Steampunked by Joe R. Lansdale

strong point. All they really knew was what the Dark Rider told them, and a good, old-fashioned, direct ass whipping. The Webb rifles cracked. Arrows flew. Moorlocks went down. But still they closed, and soon the fighting was hand to hand. The Moorlocks were strong and would have won, had not their leader, Asshole, leaping up and down and shouting orders, received one of John Feather’s arrows in the mouth.
    Asshole, still talking in his barking manner, bit down on the shaft, shattering teeth, then, appearing more than a bit startled, turned himself completely around and fell on his face, driving the shaft deeper, poking it out of the back of his neck.
    In this instant, the Moorlocks lost courage and bolted.
    The Dark Rider came then, called: “Get the fuck back here, or I’ll impale you all myself.”
    These seemed like words of wisdom to the Moorlocks. They turned and began to stalk forward. Beadle picked out the Dark Rider and shot at him, hit him full in the chest. The bullet went through him with a jerk of flesh, an explosion of cloth and dust.
    The Dark Rider, though knocked down and dazed, was unharmed.
    Slowly, the Dark Rider stood up.
    “That’s not good,” said Beadle.
    “No,” John Feather said. “It’s not. I guess tonight is a good night to die. And while we’re at it, if we’re gonna go, I must tell you something, Beadle.”
    “What?”
    “I’ve always wanted to fuck you.”
    “Huh,” said Beadle, and John Feather let out with a laugh and loosed an arrow that took a Moorlock full in the chest, added: “Not!”
    Amidst laughter, Beadle began to fire, and the Moorlocks began to drop.
    But the ole Dark Rider, he just keep comin’ on.
    *****

The Dark Rider was on them in a rush. He tossed John Feather hard against Steam’s head, grabbed at Beadle, missed, grabbed at Blake who was hitting him with his crutch.
    When Beadle regained his feet, the Dark Rider had Blake down and was poking at his ass so hard with the crutch, he had ripped a hole in his pants.
    Before the Dark Rider could impale him, Beadle shot the Dark Rider in the back of the head. It was a good shot. No blood came out, just some skull tissue, and the Dark Rider flipped forward and over and came up on his feet, hatless.
    He reached down and picked up his hat, dusted it on his knee, and put it on. He looked mad as hell.
    *****

John Feather had recovered. He let loose an arrow and it struck the Dark Rider in the chest with a thump, stayed there. The Dark Rider sighed, snapped the arrow off close to his chest.
    The Moorlocks surrounded them.
    The Dark Rider said, “And now it ends.”
    Then the Moorlocks swarmed them. Shots were fired, an arrow flew. But there were too many Moorlocks. In a matter of seconds, it was all over.

(7)
    Getting the Shaft
    They were carried away to a place outside of the museum, stripped nude, tied with their hands behind their backs, then surrounded by Moorlocks.
    Though Hamner was dead, he was the first to be impaled. His body was partially feasted on by the Dark Rider and the Moorlocks, then he was raised into the moonlight with a freshly cut wooden shaft in his ass. The end of it was dropped into a prearranged hole. His dead weight traveled down the length of the stake and the point of it gouged out of his right eye. He continued to slide down it until his bloody buttocks touched the ground.
    Second, the Dark Rider, out of some perverse desire for revenge, had Steam impaled. A large, sharpened tree was run through the trap door in the steam man’s ass, poked through his neck, then the battered, steeple-topped head was placed on top of the stake.
    With arms tied behind their backs, Beadle and his Moorlock head, John Feather, and Blake, who could not stand because of his leg, awaited their turn. The Moorlocks were salivating at the thought of their blood and flesh, and Beadle was reminded of a pack of hunting hounds at feeding time. He regretted that he had not gotten to his derringer in time, but the