Gypsies. Paw always said, where there’s a fuss, there’s a gypsy. A heap of ‘em, in our case. Nearly got the bulge on us, too, ’til Madea smelled a bushwhack. Takes a gypsy to know a swindle, I s’pose. By the end of it, ’twer a whole caravan of dead gypsies strung up real high, like gargoyles with buttholes.
One of the survivors got uppity, so I put a bolt in his brainpan. Ain’t got rations for prisoners anyhow.
We ran into some sand druids. Kept my hand on my holster, but they weren’t looking for a fight. Just then, we heard a mighty caterwauling and rumbling like you wouldn’t believe. All of a sudden-like tentacles came up through the sand like a racy Japanese cartoon. The gypsy woman barely bit off the word “sand kraken” afore we spurred the horses right smart.