"Mr Ambrose?"

Silence.

"Dicky darling?"

Silence.

"Answer my question, please. Am. I. Fat?"

More silence. Lots of it.

"This is not the kind of question you can avoid answering by keeping quiet!"

"Are you certain?"

"Yes!"

"Then my answer is that...I have seen many a woman in your condition who is much more corpulent than you. In fact, sooner or later, all of them are more corpulent."

I beamed. "You might make passable husband material yet, Dicky Darling!"

"I am so very glad to hear it."

Happily, I nodded—but then frowned, and glanced down at my waist. Was I getting fat? My dresses had been feeling a bit tight, recently. Perhaps...

Nah.

I shook my head. Mr Ambrose had said it himself. I was in excellent shape!

Pushing away those silly thoughts, I focused on the newspaper in my hand and the interesting article on the front page.

"Hm...interesting. Do you know they've apparently decided on our sentence before the trial has even started?"

"Very gracious of them. As I understand local customs, in most cases, a trial is dispensed with altogether."

"Hm...hey, they call you a greedy, money-grubbing profiteer!"

"So, they are actually capable of accurate and unbiased reporting? How gratifying."

"And me they refer to as...those sons of bitches!"

"Mrs Ambrose?"

"I'm going to gut them! I'm going to tie their limbs in knots, roast them over a small fire and feed them to the pigs!"

"Indeed?"

"And then I'm going to have the pigs trample their relatives and dump their business in their living room!"

"Indeed."

I took a deep breath, trying to calm down—then cocked my head as I spotted something else on the front page that distracted me from the reporters' less than flattering words.

"Hey! Will you look at that? They're even going to try and make money from getting rid of us!"

Mr Ambrose, who had been on the other side of the cell getting dressed just a moment ago, was suddenly behind me, peeking over my shoulder. "Indeed?"

"Yep, they're gonna charge people entrance fees and—hey!" I narrowed my eyes at him. "How come you suddenly look a whole lot more interested than when I told you they were insulting me?"

Mr Ambrose considered this for a moment.

"Priorities?"

I had been wrong earlier. It would take a lot of hard work yet before he'd make decent husband material.

Cracking my knuckles, I stepped towards him.

Emphasis on 'hard'.

But before I could start indulging in my violent fantasies, I heard footsteps approaching down the corridor, along with rattling keys. My amazing female intuition told me it was probably not room service.

"Up with you, you two! The early bird catches the worm! Or a bullet in the head, depending on how much trouble they're in."

Putting down the paper, I glanced over at the deputy sheriff with the amazing sense of humour.

"I'll take pancakes with maple syrup for breakfast, please."

The man's eyes narrowed. "What makes you think you're gonna get breakfast?"

"Last meal of the condemned and all that stuff."

"Ah, but you haven't been condemned yet." Chuckling, the man shoved the right key into the lock and turned it. "All the fun is still to come."

Yes, really an amazing sense of humour.

"Outside! You don't wanna be late for your own lynching, do you?"

"Certainly not." Straightening his tailcoat, Mr Ambrose strode out of the cell. "Punctuality is paramount."

"You're joking, right?" I whispered, hurrying up to him from behind. "Please don't tell me you're not worried about showing up in time for your own execution?"

Then I remembered who I was talking to.

Mr Rikkard Ambrose? Joking?

Blast. We're in deep doodoo.

As if he were a returning war hero on parade, Mr Rikkard Ambrose strode out into the street. Little details like the deputy pointing a gun at him from behind were utterly ignored. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see people peek at us from various windows and alleys. Not a single one of them were throwing rocks or vegetables. How disappointing for my first lynching. Plus, I was really starting to notice that I hadn't had breakfast yet.

"Turn left here!" the deputy ordered.

Mr Ambrose turned the corner, making it seem as if he were merely interested in seeing what lay that way, and wasn't in the least concerned about the rifle pointing at his back. Dang! I had to learn that trick!

Didn't seem as if I would have the time, though.

Up ahead, I could already see the courthouse, a large crowd gathered in front of it. This crowd was much more up to my expectations: rough, raucous, and willing to pelt us with projectiles at a moment's notice.

"Hang sem! Hang sem!"

"No! Slice sem, shoot sem, sen hang sem!"

"Bastardos! Why bother with se trial? Get rid of sem!"

"Why," I enquired, leaning over towards Mr Ambrose, "do I get the feeling that the jury won't be particularly objective, Mr Ambrose?"

"Because you have brain cells, Mrs Ambrose?"

"Silence!" One of the Spanish thugs bellowed, pushing open the door and shoving us inside. "You've kept se judge waiting long enough. Time is money!"

I blinked, leaning over to my husband. "Are you sure they don't secretly work for you?"

"Be quiet!" the thug barked. "Move!"

The two of us were forcibly led down a long corridor. In here, there was nobody shouting, nobody throwing things. Yet strangely, for some reason, the atmosphere seemed ten times as deadly. Soon, we came to a stop in front of a set of double-doors, which opened a moment later.

"Inside, you two!" With a growl, the thug—oh, excuse me, bailiff—shoved Mr Ambrose and me into the courtroom. We were led right in front of the judge's bench. It wasn't long before the door behind the bench opened and the clerk pounded the table with his fist. "All rise! All rise for his Honour, Justice of the Peace Hironimus Muggeridge!"

"Justice of the peace?" I blinked. "They want to put us on trial using a justice of the peace?"

"Why not?" Mr Ambrose cocked his head. "They want us in pieces, do they not?"

I elbowed him in the ribs. "Yes, but...a justice of the peace? What are they going to convict us for? Parking a horse beside a fire hydrant?"

"Silence!" the thug behind us, who seemed to be rather fond of that word, hollered.

Turning, I glanced around at him. "Are you sure you're not secretly working for my husband?"

"Silence!"

"Ah. I thought so."

Thud!

The judge's gavel hit the desk, a moment after his fat bottom hit the chair. I'll give you three guesses which made the louder noise.

"Hm. Well, let's see...we're here to..." Reaching into his desk, he pulled out a stack of notes and started leafing through them. "Ah, yes! That's it! We're here to execute some assholes and then put them on trial! Or was it the other way around?"

I had to admit, the Wild West justice system was truly amazing.

"Now, the counsel for the prosecution, step forward! Counsel for the defence, get the hell out of here!"

Amazing didn't even cover it.

What followed was pretty much predictable. My dear husband and I were swiftly convicted of blackmail of the mayor, grievous bodily harm, illegal occupation of state-owned land and disturbance of the peace. Oh, and horse theft.

I blinked. "Horse theft? What horse? Why horse theft?"

"I would surmise because in this place, horse theft is a crime you can be hanged for."

"Oh. How...convenient."

"Indeed."

"Do we get the horse?"

"I very much doubt so."

"Furthermore," the judge announced, "these two vile criminals stand accused of the following crimes: insulting an officer of the law, littering—"

After that, I pretty much decided to stop listening. It didn't really matter what the man had to say, did it? Any moment now, Mr Ambrose's secret plan would be enacted, and we would be saved. I had to admit, I couldn't fathom what it was yet or why we had to go through with all this, but surely, any moment now, we would be rescued.

"Take them away!" the judge ordered. "To the gallows with them!"

Rough hands grabbed hold of us and dragged us towards the door.

Any moment now.

Any moment now!

"To se gallows!" the thugs cheered. "To se gallows!"

"Get some rope!"

Any. Moment. Now!

The front door of the court house flew open, and the light of the morning sun flooded in, blinding me. Before I knew what was happening, Mr Ambrose and I were dragged into the square behind the courthouse, where the gallows had kindly already been prepared. The menacing structure loomed over us.

"Um...Mr Ambrose, Sir?"

"Yes, Mrs Ambrose?"

"Please tell me your plan is about to start?"

"What makes you think it isn't already in operation?"

I jerked my head at the gallows and the surrounding crowd. "This is your plan?"

"Indeed."

"Spiffing plan. Just spiffing!"

"Thank you."

"Silence!" our friend the helpful Ambrose-imitator bellowed.

I was just about to respond—but someone else got ahead of me.

"Well, well...not so arrogant now, are we, Señor Ambrose?"

Together, the two of us turned to face the new voice. There, high above the square on a balcony sat the noble De Ravera and De La Fuente, quite literally lording it over us. Victorious smirks spread across their faces.

Mr Ambrose cocked his head. "Pardon? I didn't catch that."

The Spaniard's face darkened. This had certainly nothing whatsoever to do with the snicker that came from some mysterious source in my direction.

"I said," De Ravera squeezed out between clenched teeth, "not so arrogant now, are we?"

Mr Ambrose considered this for a moment—then lifted one shoulder by a millimetre. "Why would I know how arrogant the two of you are? You'd have to ask yourselves."

The nobleman's noble double-chin twitched. "You...! I'm asking if you are still so arrogant!"

"Oh. Well..." Mr Ambrose stroked his chin. "Yes, I believe my disposition in that regard is still very much the same as before."

Privately, I couldn't help but agree with him. Right now, he seemed stuffed full of arrogance to the brim! What the heck did he think he was doing? This was his plan? Having the two of us publicly hanged? Well, it certainly would make for a unique honeymoon, that's for sure! A little too unique for my taste.

Shifting in my captors' grip, I slid my hand closer to where a certain possession of mine was stored between the folds of my petticoat. Some said diamonds were a girl's best friend. Personally, I disagreed. Diamonds didn't have six bullets and a barrel.

De La Fuente sneered. "Still as haughty as ever, I see." Reaching out, he patted De Ravera on the shoulder. "Do not worry, my friend. Soon, he and his estrumpet will be singing a different tune, as sey dance to se hangman's tune."

Mr Ambrose's eyes narrowed infinitesimally. "So...you dare to actually preside over this farce? You do not even wish to pretend anymore that this is actual justice?"

"Why should we bosser pretending?" A low chuckle issued from the nobleman's throat. "We told you before, did we not? Sis town is ours! Sis town and everysing inside it—justice included! Our words are law. And if we say you die, sen you die!"

"And you care nothing for the rightfully elected government of this country? You care nothing for honour and justice?"

I nearly dropped the revolver I had just managed to get a hold of. Honour? Justice? Was this still my darling husband? Had he been sniffing glue? Since when did Mr Rikkard Ambrose waste words about things like that? More importantly, since when did he care about them in the first place? Last time I checked, neither justice nor honour could be eaten, rented out or sold!

"Justice? Honour? Ha!" With a snort, De Ravera stepped towards the railing of the balcony. "We are nobles of se Spanish Empire! Only we possess honour, and se justice we dispense is absolute, granted by se Lord above!"

"Is that a fact?" Eyes sparkling coldly, Mr Ambrose took a step forward. "I say you're bluffing! I say you don't have the guts to do this! I say you don't have the guts to stand there and give the order yourself!"

My eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. Leaning towards Mr Ambrose, I grabbed him by the ear. Or at least tried to. I'd forgotten my arms were still held behind my back. Crap!

"Can you please stop trying to expedite our execution?" I hissed.

"Why? Knowledge is Power is Time is Money, Mrs Ambrose."

"I think this counts as an exception!"

"Insolent worm!" Eyes blazing, De Ravera glowered down at Mr Rikkard Ambrose. "I, not have se courage? We shall see about sat! Hombres! Drag sem to se gallows! Let sem have a good look at se instrument of seir doom!"

The rough hands holding us instantly obeyed and started dragging us towards the wooden beam from which dangled not one, but two decorative hemp nooses. One looked rather new. Had they put up a second one especially for us? Oh, how sweet of them!

"You cannot do this!" Mr Ambrose exclaimed as he was dragged up the rough wooden stairs onto the platform and the ominous trap door.

Hope rose inside me. Was he finally going to do something?

De Ravera raised an eyebrow. "And why not?"

"Because it is illegal!"

My jaw dropped.

Was he for real?

I wasn't exactly sure about the answer to that. But the raucous laughter from the Spaniards and their thugs in answer to his words did not exactly comfort me.

"Mwhahaha! You are too amusing, Señor Ambrose! Do you still not understand? Well, sen let me spell it out for you: I. Do. Not. Care! I do not give a flying fig whesser or not what I do is illegal! I do not care whesser sis is seen by a hundred people, a sousand, or a million! If se president of sis sorry excuse for a country were to watch sis, I would still do it! And I would get away wis it, because I am Francisco Enrico Ronaldo Damian De Ravera!"

"I see." Mr Ambrose's voice was low, almost soft. And yet it seemed ten times as deadly as De Ravera's. How come, somehow, the condemned man's words sounded far more threatening than those of the man who was jury, judge and executioner? "I suppose, then, we can only wait and see what happens, can't we?"

De La Fuente sneered. "Finally, you have realized you are helpless. Grab sem! Into se noose with seir heads!"

I felt something rough settle around my neck. I was inexperienced with jewellery, but was fairly certain that it wasn't a diamond necklace.

"Tell me..." I enquired out of the corner of my mouth as the hangman stepped over to a certain lever. "Is everything still going according to your brilliant plan, Mr Ambrose?"

"Why, of course, Mrs Ambrose."

"Why did I marry you again?"

"Because you love me."

"On se count of sree!" De Ravera called out, gesturing towards the hangman. I closed my eyes, inwardly praying for Mr Rikkard Ambrose to be sent straight to hell. Then I could join him there with some nice, pointy pitchforks and offer the devil my services as my dear hubby's private torturer. "On se count of sree, men! One..."

My fists clenched. If only my revolver weren't out of reach! If only...

"Two..."

"Freeze!" a roar echoed over the square. "Hands above your head, now!"

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

My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

My oh my, what a cliffhanger, eh? ;)

For those who do not know, a justice of the peace is a kind of elected judge that normally does not have formal training in matters of law and deals only with minor cases. A justice of the peace judging a murder case would be completely unheard of.

Yours Truly

Sir Rob