A cold sense of fear was the first sensation that ran through the stallion's mind. The second was bewilderment, as he wondered how in Equestria somepony had been able to sneak up on him. He was sure that he had spread his awareness to every inch of his surroundings. But evidently, he could have been more careful. Adrenaline had fueled his seemingly wary steps, a mistake that had ruined the entire plan. Despite his innate rifle prowess and infamy, Braeburn had never been in any direct line of fire, let alone held at gunpoint. He didn't know what to do. The stallion's mind simply shut down as a sense of dread dictated his limited brain activity. All he could focus on was his captor's voice; his odd, unfamiliar voice.
His tones weren't accented with a Western drawl, but with sophistication instead. His words were perfectly articulated, as if he was a professional speaker or announcer of some sort. It was a voice he had never heard before, and that was what scared him the most. But one more thing that worried the stallion was that his captor had yet to announce his catch to the bandits below, whom were out of eyesight from the upward angle of the rooftop. Was this pony working with the others? Braeburn decided to clear his throat after a silent gulp, asking the obvious question: "Who are you?"
The stallion behind him hummed a low chuckle. "Well, there's a good question," he said, his voice quiet, as if to avoid detection. "You actually know my name, but not who I am. The funny thing is, I know both about you. You are a stallion of many names, Braeburn Apple. Such infamy for such a young pony."
Braeburn's eye twitched as he formed a harsh scowl, his chin pressed into a shingle from the barrel of the gun. "Ya' didn't answer my question. Who are ya'?"
"Oh? It hasn't clicked just yet? Are you missing a piece to the puzzle?" said the stallion, chuckling once more. Clearly he enjoyed the sound of his own voice. "Rather than simply telling you, I wish for you to figure it out yourself."
"And why would ya' want that?" asked Braeburn, buying as much time as he could. He looked at the Marechester underneath his forelegs, its lever open and halfway through loading a long, .30-30 cartridge. But with the barrel of a rifle pressed against the back of his head, Braeburn couldn't think of a way out of his predicament.
"An even better question. However, it's not the one you should be asking. You had it right the first time. But don't ask me, ask yourself."
"What good does that do?" asked Braeburn, growing steadily annoyed.
"More than you think, Braeburn," said the unknown stallion. "I believe that the two of us are going to become great friends, but not at first. No, we must be rivals before we can become allies."
"What makes ya' think Ah'd be yer friend?" Braeburn growled. "Yer workin' with them bandits down there, that much is obvious. Ah don't befriend criminals."
"Hmmhmm...No, no you do not," he sighed, although not without an audible snicker. "But that's where you are wrong about me. Now, it's understandable. You've seen me do some seemingly terrible things; things that one could only describe as criminal. However, you've never stopped to think of my reasoning. Maybe I'm not just some blinded robber; taking things without paying for them merely because I'm just that evil. Did you ever stop to think that maybe I have something planned? That I was more than just some street rat?"
Braeburn chewed on that for a moment. Instead of immediately answering, he contemplated everything that the stallion had said. He wasn't attempting to instill more questions by mentioning the reasons for his deeds; he was still guiding Braeburn toward the riddle he needed to solve. His captor said that Braeburn knew his name, and that he had seen him commit crimes. One answer immediately came to mind, but it didn't make any sense. However, it was the only one that was close.
"So, I've given you all the pieces, now you just need to put them together."
"Ah already have," Braeburn grinned in spite of the block of ice that had formed in his stomach. "And now Ah have another question: How'd ya break out this time, Sure Shot?"
He could almost hear his captor's smile. "See? I knew that you would figure it out. You'll be a fine addition to the family soon enough."
"Like Ah said, Ah don't befriend the likes o' you," Braeburn growled again. He looked over to the right, straining his eyes in an attempt to find his backup plan. But at the same time, he wanted to know just how Sure Shot had escaped from a high-security vault ten yards underground. "So how'd ya' do it this time? Did ya' pull some kinda Hoofdini or somethin'?"
"Pretty difficult for an earth pony, I'd imagine," Sure Shot commented with an air of snark. "But no; just some careful planning with some friends in high places."
Braeburn winced at his words. It didn't make any sense. Why would Sure Shot tell him all of this? Why wasn't he calling out to his friends below? Surely they would want to know that the stallion they were trying to free had already escaped his imprisonment. There were far too many questions to be asked now, and Braeburn needed to figure out what to do about his current situation. He would decipher Sure Shot's reasoning later, if he didn't answer the question immediately.
"So then, what's the plan?" asked the beige stallion. "And what d'ya plan on doin' with me? What's stoppin' me from turnin' 'round and shootin' 'ya?"
"Even if you were somehow faster than me, you wouldn't dare, Braeburn Apple," he replied, confidence in his answer. "I know your kind; brave, tenacious...but weak. You have rules, Colt of the West. I need to change that about you. How will I do that? Hehehe...in time, that's how. But first, I have a little errand to run, and you're not going to stop me this time."
At the end of his sentence, Braeburn heard the signature sound of an enormous cartridge riding along a metal carrier and into its chamber, accompanied by the snap of a lever finding its home. But it didn't come from the rifle pressed against the back of his head, but from the right, perhaps ten yards away. Nopony would have had time to react to the sound, for a deafening bang resounded over the rooftops immediately after. Before he knew it, the cold metal of the barrel had disappeared from his head as a loud crack rang in his ears. Only vaguely aware of the event unfolding around him, Braeburn rolled over, swinging Thumper around as he finished loading the round. But before he could find his target, it had already leaped directly over him.
Out of the corner of his eye, Braeburn could see a short-barreled rifle skidding across the rooftop, a mangled hole cut directly through its thick steel receiver. But he didn't have time to gape in awe. The riflepony rolled to his hooves, Thumper's iron sights immediately finding the purple stallion falling to the ground below. To his surprise, Sure Shot was aiming a second rifle directly at him, already drawn from one of the two scabbards on his back. His mind went into overdrive as he pointed his rifle's barrel in the general direction of the stallion, unable to get a clear shot so quickly. Braeburn hoped to Celestia that it wouldn't be a lethal impact as Thumper shook the roof underneath him, barking as a lightning-fast tongue of flame lashed out of the end of the barrel. But the round never struck its target.
In the middle of his fall, Sure Shot flipped over and fired off a single round. Between the shooters was a small explosion of sparks, followed by the whizzing sound of ricocheting bullets. Braeburn's eyes flew open in disbelief as his opponent landed perfectly on the ground, grinning up at him victoriously. The riflepony froze, completely dumbstruck. The purple earth pony had deflected a bullet with his own, and in the middle of a twenty-hoof fall. Not only that, but he landed without a single misstep. Judging by the smug look on his face, Sure Shot hadn't done any of that on accident.
The group of bandits down below gasped at their leader's sudden presence, a few of them grinning like mad. Braeburn racked a new round as his father skidded to a halt next to him, ejecting a shell of his own. Despite the fact that their location had been revealed, the ponies below hadn't done a thing about it. Instead, they all seemed to gather around Sure Shot, elated that their leader was free once again.
"What the hay? Who let ya' out, Shotty?"
"Who cares? He's free and we can get outta here!"
"Not while Ah'm around," Braeburn declared over the street, catching their attention. The black stallion still held Aerial's parent's at gunpoint, but still snarled at the sight of the beige riflepony. His eyes gleamed with hate, and Braeburn returned it with a determined glare. A few of Sure Shot's friends emerged from the depths of the destroyed building below, forming a loose circle around their leader. None of them moved, but none of them looked afraid either. In fact, they all wore the same stupid grin on their face, as if Thumper were a squirt gun. "All y'all with guns, drop 'em on the ground!"
Another chuckle was shared by the five stallions below, Sure Shot's voice more prominent than the rest. "What did I tell you, Braeburn? You aren't going to stop me, because you simply cannot. In fact..." he trailed off. The purple stallion threw aside his rifle, standing up on his hindhooves and spreading his forelegs wide. "...If I'm wrong, then prove it! You and I both know that no cell in Equestria can hold me, so taking my life would be the only option, wouldn't it? So go on! Do it!"
Sure Shot's grin was that of an insane pony, his eyes daring Braeburn to pull the trigger. "Come on! Kill me!"
"Braeburn," said Bullet's voice next to him. "That last shot Ah fired jammed my rifle. Ya' have to do it. Jail won't hold a pony like him."
"What?!" Braeburn hissed out of the corner of his mouth, his eyes momentarily darting to the rifle in his father's hooves. To his horror, he found that Bullet had been all too right. The lever of the gun was halfway opened, allowing the bolt to slide backward, revealing the innards of the receiver. A large, spent .45-70 cartridge was lodged midway into the chamber, the rim of the brass chewed by a damaged carrier. It was indeed a heavy-caliber rifle, but one that clearly wasn't made to last such as a Marechester.
"Don't worry 'bout yer shakin' hooves," Bullet continued. "Yer shootin' a .30-30, remember? That bullet will kill him no matter where ya' put it."
With that thought, Braeburn gasped inwardly. Despite the obvious reason for the gun's name, he had forgotten about the sheer power of the round that Thumper fired. It didn't have the force of a .45-70 like his father's weapon, but it was still deadly in its own right. Even if he were to hit the purple stallion in the leg, the impact would kill him from blood loss alone...and he had already fired one of those massive rounds at him. Braeburn felt another ball of ice form in the pit of his stomach as a terrible revelation dawned upon him. It didn't matter what Sure Shot had done, Braeburn could have killed him, and he couldn't bring himself to deal with such a horrid deed. Taking a criminal's life was not his job, not by any stretch of the imagination.
"What are you waiting for, Colt of the West?! Show your worth and take me out!" Sure Shot bellowed, his voice echoing across the town.
Braeburn gritted his teeth, rage building inside him as his mind struggled to face the decision in front of him. He didn't want this; any of this. He didn't ask to become the vigilante that he was forced to be. But in the face of a criminal such as this, Braeburn didn't have any choice. Silverstar couldn't take him down with his phobia of weaponry, and his father's rifle was out of commission. It all came down to him; the once gentle and jubilant farmer. Thumper's sights were set between the purple stallion's glinting yellow eyes, and his shaking hoof was wrapped around the trigger. It wouldn't be difficult, even with the other four ponies below. The riflepony would be able to take them all down before any of them could blink an eye. So why wasn't he doing it? What was so difficult about pulling the trigger?
Guilt. Pain. Morality. Braeburn couldn't take another life, and the bandits knew that now. Sure Shot grinned once more, falling back to all fours and sheathing the discarded rifle on his back. He chuckled, casting aside his matted black mane with a hoof. "Like I said, you're still weak, Braeburn. But I will change that about you, in due time," he said before turning to a short, blue stallion behind him. "Get us out of here, Sparks. Oh, and Gun Powder? Leave those two. We have no reason to kill them."
The large black stallion grimaced with a grunt, disarming his rifle and nodding. The blue pony known as Sparks removed his large cowpony hat, revealing a long, thin horn separating his teal mane. Sure Shot turned his head back up to Braeburn and Bullet Tyme, giving them a sarcastic wave. "Well, we're off. But I'm sure you and I will see each other again."
Just as he uttered his final goodbye, Sure Shot and his allies disappeared in a violent flash of azure light. The spell was bright, forcing the two stallions to shield their eyes. Braeburn blinked a few times, his vision returning quicker than he expected. He looked down to the charred spot of dirt road below, anger flooding his veins. His blood boiled, forcing the beige stallion to vent his rage by slamming the butt of his rifle against the rooftop, being rewarded with a fine crack through the shingles underhoof. Braeburn fell to his haunches, his head and forelegs supported by Thumper. He rapped his forehead against the damaged wooden forestock, clamping his eyes shut in anger. "Darn it!" he growled, disgusted by his own weakness.
"Braeburn, calm yerself!" his father exclaimed next to him. "We ain't gonna make no headway if ya' sit here mopin'!"
"What d'ya want me to do?!" he retorted. "That pony is free again, and Ah couldn't do a thing to stop him! Ah had the chance, right in my hooves...but Ah couldn't do it..."
Braeburn's anger faded into something more somber as he finished his sentence. His grip on the rifle supporting him faltered, and his torso slouched forward. But his bout of self-loathing only lasted the briefest of moments as he felt himself being dragged back to his hooves by the collar of his duster. Bullet Tyme forcibly turned his head to his with a hoof, glaring straight into Braeburn's eyes. "Did ya' ferget 'bout Coltwell, boy?! It's obvious he's workin' with those bandits, now let's get back to the range and nab him already!"
"What?" came a new voice from below. Both stallions looked down from the rooftop to find Sheriff Silverstar emerging from the alleyway that they had previously hidden away in. The fur on his face looked ruffled, as if he were in some sort of altercation. "Is that why he just disappeared all of a sudden?"
Braeburn felt his teeth snap together in a spasm of anger, but his father was the first to respond: "What d'ya mean he just disappeared?!"
"As soon as y'all took off, Coltwell's horn lit up and he just...disappeared!" Silverstar explained hurriedly, his voice strained with worry. "He must'a used some sorta spell or somethin'!"
"So he's not entirely incompetent with magic. Figures," Bullet Tyme growled, more to himself than anypony else. "Is everypony back at the range alright?"
"Yeah, o' course," the sheriff replied before looking back to the alleyway he had appeared from. "Come on out now, everything's safe now."
Braeburn watched as a small, white pegasus filly emerged from the alley, her rifle secured on her back in a scabbard. Her bright blue eyes immediately found her parents, whom were still getting to their hooves in front of the demolished sheriff's office. The riflepony sighed inwardly, berating himself for forgetting about the two former hostages.
"Mom! Dad!" Aerial Ace cried out in relief as she darted over to her parents, immediately accepted into a tight embrace. The three other stallions watched for a moment, taking in just how lucky the pegasi were to be alive. Braeburn snarled inwardly at himself, taking no solace in the fact that they were able to save their lives. He couldn't explain it, but the riflepony simply could not stop hating himself for not taking the action he needed to. Because of his hesitation to do what was right, they now had a dangerous enemy free and out to reap havoc wherever he pleased. Objectivity was a lost virtue at this point as agitation filled his mind.
"Silverstar," said Bullet Tyme, catching the attention of the ponies below, and not just the sheriff's. "Conners is still in yer office. Ah reckon ya' might wanna see if he's alright. We got work to do."
The beige stallion remained silent, even as his eyes were caught by the bewildered gaze of the white filly below. Her eyes grew wide as she identified him in the middle of her parents' embrace. On any other day, he would have given her a kind smile. But today, he couldn't even bring himself to feign a grin, or even a simple nod. Instead, Braeburn turned away and followed his father off the roof and back down to the dirt road below. Both stallions sheathed their rifles before descending. Bullet Tyme quietly led his son away from the scene, wearing the most subtle of scowls.
But as fate would have it, Braeburn heard somepony call his name. Before he could turn around completely, his eyes had landed upon Aerial and her parents trotting after them. The stallion sighed through his nose as they approached him, all wearing appreciative looks. The filly's eyes were bright with awe, as if she were meeting her idol or somepony similar.
"Brae-oh! I mean, Mister Apple?" she started her voice excited and nervous. "I just wanted to thank you for saving my parents."
Bullet Tyme made a covert motion for Braeburn to keep it quick, to which he nodded slightly in response. "Ah didn't do nothin' but what was right. If Ah were y'all, Ah'd get on the next train outta here. T'aint safe 'round these parts fer the time bein'."
"We plan to," said the filly's mother, her voice smooth and elegant. "But we just wanted to make sure that we thanked you two first. If you weren't around, I'm not sure if we would be now."
Braeburn couldn't so much as look any of them in the eye. Despite the fact that he had accomplished his goal of keeping them alive, he still felt guilty for not being able to pull the trigger. For all anypony knew, Sure Shot would return to Appleloosa at any time.
"That's real kind o' ya'. Ah hate to be rude, but we gotta go and make sure this doesn't happen again. Make sure y'all get outta here as soon as possible."
The riflepony turned around with a meek wave of his hoof, following his father away from the scene. Braeburn could hear the pegasi murmur something from behind, but he didn't care enough to cast his ears back. He simply walked in Bullet Tyme's wake back towards the desert, the barriers of the firing range in the distance. Before he knew it, the gruff stallion stopped suddenly, turning around to face his son. Braeburn looked at him curiously, the expression on his haggard face unreadable.
"Look," he started, grabbing his attention. "Ah get it, Braeburn; ya' couldn't bring yerself to do it. Ah ain't mad at ya'. If anything, Ah'm actually a mite proud. But fer now, we gotta push our own problems aside and find out what that maniac is plannin'."
"Don't mean to be rude or nothin' Pa, but...since when d'ya care about upholdin' the law? Ya' always told me to let the sheriff take care o' that," Braeburn asked.
"Yeah, when it's somethin' small like a pickpocket or somethin'," Bullet countered flatly. "But somepony like Sure Shot out and about on his own undeserved freewill? Silverstar ain't doin' nothin' that could stop the likes o' him, and you know that."
"But what about the farm?" Braeburn argued, more to fuel his curiosity about the well-being of the family business. "Aren't ya' worried 'bout-"
"Braeburn!" Bullet snarled, pushing his face directly in front of his. "The most feared bandit in the West just escaped a maximum-security underground vault, reunited with his inner circle, which included a unicorn fer Pete's sake, and just disappeared! So why in the hay are ya' thinkin' 'bout the darned farm for?!"
Bullet Tyme backed away a mere inch, glaring at his son. Braeburn was taken aback, unaware of what to say. The older stallion paused for a beat, continuing after a snort of hot air: "Look boy, Ah didn't wanna do this, but yer not leavin' me any choice. Yer judgment is still foggy from mopin' 'round as much as you've been. Ah'm goin' off to make sure everypony at the range gets home safe and sound, but yer gonna take some time off."
"What?"
"Ya' heard me, boy," Bullet confirmed. "Go home, take a walk, whatever ya' need to do to get yer darned brain workin' again!"
"Pa, Ah can't do that!" Braeburn retorted, the slightest note of anger rising in his voice. "Ya'll need help trackin' down those-"
"Yeah, yer right," his father interrupted again, his overall demeanor resolute. "We do need help, plenty of it. But right now yer not the help Ah'm lookin' for. Ah need ya' to get back to yer old self so ya' can be."
The riflepony went to open his mouth, but found himself biting his tongue instead, his gaze falling to the dry ground between them. As much as he hated to admit it, his father was right; Braeburn was not in a stable mindset right now. He was conflicted, confused and even a little scared. His forehooves were still shaking from the encounter with the purple earth stallion, weakening his ankles. Braeburn had been acting with his emotions, and not his brain. Bullet Tyme had a mind for everlasting objectivity, no matter how dire the situation. His son, on the other hoof, was not so confident in the idea. In times such as these, his title as the fastest shooter in the West simply didn't matter with a faltering mindset behind it.
In Braeburn's silence, Bullet Tyme exhaled a breath and concluded in a calmer voice: "After Ah get back to town, me and Silverstar are gonna investigate what's goin' on. Ah know that yer a full-grown stallion Braeburn, and that you can make yer own decisions. But fer right now, just listen to me. Go, do whatever it is ya' need to do to make yerself right before we meet up again. But if Ah were you, Ah wouldn't leave town. It's obvious Sure Shot left fer a reason, and Ah don't want ya' runnin' into him until yer ready fer it. That pony has some sorta' plan on his mind, and we need to figure out what it is before he hurts somepony."
The sand-colored stallion didn't leave any room for a reply as he turned around and walked away, leaving Braeburn to solemnly stare at the space of ground he once occupied. The beige earth pony sighed through his nose, wondering what in Equestria his father wanted him to do. He watched Bullet Tyme depart, falling to his haunches in uncertainty. It was true; Braeburn was now twenty-six years old, and fully capable of making his own choices. However, a part of him had grown used to his father's direction, after living under his roof for the majority of his life. Not only that, but he was still under Bullet's employ as a farmer.
He didn't ask to become an upholder of the law; it just happened. For reasons unknown, ponies just expected him to be some sort of vigilante for when Silverstar was overwhelmed. As much as Braeburn enjoyed the sport of shooting, he hated to think that his next target was a living creature, let alone another pony. He realized that it had been a few minutes since his father's departure, and decided that no good would come from sitting in the middle of the desert in the hot sun. With a huff, Braeburn stood to his hooves and headed back toward Appleloosa.