/co/ Vs. Ponychan: The Western Anthology

by Write Off


The Singer, The Bandit and The Chicken

"'A thousand stories' you said, 'just waiting to be told' you said."

"And there are, don't you feel the excitement in the air? The lives of these ponies who live on the expanding frontier, struggling tooth and hoof to make their way, so far flung from central Equestria that they've created their own way of life, their own culture... Danger around every corner, adventure over every hill... To our metropolitan audience, this may as well be a dream, and the film in your camera is such stuff as dreams are made on.”

Tintype looked across the table at the black and white buck sitting opposite. He was doing that thing with his eyes again. “A mighty pretty line. Who'd you steal it from?”

“In this business we prefer the term 'appropriate', it sounds less court-ordery,” Showtime replied absent mindedly, his eyes continuing to grow wider and beginning to sparkle like gemstones. “There are a thousand stories out here just waiting to be told...”

The grey unicorn gave his salt cube a long, hard lick. “Just one story'd do.”

“And we'll find one, don't worry. Just keep that camera facing the saloon doors and make sure to start rolling before something happens.”

“We've spent over a month out here and tried this in half a dozen towns. You've thrown out what little footage I've shot so far, even the bits with the real-pretty dancers, because you're waiting for a perfect moment to come by and buck down the doors. It just isn't gonna happen.” Tintype took a swig of water to chase down his salt lick. “And how am I supposed to know when something is gonna happen before it happens?”

Showtime threw his hooves in the air. “I can't do everything myself! We're trying to show the ponies back home what the wild west is really about. All this boring day-to-day stuff just doesn't cut it.”

The stallion shook his head. “But that is what the 'wild west' is really about,” he grumbled to himself.

Tintype leaned back in his chair and glanced at the camera he'd set up beside him. As usual they'd chosen a table in the corner, out of everypony's way and with a good view of the door. Tintype had ensured that his shot of the saloon's entrance took in the bar, the other tables, and their patrons. If anypony were to dramatically walk in, then every reaction would be captured perfectly on film. But of course, that kind of thing only happens in Hollywood.

Heavy hoofsteps outside caught the director's attention, and as he stared out the window he began to grin manically. “Roll that camera, Tintype. It's Showtime!”

The saloon doors swung open, revealing two bucks framed by the bright light outside. Music and conversation came to a standstill and chairs were pushed from tables as every pair of eyes turned to face the new arrivals. One was huge, even bigger than Tintype, the other stepped inside wearing a friendly smile.

“Hey there! Now, there's no need to stop all your fun and games on our account, we're just tryin' to find some lost little ponies, and if any of you could answer our questions...“ The saloon had returned to normal, quickly loosing interest now that it had decided they were not a threat. “...it would be real helpful.” Braeburn looked around eagerly for any takers, but was ignored.

The second pony, a tall red stallion, stepped through the door. “We're looking for my little sister and her two friends.” His voice was slow and his words deliberate, commanding attention although perhaps not understanding. “She's a yellow pony with no cutie mark–“

“Who you callin' yeller'?!” The slurred interruption came from an olive green pony sitting near to the red giant.

Big Macintosh blinked once before continuing, “And a red mane. Answers to the name of Apple Bloom.”

“Hey! I ashked you a queshtion, tomato-face,” said the nearly-yellow pony as he stood up and wobbled slightly; at full height he was almost as tall as the red stallion. “Who'd you call yeller'?!”

“I didn't call nopony–“ A hoof struck Macintosh in the jaw, finishing his sentence and overbalancing his attacker. The almost-yellow pony fell onto a nearby table, knocking salt cubes and drinks across the room.

A brawl erupted, all along the bar and over half the saloon, only leaving the stage and a single corner, where a black and white buck shouted encouragement from atop his table and threw the occasional chair. Pies remained holstered, which was a good sign.

“Are you getting this Tintype?! Tell me you're getting this!”

The camera pony responded with a grunt, standing ready to intercept any threat to his equipment. He was the first to see that the shorter of the two new arrivals was making his way over to them, or, more correctly, to their corner of relative peace. Tintype refocused his camera, tracking Braeburn as he weaved and dodged through the melee.

It didn't take long for Showtime to spot him as well. “Look at that cowpony go! I want that on film.”

“Howdy,” said Braeburn, seemingly unfazed by the gauntlet he'd run. “This happen a lot round these parts?”

Showtime leapt off his table, grabbed the cowpony's hoof, and shook it vigorously. “I don't know, we only got here this morning. But wouldn't it be marvellous if it did?”

“Erm...”

“I'm Showtime, by the way,” said the director, still keeping his victim's hoof firmly shaken. He nodded towards his friend. “And that's Tintype.”

Braeburn managed to extract his hoof. “A pleasure to be makin' your acquaintances, my name's Braeburn and that there's Big Macintosh.”

Braeburn didn't point. He didn't have to. Like a great red ice breaker, Big Macintosh ploughed through the swirling mass of ponies and furniture, forging a direct path towards them.

“He's my cousin,” the cowpony said proudly.

Showtime's crazy grin hadn't left his face. “There's so much of him!” The producers eyes shone like diamonds, “I can see the two of you on billboards throughout Equestria... Follow me and I'll make you into stars.”

“Come again?”

“Your names in lights, your faces in magazines. Screaming fans, your own perfume!”

“Now that's a mighty fine offer you have there, but my cousin and I are a little busy at the moment. Ain't that right Big Mac?” Braeburn looked at the red stallion standing beside him for support, but Big Macintosh was distracted.

After exchanging friendly nods with Tintype, Macintosh had become interested in the camera and was watching as the handle on one side was turned by its operator's magic. Steadily, rhythmically, the handle span around, opening and closing the device's shutters and capturing the scene on celluloid.

Braeburn took a closer look at his cousin's face. “Hey, you're bleedin'; you all right?”

Macintosh nodded and ran his tongue over his bottom lip, cleaning up the blood.

“Hehe, that's my cousin. Took a blow like that and didn't even stagger.”

Showtime leapt on the chance to gather some back story for his possible stars, already starting to write their bios in his head. “Your cousins a country buck, right? Were you showing what the wild west has to offer?”

“Now how'd you know that Big Mac ain't from round here?” Braeburn asked.

“That's simple, we've spent a lot of time pony watching over this last month and city folk like Tintype and I stick out like a sore hoof. At the same time he doesn't carry himself like a local, and he looks like he was born with that yoke around his neck. No pony would wear one of them in this heat when they weren't at work.

“So if he isn't from the city, and he isn't from the west, he must be from somewhere in the middle.”

“Eeyup,” said Big Mac. “Ponyville to be exact. We're looking for my little sister and her two friends. You said you'd spent a month pony watching. Did you happen to learn anything about three lost fillies?”

Tintype stepped closer to join the conversation, his horn continuing to glow as its magic turned the handle. “I'm afraid not. This is actually the most exciting thing we've seen since we got here.”

“Aww shoot. These fella's have been on the lookout fer strange stuff going on and they ain't seen anything either.” Braeburn hung his head. “I'm sorry cuz', this is all my fault.”

“Nnope. It's just as much my fault as it is yours. I'm the one who talked AJ into letting them visit you in Appleloosa. What's important is finding those fillies and getting them home safely.”

“What'd these fillies look like then?” said Tintype.

Braeburn looked up and straightened his hat. “Well there's Apple Bloom, she's yellow and red with a big bow tied in her hair; and there's Sweetie Belle, a white unicorn with a curly mane; and there's the... um...” Braeburn looked over to Big Mac for assistance, but the big red pony just shrugged. “There's the orange one.”

Showtime aimed his grin at the grey unicorn. “Tintype! We've got to follow them on their adventure.”

“And help them out, right?”

“Yes, help them to become stars!” The director was practically dancing on his hooves. “We'll film the whole thing, an epic tale of saving lost family in a west gone wild!”

Showtime had to shout to be heard over the noisy brawl, but the sound of fighting began to die down as a piano started to play and movement could be seen behind the stage curtains. “The dancing mares! I want you to film the dancing mares!”

Tintype turned his camera to face the stage. “Last time you just threw away the footage.”

“This time's different! Can't you feel that spark in the air? Ze magics?”

The camera pony held his tongue, these saloon shows had always been entertaining at least. He noticed that the fight around them had grown quieter, and was about to ask his friend if he'd noticed it as well, when the stage curtains parted to reveal a little unicorn wearing a pretty dress. Her eyes closed tightly. His jaw hung open as she began to sing.

Bucks, stallions, and mares froze in place, half-thrown punches locked in mid-air and chairs levitating just overhead. All attention was focused towards the stage and the singer.

The little unicorn sang of a home so far away, a mother left waiting, and regret for the path taken. Her audience began to cry.

Braeburn nudged his cousin, eye's not leaving the performance. “Ain't that Sweetie Belle?”

“Eeyup,” said Big Macintosh, taking a purposeful step towards the stage.

The cowpony pulled him back. “Now hold your horses! I don't think them other patrons will take kindly to us interrupting this here song. We'd best wait till she's finished.”

Big Mac gave a snort but grudgingly relented. Somepony could easily get hurt.

-

Sweetie Belle's song did not last long, and when she finally opened her eyes she saw Big Macintosh and Braeburn in the audience. She barely had enough time to gesture for them to come round before she had to hurry off stage to make way for the regular performers.

Showtime and Tintype found themselves following behind the two Apple bucks, figuring that one way or another they were now involved.

They found Sweetie Belle waiting for them in a lounge usually used by the dancers, judging by the bits of costume left lying around. Standing beside her was an old mare, whose wizened features and scowling eyes told them that she had seen much over the years. And little of it had made her smile.

“So which one of you is the irresponsible layabout that let this filly run away, hmm?”

Braeburn stepped forward. “That would be me, ma'am.”

“And what are you going to do about the other two fillies that you lost?”

The cowpony met the crone's piercing stare. “Find 'em and make sure that they get home safe, ma'am.”

“Good,” she said, her scowl lessening. “Your eyes ain't lying.”

Big Mac spoke up. “Does that mean that Apple Bloom ain't here?” His voice was harsh, frustrated.

Sweetie shrank away from him. She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out.

The old mare turned her stare on Macintosh. He felt like he was just a colt again, back on the farm before he had even gotten his cutiemark. Granny Smith was telling him off, disappointment on her voice and in her eyes. He would never forget those eyes.

Big Mac's anger melted away, and he found himself looking at a filly who was relieved to have been found, yet scared to have been caught. He'd seen the exact same look from Apple Bloom before, and from Applejack before that. His expression softened. “I'm sorry Sweetie Belle. I'm just worried about my sister. Could you please tell us what happened?”

The little unicorn swallowed once and then nodded. “We snuck onto the train back in Appleloosa and got off in this town. But we were all hot and bothered by hiding on the train and we got into an argument over what we should try next. Apple Bloom said something about helping out in a town farther west, Scootaloo wanted to run with the buffalo, and I thought we should try laying tracks for the rail road. But they said that my idea was stupid because the tracks have already been finished, so I left them to go find somepony who could get me work on the rail road to show them that it wasn't a stupid idea. I looked back and I saw Apple Bloom and Scootaloo leaving town in different directions.

“Everypony just laughed at me when I asked about working on the rail road, and I began to think that it might not have been such a good idea after all.” Sweetie smiled at the old mare. “But Mrs Cabaret took me in and let me stay here. She even let me sing.”

Cabaret smiled, her wrinkles dancing around her mouth. “She's so shy she has to close her eyes so she can't see the audience. I'll be sorry to see her leave and the customers will too, but she doesn't belong here: you can't sing like that without missing home something fierce.”

“I've got to go now,” said the little unicorn.

“That you do. But always remember that you'll be welcome here.”

“Thanks for everything, Mrs Cabaret.” Sweetie Belle began to walk over to Big Mac and Braeburn, but paused when she noticed the dress she was still wearing. “Oh! I nearly forgot to give this back,” she said, trying to wriggle out of the clothes.

The old mare chuckled. “I think it looks fine where it is, Sweetie, and you shouldn't undress in front of all these bucks.”

Sweetie Belle cocked her head in confusion. “But ponies don't even wear clothes.”

-

They left the saloon, now five strong, and made their way to a row of shops. Big Macintosh wanted to leave at once, but they needed to buy supplies first so Braeburn left them to barter for extra food, water, and blankets. Sweetie's dress had been stowed in one of Big Mac's saddlebags.

Showtime was engaged in energetic conversation with a wandering trader. Tintype hung his head, in anticipation of his friend returning with something completely pointless that he was somehow really enthusiastic about. Big Mac's attention was focused on the approach of a tall dark unicorn who had a long metal rod hanging from his belt.

The unicorn tipped his hat. “Good afternoon.”

Macintosh was about to reply when Showtime suddenly reappeared, wearing a pair of ridiculous glasses: one lens was tinted red, the other was tinted green.

“Hello there!” said Showtime, “Might you be a Ranger by any chance?”

The unicorn chuckled. “I most certainly am. You've got a good pair of eyes on you.”

“That big iron on your hip is a dead give away.”

“Well it gets the job done. Actually I'm tryin' to find an outlaw by the name of Takes-us Red. A mare that's supposed to be even taller than your friend here, with the fires of hell blazin' in her crimson mane... Now I reckon there's some exaggeratin' goin' on there but it don't matter. She and her gang have been hitting the west bound trains hard this past week, so hard that they already sent me to deal with it.”

“That's a silly name,” said Sweetie Belle. “Why do they call her Tacky-something?”

The Ranger looked at the little unicorn and shrugged. “They call her 'Takes-us' because when you meet her she takes all your stuff at piepoint. I figure she's hidin' out in a town farther west, but I'm askin' around on my way there just in case. Might even raise a little awareness.”

“Actually we're also looking for some fillies,” said Big Macintosh. “My little sister Apple Bloom. She's a yellow and red earth pony.” He paused for a moment. “ And an orange pegasus. They're both about the same size as Sweetie Belle there.”

“Hmm,” said the Ranger. “I haven't heard anythin' about fillies matchin' those descriptions. Are they runaways?”

“Eeyup.”

“Cutiemarks?”

“Nnope.”

“Well, I'll keep my eyes peeled for 'em.” The Ranger turned to go. “Goodbye, and good luck.”

“Same to you,” Big Mac called after him.

Tintype watched the Ranger as he trotted away. He recognised the other unicorn's walk, disciplined with almost no vertical movement at all. But the camera pony was distracted by Showtime, who was moving a hoof back and forth in front of his own face.

“It's like it's really coming towards me!”

-

They made good progress across the sand dunes and the rocky terrain, their destination of the buffalo lands just another hour or two away.

The pace was too quick for Sweetie Belle; she'd tried to ride on Macintosh's back but found the going too rough, so she'd switched to Tintype, who's years of camera work enabled him to keep the ride smooth even at a trot. The saddle his camera was attached to also made for a comfortable seat.

Sweetie Belle and Showtime were currently trying to convince Tintype to put the 3-D glasses on his camera.

“The glasses make everything you see into 3-D, right?”

“No.”

“And the camera records everything it sees, right?”

“I guess.”

“So if the glasses were on the camera then everything it sees would be in 3-D... and that means that it would record in 3-D too!”

“No, that's not... It doesn't work like... No, just, just no.”

Tintype shook his head, this relentless barrage of insanity was wearing him down. That had almost made sense to him then.

“Aww come on,” said Sweetie Belle, who was currently marvelling at a world with three dimensions. “They really work, you should try them!”

Tintype looked around at his passenger: the glasses were much too big for her, making them look even more ridiculous. “No thanks, I can see plenty enough dimensions as it is,” he paused for a moment, “And they look silly.” She stuck her tongue out at him. He returned the gesture and turned back to face the way ahead.

“Miss Belle,” said Showtime, trying to attract her attention.

“Yes, Mr Showtime?”

“I forgot to mention this before, but when I heard you singing in that saloon, I imagined seeing your name in lights up and down Equestria... It was so vivid I could practically taste it! I can say without a shadow of a doubt that if you follow me, I can make you into a star.”

Sweetie Belle pondered for a moment. “So... do you have a rocket ship? Can you fly me to the moon?! I've always wanted to go there! Can we? Can we?”

Showtime hadn't expected a follow up question, and thinking about its possibilities made his eyes began to gleam. “That's a great idea!” He turned to his grey friend. “Tintype! Hey, Tintype!”

“What is it now?”

“Let's get a rocket ship, Tintype!”

Braeburn and Big Macintosh walked ahead of the others. They'd spent almost a week travelling as just the two of them and found that the added company took a bit of getting used to. Still, the mental torture being exacted on the unicorn behind them was quite entertaining.

Big Mac chuckled.

“You seem in better spirits today,” said Braeburn.

“Eeyup. This time yesterday the only thing we knew was that those lost fillies were somewhere farther down the line. Now we've found Sweetie Belle and if the orange ones with the buffaloes then we should find her in just a couple of hours. And Apple Bloom can't be too far away.”

Braeburn knew that his cousin was being optimistic, but this was the first bit of luck they'd had and he had always said that negativity never helped nopony. He also resolutely ignored anypony who said the words: 'double negative'.

-

Their first sign of buffalo was a rumbling in the distance, and as they crested a hill they could see the winding stampede as it flowed through a wide, well-beaten trail down below. It seemed to go on forever, looking more like a raging stream than it did a herd. Small figures ran across the carpet of moving bodies, buffalo calves using the backs of their elders as a road, jumping over gaps and chasing each other round. The onlookers noticed that one of the small figures seemed to be winged.

“Scootaloo!” said Sweetie Belle.

“The orange one!” said Braeburn.

The ponies galloped down the hillside. They pulled alongside the stampede and ran hard to keep up with it, but the buffalo were still moving faster than they were.

Braeburn was concentrating so much on running that he almost tripped over when a voice called out to him from the living wall of buffalo. “Hey bro, what's up?”

“Erm... howdy?”

“You looking for that little flyer, bro?”

The cowpony was confused, that was definitely the next part of the conversation, but several buffalo had already overtaken him and the original speaker must be somewhere ahead of him by now. Still, if it worked it worked. “We sure are.”

“Cool, I'll pass the message along.”

“Much obliged!”

The three nearest buffalo spoke in unison, “No worries, bro.”

Farther down the line, a small group broke away from the main pack and ran in the opposite direction, towards the ponies. They brought a little orange pegasus with them.

The two parties met and exchanged greetings. Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo jumped off their respective mounts and gave each other a hug before telling one another everything that had happened to them and all the things that they'd done to try and get their cutiemarks.

“Such a little dearie,” said the Buffalo that had brought Scootaloo, a cow judging by the sound of her voice. “Are you boys here to collect her?”

“Eeyup.”

Braeburn took off his hat. “Thank you kindly for looking after her, we're really much obliged.”

“That's all right dearie, our calves enjoyed the new playmate.”

The buffalo cow watched the two fillies chatting together as if nothing had happened. “I see you've already found her unicorn friend; Scootaloo told us about what happened. The herd thinks its seen her other friend too, Apple Blue was it?”

“Apple Bloom,” said Big Mac, listening intently.

“That's the one. The herd spotted a filly matching her description in a town you call 'Hoofston'; our stampeding trail runs close by but it is not our business to interfere with the world of ponies.”

Big Mac felt like their journey was nearly over, he couldn't wait to get going. “Can you give us directions to Hoofston?”

“Oh, just follow the trail and you can get there before nightfall if you get a good trot going. But be warned, this town is not linked to your rail road and it struggles to survive. It does not seem like a friendly place.

“Goodbye Scootaloo! You can come and run with us any time you want.”

The little pegasus turned away from her friend to wave at the departing buffalo. “Goodbye Missus Swift Tail, thanks for having me!”

With a final wave goodbye, the group of buffalo rejoined the herd, becoming one with the stampede as it flowed along the trail.

-

Big Mac set a brisk pace, but following the buffalo's trail after the stampede had moved on made for much easier going than the rocky terrain they'd gone through before. This allowed Scootaloo to ride on Big Mac's back instead of running to keep up. It also meant that Tintype had to match the Apple buck's pace so that their passengers could talk. He wasn't sure at which point he'd basically become a taxi.

“And this is my laser gun,” said Sweetie Belle, sweeping a hoof over the camera beside her. “I'm going to use it to shoot space aliens when we visit the moon... Scootaloo do you know any pigs that can fly?”

Scootaloo looked puzzled, Sweetie's plan had largely made sense up until that point. “Wait, what?”

“Tintype promised to get us a rocket ship that could fly to the moon but we have to find a pig that can fly first.”

“Oh,” said Scootaloo, as if that had explained everything. “What's that thing on the end for?”

“That's so it can shoot in 3-D.”

-

They reached the outskirts of Hoofston at dusk and made their way into town. Suspicious eyes watched them from every window, faces vanishing out of sight when the bucks returned their gaze. This wasn't quite what they'd been expecting to find.

Tintype turned to Braeburn. “Kinda spooky, isn't it?”

“Folks are usually a bit more welcoming,” said the cowpony, looking around at the nearby houses in varying states of disrepair. “But it looks like this place has had some rough times.”

Big Macintosh had run out of patience. “We're looking for my sister. A filly by the name of Apple Bloom. Has anypony seen her?” He spoke loud enough for the entire street to hear.

A door opened farther down the road and a young mare stepped out. She wore a neckerchief covering her face and looked the four bucks up and down. “Follow me,” she said. “I'll take you to the boss.”

They were led into a large building that must have served as the town hall. It seemed to be a gathering place, but the ponies they saw either covered their faces or remained in deep shadow. This did not bode well.

Sitting on a desk at the centre of the hall was one little pony.

“Boss,” said their guide, “this buck says he's your brother.”

Big Mac walked up to his sister, looking her straight in the eye. “Apple Bloom. What are you doing here?”

“Giving these ponies hope, that's what,” Apple Bloom replied.

“Hey, err, cuz,” said Braeburn, “you're gonna hafta explain that a little; these ponies look an awful lot like bandits to me.”

“The choice they had was starve or become bandits. So I told them to become bandits.”

Her brother scowled. “Apple Bloom. That's no decent way to live.”

“That was their only way to live! What little food they had went into the first pies we used to rob the train when it went by. The passengers cared more about not getting their manes messy than they did about their watches and jewellery. We sold that stuff in the other towns to buy food for the families back home. I made them buy seeds too but there's no where here for them to plant them.”

“Why not?” asked Braeburn.

“Because the only flat land around here is on the buffalo trail, they stampede over it every day and there are hundreds of them.”

Braeburn looked thoughtful. “You know, that reminds me of Appleloosa. Have you tried asking the buffaloes if they could move their trail a bit?”

Apple Bloom rolled her eyes. “Well of course we've tried asking–” She stopped suddenly and pondered for a moment, before turning to a nearby group of local ponies. “You did try asking, didn't you?”

“Oh yes, definitely.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“I'm almost certain that we did.”

“I mean, we must of, mustn't we?”

The group looked at one another and slowly realised the truth.

“Oh Celestia, we haven't.”

“Nope.”

“We are not clever ponies.”

Apple Bloom turned back to face her brother and cousin. “Is it really that simple?”

-

It turns out it was. The next day the buffalo agreed to alter their trail in exchange for a share of the produce, and Big Mac and Braeburn showed the towns folk how plough the land and grow enough crops to feed themselves, provided they ration out the food they did have to last them until the first harvest. The town was well on the way to being able to support itself without resorting to banditry.

A commotion swept across Hoofston on the heels of a runner, who sought out the Apple family to deliver news of what he'd seen.

"A stranger just rode into town from the south. Some folks say he looks like an outlaw but I don't think so. He's got a big iron on his hip."

"The Ranger," said Big Mac.

-

The Ranger waited at the southern edge of town, watching as the townsfolk gathered on the other side of the road. He idly tapped the big iron on his hip against a metal fencepost.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Big Mac and the others reached the front of the crowd. The Ranger stopped tapping and lifted his hat in surprise. “Well, I didn't expect to see you here. Have you had any luck with those missing fillies?”

“Eeyup,” said Big Mac. “And there ain't gonna be no bandit problem round here any more.”

“That's great news! Now I just need to give 'Takes-us Red' a tellin' off and I can head home.”

“About that,” said the Apple buck, as turned around, lifted his sister by the scruff of the neck and dumped her in front of him. “This is the naughty little filly who was behind all those robberies. She done it for a good reason but she still done bad and needs to be told off for it.”

The Ranger stared at Apple Bloom open mouthed. “Is that true?”

“Yes sir,” she replied, hanging her head.

Braeburn hissed at his cousin. “What are you doing?!”

“My sister done bad and maybe if this Ranger tells her off she'll learn something.”

“He ain't just going to tell her off! If they sent a Ranger then that means a branding!”

Big Mac's eyes widened. “What?”

“It's frontier justice, it's harsh because it has to be. A brand from a red hot iron will hurt for days, and it'll take years to heal over.”

“That ain't happening.” Big Mac strode forwards, putting himself between Apple Bloom and the Ranger. “You ain't. Branding. My sister.”

“Your sister?” Relief flooded the Ranger's face, and he drew himself up to attention. “In the event of a major felony being perpetrated by a minor, an older family member may be punished in their stead, as it can be assumed that they take responsibility for that minor.”

Big Mac was being offered a way to save his sister and he knew it. “Wait here Apple Bloom, I'll be back in a minute.” He walked towards the Ranger without hesitation.

As he approached, the Ranger spoke quietly, “You know, you could probably buck me out cold and be long gone by the time I came around.”

“I ain't hurting no pony who's just doing his job. Although I don't suppose you'd be willing to pretend...”

The Ranger chuckled. “I'm afraid I was never very good at acting.”

“Ah well. Lets get it over with.”

The Ranger's horn began to glow, heating one end of the big iron until it was red hot.

-

Their adventure over, they had all boarded the eastwards train bound for Ponyville. Showtime and Tintype had gathered plenty of footage and the black and white buck was now trying to pitch ideas for a space themed movie, which he wanted to film on location. Braeburn was relieved that the fillies had all been found safely, and was now travelling with them so that he could apologise to their parents in person. His morals wouldn't let him do anything less. The fillies swapped stories and lamented their lack of cutiemarks.

Apple Bloom would occasionally look down at Macintosh's cutiemark, and at the two letters that had been branded beneath it. Most ponies would see it as Bad Buck, but she knew that it really meant Big Brother.