//------------------------------//
// At the Shelter 
// Story: Property of West Wind 
// by OleGrayMane 
//------------------------------//

 
Shorty hurled his saddlebags onto the cot. They slid off the far side and struck Doc's flank.
“Hey, watch it!” Doc turned around and looked at him. He picked up the bags and tossed them on Shorty's cot. “What's the matter with you?”
“Nothin',” Shorty replied as he flopped onto the bed. He kicked the bags down to the far end and laid back with his hooves tucked behind his head, his blank stare fixed on the gray ceiling.
“Don't lie to me,” Doc snapped, “it ain't healthy.” He sat on the edge of his cot and watched Shorty through narrow eyes. “And you're no good at it.”
Shorty kept looking at the ceiling, ignoring him, then scowled and gave the bags an unnecessary kick.
“All right. Tell me what's botherin' you.”
“Oh, nothing much.” Shorty snapped his head towards Doc. “Just you inviting other ponies to travel with us, that's all.” He directed his glare back to the ceiling.
Doc inhaled deeply before blowing the air noisily through his lips. He leaned forward and spoke softly next to Shorty's ear. “What's wrong with asking West to go with us, eh? He's got enough bits to feed himself. It's not like he's dead weight.”
“For a start, you should've asked me.”
“Well, if that's all.” Doc leaned back and slapped his thigh with his hoof. “Please, Mr. Short Line, can my friend West come with us, please?”
Shorty fought to hide a grin. He rolled on his side and found Doc's face beaming with a toothy smile. Once the smile faded away, he asked, “And what if I say no?”
“And why would you say no? Just because you like being a contrarian?”
Shorty raised an eyebrow. “A what?”
“Just because you enjoy being difficult all the damn time.”
“No,” he replied. “Because we don't need nopony to get in our way. You and me, we got this thing all planned out, right? We get us some good jobs, save up a bunch of bits, and have a hell of a winter down south where it ain't cold at all. I figure getting jobs for two ain't bad, but three is a lot harder. Can't we just ditch him and go ahead with the plan?”
Doc rolled his eyes. “I can't see how you figure he's going to get in our way. Yes, getting jobs for three may be a tad more difficult, but some of those farms down there are huge”—he spread out his forelegs for dramatic effect—“absolutely huge.”
“Why,” he added, “they must need to hire a dozen or more laborers, and if we get down there early enough, we won't have any problems finding jobs. And what's our alternative? Kicking around this moldy old city looking for a crummy factory job? I don't know about you, but I don't want to spend all summer inside a dark, dusty warehouse, sweeping floors.”
“No, I don't neither.” Shorty raised himself up and sat on the edge of the cot. “But why do we have to bring him?” he whispered. “Ain't he too old? And he don't talk too sharp either. He's a loser, Doc. He ain't like us at all. He ain't got that—what did you call it?”
“The fire.”
“Yeah, he ain't got no fire. I tell ya, all he's gonna do is get in our way.”
“Now, Shorty,” Doc sighed. “First, West ain't as old as you think. I've seen him put in hard labor and in places tougher than any farm or factory, let me tell you. Sure, West ain't like us, but that's his right. You and me, we live our lives the way we want to, and he's got the right to do the same. That's rule number one of the road. Ain't it?”
“Yeah, but he's a—”
“He may not be the president of Canterlot University, but if you plan on living on the road, and getting as old as he is, he might be able to teach you a thing or two.”
“Bah!”
“See, right there!” Doc poked him in the chest. “That's the kind of thing you need to learn. The code says you need to respect others and be a gentlecolt to folks at all times. West's been living on his own almost as long as I've been alive, and he knows the value of livin' by the code. That's the type of thing you need to learn from him, because, by gum, I sure don't seem to be able to teach it to you.”
Shorty snorted. “The only part of the code that makes sense is living my life the way I want to.” He tapped his chest. “I just wanna do what makes me happy, see? The rest of your code is just nonsense that holds me back.” He waved his hoof derisively. “You can haul off all the rest of that code rubbish as far as I care.”
Doc rested his head on his hoof and closed his eyes. “Didn't you learn nothing from that little 'incident' last fall?”
Shorty sat bolt upright. “That bastard deserved it! Where the hell did he get off callin' me a dirty bum to my face?”
Doc sighed and reached out to touch the younger pony's shoulder. “It may be that he deserved a beating, but you need to think of the consequences—to yourself and others.”
“Now, listen,” Doc continued. “I'm not going to try to be your father—”
Shorty shoved the hoof from his shoulder and turned towards the wall.
“It's more like I want to be you brother or your uncle. Or something. I can show you how things work, and if you follow the code, you'll stay out of trouble and can live the way you want to.”
Shorty folded his forelegs across his chest.
“When you fight the town folk, even if you're right, you mess it up for the next feller coming through. It's an important part of the code. Otherwise, we'd never know what's waiting for us in the next town. It could be a decent job, a hot meal from some kind mare, or a beating. Or worse. Because you messed it up for the next feller, well, that's why they put you in front of the court.”
The defiance in Shorty's body shrank. He sat quietly on the edge of the cot with a blank face towards the wall.
Doc spoke deliberately, giving time for his words to sink in. “While the court might not be the law proper, they're our law, and their judgement tends to be swifter and harsher than anything you'll find in town.”
“I know,” Shorty mumbled, looking down at the bags at the end of his cot.
“You best not forget”—Doc reached out to touch his shoulder again—“if I hadn't shown up to testify when I did, you might've ended up in some ditch as crawdad food. Normally, I'm not the type to deprive a creature of a decent meal, but I sure didn't want to see you end up as some crustacean’s supper.”
Doc tilted his head and peered into Shorty's face, trying to gauge what to say next. He found a sliver of a grin, just as he'd hoped.
“We need to help each other out. All of us.” Doc implored. “It ain't no option. We need to do it to survive. I helped you out back then, and right now, I think our friend West could use a little help too. He's one of us, so it's our duty to help him out, because one day, it will be our turn to be askin' for help. Only by all of us working together, helping each other out the best we can, are we able to live the way we want to.
“And that's what we all want.” Doc shook him a bit. “Ain't that right?”
Shorty nodded and Doc grinned.
“Good. Now, I'll ask you again,” Doc said with a gleam in his eyes. “Mr. Short Line, is it okay if my friend West comes with us? Pretty please?”
Shorty chuckled. “All right, Doc. He can come.”
“That's more like it, my boy.” He gave Shorty's jaw a playful shove. “I'm glad we got that settled.”
“Sorry, Doc.”
“Never mind, never mind.” He leaned back and stretched. “All this yakking has tuckered me out.” Doc fluffed the thin pillow before placing it at the top of his cot and laying down. “You get some rest too, because we need to go down to the yard pretty early and find us a rattler to hop.”