As she shook the head dry, she heard someone coming and stood, one hand on the grip of her six shooter and the other holding the head by its long hair. She looked like Perseus standing there.
The prospector seemed to know the story, as he averted his eyes from the head, looked down at the ground and held up his hands in surrender.
He was a gringo and the first one Maria had met, other than the priest. He wore heavy work clothes of canvas and pulled a mule along behind him. He did not expect to find another human being out here, let alone a beautiful female holding a severed head.
Maria returned to her task and wrung out the burlap bag. She put the head in and tied it off.
“That fellar’s seen better days.” Maria's Trail