One - The Riflepony
Treasure in the West
Part One of the Riflepony Series
By: DiveBomb
The farm had always seen hot summer days, but never quite like this. The heat was visible, distorting the air and instantly evaporating any water that dared to exist under the sun's scorching rays. For days now the unbearable heat wave relinquished the orchard of any and all moisture, draining the apples in the trees of their luster and taste. Bucking the fruits loose was a lost virtue, for more reasons than one. The farm's workers were unable to step outside without an immediate visit to the town's infirmary, not to mention that most of the tree's apples were no longer of any use. However, the ones that still held value had to be salvaged, for it would be the family's only source of income for a month. But with nopony else able to work, there was only one stallion that dared to scavenge the dehydrated fruits.
With a halfhearted buck, only three of the apples fell into the basket on the ground below. For what it was worth, they were the only edible ones left in the branches above. The day hadn't even reached its peak, but already sweat had poured from the beige earth pony's brow. The only thing shielding him from the sun's rays were a dark brown cowpony hat and a matching vest. Perspiration stung the stallion's emerald eyes, forcing him to clamp them shut every few minutes. He wiped his forehead with a hoof, momentarily cursing his thick, lustrous blonde mane for insulating the heat to his brain. The stallion panted over the nearly-empty basket. Six healthy apples littered the bottom of the weaved container, coming from three trees so far. He tried not to focus on the depressing ratio, and instead drove on to the next tree.
The earth pony had been determined to do whatever he could to bring in any sort of profit for the farm. The small town of Appleloosa practically lived off of their farm's fruits, and in turn they did the same with the business. Their family had indeed prepared for the summer heat, but not for anything like this. The heat wave had certainly put a damper on their plans, and soon it would also effect the orchard's already minimal profits. The stallion couldn't stand for that. If there was no other pony able to buck, then he would be the one to work his hardest to save the farm, no matter the cost.
"Braeburn!" came a voice. The sudden sound caused the beige stallion to whip his head around, perhaps too quickly. The movement spun his mind, and dehydration started to take its course. His vision blurred, and all he could see was an orange pony galloping over to him, but nothing more. He forced his eyes shut, fighting the oncoming nausea.
"Braeburn, what in the hay are ya' tryin' to prove out here?"
The farmer slowly opened his eyes. In front of him was an orange earth pony. The mare's light blonde mane was soaked with perspiration, falling from underneath her notched Stetson. Her green eyes were filled with worry, looking her cousin over in trepidation.
"Cousin Applejack?" Braeburn asked in disbelief. "What're ya' doin' in Appleloosa?"
"Brae, we need'ta get ya' inside," the orange mare said hurriedly, dodging the question. The stallion shook his head.
"Nothin' doin' Cuz. Ah gotta get these apples in the barn before-"
"No ya' don't!" Applejack retorted. "Listen cousin, Ah respect yer work ethic as much as any other pony, but yer gonna end up in the hospital! Now get inside before that happens!"
Applejack started to push her cousin toward the barn with her forehead when Braeburn fell to his side, unable to stand any longer. With a gasp, the orange mare pulled him to his hooves, guiding him out of the orchard without another word. Braeburn couldn't find the strength to argue, only to pace limply with his cousin's support. He panted as his vision started to center, his throat as dry as a bone in the desert. Applejack led the exhausted stallion to the small barn home, opening the door for him.
Braeburn eventually found himself falling into his bed as the shades were drawn, shielding the small room from the unforgiving sun. The cool shade was like Heaven to the fatigued earth pony, but still not as relieving as the glass of water that was presented to him moments later. Braeburn laid on his back, draining the cup of its contents with several desperate gulps. He dropped the empty glass on the mattress, panting with his eyes on the ceiling.
"Are ya' feelin' any better?" asked Applejack from the side of the bed. Braeburn gathered his breath.
"Ah think so. Thank ya' kindly Cuz," he said. Once his head stopped spinning, the stallion pulled himself to his haunches. Applejack still wore a look of concern.
"What were ya' doin' out there anyway?" she asked quietly. "There wasn't one healthy fruit in any o' those trees."
"There were a few," he disagreed politely. "And those few still needed to be bucked. Listen cousin, Ah don't wanna sound rude or nothin', but we don't have the comforts of Weather Pegasi here out West. So when heat like this drums up, we still gotta make due. Nopony else could do it, so the work fell onto me. I'm not complainin' or nothin', it's my job. It's what Ah'm supposed to do."
"Ah can't imagine yer Pa thinks yer supposed to die buckin' bad apples cousin," Applejack said with a smile. Braeburn cracked a small grin of his own.
"Maybe not, but it's still my job," he sighed. "So what're ya' doin' in Appleloosa Cuz?"
"Well Ah came to visit ya'. But Ah guess Ah'm here to take care of that thick head o' yers," she mused. "We're done fer the rest of the month, and Granny Smith said Ah needed to take a vacation."
"Granny Smith said that? Now Ah've heard everything," the stallion laughed, happy to find his mind at ease again.
"The farm isn't doin' too good huh?" Applejack asked suddenly. Braeburn frowned, not wishing to pursue the issue. However, the look on his cousin's face drove the matter further. "That's why you've been workin' so hard, isn't it?"
"Shoot Cuz, you've always been sharp as a tack haven't ya'?" the beige cowpony sighed. Applejack shrugged humbly.
Braeburn removed his hat, his blonde bangs matted to his forehead with sweat. He wiped his brow, pondering how to approach the topic. "No Cuz, it hasn't. On top of this heat wave, business has been terrible. Ponies just haven't been buyin' our apples like they used to. Ah'm afraid that we might have to sell the farm to recover our losses."
Applejack's jaw dropped. "Sell the farm? Ya'll can't do that! It's the family business!"
"Ah know AJ, but if this keeps up, we won't have a choice," he said with disdain. "S'bad enough that ponies won't buy our wares, but now we won't have nothin' to sell. Ah don't mean ta' burden yer mind or nothin'."
"Naw Brae, it's alright. Ah needed to know. Maybe we can work somethin' out," she spoke reassuringly. Braeburn did his best to return her smile, but didn't know what it ended up looking like.
Silence filled the small room for what seemed like several minutes. All the stallion could do was fiddle with his Stetson. Eventually the door to the room opened, causing the two to turn their heads.
Braeburn's father stood in the doorway. He wore a long black vest over a deep, sand-colored coat. His gunmetal-gray mane was tied back in a thick tail under his dark, flat-brimmed cowpony hat. Upon his flank was a brass bullet, a cutie mark representing his days as a seasoned competition riflepony. Bullet Tyme looked between the two, raising his eyebrows at the sight of Applejack.
"Well look at this, Ah knew Ah heard yer voice AJ. How're ya' doin'?" Bullet Tyme greeted in his rough, haggard voice.
"Good afternoon Uncle B. Thank ya' kindly, Ah'm jus' dandy," the orange mare replied. "Granny told me to take a few days off, so Ah thought Ah'd give ya'll a visit."
"Well that's mighty good o' ya' AJ," said Bullet before casting a glance to his son. Braeburn expected a scolding for not being out in the orchard, but was surprised to hear a small snicker. "Looks like that sun really got ta' ya' son. Ya' feelin' alright?"
Braeburn suppressed a cocked eyebrow of confusion. "Uhm. Yeah, Ah'm gettin' there Pa."
"Good, 'cause Ah've got somethin' fer ya' out in the livin' room," said Bullet. "Why don't ya' come on out and see?"
"What? What for?" asked Braeburn curiously. His father laughed heartily.
"Did ya' ferget about yer birthday son? In case ya' have, it's today."
Braeburn furrowed his brow. His father was right. The stallion had completely forgotten about what day it was. The past few weeks held nothing but work, keeping his mind far too busy to keep track of the date. He wasn't the only one surprised either. Applejack wore a look of realization, clearly having forgotten as well. She gave her cousin an apologetic glance, which Braeburn returned with a forgiving smile.
"Oh yeah, Ah guess it slipped my mind," the beige cowpony replied with a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his head with a hoof.
"Well come on then," Bullet said as he gestured with a hoof.
He left the room, allowing Braeburn and Applejack to exchange a confused look. Bullet Tyme wasn't one to be so nice and forgiving about his workers nor his son being unable to buck apples, regardless of the conditions. Applejack being there hadn't deterred the stallion from scolding Braeburn openly in the past for even the smallest of mistakes. So what made him so happy today? Why wasn't he demanding his son to go outside and work?
Braeburn shook his bangs from his eyes, placing his hat atop his head once again. Applejack gave him a shrug, more or less saying, don't question it. The beige stallion slowly stepped down from his mattress, wobbling slightly from the sudden movement. He collected himself, walking out and into the living room, followed by Applejack.
The sitting room was the largest in the house, its walls lined with a plethora of family pictures, marking several generations of the Apple Family. Shelves and bookcases were packed with varying trinkets and keepsakes, mostly family heirlooms. Amongst the frames on the walls were a veritable cornucopia of blue ribbons, won by Bullet, his father and his grandfather in many shooting competitions throughout the years. The Apple Family in Ponyville had been known for Sweet Apple Acres, but in Appleloosa, they were famous for their unmatched rifle prowess. In the middle of the brown carpet stood a couch and a large sitting chair. Bullet Tyme sat in his usual recliner, leaning back in comfort. Braeburn and Applejack quietly sat on the couch across the coffee table from the middle-aged stallion.
"Now before Ah give ya' this, ya' need ta' understand what it means," Bullet started, his usual stern expression returning. "This item has been in our family fer over a hundred years, and it was yer grandpappy's wish fer you ta' have it one day. Ah think today is that day."
Braeburn's eyes widened. What was so important about this gift? The cowpony couldn't remember the last time his father gave him a present of any kind, unless he counted the seldom ten-minute break from work every now and then.
Bullet Tyme reached behind his chair, retrieving an ancient-looking black leather scabbard, a dark brown expanse of wood protruding from its end. The case was looped with a leather strap, obviously meant for carrying whatever the item was on a pony's back. He handed the long, thin scabbard to his son, a rare smile spread across his face. Braeburn took it, suddenly aware of what he was holding. With wide eyes, the stallion unsheathed his grandfather's Marechester lever-action rifle. Bullet Tyme had showed his son the old weapon many a time before during his colthood, so he was all too aware of what it had meant.
Braeburn hadn't seen the rifle in years. The old wooden stocks still bore the same glossed burgundy color, bearing very few scuffs or burrs. The gray steel barrel and receiver showed a hundred years of age, swirls of brown and silver patina giving the metal a classic, experienced appearance. Around the cartridge gate was an intricate scroll-work engraving, spiraling into the shape of an apple near the start of the barrel. The lever around the trigger had a large enough opening to accommodate a hoof to work the action and to fire the weapon. Braeburn looked to his father in pure disbelief, Applejack mirroring his expression.
"Pa...Wha...Why're you giving me this?" he asked breathlessly. "Ah've never even shot a gun before."
"Well then it's 'bout time ya' did," he said. "Yer grandpappy and his Pa before him were legendary rifleponies. Ah'm gettin' on in years, and my shootin' has been lackin'. It's high time ya' take on my family's legacy."
"But Pa," Braeburn said. "Ah'm not a pony meant fer holdin' a gun. Ah appreciate the hay outta this, but Ah'm a farmer, not a shooter. Ah know ya' wanna keep competition shootin' in the family but..."
"Ah knew that you'd say that," his father replied with a grin. "Ah'll tell ya' what. You go out back and shoot that rifle, and then make yer decision. If ya' still don't like the idea after that, then that's yer choice."
Braeburn looked to his cousin, whom had kept uncharacteristically quiet during the entire exchange. Applejack nodded her head quickly, silently urging him to comply. The cowpony looked back to the rifle in his forehooves. The gun was indeed his family's legacy, having been hoofed down through three generations of competition shooters. However, Braeburn couldn't find himself accepting it. He knew that the rifle was only ever used for target shooting and sport, but it was still a weapon meant for killing, something he wasn't especially fond of. Although, on the other hoof, what could be so wrong about just firing off one shot, if only to satisfy his father? Bullet did deserve that, having been generous enough to part with the old Marechester.
"Ah guess it wouldn't be a problem," Braeburn admitted. His father grinned once more.
"Well good. Meet me in the range out back."
Bullet Tyme had built an addition to the barn a couple of years ago. The back door led to a long gun range for practicing his shots. Several paper targets had been set up at varying distances. Some stood at the other end of the barn at roughly a hundred feet, some closer to three yards, and a few in between. Before the range was a long table, bearing three other, less meaningful rifles with boxes of ammunition next to them. Braeburn gave his cousin an awkward glance.
"Ah don't know about this," he whispered to Applejack.
"Just humor yer Pa Cuz," the orange mare whispered back. "You know what that rifle means to him."
The three approached the bench, and the beige stallion unsheathed the weapon from his back, laying it across its surface. Bullet Tyme dumped a box of ammunition out, the brass cartridges rolling across the table. He picked up the rifle and slid five of the rounds through the small black gate on the side of the receiver. He handed the weapon to his son, giving him a small smile.
"Fire away boy."
Braeburn did his best to smile, taking the gun into his forehooves. He had watched his father fire the weapon a multitude of times in the past, so he knew how to operate it. The stallion regretfully racked the lever, watching as a single cartridge entered the chamber with a click. The feeling of the action was unexpectedly gratifying. Braeburn stood on his hindhooves, leaning his elbows on the bench. As his father instructed, he lined up the iron sights on the ends of the barrel and the receiver with the closest target. The weight of the gun was difficult to hold steady, his forelegs not used to wielding any sort of weapon. He rested the butt of the stock against his shoulder, bracing himself.
"Now right before ya' fire, breathe out yer nose. It'll steady yer aim," Bullet Tyme said quietly. He heard Applejack hold her breath behind him, but paid no more attention to it.
The cowpony took his father's advice, taking in a deep breath before pulling the trigger with his left hoof. The ancient rifle barked with a resounding bang. The recoil threw his shoulder back with ease, the shock wave making the concrete tremble beneath their hooves. Despite the ringing in his ears, Braeburn felt his eyes widen with delight. A rush of adrenaline flowed through his mind, causing an insane grin to spread across his face. The feeling was amazing. Suddenly all of his worries and doubts about the farm were simply gone, replaced by pure elation as he saw a hole breach the exact center of the target.
The stallion wasted no time in racking the action again, ejecting a smoldering shell and immediately lining his shot upon the next target. As quick as the sights fell into the center of the circle, another bark erupted from the rifle, placing a neat hole in its mark. Soon the last three rounds were fired off in quick succession, Braeburn racking the lever and pulling the trigger as fast as he could line up each shot. The brass shells clinked against the concrete floor, almost unheard by the beige cowpony. Once all five bullets had fired through their respective targets, Braeburn exhaled, his heart fluttering with excitement. Bullet Tyme barked out a laugh of pride beside him.
"WOO-EE!" he exclaimed. "Son, that was amazin'!"
"Braeburn, how did ya' do that?!" Applejack gasped from behind him. The beige stallion slowly placed the rifle on the bench in front of him. He couldn't find an answer to his cousin's question.
How did he just do that?
Braeburn had never even touched a weapon of any kind before, and yet he just punched a hole dead in the center of five targets, the last one being at the very far end of the range. Bullet took notice of his son's bewilderment, giving him a playful hit to the shoulder with a hoof.
"What'd Ah tell ya' Braeburn? Shootin's in yer blood! And don't even try ta' say you didn't enjoy the hay outta that."
Braeburn turned his head, giving his father a bright smile.
"Okay, maybe Ah was wrong about it," he admitted. "Ah guess if it's only sheets o' paper, then it can't be all that bad."
"That was the point boy," Bullet chuckled. Braeburn had never seen his father so happy before, and it brought a deep sense of pride to his heart. The beige stallion smiled as he received a brief one-hoofed hug around his neck. "Don't worry 'bout the apples today son. Ya' got family visiting. Take the day off."
With that Bullet Tyme left the range, closing the door behind him. Braeburn and Applejack exchanged a look of shock. His father gave him the day off? The stallion had never been granted such a reward from Bullet Tyme. It was simply not an option in the middle-aged stallion's book.
"Whoa," the orange mare exhaled. "You really made his day. Who knew you were such a desperado."
Braeburn shared a laugh with his cousin. He looked back to the rifle, grazing a hoof over its flawless, hundred-year-old wooden stocks. Now he realized why the weapon had such an odd name. His great-grandfather had called it Thumper. Braeburn guessed that it was due to the rifle's enormous, ground-breaking thump that it sent through the floor.
"So AJ, how have things been in Ponyville?" he asked, more to fill the silence than anything.
"Ah wouldn't rightly know. Ah've been workin' every day fer weeks before Ah came here."
"You and Big Macintosh had any help at least?"
"Well kinda," Applejack said, rolling her eyes. "My friend Rainbow Dash actually volunteered to help buck the apples. She ain't too good at it though."
Braeburn cocked an eyebrow, remembering Applejack's description of the cyan pegasus. "Didn't you say she was...well, lazy?"
"Yeah, Ah thought it was odd," she said with a hoof to her chin. "She was mighty eager about it too. Eh, who knows with that mare. Anyway, lemme try that rifle. It sure did look like fun."
"O' course Cuz. See if you can beat me," Braeburn grinned.
"Oh so that's how it is huh? Well gimme a few tries and Ah'll do ya' one better!"
Applejack took up the weapon after haphazardly shoving a few shells into the cartridge gate. "Oh, and happy birthday Cuz."
Braeburn smiled, relieved that he could spend a simple, relaxing day with family.
A hoof rapped on the front door, causing Bullet Tyme to raise his eyes from his newspaper. The stallion tipped his flat-brimmed Stetson back, groaning as he slowly ascended from his overwhelmingly-comfortable sitting chair. Another impatient knock resounded on the old wood. He grunted, stepping over to the door and opening it.
On the other side of the threshold stood a pegasus mare with a coat the color of sandstone. She wore a black traveling cloak, draped around her shoulders and falling at her hooves. On her back was a pair of saddlebags, obscuring her odd-looking cutie mark. The mare's head bore a mane of six different shades of gray, her bangs swayed over a pair of bright, magenta eyes. Bullet Tyme gave the pegasus an odd look, attempting to take in her appearance. The mare looked up to him with a polite smile.
"Hello sir. I am to understand that a stallion named Braeburn lives here?"
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Quite good, if I do say so myself. I've always had a bit of a soft spot for westerns and adventure stories, but you've combined the two, so it seems. Excellently written - couldnt find a single typo! I sincerely hope this gets more attention, because I feel it'd definitely be worth the time of whoever reads it.
Alright, you've definitely caught my attention. Fantastically written! I can't wait to see where you go with this!
Ohhh this is so exciting I can't wait ta see what ya come up with!
Wow...bad ass Braeburn, that's a first. Trouble comes a knockin' and he'll be there to blow its damn head off.
He's like Chuck Norris
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peace Out
Very cool. I could see Breaburn placing buckets under the apple trees and shooting off the good fruit.
I have one complaint. ONE. COMPLAINT.
Marechester rifle? Really? That's a bit weak. It's meant to be like a Winchester rifle, correct? Well, why not call it a Whinnychester rifle?
But anyway, I loved it apart from that.
A western?
I fricking love westerns!
Awesome concept for a fanfic, whered you get the idea?
Humm...
For got his birthday, given a gift that has been in his family for generations, sounds a bit familiar.....
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Anyone?
I really like how this has started, I believe I will be reading it next.
Bullet Tyme?
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674731
Clever!
First time reading. I put it off long enough. I'm glad I finally got to it.
Absolute first thing I thought of when I saw the chapter title.
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Definitely liking it so far.
Interesting thus far. I'll have to read more of this.
At least her mane isn't forty shades of gray
2094535 You mean fifty shades of gray.
Pony's got a gun!
Let's see where this is going.
ok i love it so far
Celestia
Wat r u doin?
Celestia
STAHP
...Anyway, this looks really good. Looking forward to reading it.
I'm a Little late to the party and I've only read up to the third chapter, But I say it'll all turn out to be a dream.
Treasure in the west?
I think you mean affect, unless you've got some time-shenanigans going on.
1505602 That seems like an excellent way to end up with mashed testicles.
455595 I was expecting Big Macintosh to walk up behind him with a 5 inch gun strapped to his back.
I am intrigued so far, but I've always found it odd how people depict ponies using tools and weapons clearly designed with humans (or at least bipeds with hands) in mind.