"Blimey, how long have we been standing out here?" Ron asked weakly.

Harry looked at his watch. It was noon. Where in the world was this Serena Riddle? Perhaps Dumbledore had forgotten to tell her they were coming, or (and Harry didn't like to think about this possibility) Dumbledore didn't really send that letter and it was really a trap set up by a gang of Death Eaters. It was only too bad Dumbledore hadn't given a description of Serena in the letter. If he had, Harry and Ron might have at least known what they should be looking for.

Harry's thoughts were interrupted by a soft voice behind them. "Howdy."

Ron jumped, then the pair of them turned. A young woman, around the age of Fred and George, was leaning against a support beam of the saloon's balcony. She was very short, not fat or skinny, but solidly built.

Her skin was tanned the color of caramel. A mane of golden hair peeked out from underneath the battered cowboy hat she was wearing; long bangs flopped into her eyes, the bluest eyes either of them had ever seen.
She was clad in faded, baggy blue jeans and mud-caked work boots; the sleeves of her plaid flannel shirt were rolled up past her elbows, revealing lean, muscular arms.

"Are you Serena Riddle?" Ron asked.

"That's my name. Don't wear it out." she replied gruffly.

Serena motioned the boys to follow her up the street, where a buckboard wagon was waiting for them. Harry and Ron clambered into the back while Serena picked up the reins. She passed a canteen over her shoulder. Gratefully, Harry took a long drink of the cool water, then passed the canteen to Ron, who began to chug the reamaining water. Abruptly, Serena snatched the canteen out of his hand.

"You're gonna make yourself sick," she warned. "You boys better hold onto something. The ride's a little bumpy."

Serena slapped the reins against the horses' hindquarters; they began to trot away from the town square. After only five minutes in the wagon, Harry was beginning to wish he could be make this journey on his Firebolt. Every time they hit a bump, Harry had to grab onto the side of wagon to prevent himself from falling onto Ron.

"Don't have a car?" Harry called to Serena over the clatter of wagon wheels and the jingling of harnesses.

"I do, but it'd look odd if I drove it into town. See, this whole area's stuck in a time warp, anywhere between the Civil War and the Industrial Revolution." Serena explained.

"What's the Civil War?" asked Ron.

"Explain later!" she said.

The area around them had turned into desert very quickly, surrounded by rock formations, tumbleweeds, and a few cactuses; the road was made of the same butterscotch colored soil as the one in town. After half an hour, Serena reined the horses in. Harry and Ron looked over the wagon. The house in front of them definitely could have been built in the nineteenth century, so could the smaller rectangular structure ten yards away.
There was also a large barn off in the distance.

Near the house, two men seemed to be having an argument. One was tall, had long black hair, and was waving a large Bowie knife in the face of a shorter, scruffier man. The scruffy man was yelling taunts, all the while dancing out of reach of the knife.

"Go ahead and cut me, damn Mexican greaser! You do it with your horse, Nah-vee-ho! Come on! Try and get me!"

Serena rolled her eyes as she climbed down from the wagon. "For Christ's sake..." she muttered. She approached, and with relative ease, swatted the knife out of the black-haired man's hand. "Can't I leave you two alone for fifteen minutes while I go to town?"

"He started it," said the black-haired man.

"I don't give a damn." She scowled at the scruffy man."You know better than to get him mad, Steve."

"Who's in the wagon? I hope it ain't more Mexicans." said Steve, ignoring what she was saying.

Serena put an arm out to hold the other man back. "Let it go, Chavez. And no, Steve. Those are the boys from England. Take 'em up to the barn and start teachin' 'em how to do chores. I'll be up there in five."