Goyle Country

"They're not really made of stone," Garret informed us. "It just looks like they are. That rough, pebbly hide of theirs looks like the rock, aye. But that's what you call camouflage. Helps 'em blend in. Especially during the day, since that's when they sleep. They just wrap those great big wings around themselves, and they look just like a boulder. 'Cept, you know, they'll still wake up and claw your eyes out if you try to climb on 'em. They've got these wicked claws, you see." He mimed some with his fingers. "Two, three inches long, some of 'em, and sharp as a razor. And the teeth! They'll crack your bones open like eggs."

"And just how did you get to know so much about gargoyles?" Henley wanted to know. He leaned forward in his saddle and fixed our companion with an intensely suspicious look. "Aren't they supposed to kill anyone they catch trespassing?"

I shifted my weight uncomfortably. My carbine was close at hand, and if swords didn't get through gargoyle skin bullets sure as hell did. I still didn't want to have to use it. Thing was, were were headed right for gargoyle country. On purpose, no less. 

Garret shrugged and replied nonchalantly. "A little bit of practical experience and the collected knowledge of dozens of men who've tangled with a 'goyle and lived to tell about it."

"Get many of those, do you?" I asked hopefully. 

Garret twisted around in his saddle so he could look back at me. "Don't worry about it, kid. If we do this right you won't have to worry about how you stack up in a fight against one."

"Yeah." I went back to scanning the horizon for signs of 'goyles, as Garret called them. All I saw was rock and dirt and scrub brush, with the occasional stunted tree thrown in for excitement. Actually, there were quite a lot of rocks. Lots of big, odd rocks. "Um. Henley? Garret? Are those...?"

"You bet they are," Garret said without so much as looking around. "Don't panic, now. All we have to do is wait for one to get up and say hello."

"And then?" Henley asked, hand on the six shooter he wore at his belt. 

"Why, then we give 'em what's in the box your young friend is carrying, and hope real hard they're in a talking mood."

The End

0 comments about this story Feed