Braeburn opened the double doors of the Appleoosa Saloon and stepped inside. He was greeted with the pungent odor of liquor and the body odor of hard working ponies taking a break to go grab a drink. The sound of everyday conversation was deafening. Today, the saloon was packed, for today was Appleoosa's Grand Harvest Day, celebrating the yearly apple harvest. Word around town was that this year was Appleoosa's best.
Braeburn took a quick look around and seated himself at a stained round table. There were three other ponies there, all drifters who probably came to see the parade that day. They all looked like pretty salty characters, but Braeburn paid them no mind. They were playing Five Card Hold 'Em, and the stakes were pretty high, considering the fact that the players looked like drifting bums. Braeburn tossed the buy-in fee on the table, which was twenty bits. Braeburn looked at it as an opportunity to earn some extra money, or maybe lose some.
For the next two hours, Braeburn began to get lucky. His winnings grew exponentially over that time period. He even won an old Indian coin that had to be a hundred years old.
"Sorry boys, I don't know how I do it!" he happily exclaimed, taking the pot he had just won.
"I'm done wid' dis!" one of his fellow players yelled, climbing out of his seat. The remaining two glanced at each other uncertainly, but remained seated. Braeburn shrugged. Just one less player to bust out.
It wasn't long before another player went all in and lost. He was pretty frustrated and demonstrated it by bucking his chair at a wall after he got up. Braeburn's eyes met the last cowpony's, and he, too, quit the game, cursing as he did. Braeburn slid his winnings into his leather saddlebags and rose from his seat. The three ponies he had just whooped in poker all stood by the door, glaring and muttering to each other. Braeburn was too happy with himself to care at the moment. He hopped up to the bar and dropped two bits to the hardwood surface.
"Make mine a rye," he told the kind old bartender. The elderly unicorn levitated a bottle of the alcohol and poured a shot. Braeburn was mighty happy when he drank it.
That night, at his farm just outside of Appleoosa, Braeburn gleefully explained the poker game to his two brothers, Apple Bucker and Bushel. They were just as excited as he was.
"Hey! Why don't we all take a lil' trip down to Canterlet and live easy fer' a few weeks?" Bushel suggested. The other two accepted the idea heartily. They could hardly get to sleep that night.
The next day, the three began their journey to Canterlot. It was quite a trip that would take several days of constant travel. What made it worse was the scorching sun; even in the Fall, it burnt and withered almost everything. However, Braeburn had made sure they had more than enough water for the trip.
About a dozen miles away from Appleoosa is a canyon named 'Rattlesnake Gorge'. It's characterized by a healthy population of Diamondback Rattlesnakes. The canyon is very narrow and very long. The trio of Apples were traveling through this canyon when three stallions came up behind them, all with rifles at hoof.
"Howdy, there," one of them said. Braeburn turned and recognized him as the one who had quit the poker game first. The other two players were with him. Apple Bucker and Bushel also spun around to face the newcomers.
"Howdy," Braeburn responded warily, tilting his hat in greeting. "How can we help y'all?"
The middle pony scoffed at the remark. "You can start by givin' me- er, us our money back." He tilted his rifle up at Braeburn threateningly. Bushel tightened, and Apple Bucker's face contorted in rage. Braeburn did his best to appear calm, though inside he was panicking.
"I'm afraid we can't do thet. I won this money, fair and square," he replied casually. The attacker on the far left laughed.
"You'll earn a bullet, fair and square, pardner!" he threatened, raising his rifle to shoulder length. The other two meaningfully aimed their guns at Braeburn's brothers.
"What's it gonna be?" questioned the one on the far left. Reluctantly, Braeburn shrugged off his saddlebags and nudged them at the bandits.
"Mighty kind o' yah. Now, see that tree yonder?" He pointed a scarred hoof at a strong looking cottonwood tree located behind Braeburn. "I want y'all to walk right up to thet tree. Mighty slow now, and no sudden moves." He tapped his Winchester .44. "Else y'all might just end up wit' a hole in yer thick skulls."
Braeburn and his brothers trudged up to the tree and stopped. One of their assailants removed Apple Bucker's and Bushel's saddlebags. Then he gestured to the youngest looking one, a unicorn with a dull grey coat and scars on his flank. That pony levitated three rawhide ropes out of a small pack.
"Hold still now," he taunted, and magically tied the ropes around the necks of Braeburn and his two brothers. Then, he tied the rope around a branch above the trio.
"No! No, you can't do this!" pleaded Apple Bucker. The grey unicorn chuckled and tightened the knot, then walked up to Braeburn.
"I won't have it said that I left you with nothin', boy," he teased, placing the Indian coin into Braeburn's mouth. Then, he backed up and released the three victims. The bandits rode off with loud, whooping laughter, and there Braeburn hung, with his two brothers. Above them, the branch bent and creaked under the weight. The last thing Braeburn saw before he blacked out was the three bandits riding off, firing their pistols into the air.