The Werewolf Banditos, Part Ii

II. When drinking one noontime broken Bob got a glance at one of Rick’s men, a thug named Dorado Vance, but what caught his attention was the bastard’s hat, in the stage he had seen the miner wearing that! Stumbling from the bar, a quick path did he beat, could it be these banditos were also the beasts? The though of such evil could overwhelm any man, so he ran to the chapel to find the Reverend. Reverend Hall was a man who had seen eighty years, and seen enough that he didn’t just dismiss Bob’s fears. When three night riders were found ripped up all to hell, Reverend took Bob aside, and this tale did he tell: “Bob, when I was a young man, back in Ohio, my town faced an evil what no gun could lay low, then the preacher who taught me wrote a man he knew, an ancient soul who did what others couldn’t do. “He fought the devil’s minions, and before he left gave me a simple card, written down, an address, said if we faced more terrors unfazed by the gun just write him a letter, when he could, he would come.” With those words he revealed a weathered, paper slip, the address written upon it in fancy script, said,”Alamo Rick is a foe law cannot fight, I see no more options, to that man I will write.” It took three weeks after he mailed the letter away, and nine more people were eaten in those dark days, when a drifter road in along Pelltown’s dirt track, his slouch hat, his frock coat, his two boots all were black. Yet despite this grim look his face held a smile, he looked too cheerful to have ridden long miles, and Reverend had started that the man was quite old, this guy looked maybe thirty, not at all what was told. He looked at the Reverend, said,”Hello, my old friend. I am so glad that I get to see you again.” Reverend looked up and said,”Sol, it’s been a while, and I wish I could welcome you in a fine style. “But your kind of evil is stalking our poor town, I’ve put too many innocents into the ground.” Sol said,”I hear you and already I can see the tell-tale signs of men cursed with lycanthropy.” Then he rode towards a man, one of Rick’s lesser guns, said,”I’m here to hunt werewolves, and you look like one.” The man looked surprised, went for his gun with a start, but Sol was much quicker, and shot him through the heat. He just yawned at the act as if this were the norm, said,”They’re easier to kill when in human form.” But the noise of the shot drew a crowd there right quick, and glaring with yellow eyes was Alamo Rick.