Two unlikely ponies are brought together in times of Appleloosa's turmoil.
Appleloosa. A town built to withstand anything. But when mysterious visitors rob them of their very livelihood, Spitfire and Big Macintosh have to work together to save the town, as well as their developing friendship.
A/N: Story I just sort of came up with. I really like westerns, and Appleloosa seems like a great setting. Shipping is happening (wanted to see a change of pace in it), as well as violence (What'd you expect, it's a western.). Enjoy!
It’s the one thing that always seems to last. It rolls through the air, settles anywhere, gets stuck to your hooves. Sand can smooth things like water, or cut like a knife. The one thing everypony reverts back to, sand is everlasting. And it seems it also liked to ruin Appleloosian crops.
“Shoot,” Braeburn slapped his hat on his knee. Looking around his orchard, crippled trees shattered themselves throughout. Very few healthy trees were left. Even his smaller crops, which had been sectioned off, were suffering. “This ain’t good...” He left his homestead, venturing towards the neighboring ranch, and they too had suffered from the onslaught of an apparent sandstorm. Funny, thought Braeburn. Ah know Ah didn't hear anythin' 'bout a storm passing through.
Braeburn made his way into town, heading for the sheriff’s office. Appleloosa was friendly, if that. They'd been hit by a string of robberies recently, and ponies were starting to get desperate. They still kept up the mask of courtesy, at least. He stopped, looking up to the one building that wasn't brightly colored. A sign hung above the entrance steps read "Police" as is swung in he breeze. It was an old building, tired from weathering the town problems, and it was one of the only places with a working telegraph machine. He tipped his hat to Silverstar, Appleloosa’s peacekeeper. Braeburn stopped at the machine, sitting down in a stool. He composed his thoughts and started transcribing.
“Receive Ponyville. STOP. To Macintosh Apple. STOP. Need help on farm. STOP. Crops dead and failing. STOP. Please come at earliest connivence. STOP. ROAD may be slightly dangerous. STOP. Please help. STOP From Braeburn. STOP.”
Satisfied, he turned to Sheriff Silverstar. “Howdy, sheriff.”
“Hello, Braeburn. How goes that farm o‘ yours?”
Braeburn shook his head. “Owning yer own farm ain’t easy. ‘Specially when sand kills near everything ya’ll own.”
“Ah suppose not” answered Silverstar. “It ain’t like our little bandit problem is any easier.”
Braeburn’s ears drooped. “Bandits still givin' ya'll trouble?”
“Yup, jus‘ hit Wheat Chaff’s farm yesterday. An‘ it seems every other train passin‘ through is travelin‘ light due to them.” He tsk-tsked. “Shame, really. They’re prolly good ponies, at some point.”
Braeburn shrugged. “Yeah, but what can ya do?”
“Ah’ll tell ya what Ah’ll do. Imma call fer some reinforcements. Hell, they can spare at least a few Pegasus reserves, right?”
A/N: Hey, everyone! Hope this just sparks interest in an upcoming, full story. Wasn't really sure if anyone would want to read it, so here you go.
If one were to travel the land of Equestria, they would see many thing. Scary things, beautiful things. They might pass by the town of Ponyville, meeting the kind ponies there. They may visit the Everfree forest, discovering new and exciting flora. By chance, they could possibly even see the royal palace, and bask in it’s glory. The thing these places all have in common is that none of them were Appleloosa.
Appleloosa, being farming town, did not present itself to many opportunities, let alone any practical fun. And that was the point Spitfire had been trying to get across to her CO. During the Wonderbolt offseason, stunt flying didn’t happen as often. She wanted a challenge, some more than to keep her busy. Signing up for the Pegasus Air Reserves seemed like a smart move. She was serving her nation, it was a good workout. They even had a base in Cloudsdale, so travel wasn’t a problem. But now, she was having a few regrets.
“C’mon Sarge, don’t do this. Send me anywhere. Hell, send me into dragon territory! At least something interesting would happen.” She stomped her hoof, placing an exclamation on her point.
“Too Bad, Spits. You’re going, and that’s that.” Sargent Bulkhead gave Spitfire an encouraging smile. “Look; you’re my best recruit. I’ve gotta send someone, and I figure if I send the best, it’ll get done quicker and cleaner.” She patted her on the back. “Who knows...could be fun?”
Spitfire stared knives at Bulkhead. Really? Fun? In the one place where mountains outnumber sentient beings? “Sure...whatever.”
“Good” said Bulkhead, “cause you ship out tomorrow morning. Just make sure to take the robbery reports, and keep the town calm, collected, and under control.”
Spitfire retreated to her bunk and started to pack. Angrily. The Hell! Stupid farmers can’t even protect their own damn houses! She finished throwing a few personal items in a bag, and laid into her cot. This better not take long...
The sun rose, shining brightly as it did everyday. It warmed the grounds of Sweet Apple Acres, waking the trees and the fruit which occupied them. Rays of light shone into the simple farmhouse, stirring its residents. One said pony was already up and about, preparing for a long journey.
The stallion of the house, Big Macintosh, was gathering supplies for his trip to Appleloosa. He placed rope, bug ointment, his special Stalliongrad-made survival knife and any other gear one could think of into his saddlebags. He was known around the farm, and Ponyville in general, and someone who was responsible. Someone dependable. Almost a colt scout at points. He just liked to be prepared, and Mac wasn’t going to stop now.
Applejack trotted downstairs and into the kitchen where Mac had been setting up. She walked up to him and gave a tight hug.
“Ah think it’s great that your so willin‘ to help out cousin Braeburn” she said, still rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. “ Ah know it’s dangerous out there. An’ Ah know you think you’d experienced everythin’ that desert out there can throw at a pony... Jus‘ please, please be safe. Ya’ll ain’t as young as ya used to be.”
Mac nuzzled Applejack, walking over towards the dining table. “Ah will, ya’ll know that. “Sides, Ah’m only five years older then you.”
“Ah know, Mac. Ah’m jus‘ being worrisome. But ...don’ you go tryin’ any heroics?”
Mac lowered his eyes but keep a smile on his face. “Those days are behind me, Jack. Ah’m jus’ gonna help with the farm, an’ hopefully that’s it. Ah’ll be home in a couple weeks.”
The apple siblings sat, eating the rest of their breakfast in silence. After breakfast, Mac gathered his things, received his goodbye wishes from his family, and left his home. He headed to the Ponyville Train Station, boarding a one-way trip to Appleloosa. Taking a window seat near the back of the train, Mac placed his sack in the overhead compartment and sat. Well...here goes nothin’ Mac thought. The sun was sitting just above the houses of Ponyville, still being early in the morning.
RIIIIINGG! RIIIIINGG! RIIIIINGG!
Spitfire slammed her hoof into the alarm clock next to her bed. Climbing out from under the sheets, he threw the backpack she’d prepared the night before over her shoulder and dressed in her flight suit. She wasn’t flying to Appleloosa, but being on duty included her uniform. Especially in a town like Appleloosa, where no one would be able to recognize her otherwise. Walking through the corridors of the barracks, she bumped into Bulkhead. She quickly snapped to attention, mostly due to reflex.
“At ease, Spits” She said. “You all set to go?”
“As ready as I’ll ever get” Spitfire replied morosely.
“Cheer up, Spits. You know what they about the borderlands. The stallions out there are as big as mountains.”
Spitfire chuckled. “Yeah, the bulky one are pretty fine.”
“Oh...yeah, their good too.”
“Wait, Bulkhead. What were you talkin’ about?”
Bulkhead smirked deeply. “You know what I mean.”
Spitfire blushed. “...I should go.” She continued past Bulkhead, who just smiled.
“Have fun, Spits.”
Spitfire made it to the Ponyville Train Station just before ten o’ clock. Checking in her bag, she entered the train. Her thoughts stirred on Appleloosa. This. Is Going. To Suck. Hard. I don’t even have anyone to talk to. She walked towards the back of the train, looking for an open seat. “Huh, whole lotta ponies, just for Appleloosa” She whispered to herself. Every booth she came across was nearly full. Finally, she found a both with only one pony in it. The colt was medium in height, with slick blond coat and a blue curly mane.
“Mind if I sit here?” asked Spitfire, as the train started to move.
The colt gazed up from his paper. “Oh, of course not, m’lady” he responded with barely contained glee. He watched as she sat, inspecting the military flight suit she wore. It was built much like her Wonderbolt’s uniform. It was aerodynamic and form-fitting, hugging the curves of her body to cut down on friction. Unfortunately, it also showed off her body a little more than Spitfire’s liking.
“Hehe...thanks” she said nervously. He continued eyeing her rather un-stealthily from behind his newspaper. Se could feel his eyes creep over her. Uuuhhhhggg. At least with the Wonderbolt suit, I’m movin‘ to fast for anyone to watch.
“Can I help you?” Spitfire was getting sick of this colt’s obsession with her suit.
“Ohhh, no,no” he stumbled. The colt snapped back to his paper.
“Whatever...” mumbled Spitfire. She got up, trotting to the caboose of the train and away from prying eyes. She leaned against the railing, watching as Ponyville faded around the horizon.
Here goes nothin’.
Mac rose from his seat, needing to stretch his legs. They had been traveling for about 30 minutes. Mac wasn’t one to sit for long, being a professional farmer. He moved towards the back, not looking for conversation. He stopped just before the caboose, seeing it occupied by a yellow mare. The pony outside had strong stance, much like his own. But there was a certain loftiness to it, like she could drift off at any moment. She had a beautiful blend of orange and yellow in her mane, and was wearing a tight uniform belonging to the Pegasus Air Reserves that happened to accent very particular parts of her form. Wow, she's...gorgeous, was all he could think. Stop that! Ya'll know that's not right! Mac's brain reminded him he was staring. Jus be nice. Ah don' need to start anythin' right now. Got enough on mah plate as it is. He stepped out slowly around the door.
“Mind if Ah join you?” he asked.
“Sure” Spitfire replied, a bit of salt in her voice. Great, another friendly pony.
Mac walked up to the rail, throwing his forelegs over it. He stared into the distance, hoping it was towards Sweet Apple Acres. The two stood in silence, letting the wind from the train blow by them.
“You heading for business or pleasure?” Spitfire sarcastically asked.
“Business.”
“Thought so” Spitfire spat.
Mac cleared his throat. “Ya’ll don’t seem to excited to be goin’ there.”
“Well, excuse me if I don’t consider Appleloosa to be a citadel of civilization.” Spitfire sighed.
“Ah see. Sorry you feel that way.”
They were quiet for a bit after that. “You live out there?”
“Eenope.” Mac pulled a heat chaff from under his yolk, placing in his mouth. “Family does, though.”
“Oh.” Spitfire blushed, embarrassed that she’s pretty much insulted a stranger’s family. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean...”
“Don’ worry none. Ah know how boring it can be out there.” Mac continued to stare off into the horizon, a smile growing on his face. “But there’s a heck of a lot of fun out there, too.”
Spitfire had a small smile on her face, but realizing it she wiped it off. So you met one half-decent pony. This is still gonna blow. “I don’t think I caught your name.”
“Name’s Macintosh Apple. Most just call me Big Mac.” He chewed on the wheat.
“Cool. Name’s Spitfire.” She fluttered her wings, stretching them at her sides. “So, you’re just on a family visit?”
“Not exactly” started Mac. “Ya’ll heard they got bandits out there?” Spitfire nodded her head. “Well, mah cousin’s farms been havin' a spot o' trouble, so Ah told him Ah could throw in a helpin’ hand.”
“And the prospect of thieves doesn’t scare you?”
“I’ve had worse.”
Spitfire chuckled. Strong and silent, huh. Like that’s not cliche or anything.
“How ‘bout you?” Mac pointed at her uniform. “Didn’t think Reserves got much free time.”
Spitfire raised an eyebrow. “ How you know I’m Reserves?”
“Other than the fact yer wearing the Uni?” Mac grinned as Spitfire silently cursed it. “Well, ya’ll don’t have the farmer ‘look’. An’ ya certainly ain’t a tourist, cause Ah don’t think Appleloosa has ever gotten one o’ those.”
“Yeah, they’re sendin’ me to help out with the bandit problem.”
Mac nodded. “Glad ya’ll can help.” He pushed off the railing, moving back towards the door. “Nice meetin’ ya, miss Spitfire.”
“Thanks, you too.” And then, she was alone. Spitfire watched the landscape tumble past her, letting her mind wander free. She hoped this skill would come in handy fighting against the mind-numbing boredom of Appleloosa.
The sun hit the tip of the horizon before Spitfire returned to her seat. The creepy pony had switched from just eyeing her, to hitting on her.
“You out here all by yourself?” His breath oozed over her. “It’s..dangerous out here. You might need a strong stallion by your side.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine.” She’d had about enough of this guys question. If he doesn’t shut up in the next five minutes...
“I’m actually an adventurer myself. I know these parts like the back of my hoof.” He inched closer to Spitfire, leaning towards her with his arm across the booth.
“Hehe...yup. I know all sorts of things.”
Spitfire pushed him back. “Woah buddy, gettin‘ a bit weird.”
“What’s weird? It’s just you and me, baby. Nothing to worry about..” The pony took back his position at Spitfire’s side.
Mac stood up from his booth, feeling nature’s call. Where the heck’s the bathroom in this place? He walked down the hallway, searching. He came to a stop five doors past his own, hearing a commotion, accompanied by a familiar voice.
“I thought I told you to back off?”
“And I thought I told you that you’ve got the hottest flank I’ve...” Mac heard a scuffle inside the booth. He slide the door open, his head long and haunches primed to launch. Mac eased up when he noticed an average-sized colt pressed up on the room window, a hoof thrown against his throat. A yellow pegasus mare was holding him at bay with apparent ease.
“So, this is where ya’ll got off to, sis.”
Spitfire looked at Big Mac. “What the hell are you talkin’ about? I’m not...”
“Awful shame this had to get on, wouldn’t want ta start any trouble now would we?” Mac emphasized with a wink. Spitfire released the perverted pony, peeking outside her room. Many of the neighboring ponies were investigating the scene, while one of the conductors was gathering statements.
“Ohhhh...umm, thanks ‘bro’.” She winked back, making Mac groan.
“Jus’...c’mon now.” The two left, walking back the Mac’s room. “So what was that all about?”
“The pony was up my flank all day today.” She flopped into her seat. “Guess the suit gave him the wrong idea.”
“That shouldn’t have mattered none!” Mac scowled. “Ain’t no reason to act like that,.” He sat on the bench across from Spitfire. “But ya’ll should probably stay outta trouble.”
She sat up, pointing a hoof at Mac. “He started it! The creep!”
“Ah know that. But ya’ll still gotta be careful.” He looked through the window. Watching the conductor return to his post, Mac settled into his seat. “Seems like ya don‘ got any proof, and you are a ways from Cloudsdale.”
“How’d you know I’m from Cloudsdale?”
“It’s the only base Ah know close enough to the Ponyville Express.” Mac shrugged. He rested his head on the window ledge. “If ya’ll don‘ mind, Imma hit the hay.”
“Sure thing.” she put her legs on the seat, stretching out. She looked over at Macintosh, who was already lightly snoring. What kind of pony sleeps this early? She peeked outside, seeing that Celestia’s sun was still fairly high in the sky. Guess I’ll just sit then.
The train lurched forwards, throwing Macintosh to the ground. “Whut the hell?” He propped himself up, scratching his head. He looked down to his lap, where Spitfire lay asleep. He jumped up, cheeks flushed.
“Hey....hey, wake up miss...umm..” God, what was her name again? Hotshot? Quick flame? Spit...something. Mac prodded her shoulder. “Miss Spit...?”
She spun around in a state of half-sleep. “Whaa...what? I’m up, I’m up.” She rubbed her eyes and joined Mac in standing. “Why was I on the floor?” she asked slightly accusatory.
“The train...it stopped” Mac answered gravely.
“And that’s.....bad?”
“It sure as hell ain’t good.” Mac peered outside of their room, spotting two masked figures trotting through the passenger car in front of them. “Bandits...” Mac mused to himself, turning to Spitfire. “You up for a fight?”
She grinned, flaring her wings and a glimmer in her eye. “I’m always ready. These... bandits, whoever they are...are gonna rue the day they messed with Spitfire!” She shot for the door, running into a red arm.
“Hold on, now. We should prolly be subtle about this.” Mac opened the door slowly, seeing that the bandit occupying their corridor had turned her back.
The two slid past their door, moving down the hall silently. They slinked past the bandit, climbing out the open window at the end of the hall. Now outside, Mac looked up to Spitfire, how was hovering above the train. The night had crept up while they sleep. It drew a cool breeze around the train, which whipped by in spurts.
“Spitfire, head to the front of the train an‘ she if ya’ll can see anythin’.” He shook his head. “We’re most likely on fer a fight.”
“Okay. What about you?” Spitfire smirked. “Think you can handle a fight?”
Mac matched her in competitiveness. “You better believe it.” He moved his gaze to the car in front of them. “Ah’m try an‘ solve a few of our problems.”
“What about passengers?”
Mac hadn’t thought about that. There wasn’t any cover nearby, being about halfway to Appleloosa. “Looks like we gotta be extra careful. There ain’t nowhere around here ta take ‘em.”
“Got it. Good luck on your end.” Spitfire sped off towards the engine. She kept high, avoiding the train’s windows. She slowly lowered herself onto the barrel of the engine, inching her way up to the cabin. Looking inside, she marked three ponies, all with bandana’s adorning their faces.
Haven’t I put up with enough today? First that creeper, then these guys? They might as well be straight from one of those Clint Manewood movies. Spitfire climbed up onto the roof of the cabin. She held herself to the edge, lowering her head just to look inside, albeit upside down. She waited till the the pony at the door turned her back. Spitfire slipped inside, putting the mare to sleep with a choke.
The two stallions left had their attention on the engineers they held hostage. Spitfire sneaked closer, catching pieces of their conversation.
“...They don‘ seem ta got much, Butch...”
“Better than nothin, Ah suppose....
“...Don‘ mean Ah gotta like it....HEY! GIT BACK NOW!” The pony shouted at the two engineers huddled in the corner. They squeezed further in, trembling in fear.
“Now, let’s see if’n they got anythin‘ worthwhi...” THONK! The bandits‘ heads crashed together hard, rendering them incapacitated. She walked over to the hostages, helping them to their feet.
“Are you alright?” asked Spitfire.
“Y-Yeah...I think so” Answered the mare engineer. “Thank you...for, ya’know...”
Spitfire interjected. “Don’t mention it. Just say here while I check on the other passengers.” She left, sneaking into the first-class cart before the engine room. Luckily, no bandit ponies were occupying it at the moment. Just terrified passengers.
“What was that!?!”
“Help us!”
“Oh, the Pony-aity!”
Spitfire scowled. Crap, Crowd Control. She reared onto her hind legs, drawing the attention of the panicked Equestrians. “Hey, everypony...” She was interrupted by a loud commotion from the proceeding train carts. Deep screams and broken glass echoed through the door. The noise subsided for a spell, the night becoming eerily silent. A final crunch rang out, with Mac entering the first-class cart soon after.
“Nothing to much ta worry about, now.” He looked around as the passenger stared at him with awe. He walked up to Spitfire, slightly bowing out of respect. “How’d your end go?”
“Uhhh...fine. What was all that?” She gestured towards the door leading into the lower-class carts.
“Oh. That was some...problem-solving.”
Spitfire flew to the door, opening it and revealing a quite damaged room. Gruff looking ponies lay splayed out on the floor, a few tied up in the back corner. A pony was upside down, blood dripping from his mouth, over a seat, and one was even hanging from a window. She turned around, giving Mac the same slack-jawed stare the passenger had.
Mac laughed. “Told ya Ah could handle a fight.”
With the train moving again, everypony settled down, at least a bit. The bandits were tied up, locked in an unused safe that rode in the back. Big Mac laid down, groaning from the excess work.
“Hey, Macintosh...” Spitfire spoke.
“Hmmm?”
“I wanted to say..thanks. For dealing with that guy earlier.”
“Welcome.”
“Even if I coulda done it myself.”
“Eeyup.”
Spitfire sat up from seat across from Mac. “You don’t think I could? I’ll hoof wrestle you right now!” She put her competitive smile back on. Mac didn’t answer. “Didn’t think so..” Spitfire smugly laughed. Though, not so smugly when she heard Mac’s booming snores.
Great. I put him to sleep.
A great horn blew threw the sunrise, rousing the travelers upon the Ponyville Express. The train slowed steadily to a halt at the Appleloosa stop. Spitfire rose her head, craning and stretching with the morning. Mac’s seat was empty, though his pack was still in the room. Huh, we’d he go?
She climbed out of the bench, walking groggily out of the cabin. She first headed for the bathroom, it being the morning and she just waking up. Returning to her room, she packed her thing back into her duffle bag, slung it over her shoulder, and walked towards the exit.
“Hey...”
Spitfire turned around to met Mac’s call. He closed the door leading to the caboose, smiling.
“What’s gets you up so early?” Spitfire inquired.
“Ah’m a farmer, remember? Ah got to.”
“Oh yeaah. Right.” She nodded. “Well, hope I see ya around.” She said, walking away.
“Likewise.”
Spitfire stepped out of the train, dust blowing through the town. It looked like it needed help in a bad way. Shops and stalls were run down, and the ponies behind them depressed. She trotted through town, eventually finding the sheriff.
“Excuse me, sheriff.” Spitfire tapped the stallion on the shoulder.
“Well, howdy stranger” said the pony, in a deep voice. “Mah name’s Sheriff Silverstar. It’s a pleasure to meet ya’ll.” He grasped Spitfire’s hoof, shaking it vigorously.
“Y-Yeah, t-thanks.” She drew her hoof back, shaking a bit from Silverstar’s handshake. “I’m from the Pegasus Reserves. I was sent about some bandit trouble?”
“Of course, of course. Ah’ll get you all the necessary gear and pony power ta investigate whatever you...” Silverstar stopped, jaw hanging open.
“Umm, you okay?” Spitfire waved a hoof in front of his face which he ignored.
“Oh my Celestia...Mac Attack, is that you?” Silverstar raced to the train station, head-butting Mac in the center of his skull.
Mac stood steadfast, sliding back only slightly. “Well..I’ll be...Silverstar, how...are ya?”
“Better than you, in a tick.” Silverstar threw his hooves around Mac’s neck, dragging him almost to the ground. Mac stopped his descent, charging forward into the town square. He dragged the sheriff behind him, shaking and thrashing. Silverstar could barely hold on as Mac bucked hard, trying to throw him off.
“It ain’t...gonna be...that easy, Mac!”
“...Don’t Ah know it!” Mac stopped hard, swinging Silverstar forward and catching him with his left foreleg. He slammed Silverstar into the ground, pinning him on his chest with his leg behind his back. A crowd had gathered around him by the time the battle was over, with Spitfire at the forefront.
“Macintosh, what the hell are you doing! That’s the sheriff!” She was shouting over the murmer of the crowd.
“Ah know that.” Mac smiled, letting the sheriff up. Silverstar slugged Mac in the shoulder.
“Ah’m gonna beat you, someday.”
Mac chuckled. “The day you beat me is the day Ah’ll eat mah yoke.”
Spitfire was utterly befuddled. “Mac, what the HELL is going on?”
“Sorry, miss Spitfire. Ah shoulda...explained mahself.” He threw a leg around sheriff Silverstar. “How do ya think SIlverstar here became sheriff?”
“I dunno. He got promoted?”
Both stallions lifted their heads in laughter. “Eeyup, that’d be it,” they echoed.
“What’s so funny?” Spitfire snarled. Just tell me already. This game sucks.
Mac slowed his laugh due to the look Spitfire was shooting him. “Well, Silverstar was once, a long time ago, mah deputy.”
Spitfire’s eyes grew. “So that’s how you smashed those bandits on the train!” Well, at least he know’s what he’s doing.
“Eeyup, Ah got a bit of experience in criminal rustlin’.” Mac cleared his throat. ‘An‘ let me be the first to say...WELCOME TO APPLELOOSA!”
The ponies around him joined Mac in the ruckus, yee-hawing and celebrating their arrival. Hats were thrown, hooves were stomped, and cider was downed, all directly in the middle of the town square.
Spitfire groaned, as her ordered echoed in her head. Calm, collected and under control. Great. Just...bucking...great.
“Thanks, everypony” Spitfire sighed. “Silverstar, would you mind showing me those robbery reports, maybe take me to the victims? I wanna get started as soon as I can.”
Silverstar looked over from inside the crowd. “There’ll be plenty-a time fer that tomorrow. Lemme show ya’ll where yer stayin’.” As the crowd started to disperse, Silverstar trotted over to Spitfire, calling over to Big Mac. “Hey Mac, wanna tag along?”
“Tag along?” Mac rose his brow. He laughed, shaking his head. “Nnope. Ah gotta head over ta Braeburn’s.” He nodded to Spitfire. “See ya’ll around town.”
“Will do.” She answered. “Let’s go, Sheriff.” Spitfire turned to Silverstar as he stared to walk.
She followed Sheriff Silverstar back to his office. He led her upstairs, to a room that overlooked Appleloosa. A bed lay in the corner, with a dresser, a clock, desk, and nightstand being the only other furniture in there.
“Settle in, miss...?”
“Spitfire.”
“Right. Ya’ll can stay here as long as ya like. We’ll start up the investagatin‘ tomorrow.” He left Spitfire to her room, and her thought.
Sitting down, she looked around the room. It was plain, everything made of wood. The aroma of sand filled the air. There was no paint, and the wallpaper adorning the room was red, like clay. Boring, just like the rest of this town. Still early in the day, Spitfire pulled out her things and set them throughout the room. She arranged them, then re-arranged them. Spitfire categorized them by color, size, weight, length, and material, over and over. This only heightened the fact the she was bored.
Sitting down, Spitfire rummaged through her rucksack. She picked up a blue ball which she’d brought with her, tossing it against the wall. Hitting it on the return, Spitfire proceeded to bounce it around the room for what felt like hours. Bump. Bump. Bump. The noise formed a steady rhythm, like a heartbeat for her apathy. Spitfire checked the clock hanging above her bed. Ten minutes had passed.
“You gotta be kidding me...” Spitfire slammed her head into her pillow. She moaned with exasperation. “I need some air.” She opened her window, stretching her wings upwards. Spitfire flew out the window, soaring high above the western town. All of Appleloosa fit easily into her view. She sailed around, twisting and spinning with the wind. This was her time to clear her head. Flying always gave her comfort. Well, almost always. Out here, even flying seemed boring. It was like trying to play basketball in a squash room. There was plenty of room, but no obstacles, nothing to avoid, or watch out for, or slam into . No risk, which meant no fun for Spitfire.
Spitfire coasted above the fertile land, trying to keep her mind off of her boredom. But trying to ignore it just made it worse. How do you ponies live like this? She grunted in frustration. Unable to handle the lack of activity, Spitfire decided to start doing laps around the town, save anything better to do. She got to around one hundred fifty before the sun started to set.
I should probably head back, she thought. Spitfire flew back to the sheriff’s office, entering the way she left. Spitfire flopped onto the bed, sufficiently tired.
“Mac. Time ta get up.” Braeburn poked Big Mac forcefully in the ribs, startling him from his sleep. “It’s a beautiful mornin’ in AAAAAAAAAAAA.....” Mac shoved his hoof in Braeburn’s mouth.
“Don’t. Say It.” Mac growled.
“Not a mornin’ pony, eh?” Braeburn chuckled.
Big Mac rolled out of bed and onto the floor, heaving himself up and sluggishly crawled into the bathroom. The sound of steaming water radiated out.
“I’ll take that as a no” Braeburn sighed.
Mac groaned, letting the hot water run over his body. His muscles relaxed with the soothing steam, and he rested his head against the wall. This is gonna be a lotta work, Mac thought. Ah need to throw mah farmin’ inta overdrive. He grabbed the apple-scented soap, and scrubbed his face. That, an’ Ah can’t get back in that rut again. Ah promised AJ. He leaned forward, really thinking over his options. Unless some...catastrophe occurs, Ah’m only here ta farm. No matter how much Silverstar begs me. Mac chuckled a bit at the thought. Silverstar, groveling. Maybe when Celestia grows a second horn.
Mac turned off the shower and dried off. He stopped in his room to throw on his yoke, and grab an apple as a snack. He met Braeburn outside.
“Ya’ll ready?” Braeburn asked.
“O’ course” answered Mac.
They started with the fields closest to the barn. They’d rotted through, and the entire left field needed to be re-plowed and seeded. “Mac, ya need ta grab the plow. Ah’ll seed behind ya.”
“Sounds good.” Mac trotted into the barn, hitching himself into the steel plow. Though his cutie mark was an apple, he always felt like this is what he was meant to do. He grunted with effort, freeing the dirt in his plow’s path.
“Jus’ like old times, huh Mac?” Braeburn chuckled.
“Eeyup.”
Spitfire awoke quickly, snapped her eyes open. She sat up, walked over to the blinds, and thrust them open. The small town was busy with activity, all of which seemed mundane to Spitfire. Ponies walked to and fro, stopping at various shops and stalls. Though seemingly content, the air around the road was stiff and lifeless. Most of the citizens were still very nervous about the recent robberies. They were random and without reason. Nopony knew who was next, which led everypony to be suspicious of everypony else.
Knock, knock.
“Miss Spitfire, ya’ll ready?” a gravelly voice queried from across the door.
She hopped into her uniform, grabbed her goggles, and opened the door. “Let’s get started.” She zipped past Silverstar and went down the stairs.
“After you, then” Silverstar huffed.
The two headed first to Mint Julep's manor. She was the first to get hit, it seemed reasonable to speak to her first. Silverstar led Spitfire to the outskirts of Appleloosa. They stopped before two large, iron gates that indicated the entrance.
“Wow. Big place” Spitfire muttered.
“Well, when ya’ll are head of the water company, and own a large share of land, ya get to have certain amenities.”
Spitfire grunted. Great. Fancy ponies. This can’t go badly at all.
Spitfire mentally groaned as Mint Julep reviewed the series of events during the burglary.
“Ah saw the devastation. My, my heart nearly stopped from the terror alone!” Julep fanned herself, lying on an outstretched lawn chair. “Ah told Clarence that it was the WORST thing I’d ever seen, didn’t Ah, Clarence?”
A pearly white unicorn pony stood next to her, wearing a black suit coat and matching bow-tie. “Yes, m’lady, I believe you did” he drawled in a nasally, europoniean accent. Spitfire figured he was probably from somewhere around Manechester.
“Clarence, would you grab us a few drinks?” Julep waved him off, and Clarence retreated into some unknown section of the massive house.
As Spitfire looked around, she had to admire the grandeur of the mansion. The house was stark white, with large pillars greeting any visitors. It had a multitude of rooms, and probably enough servants to care for the entire town. When the "help" had led them through, she'd noticed long halls riddled the home, many filled with painstakingly carved busts and forms.
“So, Miss Julep, what was actually taken?” Spitfire asked hastily.
“Well, they tore off mah gate. Had to replace that.” She waved in the direction of the entrance. “As well as one of my statues. That was the real loss, I tell you.”
“Which statue?”
Julep sighed. “They stole the visage of my father, Jim Bean. ‘Twas a glorious steel statue, it stood just before the front door.” She sat up, removed her sunglasses and looked straight at Spitfire. “You must retrieve that statue, miss Spitfire.”
Spitfire tightened up. “I’ll do my best, madam.” She saluted.
After Mint Julep’s, a series of smaller farms were next. They sat together in a group an acre or two away from the Julep manor. Most of their plumbing was missing, as well as many of their tools. Spitfire inferred that they’d most likely been hit in the same night, due to their proximity. She judged that they’s been hit a week after the Julep manor. Spitfire jotted down every detail, taking mental notes of where and who lost what.
“So, where to now?” Spitfire questioned.
“Whelp, we got Wheat Chaff’s left, an’ that’s it.”
As the two trotted towards the Chaff family farm, Spitfire had a few questions for Silverstar himself.
“Silverstar, don’t you find this...weird?”
“How do ya’ll mean?”
“Well, they’re not taking anything of particular value. It’s...just metal. Not bits or gems.”
The sheriff huffed. “Ah suppose. Though, Ah find it weird for anypony to commit crimes.”
“Granted, you may be right” she sighed. “Something just feels...off.”
The trotted up to the commune-like estate. It resembled many of the other farms around Appleloosa, except for the size. The Chaff family farm was massive. As Spitfire was introduced to Wheat Chaff and his three large sons, she marveled at the many acres they owned.
“Wow..” she said, absentmindedly, “Must be hard to keep watch of this place.” Spitfire mentally kicked herself, realizing that was the reason she was here.
“We do alright. Least, until now. Let me show ya'll what happened.” Wheat Chaff led her and Silverstar to the back of their combine barn. The refueling station, as well as the repair station were completely removed.
“Ah must say, Ah never seen nothin’ like this.” Chaff brushed his brow with a old rag. “Ah mean, we had drought. Parasprites. The incident with the buffalo last harvest. But this...” he waved over the missing components, a grim look oh his face.
“Why do you say that?” asked Spitfire. “You don’t get outlaws here much?”
“Well, less than you’d think, ever since we first had Sheriff Apple.”
Spitfire had finally found something of actual interest. “Really? Do tell...I’d love to hear the tale.”
“Oh, it ain’t mah place. Ask him ‘bout it, if ya got the time.”
Her ears drooped, resigning in defeat. “Fine” she grumbled. “Can you show me the tracks?”
“Tracks?” Silverstar inquired.
“Yeah. Those machines were pretty big, right Mr. Chaff?”
“Right.”
“So,” started Spitfire, “They most likely couldn’t levitate it. Magic strong enough to lift those is easy, for the right unicorn. But the right unicorn is not always easy to find, especially in a place like Appleloosa." The blue collar town consisted mainly of earth ponies, due to the migration of workers. "They probably dragged it or wheeled it away.” She knelt down, feeling the ground around the barn.
“Yeah, look at this.” She poked her hoof at the ground, where a few distinct hoof-prints lay. “This is were they dug in for their heavy lifting.”
“Oh, Ah see.” Silverstar seemed impressed. “Wheat Chaff, would you lead us to the tracks, if any?”
“O‘ course.” He showed them the tracks which oddly enough started nearly 50 yards away from the barn. The ruts in the earth were deep. They were also slightly uneven, showing that had to stop a few times during the crime. After 20 feet of deep cuts in the ground, the tracks just...stopped. Very abruptly.
“Wha...where’d they go?” Spitfire muttered.
“Huh. Ah certainly wasn’t expectin’ that.” Silverstar scratched his head. “Ya wanna head into the house? Ah think Ah smell Mrs. Chaff cookin’ up some mean cornbread...”
“Nah, you go ahead. I-I...gotta think.”
With Silverstar heading back to finish up with the Chaff family, Spitfire watched the sun sit on the edge of the horizon. For all it’s faults, and according to Spitfire, there were many, the Appleloosian sunset was breath-taking. She sat on a hill over-looking an adjacent farm. Watching the farmers work, she wondered how they could stand it. It’s just so...boring. The workers were small in number, only two of them out right now. One was meticulously planting seeds, bending every other second to adjust a small blockage or such.
The other pony was large. Very large. She watched as he dragged a plow behind him, grunting against the clay-like earth. It was a battle of wills, so to speak, and the large pony was certainly winning. A soft glow from the setting sun surrounded the two. Spitfire spied on the stallion (she assumed) for a bit, sensing a familiarity. Who is that? I know I’ve seen him around town.
Fed up with wondering, she jumped up, gliding from the small hill down onto the farm. As she neared, Spitfire could see that the massive stallion bore a red coat, with a green apple cutie mark. She landed lightly in front of him, drawing a small smile on his face.
“Howdy, Spitfire” Mac drawled.
“Hey. What’s up, Mac?”
He turned his head to plow, pointing his nose. “Just workin’.”
Spitfire chuckled. “That’s too bad.”
“Why’s that?” Big Mac asked.
“It looks boring, is all.”
Mac started to laugh, earning a puzzled look from Spitfire. “Oh, Ah’ll show ya how borin‘ it is.” He started to pull again with Spitfire trotting next to him. “If’n ya’ll got nothin‘ ta do tomorrow, come by ‘round noon.”
She nodded. “I’ve gotta go over the incident reports, but...yeah, I’ll be here.”
“How’s all that, by the way?”
Spitfire huffed. “None of it make any sense. I mean, the pattern does. The places that got hit are pretty much in a row. But...”
“But?” Mac stole a glance at Spitfire before returned to his work.
“But whoever did this didn’t know what they wanted, apparently. They took some metal, some plastic, and that’s about it. They couldn’t sell it back anywhere around here. It’s all printed with each family's different farm logos.”
“Hmmm” Big Mac thought. “Maybe they ain’t tryin‘ ta make a bit...”
“What?”
Mac stopped at the end of acre, throwing his harness off and setting it next to the plow. “Think about it. Everypony knows everypony else ‘round here. So, maybe they’re usin‘ the stuff fer somethin‘ else.”
Spitfire scratched her head. Deep thoughts from a farm hand. “Thanks...I’ll keep that in mind.” She got ready to fly, turning her back to Mac. “See ya tomorrow, then.”
“Eeyup.”
She flew back to Silverstar, who was just exiting the Chaff family farm house. “Ya’ll ready?” he asked.
“Yeah, I got some things for tomorrow. Let’s head back.”
Looking at her notes, Spitfire grimaced. Her mind hurt, having run over the facts more times than she cared to think. Uggh. She pushed back from her desk, frustrated with the lack of progress she’d made since returning to her room. Turning off the oil lamp near her bed-side, Spitfire laid down. This was exactly what she’d wanted yesterday, to just jump into the problem. But when each end of the problem seemed to lead nowhere, all there was to do was wait. At least I have a plan tomorrow, she thought. Spitfire could sleep soundly with that.
A/N: Sorry for the very overdue update. Severe writer's block impeded me on this chapter, and that probably affect the quality. I'll make sure to make the next chapter longer, stronger, better than this.
Spitfire woke up rested and alert. She rushed to her desk, wanting to get as much time in as possible reviewing her notes before meeting with Mac. She pulled out the first file: Mint Julep’s.
“Okay. The manor was struck precisely...21 days ago. Possible front entrance. Most likely from the front entrance. Victim is Mint Julep, majority landowner in Appleloosa and wealthy investor; off-white mare with green-ish tint coat and dark brown mane. Magenta eyes.”
Spitfire sighed. “Possible motives: Extortion for the statue..maybe, but unlikely.” She tapped her hoof on the table. “Could be revenge for...something, or...” Crap. I don’t know.
Mumbling to herself, she tossed the file aside after ten minutes. She picked up the next file, doing the same. After overlooking, underlooking, and doing everything she could think of to keep her notes clear, Spitfire growled angrily. No one had a clear-cut reason to be robbed. They had no real enemies, no outstanding debts, nothing. The only pony even remotely close to having a rival was Mint Julep. She did own most of the land in Appleloosa, but the residents trusted her enough to not be disgruntled. Spitfire sighed, frustrated.
“Fine” she said, scrambling the papers on her desk. She stood, trotting downstairs and outside the sheriff’s office, and took to the skies. Can’t do anything about it now, she told herself. At least I can get a workout. Spitfire flew in the direction of the Chaff family farm, hoping Macintosh would probably be ready for their meet.
Spitfire sailed over the town square, racing towards Apple Ranch. The ranch came into view quickly; a large farmhouse dominating her vision. Banking around the corn silos, she spotted Big Mac waiting near the pig feeders. She landed in front of him, jolting upright from the reverb of force that suddenly stopped her.
“Sup” she said.
“Howdy, Spitfire. Yer early.”
“How do you know? I don’t see a clock anywhere.” she asked, jokingly annoyed. Big Mac pointed his hoof to the sky, directly at the sun.
“Oh, right.”She chuckled a little. Of course he could tell by the sun, he probably spends every day outside. “So, what’s this “fun” you’re gonna show me?” she asked, winking. “I half excepted you to show up wearing a saddle.”
Mac blushed, laughing a bit. “Ah guess Ah’d better head back an’ grab it then.”
Spitfire returned his blush. “N-Nah, I’m okay.”
“Alright then.” Big Mac walked towards the barn with Spitfire in tow. He opened the barn doors to reveal two carts, each with a large barrel inside them. “Since the irrigation went down after them robberies, we gotta water the seeds manually.”
“Mac, you said this’d be fun. How is pulling a heavy ass cart fun?”
“Whelp, pullin’ ain’t the fun part. Ah figured whipping yer flank up the orchard is the fun part.”
The competitive flame in Spitfire’s stomach started to bubble. “You wanna make this a race, bub?”
“Eeyup. First one to make it to the end to the corn rows wins.” He and Spitfire lined up with the start of a column of apple trees. A skinny dirt path ran in front of them, enough to fit one and a half ponies. Spitfire stood next to him, keeping her head low to the ground.
“You ready?” ask Mac, a twinge of sarcasm in his voice.
Spitfire slowly grew a wide grin. “Ya know what, why don’t we make this a bit more interesting?”
Big Mac chuckled. “Ah think Ah sense a bet comin’.”
“If I win, I get one unconditional favor. And I can use it anytime.”
Mac smirked at this. “And what do Ah get if Ah win?”
“The same, but from me. Any favor.” Spitfire smiled, closing her eyes with pride. The favor of a Wonderbolt was a rare thing to have, and valuable at that. Next to the royal family, the Wonderbolts were one of the most respected institutions in Equestria.
“Hmm, any favor, ya say?” Mac rose his right brow.
Spitfire blush a bit, sputtering. “NOT...like that.”
Big Mac laughed. “Ah’m jus’ teasin’. Hell, if’n ya’ll win, I’ll even tell ya ‘bout mah sheriff days, back in tha day.”
Spitfire blinked. “But I didn’t even ask you yet! Um, I mean..” she chuckled nervously. “What makes you think I even want to know?”
“Ah dunno, maybe just cus Mr. Chaff told me. We country folk keep in touch.” He lowered his head as well, pulling his special running goggles down over his eyes.
Spitfire rubbed her neck nervously. “Yeah, probably shoulda just asked you, huh?”
“Well, now you got a chance ta find out” said Big Mac, raising his lips in a cocky grin. “Even if it is slim to none.”
Spitfire matched his attitude. “Ohhh! You’re so gonna eat those words!” she said smiling.
“One...” Mac spoke.
Spitfire shut her eyes, mentally preparing for the run. It was just a friendly competition, but she still wanted to win. She wasn’t gonna let a farmhand beat the captain of the Wonderbolts, especially in a race.
“Two...”
Spitfire waited for the three, but it didn’t come. She instead heard the sound of hoofbeats pass her. Her eyes shot open to a red blur running by.
“Hey!” she shouted, jumping into a run. Mac was already a good distance ahead, looking back with a cheeky grin.
Son of a... Spitfire couldn’t help but get a little angry at him. Dirty cheater! Galloping hard, she took a hard right onto the path leading to the budding corn rows. The top of the barrel in her cart sloshed, throwing off her balance. She ran behind Mac, nipping at his heels. Gritting her teeth, she started to overtake him, when another right came. Mac cut swiftly, leaving Spitfire behind again.
“Is that the best ya’ll can do?” Big Mac called over his shoulder.
OH. IT. IS. ON! Spitfire pushed hard against the ground, dashing forward at terminal velocity. The fire in her heart burned deeply, steeling her forward. Her throat burned, sweat starting to wet her brow, but Spitfire wasn’t going down without a fight. She caught up to Mac quickly, the drum of water rattling back and forth. The next left turn gave the advantage to her, and she started to push ahead of Big Macintosh. He wasn’t letting up either, though.
Damn, he just won’t quit. She turned her head quickly to check her competitor’s progress. Mac was close, galloping and smiling, hard. He didn’t look tired. In fact, he looked like he had just woke up.
How the...? Spitfire marveled at the stamina of her companion. She was sweating from the extra weight and extensive trek, and she was a professional athlete. Albeit an athlete with her wings, but still an athlete. How this farm stallion was able to keep up was beyond her.
She was running at top speed, trying to keep her cart in front of Mac. It wasn’t working. Big Mac pulled to her left, and started to make a move to pass. I just can’t let that happen, Spitfire thought.
She jumped forward, turning her cart slightly during the elevation. She tipped the water barrel, creating a thick trail of mud in Mac’s foreseeable future. As Spitfire landed, she turned to watch the madness.
“Nah, wait...!” Mac dug his hooves into the ground, which did little to slow his speed. His forelegs stuck just before the start of the mud, though his back legs did not. He pendulum’d over himself, landing face first in the viscous mud. The weight of his cart pushed Big Mac forward, trudging him through the mess.
“ACK! Mac croaked, unfortunately having his mouth open for the whole event.
“See ya at the end” joked Spitfire as she blazed down the path.
Mac eventually met Spitfire at the end, covered in a mixture of sand, water, mud, and disgust. He marched up to Spitfire scowling. “So Ah bet ya’ll thought that was real funny, huh?” he said, bits of dirt flinging out of his maw.
Spitfire shrunk under the gaze of the stallion. She wasn’t easily intimidated, not be a long shot, but she did feel a tad bit of guilt for what she’d done. We probably needed that water, and I wasted it. “Um, yeah, it kinda was.”
Mac furrowed his brow, staring a hole into Spitfire’s eyes. He took a deep breath, lifting his chest up. Spitfire knew this look. He was about to shout at her, something the drill sergeants used to do back at base to recruits. She braced herself, she probably deserved whatever he was gonna say.
That’s when she heard a deep, bellowing laugh emanate from Big Mac. He laughed hard, more bits of mud flying off his coat and mane. His orange mane bounced with the rhythm of his jubilation, and eventually, Spitfire joined him.
“Ah suppose yer right ‘bout that” he joked. “C’mon, let’s get this done so we can head back.”
Spitfire nodded, the two of them starting to work.
Big Mac and Spitfire dragged themselves back to the farm house, tired from a hard day’s work. Manual irrigation was a boring and menial task, but banter between the two kept each other at least interested. They talked about anything, Spitfire mostly about places she’d been, or ponies she’d met. Big Mac talked a lot about his family.
“An‘ then, AJ ended up gettin‘ flipped upside over, an‘ no one but Twilight ‘round ta give her a hoof.” Mac and Spitfire laughed together, though Big Mac knew his sister wouldn’t appreciate the joke on her behalf. Reaching the farm house, the wonderbolt turned to her companion.
“Hey Mac,” Spitfire said, “That actually was kinda fun.”
“Told ya” he retorted. As they returned their carts to the barn, Spitfire was surprised on how much fun she’d actually had. Hell, she was beaming. She unlatched her harness and trotted next to Mac, a bounce in her step.
“So...” she began, “Well, I did win the bet.”
“Seems so” said Mac.
“So that means you gotta tell me about you being sheriff, and I get one favor, and it can be anything...”
“That was the deal.” Mac was really starting to regret agreeing to this.
“I think...I think I’m gonna hold on to this.” Spitfire grinned mischievously.
“Great” Mac moaned. “C’mon, let’s wash up before we head out.”
“Head out?”
Mac wiped off a bit of the mud he still had on his coat. “Eeyup. Ya’ll thought Ah was jus‘ gonna start spewin‘ mah guts?”
Spitfire laughed. “Yeah...I guess not.” She followed him into the house. “So where are we going?”
“Figured we’d go down to The Salt-Lick.”
Spitfire was lost. “What’s that?”
Mac grinned. “Only the most reputable establishment this side o‘ Canterlot.”
“Out to dinner, huh? You sure know how to treat a mare.”
Mac chuckled. “I try.”
“Hell” she giggled teasingly “I get a few drinks in me, you might just get to use that saddle.”
Mac’s face reddened noticeable, which was a feat considering his coat. “Hehe...um, Spitfire, about...”
“Don’t worry, Mac” she mused. “ I’ll be gentle.”
Mac shook his head. “Spitfire, the Salt-Lick ain’t...”
“I’ll be ready in a few minutes” Spitfire said seductively, fluttering her eyes and dropping Mac’s jaw. She trotted away giggling. Free dinner and a story? Sometimes, being this awesome is too damn easy.
Big Mac stood outside The Salt-Lick, shifting his weight back and forth. Ah never shoulda agreed to this. He looked to his left, a slender yellow mare next to him. His eyes trailed down her form. With her uniform off, he noticed how fit Spitfire actually was, no doubt to the copious amount of training she undertook. Her two-toned, sunburst orange mane hung loosely to the side, trapped under a set of flying goggles. Mac could see they were old, and had been repaired a few times over. Wow, he thought, a blush gracing his face, she’s somethin’ else... He mentally chastised himself. Mac, focus!
“Hey” Spitfire waved her hoof in front of of Mac’s face. “Anyone home?”
Big Mac shook his head. “Uh, yeah. Sorry.” He lead her inside, it’s heavy double doors swinging behind them. Spitfire’s mood leapt from content to jovial at what beheld her. A long, ash-gray bar sat along the back and right side wall. The walls behind it held mirrors, pictures of ponies past, and a literal ton of different flavors, brands, and types of booze.
“Now THIS is my kinda place!” Spitfire cheered. “Oh man! It’s like one of those old tyme saloons in those John Mayne movies.”
“That’s cause it is a saloon” said Mac.
He walked her over to a booth near the back. It was very old; a wooden thing with worn grooves dug into various sections. Spitfire could read a few names scratched into the surface, though there were plenty more that weren’t legible.
“So Mac, what’re we drinking?” Spitfire asked.
“Well, well, well! Look what we have here...” A voluptuous voice said at the end of their table. Spitfire turned her attention to the mare beside her. She was a green-tinted unicorn, with a long blonde mane and a dinner plate cutie mark on her flank. “Big Macintosh. It’s been a long time, sweetie.” The mare fluttered her eyes, smiling coyly at him.
“Eeyup.”
“Where have ya been? You said you’d call me...” The unicorn leaned over, placing her elbows on the table and lying her head in her hooves. Her lusty gaze over Big Mac hadn’t faltered in the slightest.
“No, you said I’d call you” argued Mac, a little disgruntled. “Spitfire, this is China Shine. miss Shine, we like a couple drinks.” He glared at China.
“Okay, honey. Anything for you...” she cooed.
“I’ll take an apple sarsaparilla.” Big Mac kept as stoic and plain-faced as possible, directing his eyes away from China Shine.
Spitfire chuckled. “A soda? Really Mac? You gotta loosen up a bit.” She turned to China Shine. “Gimme a....Manehattan Iced Tea.” The waitress only replied with a h’rumph. She watched China trot away, wondering what she did to receive the gruff response.
“Yo Mac, what was that all about?”
Big Macintosh sighed, looking down at the table. “Ah have....well, had a certain reputation ‘round these parts. Somethin‘ Ah’m not too proud of, and would like to put behind me.”
Well, if that isn’t cryptic... Spitfire laughed inwardly. “There’s no time like the present, Mac. Start talkin’, big guy.”
Macintosh sighed. He knew there was no way of getting out of this. But opening up to anypony was hard for the stallion, even more so with someone this new to him. He looked up, staring into Spitfire’s eyes. She was smirking, raising her left brow at him. But past that, he saw a glimmer of something familiar. Big Mac saw that Spitfire, no matter how bored or annoyed she was, at least had the potential to be trustworthy. He didn’t know how he knew what he did; maybe because of her actual reason for being here, maybe it was something else entirely, but Mac felt it.
Big Mac inwardly groaned, loosing his jaw for the exercise he was going to give it. “In mah youth, Ah wasn’t the brightest stallion...”
Many years ago, inside a more well kept version of The Salt-Lick...
“Damn, girl! Watch yerself.”
A young, large, red furred stallion laughed as a small yellow earth pony danced on a long, stable bar. She shook her flank with great enthusiasm, bumping and bouncing along with the classic vaudevillian music playing in the saloon. She dipped low near the stallion, his eyes peeking up greedily at her. Even through his crimson coat, one could tell he was blushing deeply. The stallion averted his gaze for a second, checking to see his drink was securely in his hoof. Satisfied, he threw the amber fluid down his gullet, finishing it in one gulp.
“Hey now, Sheriff. Don’t ya think ya had enough?” A charcoal stallion said from behind the bar. He wore a striped vest around his chest, and was cleaning a mug with one of the many rags in his vest pocket.
“Aww Squeaky Clean, Ah’m jus‘ havin‘...*hich*...a little fun.” The stallion chortled. His eyes glazed ever so slightly, he brought his attention back to the dancing mare. “Now, where were we?” The yellow mare giggled, bending down and brushing her tail across his chin.
“MACINTOSH! YOU GIT YER WRETCHED, TWICE DEAD FLANK OUT HERE!”
The voice rang through the town square, followed by a deadly silence. The music inside the bar stopped; the mare stopped dancing; nearly everything in the town just stopped. The red stallion frowned, pushing himself off the stool he’d been sitting on. He trotted over to the coat rack near the door. A long, dusty brown coat hung on it, a bandolier next to it. The stallion first applied the bandolier, the holster on it sitting below the right side of his ribcage. He threw the duster over it, his front hooves sliding effortlessly into it.
“Squeaky, get mah hat” said the large stallion gruffly. The bartender retrieved it, tossing it to the sheriff. He caught it in his mouth, flipping the brown stetson onto his head. It sat just behind his ears, pushing his orange mane forward a little.
A steel apparatus also sat on one of the wooden pegs, which he attached to his right foreleg. It wrapped around it, sitting just above the solid part of his hoof. A small lever stuck out from the contraption, pointing inward towards the body of the pony. He tested it, gently twitching the muscles near the lever. It snapped up against him. Alright, he thought. Workin‘ fine.
“Damn it...” sighed Sheriff Macintosh, defender of Appleloosa. “Looks like the fun is over.”
He walked through the double doors of The Salt-Lick, kicking up dust as he hit the road. Three large earth ponies stood before him, though their attention was on a smaller, midnight blue pegasus. She had a dark purple mane that was windswept but long, curling by the tips. Two stripes ran through her mane; one navy blue and the other black.
“Decided to show up, huh Mac?” she asked demurely.
“Course. Can’t let mah deputy go it alone...” Macintosh scowled at the group, coming to a stop next to the pegasus mare. “So, Skyshade. Which one ya’ll want first?”
“Mac, no. Hell no. We don’t need another fight...” she leaned close to him. “You drunk again?” she hissed venomously.
Mac scowled in offense. “No....well, not very.”
“Shit, Mac!” Skyshade cursed under her breath. The outlaws stayed close together, shifting their gaze between Skyshade and Big Mac. The stallion in the center took a step forward. He wore a tight gray vest over his dusty yellow fur. He had a coffee-brown mane and tail that were spiky and unkempt. His piercing blue eyes shot ahead, eyebrows low and angry. His cutie mark was shaped like a bull’s head, it’s red hue in dark contrast to his fur.
“HEY!” the stallion shouted, bringing the law’s attention back to himself. “Now listen here, Sheriff!” he spat, “Ya’ll done fucked up now!”
Mac snorted. “Um...kay? Who’re you again?”
The yellow back-pedaled slightly. “Wha-!? You son-of-a-bitch!” The stallion hissed. “Ya think yew can mess with Raging Bull an’ get away with it!?”
“Um, yeah?”
The hissing turned into a full-scale roar. “Ya’ll can’t jus’ destroy mah speakeasy an’ walk away!”
Skyshade shot Mac a glance. “You d-destroyed a...when?”
Mac avoided Sky’s eyes. “Ah didn’t mean to” he said ashamed. “Ya know how tequila hits me.”
“Yer gonna pay for it, too!” Raging Bull shouted. His lackeys began to circle the two. Although they only outnumbered them three to two, it was still an advantage they would want to take care of.
“Hey now, we can settle this peacefully...no need for violence.” Skyshade was doing her best to rectify the situation. Appleloosa was a quickly growing settlement, but that wouldn’t last if their reputation didn’t hold up. Sheriff Macintosh was a good pony. He had a strong morale standing and wasn’t afraid to put himself in danger for the safety of others.
When he was sober.
Macintosh’s greatest flaw was his love of firewater. There were few nights when he didn’t indulge as least a little. A drunk Mac usually involved some form of mischief and a late night visit for Skyshade. Luckily, nothing he’d done caused any harm, but Sky had a feeling that it was just a matter of time before something really bad happened.
Big Mac was having no part of the peace negotiations. “Ah reckon we’re past that, Sky” He snorted. “Did ya’ll think you can waltz in here, threaten mah deputy, mah home, an’ no have any repercussions fer it? Ya’ll think yer gonna walk away, don’tcha?”
Raging Bull steeled his conviction, his two lackeys standing at opposite sides of the lawponies. “Yes Ah did, and Ah still intend to.”
“Well, Ah guess that’s that” Mac sighed. He scooted closer to Sky, so only she could hear him. “On the count of three...” Mac spoke, his loose tongue slightly slurring his words.
“On the count of three....what?” growled Skyshade.
“One” the red stallion drawled.
“You didn’t explain anything!” she whispered.
“Two..” The wind picked up, kicking the dust around town at a lightning fast pace. The showdown had drawn attention from some of the townsfolk, though none were brave enough (or foolhardy enough) to step outside. The air around the ponies grew stale even as it blew up plumbs of dust. It seemed like the desert knew to except at least one new inhabitant. Raging Bull’s tail flicked ever so gently, flinching under the deadly tension he was experiencing. That was enough to give Mac his cue.
“Three!”
Mac dove right, launching through Skyshade and bringing her with him. At the same time, he kicked a pile of sand to his left, luckily catching the stallion standing there in the eye. The stallion shrieked, surprised by the dirty tactic and in quite a lot of pain. He reached for his gun, his tail whipping downward to grasp the weapon sloppily.
Mac continued to dive, his sideways motion trapping Skyshade from flying away. To him, everything seemed to move much slower than normal; due to adrenaline or liquor, he couldn’t tell. He watched the sands hit his attacker’s face, little clots of ground rock and debris ricocheting off his muzzle and cheeks. The stallion’s tail swished gracefully, flowing like a river. It felt like he was viewing one of those neighponese action flicks. Mac’s vision cleared, he was somehow able to pick out incredibly small details in his attacker’s face. He and Skyshade were nearly completely sideways by now, and he focused on the stallion in front of him.
Mac drew his revolver, tracking the end of the barrel on Raging Bull’s skull. Bull had also drawn, but his technique was flawed and slow. Certainly not enough to outshoot Macintosh.
A single blast cried out in the chaos, an enormous CRACK! launching forth from Mac’s gun. The white smoke from Mac’s barrel obscured his view, but the gut-wrenching splatter he heard confirmed his hit.
Suddenly, another two cracks echoed above him; the one from his left he immediately felt speed past his ear. The other having come from the right. Reflexively, he grabbed at his face, but felt no pain or blood. Macintosh laid his body over his deputy, making sure she wouldn’t be hurt due to his antics. He was a drunk, but who say’s a drunk can’t also be a gentlecolt.
“Sorry” he chuckled, rolling off her and onto his stomach. Panting on the ground, Mac looked at his work, grimacing. The two stallions on either side of him were, at the very least, injured badly. In the confusion, they each fired ahead of themselves, but Mac figured they actually hit each other. The one to his right was wheezing deeply, a large spot of red painted across the front of his chest. He didn’t stand much of a chance out here; Appleloosa didn’t have much of a hospital, and dealing with a wound that deep was hard enough as it is.
Glancing to his left, Mac didn’t have to guess at the state of Bull’s other assistant. Staring back at Mac was a pair cold, dead purple eyes, a thin streak of blood flowing out of the corners. The sand Mac had kicked on him was wet from spit and his life stream, clinging around his muzzle as a stamp of his final actions. Sheriff Macintosh looked away; what was done was done, and he’d do it again if need be, but that didn’t make it easier.
He pushed himself up, shrugging the dust off his shoulders. Mac walked over to the stallion near death. He took a deep, pained breath and pushed it out just as hard. Holding his weapon still, Mac looked down the barrel and into the eyes of the other pony. The pony looked up, meeting the barrel of the gun against his forehead.
The stallion wheezed. “Do it, you bastar-”
The crack of gunpowder rang out, reverberating into Mac’s ears. Macintosh released his lungs, shaking a little from involuntarily holding his breath. Mercy kills were always the hardest for him; the proximity, the sound. But mostly, Mac couldn’t stand the look in the eyes opposing him. He took another few deep breaths and walked over to where Skyshade lay, trying to forget the actions he just so recently performed.
He offered his hoof to Skyshade, who pushed it away, choosing to stand on her own. “Damn it, Mac! The last thing this town needs is more bodies...”
“Hey, at least we’re keepin’ Old Mort in business.” Mac waved to an older-looking stallion with a peppered mane and colt. The stallion had slowly creeped out from his shop, waving back.
“Another three boxes, eh?” he called from his porch.
Mac nodded his head, turning back to Skyshade with a smile. One she did not return. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed!” she shouted.
“...Eeyup.”
“Worse, you could’ve gotten ME killed!”
Mac laughed. “Now that’s the real tragedy.”
Skyshade raised her hoof and slapped him across the face, causing Macintosh to flinch slightly. “Ow! What was that fer?” Mac pouted.
“That was for gettin’ me shot at, being toasted on the job, and generally ruining my day!” Skyshade spat, flaring her nostrils and wings angrily. Mac recoiled a little, the adrenaline in his body slowly overcoming the light alcohol haze. Shade’s anger faded quickly though, her scowl twisting into a devious smirk. She leapt forward, kissing him hard on the lips, not really caring about finesse or technique. Mac’s eyes shot open, clearly not excepting, or ready for this.
She pulled back just as quickly, chuckling to herself as she trotted away down the street. Mac stood still, trying to process what the hell just happened. Coming back to his sense, he quickly caught up to his partner, a dumbstruck look strewn on his face.
“An‘ what was that fer?”
“That?” Skyshade said, trotting happily ahead, “...I don’t know what that was for.”
“Do ya think we should clean them up?” asked Mac, nodded at the bodies behind him.
His partner hummed, then shook her head. “Nahh, Mort needs the exercise.”
Big Mac finished his third sarsaparilla, leaning back in his chair nonchalantly though he was still kinda nervous. He’d just admitted to killing a pony, although justified, to a mare who he’d just met, and who was in the military. Mac doubted she would call him out on it, but still...
“So, ya heard mah story. Ah told ya ah wasn’t that bright” he anxiously laughed.
Spitfire stared into her own mug, her...fifth? Sixth? She couldn’t really remember. Damn, this backwoods stuff is strong, she thought. She looked up, smiling to Mac’s surprise. “That is quite the tale” she chuckled, “...sheriff Macintosh.” She finished off her drink sloppily. “So where’s this Skyshade? I wanna meet this girl, sounds like you two had a thing.”
Mac smirked. “Why, you jealous?”
“Don’t flatter yourself” Spitfire chuckled.
“Yeah, yeah. Well, Sky’s...she moved on. An’ no, we didn’t. It was...complicated.” The smile on Mac’s face faded, his eyes glimmering in the low lightning of the bar.
“Oh.” Spitfire shifted awkwardly. She saw sadness in his eyes, the pain of loss evident. Being in that kind of position was weird enough, but she pushed him into it. “Umm, wanna talk about it?”
Mac sighed. “Maybe another time.” The two sat in an uncomfortable silence. The sounds of friends and good times ricocheted around the bar, but the feelings didn’t penetrate the two. Spitfire motioned for more drinks, and thankfully for her the waitress was fast. Spitfire grabbed her drink, getting something a little harder this time. “So...”
“Eeyup?”
“So...what was that about a “dancer”? I assume it had something to do with this former reputation of yours.”
Big Mac giggled. “Yeah, well...Ah did say Ah was young...and stupid.”
“I can drink to that” Spitfire said, raising her mug and downing most of the now clear liquid. She coughed, this was certainly strong. “To being young and stupid.”
Mac nodded, tipping his bottle forward before taking another drink. Big Mac and Spitfire idly chatted, mostly about nothing. The boisterous attitude of the bar did help the two open up a little. Mac’s family came up, which led to stories of his sister’s (and their friends). Spitfire found their hijinks pretty hilarious, especially one instance involving a certain romantic holiday, spilling some of her drink from laughter. Mac just found them troublesome.
The night wore on, and eventually last call came around. Mac slid out of the booth, sober as a bird. Spitfire...well, she also slid out, although fell out was probably more accurate. She caught herself on her front hooves just before smacking her head into the floor.
“...I’m okay” she said. Her drunken chuckles were giving her away, not that she would be inconspicuous without them. Big Mac helped her up, leading her to the door.
“Why don‘ we take you home?”
“Mmmmkay.”
Mac grunted as he pushed open the heavy bar doors. Wind whipped past the two at a furious rate, nearly knocking over one of the tables at the entrance. The two braced against the brewing storm and Mac trotted forward first, turning his head away. Spitfire matched his movements in a slightly less refined way. They walked close to the edge of the road, hoping the buildings would shield them. They didn’t. The low-hanging roofs actually worked against them, acting like a wind tunnel and funneling the air pressure directing into the ponies.
After a good amount of struggling, Mac arrived at the sheriff’s department a bit ahead of Spitfire. She stumbled next to him, when a sudden burst of air hit her on the right side. She lost her footing and fell into Big Mac, having to use him as support. Her head rested against his side, right by his heart. Spitfire could feel it beating rapidly through his ribs.
“Hey Mac,” she slurred, absentmindedly rubbed her head up and down. “ You..r-really gotta l-lay off the caff...caffin...sugar. Gonna have a heart attack.” Spitfire opened the front door, waving goodbye over her shoulder.
Mac stood on the deck of the building for a while before heading back towards Braeburn’s. He wiped his brow, having broken a light sweat. Calm down, Mac. She didn’t mean nothin by that. Ah shouldn’t bother worryin’ bout it. But he knew that would be somewhat of a problem. Big Mac always had a weakness for the opposite sex; luckily the farm took up most of his time and focus. If not, he’d most likely would’ve gotten into much more trouble around Ponyville. Not only that, but there was something about this particular mare. Something that reminded him of an old, close friend.
Mac trudged through the windstorm until he reached a plot of land just next to Braeburn’s ranch. It was normally scheduled, because of the apple trees. But the recent droughts had seen to that, drying up and killing a good portion of Braeburn’s product. Mac walked up to a small oak sapling, it’s fruits not having come in yet. Mac praised the princesses this one hadn’t dried up yet. He sat down, staring a hole in it’s base.
“Hey.” Mac swallowed hard, clearing his throat. “Ah...Ah know Ah haven’t visited much o‘ late.”
The wind slowed a bit, and Mac felt the very beginnings of rain dust his coat. The news of good weather did nothing to brighten his disposition. He kept his eyes trained on the tree base, most precisely on a small rock placed next to the base.
“The rains are coming tonight. Been a while since the last one was this heavy.”
The breeze picked back up and rain lightly, but steadily, poured over him. The water began to pool in a few places, the sandy ground not used to absorbing so much so quickly. Big Macintosh’s mane and coat were a bit damp, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“Ah went on a date tonight. Well, not really, but...sorta. You woulda like’d her, she’s...a lot like you.” Mac inched closer to the stone, bent down and kissed the rock. “Ah’ll make sure ta check in again soon, ‘kay Shade?”
He turned from the rock and slowly walked to the house. Skyshade’s headstone was diminutive in appearance, but only because the oak was her actual tombstone. It had been an old Apple family tradition to bury loved ones under an oak tree, the significance being that oaks always stood firm and tall. Walking inside the ranch home, Macintosh turned and looked up, thanked Celestia again for the rain; it was really good at covering up tears.
Big Mac awoke to a curious tapping on his window. The stallion stirred, dragging his hooves across his face in an attempt to wipe away his morning grogginess. Ah shouldn’ta stayed up so late, he thought. He got up and moseyed over to the window, not really questioning why, who or what was knocking on it. He unlatched the lock, sliding the glass pane up to allow a yellow pegasus mare in.
“Spitfire, the hell are ya’ll doing here?” Big Mac croaked. If he was being completely honest with himself, Mac would’ve liked nothing more than to have Spitfire alone in his room, but he highly doubted Spitfire would go for it. Especially this early. He left the window and sat on his bed, eyelids drooped and sagging.
“Mac, you gotta come see this! ...Out in the square! There's a...” Spitfire paced around the room, fuming about... something. “It’s...it’s just sitting there, taunting me...” she muttered to herself.
“What’s sittin‘ there?” Mac asked.
Spitfire looked up from her hooves, peering right through Big Mac towards the town square. She trotted to the window she entered, nudging her head forward. “Follow me” she said, propping her hooves on the windowsill.
“How?” Big Mac inquired, quite annoyed by now. His notorious morning mood was starting to bleed through, and the angry, nonsensical mare before him wasn’t helping him endure the early hour. “Ah can’t fly.”
Spitfire opened her mouth to say something, but only a light gasp of realization came out. “Damn...I didn’t think of that.” Big Mac rolled his eyes; he could have easily taken the stairs, of course, but if Spitfire didn’t think of it, then he could get back to bed. Mac crawled back under his sheets, groaning.
“Ya’ll keep workin‘ on that conundrum, Spit. Ah’m going to sleep.” Mac forced his face into his pillow, drowning out the sounds of Spitfire’s rambling. He could smell his hair in the lining of the pillow, the stench being slightly off-putting. Mac didn’t mind; So much as he got a few more winks, he could probably put up with a large number of annoyances like that. Not included in those annoyances was being involuntarily carried over town.
Mac felt a tug around his chest as two yellow forelegs quickly wrapped around his body. Before he could even voice his protest, Spitfire pulled him into the air and out the window, banging his head against the frame on the way out.
“SPIT! ...*Ow!...Put me d-down!” Mac cried, scared out of his wits. He kicked his legs furiously, trying to tread through the air, to grab ahold of something, anything solid. Struggle as he might, Spitfire‘s grip on Mac was strong, though it made it much harder for her to maintain flight.
“Mac..quit...moving!” The pegasus said through labored breaths. “You..really gotta...lay off... the snacks!” Spitfire groaned, flapping her wings as hard as she could. Flying while carrying someone wasn’t something new to her, but she’d never handled anypony this heavy before. “How much do you eat!?”
“Hey!” shouted Mac. “Ah workout everyday! So what if Ah get a little hungry?”
With Appleloosa coming into view, Big Mac relaxed a little, allowing Spitfire to gain a semblance of control. The sun was just about to rise over the backdrop of a pair of mountains in the distance.
Spitfire wagered it was somewhere near griffon territory. She’d never been remotely close to entering griffon terrain, but she had heard plenty of stories from some of the older members of the air force. They were renowned for cliff-side architecture, not having cities like Cloudsdale since their cloud control was historically poor. The lifers in the force had told her stories of grand mountain cities, with gothic-style stone battlements and big, ominous towers.
Amidst her daydreaming, Spitfire felt a sudden jerking under her. Looking down, she spied a terrified expression on Mac’s face. She thought it was funny to see the large stallion so worked up until she saw where he was staring. The ground was approaching quite rapidly.
Spitfire’s eyes shot open, putting all her strength into slowing their descent. She flared her wings, trying to create as much drag as possible. Big Mac drew his hooves up into his body, preparing for impact. “Crapcrapcrapcrap.....” Spitfire’s cursing rose in volume until a hard impact, accompanied with a thud rattled the two.
Spitfire tucked her head in, trying to roll with her momentum. She was used to crashing; becoming a Wonderbolt didn’t happen overnight, and practice makes perfect, all that nonsense. The rough sand in the town was still softer than what she was used to; Wonderbolts traditionally trained on land to harden their bodies, so the sand worked to cushion their fall a little. Spitfire slid on her slide to a halt, dragging up dust and debris with her. She caught of glimpse of Big Mac, who was doing his best impression of a scared ostrich, his head buried under a foot of dirt.
Spitfire pushed herself up, groaning and grumbling as her newly-appointed aches and pains showing up. She looked down, grimacing at a large red streak across her side. That'll sting tomorrow. Craning her head around, she found herself relieved, though not surprised, to see Big Mac clamoring to his feet as well. Spitfire walked over to him, shaking out her mane. “You okay?” she asked
“Ugh...yeah” he grunted. “Though, Ah do believe that’s the worst wake-up call Ah’ve ever experienced.”
Spitfire laughed, patting him on the shoulder. “Yeah, sorry about that.” She quickly changed demeanor, remembering why exactly they were here. “C’mon, follow me.” Spitfire anxiously led Big Mac towards the center of town, where a rather large crowd was starting to gather. Ponies who happened to poke their heads outside were being drawn into the crowd, talking amongst themselves and trying to figure out just what it was they were looking at.
Spitfire pushed and ground her way through the mob, pulling Big Mac along behind her. Bumping their way to the front, she grabbed Mac’s head in her hooves and pointed it upwards. “What the HELL is that doing here?” she asked rhetorically.
“...Ah have no idea.”
Mac’s jaw hung open as he looked upon the statue of Mint Julep’s father, standing in the middle of town square. The bronze monolith portrayed a burly stallion standing on his back hooves, his right foreleg pointing defiantly into the sky and his other was placed on his hip. The stallion wore a long gentlecolt’s coat with small tails tapering off at the end. The coat covered his back thighs, and Big Mac had to admit, the statue was very nice, and it certainly would add a bit of zazz to anyone's lawn. Although, the statue would’ve looked much nicer with it’s head intact, or there at all in fact. The head and connecting neck of the stallion was severed just above the shoulder, a rather smooth cut around the base of the opening. It wasn’t perfect, sure, but considering the material and probable lack of equipment, it was a pretty impressive removal.
The disfigured metal adonis stood on a slab of white marble. The stand was slightly worn on one of it’s corners, rounded from time and wind. Mac eyed the front of the stand, where another piece of cast bronze was drilled into the base. Big Mac inched up to it, there was some form of writing on it, but it was too small to read at a distance. Walking up, Mac was able to decipher the bottom line of text:
“...Property of the Julep Estate.”
“Well, at least we’re making progress” chirped Spitfire while walking circles around it. “Let’s try and I.D. this sucker, maybe rustle up the usual suspects, Sheriff ” she said teasingly.
Mac looked up, disgruntled. “We? Oh, no no. Listen, Ah’m willing ta give ya advice, maybe a little background info here an’ there. But that’s all Ah’m willing to do.”
Spitfire narrowed her gaze on Big Macintosh. She trotted forward, poking him in the chest with her right hoof. “What’re you sayin? The glorious “Sheriff Macintosh” isn’t gonna help catch whoever did this?”
“Eenope.”
Spitfire blinked. “And why not?”
Mac frowned a bit. “Well, why should Ah? It ain’t mah job, anyhow!” Mac stood tall in front Spitfire, arching his neck upwards.
“Well maybe not, but you still-”
“Spitfire, AH. AIN’T HELPING.” Mac matched the glare from the pegasus. “An’ futhermore, Ah don’t appreciate you taken advantage o‘ mah good hospitality.”
“Puh-lease.” Spitfire flared her nostrils, thinking of a way to rile him up. “Ya know what? I think you’re scared to get your hooves dirty!” As soon as the words left her mouth, Mac’s mouth twisted into a violent scowl.
“...Ah’m going.” Big Mac turned, walking back into the crowd.
“Wait...but...” Spitfire suddenly lost what fight she had in her, realizing she might've crossed a line.
“But nothin’!” Big Mac interjected. “Now listen, you come to me if ya want apples, an’ nothin’ else! Ah gotta work ta do.” Mac trotted away defiantly, pounding against the ground hard with twinges of anger, dust kicked off his hooves as Mac made his way through the crowd, towards his cousin’s homestead and away from the commotion behind him. “ ‘Sides” he shouted, “Ya didn’t even check tha name-tag!” Macintosh chuckled grimly. “Some detective” he muttered under his breath.
Spitfire flopped her plot down, frustrated. “Why’d I say that?” she asked herself. “Why’d it even start in the first place?” Spitfire sat in front of the statue, tapping her chin deep in regret. So deep, in fact, that she hadn’t heard Sheriff Silverstar come up behind her.
He tapped her lightly on the shoulder. “Hey.”
She didn’t reply.
“Um...miss Spitfire?”
“Huh, what?! What is it?” Spitfire snapped out her trance and turned to the lawman.
“...Ooookay, then” Silverstar said awkwardly. “Ah was just going to ask whether we should bring Miss Julep up to speed.”
“Oh yeah, we should probably go tell her, huh?” Spitfire’s gaze shifted back and forth, a bit embarrassed that she had been distracted so easily. She stood up and followed Silverstar out of the crowd towards his office, his deputies circling around the scene and escorting ponies away.
Silverstar entered the police department, walked into his office and plopped into a large green wheel-y chair. It slid back when he landed, but Silverstar quickly adjusted himself. He handled an older-looking phone in his hoof, a black earphone connected (by wire) to a traditional, rotary-style receiver. The sheriff placed his hoof to the keypad and dialed Mint Julep’s number (to the astonishment of Spitfire; the fact that he was able to dial that thing without wings or talons baffled her).
“May Ah speak to Miss Julep?...Hello, this is....yes, Ah know it’s rather early, but...If you’ll just come on down to mah office, Ah think we found somethin’ ya might be interested in. What?...Yea, right now.”
Silverstar hung up the phone, rubbing his temples with a grimace. “That mare’ll be the death o‘ me” he sighed. “So, she’ll be headin‘ in soon to take a look.” Silverstar looked over to Spitfire, who was standing in the doorway. “Whadda ya make of all this?” he asked.
Spitfire shrugged. “I think... I have no idea. I mean, who steals something, just to return it?” She trotted to the front of the desk and sat in one of the chair across from Silverstar. “It just doesn’t make sense.”
“Ya got me on that one. Ya gotta figure it means sumthin’?”
Spitfire looked at the sheriff, running a hoof through her mane. “Well, it’s obviously a threat. Whether it’s towards Julep or us, I don’t know.” Silverstar nodded in agreement.
“What we need is to catch these ponies in the act.”
Spitfire lit up a little. “I know! We could set up a sting!”
“A sting?” asked Silverstar, confused.
“Yeah. You know the saying, criminals always return to the scene of the crime. We’ll just set up a couple of guards to watch over the statue, and if anyone approaches it, we nab ‘em.” Spitfire grinned, proud of having finally come up with some type of plan.
“Well, that’s all fine an‘ dandy, if you can get miss Julep to agree to that.”
Crap, thought Spitfire. “Yeah, that....might be a problem. Don’t know if I’m the most receptive person to have talk to her.”
Sheriff Silverstar pawed at the air. “Well, Ah guess you can let me worry about Julep. Ah can git her to agree. Now...” He cocked his eyebrows, “What was that commotion between you an‘ Mac?”
Spitfire sighed. “I don’t know.” Wow, I’ve been saying that a lot lately. “One minute we’re joking around, and the next he just freaks!” She shook her head. “All I did was ask him to help out.”
“Did ya ask, or tell?”
Spitfire’s ear dropped. “Ehhhh... hehe...” That gave Silverstar his answer.
“Well, there’s yer problem. Macintosh ain’t one to be prodded ‘round.”
Spitfire rolled her eyes sarcastically. “Yeah, I kinda figured that out. Plus, I do know he isn’t very keen on getting involved.”
“Is that what he told ya?”
Spitfire pulled back, looking incredulously at the sheriff. ”Huh?”
Silverstar chuckled. “Why do ya think he helped you out in the first place? That stallion’s got a great investigative mind. Ah know, surprising, right?” He responded to the look of uncertainty from Spitfire. “But he really was a great sheriff.”
“Then why’d he leave?”
“Whelp, he’s got a family to support back home. That and, well..”
"And what?" Spitfire asked.
Silverstar shifted in his chair. "Look, it ain't mah place to say. Regardless, he left."
“So he just up and left? Dropped everything and went home?”
“Pretty much.”
Spitfire scoffed. “That’s pretty irresponsible.”
Silverstar chuckled. “How do ya figure?”
“He had an obligation to this town, and just because something goes wrong, he stops everything? Just leave it for the next guy?” Spitfire stood from her chair and began to pace the floor.
“Look, it ain’t that cut an’ dry, nor is it the full story” huffed Silverstar. “Sides’, ‘taint really yer business, now is it?”
“No, but...” Spitfire looked down at her hooves and sighed. “Yeah, you’re right. I don’t even know why it bothers me so much.”
“Well get it outta yer head. Ah need ya right fer tonight.”
“...Right. See you tonight, then?”
“Yup” silverstar nodded. “Ya might wanna talk to Mac too; apologize an‘ what not. In times like these, ya’ll wanna keep yer friends close.”
“Yeah, I’ll...keep that in mind.” Spitfire left the sheriff’s office, trotting outside to see that most of the townsponies had left the rather distracting scene. A guard of three deputies surrounded the statue, encouraging a few more rebellious on-lookers to “move along.” Spitfire slowly started to walk towards the statue, just thinking.
How in the hay did that statue get here? It ain’t light, not by a long shot. And how did nopony here anything? Maybe Mac could...oh yeah. He’s pissed at me. Spitfire kicked at the dirt underneath her hooves. She stopped in front of the square, looking up at the image of the late Mr. Julep. How could the head be severed so cleanly?, she thought. The closest town was Dodge Junction, and they didn’t have the facilities to pull something like that off.
“Hmmm...” Spitfire pushed up and into the air, twisting around a few spare clouds from the storm the night before. She’d hoped the cool crisp air whipping through her coat would relax her, maybe help push those unfocused thoughts out of her head. Instead, it only proved to give her more time to think. Why can’t I just leave well enough alone? She already knew the answer to that one. Because the captain of the Wonderbolts doesn’t back down. She had recited that line so many time in her career, it became a personal mantra of sorts. As a filly, Spitfire never shied away from tough answers or hard decisions, even if that wasn’t the best idea. And she definitely didn’t hold back we something interested her. Ha, this town’s so boring, I have to badger the only stallion I know into avoiding me. I really should talk to him, though.
Spitfire began to descend towards Braeburn’s ranch (she made a mental note to meet this mystery pony at some point) until she realized that it’d only been an hour at most since the squabble. “...I’ll give him some time to cool off” she said to herself, pulling back up to dart above the clouds. She landed deftly on a smallish grey nimbus, stretching out into it’s pillowy mounds to rest. I’m gonna be up all night, a few winks will be good. She closed her eyes and eased into a gentle slumber.
Big Macintosh pushed his way through the crowd, not giving a single care about the glares he received for his rudeness. “Drag me out here to do ‘er job fer her...” Mac muttered under his breath. “That’ll be the day.”
Trudging back to Braeburn’s ranch in a foul mood, Big Mac barely acknowledged his cousin as he arrived at the barn. Mac threw on his plow; three more trees had died, two from the storm last night. They needed to be up-rooted before new tress could arrive. He came to the first ruined tree, seeing that the tumultuous rain had drowned the poor sapling. This was a rather young Golden Delicious tree, It barely had a full season’s harvest under it’s leaves. Mac dislodged from his plow and bucked the tree. Hard.
It felt good to release form of that built-up tension, he noted. The tree shook violently, splintering up the core while chucks of bark rocketed from it. Another good buck should handle it, he thought. Mac’s thoughts drifted to the fiery yellow pegasus, thinking she could use a good buck too. The thought propelled Big Mac’s legs through the tree, crushing the trunk to the ground. He pushed out a strained sigh.
That ain’t right... He’d never consider violence in a serious manner, but Spitfire seemed to be able to rustle his jimmies like no other. The few times they did argue, Spitfire always threw Mac into a fit. But why’d she get me so dang angry? Ain’t even like that's been the worst of our arguin’. Ah just... He huffed as the plow, now fastened to his collar, ripped into the earth and under the roots of the dead tree. It popped up, the roots crackling and snapping when the trunk went vertical. Mac looked back to survey his work, pleased with the progress.
After dong the same with the second tree, (which was another Golden, though a bit older than the first) Mac arrived at the last of his work for the day. The tree was a large, dark oak, scarred by time and age. This giant was strong, and Big Mac was sure it was at least three times as old as he. Depositing his plow at the scene, Mac trotted back to the barn to retrieve an axe. Braeburn was waiting there.
“Howdy, cuz” said Mac. The workload had improved Big Mac’s attitude, though he was still dwelling on what happened that morning. He wasn’t so angry anymore, but he was still aggravated by Spitfire’s incessant questioning.
“Hey Mac, didn’t catch ya this mornin’.” Braeburn walked into the barn, following him. “Ya head inta town early today?”
“Yeah, but that wasn’t by choice.”
“Ah know. Ah heard yer shouting” Braeburn chuckled.
Mac growled, finding an old, worn axe. He placed it over his shoulder and turned to Braeburn. “Ya’ll would’ve to, if’n a crazy mare shows up an’ drags ya outta bed, only ta...”
“Now hold up, there” interrupted Braeburn. “If that happened, Ah’d be doin’ a lot different type a shouting” he said with a cheeky grin. “Now how is any o‘ that a problem? Ah know ya’ll ain’t a mornin‘ pony, but ‘taint no reason to be as angry as ya are.”
“Ah ain’t angry” Mac lied.
“Mac, Ah been around ya long enough to know yer moods. And it’s obvious to me something‘s botherin‘ ya.”
Mac narrowed his gaze on Braeburn, but said nothing.
“Ah’d wager it has something ta do with that pegasus friend of yours.
Again, nothing from Mac.
“Ah’d say....build up of sexual tension?”
That made Mac smile. “Ya’ll got no idea what yer talkin’ about.”
Braeburn nudged Mac, winking. “Ya can't hide that from me, cus. Yer sweet on the mare.”
“We’re just friends, Brae. An‘ barely that as of right now.”
“Ya’ll fight?”
“Kinda.”
Braeburn scratched at the ground. “Well ya better apologize, and fast.”
“And what if it ain’t mah fault?” Mac said, raising his brow.
“Then ya better do it even faster. Ya’ll know what mares are like.” Braeburn winked, trotting back to his field.
Mac chuckled throatily. His cousin had a certain way of looking at things, but he figured he was right in some aspect. Ah prolly should apologize. Ain’t no point in bein‘ confrontational. Mac nodded, returning to his task. As he lined up his axe against the old bark, Mac decided he would apologize to Spitfire the next time he saw her. With his mind settled, Mac gripped the axe in his mouth, pulled back, and swung into the oak.
Spitfire sat on her haunches, teetering back and forth on the roof of The Salt-Lick. After she talked with Sheriff Silverstar for a bit, he cleared out her look-out spot above the bar, and left her to her job. It was one of the only building with a relatively flat top, plus the large banner overhead the entrance provided ample protection and cover. Perfect for a good lookout. Silverstar and her hadn't found this spot until the third night, and they'd used it ever since.
She sat with a steely-eyed glare on the statute. This was her chance to end her torment of boredom. She could catch the thief, extract whatever info she needed, and finally get sent home. Not that she was overly eager to do so. Despite her best efforts, the small town and it’s inhabitants were starting to grown on her. Silverstar was nice, and his deputies were helpful enough, though she rarely saw them. And there was Mac...
Spitfire sighed. She intended to talk to him on the day of the fight, but she’d overslept, nearly missing her first posting for the stake out. That was a week ago. But some way or another, she hadn’t seen mane or tail of the red stallion. She hoped he wasn’t still angry, though seeing that he was still sour after all those years, Spitfire feared he might hold a grudge. She reached down between her legs, grabbing a thermos full of hot coffee. She brought it to her lips, but stopped when she saw ...something.
Even in the dark of night, Spitfire could see a dark figure standing at the base of the bronze Mr. Julep. She scooted forward, trying to get a good look at the pony. Damn, their back’s turned. Spitfire rose into the air quietly. She hovered down to the ground, approaching ever so cautiously so as not to alert the intruder of her presence.
Spitfire lunged forward, wrapping her hooves around what she thought was the thief. She heard the brush of sand underneath her, as well as the low hum of unicorn magic. A cloud of dust obscured her vision. “Oof!” Spitfire grunted when her face hit the dirt, having somehow missed her target. She quickly got up and turned around. The mystery pony was still there, now standing where she previously was with it’s back still towards her.
Spitfire stiffened as the pony turned it’s head, peering directly at her. She glared at it accusingly. “Who are you?” Spitfire demanded. “What are you doing here?”
The pony in question was covering in a large brown cape, with dusty bandages wrapped up it’s forelegs. It’s head was also wrapped, a single lock of grey mane sticking out. No horn, Spitfire noticed. It’s clothing hided the gender of it’s wearer, it’s fur was a brownish-yellow color. The eyes on this pony seemed to pierce into Spitfire’s soul, terrifying and depthless with milky white irises.
Without warning, the pony shot to it’s right, jumping forward and dashing behind a cart. Spitfire gave chase, flaring her wings and rocketing towards the pony. It ran into an alleyway, but Spitfire was close behind. The rumble of hooves echoed against old wood, reverberating off the wall and mixing with the flap of Spitfire’s wings. She reached out, almost able to grab the tattered cape in front of her. The runner quickly cut left, making Spitfire put up, lest she slam head-first into a wall. She just barely avoided the wall, her wings screaming with stress when she shot straight up.
Spitfire spun upside down and turned left, corkscrewing back down into the alleyway. The alleyway branched out like a riverbed, each possible turn leading to new turns, and new escape routes. Spitfire saw the pony turn a corner, and she resumed her chase. Swinging around the corner, she watched the edge of the pony’s cape turn right.
Damn this guy’s fast, she thought. Even with her wings, this pony was giving her a literal run for her money. Spitfire followed the pony throughout the town; every time she felt she got close, the intruder gave her the slip. She chased it out of town, out towards the farmland. How is this guy not tired? The pony led Spitfire to a familiar tract of land. He barreled through a desolate orchard, bounding over a large hole in the ground.
“MAC!” Spitfire bellowed, hoping he wasn’t the heavy sleeper she figured he was. It seems she was at least a little lucky tonight. Big Mac opened his window, only to have Spitfire yet again sweep him off his hooves and fly away.
“IS THIS GONNA HAPPEN EVERY DAMN TIME YA COME OVER!” Mac shouted over the wind.
Spitfire ignored the jape, instead trying to resume her search for the shrouded pony. No matter how fast it was, it had to be tired by now. Setting Mac down, she shot straight into the sky, cresting just under the cover of cloud. From the higher vantage point, she caught sight of the pony; It was dragging something behind it, making a distinct track behind. Spitfire couldn’t tell what it was, but it looked big.
What the hell are they thinkin’? They’re running straight into the desert. Spitfire darted towards him, leaving a trail of cloud behind as she made up the distance quickly. She realized the pony was dragging Mac’s plow, which was helping her more than she realized. Al....most...there... Her hoof brushed the edge of the dirty shroud, startling the runner. The thief dove straight into the sand hooves-first, somehow launching with enough power to pull the plow in with him. The sand acted like butter as it spread around him, and the pony disappeared into the yellow sea. Spitfire swore she saw a faint rainbow glow form around the pony, but as far as she could tell, they weren’t a unicorn. She shook it off as weariness working on her brain, and she flew back the Big Macintosh.
Mac watched a befuddled Spitfire return to him. She opened her mouth to say something, but no words came out. “Any reason fer waking me up in the middle of the night?” he asked curtly.
“There..was a...pony. I caught ‘em in front of the statue...and chased them here.” She was still working through the event in her head. “I thought you might wanna know someone was trespassing.” Spitfire looked up from her hooves, worry on her face. “He..they just...he’s gone, Mac. Just, dove, right into the sand. Gone.” Spitfire panted with wide eyes, her exhaustion finally hitting her. Her legs were wobbly and her breath haggard.
Macintosh looked worried as well, but for a different reason. “Ya’ll sure ya got enough sleep last night? Yer not making a lick o’ sense.”
Spitfire frowned. “I know what I saw. Regardless, he’s gone now.” She plopped down, sitting in a slump.
“Well...thanks, Ah guess.” Mac scratched the back of his head. “...And um, look, Spit...”
“No dude, I gotta say something.” She stomped her hoof. “I may not agree with you sitting back because of ...whatever reason you have, even though it isn’t any of my business.” Mac frowned, and started to speak but Spitfire placed a hoof over his mouth. “I’m not finished. Be that as it may, it wasn’t right of me to question that, or push you into anything if you don’t want to help. Basically...” Spitfire looked up at Mac, giving him her best sad puppy eyes. “...I’m sorry.”
Mac looked away hesitantly. Those eyes were working hard and well. “Ah...Ah’m sorry, too. We both kinda jumped the shark on that one, huh?”
“Yeah.” Spitfire sat, holding out her forelegs. Big Mac looked at her strangely. “C’mon, bring it in.”
“Um...” Mac stared at the mare. “What are you-?”
“Fine, make me do all the work” Spitfire huffed. She leaned in and embraced Mac, wrapping her forelegs around him tightly. She could feel Big Mac tense up at her touch, and it made her chuckle a bit. Eventually, Big Mac returned the hug, though reluctantly. “All better?” she asked, pulling away.
“Eeyup. By the way, using those eyes like that is cheatin'.”
"Not in my book" chuckled Spitfire. "But seriously, I am sorry about what I said. It was stupid of me to assume you would help, and to take advantage of that."
"It's...it's okay, Spit." Big Mac smiled warmly, looking down at his friend. " 'Sides, Ah couldn't stay mad at you long anyhow."
“Good” she smiled. Spitfire nodded back towards the farmhouse. “It’s late. You mind if we go inside?” Mac nodded his approval, leading Spitfire back.
“Might as well, looks like we got a bit to talk about.”
“Uh-huh” Spitfire chuckled for the first time in a week. “Oh Mac, by the way... I think that pony stole your plow.”
“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.
“Alright, alright!” Silverstar bellowed. “Who’s on patrol tonight?”
“That would be me” Mac huffed, crawling out from under his blanket next to the fire pit.
The caravan had stopped five days ago, a sudden rain making the road morph into a thick mud, it being too treacherous to use. It was easy enough to make camp for that long. Level tended to live up to his name, having made an outhouse, with firewood to spare, out of little more than twigs in the desert.
The carriage was parked a few feet from the road, with a fire pit placed to it’s back. Other than a few clay-red mountains in the distance, and a bush or two off the road, the space was surprisingly empty The evening’s alway seemed colder to Mac, even during the hotter months, so he was thankful for that. Not to mention it kept unwanted pests away.
Big Macintosh groaned as he padded over to the sheriff. Three day of no progress could wear on a pony. That ain’t the problem... Mac thought, spying Silverstar’s trademark mustache muttering something towards him. Although, this hold-up is taking much too long. Hell, Ah can see more rain clouds headin’ our way... Darks swirls sat over a mountain in the distance, ominously moving forward, confirming Mac’s nervousness. Ah don’t like the look of it.
His friend looked Big Mac over, a hint of worry in his eye. “...Well alright, if yer sure. You know the drill. Standard patrol ‘round the camp, keep critters around, all that.”
Mac nodded his head. “Whose on with me tonight?”
Silverstar grinned. “Let me see...” Silverstar hummed, running through a mental checklist. “Well, it ain’t me or Braeburn. Or Lockbox. That leaves three possible ponies, an’ Ah should probably pick somepony yer familiar with...”
Mac huffed again,. “Ah’ll get her. Though, Ah expect this kinda scheming from Braeburn, not you.”
Silverstar laughed, walking back to his own plot of land by the fire. “Night, Mac. Don’t be too loud. Remember, rest of us need our sleep!”
Mac groaned, his steps kicking up small clouds of dust. The entire journey, Braeburn had incessantly been teasing him about Spitfire, and it looked like he was rubbing off on others. “Just great...” he muttered, walking over to a lump of blankets on the ground. It wasn’t that it bothered him all that much; For all that they teased him about, it was at least, true. However, that didn’t give them the right to trivialize his interest in Spitfire. There’s only so much a stallion can take!
“Spitfire, up an’ at ‘em” Mac grumbled, waking the pegasus from her spot. She shot up, a bundle of sheets, feathers, and fur.
“Ah! A-ah... what?” Spitfire said, her mane even messier than usual. She looked around the camp in a haze, until her eyes settled on the stallion next to her. “Oh, hey Mac. What’s up?”
“We’re on watch tonight. So grab some water, wake up, an’ meet me by the stagecoach.”
“Um, yeah alright.” Spitfire stumbled up, blinking her eyes. “Where are you-” Spitfire looked to her side, seeing that apparently Big Mac had left. “Wow, okay” she said, a bit irritated at his rudeness. She rubbed more of her sleepiness out of her eyes and walked over to the stagecoach.
“How long are we going for tonight?” she asked.
“Till about 4, Ah figure, or until Silverstar relieves us” Mac answered, handing her some bread.
“Um... Thanks?”
“We’re gonna be out there for a bit” Big Mac said. “Don’t want ya gettin‘ too hungry when we need to be watching out fer stuff.” He smiled. ”Plus, helps ya wake up, Ah always found.”
“Very true...” Spitfire mumbled through breadcrumbs. She opened her wings and hovered up to the carriage roof, bread still in hoof. Mmmm. Feels goooood... she thought, spreading her wings so that each feather hand breathing room. She noticed, like Mac, that the night was much colder than the days had been, and the pegasus in Spitfire couldn’t be happier. The breeze rustled through each one of her outstretched feathers, leaving her feeling relaxed and refreshed.
“You ready?” Mac called up to her. “Can’t be waitin‘ on ya all night, ya know.”
“Ahh, don’t worry about it” she replied hopping off the carriage and onto the ground. She rolled head-first and popped to her hooves, a bit of sand shooting from her mane. “Whew! Wide awake” Spitfire smiled.
“Well you’re just full o‘ energy, ain’t ya?” Mac groaned. “Good. At least ya’ll can keep me from nodding off.”
“Oh, I can do more than that” Spitfire said in a low, luscious voice. “Think about, Macky. Just you and me, alone in the desert.” She sauntered up to Big Mac side, brushing her tail along his back legs.
“Ah ain’t falling for it.”
"Ya know, wolves aren't the only things that howl..."
That stopped Macintosh, but only for a second. He vigorously shook his head, and began to walk. "Not workin', Spits."
“Not even a little?” Spitfire asked faux-innocently, rubbing her hoof along his chest.
Mac grumbled. “Not even a little.”
“Aww, you’re no fun!” Spitfire pouted, backing away from Big Mac.
“Well, Ah prolly just got used to it, since ya do it often enough” he chuckled. “Come on, moonlight’s burnin’. Let’s go.”
Mac and Spitfire trotted on a dirt path Sheriff Silverstar had plotted out the day they’d stopped here. It was a fourty foot circular perimeter around the camp, just far enough that the fire from the camp didn’t catch it.
“So Mac...” Spitfire started, “what do you think? Is the buffalo herd really gonna be that easy to find?”
“Well, it’s been easier since we got on good terms with ‘em” he said with a sign. "But..."
“But?”
“But with the current state of affairs, it might’ve messed up their migration pattern.” Mac slowly sat down, his eyes looking out over the vast, dusty land. The stirring in the sky drew closer, deep rumbles rolling through like the grumble of a hungry lion’s belly. It made him nervous.
“And Ah I don’t like that, much.”
Spitfire looked at him quizzically. “What’re you talking about?”
“The storm”. Big Mac pointed up to the sky, his hoof circling the clouds. “Usually, when a storm that size rolls ‘round, either two things happen. One” Mac met Spitfire’s gaze, ”...the herd heads around the storm, which would probably push them in our direction.”
“So how’s that bad?” Spitfire asked. “Seems like we’d want them to do that.”
“Well, we would. If that’s what they chose to do. But usually, Thunderhead don’t like to play gentle. Ah’ll bet he ran into that storm head first.”
“What!?” Spitfire yelled. “Why the hay would he do that? What is he, a moron?”
“Nah, he just likes to have fun.”
“How is that...” she said, pointing at the storm, “ ...fun!?”
Mac shrugged. “He’s... “rough ‘round the edges”, Ah suppose. You’ll see when you meet him.”
“...I guess.” Spitfire sat next to her friend, blowing a lock of hair out of her face. “Although, that doesn’t really paint him in a good light.”
Big Mac chuckled. “What, ya nervous?”
“Yeah right!” Spitfire laughed. “Remember who you’re talkin‘ to. This is the mare who pulled off the Manehattan Mushroom with a sprained wing.”
“The Manehattan what-now?” Mac questioned.
“Ya know, the... oh right” Spitfire said, rubbing her left foreleg. “Earth pony. You wouldn’t happen to watch stunt flying, would you?”
“Nah” Mac answered. “Ah know a little, but no, Ah don’t see it much.”
“Well, regardless, all you need to know is that it’s hard and dangerous.”
Mac scoffed. “Ah sure it is.”
“What? You doubt my power?” Spitfire said, dropping her voice low, shaking her front hooves like a certain blue magician.
“Calm down” Mac sighed, scrunching up his face and looking away. “Didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”
“I was just...” Spitfire stopped herself upon seeing Big Mac so frustrated. “Dude, are you alright?”
“Ah’m fine” he said quickly, steeling his gaze on the moving storm ahead.
Geez, what the hell’s his problem tonight? Spitfire watched him for a bit, unsure of exactly what to say. “Um, you sure you’re okay? You seem a bit... tense.”
“Yep!” replied Mac, harsher than he wished to. Spitfire flinched slightly, huffing as she looked away from Big Mac.
Fine then. The two ponies sat with each other, tension slowly rising as the storm crept even closer. Spitfire pawed at the ground subconsciously, trying to think of some way to clear the awkwardness.
It seemed she wouldn’t have to.
“Ah’m sorry” Big Mac said quickly. “Ah didn’t mean to be so cranky.”
“Well, you certainly did a good job at it.”
“Ah...” Mac looked towards his friend. “Ah know, and again, sorry. Ah guess Ah’m just stressed or something.”
“Do you wanna talk about it?”
Spitfire smiled, looking back. Macintosh frowned, his eyes growing wide. “Ah don’t know. Ah, uhh... don’t really talk about that kinda stuff.”
“Ya know” Spitfire said, “keeping that stuff bottled up can be bad for a pony.” She found herself inching closer to Mac.
“Well... it’s nothin’, really.”
“Listen, big guy” said Spitfire, placing a hoof on Mac’s shoulder. “You gotta let it out somehow. Why not do it to a friend?”
“Ah don’t remember friends tryin’ to seduce each other.” said Mac
“Wait, is that what this is all about?” Spitfire titled her head, frowning. “If it really bothers you that much, you could’ve told me to stop.”
“Nah, it not that” Mac said, cracking a smile. “Ah know you’re just teasing me. It’s just...” He sighed, straining his neck until a loud pop sounded from it. “This whole thing feels wrong.”
A familiar fluttering sound to his left told Macintosh what was about to happen next. A light weight landed atop Mac’s head, his ears and mane being pressed out to the left and right. Two yellow hooves rested around his neck, and he could distinctly feel a chin resting on the apex of his skull.
“Story time, Macky” Spitfire said from above.
Mac sighed, rolling his shoulders so that Spitfire would rest more comfortably on him. Her mane tickled the side of his nose, wafting over the smell of something spicy.
“Well think about it” started Mac. “First off, look at how these so-called "thieves" are workin’. There draggin’ their score out into the desert, while completely covering their tracks. That in itself is strange. Ah can’t imagine there’s anyplace to sell it out there. And nopony ‘round here would buy it, seein’ as most of it’s branded or marked.”
“Okay” Spitfire muttered. “So their not selling it. And so far, everything that’s been stolen has been farming tools and irrigation pipes. Well, that and the “now-returned” statue.” Spitfire hummed, swinging her back legs along Mac’s sides. “...Maybe they’re building something.”
Big Mac chuckled. “Well, maybe. But Ah can’t imagine what. Or for what reason. And this is still assumin’ that we are dealing with more than one pony.” Mac turned to look back at the caravan, which made Spitfire’s head follow. “And considering the fact that the folks o’ Appleloosa need that equipment just to keep goin’, Ah don’t wanna waste time to ponder the loftier thoughts of scumbags.”
“Oh, I don’t know” said Spitfire. “There’s plenty of things a pony could build with enough time and crazy.” She pushed herself up and leaned over, looking at Big Mac upside down. “Maybe it’s a giant, mechanical spider!”
“......”
Spitfire tried to contain herself under Macintosh’s gaze, but found if increasingly hard. “Pfff!” Spitfire sputtered, chuckled throatily. “Okay, maybe not!”
“If they were able to make somethin’ that stupid, Ah’ll eat mah harness!” Mac laughed, his head bouncing Spitfire up and down. His breathing slowed to its normal pace, Mac looking up to the extra luggage on his back.
Spitfire’s head blocked most of his vision. He could tell that she was watching the clouds like he was. A flash of light drew both their eyes forward, the crackle of thunder following soon after.
“Looks like it gonna start raining” Big Mac muttered.
“Yep” Spitfire replied, looking down.
When their eyes met, Mac could already feel the heat rising to his face. Spitfire’s apricot eyes were smiling, and her yellow and orange mane framed her face in a wondrous way. Another flash of lightning struck behind them, and to Mac, that light seemed to be like a halo placed on his annoying angel.
Mac couldn’t tear his eyes away, not that he wanted to. He knew that he found Spitfire to be pretty, but he wasn’t sure if he knew just how gorgeous she was. Her perfect, uplifting smile that matched her devil may care attitude. Spitfire’s wild, untamed mane that fit said attitude. And her eyes. There was a passion in them that reminded him of his own work. He severely doubted her passion was apple-related, but Mac understood the feeling.
And not to mention, her perfect, well-toned...
“Hey, um, dude?” Spitfire asked, waving her hoof in front of Mac’s face. “You okay?”
He shook his head, snapping out of his trance. “Huh, Wha- oh! Yeah, yeah, Ah’m fine.” The clouds, not happy with Big Mac’s divided attention, thundered above him, streaks of lightning striking the ground. Both ponies looked up as the rain came down.
“Ya know, it’s been raining a lot since I got here. I thought Appaloosa was going through a drought?” Spitfire chuckled.
“We should prolly get outta this” mentioned Mac.
“...Yeah. ” Spitfire turned, walking towards the caravan with Macintosh trailing behind. The desert sand squished and squashed under their hooves, with more and more rain starting to fall.
The caravan wasn’t far, the shadow of the carriage’s canvas hood outlined by occasional strikes of lightning. A trail of quickly dispersing smoke rose up from somewhere near the middle of camp.
Big Mac would’ve been just fine returning to camp, even if it was soaked. Maybe we’d hafta huddle under the cart, but that’s alright, Mac thought. Ah mean, If Spitfire an‘ I just happened to get stuck together...
Squish.
The sound of wet hooves from behind startled Macintosh. He whipped around and took a defensive stance, his head low to the ground. “Spitfire!” he called out.
“What is it?”
“We got somethin’!”
The pegasus snapped around and ran to Mac’s side, flaring her wings out apprehensively. “Who’s there?” she whispered to her comrade.
“Don’t know” he said back. “But Ah heard it. Sounded like a pony.”
The shroud of night and overcast clouds kept the two from seeing anypony approach. According to her eyes, the only pony around Spitfire was Big Mac. But her ears told her a different story. She could pick out the rain landing a bit higher than were the ground was, and that it was landing on something softer than sand. Sure, that noise could be coming from either her or Macintosh. But along with it, Spitfire picked out the distinct slopping sound of wet hooves being dragged along tiresomely.
And that particular sound was coming in front of them.
“Hey!” Spitfire called, deciding to take the initiative. “Is somepony out there?”
No one replied, but the sloshing, walking sounds grew louder.
“Listen!” she tried again. “If you can heard me, respond. There’s about five of us, so don’t even think about a fight!”
“What’re ya doin’!?” whispered Mac.
“Bluffing. If this pony’s dangerous, we should have an advantage.”
Thud. A splash of water accompanied the sound, and it was clear that whatever was trotting towards them had fallen over.
“Quick Spits, let’s get this pony back to camp. We can deal with it there.”
“Right” she nodded. The two slowly approached the limp, silhouetted form. It lay in a bundle of limbs, its frizzy orange mane stuck to its face. Spitfire crouched down, brushing the mane out of their approacher’s face. “Hey Mac” she called out. “This isn’t a pony.”
A bolt of lightning landed off in the distance, illuminating the scene for a moment. Macintosh sat next to Spitfire, grimly frowning. “Yer right” he grumbled. “Is she alright?”
“I don’t know” she replied, placing her ear to the collapsed figure’s chest. “There’s a steady heartbeat, and I don’t see any cuts or bruise's, but...” Spitfire rose, her eyes darkening. “She’s not good, Mac.”
“Spitfire, go to camp, and gather up as many blankets ya can. See if ya’ll can get some water an‘ food, too.” Macintosh approached their guest, slowly sliding his neck under her frame and lifting. She was heavier than a pony, with wider shoulders and longer legs. Mac situated her on his back, turning back to the caravan.
Spitfire rummaged through the camp’s supplies, grabbing any rag, towel, or cloth that even resembled a blanket. Of the few things that were still outside, coating wasn’t one of them. Nothing here, dammit! Spitfire moaned. She needed to find something useful, and fast. I’ve never felt another being so cold before. Nerves frayed, she burst into the carriage, waking everypony inside.
“Gee-watz!” shouted Silverstar, wide-eyed. “What’s all the commotion?!”
“Quick! I need all your blankets!”
“What for?” grumbled Lockbox, crawling out from his own warm security.
“We found somepony.. err, kinda” she explained, while snatching every blanket within reach. “She’s ice cold, so clear a space for when Mac gets here...”
Braeburn sat up, his hat falling off his face and into his lap. “So, ya’ll actually ran into somepony out there?”
“Well, she’s not exactly a pony...” said Spitfire, rubbing her head.
“What’d ya mean?” Braeburn asked, an edge of nervousness in his voice.
“Well...” Suddenly, there was a knock on the carriage door. It flung open, a large, red stallion standing with his head low. He wiggled his way inside, allowing the figure on his back to slowly slide off.
“Spitfire, we need them blankets!”
“Got ‘em right here!” she exclaimed, yanking every blanket away from the formerly sleeping ponies. Together, the two wrapped the brown-furred lady in everything they had, swaddling her as much as possible.
“So” Macintosh muttered after finishing, “anypony know who this is?”
“Ah do” said Braeburn, straining a croak from his voice. He crawled over to the swaddled lump, closing the distance between himself and the pile of blankets.
“Well, that’s go-”
“Mac!” cried Braeburn, silencing his cousin. “Could ya’ll jus’ shut up fer a minute!”
Big Mac recoiled, taking a step back. He watched his cousin curl inwardly, wrapping his forelegs around the patient. Braeburn squeezed, trying to offer every ounce of heat he had.
“Who is she, Brae?” Mac asked quietly.
“...My little warrior’s sick, Mac” he murmured. “She‘ ain’t never been this sick before. She’s like an ice-sickle, Mac.” Braeburn’s voice was on the verge of tears, his hooves shaking.
Macintosh paced over next to Braeburn, lying his head on the pile of blankets. Braeburn looked over, a thankful gleam in his eye. “Don’t worry, Brae. She’ll be alright.”
“Mac’s right” said Spitfire, opting to huddle behind the cold pile across from Big Mac. “We got this.”
Braeburn nodded his thanks, tightening his grip.
The other ponies in the carriage watched politely, seeing that Braeburn was ready to be pushed right now. Whoever this mystery mare was, she was important to him. And considering her condition, he was right to be worried. Anypony could she she was in bad shape; the pile she was under was shaking feverishly, even with three ponies providing extra heat. Her breathing seemed very faint, and the fact that she was soaked couldn’t help any.
“Alright, everypony” huffed Silverstar gruffly. “Let’s just get some shuteye. We can deal with this in the mornin’.” Settling down, most ponies fell asleep quickly, regardless of the surprise guest. Braeburn was still wide awake, whispering words of encouragement into the shivering mare’s ear.
“Mac,” Spitfire whispered. “You okay?”
“Just worried” he admitted, watching his cousin. “Brae’s not doin’ too well. ...Shoulda got here faster.”
“Hey” she said, placing her hoof over Mac’s. “She’s gonna be fine, okay?”
“How do ya know?”
“Trust me.” Spitfire wrapped her hoof around her friend’s, and she was a bit surprised when he squeezed back. Spitfire, however, didn’t pull away. She knew he needed this, and although she wouldn’t admit it, she did too.
“Goodnight, Spits” said Mac quietly, closing his eyes.
Spitfire scooted up behind the mare in the blankets, a light grin on her lips. “Night, Mac.”
