couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. It gave him a sense of security. In fact, this habit had saved his life more than once. To him, it was like a blessing from God.

After doing all this and making sure he could fire the next shot now, he walked over to the fallen Apache boy, took out the dagger again, and leaned over to cut his scalp.

However, as soon as he leaned over, he could not help but be stunned, looking at the Apache boy's back in disbelief - the gunshot wound there was gone!

"This..."

Connor blinked hard, trying to dispel what he thought was an illusion, but unfortunately, it didn't seem to be an illusion.

And then, something terrible happened.

The Apache boy, who was supposed to be dead, actually got up as if nothing had happened!

The boy scratched his head, looked around blankly, and muttered something, as if no one was around.

Connor didn't understand the Apache language, but he was sure that this was definitely not the Apache language, let alone English!

In fact, let alone him, there was probably only one person in a hundred in North America who could tell what language this was.

This is a language from another hemisphere, Chinese.

Anyone who speaks Chinese naturally has a Chinese soul.

"...The hallucination before death lasted so long?" Ma Shao looked confused. His mind was a little confused, but he seemed to be gradually becoming clearer.

He comes from China in the 21st century and is a young middle school physics teacher.

Ma Shao believed that he was dead, or at least was dying, dying of illness. In his last moments, he even heard the beeping sound of the electrocardiogram. The brain may not be completely dead yet, so it is normal to have some hallucinations.

But this hallucination seemed too long; he felt it lasted at least ten minutes.

And how come his consciousness seemed to be getting clearer and clearer... Is this the case for normal people after death?

"Ah!" A shout of fear and anger suddenly came from behind, which frightened Ma Shao so much that he suddenly regained about 70% of his consciousness.

He dodged instinctively and narrowly avoided a dagger.

At the same time, the dagger's owner, a middle-aged white man, fell to the ground because he missed the target, and the dagger was inserted into his arm. He howled in fear: "Oh - God!"

Ma Shao looked at the white man in surprise and suspicion.

The man was wearing old-fashioned Western clothes, as if he had traveled from an old American movie. There was also a muzzle-loading rifle that had been obsolete for at least a hundred years lying on the ground next to him.

This guy was almost paralyzed because of the wound on his arm and the inexplicable fear.

Ma Shao tried to get closer to him.

"Don't come over here! You, you...devil! Devil!" Connor's voice was trembling and incoherent. He fell to the ground and tried to crawl backwards, but his legs and feet were not very obedient.

The United States has a strong religious atmosphere, especially in this era, most people, even if they are not believers, have a certain reverence for religion.

Connor was a believer, and a devout one at that. So when he saw Ma Shao coming back to life, he naturally thought of the devil. He could not think of any other explanation except the devil. Indians would never receive a miracle from God, would they?

But he did not completely lose his mind because of the pain and fear. While breathing rapidly, his eyes noticed the rifle on the ground not far away.

No, I can't just sit there and wait for death! Even if the Indian boy in front of me is possessed by a demon, I have to fight!

The gun has just been loaded with ammunition and can be fired at any time!

Connor mustered up his courage, overcame his physical weakness, climbed up from the ground, and pounced on his rifle like a tiger pouncing on its prey.

Seeing this, Ma Shao rushed to the rifle without thinking too much. Although he hadn't figured out the situation, he could see that it was a life-and-death situation.

Connor grabbed the rifle.

"Ah!" But before he could fire, Ma Shao slapped the handle of the dagger, causing him to scream. His hand loosened and the rifle was snatched away by Ma Shao.

Looking at the horse whistle that was pointing a gun at him, Connor opened his mouth in a trance: "You... are not a demon?"

It seems that demons can't use guns, right?

Ma Shao's English was not outstanding, to be exact it was very poor, but he understood this sentence.

There was no doubt that the white man in front of him wanted to kill him, so he naturally would not be polite.

"Fuck you, I'm god!" Ma Shao retorted in broken English and pulled the trigger.

"boom!"