John and Frank, the company hunters, faced the empty desk, waiting for the Northern Pacific's construction foreman. He pushed aside the flaps of the tent, strode to the table, and tossed two pouches onto it. The coins inside clinked as the bags landed with a thud. John and Frank exchanged glances, as they knew payday wasn't until next week.

The foreman sat at the desk, filled out some forms, and held them out to John and Frank. "Sorry, boys, the crew drove the last spike on this line a few days ago. The directors are looking to cut costs, and you two are it. I'll give you some time to pack your gear, then we're breaking camp. Good luck to you." John and Frank stared at the bags and their final pay slips as the foreman left.

Frank picked up a bag and bounced it in his hand. "Seems a bit light."

John shrugged. "It's better than nothin'."

"Maybe." Frank stuffed the pouch into his belt, hidden by his paunch. "What are you gonna do now, Johnny-boy?"

"I'm thinkin' about heading back down Arizona way. I grew up there, might as well look into getting a stake or punchin'. You?"

"Well, I ain't particular where I lay down, so I might ride along with you, if'n you don't mind."

"Nope, glad for the company."

They left the tent and walked to the bunkhouse the two had called home. As they packed their bedrolls, John wrinkled his nose and pinched it. "Frank, when did you last wash your clothes? They stink!"

"Last week. There ain't nothing wrong with 'em."

John shook his head as he watched Frank roll up his offal-stained butchering outfit. He stared at his own, held them to his nose, and took a deep breath. John shivered and tossed his rotting duds into the bunkhouse trash barrel. He finished gathering his gear and rifle and headed to the corral. Frank completed his packing and followed behind.

As John cinched his saddle, he called to Frank. "Let's stop at the sutler before he closes down and stock up. It's a long ride to Arizona."

Their mounts stood outside while the hunters filled their lists. John finished first and tied two sacks to the rear of his saddle. Frank followed soon after, carrying five.

"Looks like a lot there, Frank. Sure you need that much?"

Frank rubbed his ample belly. "I'm sure of it." He looked at John's meager purchase. "You sure you have enough? You're thin as a rail. Am I gonna have to tie you to your saddle to keep you from bein' blowed away?"

John laughed. "It'll do. Besides, it's a long way from here to Arizona. Don't want empty pockets to keep me from something I might fancy later down the trail."

"Johnny-boy, too much pocket money on the trail can lead to trouble. I learned that lesson when we stopped at Miss Kat's in Bozeman last winter. Now, I'd rather have food to keep me company."

John shifted in his saddle as he remembered the last time he had contact with Miss Kat. He also remembered the tincture of mercury afterward.

"What's the matter, Johnny-boy? Something bothering you?" Frank grinned.

"Nah, not anymore." John spurred his horse, leaving Frank in the dust.

While relaxing at their campfire that night, the pair watched as an object streaked across the desert sky. John followed its path with his finger.

"Look at that, a shooting star! It's headed down south, same as us. Gotta be a good omen."

Frank frowned. "Maybe. I don't put much stock in omens."

After a brief stay in Denver, they hit the trail. Their path meandered through New Mexico Territory, finally arriving at the Arizona border. As they rested, Frank pulled the stopper on his canteen and took a long drink. He shaded his eyes from the glare.

"I'm about out of food, Johnny-boy. Gonna have to hunt up something."

"You ain't gonna find much out here, a jackrabbit at most. You shouldn't have eaten so much."

"Yeah, but I'm a big man, Johnny-boy. I need to eat. I'm getting hungry."

John was about to say something, but a wave of his companion's hand silenced him. Frank stared intently into the distance.

"Shh, I see food." He slowly drew his rifle and let fly a shot at a distant animal. The jackrabbit exploded into a cloud of fur and flesh, eliciting laughter from John. Frank exploded. "Ah, I forgot to buy a new rifle before we left Montana!"

"Yeah, our buff guns are a might powerful for what we'd find here. Maybe trade for some '73s in Tucson."

John removed his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. A slight breeze offered little relief from the desert sun. He wiped his face and neck with his kerchief, then replaced his hat on his head. "Getting hot, Frank. Let's move on, find some shade."

"Suits me just fine." Frank nudged his horse, then jerked the reins, halting his advance. He fell silent and sniffed the air.

A tingle ran down John's back at the sudden stop. "What is it, Frank?"

"I smell food. Someone's a-cooking some fine smelling food." Frank took a deep breath. "It's coming from down that trail to the right. Let's head that way. I'm gonna follow my belly."

"Ain't nothing new about that, Frank."

Frank glared at John as he started off down the trail. "I tell ya, there's food ahead. My belly tells me so, and my belly's never wrong."

"Never?" John grinned. "Remember a couple days ago in the New Mex Territory at that old cantina . . . "

"You had to bring that up, didn't you?"

John smiled, recalling the night of his friend's gastric discomfort. "Your wind was howling so much that night I couldn't breathe."

"How was I to know there were extra beans and hot peppers in it? I don't speak Spanish." Frank snapped the reins.

As the two followed the trail, a signpost with strange writing appeared in the distance.

"That ain't English, ain't Spanish either." John pushed back his hat and scratched his head.

Frank shook his head. "Nothing I ever did see, Johnny-boy."

The remains of a burned out building lay just beyond the sign. Further away, a few buildings dotted the landscape. John looked at the debris. "Huh, animal tracks." He followed the trail with his eyes until the tracks faded, mingled with the normal traffic of a well-traveled trail. "Something strange about these tracks." He turned to Frank. "Don't rightly know, but they look funny."

Frank stared at the ground and shook his head. "I'm after food, Johnny-boy. I don't care about no tracks. My belly's growling." Frank gave the spurs to his horse.

John stared at the tracks for a few seconds, then caught up to Frank. The pair rode through the town up its only street. On one side, they saw a sheriff's office with a general store a few feet past it. The store had tools stacked outside. Every other building was a false front or incomplete. Construction on the other side of the street looked to be abandoned. The only other complete building was a saloon with a stable behind it. The sign read Your Trail's End. John and Frank saw a woman sweeping up in front. An older woman, big-boned, tanned, looking like she could take on any man who might try to challenge her.

She looked up from her sweeping and greeted them in a booming voice. "Howdy buckaroos! How are you this hot afternoon?"

The two replied, "Howdy. Just fine, thanks!"

She waved them over. "I'm Mrs. Phipps. This here's my saloon. Why not come in and rest a spell? You two look awful parched and trail worn! I'll fix you some drinks and vittles. Just put your hasses in the stable and come on back for some good eating."

"Thankee, ma'am." Frank tipped his hat and headed towards the stable as John followed behind.

Her welcoming smile faded as they passed.

"Hasses?" John looked at Frank.

"Maybe she's Dutch?"

John smiled. "Could be."

John and Frank put their mounts into the stalls, then stowed their tack, leaning their rifles against the wall.

Frank took a deep breath and sighed. "I sure hope the food's as good as it smells."

"I hope you're right. Knock on wood!" As John rapped his knuckles on a post, it rang with a metallic sound. He looked at the post. "What the . . . ? It doesn't seem to be wood!"

Frank snickered. "What's the matter, Johnny-boy? Ain't you ever heard of ironwood before?"

John stared at Frank for a few seconds. "Yeah, but this ain't wood. It's some kind of metal."

"So? You're a-keeping me from the food."

John looked around the corral as Frank brushed by. He shrugged, then followed his partner's lead back to the saloon.

The interior was dark as they pushed through the doors. A saloon girl and a bartender were talking as they saw John and Frank enter. Once inside, the patrons watched from the shadows as the two found the table Mrs. Phipps had set for them. The townsfolk smiled as they took their seats.

"They seem friendly." John returned the smiles as the people turned back to their conversations. He noticed them casting glances their way, smiling more and more among themselves. "Not the usual greeting strangers get when they ride into a town. Sort of makes me uneasy."

"Better than being shot at, Johnny-boy."

"Yeah, I guess so." John stirred the bowl containing what looked like stew. He raised a spoonful to his nose. "Sure smells good."

"Tastes good, too." Frank put down his spoon. "Johnny-boy, I'm ready for a second helping."

John ate a spoonful and thought for a few seconds. "Interesting taste. I wonder what's in it?" He then devoured the bowl.

The saloon girl sauntered over to Frank, moved in close, and started patting his belly. "Ooh, I love me a big man for supper! You sure are a healthy-looking fella. I could just eat you up!" She winked at Frank.

Frank blushed. "Ah, shucks ma'am."

While the saloon girl fawned over Frank, the bartender came over bringing a bottle. "Would you fellas like more of Mrs. Phipps' special stew?" They nodded, and the bartender returned at once with two more bowls.

John dropped his spoon after finishing the next bowl. "I don't know about you, Frank, but I need more."

Frank scooped another spoonful and waved John away. "Well, git to it! I'm about ready for another bowl myself."

John rose from his seat and loosened his belt as he headed to the bar. I feel like I've put on ten pounds. He saw Mrs. Phipps near a stove behind the bar with two pots, speaking into a strange-looking device. It was a small box with blinking lights and a horn protruding from the top. He only heard snatches of her conversation as she spoke in hushed tones.

"Visitors . . . an ample supply . . . enough . . . a waystation here."

Mrs. Phipps walked away from the device, went to the stove, and turned her attention to the pots. She picked up a carcass laying on the counter and took a cleaver to it, chopping it into chunks and tossing them into the pot.

As he moved closer to Mrs. Phipps, John staggered, overcome by a strong odor. He covered his nose and mouth, coughed and wiped his watering eyes. The source of his distress appeared to be coming from the pots on the stove.

"This isn't what we're eating, is it, Mrs. Phipps?" John croaked between coughs.

Surprised, Mrs. Phipps whirled around to face John. A smile replaced her shocked look as she regained her composure. "Oh no honey, this ain't for you! It's for the others out there." She flicked her hand towards the townsfolk. "They're particular about what they eat." Mrs. Phipps winked at John. "If you two want more, the storeroom's in the stable."

John wobbled back to the table and called Frank to help with the task. Frank stood, loosened his belt as well, and went outside with John. Back in the stable, the two found no storeroom, just some large piles in the corner covered by a cloth. John scratched his head and started his search.

"I heard Mrs. Phipps talking to a box about a food supply, but I've found nothing. This certainly ain't a butcher's shop."

Frank looked at John and cocked his head. "Talkin'? To a box?"

"Well, not a box." He rubbed his chin. "You remember that fancy hotel we stayed at in Denver a couple of weeks ago?"

Frank sighed, a faraway look in his eyes. "The one with the sweet-smelling ladies walking around?"

"Yep, that's the one. The hotel had . . . what was it, again? A telephone. It was on the wall in the lobby. You can talk to far away people with it."

"I don't remember no telophone," Frank barked. "All I recall is those sweet-smelling ladies didn't cotton to me, and I don't know why."

"Well, you were a bit gamey after the last hunt. Maybe . . . "

Frank glared at John. "That can't be it! I took a bath in Lake Granby a week before we got there!"

John stifled a laugh as he returned to his search. "Now, where's that meat?"

"Maybe the food's under those sheets?" Frank pointed to the piles.

John went over, uncovered one pile, and found nothing but bones. "What on earth?" He picked a few up and examined them. "These bones look gnawed on!" He continued to look through the pile and found ribs and neck bones. All appeared to be chopped.

"Look at the cleaver marks on these bones. Someone definitely butchered these animals. Nothing else could have made those marks. I don't know what they are, they don't look like deer, or elk." He lifted another group of bones, and as it came out of the pile, he saw a human head connected to it. He quickly dropped it. "Human bones!" A wave of nausea flooded over John. "Mrs. Phipps has been butchering people!"

"Is that what we've been eating?" Frank turned and vomited in the corner.

As the two tried to recover from the shock, Mrs. Phipps appeared outside the stable and slammed the door. She ran away shouting, "Now you two can stay there until I need you!"

The pair rushed to the door and found it barred from the outside. John ran to the other side of the stable, searching for another way out. Frank pressed his face to the planks of the door, looking through the gaps at the outside latch as John continued to search.

"Johnny-boy, look here." Frank took out his knife and slipped it between the doors and raised the latch, flipping it open. "Ain't no lock on it. How did she expect to keep us here?" Frank flung open the door.

"I don't know, Frank, but we need to stop her before she kills someone else. You look for the sheriff while I warn the townsfolk."

Frank hurried to the sheriff's office as John ran to the saloon. The place was full of townspeople eating. The foul smelling odor from the pots filled the place. John covered his nose as he rushed in and placed his hand on the shoulder of a patron.

"Hey friend, we need your . . . " As the person turned his head, John no longer saw the friendly faces who greeted the pair when they arrived. The townsfolk had transformed. Their faces resembled animals, with a mouth full of sharp teeth. The creature hissed at John. He bolted back through the doors into the street.

"Frank! Where are you?" John's eyes darted from building to building.

"Over here." Frank ran across the street from the general store. "There ain't nobody in this town, Johnny-boy. Ain't nothing behind the walls. The buildings are empty."

John gasped for air as Frank grabbed his arm to steady him. "I know. There aren't any people here. They're not people, they're . . . I don't know what they are, but they aren't people."

"What are you talking about? Are you trying to be funny again?"

"I ain't funnin' you. It was awful, they're not people. I swear they aren't."

The creatures pushed through the doors of the saloon. They slithered into the street. They had sloughed off their former appearance. No longer did they look like men and women. They now resembled large, bloated snakes. Their bodies had leathery, armored skin. John and Frank both recoiled at the sight. They drew their pistols, emptying them into the advancing pack. The creatures fell, squealing and thrashing around, then coiling their bodies, righted themselves, and advanced once more.

"Our six guns won't kill them!" Frank cried.

"The rifles! See if you can keep them busy, Frank."

John ran towards the stables as Frank rushed to the general store and grabbed a ladder. He swung it around, knocking the creatures to the ground again and again. John entered the stable and rushed to the rifles leaning against the wall. Mrs. Phipps emerged from the shadows behind him.

"You're ruining our plans! Now I'll have to kill you before you're fattened up!"

As she lunged at him with a cleaver, John stepped back and fired his rifle. The buffalo load knocked her to the ground. She writhed, squealed like the creatures outside, then stopped moving. With his attacker finished, John ran back out to the street to aid Frank.

He reached the street and saw Frank engaged in battle with the creatures. Frank leveled the attackers once more before tossing aside the ladder. He caught his rifle in mid-air as John tossed it to him. They worked the levers, sending the cartridges on their deadly mission. The heavy loads ripped apart flesh as an orange liquid sprayed out onto the ground. The creatures fell, squealed once again, then died.

"Is that all of 'em, Johnny-boy?" Frank looked around, wide-eyed.

John stopped to catch his breath. "I think so. I shot Mrs. Phipps, or whatever she is, in the stable. She tried to butcher me!"

Frank cast a wary eye toward the creatures, assuring himself they were dead, then headed to the stables. John followed, and as they entered, they saw the bloodied Mrs. Phipps in the corner next to the pile of bones, at a device similar to the one in the saloon. She struggled to speak to whomever was listening. She squeaked and squealed in harsh, guttural sounds, the same nonhuman language used by the townsfolk when in their true form. Mrs. Phipps squealed once more, then fell silent.

Frank and John looked at each other.

"What just happened, Johnny-boy?"

"I don't know. I reckon she was talking to someone on that telephone."

"That don't look like no telophone to me. But whatever it is, I hope she told that someone to stay away."

"Yeah, me too. Let's get out of here, Frank. I don't think I like this place."

It was near dusk as the two led their horses from the stable. Frank turned to John. "I figured out for you what was funny about those tracks leading into town."

"What was it?"

"Well, use your buff hunting skills, Johnny-boy."

John gave it a few seconds of thought. "All the tracks were entering the town. This place was a trap. Once someone rode in, they never rode out."

"Yep, sounds like a solid explanation."

"These creatures, whatever they were, ate whoever came into town. They must have been the ones to make the strange tracks at the crater." John shuddered at the thought of what would have been their demise. "And we were next on the menu. I wonder where they came from?"

"Don't know, Johnny-boy. Don't care, either. They're dead and we're not. That's all that matters to me."

As the pair returned to the street, they saw the remains of the creatures had turned to ashes. The buildings themselves decayed, falling down in front of them. They stared as the town crumbled to dust before their eyes. Nothing remained but the desert. Above them, an object streaked across the darkening desert sky. It hovered over John and Frank, then changed direction and disappeared among the stars.