Quote, Blood Moon: A Captive’s Tale by Ruth Hull Chatlien

One of the Sioux lunges for a private’s rifle, which fires into the air. Enraged, the warrior grabs the private’s hair, unsheathes a knife, and lifts it to his scalp. The private drops his rifle and grabs the Indian’s wrists, but he can’t free himself. “Sweet Mother of God,” he shrieks.

From Blood Moon: A Captive’s Tale by Ruth Hull Chatlien. Read more here!

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