Doc stood next to his bunk and struck his pillow. He stared at the peeling paint on the bunkhouse wall for a moment before turning to watch the others. West sat, ignoring everything and everypony around him. Shorty was at his bunk, shuffling his cards and grinning. The tightness in Doc's chest grew. After a stretch, Doc edged towards the bunkhouse door.
“Say, Shorty,” he said, “let's me and you get some night air. I'm finding it a bit stuffy in here tonight.”
Shorty shuffling halted and he looked at him, asking 'what?' with his eyes. Doc cocked his head and nodded towards the door.
“Oh, yeah. Yeah. Good idea.” Shorty put down the cards and walked across the floor, but gave West a wide berth.
Doc held the door open as Shorty walked through it, but waited before joining him outside.
“That okay with you, West?” Doc asked. The older pony sat next to his bunk, occupied by a book.
“Hey. Wake up, West,” Doc called again. “Me and Shorty are stepping out for a bit. That okay with you?”
“Sure. Go ahead.” His eyes never left the page.
The rusty spring at the top of the door pulled it closed with a snap. Joining Shorty on the path, Doc set a brisk pace as they walked side by side, their hooves crunching in the gravel. All the while, Shorty shot furtive glances towards Doc, but Doc's gaze remained fixed on the darkness ahead.
“Uh, so what did you—” Shorty began.
“Now, hold your tongue a bit.” Doc led him down the path, out towards the orchards, in silence. When at last he'd determined they were a satisfactory distance from the bunkhouse, Doc came to a halt and pivoted to faced him.
“So, you tell me exactly what you think you were doing back there?”
A smirk flashed across Shorty's face. “Why Doc, what do ya mean?”
“You know perfectly well what I mean,” he said. “I was watching you, but you were pretty good—not perfect mind you—but pretty darn good. Been practicing have you?”
“Gee,” Shorty chuckled and stepped back. “I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about.”
“You're a crappy liar, Short Line, and if you intend to be a cheat, lying's a skill you'll need to practice.”
Shorty frowned.
“Yeah, I just called you a liar and a cheat,” Doc said.
“You accusin' me of something, Doc?”
“Damn straight I am,” he scoffed. For a while there, I though we might be playing with a pinochle deck the way royalty kept showing up in your hand. Why do you think I kept folding all the damn time? I cut my loses whenever I thought you were pullin' somethin'. So tell me, what was it? Bottom dealing? Second dealing? What exactly were you doin'?”
“Nothin',” Shorty said. “I ain't no cheat.”
They stood apart. Doc narrowed his eyes, indicating without a doubt he wasn't going to give ground.
Shorty glanced down at his hooves. “I've been practicing my shuffles and how to stack the deck.”
Doc spun about and pushed his hoof through his mane. “For crying out loud! That's a sure fire way to get yourself killed. Look, if you get in a game with real players they'll see right through you! You want to go to Las Pegasus this winter, right? Well, I've got bad news for you, boy. There'll be pros there, ones that know every trick in the book, ones that won't cut you no slack.”
“Dammit!” Doc stomped his hoof. “You'll get yourself killed—and you're liable to get me killed in the process.”
“It's no big deal, Doc. It was just us playing.” He laughed nervously. “So what, you and West going to kill me over a few bits?”
“Listen you, I don't appreciate being taken, but I'll get over it. Just don't you do it again, understand? But, West—well, I'm surprised he didn't get all over you the way you rubbed it in there. Why'd you have to go and do that? Ain't you got no sense? If you are going to cheat somepony, at least have the decency to be pleasant when you clean 'em out. What are you trying to do, provoke him?”
“And if I was, what's it to you?” Shorty stood jut-jawed.
Doc examined the hard look on his face, and then asked, “What precisely do you have against West?”
“He owes me,” Shorty stated plainly.
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Him being here, that cost me—both of us—five bits a week. That adds up to a lot of money by the time fall comes around. I aim to get it back.”
“So cheating at cards is how you are going to do it?” Doc shook his head. “Why don't you think these things through? He ain't even good at cards. You could have cleaned him out without cheating.”
“I could've,” Shorty's eyes sparkled. “But I needed practice.”
Doc held out his hoof questioningly. “So you'll keep cheating him util you think you're even, huh? A fine plan, a fine plan indeed.” He spat on the ground. “How the hell are the three of us supposed to work together for the next six months if you are going to pull crap like extracting some imaginary debt from him?
“Sometimes”—he stabbed at Shorty' chest with his hoof—“you make me regret ever savin' your worthless flank.”
Shorty snapped his head back, his eyes open wide. “This is all your fault, Doc.”
“What?”
“It was your idea to bring him along in the first place. Remember? I didn't want to. Having him come with us was your doing, not mine. Now he's here, and he costs us money every damn day and don't add nothin' to the work.”
“Where do you get off saying that?” Doc demanded. “If you're calling him a shirker, then you're calling me one too, because he does just as much work as I do.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No I don't, because sometimes you are so full of bull, what comes out of your mouth don't make no sense at all.”
Shorty's cold scowl caused Doc to halt. He found his heart racing and something squirming in his mind, a feeling he didn't like at all. Three deep breaths put enough of a stop to it so he could speak again.
“All right. I'm sorry—we just need to calm down here,” he said.
Shorty's face remained locked in a hostile glare.
“We've got a summer full of work ahead of us,” Doc said, “and you need to learn how to live with him in a civil fashion. I'm not saying you have to like him. Nopony can make you do that, but you need to be civil. Now, you know better than to take advantage of nopony, especially one of us. The code says so, right? No more cheating, and no more trying to settle this—this—debt of yours.”
Doc watched Shorty's face, expecting some type of improvement. Instead, the young pony's scowl deepened.
“I've taken good care of you haven't I?” Doc said. “I've done my best to make sure we weren't hungry or cold, right? Remember how I helped you out when you really needed it? Remember? Don't never forget that.”
He paused again but there was still no change.
“C'mon Shorty. Think back to all we've done together. It's been one hell of a time, hasn't it? Winter down south this year, right? It's gonna be grand! I promise that.”
Shorty's stone-face held an answer Doc didn't want to hear, but he pushed ahead.
“Please, do me this one favor. Promise me,” he pleaded, “promise me you'll try to get along with him.”
Doc waited, but all he heard was the rustling of the wind through the leaves.
“You're runnin' out of favors, Doc.” Shorty turned and stomped off into the dark.