Outside, night grew darker; stars retracing their paths and the hooded **** riding through the countryside in search of the diabolical olive-skinned female. They circled their horses around a burning campfire with two covered wagons. These weren’t ******* but a clan of Romany pioneering west. Dismounting the robed and hooded Klansmen came out of the darkness and surrounded the lone man sitting at the small fire.
Whoreson’s voice muffled by the thick cotton fabric, said, “We’re hunting a witch, boy. You see any strange women?”
Getting to his feet the man picked up the simmering pewter coffee *** and pouring the contents onto the fire black night was immediate. Men at the rear of the pack were carrying torches that no longer cast any light; the Klansmen blind and unmoving. There was no sound; the explosion silent if that’s what it was. Robes aflame the Klansmen ran berserk and screaming into the woods. The fires wouldn’t go out as some managed to drop and roll; the forest catching ablaze the flames growing precipitously hotter; trapped by walls of white flame the men no longer seeing night were engulfed by the swelling light and heat.