At the hitching post, he studied the tracks, though kept an eye on the saloon. Something had spooked the horses. A few others had slipped away, along with his faithful mustang. Those who escaped capture had fled in different directions. He followed the plurality of them, swore to return for his constant companion. Through the streets he followed, trail easy to see. So chaotic was the hoof prints, he expected to see a local on the ground, with brains kicked out.

"No wonder they don't keep horses," Cassidy marveled, but felt icy claws trail his back, hot blade in the guts.

It struck him; a bloody stench over a low rot. Buzz of flies crawled into the ears, and the bounty hunter jerked back. Over pressed lips he pulled the bandanna. Lightning fell to the earth like an angel expelled from Heaven; calamitous thunder followed in its wake as condemnation. A knot held the door to the barn closed, intricate and sturdy, but he cut it with his well-honed blade. It swung wide and easy, a whine of hinges low. The locals of Lamp light had savaged the horses, tore the beasts asunder. "Insane, inbred maniacs," he coughed and saw teeth marks, where the townsfolk had partially eaten them alive. He shook his head, for no man or beast should suffer such a fate.

Again, the whistle pierced the night, cry raised goosebumps. Rain drops fell, bloated and crimson in lantern's light, heralded by the shrill call of the train. Flash of lightning lit the night, and Cassidy drew his gun, faithful in war and hunt. Travelers must be warned, he swore, and ran to the saloon.

Unruly tumult of the feast had grown. Through the open doors he charged, halted, and nearly tripped. The locals had fallen upon the weary travelers. Four held a man, who still ate with eyes wide. They'd broken off part of a lamp, which wiggled in the hands, freshly hatched. The pudgy larvae latched onto the man at the base of the neck, between the shoulder blades. It was where the townsfolk had their grotesque humps, groaned Cassidy. In the man's voracious eyes there was an immediate shift, and to Cassidy's horror, it shifted to be like Leviticus Woodbine. Deep in a mind numbed horror, the bounty hunter saw the wayfarers devoured or converted.

Cassidy's stomach revolted, and once again thanked whatever grace there was above that he'd eaten nothing. Townsfolk of Lamp Light turned, hissed in a high whistle, though buzzed and clicked underneath. Vestigial wings spread, delicate. They thrummed to cast off black scales that the bounty hunger mistook as dander. Back he staggered a step, gun rose in his hand. As the train blew its scabrous call, he fired. Their heads were ruins from the nose up.

Out into the street he retreated. Other townsfolk were too busy with their meals, or the conversion of the unfortunate travelers. Rain beat against this slouch hat, deafened him, yet he could still hear the sound of teeth on flesh, felt munch of bone. He staggered away, focused on Matilda. They would have to flee to the coming train, which would arrive at any moment. As he ran, he reloaded the revolver, a trick well-learned.

Through the storm he ran. Flash of lightning turned every shadow monstrous, just to be swallowed by darkness. Head down, he plowed through rain, searched for any pursuer. Only a flick of pallid white, ivory flesh, but it was gone in an instant. Deep in the town, angry clicks buzzed out to be echoed through streets, beaten down flat by the torrential rain. At least I can no longer taste it, Cassidy counted the hollow blessing in bitter gratitude. Small fists of droplets struck, sound filled his ears, as it soaked down to skin. Sticks of dynamite were in an oiled cloth, so they wouldn't be wet.

To the house he flew, where Matilda waited. She held up the large revolver, though it was steady. Seeing it was Cassidy, she lowered it, "You look like someone danced on your grave."

"We must go," he said, although his chest heaved, but tried to calm himself. Her children hid behind her at his words, and the wild gaze. "The train," he said as another shrill blow from the whistle cut the air, all jerked at the curdled note, "it's nearly here."

"Okay," she nodded, "but a moment." Matilda left for a minute, but returned in a man's garb. "I found it. I run and ride better in breeches."

Cassidy smiled, "I'll get you to the train."

Back into the storm they hurled themselves, swallowed by the chaos. The bounty hunter held up his revolver with Matilda at his side. Rain blinded in its fury, but at this Cassidy smiled. Under such an assault, anyone trying to track them would find it impossible. Before them, others ran to the station having secreted them away. Caught in flashes of light, shadows lurched through the streets, lamps held high. The crimson glow caught in their eyes. He cursed, swore an oath, and pleaded for whatever listened to intercede on their behalf. They reached the station, harried travelers held guns up, as the train drew into sight.

"Oh God," Cassidy breathed, though a dark part laughed uproariously.

Lightning dazzled the scrub brush desert, fire danced up to be smothered down. In the brief revelations of light, the 3:10 to Cimarron was revealed. Front was a skull of the black matter, though this one had two glowing, gimlet beams, which burned in the night like the eyes of Lord Split Foot, the Devil. An abomination of steel, wood and dark secretion, it blew through the darkness, as if it sought to devour the town along with its people. Thick smoke flecked with black scales, billowed from the nasal cavities. Miquipapalotl's grave likeness was painted on the face in a pallid white of a waxen corpse. Its spine trailed down the carts, ribs gripped it. So horrific was its visage, all those who fled Lamp Light only stood in stupefied awe of the malevolent locomotive. Even Cassidy was struck by the scene before him into inaction.