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The Werewolf Banditos, Part IV


As the werewolves all funneled to that narrow gorge,
the brush was pulled away, revealing a cannon’s bore,
the beasts were to furious to see they were caught,
Bob pulled back on the cord, fired silver grape-shot.

Small spheres of silver shot out like a big shot-gun,
carpeting the eight monsters in their frantic run,
the beasts were thrown backwards, the silver cutting deep,
only one of the monsters managed to keep his feet.

The rest all went down, with painful howls they died,
the survivor couldn’t walk, but he desperately tried.
Sol turned and looked down, at predators turned to prey,
and saw the last survivor wore the vertebrae.

Sol turned to Bob, motioned to the dying monster,
said,”After what this fool did, none would call in murder.”
Bob took out his gun, and with his heart thumping fast,
sent Alamo Rick to hell with one mighty blast.

And in the moonlight they saw the bodies returns
to the forms of men who had met the fate they earned.
“Deals with the devil always seem to end like this,
it all starts out with power, then leads them amiss.”

It was the next morning when the town all came out,
the sight of ruined bodies snuffing out all doubts,
some thanked Sol for his courage, but some were afraid,
some called him a mad killer, while others just prayed.

For several weeks after Sol remained in town,
he slept with the line-girls, drank lots of whiskey down,
until one day a post-riders gave him a small slip,
he frowned and prepped his horse for a very long trip.

But before he left, he came up to Bob Harney,
said,”Write to this address if you ever need me.”
Without another word his horse loped down the road,
Bob watched him, not knowing where the man might next go.

The reverend found him their, and saw his confusion,
said,”It’s his job, and he’s done it for a while son.
Did you think only evil can flew its power?
That God would leave us alone in our darkest hour?”

He clapped Bob on the shoulder, and left him to his thoughts,
pondering what he’d seen, and all that they had wrought.
Bob folded the address, slipped it into his vest,
and headed back towards his house, in need of some rest.

Copyright © David Welch