Enjoy Your Stay In Beautiful Appaloosa!
Chapter 2
Enjoy Your Stay in Beautiful Appaloosa!
William moaned as he hauled himself to his knees. He was thankful that the kick landed in his gut- it hurt like the devil, and even a slight tensing of his abdominal muscles elicited a sharp slice of pain but unlike the beating he took from his own horse nothing seemed to be broken. Granted there was nothing down there to break, but he didn’t enjoy the idea of another shard shanking his innards every time he moved.
And he supposed it could have been worse. Far, far worse. If the horse had kicked a foot lower, well… he would have finally given up on the dream of having a son.
Broken or no, he was again rendered useless. His body hadn’t started calling out for the medicine yet, but the pain from the hoof had pierced through the haze. Oh well. With town this close, surely a doctor or apothecary would be found. He could afford to take another dose a little early.
He remembered the cart, piled high with the glossy red orbs. He couldn’t remember the last time he had tasted apples. Surely he had eaten some back in Georgia, but he couldn’t pin down precisely when. He hadn’t even SEEN an apple since Pa moved everyone out to the territory. The dry desert heat didn’t exactly help the watery fruits flourish.
He pounced, juice erupting into his mouth. The delicious flavor wrapped around his tongue, washing down his throat and satiating his thirst while the meat filled his stomach. For the first time since the chase he felt full, strong, and hydrated. With the pain all but gone and a reasonably full stomach, the distant town seemed nearer.
He smiled.
He wasn’t going to wait until tomorrow, and he wouldn’t have to break into anyone’s house. Surely a mark of improving luck. He shoveled several more apples into his bags and tightened his crumpled hat. The toes of his boots flung small columns of dust against his ankles as he trudged along the path.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
William leaned against the sign as he mindlessly chewed on an apple, inspecting the empty town. The buildings appeared well-maintained, though the subtle chipping of the slowly fading paint and the slight coating of dust and sand that permeated the street betrayed their age.
The town was unexceptional. In most regards, it was indistinguishable from every other small railroad town in the territory. A wide, sandy street divided two rough rows of buildings. Most appeared to be the standard strain of flat-roofed wooden shops, large arches rising towards the street denoting their purpose. Across the town from were William stood towered the violent ridges of a sheer cliff. Cliffwards, one structure clawed towards the evening sky, skinny walls and a sharp peaked roof visible from any point in the quaint settlement. William took it as a steeple. While outposts this small usually just used an available one room building, (when they bothered with a church at all) steeples weren’t unknown in more religious areas.
Behind the shops rose a smattering of small houses. Rough trails connected several, all casually feeding into the street like a tributary melding into a river. Between the town and the fields of cotton grew a small collection of apple trees. They thoroughly confounded the Ranger. It had been strange enough to find fresh apples; those trees shouldn’t have been possible.
William tossed the stripped core aside, the rubbish rolling to a stop near the second forsaken vial. He plucked his rifle from where it rested against the sign, grasped it loosely ahead of the lever, and stepped into the town. His attention flicked between the signs, to no avail. He figured that it had been established by some foreign steel-drivers or similar. Every phrase was painted in some kind of script, the origins of which he hadn’t a hope of guessing.
William scanned the windows and doorways as he passed each building. The town was completely still. Normally, William would assume he had stumbled upon a ghost town and move along. But William couldn’t shake the nagging incongruities. Outside several shops, horseless carts rested. They were few but none were empty, none unkempt. On the stoop of one shop a spotless hat hung, swinging slightly on its hook in the breeze. Each porch seemed clean, save for paths of dust trailing from the street towards the doors.
Nowhere did William see a single water trough. No hitching posts. Not even a hint of droppings.
William stopped, head swiveling, as he monitored the structures. A flicker of motion caught his eye when a shutter slowly inched forward, a dark shape shifting beyond the crack. The shutter froze as William stared and swiftly flew back into position. William sighed. This was not completely unexpected. Settlements near Indian territory, or full of criminals of one breed or another, were usually fairly suspicious of newcomers.
William slung the Winchester over his back, rested his palm on his .44, and moved to approach the window. He quickly pivoted towards a large building on the other side of the street as he neared the door, a shrill woman’s scream filling the town.
He rushed to the entrance and flattened himself against the exterior wall, trying to peak into the window. No such luck. He set the rifle against the door frame. His hands scrambled at the slipshod knot in his improvised belt, finally loosening the rope and depositing his cargo with a weighty thud. He drew his gun, and prepared to go through the door.
“‘uhmon, ‘uhmon. I don’ want to hurts’ nopony.”
William paused, his hand resting on the door’s rough, unfinished surface. Nopony?
“Jes gives’ me you’s bits. All o’ ‘em.”
The clattering of coins rang out as ‘bits’ spilled into a canvas bag.
“Hehe. Dah gems, too.” An audible smacking of lips and slurping of a tongue could be heard from the tavern. “I wants’ dah gems.”
More clattering.
It was clear to William what was happening. Why the ruffian hadn’t hit a bank was anybody’s guess, but a robbery was afoot. Normally, William would be all too eager to go in guns blazing, but he was instantly tempered when he recalled how he had been summoned. Even now, he could hear the faint nervous tittering of womenfolk. As far as he could tell, the varmint hadn’t shot anybody- better to wait until he came out.
“Git, git. ‘Uhmon. ‘Erepony to dah back.”
William couldn’t believe his luck as a clattering of boots resounded, the porch itself vibrating as the patrons filtered into a crowded stockroom. The robber began to giggle as William heard the jingle of a cash box. Cupboards opened and closed, the thief clearly rifling, seeking out every valuable.
William stretched his gun toward the door, the deadly steel tapping against the surface as he slowly pushed through. He crept into the tavern, taking care to avoid the few tables and stools that had been tossed carelessly around. He crossed his feet as he slunk towards the bar, the large heels of his boots producing a muffled crack with every step. The thief, focused on his task, took no notice as William drew near.
William smiled. It had been a very poor few days, and he didn’t need to kill this man. He reminisced about his scrappy days as a cowpoke, before he donned the silver star. He had been quite the pugilist when he was younger. He hadn’t had much practice lately, either. Once he wore the star, the meaningless fights had died out. When he fought, it usually involved the flash of powder.
William, still focused on dodging discarded furniture, found the opening of his holster with the .44’s barrel. He released the hammer, and snapped the weapon into place. He passed a table that had avoided the violence which had twisted its brothers, abandoned cards strewn about the surface. A large bottle nearly quarter full of a glistening amber liquid stood near the center. He reached out, seized the dirty glass, and gulped. His throat burned as he felt the fire travel to his stomach. His pain was forgotten, his injuries an afterthought. He felt alive.
He drew the bottle to his lips once more when he finally caught a good look at the thief. The bottle froze, kissing his lip and itching his mustache. He stared.
It had to have been a freak, a mutant. No normal person looked like that. Maybe a carny? Perhaps that freak horse from earlier had been his steed? The man was frightfully bizarre. His skin was a sickly, ashen grey. He had short, skinny legs, horribly disfigured and unnaturally bent. It was, frankly, a miracle that he could even walk. He was topped by a stout skull, ginger hair contrasting painfully with the grey skin. A strip of red around his neck betrayed the bandanna obscuring his face.
His arms… William’s hand twitched, almost ready to change course and go for his gun. His arms stretched nearly to the floor, each pipe almost as thick as his torso, each hand nearly the size of William’s cranium.
William shook his head. Surely the thief was a freak, but no one was THAT much a mutant. He must have taken a bit too much of the tooth medicine. He tipped the bottle back and chugged down what fire was left, grimacing. As soon as he found a doc he’d get fixed up. Then he wouldn’t have to take any more of the nasty stuff. He removed his hat, gently placing it where the bottle had rested, and confidently walked behind the cretin.
As the freak began to whistle a tune, William leaned forward.
He buried his knee into the small of the mutant’s back.
The robber yelped as he bent. His legs gave out, and he fell heavily to his bastardization of knees. His head spun as he desperately scanned the room, seeking out his sudden attacker. The bottle held high in Williams hand shone brightly,reflecting rays of sunlight pouring through the open doorway across the filthy room.
William grunted with the effort, wrenching his arm downwards. The glass shattered against the back of the robber’s skull, ragged edges tearing deep red lanes from his scalp as momentum carried the jagged bottle through the stunned criminal’s flesh.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Sheriff Silverstar sauntered into the sunlight from the confines of the Appaloosa Jail. He had made sure to leave the heavy iron door of the building’s only cell wide open, already certain that it would be occupied for a short time.
The day had been taxing for Silverstar. He was a stallion of action- when troublemakers were ahoof, or thieves needed a good punishment, he was all too eager to jump into the fray. When he couldn’t do that, he preferred things to be quiet. He liked everypony in town fine, and had a cordial relationship with all, but his heart was with the town, not with the ponies who came to him to complain over the slightest annoyance.
And that day had been one of complaints. He had been dealing with Big Mac from the moment he stepped into the jail early that morning. The stallion wouldn’t stop blubbering about the giant monster larger than he who had tried to mount him while sleeping. Homosexual monsters aside, Silverstar couldn’t understand what Mac expected of him. Mac had supposedly bucked it good and hard; surely, it had been scared off. Nopony else had seen it around.
If only that were true.
His office had grown increasingly cluttered as a steady stream of townsponies filtered in, all apparently on the verge of panic. Supposedly, a fearful monster was approaching the town. Nopony had ever seen anything like it. What he thought he could simply blow off was quickly spiraling into his own personal worst case scenario; detective work. He hated that part of the job more than anything. He craved an obvious bad guy; a split second of action, a scoundrel dragged to stew in jail.
So Silverstar had spent most of his day taking reports, preparing an inquisitive letter for the government. The monster hadn’t ransacked anything or destroyed the town, so he hadn’t yet tried to directly pursue it. As he took each ponies statement, his frustration mounted. None of them appeared to have actually seen the beast- Mac must have told them his tale, and they just ran with it. Several of the ponies draining the last free inch of his office space seemed to have been caught in the tide of panic, key parts of their stories altering wildly as rumors filled the air. Some were obviously unrelated- he swore at some point he heard an older mare yelling at him about why kids shouldn’t be allowed to eat grapes. Some were obviously fictitious- not only had the beast been stalking about, prowling for ponies, but he was draped in the carcass’ of his past victims.
Silverstar couldn’t wait until he could usher all of these ponies out of his jail, and crack open the locked drawer in his desk. His ears twitched slightly. His head began to pound.
Luckily for him, yet another horrified mare galloped into the jail. She had just escaped from the tavern, she said, and Buster was robbing the place.
As soon as the words had left her muzzle, all conversation cut out. The crowd stared at each other, wide eyed, the revelation slowly processing. The next instant all had forgotten the supposed monster and begun shrieking and galloping in all directions, intent on locking themselves into their homes until the danger had passed.
Silver Star nearly clambered onto his desk, prostrated, and began praying to Celestia. After providing this respite, Buster might as well be his new best friend. Maybe he’d shorten the dog’s sentence a day or two.
Silver Star leisurely strolled towards the tavern. He already knew how this would play out; he had plenty of experience with Buster’s antics. Buster had established himself as a nearly biweekly entity in Appaloosa. Everyone knew his routine. Honestly, Silver Star thought they all only pretended to panic whenever he appeared, as a sort of cultural tradition.
Every other week Buster would show up and try to rob something. He never succeeded. Last time Silverstar checked, Buster had in fact become a net positive for the town.
About a month ago, he had tried to rob the town bank. Instead of making off with any bits, he somehow accidentally managed to open an account and deposit several dozen of his own gems. If his ‘crimes’ didn’t factor into the amount of funding the town was allotted for ‘beautification’ and ‘safety’ by the Crown Sisters, he probably wouldn’t bother arresting Buster. Just yelling at him a little to make sure he knew he had been bad seemed to pacify him.
The Sheriff approached the bar, buffing his star as he climbed from the street. He barely noticed the pile of belongings that somepony had abandoned near the door frame- sure, there were more than usual, but it was all too common for travelers to come through town.
He snuck a glance at his reflection. Satisfied that his mustache was in order, he prepared to trod through the open doorway as shards of glass and chunks of wood and a rag-doll body erupted into the street.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
The bastard was more resilient than William had anticipated. He had hardly known a man who stay awake, let alone fight, after taking a bottle to the head.
The freak seemed to be running on nothing other than pain and rage. His eyes flashed across the room, pupils dilating intermittently, seeing but not processing. When William dropped the bottle to the ground the freak spun, William only barely managing to sidestep his wildly flailing counterattack. William broke into a grin. Long forgotten instincts surged through his body as he deftly evaded the blind rage of the robber, swiftly stepping through the punches and landing a few of his own.
This only seemed to provoke the man further, his attacks increasing in intensity and directionlessness. William almost thought that the whole thing was too easy.
Then he ran into the counter. As the sharp edge dug into his side, his attention flicked away from his target for only a fraction of a second, which was ample time for one of the unguided barrage to land.
The criminal may not have been aware of what was going on- he may have been a freak, may have been a headcase, may have been totally untrained. But when those Goliath arms hit, they hit.
William staggered. His head snapped to the side, his chin digging into his right shoulder. He felt a distinct pop as his jaw dislocated, tasted a powerful copper as blood poured around his teeth. He stumbled into the wall, spitting the enamel to the floor as he rapidly blinked, struggling to pierce through the sudden daze.
The freak, who had again been swinging into empty air, finally realized the general direction of his attacker. With a snarl that was a pure manifestation of rage and anguish, he barreled toward William.
At the last moment William spun, the pain in his jaw forgotten, and shot out his foot. The man’s eyes widen in shock as he stumble and began to trip, loosing his footing. As his over-sized torso pulled him back, he was flung towards the wall by William’s mighty upper right.
He was bodily flung into the large, boarded-up window, which quickly gave way to his surprising mass. A ear-splitting shatter filled the bar, followed by a faint tinkling as individual shards rolled from the windowsill to the rubble below. The thief flipped through the opening, spilling onto the porch and rolling into the street. Shocking William yet again, the miscreant still hadn’t fallen. His arms pushed slowly through the dust in a vane effort to crawl away from his crime, a slight pitiful moan spilling from his lips.
William rose, and grabbed a full bottle from the bar. Clearly the last one hadn’t been heavy enough. He raised his boot and stepped over the windowsill, trodding quickly down the porch steps and into the street. So focused was he on his prey that he hardly noticed the short horse in a ten gallon hat standing slack jawed at the tavern entrance. He tried to call out, to demand the thief’s surrender, to ascertain the man’s identity.
A sharp pain sliced into him as he struggled to open his mouth, muscles straining against sockets positioned in ungodly ways.
He grimaced. Now he really had to find a doctor.
He grabbed the man, who tensed at his touch. He battered weakly at the Ranger, all his strength sapped by the violent exit. Without preamble William brought the bottle against the criminal’s temple. This time, the blessed glass didn’t break. The impact wrenched the vessel from Williams grasp. The thief breathed roughly as his eyes spilled back into his head and he fell totally limp. William let his hand fall loose, and the man spilled to rest in the street.
William turned him over and fumbled to wrap his hands in thick rope. He wished he had brought a set of irons. They were heavy and loud and given the gang's reputation he hadn't expected to need them, but they would have been much easier. He’d have to get the feet later. Or find the local sheriff, and have him secured. William turned the man again, his restrained form significantly easier to maneuver than it had been with splayed arms. William rested him on his side, and motioned to move the cover from the man’s face. William tenderly brushed his jaw, the adrenaline beginning to wear off.
All thoughts of his condition fled as the bandanna slipped. Bent limbs, he understood. A bulking build, he had seen. Strange discoloration? Disease will do that. The man’s face? Not possible. It was purely animalistic. Beyond the color and size, it was totally indistinguishable from the head of a terrier. The thing's splayed mouth and lolling tongue revealed its' sharp row of brutal incisors.
“What in the hel-”
William’s eyes went wide and he spilled forward, settling in the dust beside his captive.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Sheriff Silverstar lowered his hind legs, having delivered a buck even his grandaddy would have been proud of. He shoved the monster off of Buster, barely giving it a second glance as he took in the damage. Buster’s eye was swollen, his scalp torn on his temple. Blood coagulated as it mixed with particles of road where it spilled, running in rivulets from the tattered back of his head.
The Sheriff gulped. He had seen monster attacks, sure, but nothing this… brutal. The monster was usually content to terrify a citizen or burn down a building or steal someone else’s food… he had never actually seen the aftermath of one driven to hurt.
Worse, he wasn’t sure it was a monster. He had only given it a sidelong glance, but it seemed to be wearing some strange kind of clothing, and had obviously known about basic knots.
He took in Buster’s wounds once again as the dog began to shudder, and his breathing grew rough. Silverstar tore himself from the scene and rushed into the bar. Wrenching open the back room, he found the ponies helping themselves to some of the stock. He desperately cried towards the owner “Go get the doctor!” before leading the rest of the herd from the building.
The town kicked into motion, ponies scrambling to get Buster help. Silverstar practically had to fight them off as they crowded the beloved ne'er-do-well. As the medical cart raced away the worried masses trailed behind, leaving him alone with his Deputy and the monster.
“What is it, Sheriff?” he asked.
“I don’t rightly know, Overreach.”
He glanced pointedly at the belongings piled high beside the establishment’s door.
“Overreach, that’s its' things. I do believe that old hat inside is its' too.”
“Sheriff?”
“Bring ‘em to jail. Crown’ll probably want 'em.”
Overreach nodded, bounding off to commandeer a local carriage for his task. Silverstar strained, routing his muzzle through his saddlebags until his teeth grasped a sturdy piece of rope. He expertly bound all the monster’s legs, then bound each pair together. He had no idea just how strong this thing was- if it woke up, there was no telling what it would do. All he had to do was get it behind iron bars. He was thankful that the monster was so (relatively) small. He had been forced to restrain a wounded Ursa Minor once- that was a challenge. But if it fit in the cage, it stayed in the cage, and it wouldn’t be getting out. All the Sheriff had to do was keep it there for a week or two, until the Royal Guard Natural Protection Unit could come and take it to who knows where.
He hoped it was somewhere safe. He didn’t know exactly what happened to monsters. He hoped they were placed in a sanctuary, or allowed to be studied comfortably. He didn’t hate the monsters, and punishing them- or killing them- for following their nature… it wouldn’t be justice. He looked again at the monster before him. He looked at its' clothes, its' hat, its' bags. He thought of what it had done to Buster. Maybe the fate of monsters wasn’t so important.
Silverstar gave each knot an experimental tug. Overreach loaded its’ belongings into a cart he had sourced from a nearby cottage. There was something peculiar about its’ clothes, something he couldn’t quite place. He inspected its’ feet. Scales. Scales, like those of a dragon or an armadillo or an alligator. The creature seemed to have almost reptilian skin around its hind legs. The other possibility was too sickening to contemplate.
Still, Silverstar felt uncertainty wriggling in his mind. He couldn’t shake an unnerving feeling about the things’ clothes. Again, he focused on its' midsection, cautiously rubbing his hoof against the material.
Silverstar stumbled rearwards, gasping, as a memory blossomed. It had been about 16 moons ago, in the dead of summer. An old cow from the settlement a few miles south had somehow wandered off, and no one knew where she had gone. An old lady, during the hottest weeks of the year, would be downright dangerous. Her family rushed around, quickly making contact with each town, summoning aid for the hunt.
Silverstar was a deputy then- he wouldn't ascend to Sheriff for another 4 moons. His face was still clean-shaven, his status not yet granting him that one beautiful mark. He was paired with the current Sheriff, exploring recently-discovered tracks, searching for the missing elder.
They found her six days after the hunt had begun. She had broken her legs when she fell down a shallow ravine. Dehydration took care of the rest within the day. The stream which had cut the chasm ran not ten feet from her, near but impossibly far away from the crippled old girl. She had been left to bake beneath the sun for the rest of the week.
By time they found her, she was little more than skin and bones. Silverstar remembered her skin. Melting beneath the desert sun, the fur quickly fell out, and the flesh had hardened and tightened.
Queasy, he looked again at the beast. It was unmistakable. The same pattern, the same feeling. It was a bit different color, and it sung of processing, but he had no doubt.
Whatever this thing was, it wore on its' back the pelt of several cows.
He gagged, choking down the bile that rose in his throat.
“Overreach!”
The deputy bounded over.
“Send an E1 letter direct to the Crown. Tell ‘em… tell ‘em it’s bizarre. Then run along- get everypony gathered. I’m deputizing ‘em all. We’ve got to go see if there’ve been any missing cows recently.”
Overreach spat the pen from his mouth as he finished his notes. He quickly read them back, ensuring that he understood. Overreach visibly paled as realization swept through him.
“Is- Is it wearing…”
“Yes. We need the Princesses.”
Overreach nodded, and rode hard for the post office.
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Wait so does he have broken ribs or not? Because that’s seems important.
This story looks great!
9659966
I'll get into it more next chapter, but probably a hairline fracture. I've got to do some fiddling with these first two to make it more clear. Broken ribs are weird to begin with because basically the only way for them to heal is to leave them alone. Anyway they also heal pretty quick. So between his little developing habit, the liquor, and the days to heal, while it would certainly be hurting in the morning intoxication and adrenaline would probably cut it away in the moment.
It is a potential plot hole I'm going to be sure to fill though.
Thanks for reading
Hoo boy, wearing leather in Equestria. That's not going to end well for a while.
Cool chapter, keep it up