The two weary riders slowly threaded their  horses  down the tiny street.  This  was  an  Oklahoma  farm   town consisting  of only a few houses,  a mercantile  store,  and   a    small church.   There  were  several heavy wagons,  buckboards, and plow horses drawn up in front of the church.
Bill  Matlin and Lupos were reaching the  end  of   a trail that extended back  to  the Badlands of Utah.   At the  other  end  of that trail there had  been  an  explosion  of  blood, murder,  and  violence.   They  were glad  to find the peace of the small farm community.
The  doors  of  the church flew open and  a  merry  crowd flowed onto the street.   It was obviously a wedding ceremony, just concluded.  The bride and  groom  led   with others of the party  showering  them  with   rice.
Happiness  shown   on   everyone’s face.
Lupos  started  to make a comment to Matlin  when  he  noticed the bride, staring at the heavily laden wagons, questioning her new husband closely.
Above the noise of the crowd,  Lupos heard her say,  “..Where? what of my work..teaching?”
Her  husband   told her,  “Just shut your  face,  Jesse,  and  get on the wagon.” He then mounted to the seat.
The  minister and,  apparently,  her father  was  now  enjoining  her  to climb on the big wheel.  Jerking her arm  from his grasp,  she flung some unheard  remark  at him.   The older man,  dressed  in black cloth,  gave her a short, wicked backhand stroke, knocking  her,  befuddled,  to   her knees.   Her   father    immediately grabbed  her  from behind and handed her up to the awaiting new husband.
Reaching  down  the young man placed one  hand  under  her   armpit   and grabbed  a  handful of her gown with the  other.   When he lifted her up, Lupos  could  hear  the fabric rend.
The  buttons of the bodice scattered in  the  dust  of the street and the lace  was  shredded,  leaving    her breast exposed to the delight of the onlooking little boys.
As  he  seated  Jesse  on  the  seat beside  himself,  she  could be seen regaining  her  senses.   Her white, chalky  face  then took on a hideous mask of unrelenting rage.   Throwing herself  on  the  man,  she sank her canine teeth,  now somehow enlarged, into  his  jugular vein.   Violently twisting her head from side to side, like a hungry lioness, the flesh was ripped and torn.
A  great  gout  of blood pulsed from his neck covering her white,  ripped gown  and  the  bare  flesh  of  her chest.   Grasping  his mortal wound, the  man   toppled  forward from the wagon seat. He fell under the hooves of  the  nervously trampling horses.  They immediately made a crimson pulp of his terror ridden face.
With  pieces  of  her husbands flesh clinging to her mouth, the beautiful young  woman   turned   the   fiery, inhuman  eyes  in a crimson blaze on her   father,  standing    awestruck beside  the   wagon wheel.   She was undergoing  some  unholy,  catatonic change as she snatched up the great, horse whip and slashed him downward, across  the  cheek  and  eye.
The braided rawhide cut the old flesh to the bone.  The slash emptied the eye of a clear,  jelly like matter.   It ran  down his mustache as his hard, once  piercing  eye slowly collapsed inward.   The  girl  screamed    her victorious obscenities to the world.
Again  and  again  she lashed out at her aged father.
Lupos  called  to  Matlin  over  the bedlam,  “Great  merciful   heavens, Bill..what type people are these?”
Matlin  muttered  in   a   disgusted voice, “Sodbusters!  Never know whut they gonna do.”
The  old  man  had by now managed to take a hold on the whip.   He ripped it  from  the grasp of his hideously transformed daughter.
Spreading his legs,  he  bludgeoned   her from the wagon  and  prostrated  her  on  the ground  with  the  heavy,   weighted handle.   There she lay, sodden with coagulating  gore.   Blood  trickled from her lips.  Her unconscious body twitched    spasmodically,    making strange patterns in the dust.
The  old man,  calling to his plump, crone  of a wife,  flew into action. He secured a rope from the wagon and together  they  pulled the grotesque form  which  had  once  been   their lovely  daughter  to the front porch of the mercantile store.
There, he hove  the  rope  over the large sign extending from the store front.
The  old  woman  wrapped  the  noose around  her  bad little girl’s neck.  Together,  struggling,  they managed to  pull  the  inert  body  off  the boardwalk.   When  they had her just clear of the boards, he tied the end of the rope to a post.
Jesse  quickly  began jerking to and fro  in  a   wild contorted dance of death.   He  eyes bulged as her face turned first a motley green and then a  rigor  blue.   The wild gyrations continued  until the life was slowly drained from her.
Matlin  said  sideways   to   Lupos, “Let’s git shut of this place.”
As  they gouged their mustangs,  the old man,  taking great strides, came athwart  of their path.   He was now brandishing  an  old civil war issue pistol.
He  yelled  at them,  “You ain’t riding out of here to tell the world of our little faults!”
The old woman followed at his heels, glancing  back  with   a   look   of satisfaction   at    her    daughter languidly  twisting  in   the   soft breeze.   As  she  reached  a  point directly  behind  her  husband,  the sign  supporting  the  late scene of justice,  broke  with  a sharp snap.  The body fell in an ugly mass on the walk.
The  old  man  gave a glance lasting only  a  moment to the refuse he had left.   It was more than enough time for  Matlin  to  pull  his  polished pistol.   He  bored  the man through his  good right eye,  blasting bone, brain,  and gore out the back of his head onto his wife.   She never knew it.   After  the massive lead bullet crashed out the back of her husbands head,  it   impailed   her    chest, embedding  itself  into  her  heart, killing  her  instantly.   She  died happily gazing at the wasted form of her child gone wrong.  The pair fell onto  the  dirt  filled  road  in  a crumpled heap of torn flesh.
The trailriders spurred their horses into  action.   Matlin’s  mount went through the defeated,  fetlock deep, scattering  skin and bone down their dusty  trail.   The  spectators  had fled into the buildings at the first sign  of   gun play.   The street now belonged  solely  to the bride,  the groom, and their immediate family.


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