I don't know what sort of horrifying spectacle I was expecting when stepping out of the tunnel of the mine. But out of all things, it most certainly wasn't this.

"Moooo!"

Please tell me I'm dreaming.

"Mooo?"

I wasn't talking to you, Bessy!

Arms folded, I glared down at the cow that was standing in front of me, inspecting me with crossed eyes, as if not quite sure yet if I were a tasty piece of grass or not.

I wasn't the only one who was not amused.

"What," Mr Rikkard Ambrose demanded, icy gaze sweeping over the surroundings, "is going on here?"

"That's what we'd like to know, Sir."

I glanced over towards where the voice was coming from. A number of dark-cloaked figures that I recognized instantly as Ambrosian minions were hunkered down behind some crates stacked beside the shed that hid the mine entrance. Their eyes were narrowed, rifles aimed straight at the horde of approaching enemies.

Which was a herd of cows.

A bloody freaking herd of cows! With glossy fur. And big, soulful eyes. And cute sticky-out ears. What in the name of St. Perpetua...!

It was then that I spotted the riders behind the herd, towering above the cattle on the back of their horses. Every single one had revolvers strapped to their sides, and whips hanging from their saddles. And there, right at the front, was Sheriff William Gallagher.

"You." Eyes narrowing infinitesimally, Mr Rikkard Ambrose stepped towards the sheriff. "What are you doing here?"

"Official business." With an all too smug expression on his face, Gallagher held a sheet of paper in the air. With its cursive writing and stamps, it looked far too official for my liking.

"You there." Jerking his head at one of his men, Mr Ambrose gestured. The meaning was clear. Leaping to his feet, the man pushed his way through the cows, not flinching once in the face of sharp horns or thudding hoofs. It didn't take long for him to retrieve the paper and return. He tried to hand it to his boss, but Mr Rikkard Ambrose wasn't taking his eyes off of the sheriff. He waved his hand.

"Read it."

"Yes, Mr Ambrose, Sir!" Clearing his throat, the man began reading. "To the citizens of the municipality of Tomb Gloom,

It is hereby declared that, for the betterment of the economic situation of the area, and the further connection of the east and west coast of our beloved country, a new cattle track is to be established through our hometown—a true cause for celebration! Those few unfortunates whose lands lie in the path of the track will, of course, be somewhat inconvenienced, but this is a small price to pay for progress and the further development of our country.

Santiago Velazquez

Mayor of Tomb Gloom."

As the man ceased speaking and lowered the paper, icy silence descended over the place. And it didn't take a genius to realize from whom it was emanating. Mr Rikkard Ambrose was oozing frostiness like a leaking reservoir full of ice water.

"So...may I enquire who those 'unfortunates' shall be? May I enquire who will have his lands trampled beneath the hooves of your beasts?"

Gallagher smirked. "Who do ya think?"

"I see." A pause. "And if things stand in the way of your..." He cast a glance askance at the herd of bovines everywhere around him. "...little pets?"

"Then they'll be trampled, naturally. Nothing should stand in the way of progress."

"The two of us have very different ideas of what 'progress' means, Sheriff." Reaching down, Mr Ambrose placed his hand on the butt of his revolver. "I wonder what you would say if you were trampled to make way for progress?"

The sheriff's eyes narrowed. "Careful there, Ambrose. That almost sounded like a threat against an officer of the law."

"And what if it was?"

"We are on official business. Our way is straight through there." Gallagher pointed across the grounds, completely ignoring the rickety house, the shed, the guards, and anything else in the way. "I'm supposed to make sure everything goes smoothly. If anyone were to get in our way...well, it would be really a pity if I'd be forced to enforce the law."

The two men stood there for a long moment, their gazes clashing. All around them, their subordinates waited with bated breath, hands on their guns. Wind whistled. Cows ruminated.

"Very well."

I stared. Could it be...had Mr Ambrose just been the first one to break the silence?

"You've won. You may pass."

Apparently he had. And not only that, he had given in! To someone threatening him! Had I lost my mind? Was the world coming to an end?

The sheriff smirked. "You heard 'im, boys. Yee-ha!"

Whips cracked. Hooves pounded. Like one giant, morbid organism, the massive herd moved forwards.

Straight towards us. Which included me!

"Back!" Mr Ambrose barked. "Everybody back, inside the mine!"

The men hesitated, glancing down at their rifles. "Shouldn't we try to stop—"

It was so quick I almost missed it. Mr Ambrose's eyes flickered to me.

"No! Move, now!"

Something in his voice made me not want to argue. Rushing into the shed, we slammed the door shut behind us. Karim was already up ahead, flipping open the trap door. Outside, the thunder of hooves grew louder.

"Go!" Suddenly, I was airborne. Cradled in Mr Ambrose's arms, I was raced towards the open trap door and, a moment later, sailed down the ladder at prodigious speeds. And not a moment too soon.

Thud! Thudud! Thu—BOOM!

Metal and wood flew everywhere. Dirt poured into the tunnel from above, and I raised my hands to shield myself—only to find myself on my back, Mr Ambrose kneeling above me as sand and earth spilled down on either side of him, little rocks bouncing everywhere. Above us, the earth trembled as everything was trampled down and torn to pieces.

Cows! Bloody cows! I always knew the countryside was dangerous! Heck, why didn't I stay in London?

"Move!" Mr Ambrose yelled.

"I'm trying," I groaned. "There's a big slab of rock on top of me!"

The slab of rock didn't answer. Instead, he picked me up and, unceremoniously throwing me over his shoulder, Mr Ambrose rushed down the tunnel, dark figures flickering in and out of sight on either side of us.

"Let me down! I can walk on my own! I can—"

Crash!

An avalanche of rocks and dirt slammed into the ground behind me, flattening everything.

All right, maybe he should keep running.

And that he did. Fast. Faster than any of his men. Faster than bloody Karim, whose legs were probably longer than his and mine put together! And that look on his face...

He looked ready to kill.

And yet, his arms around me were so incredibly gentle, as if carrying a precious, fragile treasure. What was going on?

I didn't get a chance to try and study his facial expression more closely, though. It didn't take long before the rumbling subsided behind us, and the only light was that of a single storm lantern swinging in Karim's grip. There we stood, in almost utter darkness.

"Are...are we safe?" I asked.

"Presumably."

"Good. Then...put. Me. Down."

He did. But what he didn't do was let go of me. His arms still wrapped protectively around me as he shielded me from the bits and pieces of rubble falling from the ceiling. And I...let him.

What the heck?

Normally, I would be giving him a good kick in the balls for treating me like some porcelain doll. Now, though...now I just felt comfortable in his arms.

What is going on with me? This is weirder than the pickled toenails!

I didn't receive an answer. When the earth had finally settled down, he stood there for a long moment—then turned towards me, gazing straight into my eyes.

"Woah," I said. "That was...something."

"Indeed."

I took a deep breath—or at least tried to. Breathing in the dirt and dust that still hovered in the air wasn't exactly the smartest idea I'd ever had. Grabbing hold of the solid stone pillar that was Mr Ambrose, I tried to stop myself from keeling over from the convulsive coughing fit.

An arm came around my shoulder. A handkerchief appeared over my mouth, shielding me from the worst of the dirt.

"Relax. Breathe."

It wasn't a request. Instinctively, I wanted to protest—that is, until he pulled me into his chest, holding me close. It took a minute for the coughing to finally subside. When it did, I looked around. There was only one word to describe the space around us: destruction. Complete and utter destruction. Rocks and rubble were strewn across the ground, wooden supports had been splintered under the weight of the collapsing tunnel.

"Holy Moly!"

"That is one way of putting it, Mrs Ambrose."

"What the heck just happened? Better question, why did you let it happen?" I jabbed a finger into his chest. "Why didn't you try to fight them off?"

"Why would I?"

I blinked. "Why? They're trampling everything! The house, the mine entrance—"

He raised one eyebrow about half a millimetre.

I thought about what I had just said.

They had destroyed the mine entrance.

The fake mine entrance.

A grin spread across my face.

"You devious son of a bachelor!"

"I assure you, Mrs Ambrose, my father was married at the time of my conception."

My grin widened. "Were you an eyewitness?"

A moment passed in silence.

"No."

"My case rests." Reaching out, I grabbed hold of him, clutching tight. "Son of a bachelor!"

"Mrs Ambrose?"

"Yes?"

"Let go of my derriere."

"Do I have to?"

"Let go this instant, or I will lock up all your chocolate and throw away the key."

"Yes, Sir! Right away, Sir!"

Just then, Karim came striding over towards the two of us, inclining his head. "Orders, Ambrose Sahib?"

"Oh yes." I nodded firmly before Mr Ambrose could even open his mouth. "We must get you out of here quickly. We've got to protect you!"

The massive Mohammedan blinked. He glanced down at the huge sabre hanging at his side, then looked up again. "Protect...me?"

"Oh yes." I glanced up innocently at Mr Ambrose. "You're so innocent and fragile, an innocent that must be protected from the harshness of this world. It's very important, Sir, wouldn't you agreemmmmmph!"

From behind me, Mr Ambrose tightened his grip over my mouth.

"She's overwhelmed by distress," Mr Ambrose stated, staring meaningfully at his bodyguard. "Quick, help me get her home. And don't take anything she says seriously."

"Yes, Sahib! As you command, Sahib!"

"Mmmphmphmph! Mnnnmph!"

"Let's go!"

With only one lamp, and so many people following in the dark, it took quite a while for us to reach the end of the tunnel. Admittedly, it took longer than it might have had Mr Ambrose not been trying to keep his hand over the mouth of a certain struggling female who was currently trying her best to headbutt him, but one didn't need to pay attention to little details like that, did one?

Finally, we emerged from the tunnel beyond the mountain, and he came to a stop, settling me down on the ground. I contemplated punching the blasted man in the gut for a moment—then, for the sake of my poor fist, decided against it.

"So," I enquired, tugging on his lapels in a way that made it abundantly clear he would be in for it later, "what the heck was that?"

"That is a good question, Mrs Ambrose."

"Didn't you say they were going to try and beat us with lawful means?"

"Indeed." His eyes flashed dangerously. "It appears they have a rather liberal interpretation of the word 'lawful'. More liberal than I am willing to tolerate."

"So...what are we going to do?"

"For now? Nothing. Let them think they've won a victory by forcing a fake door shut. Meanwhile..."

"Yes?"

"Let's just say this new development doesn't exactly hinder my plans. Quite the contrary, in fact." A cold glint entered his eyes. "People who take the law into their own hands often find that they're holding something far too heavy to handle. I have a feeling these Spanish gentlemen and their lapdog are going to discover this fact very, very soon. And I think I want to be there when it happens." He held out his hand. "We've been on our honeymoon for quite a while now, and yet have spent most of the time inside the house. Care to come on a little excursion, wife?"

My mouth curled up into a wicked grin. "I'd love to."

***

"Good riddance to bad rubbish!" Sneering, Gallagher spat on the ground, the hooves of his horse stomping the last crumbled remnants of the shed that used to cover the entrance to the mine into the dust.

De Ravera came cantering over, sitting atop a sleek, black Arabian. His gaze swept over the remnants of what had once been buildings. In the distance, the herd of cows, its job accomplished, was being driven over to the river.

"Is it done?"

"Now, Señor De Ravera, you know I cannot give out information about law enforcement activities to a private individual." Gallagher smiled. "But if you were someone official, such as the mayor for instance, I would tell you that everything went perfectly."

"Excellent!"

"Shall I bring the cattle back to their owners?"

"To what end?" De Ravera turned his horse around. "Hungry and desperate people are far more malleable and easier to manipulate san well-fed ones. Drive sem out of town and shoot sem. It will be a lesson to sose fools. Sey dare to come and work for my enemies? Show sem what it means to oppose Francisco Enrico Ronaldo Damian De Ravera!"

"Yes, Sir!"

***

Jack bent down to inspect his trap. This was the twelfth one he had checked so far. Maybe he'd get lucky this time...

Apparently not.

Dang!

Well, maybe the thirteenth time he'd get lucky.

Yeah, right.

Reaching out, he tried to feel his way in the dark. Hell! He shouldn't have gone into the forest this late. But if it were still daylight, those damn dagos and their goons would still be out and about. Nobody would be allowed to enter "their" forest.

Grumbling, he took a step forward, searching for the next trap he'd set, and—

Swish!

Oh hell.

"Aaaaaaagh!"

Suddenly, Jack found himself dangling several feet above the ground. He had always been proud of the amazing rabbit traps he'd laid. Now he made a mental note to maybe not make them quite so amazing. As in, for example, only fit for darn rabbits!

Cursing under his breath, he reached up to undo the knots keeping his leg trapped and—

—and flopped down again.

"Goddamn blasted knots! Why the hell did I tie you so tight? Why—"

Thud!

"Oww!"

Groaning, Jack rolled over on the ground, rubbing his back. This was not going as planned. He should really be getting back to his wife. She was probably feeling very alone right now. And, most likely, his own bed would be a lot more comfortable than the ground.

And yet...

Going back to her without anything to offer? Watching as she smiled at him gently, telling him it's all right, trying oh-so-hard not to let the hunger show in her eyes?

Hell no!

Growling, he forced himself up from the ground. Without bothering about the aching pain in his bones, he trudged off into the darkness on the search for his next trap. Roughly half an hour and a single measly little rabbit later, he came limping out of the forest, making his way towards his house. Or rather, the tent that had served as his house-replacement ever since some idiot had driven a blasted herd of cattle through town, trampling anything in its way! He had just reached the west side of town and could spot his home in the distance, when—

"No! Don't!"

"Oh, come on. Just five minutes. I just wanna chat a little."

"Please leave! I don't want to let you in! My husband isn't at home!"

"That's kinda the point, darlin'. Come on. I'll make sure to 'entertain' you..."

Jack saw red. And not because he was squeezing the rabbit in his hand so tight that blood dripped from its wounds.

"Son of a—!"

A growl ripping from his throat, Jack dashed towards the tent. There was a man at the entrance, trying to pull apart the tarpaulin. Before the intruder even had the chance to turn around, a dirty rabbit butt hit him in the back of the head.

"What the stinkin' hell?! Who—"

Wham!

This time, it was a fist that made contact. The thug was hurled against a horse trough and teetered on his heels for a moment, his arms swinging through the air, before—

Splash!

"Hey! What's going on out there?"

"Who the hell is making all that noise? I'm trying to slee—holy shit! Everyone, get out here now! It's Jack!"

People came rushing from the tents and hovels that were scattered all around just as Jack pulled the sputtering thug from the horse trough. Snarling, Jack raised his fist once again. A fist that, by now, was clutching a hunting knife.

"No! Jack, don't!" A woman came dashing out of the tent and grabbed his arm, holding him back. "Don't do it! If those others hear about it..."

Jack's face twitched.

The thug smirked. "That's right, amigo. You can't touch me. So, why don't you just let me touch your little wife instead?"

Wham!

Jack's fist slammed into the man's gut.

The knife, however, did not. Clattering to the ground, it lay in the dust, forgotten. A moment later, the thug was hurled through the air, away from the gathered crowd, and crashed into the ground.

"Fine!" Jack growled. "Save your hide! Run like a dog! That's all the likes of you are good for!"

He gave the man a last kick and sent him scurrying off into the darkness. Just before he vanished into the shadows, the thug threw a vicious glance over his shoulder.

"You...you shouldn't have done that, Jack," said one of the townspeople.

Jack whirled to face him. "And why the hell not? Do you have any idea what that bastard was doing when I arrived? What would you do if you came home to find some lowlife trying to grab your wife and—"

"Shh." The woman beside him placed a gentle hand on Jack's arm. "Calm, Jack. Calm. It's all right. I'm all right."

"I know you are." Jack's fists clenched. Unfortunately, that included the one that was still clutching the dead rabbit. Everybody tried to ignore the squelch sound as they watched him reach up to gently touch his wife's cheek. Fortunately, with the bunny-free hand. "I know, darling. I can see you standing here in front of me. But what happens when he comes again? What if he brings a dozen others?"

"Jack's right!" A stocky redhead from the crowd shouted. "We can't just let them walk all over us!"

"Or their cows!" Added someone else.

"Yeah!" The redhead stomped his foot. "Who do they think they are? They just come to our town and think they can take over? We've got to do something! We've got to—"

"Are you mad?" Jostling the redhead aside, a broad, big-nosed woman made her way to the front of the crowd. "Don't you remember what they did to old Joe when he tried to speak up? They're a bunch of ruthless killers! We can't go up against them!"

"No, we can't. At least..." All eyes turned towards the shy little wife beside Jack. She ducked her head for a moment—but then looked up again, determination shining in her eyes. "At least not alone."

"What are you thinking about, Nelly darling?" Jack asked.

"Not what. Who."

"Huh?"

"Well, it's obvious, isn't it?" Raising her chin, the small woman looked around. "Those dagos are powerful. If we wanna win against them, we've gotta find someone who's just as powerful!"

"Hell, woman, and where do you think we're supposed to find someone like that?" The redhead gestured at the miserable little town. Or what was left of it. "Especially in a place like this?"

"Well..." Nelly bit her lip. "There's one man." She looked around. "Don't you remember? The owner of the mine! He gave all of us jobs, even when those dagos were knocking down doors and threatening anyone who got in in their way. Now he's come to town, I heard! And what's more, just yesterday, there were people sent into town who said they were sent by him, and they distributed potato and onion stew to everyone in town, feeding the poor and needy."

"Truly?" Awe filled the surrounding audience's face. "What an amazing man!"

"I heard he's even helping slaves," whispered someone else.

"Amazing!" Jack beamed, his eyes shining. Overcome by joy, he hugged his genius wife. "What a saint of charity! Tomorrow, we'll go and see him. Surely, he'll help us out of the goodness of his heart!"

-------------------------------------------

My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

In case you don't know, St. Perpetua is the patron saint of cows. And yes, there truly is such a thing. I was surprised to find out how devout cattle are.

Yours Truly

Sir Rob