This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/NoCardiologist1353 on 2026-08-03 20:45:27+00:00.

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When I got hired, I thought the strangest thing about the ranch was the pay.

Then I met the priest.

They were offering $8,000 for a two-week cattle drive. I'd been roping and riding my entire life, and even the biggest outfits I'd worked for had never come close to paying that much.

I figured they were desperate.

Turns out they were.

I still remember walking up to the foreman for the first time. As I approached, he leaned against a weathered fence watching riders break in some fresh horses. He turned to face me; he was a large man with a thick beard and weathered features

“You lost, son?” his deep, dry voice said

I shook my head

“No, sir, heard you need some riders.”

He stared at me and clenched his jaw.

“That depends, can you ride?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Can you rope?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Who’ve you worked for?”

I told him the last three ranches I had worked for.

He nodded

“Good outfits, all of them. They don't keep dead weight.”

He slowly stroked his beard

“Well, alright, we do need one more rider. Go on and drop your stuff off in the bunkhouse; we leave tomorrow.”

The next day, everyone in the bunkhouse was up and ready to go an hour before the sun rose. There were six of us: four ranch hands, another hired cowboy, and me. The foreman, Mike, entered the bunkhouse and brought us together.

“Alright, listen up. We’re going up the pass; should be there tomorrow night. Some of you know what that means; those who don’t just know it ain’t your business; we’re paying you to work, not ask questions.”

Our eyes locked for a moment as he said this.

“Go saddle up.” He said with authority

We did just that.

An hour later, the sun was beginning to peek over the distant mountains, and we stood waiting with our horses. Mike walked by and I took the moment to ask a question.

“Hey Mike,” I said as I matched his walk

“I thought we were pushing cattle; where’s the herd?”

He stopped and pointed with a nod to the far corral

I looked and saw two lone cows standing in the pen. Looking back to Mike, I said

“That’s it? two cows, you need six cowboys to push two cows?”

He got real close to my face and stared me in the eyes for a moment before saying

“Ain’t your place to ask questions, got it?” his voice was vicious

I swallowed, lowered my eyes to the ground, and nodded

“Yeah, I got it.”

The seven of us stood around as the sun rose; we were waiting for someone, but I didn’t know who. Moments later, a lone figure approached us from behind the bunkhouse. It was a young man. Probably no older than me. He was cleanly shaven and manicured, dressed in a dark, all-black suit with the white square of a clerical collar standing out against his neck.

When I saw him, I snickered to myself and elbowed the older man next to me, whose name was Bill

“Looks like we got ourselves a preacher,” I whispered with a chuckle.

“Show some damn respect.” He snarled back

Bill was a ranch employee and was clearly unimpressed with my humor.

The priest walked over to Mike and met his handshake with both hands.

“I’m very sorry, I didn’t intend to be late.” He said

“It’s alright, Father Martin; we couldn’t start without you anyhow,” Mike said in a tone of reverence he hadn’t had before.

Father Martin nodded

“I trust my horse is ready.”

“Yes, Father, right inside the barn. Follow me.”

He looked past Father Martin to us

“The rest of you, get the cows on the trail; we’ll catch up.”

As we moved down the trail, I pulled my horse alongside the only younger member of our group besides the priest. Will smiled at me as I did

“Always good to be out on the range, ain't it?” he chuckled

“Yeah, sure is,” I replied before following up with

“Hey, who’s the Priest?”

“Oh, Father Martin?” Will said, “He’s the town’s new vicar, came from Virginia if I remember right, just started here a few months ago after old Father Jenkins passed, God rest his soul.”

“Okay…” I was puzzled. “But why’s he out here with us?”

At that, Will’s cheery disposition soured. He was silent for a while before saying

“That ain’t exactly for me to say.”

Before I could reply, he coldly said

“'Excuse me”

And with that, he sped his horse up and moved further down the trail. We rode in silence for the next few hours. The trail grew more rugged as the day went on. As we grew closer to the base of the mountains, it felt as if we had gone back 100 years. The land felt young and unspoiled. At midmorning, we stopped by a small creek to water the horses. Before long, Mike and Father Martin could be seen approaching in the distance.

As they grew closer, it became clear that Father Martin didn’t know what he was doing. He appeared uncomfortable with both the horse and the scenery. He rode as if the only experience he had was old cowboy movies. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes and mutter

“Great, now he’ll slow us down”

When I looked at the other riders, I was surprised to see that they didn’t share my disdain. Instead, they were grateful, even reverent of the inexperienced rider. Rejoining the group, Mike took command.

“Okay,” he declared, “We’re about to pass the line; from here on out, no more talking, not until we make camp and get a fire going. Got it?”

The riders murmured in agreement, Mike's eyes met mine, and I slowly nodded in acknowledgment. We continued in single file; Mike led, the priest followed, and I brought up the rear. Moments later, we passed through a worn gate that stood across the path; it was just a gate; no fence could be found on either side. Once through the gate, the world seemed different; it seemed quiet; the howling sound of the wind was gone, and there was no chirping of birds. The only sound was the clicking steps of the horses.

We continued for hours; I could feel myself zoning out. Normally, there’s small talk and wisecracks on these sorts of rides. The quietness made me drowsy.

“Can you help me?”

The strangely happy voice broke the silence and shook me from the daze I had sunk into. I quickly looked from side to side, seeing nothing but thick pines uphill and barren plains downhill. I turned my horse and circled back around; someone had called for help, my concern for a lost hiker or wayward child pushed common sense from my mind.

The words escaped my mouth before I could stop them.

“Hello? Are you Ok?”

My words seemed to echo in the quietness, but were soon drowned out by the deafening crack of a nearby gunshot. Instantly, I turned to the source of the sound; it was Mike. His rifle was raised above his head, and a thin trail of smoke escaped the barrel. His eyes were wide with rage, and he raised a lone finger to his lips. Father Martin looked from Mike to me, and back, his face caked in fear, though I couldn’t tell if it was from my actions or Mike’s gunshot. Mike violently ushered me to move up in the line; he positioned me between the priest and himself before kicking his horse into a jogging pace.

We continued at a fast pace for a few hours until we reached a flat area on the mountainside; it was there that Mike dismounted and signaled for us to set up camp. After we had each pitched a canvas tent and laid out our bedrolls, Mike formed a fire pit and, gathering some wood, he soon had a fire going. Once the fire was roaring, Mike stood up and quickly knocked me to the ground with a swift right hook. Pulling my face from the dirt, I turned to him as he rolled up his sleeves.

“What the Hell?”  I screamed

He stood over me

“You’re going to get us all killed if you don’t listen to what I say.”

He reached a helping hand to me.

“You’re lucky it was just a punch; it could have been worse. I need you to pay attention out here.”

Though I was still a bit angry, I grasped his hand, and he pulled me up. He patted my shoulder and turned to the rest of the group.

“Alright, the sun will be setting soon, and the good Father already knows that he’ll be on watch through the night, but we’ll be taking shifts to watch with him. Got it?”

The men nodded in agreement, and Mike turned to me.

“You’re on first watch.” he tossed a lever-action rifle to me.

“Best stay alert.”

As the sky grew darker, the mood grew lighter; soon we were talking and laughing as we sat around the fire, eating our supper. As the hours passed, so did the men; each one moved in his own time to his tent, and soon all that remained was Father Martin and me. The priest and I sat on opposite sides of the fire; a rifle lay across my lap, and a book rested on his. The only noise in the dark of the night was the crackle of the fire. Father Martin stared intently at the book on his lap; I watched as he turned each page before finally breaking the silence.

“Is that the Bible?”

He looked up and shook his head

“No, it’s a history of sorts.”

“Of what?”

“This place.”

My eyes shifted to the fire for a moment before returning to the priest.

“What does it say?”

He closed the book and looked me in the eye

“Well, it was written by my predecessor, Father Jenkins. He tried to record the happenings of this place and the importance of the ride we’re currently on.”

I thought for a moment

“Is it helpful?”

He slowly shook his head

“No, most of it is the ramblings and superstitions of a tired old man.”

I nodded, pretending to understand. The two of us stared at the fire in silence for several minutes before I said

“Father, what’s really going on here?”

He continued to stare into the flames

“I wish I knew. Up until this afternoon, I thought this ride was jus...

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