Your folks were human vermin
who deserved everything they got!
FOUR GRAVES IN SHILOH
A young woman, naked except for her boots, lay helpless among her torn clothes while two men knelt beside her, pinning her like a heifer about to be branded. A red-haired ranny with stubble covering his freckles held a lamp above her writhing, twisting body. A younger man, his eyes burning with lust, clutched the woman’s legs with both hands and spread them.
Bent over the woman was an older man, huge and barrel-chested, staring down at his prey with heavily hooded eyes. His buckskins were in a crumpled heap on the floor of the wagon, his unwashed longjohns down around his hairy knees. The man holding the lamp began to giggle.
“Now, little one, don’t you go pretendin’ this is the first time for you . . .”
“You scum!” Lydia wept. “You filthy scum!”
“Keep on callin’ us names — we like our women to show some spirit,” the redhead taunted her.
Jordan thumbed back his gunhammer, the sharp, metallic click freezing the three men like concrete statues.
“The way I hear it, the lady’s not a willing participant . . .”