Leaning back into the upholstery of the coach, I blew away the smoke rising from the muzzle of my revolver and checked my reflection in the pewter luggage rack. Yep, like I thought. Looking badass!

"Feeling better?" Mr Ambrose enquired.

"Very much so, Sir. Shooting people is an amazingly relaxing pastime."

"I concur."

"Although..."

"Yes?"

I glanced down at the now only half-full case of ammunition, then glanced up at my dear husband, batting my eyelashes. "Where exactly can I file bullets as business expenses?"

"Dream on."

"Awww, come on now! Don't you love me?"

"Indeed I do. Which is why I will let you pay for your own bullets so you can be a strong, independent woman like you always wanted."

Damn! Why did he have to be so bloody devious and stingy and....

Right. Absolutely right. I was too darn independent for my own good! Too independent to ever accept him paying for anything.

Except maybe solid chocolate.

Still, what I'd said earlier was quite correct. Shooting people really was amazingly relaxing. I should do it more often. Why, even though we were sitting in a carriage, I didn't even feel sick at the mome—

Suddenly, something in my stomach lurched.

Oh no. No, no, nononono—

I leapt towards the window.

"Blurgh! Bleearghargargh!"

Well, look on the bright side, Lilly: at least the populace of the United States is safe from being shot by feminist invaders from England.

Right now, that didn't seem like much of a consolation. It was quite a long time before I dragged myself back into the coach,

"Look at it this way," Mr Ambrose told me, cocking his head. "With the...projectiles you are currently firing, we are quite unlikely to be pursued."

I gave him a weak smile. "Thanks for the pep talk."

"Hm." He gave me a look that told me he was not in the habit of doing something as frivolous as talking, particularly of the pep variety.

Except for me, apparently.

I smiled even wider—then yawned, as exhaustion overtook me. Putting away my revolver and ammunition, I leaned back against the—regrettably not very soft—backrest, trying my best to keep my eyes open. It had been a long day. Or...I glanced out of the window into the shadowy landscape racing by. Was it night by now? I certainly felt like it.

"Mrs Ambrose?" A gentle hand came to rest on my shoulder. Odd...who could that be? It couldn't be Mr Ambrose, right?

"Hm...?" My eyelids fluttered open. Hey...how had they fallen shut? I hadn't even noticed.

"Rest, wife. I'll keep watch. Only..."

"Yes?" I murmured.

"How many more bullets did you bring?"

"Hm...few hundred." Blinking, I glanced his way, only now noticing that he was staring out of the window, back to where we'd left behind the desperados. "Why?"

"I have a feeling we're going to need them."

***

When I awoke once more, the sun was shining, the birds were singing and I was about to puke again. Shoving my husband out of the way, I lunged for the window.

"Bluurgh!"

Panting, I glanced up at the birds I'd heard earlier. The vultures croaked and gave me a "Hello there, delicious dessert"-kind of look.

Hey, I never said it was pretty birds that were singing, or that their song was particularly melodious.

"And what," Mr Ambrose enquired as I pulled myself back into the carriage, "would you have done if my men had been riding behind the carriage, instead of in front of it?"

"Err...then they would have gotten a fragrant surprise in the face?"

"Never change, Mrs Ambrose. Never change."

"I most certainly don't intend to!" Puffing out my chest, I glanced around. "So, how are things going?"

"Adequately." Mr Ambrose's eyes narrowed infinitesimally. "A little too adequately, actually. Things have been quiet for nearly twelve hours. Not a single sign of the desperados."

My newly developed wife-sense tingled. "You think they're up to something?"

"They are criminals with a combined bounty of nearly half a million dollars on their heads, Mrs Ambrose."

"I'll take that as a yes, Sir."

Glancing out the window, I saw an arid landscape racing by. It seemed we were once more heading out of the swamp and into the desert. From above, the sun was burning down on us. I never really thought I would end up missing the nice, dreary weather back in jolly old England.

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

"There is only one thing we can do. We travel on." Cupping my cheek in one hand, he moved his other down to a bulge under his tailcoat. "Which is not to say we lower our guard."

"Sounds good, Sir." One corner of my mouth quirked up. "Now...is that a revolver under your tailcoat, or are you happy to see me?"

His deep, dark, sea-coloured eyes bored into me as he leaned forward. "Want to find out, Mrs Ambrose?"

Unfortunately, before I had a chance to reply, a voice called from outside.

"Mr Ambrose, Sir! The animals are getting exhausted. What should we do, Sir?"

Mr Ambrose froze, stroking his chin. "Is there a town nearby?"

"Yes. According to the map, there should be a town near a defunct cavalry fort around twenty miles northeast from here."

"Then head there. We should be able to acquire new horses there."

"As you command, Sir. Yee-ha!"

The whip cracked, and the coach lurched, surging forward. I clutched my stomach. Oh joy!

Another session of admiring the landscape outside the window later, I resurfaced from vomitland just in time to see a small scattering of houses approach in the distance, overshadowed by the mouldy old cavalry fort on a small hill behind it. Finally! Finally, I would get out of this hellish vehicle!

"All right!" Mr Ambrose announced, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Listen up, people! We won't be wasting much time here. We'll stay just long enough to switch horses, and then it's into the coach again, eastwards!"

I have such a wonderful, caring husband.

A few minutes later, the coach rolled into town and came to a stop with a crunch of dirt. Pushing open the door, Mr Ambrose stepped down onto the road, ignoring the stares of the townspeople, who probably hadn't seen a stranger in months, let alone one like him.

"Shall we, Mrs Ambrose?" Extending his arm towards me, he cocked his head.

With a sigh, I took his arm. I might as well enjoy my reprieve while it lasted.

Not long after, we stepped into a dingy little stable. At the side stood a few skeletal horses that looked ready to be put out to pasture, or in some cases ready to be buried six feet under it. Before I could voice my doubts to my dear husband, a man bustled out from behind a haystack.

"Welcome, Sir and Ma'am! Welcome! What can I do for ya?"

With one swift glance, Mr Ambrose surveyed the animals in the vicinity. "Give us the chea—"

I slammed my foot down on his toes.

"—hssss! Fastest animals you have."

The stable owner blinked, confused. "The cheese fastest animals?"

A muscle in Mr Ambrose's cheek twitched. "The cheapest and fastest."

Damn the man! He does remember that we're being chased by bloodthirsty desperados, right? Sending a stare his way, I cocked an eyebrow. "Those two don't usually go together."

"Actually..." The stable owner cleared his throat. "That might not actually be the case."

Huh?

"You see, Mrs Ambrose?" My dear husband shot me a dignified, cool look that in no way conveyed the message Ha! I win.

"Well then..." Eyes narrowing, I turned towards the stable owner. "Show us those marvellous horses that are both cheap and fast."

"Well..." The man cleared his throat. "About that...they aren't exactly—"

"Bloooaaaaawwwwk!"

The sound, a mixture between a moo, a bleat and a malfunctioning fog horn, cut through the man's voice in the middle of the sentence. A moment later, a head that smelled like an old door mat, with the most adorable pouty lips ever, peeked out from its stall and took aim at Mr Ambrose. For a living granite statue, my dear husband moved with astounding alacrity and leapt sideways just in time to avoid the spit projectile.

"What," Mr Rikkard Ambrose enquired, his voice as icy as the heart of the arctic, "was that?"

"Ehem, well..." The stable owner cleared his throat. "Ya remember I was sayin' the animals in question ain't exactly horses?"

"Yes?"

"Seems like, some time ago, the US Cavalry did some experiments..."

"I see. How intriguing. I think I should follow their example and have Karim do some experiments on your innards."

"With camels! They did experiments with camels!" The owner took two hurried steps backward. "They wanted to use 'em since they're so amazingly tough and fit for the desert climate. But for some reason, the experiment only lasted a week before the animals were sold off real cheap!"

The camel in the background took that opportunity to switch targets, pursed its lips and took a pot shot at me. I only just managed to dodge the spitball.

"Can't imagine why." I beamed. "They seem like such sweet things!"

"Indeed," Mr Ambrose agreed while sending the camel that was eying him a don't-you-dare kind of look. "Very...sweet."

"You...you think so?" The stable owner blinked, confused. "Really?"

"How much is a camel, and how much is a horse?"

"A horse is $150 and a camel $70."

"Then I consider camels the sweetest thing in this world. How many do you have?"

"H-how many do ya need, Sir?"

"Two for each coach and two dozen mounts."

"Sure, Sir, no problem, Sir!"

"—if I get a bulk discount."

"Err...sure. I guess I could do that..."

"Of fifty percent."

"Um...well..."

After ten minutes of intense negotiation, an invigorated Rikkard Ambrose strode out of the stable, leaving behind the broken remnant of a stable owner. Well...perhaps more broke than broken.

"Ah, Mr Ambrose," the marshal, who just seemed to be finished stabling his exhausted horse, glanced our way as we exited the building. "Found suitable mounts, have you?"

"Oh yes," my dear hubby agreed. "Very suitable indeed."

"Bloooaaaaawwwwk!"

The marshal jumped, his hand flying to his revolver. "What was that?"

I smiled. "Well..."

***

Whistling, I enjoyed the wind tickling my nose as I gently swayed from side to side. Ah...life was good. Life was really good. For one, because I hadn't felt this spiffing for a long time. And for another...

"H-how can you stand this?" came a deathly groan from beside me. Glancing to my left, I caught sight of the broccoli-coloured blob that was the face of Marshal Angus Angleton. Slumped over his camel's forward hump, he clutched his stomach. "How can you be smiling?"

"I suppose you just aren't tough enough." I gave a casual shrug as I sat on my own camel, perfectly fine, my stomach showing not the least sign of rebelling. Nope, not a single little sign. "Would you like some Fizzlewiz Fabulous Fitness Serum? I've heard it helps against nausea, Nausicaa, nasty colds, the smallpox, the big pox, measles, typhus, yellow fever, red fever, black fever and even pink fever!"

Lifting his head just slightly, he sent me a glare. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Very much so."

"But...how? How is this possible? I mean...heck! Well..."

Lost for words, he gestured between me, riding along happy as a hippo in the Nile, and Mr Ambrose's guards. Or, as might be a more apt description of their current state, Mr Ambrose's wilted lettuce. The green-faced figures were all slumped over their camels. Unfortunately, this meant their noses were buried in the camel's fragrant fur, and this resulted in, well...

"Blluuuurgh!"

"Gak! Rrrrg! Bleeargh!"

"Ha!" Giving a haughty snort, I raised my chin. "Weaklings! Who would throw up just because of a little travelling?"

The marshal sent me a deadpan stare. Which I, amazingly shameless girl that I was, completely and utterly ignored. Besides, if I predicted things correctly, I wouldn't need to do anything about it. Any moment now...three...two...one...

My camel zeroed in on the US marshal and spit a nice wad of phlegm straight into his face.

I beamed, patting the smart fellow's hump. "Good boy! I like you!"

"Grnnkmmhr?"

"You remind me of an old friend of mine, you know? I think I'll name you Ambrose Junior."

I heard a snort from behind me. Turning around, I saw Karim, whose face was very deliberately still displaying its usual stoic mask.

"Did I say something funny?"

"No, nothing, Sahiba." One corner of his beard twitched, his eyes seeming to stray to my stomach for some reason. "Nothing at all."

Over the next few days, I had a marvellous time for someone escorting a prisoner transport through the desert. Mostly, it was all thanks to Ambrose Junior and his amazingly steady gait. But partly it was also due to the fact I had at long last, finally, found myself a pair of trousers. Have you ever tried riding a camel in a hoop skirt? Well, if you haven't yet: don't. Don't ever. Luckily, Mr Ambrose, the amazing cheapskate, had requisitioned all the belongings of the goons and grunts that had met an unfortunate end back at Tomb Gloom. Among the many clothes, it wasn't hard to find a comfy shirt and pairs of trousers. Ah, life was good!

"Bluuuurgh!"

Glancing over my shoulder, I threw a beaming smile at Marshal Angleton who was hanging precariously on his swaying camel's hump.

"Did you say something, Marshall?"

"Y-you...you are a cruel woman."

"Oh my! Am I?" Turning my head towards my dear husband, I blinked innocently at my character witness. "Am I a cruel woman?"

Mr Ambrose gave me a long, scrutinizing look. Really long.

Really really long.

"No."

Making a mental note to punish him for the five seconds of consideration that took, my gaze swivelled to Karim. "What about you? Am I a cruel woman?"

Karim opened his mouth. "Definite—"

"And do remember I'm married to the man who pays your salary."

"—ly not."

I patted his camel's hump. "Good boy."

Karim's bushy eyebrows twitched. "Is it just my misconception, or are you praising the camel instead of me?"

"Whatever gave you that idea?"

And, with a last cheerful wink, I turned back around and spurred on my mount to catch up with Mr Ambrose, whistling once again.

***

Now that I was back to top form, I was rather more aware of my surroundings than before. For one, I was aware that there was more to my surroundings than the vomit-spattered ground. For the first day or two, I simply enjoyed the scenery—but then I slowly started to notice something. Eyes narrowed, I gazed back at the horizon behind us.

"Mrs Ambrose?" Slowing down his mount, Mr Ambrose let his camel fall in step beside me. His cold gaze swept the horizon where I myself was looking. "Is something wrong?"

I nodded. "The dust on the horizon."

His eyes narrowed infinitesimally. "There is no dust on the horizon."

"That's the point. We're being pursued by desperados, right? There should be dust on the horizon. Unless someone has invented hoofless horses."

"They have not. Seeing as they would need no horse shoes, I would immediately have bought some."

"Mr Ambrose?"

"Yes?"

"When we're back home and start furnishing our house, I'll be the one who does the shopping."

"We shall see, Mrs Ambrose."

Over the next few days, the suspicious lack of dust behind us persisted. And even though Mr Ambrose's expression remained stoic and stony as ever, I could feel his icy gaze sweep over the horizon again and again. He had taken my words seriously. Something was definitely up.

And it wasn't too long before we found out what exactly.

"Whoa!" Raising a hand at the head of the convoy, Mr Ambrose brought everyone to a halt.

"What is it?" I asked, spurring Ambrose Junior to his side.

"Look there."

Following his outstretched finger with my gaze, I saw the distant rocky wall rising high into the sky. In the centre, there was a slim, shadowy gap, as if a bored god had taken a meat cleaver to the landscape.

"A canyon?" I raised an eyebrow. "What about it?"

"Not the canyon. Look there."

I squinted, and this time I saw it. In the shadow of the rock wall, at the entrance of the canyon, there was a small oasis with a clear pool of water. And stationed around the pool...

I cursed.

"Stinking pile of camel shit!"

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

Huzzah! I'm mostly recovered now, my dear Lords, Ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for all your well-wishes.

In case you were wondering, the United States Camel Corps was actually a thing. Admittedly, its decline occurred slightly after the period when this book takes place, but I simply had to shift it forward to include this scene in the novel.

Yours Truly

Sir Rob