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III. He kept off the roads to avoid their eyes, through scrub and dry grass, onwards he did ride, skirting north of the ranch, behind a ridgeline, until he stopped to see what he could find. Sol crested the ridge in a bell crawl, not wanting to tip his hand, not at all, these badlands were empty, he was alone, what happened out here, none would ever know. At the ridge-top, field glasses he took out, scanning the ranch below in a slow scout, he saw the ranch-house, half-burned and undone the barn painted red, blood dry in the sun. And yet the bunkhouse stood stubbornly still, cowpunchers outside, just sitting a spell, and knew that they now were just demon-hosts, the men they once were now hell-tortured ghosts. He counted three plus the man that he’d met, it seemed they did not suspect a threat yet, they just sat there skinning a bawling calf, the pain of its torture making them laugh. But he ignored that, now scanning the land, and seeing it formulated a plan, a dam had been built on a nearby creek, a lake had been made for the cows to seek. In the center of it, a small island, maybe big enough to hold seven men, and from the bloated bodies of cows lying near the lake wasn’t deep, assuaging his fear. It would do just fine for what he had planned, he nodded and pulled his gaze from the damned, went back to his horse, and sought out some shade, waiting there until the end of the day. He heard them ride out when dusk has set in, undoubtedly to engage in some sin, but that was just fine, the ranch was quiet, he rode down slowly, took a look at it. Up close it was even more of a scene, the type of thin that haunted mortal dreams, the owner was stretched out, staked to the ground, his bones crushed by hooves that trampled him down. Was this the man who had written to him too late to avoid a fate dark and grim? Not that far away he found the man’s wife, she had been stripped naked, then burned alive. Thankfully he did not find any kids, he truly hated the times when he did, but these demons would prey on all ages, who they murdered next was anyone’s guess. So he set about attracting their gaze, we to their bunkhouse, kindling he laid, the blaze was so big they’d see if far off, and come riding back to see what they’d lost. He mounted his horse, and waited nearby, thirty minutes and he heard his foes ride racing back as he predicted they would, he just waited there, and silently stood... CONTINUES IN PART IV.

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Demon 'Punchers, Part Iii

III. He kept off the roads to avoid their eyes, through scrub and dry grass, onwards he did ride, skirting north of the ranch, behind a ridgeline, until he stopped to see what he could find. Sol crested the ridge in a bell crawl, not wanting to tip his hand, not at all, these badlands were empty, he was alone, what happened out here, none would ever know. At the ridge-top, field glasses he took out, scanning the ranch below in a slow scout, he saw the ranch-house, half-burned and undone the barn painted red, blood dry in the sun. And yet the bunkhouse stood stubbornly still, cowpunchers outside, just sitting a spell, and knew that they now were just demon-hosts, the men they once were now hell-tortured ghosts. He counted three plus the man that he’d met, it seemed they did not suspect a threat yet, they just sat there skinning a bawling calf, the pain of its torture making them laugh. But he ignored that, now scanning the land, and seeing it formulated a plan, a dam had been built on a nearby creek, a lake had been made for the cows to seek. In the center of it, a small island, maybe big enough to hold seven men, and from the bloated bodies of cows lying near the lake wasn’t deep, assuaging his fear. It would do just fine for what he had planned, he nodded and pulled his gaze from the damned, went back to his horse, and sought out some shade, waiting there until the end of the day. He heard them ride out when dusk has set in, undoubtedly to engage in some sin, but that was just fine, the ranch was quiet, he rode down slowly, took a look at it. Up close it was even more of a scene, the type of thin that haunted mortal dreams, the owner was stretched out, staked to the ground, his bones crushed by hooves that trampled him down. Was this the man who had written to him too late to avoid a fate dark and grim? Not that far away he found the man’s wife, she had been stripped naked, then burned alive. Thankfully he did not find any kids, he truly hated the times when he did, but these demons would prey on all ages, who they murdered next was anyone’s guess. So he set about attracting their gaze, we to their bunkhouse, kindling he laid, the blaze was so big they’d see if far off, and come riding back to see what they’d lost. He mounted his horse, and waited nearby, thirty minutes and he heard his foes ride racing back as he predicted they would, he just waited there, and silently stood... CONTINUES IN PART IV.