My Little Clony

by therealfeedback

Act III, Chapter III

“What the hell were you doing?!” As I shouted at him, I threw a hoof across Promontory’s face. Not that it seemed to hurt him though, he didn’t even flinch. In retrospect, it probably hurt me more than him, as my hoof became sore after throwing the punch.

“Gettin’ y’all out of legal trouble is what.” He replied flatly. “Ah’ said it was a bad idea, but it took nearly getting’ arrested to prove that to ya.”

“This is bigger than a little jail time!” I answered, anger growing in my voice. “This is bigger than all of Equ—“

“Caesar, stop.” He said, still in a monotone, clearly sick of all this. “This joke wasn’t funny before. It ain’t funny now. Ya’ almost got yerself and yer friends arrested fer it. Stop.” I froze up for a moment. This was the first time in years that Promontory had spoken like this – the first time in a long time I had seen him genuinely annoyed. Whether it was the amount my driving had annoyed him by, or simply seeing someone normally so level-headed upset, it startled me.

“Promontory, I—“ Once more, he cut me off.

“Save it. I’m disappointed Caesar, ya always were more sensible than this. If this was all yer’ group came out here for, I think it’d be best if y’all got going.” I stood for a moment, trying to think of something to say to try and change Promontory’s mind, but for once, no words came to my mouth. I lowered my head in defeat, turning to walk away, as it seemed anything I said, if Promontory would let me finish, would help.

As it turned out though, I wouldn’t need to speak, as a certain sound did so for me. That sound being a gunshot.

The loud, distinct snapping noise, despite sounding off a ways, was nonetheless distinct as it rang through the air. No screams accompanied it, but within seconds, Silverstar burst from inside the sheriff’s office, a bandolier slung over him with a firearm of his own on it.

Before I could respond myself, Promontory had bolted off after him. Confused, forgetting the others in a panic, and not wanting to be left alone and unarmed while gunfire was ringing out, I followed after the two, for better or worse.

“Hey, Caesar, wait!” Vinyl shouted from behind. I didn’t hear it though, I was too focused on the gunfight that seemed to be going on, listening for the echoes of more fired shells to hear her. With no response, she chased after me as well, the others following her.

The sheriff arrived at the origin of the gunshot, followed shortly by Promontory, then Caesar, and so on. The sight we arrived at wasn’t exactly pleasant – it was outside of the town’s saloon. Various patrons and passerby were standing in shock around it, one pony lying on its steps, out cold, the sounds of fighting coming from inside.

A moment later, another gunshot sounded, and a moment later, another pony tumbled out of the saloon doors, A hoof grabbing at a bleeding shoulder as he scrambled away from the building. As he did though, another shot fired, this one above his head.

He froze, staring at the ground in front of himself where the shot had hit the dirt. Past the doors stood another pony now – this one had a gun drawn, and given it was smoking, was likely the source of the fuss. He wore a black, long-brimmed hat atop his head, a dark, unkempt mane strewn all about beneath it, and a brown cloak over his body, a similarly brown coat beneath it. He grinned, walking up to the pony on the ground, still frozen where he had been when the shot had fired. His eyes widened as there was a click right behind his head. The sound of a revolver cocking.

“You see a pony with a gun start a fight, and you decide the best weapon is a wooden pole?” The armed pony chuckled as he spoke, a familiar tinge in his voice. “I have news for you friend: When a colt with a wooden pole meets a colt with a revolver, the colt with the pole’s a dead pony.”

“Fire the shot and you’ll get one of your own.” The words came from none other than the sheriff, a single hoof resting on his own firearm. “I don’t take kindly to strangers threatening my townspeople. Much less shooting them.” The bandit eyed the sheriff, stepping away from the injured bartender.

“I don’t care if it’s yer’ job,” He said flatly. “This was one fight you should’ve stayed out of.”

“Maybe.” The sheriff replied, sniffing as he did. “Maybe. But it’s one you won’t get to reflect on.”

The two stared each other square in the eyes, sweat seeping down the sheriff’s face beneath the brim of his hat. The sun burned down, evaporating the drops of sweat as they fell to the ground. The two watched each other intently, neither blinking, both silent, frozen, waiting for the other to make a move, one they could read, and counter while the other was still moving. Not a single word was breathed, not a single wind blew, complete silence, complete peace, ready to be shattered by two bullets.

And in an instant it was over. The Bandit flinched his arm, causing the sheriff to react, but pull back as he saw it was nothing more than a feint. After the feint though, with the Sheriff now unready, The Bandit drew, firing twice.

Blood sprayed in the air, a piercing howl echoing through the town as the sheriff clutched his shoulder, his hat flying off and his gun clattering to the ground. As he screamed, The Bandit stood, smirking.

“Very careless of you, old man.” As he spoke, he glanced down at the weapon he held, a disappointed look on his face. “Still, that’s three times today I’ve shot for the head and missed by inches…must be the wind. Promise I won’t miss my next shot, anyone else want to try?” There was a silence from the crowd, much to The Bandit’s pleasure if his grin was any indication. “I thought as much.”

“Let me spell it out for you all – I’m a reasonable stallion. I don’t ask too much, I don’t think. Sure, some will disagree…” As he spoke the last sentence, he held up his weapon, cocking the hammer with a chuckle. “But they don’t usually make much fuss. Now I wouldn’t be reasonable if my demands were unreasonable, would I? So, I’m really hoping you’ll all be willing to cooperate with my reasonable demands. After all…” He leaned down, holding the barrel of the gun to the wounded sheriff’s head, horror in the lawman’s eyes. “The last thing we want...is some needless bloodshed.” At that, he pulled the trigger.

The click of the hammer though was the only sound; all six shots had been fired, there was little more than the clap of the hammer and the empty click of the cylinder turning. He let out a raucous laugh, holstering the weapon.

“I’m nothing if not honest. I have no desire to hurt any of you. But, if I’m refused, well, lets just say more shots will be fired. And this time, I will not miss my mark.” With those words and a bow, he walked back into the tavern, everypony outside still frozen in equal parts fear and shock.

“We need to get out of here.” Caesar said. “Now. If this blows up, it’ll compromise every one of u—“

“We ain’t goin nowhere.” Promontory cut him off, a surly look on his face. “I don’t tolerate this in my town.” Caesar stared at him, equal parts confused and worried.

“You’re unarmed, what’re you hoping to do against—“ Once more he was cut off, this time by actions rather than words. Promontory had picked up the Sheriff’s gun, walking into the saloon.

As the door flew open, The Bandit, sitting on one of the barstools, turned to the direction of the open entry.

“Who the hell ar—“ He stopped himself as he saw the revolver Promontory had picked up, chuckling. “This town’s full of idiots with a death wish, ain’t it?”

“Ah don’t take kindly to your sort comin’ through here. If y’all don’t want to stare down this barrel, leave. Now. “ The threat only drew more laughter from The Bandit.

“You’ve got guts. I can respect that.” At that, he hopped off the barstool, walking over to Promontory and placing a hoof on his forehead. “But you ain’t got much up here.” Promontory bit at the hoof, but it pulled back, only a stray scrap of cloth catching in his jaw. “Feisty, too. What’s your name, son?”

“Ya don’t ask somepony else’s name without givin yer’ own ‘round here.” Promontory said flatly.

“Not sure if you noticed, but I ain’t from around here. I’ll oblige you though,” He accented the word ‘oblige’, mocking Promontory. “Golden Gallop. Sure you’ve seen my face on a poster or two here. Now you?”

“Promontory.”

“Well Promontory, what can I do for you? And don’t be too demanding, I’ve had a rough day having to just deal with so many unreasonable ponies, including one sheriff who tried to shoot me! Unbelievable the world we live in, where a sheriff shoots a perfectly reason—“

“Shut up.” As he spoke, Promontory sounded unusually forceful. Gallop stared, clearly not used to being spoken to like this.

“…Excuse m—“

“What part of ‘shut up’ don’t ya understand? Stop talking. Can it. Silencio. Be quiet. Stuff it. Quit making noise. Cease speaking. Or my personal favourite, and the one I used first: Shut up.”

“What a shame.” He said. “I was starting to like you.”

“I don’t care what somepony like you thinks.”

“How about you spit out what you’re here for before I make it so you can’t?”

“Tomorrow. Noon. You, me, and nopony else.” Gallop stared at Promontory for a moment, a look of amusement on his face now.

“You really think this is a bright idea? Because frankly it just adds you to the list of ponies here who want to die, from where I’m standing.”

“Did I stutter?” There was a moment of silence, broken by a hoarse laugh from Gallop. Followed by another. And another.

“Tell you what, son. I’m in a good mood with your little comedy bit, and I haven’t filled this week’s quota yet. So I’ll be happy to give you a timely funeral tomorrow at noon. For now though, leave me to my drink.”

The words stuck in the air, as a pause sat, festering. Shortly thereafter, Promontory snorted, nodded, and turned, walking out of the saloon. As he passed the group of five who had come to recruit him, Caesar turned to Trixie.

“That is why we want him – he’s not just brute force, he also has more will and more of a sense of justice in one strand of his mane than you do or I do combined. He’s someone we want in a back-against-the-wall situation like this.”

“Assuming he survives tomorrow?” She asked.

“That is an issue, isn’t it…”