//------------------------------// // Chapter 5: Saddle Up // Story: The Sand Thieves // by BaronVonStallion //------------------------------// Chapter 5: Saddle Up “It’s a travesty, Ah tell ya!” Wheat Chaff bellowed as he stood before Sheriff Silverstar. The law pony sat at the back of a hastily erected stage in front of his office. A small banner hung above it, with a large curtain at his back. His deputies stood at his side, a ten pony force. Though they wouldn’t be any kind of match for the hoard of angry townsfolk behind Mr. Chaff. “These ponies... they come inta our town, take our property, an’ these lawmen ain’t done a DAMN thing about it!” The stallion slammed his hooves into the ground. “Well Ah fer one, ain’t gonna stand around while the law sits on their flanks!” The crowd at his back cheered in agreement, stomping in unison with angry looks on nearly all of their faces. Spitfire waited by the side of the stage. It was her fault that this whole thing was going on. Or, at least she felt that way. If I had just done my job, none of this crap would be going on. She shifted on her haunches, anxiously awaiting Silverstar’s response. The sun felt hotter today, brutally shining down upon the scene before her. The past few days had been steadily increasing in temperature, much like the hostilities of the citizens of Appleloosa. And with the episode last night, it's no wonder ponies are upset. The sheriff stood up and walked over to the podium, scowling. “Now wait just a minute! We didn’t even know a pony was responsible until yesterday...” “Yeah, and who's fault is that, huh?” cried a mare’s voice from the crowd. “Who elected this guy, anyways?” said another. An older pony with a Trottingham accent spoke up. “I didn’t vote for ‘im!” The patriarch of the Chaff family stepped forward. “It seems ta me that the only way anything is gonna get done ‘round here, is if we do it ourselves!” “Yeah!” cheered the mob. “Ah say, we go find an’ find these guys, and give what for!” "Yeah!" The crowd cheered again, jeering with Wheat Chaff at Sheriff Silverstar and his deputies. “How do you propose we do that?” grumbled a deep voice. Big Macintosh walked out from behind the stage and climbed up, keeping his eyes. He approached the podium slowly, looking to Silverstar. Ya mind? he mouthed, trying to ease his friend out of the situation. The sheriff nodded, backing away to allow Big Mac some room. “What’re ya saying, Macintosh?” Wheat Chaff had stood firm and fearful in front of the crowd, but his voice lacked the same vigor when he spoke to Big Macintosh. “So you’re gonna run into the desert an’ capture those thieves yourself, Chaff? Mac asked. “Do ya'll even know where they are? What they look like?” he inquired, brow raised. “Not... exactly” Chaff mumbled, losing most of his charisma. "That's what Ah thought." Mac turned to address the entire crowd, his expression softening a bit at there worried faces. “Now, Ah know Ah’ve been away fer a while. Ah may not know all of ya’ll as well as Ah used ta, but Ah remember this was a town where ponies used their sense. An’ running out into the desert without a clue ain’t the right way ta go about this.” “Then what’re we supposed to do?” said someone in the back. “Let the law handle this. Ah know it’s been hard on ya; hell, it’s been hard on everypony, but we need to keep our heads straight fer now. Just give ‘em a little more time, that's all we ask.” The gathering under Big Mac rumbled with discontent, but no one chose to voice their opinion. Slowly, ponies dispersed from the mob, leaving Mac, Spitfire, and the law to themselves. “Well, that was fun” grumbled Silverstar. “Thanks fer the save, Mac. Ah don’t know what’s got inta those ponies, but Ah ain’t sure if Ah coulda held ‘em off fer much longer.” The sheriff shook his head, eyes darting down. He had little bags under his eyes and a light dusting of unshaved facial hair. He looked just plain worn out. “No offense, ‘Star, but ya'll don’t look so good” commented Mac. “When’s the last time ya got any sleep?” “...Here an’ there, mostly” the sheriff said with a shrug. “Ah just ain’t got the time or the stomach to sleep peacefully any more.” He looked up towards the sky. “This job’s losin’ its appeal a little bit each day. Ah kin see why ya left.” Big Mac chuckled sorrowfully. “If there was any other way, Ah wouldn’ta left ya in such dire straits, but you accepted all the same. Yeah, yeah" the sheriff groaned. "C'mon, we gotta talk.” Silverstar walked off in the direction of his office, beckoning with his head. Spitfire and Big Mac followed him, while most of the sheriff's deputies spread out amongst the town. Spitfire and the sheriff entered Silverstar’s office, sans Big Mac. "Go on, Ah'll just be a minute" he said to Spitfire, who shrugged and let him alone. Mac sat on his haunches, looking around town. Already hot today... Mac thought. Appleloosa was always hot, but today felt unbearably so. ...Already too damn hot. He sighed and pushed his way inside. Big Macintosh and plopped onto a large green couch along the wall for the sheriff's office. Mac stretched his neck and legs out, laying his head down. “Late night?” Silverstar joked dryly. Mac only groaned in response, twisting his neck to the right until a loud pop emanated from him. “I’ll take that as a yes...” The sheriff took a seat behind his desk, resting his head in his hooves. “Gee, aren’t we a cherry bunch...” Spitfire muttered. She sat in a green velvet chair opposite Silverstar’s desk. “So...” “So...” replied the sheriff. “What are we gonna do?” Silverstar huffed. “Ah don’t rightly know. Ah can’t just rush out inta the desert on a manhunt, like the townsfolk want. An‘ Ah certainly ain’t gonna sit around an‘ do nothin’.” “Well...” started Macintosh, “seems like the only thing ta do, is to talk to the herd.” “The herd?” asked Spitfire. “Do you really think they’ll go for it?” Silverstar groaned. “Sure, we'd made peace easy enough, but the last time they were in town, things... well, they went to hay in a hand-basket pretty fast.” Big Mac chuckled. “Yeah, that sounds about right. But if Ah know ‘em half as well as Ah think Ah do, they’ll hate the idea of some ponies trespassin‘ through their migration path.” Silverstar lifted his head, slightly less worried than before. “Ah don’t know, Mac. We don't even know how far they've gone since the season started...” “Look” said Mac. He sat up and leaned forward on the couch. “The way Ah see it, doesn’t seem like we got much of a choice. They can't be that far down the migratory path, Ah figure we go find 'em.” “What herd?” Spitfire asked again. “You may be right, but Ah still don’t like it.” Sheriff Silverstar grunted, pushing up from his desk. He trotted around it and towards the door. “Ah’ll make the arrangements, round up a carriage for our gear and the like, but if this goes sour...” “It won’t ” said Mac. “How do ya know?” “Cause,” smiled Macintosh, “We ain’t got no nothin' else.” Silverstar returned Mac’s smile, leaving Spitfire and Big Mac alone in his office. “Mac, what the hell’s going on? What’s the herd?” Spitfire said, irritated. “Well, Spitfire...” Mac turned to the pegasus, eyebrows raised with a grin. “Ya’ll ever met a buffalo?” The sun just began to peak over the horizon. A ray of light caught Spitfire in the eye just as she finished securing her last rope. She stepped back and smiled at her work. She alone had secured the company’s carriage, making sure every hook, line, and knot was fitted correctly. When she’d first entered the Equestrian Air Force, Spitfire had troubles tying even the simplest bow-tie. Now, it was a different story. She inspected the carriage to make sure no supply was left out. The carriage was a medium-sized package ferry, built of wood and iron. It contained most of their survival gear for the upcoming trip. The rest was either carried or they'd have to find them along the way. Spitfire hoped that the situation wouldn’t call for that, but for some reason, looking at the carriage put a chill down her spine. There was little fanfare around them. It seemed the townsfolk had lost the courage they had the day before. A few ponies watched from their homes, and even a few had the decency to look ashamed. Spitfire took to the sky, hovering around the wagon to ensure all her ropes were taught. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a large red blob approach the carriage. “Ya’ll done up there?” called Big Mac. “All set!” Spitfire hollered back, trotting up to meet the stallion. He stood latched to the carriage, a riding yoke hanging around his neck. Mac also had a long, brown duster that was tucked under his yoke. It lay loosely on his back, the wind tossing its tattered tips in the breeze. “Don’t you think it’s a little warm for that, dude?” Spitfire asked, pointing her hoof at the coat. “Eenope” said Big Mac. “It keeps the sand off, as well as the heat.” “Mac, that doesn’t make any sense. How would wearing a heavy coat when it's hot, keep you cool?” Big Mac shrugged. “Ah don’t really know, to be honest. All Ah know is that it works.” “Yeah, sure. You probably think it’s looks cool, too” laughed Spitfire. She trotted up next to him, nudging him in the ribs. “You sure you’re ready for this? Could be kinda rough, what with bandits and such...” Spitfire smiled as a frown grew along Mac’s lips. “Hey, Ah kin handle mah own, thank ya very much!” “You sure you ain’t rusty?” she teased. “ From what I hear, it’s been awhile since your last “posse” ride.” “Ah’ll be fine” he grunted. “ Ya’ll should worry more ‘bout yerself.” “Remember who you’re talkin’ to, Mac.” Spitfire leaped into the air, a cocky grin on her face. “I’m captain of the Wonderbolts. I think I can handle a little sand.” “Yeah, Ah bet.” The two waited for the rest of the party to wander over, and before long they trotted over. Sheriff Silverstar had the lead, his hat pulled low to keep the sun out of his eyes. He wore two large burlap sacks on his back, filled to the brim with provisions, most of which was water. His hind legs sagged a little under their weight, but he managed to heave the sacks onto the cart. Behind, three deputies trailed him. The first was an old, portly unicorn stallion with a dusty gold coat. He bore a set of shackles as a cutie mark, no doubt to match his vocation. His mane was a charcoal grey which contrasted his green eyes. He had a round face to match his round physique, and Spitfire couldn’t help but wonder if he’d be up for such a journey. He nodded courteously and took his place in the carriage line. Next was a light purple earth mare with yellow eyes and a light blue mane, streaked with white highlights. She wore a scowl on her face, grunting when Spitfire said hello. Spitfire spotted her cutie mark which was a gray lockbox. “Gee, friendly aren’t we?” she muttered to herself. The last of Silverstar’s deputies was a young earth stallion, who honestly was probably too young to really partake in such a venture. He bore a calico coat that was light and shaggy, paired with a light brown mane and tail. He had a saddlebag on his right side, filled with a bunch of heavy looking... somethings. The stallion had two wooden planks and a hammer for his cutie mark, and his bright green eyes went wide at the sight of Spitfire, he obviously knew of her. “H-H-Hey there, Sp-pitfire” he croaked nervously. “Yo” she smiled. She wasn’t prideful enough to gloat over having a fan, but a small stroke of the ego was a good thing once in a while. “What’s up?” The young stallion grinned gleefully, his eyes growing wide. “Ohmygosh!” he said quietly, nearly squee-ing to himself. “Uh... p-pretty good, miss Spitfire.” his voice was shaky, sputtering out the words with a strong blush on his face. “Please, just call me Spitfire.” The stallion’s grin grew even more. “O-Okay.” Silverstar trotted up next to the group, shaking his head. “Ah ain’t paying ya fer yer conversation skills, Level. Git that toolbox o‘ yer put away.” “Right away, chief!” The calico colt saluted, dashing away to secure his items. “That stallion...” Silverstar muttered. “Ah worry about him sometimes. That’s Level, by the way. He may not be the strongest colt, or the smartest, but he can build just ‘bout anything.” “Cool?” Spitfire inquired. “Useful if the wagon breaks.” “Right...” answered Spitfire. “Is everyone here?” “Pretty much” said the sheriff. “Lemme introduce ya to the rest of the gang.” Silverstar pulled the pegasus around to meet his two other deputies. The older Unicorn was named Iron Hold. He was a kind pony, well-spoken for a farmer. According to Silverstar, it was near impossible to escape a pair of handcuffs if Iron Hold applied them, which made Spitfire wonder what exactly the sheriff was anticipating. The lavender mare was called Lockbox, but Silverstar told her that most ponies called her “Joy”. Spitfire didn’t know how she got that nickname, but the irony of it was pretty apparent. Her disposition towards the Wonderbolt hadn’t changed; Silverstar’s introduction consisted of less than four sentences, and the few things Lockbox did say to the Wonderbolt were spiteful and cold. Spitfire did learn that Lockbox was a fairly good shot, so she couldn’t fault her for not being useful. Everypony settled into the carriage, throwing their personal packs either inside the wagon or on top. Spitfire flew herself up to the top, stretching out on her stomach under the rising sun. “Whelp, that seems to be ‘bout everythin’.” Silverstar announced, hoping into the front seat of the carriage. “Everypony ready?” “Almost” bellowed Macintosh from the front. “We got us a straggler.” “Who is it?” In the distance, Spitfire could see a shadowed figure walking towards them. She couldn’t make out much to distinguish the pony, but it was clear that it was a stallion. Other than that, the pony did have some form of cowpony hat. As the stallion advanced, his mane and fur color started to show against the morning sun. Spitfire recognized it from somewhere, but she just couldn’t place where. His yellow coat was wavering under a brown cotton vest, and his orange and blonde mane seemed to flutter behind him. A medium-sized olive saddlebag sat on his left side. “Move yer flank, Braeburn! Daylight’s burning!” Mac called out to his cousin. The stallion in question sped up to a quick trot, sliding to a stop in front of the carriage. “Sorry, coz. Got a bit caught up on the farm. Took me forever ta find Annabelle...” Braeburn said in his southern twang. Big Macintosh huffed. “Yeah, yeah. Come on, Brae, hook in so we can git going.” Spitfire watched as the the yellow stallion threw his pack into the cabin of the wagon. It was a long bag, made of a thick canvas with brass buckles keeping it shut. Along the top, a long blanket was wrapped around some sort of cylindrical object. Spitfire wasn’t able to catch a glimpse of whatever it was, but from the clang it made when Braeburn tossed it, the thing sounded metal. “Hey, name’s Spitfire” she said from up top, nodding her head. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Mac’s told me a lot...” “None of it good, Ah bet” smiled Braeburn. “Mah cousin’s been talkin‘, huh?” “Oh yeah! That one’s a real blabbermouth.” Spitfire saw Big Mac look over and scowl out of the corner of her eye. She grinned. “It’s starting to get tough to shut him up.” “Very funny” growled Macintosh from the front. “Oh, that sounds like ole‘ Macintosh...” chuckled Braeburn. “Tight-lipped as a royal guard with peanut butter on the roof of his mouth. That is, until ya stick a mare up next to ‘im.” Braeburn glanced over at Mac, who quickly turned his head away. “Eeyup, you stick a pretty lady next ta that stallion, an‘ he’ll talk about most everythin’.” Spitfire smirked, a faint blush on her cheeks. She also turned to look at Mac. “Is that so? Hey Mac-” “Looks like it’s time ta go, everypony!” bellowed Big Macintosh. “Braeburn! I swear to all that’s holy...!” “Looks like Ah’m needed, ma'am.” Braeburn tipped his hat her way and trotted next to his cousin, quickly hooking himself into the carriage. “All set, cos.” The carriage suddenly lurched forward, beginning it’s journey down the rocky dirt path ahead. “What the hell do ya think yer doing?” Mac asked through gritted teeth. “Oh nothing...” replied Braeburn innocently. “Just speedin’ things up.” “An’ what is that supposed to mean?” “Come on, Mac. It’s obvious yer sweet on the mare.” “That don’t mean ya gotta announce it to everypony in town” Mac barked. Though fortunately for him, the sound of his voice was drowned out by their hoofbeats. As Big Mac and Braeburn bickered, Spitfire turned over to her back and basked in the sunlight. Though she expected the day to get much hotter, the rays of sunlight hitting her stomach. I like that Braeburn, she thought to herself. He knows how to have fun. She pushed her head back, looking up at the two stallions pulling the cart. Spitfire could see Mac and his cousin arguing about something, and even with his thick red coat, the wonderbolt could see that Mac was blushing. Spitfire didn’t have to guess what they were fighting about. Aww, that cute. He’s embarrassed, she chuckled to herself. Though I don’t see why he should be. Spitfire rested her fore hooves under her head and closed her eyes. He’s like, town hero kinda. Whatever that’s worth. Never figured him as a bashful pony. Her mind drifted to that mare they’d talked to at the bar. The one after Mac’s.... heart. Yeah, let’s go with that. She stifled a laugh at the thought. I supposed I get it, though. Enough ponies are after the wonderbolts. And it’s not like he’s bad looking. Spitfire looked over at Big Mac, who was focusing straight ahead. Under Mac’s coat, she could tell he was working hard. His leg muscles were rippling with effort, grounding into the ground, kicking up small plumps of dust. Mac’s neck twisted slightly with each pull, and even his shoulders were strained under his duster. He’s certainly in shape. Real good shape. Spitfire thought back to a few nights before, when Mac and Spitfire chased the strange pony. She vividly remembered the look Big Mac had when she apologized. He looked so grateful, and... something else was there too. The light twinkling from the moon against his dark emerald eyes. His small half-smile. Those cute little freckles on his... What... Spitfire looked away, but she could feel the heat in her cheeks. Why are my cheeks...? The heat! It’s only the heat! ...Damn Appleloosian sun. Spitfire breathed a sigh of relief, confident that whatever might have been happening in her head, wasn’t. Looking up, the sky was a cool blue, with a bit of orange on the cloudless horizon. The sun’s barely out yet... Crap! Spitfire nearly growled. Come on, I’m not really interested in him. It’s just boredom, or... circumstance. Uggh, Why’d my face have’ta be all dumb and do that! Well, the sun’ll be out in a bit. At least then I’ll have an excuse. So... Damn.... Hot... Spitfire completely regretted her earlier thought. She couldn’t remember a day as hot as this one. Appleloosa had always been somewhat stifling, but never anything like this. I can’t be the only one dying right now. She peeked down from the top of the wagon. Sheriff Silverstar was doing just as well as her, sweating profusely under his hat and vest. Looking through the window, the passengers inside the carriage seemed fine, if a bit uncomfortable. Ugh, Spitfire groaned inwardly, flopping onto her back. The sun beat down on her exposed belly, heating it up almost instantly. She began to perspire, panting to try and cool down her face. “...SooOOOoo hot!” Silverstar chuckled, taking his hat off and using it as a fan. “Please, this ain’t nothin’. Ya’ll should see it in the summer.” Spitfire groaned at the thought. She flapped her wings a few times, beads of sweat flicking off as she did so. Wow, even my wings feel heavy. Spitfire stood up and flared her wings, allowing a strong cross-breeze to blow through them. “Ahhh...” she sighed, closing her eyes. The wind tousled her mane and fur, dragging some fatigue off her. The heat persisted, it was just more bearable now. The carriage had quite a good amount of distance between it and Appleloosa. For a long time, the Apple cousins had kept the pace hard and fast. The road was smooth enough to warrant it then, but now they were far from any town. Rocks and harsh clay lay scattered in the path, making a fast travel speed dangerous to the wagon. For the past hour, Big Mac and Braeburn trotted at a medium stride. Spitfire would’ve liked it a bit faster, but pushing them not probably wasn’t a great idea. Those two were the only ponies used to pulling that kind of weight. Spitfire watched the two pull her and her “companions”. Braeburn was sweating a little, like the rest of them, but Mac... What the hay! He doesn’t even look tired! Spitfire had to remind herself to close her jaw. “Wha- How?” she muttered. Maybe he’s hiding it. “Yo Mac!” she called. “What?” “How’re you not dying in this heat?!” Big Mac chuckled. “Seems Ah was right about mah coat. Isn’t so dumb now, is it? Plus, Ah get more wind up here anyways.” Cheeky bastard. Spitfire frowned. Losing wasn’t one of her strong suits. Well, I know of one way of heating him up. The pegasus’ frown melded into a smirk as she hatched her plan. She pushed off the wagon top, flying above the cart. Her wings were heavy from sweat, slowing her down much more than usual. Catching up to her chaffers, Spitfire slowly descended onto Big Macintosh’s back. “...Heh” Big Mac sighed. “What’re ya doing?” he asked, clearly annoyed. “...Nothing.” Spitfire hummed sweetly, sitting on him. Her forelegs rested on Mac’s head, pushing his hair down into his eyes. “How ya doing?” “Ah was doin‘ just fine. Then...” Mac added with a whinny, blowing his hair away from his vision. “All of a sudden, somepony threw a set o‘ talking weights on mah back.” He huffed, blowing a strand of hair out of his face. “Can’t image why...” “Is that right?” she chuckled. “Sounds to me like some pony‘s being a sourpuss.” While teasing her crimson friend, Spitfire stretched out along his body, letting her legs hang at off Mac’s sides. She fidgeted with his ears, flopping them back and forth. “Would ya’ll stop that?” grumbled Macintosh. “But your ears are so floppy!” “All our ears are floppy...” “So? It’s fun. And besides...” Letting her forelegs fall, Spitfire scooted forward so that her face was was beside Mac’s. “You like this.” “Pfff. Ah most certainly do not.” “Really?” Spitfire smirked. “Cause that blush on your face says otherwise.” Not that I can even see it from this angle, but hell, I’m a betting pony. Her bet payed off, Mac coughing at the accusation. “A-Ah’m not blushin’...” grumbled the stallion. “It’s the sun. Heat, and all that.” That earned a throaty chuckle from Spitfire. “You’re a pretty bad liar, Mac” she cooed into his ear. “I’m sitting on ya, and you’re not hot enough to be sweating, let alone blushing.” “Ah... Well...” Big Mac opened his maw, and promptly shut it scowling. He kept his eyes forward, ears flat with his head slightly down. “Haha, you’re too easy, Mac. Ya gotta at least give me a challenge.” “Fine. Ah got one fer ya; ya’ll got a point behind all this?” “Oh, come on Mac” Spitfire laughed, her legs swinging freely by his sides. “You got two sisters, don’t you know how much fun it is to tease somepony.” “Well sure, Ah am an older brother” Mac chuckled. “But do ya gotta stradle me ta do it?” “Well..... no” the pegasus admitted. “Then what’s with all the touching?” Spitfire couldn’t think of an answer. Or more likely, she didn’t want to. Quickly, she fluttered out Macintosh and back onto the carriage. “Heh” smirked the large red stallion. “Gotta.” Mac lifted his muzzle, shaking his head side to side to rid himself of the small but still existent strain Spitfire had put oh his neck. Ah gotta admit, didn’t quite mind all that he thought, allowing himself a small smile. Did come outta nowhere, though. Maybe she’s just trying to get in mah head. But she still wouldn’t need to do all that. There’s always a chance that, ...Nah, Macintosh. Focus. Ain’t got time fer dilly-dallying an’ idle thoughts. Big Mac left the thoughts alone, and eventually they faded away, leaving just Big Mac, his posse (if you could call them that), and the hard, red, dirt path ahead.