from The Incomplete Works of Marc Vandersluys
They call him The Camel. That moniker has an air of mystery about it, rendering its bearer somewhat exotic in the minds of those who hear it, but make no mistake: it is a most literal appellation, given because the man’s moustache enables him to go long periods of time—longer than your regular, less mustachioed cowboy—without replenishing his water supply. His moustache is so thick and bristly that it can retain large quantities of whatever the man is drinking; it is a well of sorts upon which he can draw at will by flipping his lower lip out and over the moustache and then sucking. Not a simple task, mind you, but worth the effort when fresh water is miles away.
He had been called The Walrus for a time, but that sort of name seemed more suitable for a fat banker, neither which this man is, and a large, bushy moustache isn’t an unusual sight in those parts. In fact, using one’s moustache as a sort of living, growing canteen is no less common, though The Camel’s retention was impressive in comparison to most others. No, he had that nickname when others did not for one reason alone: he was an outlaw.