A Tale of the West: The Marizona Ranger

by DarkParable

Rating: teen
Tags: Braeburn, Big Macintosh, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Alternate Universe, Applejack, Original Character
Length: 2919

A retelling of the events outlined in Marty Robin's Big Iron with a pony flare.

In the town of Appleoosa lives an outlaw by the name of Big Red, well know for being a vicious and ruthless gunpony. Twenty notches adorn the worn handle of his pistol. Twenty one may just be the orange coated Marizona ranger with the big iron on her hip.... (Yes I'm aware, those are flanks... It dosen't sound as good saying big iron on her flanks though.)

Parable (yes me) appears as the undertaker... Just cuz I can.

Rated teen for some minor violence and language.

The credit for the cover art goes to I-AM-KNOT

Published 2013-10-11 15:50:02 UTC
Last updated 2013-12-27 22:51:36 UTC

Came a Stranger One Fine Day

The sun hung, hot and oppressive, over the desert-like scrub studded plans of western Equestria. The air shimmered slightly with the heat, a heat that the long time residents of the small town of Appleoosa barely noticed any more. For them, and for any other westerner, this was a damn fine day to be alive.

Sure, the ambient temperature was comparable to an oven, sun burns were highly likely, and there wasn't an AC unit to be found for a good many miles. It was a good day all the same. The reason for this however had to do with the fact that the local villain was no where near town at the moment. Big Red wasn't there to dampen everypony's spirits like some kind of dark cloud over their collective parade.

The local town-lead, Braeburn, was damn near close to calling it a holiday. Felt enough like one to know that nopony'd be dying today at the hooves of the aptly named outlaw. It was of course right then and there that Murphy decided he'd be bucking up the fine day with extreme prejudice.

To the town of Appleoosa came a strange this fine day, the winds whipping her leather duster about and exposing the handle, a well warn handle, of a rather large pistol at her side. She came plodding slowly, head down slightly and her wide brimmed hat shading much of her face. The first to spot her frowned slightly at the sight but trotted out to say hello all the same.

"Howdy pardner. Wel'cum tah Appleoosa. What brings ya 'round these here parts?" came the question from the local doctor.

The only answer was silence and a disinterested glance from the stranger. A silence that persisted for several long moments, moments that would've had the Doc sweating bullets were he not already doing so due to the heat. Finally she spoke up, accent thick and voice pitched low. "Bet'ness..." was all she said.

Up close as she was now, more of this stranger was available for the cautiously curious eyes of her welcome wagon. From the lack of any bulges or wing holes in (or under) her coat and lack of a horn the strange mare could only be an earth pony. Nothin' strange there really. Her dusty coat was an orange color stained darker by days obviously spent on the road. That brief glance from the stranger had shown her eyes to be a brilliant emerald color. It was those eyes what gave the doc pause though. They were the eyes of somepony who walked with a purpose that would never been set aside for anything. The kind that no matter how soft the gaze they gave you, you could always see the steel behind them.

Stumbling over his words, the doc managed to get his next question out, unsettled by what he'd glimpsed in that brief eye contact. "Peaceful kinda business ah hope?"

"...Depends..." came the response as the stranger kept right on walking into town. She obviously didn't have too much to say.

Frowning slightly, the doc let her go. Answers from her seemed akin to blood from a stone... And he had a heat stroke to go treat... Namely the one he was working up to right then and there.

A day had passed since the stranger'd come to town. A day since she'd disappeared into the well kept rest house that the town prided itself on. A day that had allowed rumors to spread like wild fire throughout the town. Of course the doc's the one who started most of them.

"Bet she's one of them big name outlaw ponies, ya know, tha train robbin' kinda outlaw." was his theory, one he happily shared.

"Naw cos, I bet'cha fiddy bits she some kinda small time bandit what's lookin' tah get her hooves on summat out this'a way." was another popular rumor flying about at the moment.

"Well, did'ja see that duster? 'At was leather or Imma mule! She must be some kinda murderer what skins all 'er kills and wears 'em round like 'at pink monster we dun heard 'bout las' year." Came the opinion of the local drunk (who just so happened to be a mule.)

No matter what the truth really was, one thing was agreed upon by all, even the rather eccentric undertaker. That was that, whatever her business in town was, it revolved around her firearm. It was the kind of business that took their good day and made it just another day in the hell hole of a desert in which they lived. The business only done with the big iron at her hip.

Meanwhile, not too far off, there sat a massive red stallion who gazed down at his target with a faint smile on his face. At his side was a pistol with a notched grip and the words, "Widow maker" carved into it. Calmly this stallion got to his hooves and walked calmly to the farmstead he'd been watching not a moment before. As he walked he silently counted to himself, already mentally adding the next three notches to his pistol's grip... That'd make an even twenty he'd put in the ground. That suited Big Red just fine...

To the town of appleoosa came a stranger one fine day
Hardly spoke to folks 'round her, didn't have too much 'ta say.
Just one dared ask her business, though his wits gave him a slip.
That stranger there among the town wore a big iron on her hip.

T'were about mid-afternoon when she trotted into town,
steely eyes slowly lookin' all 'round.
"She's an outlaw, loose and runnin'" came a whisper from each lip.
"Here to do some business with that iron on her hip."

Softly the voice of the undertaker rang out as he sat at his work. The white pegasus was busy carefully shaping a large coffin out of the best quality apple wood he had... Somepony was going to be needing it real soon after all.

Author's Note

Eeyup, rewriting the lyrics to suit the pony... Lemme know what ya think fellas. This fic'll be four chapters long, Two verses will be covered per chapter, so while this won't be all that long I hope you all enjoy it and get a bit of a kick in the head outa this.

The Stranger Started Talkin'

In this town there lived an outlaw by the name of Big Red, and damn was he a ruthless son of a whorse. As long as anypony cared to remember he'd been raising cane in Appleoosa, ever since the day he breezed into town and shot ole' Sheriff Silver Star dead. No rhyme, no reason, just a bullet to the head and the town was Red's to do with as he pleased. Since that day he'd added sixteen more notches to his pistol. One for each kill. No one knew who the first three belonged to though, but they could certainly give name to the others. Not that they would, most of those wounds were still fresh on their hearts.

It should be no surprise then that eventually, after a day of nervous pacing, Breaburn had come to a decision to confront the stranger who'd came strolling into town with a gun worn brazenly on her side and nary a word to anypony. Now despite what one might think, Breaburn wasn't a stallion who liked to sit idle, or to even think too long and hard on most issues, but this was something that concerned not just him, but the entire town. For all he knew this mare could be the next Big Red, and that warranted caution. Caution and a hefty amount of hard cider before he even considered meeting with her.

Sitting alone in a corner of the local saloon was the stranger, nursing a glass of water and keeping her own counsel. Not that she really needed to try too hard to do that. Nopony'd come near her for fear of her doing something violent. She couldn't really blame them for that really, not every day you have somepony breeze into town looking like they were ready to put a bullet in you. That thought drew a small amused snort from her and sent a near by patron scrambling for cover under his table in fear.

It took her a bit by surprise when somepony decided to join her at her own little table, and from the smell of it somepony who really enjoyed being pickled. "Summat ah can help ya wit'?" she asked calmly, looking up at the stranger from under the brim of her hat.

Breaburn gulped softly, the piercing emerald gaze of the stranger made his throat go suddenly dry despite his earlier attempts to drown himself in a cider barrel. How could a pony look so scary with nothing but a little cast shadow and a pair of green eyes? Swallowing his nervousness he spoke up finally, stumbling and slurring just a little. Quite the politician, eh?

"Ah'm Breaburn... Tha headpony of this here town. Ah need to know just who ya are an' what yer doin' here." His sentence ended in a soft little hiccough*.

She chuckled a moment before she replied, pushing her hat back a bit so she could look him dead in the eye. "Ah'm Applejack. As fer what ah'm here fer, I take it ya know just who Big Red is? Ah should hope ya do considerin' all tha trouble he's been causin' round these parts. Ah'm here to take him back to Marizona, either live or dead, don' matter much tah me."

The silence that followed these words was tangible. Hell or highwater, I'm willing to bet you coulda cut it with a knife if you'd been so inclined, that's how thick it was. After a good three minutes of that utter lack of sound (not even so much as a cricket dared say a thing) most ponies burst out laughing, cryin', and carryin' on. Apparently that was one of the funniest things they'd ever heard.

Breaburn was one of the few not laughing his head off, no. Instead he managed to keep a pretty serious face as he gave a sigh of relief. "Well miss Applejack, ah can't really recommend ya try that, but ah ain't gonna stop ya. Might ah ask just why you wanna throw yer life away like that though? Pretty mare like yerself'd probably be happier livin' out in Canterlot with the rest of them high falluten-" He was cut off there by a glare from AJ, those emerald eyes bored into his own, just daring him to finish that sentence.

"Ah got my reasons, and tha only one ya need to know is it's mah job. Ah'm a Ranger, Red's a wanted pony. Ya can do tha math on that'un."

With that she took up her glass of water, drained the rest of it, and walked calmly out into the noon day sun. The one other pony who hadn't been laughing at her words watched her go, a shifty eyed little slime ball who slipped off after her, a scheme for some quick cash in mind.

"Ah'm tellin' yer Red, she done said she's 'ere ta kill ya. Now, ah didn't have ta go and warn ya like that sir, but ah figured you'd be willin' to throw an old stallion like me a bone for the warnin' yeah? A few bits so I can get outta town and outta yer mane?" That same shifty little scuzz groveled at the hooves of Big Red, or more accurately, under them.

Red looked down at his would be black mailer with a sadistic smile, one at odds with the otherwise handsome face he sported. He had just one thing to say to that incessant brown nosing though, and he thought it was just the proper response for the sorry excuse for a stallion who his hoof on his throat. "Eenope."

The wet snapping sound of a neck breaking startled a near by buzzard from its perch.

Red smiled softly to himself, he wasn't worried at all. Everypony who'd tried to take him before had died just as easily at that. A bullet in a head here, a knife in the ribs there, they all were just worthless. This ranger'd be no different. He glanced down at the corpse at his hooves one last time and decided that this one wasn't worth remembering, not when he had already added another couple notches today. Twenty one, that'd be the ranger's number after she was dead.

"In this town there lives an outlaw by the name of Big Red,

Many'd tried to take him and ere'one was dead.

He was ruthless and a killer, though only twenty four

and the notches on his pistol numbered one and nineteen more.

Now the stranger startled talkin'

Made it clear to this here town,

She's a Marizona ranger wouldn't be long in this town.

Came here to take an outlaw back alive or maybe dead,

said it didn't much bout Big Red.

Wasn't long before the story was relayed to Red,

but the outlaw didn't worry those that tried before were dead.

Twenty'd tried to take him and those twenty they were dead,

Twenty-one'd be the ranger with the big iron on her hip."

The undertaker sang to himself, still at work on that coffin. It was quite a lovely example of his craft, he'd even fasten a small plaque upon it, emblazoned with a name. Smiling to himself he got to work sewing the lining for those one, a nice candy apple red...

Author's Note

*Hiccough/hiccup are interchangeable where I'm from folks, so ignore that.

Twenty Paces

Now when Big Red came breezin' into town the next day everypony knew that something was gonna happen. Possibly something involving blood and iron. After all, there was little involving Red that didn't end in just that one way or another. What most ponies discounted however was that Marizona ranger's chances.

"I dun' heard there's some kinda law pony 'ere in town lookin' fer my head. Well, bring 'er on out 'ere so I can put her in tha ground like tha rest... First pony 'at gives 'er up don' get shot later." rang out the deep bass rumble of Red's voice, filling the mostly empty streets of the town proper. The clock tower had chimed eleven not forty minutes before.

Now, it being almost noon one can understand that Red cut a rather imposing figure, standin' there all dark and desperado lookin' in the sun. Red was a big fella to be sure, to be sure but it was all muscle. Dressed as he was, all dark cloth and gun metal, he was the spittin' image of those old story book bandits, and the black stetson he wore didn't help that particular image none either.

Thing about story book bandits however is that their reputation came a galloping hard before them, and in Red's case, that reputation had been earned by the blood and body count in this very town. As such, it wasn't five minutes before there was a great clammorin' to find that ranger and bring her out to Red. They needn't have bothered however.

Stepping out from the shadows between the saloon and the jail (A placement for convenience's sake that old Silver Star had proposed) the ranger pushed her hat back out of her eyes and watched the commotion with a rather lazy eye. She'd forgone her duster this day and wore only her vest with its gleaming badge of office, and the large peacemaker she wore at her hip. Taking a deep breath as she looked out at the stallion she'd come for she cleared her throat and spoke up.

"Lookin' fer me, Mac?" she asked simply, her voice somehow carrying over the din of the citizen's collective freak out. A commotion that died the instant the words were out of her lips.

Red's eyes widened slightly when he saw just who it was that was after his hide this time, but he didn't worry none. Didn't matter who it was, not one lick. She'd die just like the others, and then he'd be able to move on same as always.

Licking lips suddenly gone dry Red spoke up, that bravado of his crumblin' slightly. Just enough to show the town's folk that the stallion that had held their home in an iron grip was... Afraid of the smaller mare before him. "Was wonderin' when I'd see ya... Well, tell ya what gal, considerin' we got a history... We'll do this square. You know I ain't commin' quietly so don' bother askin'. When that clock strikes noon we'll draw, you'll die... And I'll make sure you're buried next to Ma, Pa, and Applebloom..."

AJ just closed her eyes and sighed, nodding slightly. There was nothing else to be said, they just stood there, facing one another, neither daring to blink as the seconds ticked slowly away. Everypony held their breath, they know that beautiful mare was soon to meet the reaper pony.

When the clock struck twelve there was nothing in that town but silence, a silence broken swiftly by a gunshot and the tolling of a bell, twelve times it rung, each will all the finality of a funeral bell...