//------------------------------//
// Cinnamon Dust and Sandy Sparkles Lay Their Lives Down in Whinny Gulch 
// Story: Trouble at the Finish Line 
// by shortskirtsandexplosions 
//------------------------------//

	"Mrmmff..."  Sheriff Cinnamon Dust squints, her freckles glintin' all shiny-like as she trots across the middle of town.  Her spurs make them jingle-jangly noises, trailin' after her labored hooves, tired after years of laborin' on the farm and even more years of tryin' to preserve justice in that lonely ol' town called Whinny Gulch.  "Sandy Sparkles, did I ever tell y'all about the dust storm that swept away my family and all that I had?"

Deputy Sandy Sparkles sniffles, nevertheless quickenin' her pace to keep up with the older, more-seasoned pony.  "No, Cinnamon Dust," Rarity mewls in an endearin' voice.  Her eyes are glossy, like blue moons dipped in tears.  "Though... I-I have picked up rather tiny details throughout this whole venture... beautifully and subtly executed, m-mind you."

"It was ten long, dusty years ago," Cinnamon Dust grunts on either side of a haystalk that she was chewin' in her mouth.  Her and Sandy's shadows stretch like gravestones across the arid earth.  As they pass by the storefronts on either side of 'em, the ponyfolk inside clap the doors shut one by one.  They all knows what's about to blow over.  "And yet, I still remember it just like it was this mornin's breakfast."  She cricked the tired old joints in her neck, plannin' out her sentences all proper-like beneath the musical percussion of them spur-jingles.  "With her dyin' breath, my wife told me, 'Be a simple kind of mare, Cinnamon.  And maybe some day...'"  She takes a deep breath, eyes cold as steel against the sunlight.  "...you'll nuzzle and understand."

"Radiant..."  Sandy Sparkles rubs her cheeks, smilin' all puffy and tearful.  "Simply radiant," Rarity coos.  "Pure poetry, Applejack—"

"The name's Cinnamon Dust."

"Er... r-right.  Eheheh... don't mind me, I-I simply got caught up in the mome—"

"And after all these years..."  The sheriff sighs.  "Reckon I ain't never gonna nuzzle no mo'."

"Awwwwww..."  Sandy Sparkles trots ahead to gaze with pityin' eyes at her superior.  "Sheriff, don't you dare say that!  You have many years left!"

"Them's gonna be real achin', dyin' years," Cinnamon Dust grumbles as they march down Main Street.  A tumbleweed tumbles by, as tumbleweeds do, a'tumblin'.  "Ain't no sense spendin' that with no partner no-how.  I've suffered enough as it is.  Wouldn't be proper to dump it on another pony."

"But... Cinnamon Dust!"  Sandy points at the bank, the saloon, and the schoolhouse.  "This whole town!  The ponies here owe their well-being completely to you!  Don't you see?  You're a vanquisher of injustice and a spreader of life!"

"Them's some mighty fancy words to be tossin' into the tornado all the same."  Cinnamon Dust trots to a stop, spurs clatterin'.  "Face it, I dun take much stock in my marshalin' career for a reason.  Too much blood in it... the kind of blood my wife and kid woulda frowned upon."

"But... th-the lives you've saved from the Gold Rush Gang—!"

"Ain't nothin' in the grand scheme of thangs."  Cinnamon Dust finally spits her haystalk out and nods at the dark figure standin' at the end of the town, waitin' for 'em.  "All I've ever done or will do rests on this here showdown.  Goddess help me.  It burns hot in Tartarus."

"Maybe for you, it does, Sheriff Dust!" shouts a pony in a black hat, black coat, and black boots.  He brandishes a bandolier full of gold-plated revolver ammo, and his chompers show a matchin' grime when he grins.  "Traitors and scoundrels!  That's the lowest level where you varmints burn, ain't it?!"

"Who're y'all callin' varmints, Ebon Soul, ya ol' snake in the grass?!" Cinnamon Dust hollers back.

"I'm callin' you out, Sheriff!" the stallion snarls while pointin' his grimy hoof.  "You!  A dirty... no good... yellow-fuzzie'd... cry babyin' coward!"  He nods his head towards Sandy Sparkles.  "What's the deal with bringin' this here lady to a pony-to-pony duel?!  Or do you always speak tall when ya got an extra set of legs on yer side?!"

"I could say the same to you, Ebon."  Cinnamon Dust glares even harder, her calico poncho flutterin' in the desert breeze.  "So how about callin' yer boys off like a real stallion?"

"Hah!"  Ebon cackles raspily.  "I dun know what yer babblin' about, old timer!"

"Ebon..."  Cinnamon grits her teeth.  "It just may well take the whole seven of 'em to kill an old warhorse like me today, but even with an army of a thousand you won't stand a chance when the cavalry arrives."

Ebon blanches like the scaredy cat he is.  "You didn't..."

"Sent a telegram last night!"  Cinnamon grumbles, tiltin' his chin up all proud-like.  "I've no intention on gamblin' the whole fate of Whinny Gulch on a drag-out fight with the sorry likes of you!  This here duel?!  It's between you'n'me!  Not the Deputy here!  And not yer sissy-tailed hombres in hidin'!  So call them out before I flush them out with lead rain!"

To that, Ebon clenches his jaw in anger, though he'd be a dag-gum fool to pretend that he ain't tremblin' in his boots.  Well, before anypony can so much as hear a condor shriek, he swivels to the rooftops of them buildings and lets out a shrill whistle.

Not long after, a smatterin' of grimy thugs in sombreros climb down from the summits of Whinny Gulch.  They each give Cinnamon Dust dirty glares as they trot off and form a line in front of the saloon.

"Alright, Sheriff!" Ebon Soul shouts.  "I called off mah boys!  Now you call off yer girl!"

"Ya don't need to shout, son," Cinnamon Dust glares.  "I ain't deaf."

"Honestly..."  Rarity cranes her neck to look at the mare's face.  "Is it physically possible for you to squint any harder?"

"Partner, this is the end of the trail," Cinnamon Dust says.  "Best be trottin' yer pretty self on over to the storefront now."

"Oh!  Erm... Ahem."  Sandy Sparkles puts on a sad face.  "No, Sheriff!  No!  We're badge-wearing purveyors of justice to the end!  Let me lend you a hoof with this!  For ten long years, you've been the vigilant steward of this town!  Well, I say—let you be alone no further!  You mustn't face this vagabond alone!"

"Darlin', I've been facin' this here vagabond since I learned to gallop," Cinnamon Dust slurs.  "He's a dime-a-dozen bastard of evil.  If I back up from his challenge now, then that means I roll over for every crook, thug, and gambler just like him that lurches into a town like Whinny Gulch, expectin' to be treated like a prince, when deep down he ain't nothin' but a big bad of manure.  Now git!"

Sandy Sparkles backtrots, wincin' somethin' awful.  "Goddess speed to you, Cinnamon Dust..."

"Ain't no Goddess gonna bother savin' me now."  Cinnamon Dust cracks the joints in her neck one final time.  "But this widow's only consolation is that the same can be said for this mound of talkin' garbage in front of me."  She shouts across the windy street.  "Ya hear that, Ebon?!  I dun thrown in my badge to become the town janitor!  And I'm about to take out the trash!"

"Either way, Sheriff..."  Ebon licked his lips as he reaches a hoof to a gun holstered at his side.  "...this ends with you collectin' flies."

"So long as I bury you first!"  Cinnamon's muzzle curves for the first time in years.  "In a grave marked 'Roadkill!'"

"Eeeee!"  Rarity's voice squeals.  Sandy Sparkles dances in place, eyes dartin' back and forth between both ponies in the high-tension standoff.  "Oh, how wonderfully exciting!  Spaghetti Western!  As written by Applejack!"  Gaspin', she squats low like an anxious lil' prairie dog, her eyes glossy in the crimson sunlight.  "Ooooh!  Oooh!  How's it going to end?  Will Cinnamon Dust blast Ebon in his black heart, thus damning her vigilante soul forever?!  Or will Ebon tragically finish her off so that she can rejoin her deceased family in eternal harmony?  Mmmm!" She squirms again.  "I can't wait!  I can't wait!  Twilight is absolutely going to adore this—!"

"What are ya waitin' for, Sheriff?"  Ebon smiles.  "Make yer move!"

"Hmmm..."  Cinnamon unfurls her poncho, revealin' two pearl-handled revolvers.  However, she lingers right there, standin' dead still like a fuzzy orange tent pole.  "How's it go again?  He who casts the first stone or some such?  You want this town so badly, yo go on ahead and reach for it.  Then we'll see who's the fastest hoof in the desert."

Ebon bites his lip as sweat forms along his brow.

The stallions in sombreros fidget nervously.

Cinnamon merely stares, smirkin'.  All cool as steel.

Sandy Sparkles leans on the edge of the porch, clingin' to the wooden railing, about to lose her breath—

"Sheriff!" a high-pitched voice suddenly echoes from clear across town.  "Sheriff!  No, dun do it!"  The ruffle of skirts, skirts, skirts.

Sandy Sparkles does a double-take.  "What in blazes...?" Rarity whispers.

Cinnamon Dust twirls to see a saloon girl gallopin' hysterically towards her, her fuzzy blue face flushed with tears.  The filly struggles to hike up the flouncy folds of her parlor maiden gown with each cavortin' step.

"Oh, con sarn it, Ravishin' Dew!"  Cinnamon Dust growls.  "Not now!  Can't y'all see I'm dispensin' justice?"

"No!  Ah can't see!"  Ravishin' Dew scuffles to a stop, her fuzzy chest palpitating as she stares up into Cinnamon Dust's strong, freckled face.  "Ah can't see anythang!"  She gulps, her purdy lil' eyes fillin' up with gossamer tears.  "Because yer beautiful lurve has blinded meh, Cinnamon Dust!  And Ah simply can't live with mahself if you was to bite the bullet, now could Ah?!"

"Be-beloved...?!" Rarity sputters.

"Ravishin', t'ain't no time for stage dancin' or drink pourin'!"  Cinnamon Dust protests.  Nevertheless, she reaches down to caress the filly's quiverin' chin.  "Y'all run back to yer saloon, now.  Life will go on without me.  You'll earn enough bits to become a schoolmarm and kiss this naughty life of yers away for good!  You'll see!"

"But Ah dun wanna kiss anythang, Cinnamon!"  Ravishin' hiccups and coos.  She leans in—dress smooshed—and nuzzles Cinnamon warmly in the chest.  "Ah only wanna kiss you!"  She shudders.  "Don't y'all see, ya silly varmint?!  You complete meh!  You complete meh somethin' fierce!"

"Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww shucks, Ravishin'... must you?"

"Uhhhh..."  Rarity twitches.  At the sound of a yellin' voice, she glances down the street.

"Hey!"  Ebon Soul stomps his hoof, frownin'.  "Are we duelin' or ain't we?!"  BANG!  He jolts as his black hat is blown off his head by a single bullet.

Sheriff Dust aims a smokin' revolver at him, snarlin', "Now just hold yer horses!  The lil' lady wants to speak her mind!"

"Forget him, Cinnamon!" Ravishin' Dew coos, eyelashes flutterin' over purdy, ruby peepers.  "Forget the Gold Rush Gang!  Forget Sandy Sparkles—Tartarus!  Forget this whole dag-blame'd town!"  She leans up, rubbin' noses with the grizzled sheriff.  "You belong to meh!  Look into yer sweet, tender, tired heart and taste it!  Ain't no Dew but yer Dew, Cinnamon!  Ah promise you that!"

"Land's sakes..."  Cinnamon Dust sighed long and hard, leanin' down to nuzzle-nuzzle the mare's muzzle.  "Why can't I quit you?"

"But... b-but I thought..."  Rarity points.  "She said she had no room for..."  She points.  "And just where in Celestia's name did she come...?"

"Oh... Cinnamon!  Yer freckles taste like yer namesake!"

"Heheheh... dun they, ya frisky lil' possum?"

"Heeeeeeee!"

"Nnnn-rrrrrrrrgh!"  Rarity tosses her hat, snarling.  "That tears it!  Ahem.  Plot Override:  Nancy Gamma Seven!"  The world rips into a dusty twirl around her as she hollers, "Get me out of this pathetic farce... NOW!"

And just like that, Cinnamon Dust and Ravishin' Dew melt into each other's nuzzling faces while Ebon Soul and the gang members and the whole hazy vista of Whinny Gulch disappears into a finite space—