//------------------------------//
// Chapter 1 
// Story: The Good, the Bad, and the Sentry 
// by Tumbleweed 
//------------------------------//

Memory is a funny thing.

For some old codgers, all it takes is a few bars of some old song to get them reminiscing about their glory days. For others, it's less than that-- just a smell of freshly baked bread will get them bawling about their mothers.  

And for me? It's maps.

In my doddering old age, there are days when I can barely remember what I've had for breakfast (if I've even eaten at all), much less what I did decades past, in my prime. Why, I've still got a couple of medals that I have no memory whatsoever of receiving. Impressive ones, too. Then again, it's entirely likely I was comatose when they were given to me. Pre-humously, if you will. Either that, or the awards ceremony had an open bar.

But for me, all it takes is a glance at a map, and the memories all come rushing back. Memories of pain, for the most part-- but that's life, is it not? Show me a map-- any map – and more often than not I'll be able to tell you about something horrible that happened to me. Dueling scars for that mad mission to Perchertaina. Flying-baboon bites in the Everfree Forest. A smattering of second degree burns in the Dragon Lands. A frostbitten nose in Yakyakistan. Heartbreak in Ponyville. Several stab wounds and a concussion in Kowloon. And so on, and so on, and so on. It's a depressingly long list.  

To be honest, I've shed blood (however unwillingly) in just about every locale or kingdom most ponies can think of off the top of their heads, and a few more besides.  

Of all those places, and of all those wounds, none of them were as bad as what happened to me in Appleoosa.  

But I'm getting ahead of myself.  







The train clattered westward.  

As assignments went, this was a rather posh one. At least it was supposed to be. But in those days I was still young and naive and somehow convinced that the proverbial fates didn't enjoy  watching me suffer. Though I suppose if you're still reading my rambings at this point, you probably enjoy watching (or, well, reading) me suffer too, you sadist.

The worst part was, I actually chose the assignment. Y'see, by then, my entirely undeserved status as a Hero of Equestria was fairly well cemented. And for once, there weren't any looming threats or impending prophecies or any other nonsense to deal with.I knew it couldn't last-- which is why I decided to get myself assigned as far away from Canterlot as possible. If I stayed in the capitol, it was only a matter of time before some new magic-mad fiend tried to take the place over again. That, or Fancy Pants and the other maniacs at the Equestrian Intelligence Office would decide the best way to solve some horrible new political imbroglio would be “Throw Sentry at it.” Which is something they kept on doing despite (or perhaps because of) the mayhem that invariably followed. 

And so, when I learned about a 'advisory survey' mission out to Appleoosa, I pulled a few strings to put my name on the top of the list. It was rather easy, I must say-- all I had to do was puff out my chest and spout some nonsense about “trackless wilderness” and  “looking for a new challenge” and it was the 3:10 to Appleoosa, with barely enough time to grab a toothbrush.  

Of course, I also made it a point to pull a few more strings, which got me a first class cabin, and a certain orange-haired mare to share it with. Carrot Top (a.k.a. Special Agent Golden Harvest, master of hoof to hoof combat) leaned against my side, looking out the window. I could see her face reflected in the glass--  pensive and lovely. And quiet, to boot. Which should have been my first clue something was going to go terribly wrong, but that's hindsight for you. 

“Alright, out with it.” I finally said.

“What?” Carrot Top shook herself out of her thoughtful reverie.  

“You're getting that look again.”

“What look?”

“That look you get right before you start talking about missions and dossiers and all that other unpleasantry that usually tries to kill us.”

“I was just ... thinking, that's all.” She said.  

“Whatever for?”

Carrot Top blinked, then twisted around to look at me from the corner of her eye, in what had by then become a rather familiar expression.  

I kept talking anyway. “I mean, what's there to think about? All I've got to do is go out there, put on my dress uniform, and look official. Show the flag, so to speak. Just a little something to remind the bumpkins that Canterlot hasn't forgotten about them. I'll go in, shake a few hooves, toss out a toast or two to the Princesses, and we'll be homeward bound in a day or two. Honestly, the hardest part is going to be writing up the report for Princess Sparkle. She'll probably expect something with a bibliography. But even with that, it's still easy work.”

“Sentry.” Carrot Top said, flatly. “Did you really just say this would be easy? Do you not remember what happens every time you say something like that?”

“Ah.” My stomach lurched. I tried to hang onto a slimmer of optimism anyway. “But ... Appleoosa's just some insignificant dirtball, no? Surely there's nothing out there that'll be too much trouble.”

“Except for the sandstorms. And the outlaws. And the cholera. At least the Buffalo Folk have been quiet lately, so they probably won't try to level the town anytime soon.”  

“You talk like you've been there before.”

“I have.”

“And you didn't think to mention any of this horrible lurking danger before I volunteered for the mission?”

Carrot Top shrugged, tilting her head back to look at me. “That's the thing, Sentry. There's always some kind of horrible lurking danger. Some monster. Some cult. Some conspiracy. The Princesses tend to handle the big stuff-- but for everything else? It comes down to ponies like you and me.”

“Which is why Fancy Pants sent us out here.” My voice may have cracked, but Carrot Top didn't seem to notice. 

“If it helps, we don't have any active case files in Appleoosa right now. So any trouble we find will be ... extracurricular.”

“That's ... not exactly reassuring.”

“And that's what I've been thinking about.” Carrot Top sighed.

“In that case, I think you could do with a distraction.”

“What kind of distraction?” Carrot Top said.

I leaned in to gently tease my lips over the very tip of Carrot Top's ear.

“Ah.” she said.

I can be very distracting, when I put my mind to it.  






The train slowed, brakes squealing as it rolled into Appleoosa station. 'Station' was something of a generous term for the rickety shack that served as the town's ticket office-- but then again 'town' was something of a generous term for Appleoosa. 

Carrot Top and I had just enough time to get ourselves looking presentable before the train reached its destination. Not that it was necessary: Appleoosa was barely more than a row of ramshackle buildings built from cheap clapboard. The wide road through the center of town was dry, dusty, and surprisingly crowded, as scores of earth ponies in broad-brimmed hats went too and fro about their business. 

“I'll get the luggage.” Carrot Top said, shouldering her heavy saddlebags without a grunt of effort. It might've been a bit ungentlemanly to let her do so, but she was easily the stronger (not to mention more stubborn) of the two of us. “You can go talk to Sheriff Silverstar.” 

“Right-o.” I said. And with that, Carrot Top disappeared into the throng of ponies milling about the station. I went the other way, trotting down the steps and onto the station platform.

It was easy to spot Sheriff Silverstar, leaning against a post, waiting for me. He was a grim-looking fellow, all squints and mustache and oversized hat. He had a gleaming metal star pinned to his denim vest, matching his cutie mark.  “You must be that Flash Sentry feller.”

“That obvious?” I said. 

“Name's Sheriff Silverstar. I take care of things 'round here.” He sized me up, and by the narrowing of his eyes, likely found me wanting. Which meant he was a good judge of character. “Been doin' fine without any help from Canterlot.”

“And I hope you continue to do so.” I said, smiling. “As I am only visiting in an advisory capacity-- and even then, I don't expect I'll have to do much advising. Things seem nice and quiet around here.”

“And I reckon I'd like to keep it that way.” Silverstar said, still wary, as if he were afraid my mere presence would bring unspeakable calamity to his dirtball of a town. Which, again, meant he was a good judge of character. “Now c'mon, and I'll show you 'round town.”

Even at Silverstar's slow mosey, it didn't take long to see all Appleoosa had to offer. There was a town hall, a general store, a telegraph office, a jail, and a combination boarding house/saloon. The last of which, naturally, was where Carrot Top and I would stay. Hardly luxurious, but at least there was a semi-respectable collection of liquor bottles behind the bar. A crude chandelier fashioned from an old wagon wheel hung from the ceiling, lit candles illuminating the small stage at the opposite end of the room. Sadly, it was too early for fishnet and feather-clad dancing-mares to be prancing about, but that was probably for the best.  

As Silverstar and I walked in, the plinking piano music stopped, and every grizzled-looking pony in the place (and just about everypony in Appleoosa was grizzled, to some degree) turned to gawk at the two of us. More specifically, they were gawking at me; with my wings and uniform, I stuck out like a champagne flute thrown in with the coffee mugs.  

“Hey lookit!” One of the proverbial coffee-mugs said. “It's that fancy war hero feller from Canterlot!”  

Beside me, Silverstar bristled. I suppose I couldn't blame him-- the pony no doubt had gotten used to his position of authority. And here came Flash Sentry, famed Hero of Equestria, here to steal his proverbial thunder. Hell, since I was a pegasus, I could steal his literal thunder, if I'd wanted to. Which I didn't, of course, but it's not like Silverstar knew that. Thankfully, I'd knew exactly what to say next.

“Hero? Me? Perish the thought.” I trotted over and sat on a barstool, making sure to slouch a little bit. “I'm sure the lot of you have dealt with far dicier things-- sandstorms, outlaws, cholera, what have you –you just didn't have a princess around to hand out medals when you did. Don't let all this--” I gestured to my uniform with one hoof. “--make you think I'm better than you, because I'm not. I'm just a simple stallion, trying to do his job. Though right now, I think I'm going to take myself off-duty for a bit. Travel is thirsty business, you know.” I rapped my hoof on the bar. “Barkeep! Let's have a round for these lads, ay? Courtesy of the Princesses.”  

A raucous cheer rose up from the saloon's patrons. If my practiced humility hadn't won them over, then the free drinks did. I figured a bottle or two of frontier whiskey was well within the capacity of an E.I.O expense account.*



*Sentry is correct, here. In fact, certain declassified documents from the E.I.O.'s accounting departments have everything from potted ferns to party artillery written off as 'unforeseen expenses.' In comparison a round of drinks in a frontier bar is hardly worth noting.  


The bartender, dapper in his bowtie and suspenders, made a show out of setting a row of glasses and filling them with amber-colored whiskey. The saloon's layabouts fell upon the free booze with enthusiastic hooting and hollering (as I've been told such is the proper term). And just like that, I was no longer the foppish interloper, but instead, 'one of the boys,' as it were. Somepony foisted one of those peasant-hats on me, the pressed felt still somehow white, despite the dust and sand that seemed to coat everything in Appleoosa. Even Sheriff Silverstar relaxed once he concluded that I wasn't there to tell him how to do his job.

Whiskey flowed, the piano played, and soon enough the saloon veritably rattled in celebration. I leaned against the bar, nursing my whiskey as the party went on around me. The train ride (not to mention the way Carrot Top and I had spent the last third or so) had tired me out. That, and playing the part of the unflappable war hero only made me look better in the eyes of the yokels.  

“Looks like you're having a good time, Sentry.”  That Carrot Top snuck up on me unnoticed wasn't surprising, given her profession. That Carrot Top snuck up on me wearing one of those wide-brimmed hats, however, was. Must have been some kind of camouflage.

“Nobody's tried to kill me yet.” I said with a shrug.

“Give it time.”

“I hate it when you say that.” I kicked back the last of the liquor in my glass, then waved the bartender over even as the whiskey singed the back of my throat. “A refill, if you would.” I said, and he poured out another glass in a matter of seconds. “And for the lady--”

“The usual?” The bartender looked past me, to Carrot Top.

“A cider, yeah.” Carrot Top said.  

As the bartender trotted off to grab a mug, I arched a brow at my companion.

“I told you, I've been here before.” Carrot Top said.

“Long enough to have a 'usual?'”  

“The bartender's good at his job.” Carrot Top said. The barkeep plunked a heavy mug down on the other end of the bar and whizzed it our way. Carrot Top caught the mug without looking and took a long pull.  

“I see.” I said. “Anything else I should be aware of?”  

“Not really.” Carrot Top wiped cider-foam from her lip.  

“You're sure?” I said.  

“Positive.”

“Because, you know, whenever you say something like that, more often than not, some tiny little bit of information comes back to bite me in the--”

“Carrot Top, issat you?”

A young, tousle-haired pony in a brown canvas vest trotted across the rapidly-crowding saloon, eyes fixed on Carrot Top.  

“Evening, Braeburn.” Carrot Top raised her mug in greeting and forced a smile.  

“And here I thought I'd never lay eyes on such a purdy pony ever again!” Braeburn plunked himself down on the empty barstool beside Carrot Top. “Especially after you left so sudden-like.”

“I'm sorry about that.” Carrot Top said. “Things were ... complicated.”

“You back for permanent-like, now?”

“I'm just visiting with Sent-- with Flash.” Carrot Top shook her head, ruefully, then cleared her throat-- at which point Braeburn finally took his eyes off of Carrot Top to notice me. “Flash, let me introduce you. This is Braeburn, he's ... a friend. And Braeburn, this is Flash. We're together.” To prove her point, Carrot Top leaned against my side, nestling in beneath my wing (which was something of an accomplishment, given the hat she wore).  

“Oh.” Braeburn's expression fell, and I swear I could've heard a glass break somewhere. But an instant later, he had that dopey bumpkin smile on his face again as he shook my hoof hard enough to rattle my fillings. “Pleased to meetcha, Mister Flash! You're a lucky pony, y'know that?”

“So I've been told.” I said.

“Just be careful, huh? This li'l lady might look like a wiltin' daisy, but durin' that whole business with the buffaloes, I saw Carrot Top rassle a buffalo with nothin' but her bare hooves. And she won!”  

“Did she, now?” I looked down at Carrot Top and grinned-- only to catch a none-too-gentle elbow to the ribs for my trouble.  

“She done did!” Braeburn said.

“It was a ... spur of the moment thing.” Carrot Top said in her best 'innocent ingenue' voice. “I don't know what got into me.”  

“Just 'bout everybody in town did somethin' crazy in that ruckus.” Braeburn shook his head. “We're just lucky things quieted down 'fore anypony got themselves killed. Or 'fore any buffalo did, either.”

“Yeah.” Carrot Top said. “Lucky.”

“I'll have to keep that in mind, Mister Braeburn.” I said. “But while you're here, I suppose it's only polite to offer you a drink.”  With the Crown paying, my generosity knew no bounds.  

“Aw no, I couldn't. I just stopped in to wet my whistle. Didn't expect to see Carr-- didn't expect to see all this commotion here, that's all. I'll just leave y'all two be, huh?”  

“Pleasure to meet you?” I said, for politeness' sake.  

“Pleasure's all mine.” Braeburn tipped his hat and, with one last, longing look at Carrot Top, slunk to the far end of the bar in order to start drowning his sorrows. It would've been one of those sad and somber moments,  were it not for the jaunty piano music and bawdy singing coming from the other side of the room. I waited 'til he was well out of earshot.  

“You?” I looked down at Carrot Top. “And him? Really?”

“Jealousy doesn't suit you, Sentry.” Carrot Top wriggled out from under my wing.

“I'm not jealous. I mean, why would I be?”  

Carrot Top narrowed her eyes.

“I mean, he just doesn't seem your type, that's all.”  

“My type.” Carrot Top said, flatly.

“I mean, he seems ... nice.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means that the last time I met one of your ex-boyfriends, he tried to kill me.*”


 *See: Five Friendly Venoms 


“Golden Sky was not an ex boyfriend.”

“He still tried to kill me.”

“A lot of ponies have.”

“Don't remind me.” Another swig of whiskey sent warmth flowing through my cheeks. “But anyway, if you've had past ... dalliances, it's none of my business. Pot, kettle, that sort of thing. So long as it's all in the past tense, it's fine. It ... is in the past tense, yes?”

“I was hoping he wouldn't be in town.” Carrot Top looked down into her mug of cider. “I ... probably broke his heart, leaving like I did.”

“Oh, definitely.” I said. “Did you see the way he looked at you? The lad's smitten. Justifiably so,  I might add.”  

“Not helping.” Carrot Top sighed. She glanced around to make sure nopony was in eavesdropping distance, then leaned in closer. “Last time I was in Appleoosa, it was on assignment. I had to get close to Braeburn, so I could convince him to ask his cousin to send him a tree from Ponyville.”

“That makes absolutely no sense.”

“Which means it's about par for the course in the life of a Special Agent.”

“Point.”  

“I didn't mean to hurt him--”

“That'd be a first.”

“Sentry.”  

“Sorry.”

Carrot Top drained her cider and set the empty mug on the bar with a thunk. “I shouldn't have--”

“You shouldn't get yourself all twisted up about it, that's what.” I said. “I mean, who cares if you broke his heart? I understand there's a whole genre of earth pony music about that sort of thing. Why, you're practically doing him a favor. All somepony has to do is give him a guitar, and by the end of the month he'll be touring with Coloratura or something. Just think-- you could be forever immortalized in song as the beautiful but mysterious mare who launched his career.”  

“I'd rather not be immortalized at all.” Carrot Top blanched. “The more attention I get, the harder it is to do my job. Which is why I'd better stay low-- last thing I need right now is to get myself tangled up in some kind of small town soap opera.”

“Honestly, if that's the worst thing we have to worry about on this trip, I'll take it.”

“Goodnight, Sentry. Try not to get into any trouble.”

“I make no promises.”

“I figured you'd say that.” Despite herself, Carrot Top smiled and patted me on the cheek before turning to leave. I spent the next few pleasant moments admiring the sway of her tail-- until the saloon suddenly went quiet again, music and conversation both stopping as if somepony had thrown a switch.

At first, I thought it was something I'd done-- but for once, it wasn't. Instead, all eyes in the saloon went to the figure walking in through the door. Though he was dressed in Appleoosan fashion, the black-hatted figure obviously wasn't a pony. The bipedal reptile looked vaguely like a dragon--  if a wingless, malnourished one. He was covered in sand-colored scales, and the tips of ivory fangs jutted from his upper lip. Slitted yellow eyes scanned the silent saloon.  

“Whatsssss all thisssss then?” The reptile-creature lisped as it spoke, because of course it did.  

Sheriff Silverstar stepped forward, jutting out his chin. “We don't want no trouble.”

“Trouble? Who sssssaid anything about trouble?” The creature smiled, showing off its intimidating dentistry. “I jusssst wanted to sssssee what you poniessss were up to. That'sss not illegal, issss it?”

“S'pose it ain't.” Silverstar admitted, begrudgingly. The t wo began to chat, albeit warily, and the rest of the saloon relaxed, albeit slightly. I took the opportunity to wave the bartender over, since he seemed to be so well informed.  

“What in blazes is that thing?”  

“That's  Kid Cobra. One of the Rattler Gang. Meanest buncha snakemen you'll ever meet. Usually, they stick to the wilderness, though.*”


 *Originally hailing from Kludgetown, the Rattler Gang was one of the more notable outlaw gangs of the era. It's thought that their reptilian biology allowed them to thrive in the harsh conditions of the Equestrian frontier. Their exploits were most notably featured in a short-lived series of low-budget films such as 'A Fistful of Bits' or 'The Quick and the Deadly.' Ironically, given the parcity of snakemen in the Equestrian entertainment industry, many of the Rattler Gang were played by young dragons instead, leading to a particularly inaccurate stereotype.  


“Then what's he doing here?”  

The bartender shrugged. “You tell me.”  

“--but it ain't just me you gotta worry 'bout.” Sheriff Silverstar raised his voice. “'cause we got us a bona fide Hero of Equestria in town. So don't you try anythin', 'cause I ain't sure what he gonna do.”  

And with that, all eyes turned to yours truly.  

“Ah. Hello?” I said, for lack of anything better. At least the bartender filled my whiskey glass again without my asking.  

“Sssounds impresssive.” The Kid Cobra wove through the crowd, head bobbing with each step as he prowled over to peer at me with those mad yellow eyes of his. I smiled back, even as my guts started tying themselves in knots. Oh, sure, I'd faced actual dragons before,* but the Kid Cobra had the hard eyes of a killer, and I was well within claw's reach. The 'Kid' part of his name must have been ironic, as there was nothing juvenile about the creature.  

 *See: Octavia's Eleven 


I forced myself to stay still, to keep playing the part of cool and casual hero, no matter how badly I wished I could just break and run right there. It wasn't so much that I had a reputation to uphold as much as I feared any sudden movements might trigger latent predatory instincts from Kid Cobra. If I tried to bolt, there was an entirely too likely chance I could wind up with those venomous fangs sunk into my arse. And naturally, Carrot Top was nowhere to be found. So I stood my ground, for lack of any other options.  

“And how doesss one become a Hero of Equessstria?” Kid Cobra rasped, breath stinking of carrion. I had no idea what snakemen ate, and had no desire to find out. 

“Fighting monsters, rescuing princesses. That sort of thing.” Somehow, my hoof didn't shake as I picked up my whiskey glass for a bracing sip.

Kid Cobra stared at me for a moment-- and then broke out laughing. Or, well, I at hoped the ensuing hacking noise was the reptilian equivalent of a hearty chuckle. “Isss that ssso? You make it sssound easssy! You are a creature of action, then?”

“I suppose that's one way to put it.”

“But do you play cardsss?”

“Oh, I dabble. What's your game?” I said.  

“Poker.” Kid Cobra produced a deck of cards from inside his vest. “Fancy a hand?”

Now that I could deal with. Not that I fancied myself much of a card sharp, but I knew my way around a deck. If nothing else, having a card table between myself and Kid Cobra would keep me out of biting distance. And so, I just gave a nonchalant shrug. “Why not?” 

And that's how I wound up playing cards with one of the most feared outlaws in all of Equestria. The two of us soon settled into a rhythm of shuffled cards and wagered coin. I took a lead early on, but soon enough, Kid Cobra built up a lead and kept it, steadily adding to the pile of money in front of him. Just a streak of bad luck, I figured--

Until I saw him cheat.  

Sure enough, as Kid Cobra looked at his cards, he flicked his wrist just-so, and a sixth card materialized from the depths of his sleeve and slid into his hand. It was obvious. Blatant. Almost as if he was trying to get caught--

--which is when I realized he was.  

He'd probably been fleecing me for the last hour, now that I thought of it. Kid Cobra must have been just getting more and more blatant with it, as a test to see just how far he could push me. Not that it mattered to me; I've never been a particularly greedy sort, and again, I figured I could always just write this off as a 'business expense' or something like that. The E.I.O certainly had the budget for it, at least. The more Kid Cobra robbed me, the less need he'd have to murder me, so that suited me just fine. It would've been easier to just hand him a bribe outright, but what can you do.  

“Two pair.” I said, laying my cards out on the table.

“Ssstraight flush.” Kid Cobra's forked tongue flickered out from between his lips as he spoke. He smiled that serpent's smirk of his, then leaned forward to rake in his spoils.  

“Ah well.” I said with a cheery, 'not my money' kind of grin. “I suppose I'm not as good a gambler as I thought I was.”

“Hold up.” Sheriff Silverstar growled. He shouldered his way through the throng of ponies around the table, and slammed a hoof down on Kid Cobra's shoulder-- hard enough to shake him ... and send a pair of aces tumbling out of his jacket. “This varmint's a cheat!”  

Now, yelling 'cheat' in a poker game is something akin to yelling 'fire' in a crowded theater (which is also something I've done, for the record). Pandemonium broke out, as one would expect. Kid Cobra lunged for his winnings, only for Sheriff Silverstar to swing a heavy punch into the snakeman's jaw. The outlaw reeled, flinging cards and coins across the saloon.  

Kid Cobra snapped one clawed hand to a pouch at his side. Someone cried out “He's got a sidewinder!”  And then, faster than my eye could follow, Kid Cobra flicked his wrist, throwing a coiled snake across the room. The smaller serpent straightened out as it streaked through the air, hitting Silverstar in the neck, fangs-first. The sheriff choked out a wet gasp and collapsed to the ground.

As for me, I knew exactly what to do: I ran.  

Or, flew, more accurately. I beat my wings and sprung straight upward, aiming to put as much distance as I could between myself and Kid Cobra. Unfortunately, I was so rushed in my retreat, I couldn't look where I was going-- and so I slammed my head into the wagon-wheel chandelier hanging directly above me. In my hurried retreat, I'd build up enough speed to send the rickety thing swinging on its chain-- and then, with a metallic 'plink,' the rusty chain snapped, and the chandelier plummeted downward.

Right on top of Kid Cobra.  

The wheel hit him hard enough to break its spokes, knocking him senseless and trapping him within the outer wooden ring at the same time. Not that I saw it myself; the chandelier hard enough to make bright spots flare across my vision. By the time they cleared, it seemed the whole of Appleoosa was crowded into the saloon, staring up at me. To judge by their shocked and admiring expressions, I quickly realized that the lot of them thought I'd brought the chandelier down on purpose. And with Kid Cobra subdued, that made me the hero of the hour.

Great.

“Is everypony alright, then?” I eased myself down to the floor, albeit a good distance from the comatose snakeman.

“N-nope.” And there was Braeburn, tears in his eyes, hat in his hoof. “He ... he got Sheriff Silverstar.”

“You mean he's--” I looked over, and sure enough, the bartender and Carrot Top were already stretching an old tablecloth out over the Sheriff's body. Carrot Top's face was professionally grim. Would have been nice if she'd gotten there earlier, but I supposed everything happened so fast that even Special Agent Golden Harvest hadn't been able to get there in time.  

Braeburn sniffled. “Kid Cobra hit 'im with that sidewinder so fast, weren't anythin' to do about it.”  

“Well, ah. It's not your fault.” I offered, however awkwardly. “Just ... part of the job, I guess.”

“We're just lucky you were here to take down that snake as fast as ya did.” Braeburn said.

“Er, right. Again ... part of the job.” I looked over to where Silverstar was laid out, and fought down a shudder. If I hadn't taken to the air like I did, Kid Cobra could have been flinging those deadly weapon-snakes at me. Then again, nobody would be killing much of anybody if Silverstar hadn't decided he needed to intervene on my behalf.  

“But you're gonna need to be careful, Mister Sentry. Now that y'all caught Kid Cobra, his big brother's gonna come callin', along with the rest of the Rattler gang, I bet.”  

“Brother?” I said.  

Braeburn nodded. “Fella by the name of Boss Hiss. He's even bigger, n' meaner, n' faster than the Kid here ... but don't worry, I'll be proud to back ya up, Mister Sentry.” He put his hat back on his head. “We all will, won't we, fellas?”

More hooting and hollering ensued, though now with a far more marital bent. And just like that, with Sheriff Silverstar dead, the whole damned town had a new hero to rally behind, and a whole gang of serpent-flinging outlaws to worry about.  

And here I thought the assignment would be an easy one.

I should have known better.