Braeburn opened the doors to the Apploosa Saloon, the place where his story began, for the first time in thirty long years. Nostalgia flooded his aging mind as he drank in his surroundings. The place hadn't changed one bit; it still reeked of alcohol and sweaty workponies. He sighed... his quest still wasn't complete. He had traveled all around the Equestrian frontier, hopped from cowtown to cowtown, hunting down his nemesis, but now, thirty long, bloody years later, and still Scar drew breath.
Braeburn walked to the bar. He ignored the admiring glances as all the ponies saw his six shooters; even after a lifetime of use, they were the most beautiful guns in the West.
"Make mine a rye." The bits made a clink as they hit the table. The bartender poured the glass and slid it to him, then resumed cleaning dishes. Braeburn downed the liquor and turned to a poker table, the one he beat the bandits at long ago. There were three ponies sitting there, playing a friendly game of cards. One of them were Braeburn's age. Braeburn seated himself at the table.
"Buy-in fee is ten bits," the old one stated. Braeburn tossed the money onto the table and was given a hand of cards.
"So, old-timer, you been around these parts long?" Braeburn asked, nonchalantly.
"Nah. I used to live out by Rattlesnake Canyon, but that was around thirty or so years ago. Since then, I've lived in several places, all o' them Western. Seen jus' about everything a fella can see out there, an' done some things too. How 'bout you,cowpoke?"
"I used ta' live right here in Apploosa, 'bout the same time you lived out at Rattlesnake. Somethin' happened an' I found myself movin' around the territory. Finally, my age caught up to me, so Ah came back here to live out the rest of my days in peace."
"Haha, I can unnerstand thet. Life on the trail can be hard even on young colts. Ya get to thet age where ya jus' can't keep goin' out there. Ah lived a life that some fellers couldn't even imagine; been shot at more times than Ah could count, an' had some mighty close calls. Done things others wouldn't be strong enough to do. An' I'm not proud of most of it."
"Were you a bounty hunter?"
"Nah... Ah was usually the one bein' hunted."
"Oh... you were a bandit."
"Ah never liked the term, honestly, but Ah fit the description."
"Ah hunted bandits. Was a mighty dangerous job, goin' after ponies thet would shoot ya in the face an' never think twice about it. Ah got some scars from it, both mentally and physically, but I helped a lot o' ponies, so it was worth it to me."
"Any big names?"
"Ever heard'a Sombrero? Or Iron Hoof?"
"Both o' em."
"Were they fast?" One of the other players asked.
"Fastest I ever saw. Yet both were kill't in draws, as Ah heard," the old pony responded.
Braeburn stared at him. He seemed vaguely familiar... but from where? Was his old mind playing tricks on him? Braeburn knew he had seen him from somewhere, but where?
"In fact, Ah used to be real close to 'em."
Then it hit Braeburn. This was Scar. His blood ran cold, and he felt his jaw drop. Scar stared at him oddly, then collected his winnings. It was Braeburn's turn to toss in the small blind, but his mind wasn't on the game anymore.
Looking Scar in the eye, Braeburn said, "your name wouldn't happen to be Scar, would it?"
"Used to be. That was in a different time though," Scar responded.
Braeburn slid the old Indian coin towards Scar. "An' y'all know me, too, don't ya?"
Scar's eyes widened. He dropped his cards and almost fell out of his chair. The other two ponies at the table looked puzzled. Braeburn slid out one of his six shooters and slid it to Scar. "Ah won't have it said thet Ah left ya with nothin, boy."
Scar stared down at the beautiful pistol, then sighed and picked it up. "That's how you wan't it to be? So be it. I gave up that part of my life but you leave me no choice." Scar stood up, got in position, and holstered the gun. Braeburn did the same.
The entire saloon was dead silent now. Braeburn and Scar stared each other down, waiting for the moment. Braeburn had waited his entire life for this moment, but now that it was here, he didn't know what he felt. He just waited for the draw.
Scar drew his gun, but never fired. Braeburn's bullet had ripped a hole through his stomach, and without realizing it, Scar dropped the gun. He collapsed onto his side. Braeburn holstered the pistol and walked over to him.
"It was you, wasn't it? We killed your kin... an' ya killed Sombrero... and Iron Hoof... didn'cha?" Scar asked, weakly.
"Ayup. Spent thirty years huntin' ya down. An' I killed Celestia knows how many ponies to find ya. And here we are, now... Ah had to do it. Ah know ya unnerstand."
"Braeburn, isn't it? Ah know what'll happen. Any moment now, Ah'm gonna feel the lead."
"No, you ain't. Ah'll at least do thet fer ya." Braeburn grabbed his pistol off the ground, placed the barrel between Scar's eyes, and pulled the trigger.
Braeburn disappeared that day. Nopony ever saw or heard from him again. He had moved out to the hills around Rattlesnake Canyon, where he lived out the rest of his days in peace. He took his guns and buried them with his brothers, burying one in the grave of each of them, to finally show himself that that chapter of his life was over at long last. Finally, after another year, he passed on. His body was discovered by a carriage on their way to Canterlot. He was slumped against an old tree, with two graves beside it. He was holding an old Indian coin, and looked like he died peacefully.