Year 1840.

United States of America, Midwest, an unformed territory.

On the slightly undulating field, there are dozens of conical cowhide tents, which are the most common dwellings of the Plains Indians, known as "ladderskins".

However, instead of enjoying the comforts of home, the Indians here were counted as corpses by a dozen white men armed with rifles, and the surrounding land was stained red with blood.

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

"I think the bounty is at least three thousand dollars, and don't forget these grown men, whose scalps are worth a hundred dollars...... Oh, and lo and behold, and the furs in their camp, which can be sold for a lot of money. ”

For a long time, the Americas had colonial governments issue bounties against the Indians, often based on severed scalps, and the price of the bounty varied from time to time and region, but it was generally expensive.

For example, the scalp bounty is $50 for women and children, and $100 for adult men. In this era, Americans were still mainly agricultural, and most people only earned about fifteen dollars a month, which was enough to be called a heavy reward.

Of course, it is not easy to get this bounty, especially against warlike Indians like the Apaches, and it is not uncommon to put yourself in it.

"A big bounty, we need a drink!"

The whites smiled like a harvest as they talked, and then drew their knives and began to reap their spoils, the scalps.

"Thank God ......"

Many of them were devout believers who were habitually praying at the moment. The scalps of dozens of Apache Indians, although mostly women and children, were able to share a bounty equivalent to a year's income for almost everyone.

The heart of the devout has only thanksgiving.

"Shet!" A young white man cursed suddenly, but he was annoyed that he accidentally injured his hand while cutting the scalp of the Indian.

"What's the matter, man, didn't you say you did this before?"

A little embarrassment flashed across the young man's face, and he turned back and said, "Come and help me, Connor, my hand hurts." ”

Connor was unkempt and unkempt, but he was clearly a veteran, carrying two full scalps of hair in his hands, but not a trace of blood on his clothes.

He smiled and walked over: "Look at it! ”

With that, Connor raised his hand and plunged the dagger into the back of the Indian's head, and then, as if he had just shaken his wrist from side to side, he made a neat cut.

Then he grabbed the hair on the top of the corpse's head with his other hand and pulled it hard, only to hear a crack, and the bloody scalp was torn off!

"How's it going, have you learned?"

The young man did not reply, but frowned, as if he had found something, and stared straight at some conical tent on the edge of the Indian camp.

At this moment, a thin figure with a naked upper body, black hair, and yellow skin burst out of the tent and ran desperately into the distance, he looked to be only eight or nine years old.

A child.

Or rather, fifty dollars.

"Ah, there's a fish that slipped through the net!"

Connor was the first to react, immediately putting down his scalp, picking up his gun and chasing after him.

But then someone said, "Connor, leave him alone, the Apache warriors of this clan seem to be coming back soon, and I think we need to retreat as soon as possible!" ”

"It's just a little guy, and it'll be fine soon!" Connor's voice drifted away.

The Apache boy was far away and ran as hard as he could, but it was obviously impossible to outrun an adult, and he was soon chased by Connor.

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

"Bang!"

Rifles, or rifled guns, although criticized by some for their slower reloading, have much better shooting accuracy than smoothbore guns by virtue of the rifling in the barrel.

The shot hit the Indian boy in the back, and his fragile body was immediately pierced by lead bullets, and blood splattered!

The little guy screamed and fell to the ground.

Connor didn't immediately go over to harvest the scalp, but out of a good habit he had cultivated over the years, he first replenished his rifle with ammunition.

Sixty grains of gunpowder were poured into the muzzle, and lead bullets wrapped in oiled paper were also stuffed into it, and then a small mallet and a whole strip were taken from the back, and the projectile was hammered into the barrel and stabbed to the bottom of the chamber to compact......

All in one go and well trained.

It took him just over half a minute before and after, yes, more than half a minute, and this speed was enough for him to become a qualified soldier.

With each quick reload, Connor exhaled slightly. This gave him a sense of security, and in fact, the habit saved his life more than once. For him, it was like God's blessing.

With that done, and making sure he could fire the next shot now, he walked over to the fallen Apache boy, took out his dagger again, and leaned over to cut his scalp.

However, as soon as he leaned over, he couldn't help but be stunned, and looked at the back of the Apache boy in disbelief - the gunshot wound there was gone!

"This ......"

Connor blinked vigorously, trying to dispel what he thought was the illusion, but sadly, it didn't seem to be.

And immediately after, something terrible happened.

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

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

Connor didn't know the language of the Apaches, but he was sure that it was definitely not the language of the Apaches, let alone English!

In fact, don't talk about him, on the North American continent at this time, there is probably only one in a hundred people who can tell what language this is.

This is a language from another hemisphere, Chinese.

Whoever speaks Chinese is naturally the soul of a Chinese.

“…… Hallucinations for so long before dying? Ma Whistle looked puzzled, his mind a little confused, but it seemed to be gradually sobering up.

Originally from 21st century China, he is a young middle school physics teacher.

Ma Whistle thought he was dead, at least in the process of dying, dying of illness, and when he was dying, he even heard the ticking of the electrocardiogram. The brain may not be dead yet, and it's normal to have some hallucinations.

But the hallucinations seemed too long, and he felt like it was at least ten minutes.

And why does it seem that the consciousness is still getting more and more sober...... Is it normal for people to be like this after they die?

"Ahh Suddenly there was a frightened and angry cry from behind, which frightened the horse whistle into a spirit, and suddenly regained seven or eight points of consciousness.

Instinctively, he dodged and narrowly avoided a dagger.

At the same time, the bearer of the dagger, a middle-aged white man, fell directly to the ground due to the pounce, and also stuck the dagger into his arm, and let out a terrified howl: "Ahhhh ”

The horse whistle looked at the white man in disbelief.

The man was dressed in an old-fashioned Western-style costume, as if he had traveled from an old American movie, and a breech gun that had been eliminated for at least a hundred years fell to the ground.

The guy was already paralyzed because of the wound on his arm, and inexplicable fear.

The horse whistle tried to get closer to him.

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

The religious atmosphere in the United States is strong, especially in this era, and the vast majority of people, even if they are not believers, have a certain reverence for religion.

Connor was a believer, and he was religious, so when he saw the horse sentry come back from the dead, he naturally thought of demons, and he couldn't think of any other explanation than demons—the Indians never got God's miracles, did they?

But he didn't completely lose his mind because of the pain and fear, and in his rapid breathing, his eyes noticed the rifle on the ground not far away.

No, you can't sit still! Even if the Indian kid in front of him is possessed by a demon, he has to fight for it!

The gun has just been loaded with ammunition and is ready to fire!

Connor mustered up his courage, overcoming his weakness, and rose from the ground, pounced on his rifle like a tiger.

Seeing this, Ma Sentry didn't have time to think about it, and hurriedly pounced on the rifle. Although he hadn't figured out the situation yet, he could still see the situation in front of him.

Connor picked up his rifle.

"Ahh But before he could shoot, the horse sentry slapped on the handle of the dagger, which made him scream miserably, and as soon as his hand was released, the rifle was snatched by the horse sentry.

Looking at the horse whistle with his gun aimed at him, Connor opened his mouth in a trance: "You...... Not a demon? ”

Demons, it seems that they don't know how to use guns, right?

Ma Whistle's English is not excellent, to be precise, it is very poor, but he understands this sentence.

There is no doubt that the white man in front of him wants to put himself to death, and he will naturally not be polite.

“Fuck you ，I'm god！” The whistle replied in broken English, and pulled the trigger as he spoke.

"Bang!"