Why are we stopping? Thee there on the horse, who are thou!
I am thy worst nightmare, a Woman’s voice said, step out of the coach, all of thee.
Four flabbergasted men stepped out with their hands up.
I’m all dick, Sir Duncan murmured. Sorry, sorry, I mean ears. I’m all ears.
Out with thy purses, She demanded.
And if we refuse, the tall man asked.
The Lady pointed the blunderbuss at him: Then thee shall kicketh the bucket the present day.
They immediately dropped their purses.
Thee has stolen so much more than my purse, Sir Duncan blushed.
She smiled, but ignored him.
Drop thy pants, all of thee. Now!
Not in a million years, the bald man screamed.
The blunderbuss roared into life and a bullet ploughed through his hair.
Woman, the fat man lamented, has’t thee nay mercy?
I have no more of that dull commodity than thee has’t, She growled.
She threw their trousers in the bushes, tied Her victims back to back on the stagecoach horses and drove them into the next town, where many people gathered and cheered. The Lady let Her horse prance and drove off into the night.