The Things We Do for Love

Chapters

Chapter 1: Payday!
Chapter 2: Help!
Chapter 3: Finding Trouble
Chapter 4: The Morning After
Chapter 5: Secrets and Lies
Chapter 6: On the Hunt
Chapter 7: Guests at Sweet Apple Acres
Chapter 8: The Final Pieces
Chapter 9: Wrapping Up
Chapter 10: A Hero's Reward

Chapter 1: Payday!

“Hey, Morty! ‘Nother round! This one’s on me!” Braeburn shouted down the bar with a grin. Half of Appleoosa cheered him on as he tossed a bag of bits onto the table to pay for the salted cider that was already making its way around. Anywhere else, he’d have been throwing away a fortune, but Appleoosa had two things that made getting very, very drunk very, very cheap. The first, of course, was its apple orchard, the town’s main source of food and drink. The second was the salt mine in the badlands, the town’s main source of income. No matter how much the town sold off to the rest of Equestria, it was always dirt cheap to get completely hammered, and every payday was a chance to prove it.

Braeburn, for example, was the better part of a gallon of cider into having a really good night. He grinned as his own mug came sliding down the bar, catching it in his pastern and swallowing half the sweet, salty mixture with the first swig. As he lowered the mug, he spotted a pretty filly further down the bar, a bay-coated mare with a deep green mane and a sectioned apple on her flank. With a grin on his face and an unintentional sway in his walk, he hopped down off of his perch at the bar and started over.

“Well howdy miss!” He grinned at her, tipping his hat. “Mind if Ah take a seat here?”

“Don’t reckon it’ll stop y’if’n Ah say no.” She rolled her eyes at the half-drunk colt swaying on his hooves.

“Ma’am, Ah… Ah am ssshocked an’ offended,” Braeburn scowled before breaking into a grin and a laugh. “Ah’m a gentlecolt, ma’am, an’ ah ain’t gonna hassle ya if’n ah ain’t welcome to, Miss…..”

The young mare chuckled, shaking her head slightly.

“Apple Cora. Sit down before you fall down, Braeburn.”

“Apple….” Braeburn drifted off, trying to remember the relation and if he was taking the chance of roosting a mite close to the nest.

“Second cousin, three times removed,” Cora reassured him. “We met at the last Reunion, briefly. Though Ah do seem to recollect y’all were a mite preoccupied with a certain fire engine red stallion at the time, so ah don’t take any offense y’don’t remember me,” she smirked.

Braeburn sobered up quickly at that reminder, reaching up to adjust the collar of his vest nervously as he sat down hard, tucking his tail around his hooves.

“Eheh,” he stammered. “Well, y’see Cora, Ah…. That is….”

“Don’t worry about it,” Cora laughed, taking her own cider and raising it to her lips, draining the beverage in one long draught. “Hay, Ah reckon Ah’d’ve been preoccupied too, if’n the family didn’t all know he ain’t into fillies.”

“Ah wouldn’t say that,” Braeburn mumbled before picking up his mug and draining the rest of it.

“Morty, gimme somethin’ stronger’n this,” he said while the mug was still busy clattering on the rail in front of him.

The burly bartender looked at Braeburn, judging his sudden change in mood. He reached under the bar, pulling out a bottle of 30-year Shetland Park and a cube of sea salt. The potent liquor quickly dissolved the large helping of exotic salt in the shot glass, and Morton slid it on down to the sullen stallion.

“Twenty bits, if y’drink it,” he warned him.

Braeburn bit down on the sides of the shot glass, pouring the scotch down his throat, decades of subtle flavors mixed in with centuries of nature’s chemical wonders utterly lost, boiled down to a single thought.

Okay, maybe I should actually try enjoying this if I’m spending so much money on it.

But by the time that thought had formed in Braeburn’s head, the whiskey was burning its way down his gullet, salt drying his mouth out and practically sticking to his tongue and throat. He coughed as he slammed the shot down.

“Put it on my tab,” he croaked, eyes watering as Cora looked at him with concern in her bright blue eyes.

“Somethin’ wrong, Brae?” She asked him. “If it’s about you’n’Mac bein’ colt-“

“Long story, Cora,” he cut her off, shaking his head. “Rather not talk about it, if’n it’s the same t’you, but don’t you ever let me hear you call Macintosh that. Ever,” he repeated with a cold, bitter edge to his voice. Cora looked like she was about to say something, but the door to the Salt Block slammed open as if a freight train had hit it.

And, as every eye in the bar turned to look at the hulk of an earth pony that had busted in, they realized that one may as well have done just that. Lead Belly, the steel-grey stallion who led the Old ’97 dray team between Appleoosa and Tall Tale was standing there, sides heaving, eyes flashing with raw rage as he looked from one side of the saloon to the other. His striped neckerchief was matted to his body with sweat, plastered against his coat from the exertion of the long run between towns, and then by the race to the Salt Block from where ever he’d built up the head of steam driving him on.

“Braeburn Apple?” He demanded in a low, powerful voice that rumbled like a train rolling down the side of a mountain.

Braeburn might’ve been drunk, but he wasn’t drunk enough to think it was smart to pony up and give his name to the stallion blocking the door. He could see four other powerfully built ponies behind him, probably the rest of the team backing up their leader.

What in tarnation could that lot be so… upset… oh buck me right in th’bits. Braeburn’s stomach twisted as he realized what this was probably… what this had to be about. He tried to be discreet, turning back towards the bar as a small number of other ponies also decided it would be best not to make eye contact with Lead Belly in the mood he was in.

Why the hay is he comin’ after me? He asked silently to Celestia, Luna, Discord, whatever power might be keeping an eye out for ponies with secrets they’d rather not discuss. Lead Belly stomped into the bar, and with the last thunderous hooffall, Braeburn heard the faint ‘click-click’ of Mort’s old shotgun being cocked.

“Unless you colts’re buyin’ a drink, git out of here,” Morton demanded, not raising the weapon into view just yet. “Won’t have any trouble in my saloon!”

“No cause for apprehension, Morty,” one of Lead’s friends, Smokestack, promised as he slipped in around the towering frame of the larger stallion and made his way up to the bar. The soot-maned, tan-coated stallion grinned and tossed some bits onto the bar. He kept speaking in his Applewood accent, swift and smooth like a peeler sliding beneath the skin of an apple as he peppered his speech with twenty-bit words. “We aren’t after tribulations! Libations, please! Cider and salt for the house… all you need to do to earn your mug is state your name.”

“Ain’t gonna be any games like that, either,” Morton growled at the fancy-talking dray. “Y’all can order yer own drinks an’ settle down.”

“Morton, Morton, calm down!” Smokestack sighed indulgently, folding back his white dray’s smock to show the leg loop of a pistol. He smiled warmly when Morton froze, letting the smock fall back into place. “Lead Belly here just wants to have a conversation with Braeburn, a confabulation regarding a minor matter of paternity!”

Braeburn’s eyes shot open wide beneath the brim of his hat at that word. Paternity? Lead thought he’d done what?!?

“Pattin’ ‘er nightie’s what got ‘im in trouble in th’first place, Ah reckon!” Salt Lick laughed, the elderly pony trying to break the tension in the room as he tottered up to the bar.

It didn’t work.

“Shut yer salt hole, Lick,” Mort snapped at the miner. Salt Lick shrugged and hopped up onto a stool.

“What? I ain’t got nothin’ t’worry about! Salt Lick, an’ I’ll take that mug y’offered!”

“Pour the stallion his drink, Morton,” Smokestack grinned coldly, flashing two rows of bright, even, white teeth at the bartender, teeth that had never bent a bit or cut a chaw. Reluctantly, the tall, lean salt-slinger went to do his work, leaving the shotgun beneath the level of the bar.

“Now, anypony else care for a drink?” Lead Belly rumbled, practically daring anypony not to take him up on the offer. Thirty sturdy farmers and miners sat in the saloon, each knowing that to refuse risked being branded as the pony who’d brought this interruption in their revelry down on them all, each knowing that to accept risked being branded as the pony who’d hung one of their own out to dry. Even the mares were still, though silent glances between the regulars promised that as it became clear the test wouldn’t be called off, the lot of them would make it an expensive one.

A long minute ticked by. Salt Lick finished his drink and, apparently realizing that he probably wouldn’t be welcome much longer, wordlessly stumbled his way out of the saloon.

Then a second minute passed. Each felt like an hour to the ponies inside the Salt Block.

Finally, just as Morton was figuring out how he could get back to the shotgun without being too obvious, a voice broke the silence.

“Braeburn Apple.” All eyes turned towards the blonde cowpony who’d spoken up. “There. Ah said it, all of y’all can start breathin’ again. But Lead, if’n your sis told you that Ah done knocked ‘er up, Ah’m tellin’ you it sure as cider ain’t the case!” He turned to look the glaring giant in the eyes, mustering some semblance of courage to do so. Lead took it right out of him with five low, terse words.

“Ah ain’t got no sister.”

Author's Note

As promised, this will be split up into more chapters later on, after judging. I might also flesh out certain bits and pieces (like the bits and pieces!) then.

However, I'm certainly open to suggestions/input/critique in the meantime. All I ask is that, if you want a downvote to be taken seriously, you explain why it's there. Unexplained downvoters shall be relegated to pooper scooper duty at the gates of Tartarus.

Chapter 2: Help!

Sheriff Silverstar hated payday. He liked getting his bits as much as the next pony, but he hated what it meant for that night. A long, lonely night spent patrolling the town, while his deputy was out getting soused and picking out some fine filly to spend the night with. Braeburn was damned lucky the Sheriff’s own filly wasn’t quite so fine these days, or happy to be hauled out to Appleoosa in the name of her marital vows.

“Y’d think the damn fool filly’d figure it out after Ah left to set up a whole new town just to get far enough away from her,” he muttered to himself, tipping his hat back and scanning the side streets for signs of drunken ponies or some other brewing trouble.

“Sheriff! Sheriff Silverstar!” Salt Lick wailed as he barreled around the corner of Stirrup and Mane. He galloped down the street at full pace, moving in an impressively straight line for how much the old salt usually put down on payday.

Silverstar cocked his head curiously, wondering just what could lead Salt Lick to be running towards him so early in the evening. If the Salt Block had been on fire he’d have seen it from where he was standing. Maybe the old coot had finally had enough of seeing pink monkeys that he’d decided to get locked up until he stopped shaking…?

“What’s the mattooph!”

Salt Lick may have been scared sober enough to manage corners and straight lines, but apparently that took brainpower that was otherwise meant for depth perception and the vital skill of stopping. He barreled straight into the younger Sheriff, sending them both sprawling into the dirt of the Appleoosan street.

“Sheriff!” Salt Lick wailed just as loudly.

“Ah’m right here, y’damn drunk dolt of a colt!” Silverstar snarled, shoving Salt Lick off of him. “What in tarnation’s goin’ on, somepony get ‘imself killed?”

“Not yet, Sheriff, but if’n you don’t get down t’the Salt Block, buncha drays’re fixin’ t’change that!” Lick told him seriously, glancing back towards the bar. “Lead Belly’s in town, and madder’n’a hornet’s nest in a salt shaker about somethin’ he thinks Braeburn did!”

“Dagnabbit, why didn’t you start out sayin’ that?” Silverstar spat, getting to his hooves and taking off for the Salt Block at a dead gallop.

He just hoped he made it there in time to stop things from getting ugly.

~~~===~~~

“Lead, Ah’m tellin’ you, Ah didn’t touch her,” Braeburn protested even as the rest of Lead Belly’s pack gathered around him. Smokestack was keeping his eyes on Morton, and most of the others were watching the Appleoosans there. A handful of them were quietly leaving, trying not to be recognized by friends and family who might take them to task later. Others were tensed, ready to move into action to protect one of their own.

There’d be a riot before this was over, if Braeburn didn’t do something to move it outside and fast.

“Sundancer says otherwise,” Lead growled, disregarding the threat posed by the rest of the crowd, focused only on the stallion who’d cuckolded him. “Don’t worry, Ah ain’t gonna kill you. T’ain’t worth the trouble.”

Braeburn let out a sigh of relief just before the other horseshoe dropped.

“Me an’ the boys are just gonna make sure you know to make damn sure you know who you’re ruttin’ with next time. Can’t promise ya’ll’re gonna have an easy time getting the chance though.”

“Look, fellas,” Braeburn talked fast, raising his hooves. “ Ah’ve learned mah lesson, promise! Ah won’t go near her or any other mare Ah’ve seen any of y’with, Apple’s honor!” He looked around at the lot of them. He didn’t think this was working especially well, and it would be harder to get out if he waited much longer.

Five stallions. Big, rough, strong, angry, stone-cold-sober stallions. Smokestack, with the same sick, shit-eating grin he always had on. Big Iron, Lead’s second on the team, scowling and looking like he was fit to spit nails. Rock Braker, Smokestack’s harness mate, a palomino wearing a bowler hat, with an axe handle on his flank to match the one he carried on his back for his job. Red Caboose, smirking like Smokestack as he clopped his steel-shod hooves together like a prize fighter getting ready to enter the ring. And, of course, Lead Belly, just standing there and staring, like he was fixing to beat Braeburn bloody through sheer force of will.

There was no chance he could take one of them on in his state, let alone all five. Maybe Smokestack, but with the others there? Thinner odds than an apple in a press. Even if the rest of the crowd helped pull him out of this, how many other ponies would get hurt? He couldn’t chance it.

“G-guys, come on, all of y’all know Ah’m deputy roun’ here,” Braeburn pointed out. “Gonna be some mighty big trouble fer all of us, even with me in the wrong here, when Sheriff –“

Braeburn didn’t get a chance to finish his plea. He’d reached up to fold back his vest and flash his badge, but Red had stopped him by jabbing one of those giant hooves into the side of his head, sending the deputy sprawling out across the floor, rolling onto his back and trying to figure out which way was up.

He was reasonably sure it was the one that wasn’t made out of wood, but at the moment, he wasn’t entirely convinced.

As he gathered his thoughts, one thing managed to percolate to the top through the pain and confusion.

Why ain’t they beatin’ on me more? Not that he minded, but typically getting punched in the face by one of the angry gang that wanted to rearrange said features was followed up by continued beating. It was possible that Mort had gotten the shotgun, or somepony else had moved in to keep them back, but typically that would’ve meant more noise and confusion. Instead, things were strangely quiet, like everypony… was staring… at….

Oh horseapples.

There, between Braeburn’s splayed out, twitching hind legs where a normal stallion would have a sheath and other vulnerable unmentionables to worry about getting stomped in, there was instead the reason Braeburn had joined the settlers when they left the rolling hills outside Manehattan.

A very distinct, very not-masculine slit.

“Reckon that’s how he… it knows it didn’t knock up Sundancer,” Braker spat out in a disgusted voice. Braeburn knew that tone of voice. He knew it meant one thing, and one thing only.

It was time to get out of town, and fast. The need to try and prevent a brawl wasn’t to protect his kinsfolk anymore; it was to keep them from joining in against him. And the only way to keep out of that fight was not to be there when it started.

Braeburn scrambled over onto his front, starting to lurch to his hooves just in time for Big Iron to rear up and try to stop him. Before the huge stallion could come down on top of him, Braeburn lunged forward and rammed into his belly. As they topped towards the ground, he pulled his hind hooves in close, and shot them out behind him expertly, his bare hooves clipping Caboose’s jaw as the part-time prize fighter made the mistake of getting too close to the wrong end of an applebucker.

Braeburn could feel it wasn’t a clean hit though. As much as it sickened him to think it, there wasn’t enough ‘crunch’ behind the impact for that. And, as bright an idea as it had seemed in the heat of the moment, now that he was laying on top of Big Iron he realized that there was a flaw in his half-baked plan.

Namely, that he’d given the massive dray a chance to get a good grip around him, a grip that let Big Iron put every ounce of punishing, train-pulling muscle along his back, shoulders, and flank into crushing the wind right out of the much smaller stallion-mare on top of him.

Smokestack started to move away from the bar to join in the fight, and Morton took the chance he was offered to make a break for the shotgun. Realizing his mistake, Smokestack turned back, reaching over the bar just as Morton was grabbing for the weapon. They reached it at the same im, Smokestack knocking the weapon up over the level of the bar, Morton sending it tumbling over towards the floor. Ponies screamed, realizing a moment too late that the two black, angry barrels swinging through the air could kill anypony now. Eyes wide, Smokestack tried to grab it, bobbling the weapon. The twin death-dealers angled towards the ground, directly at Braeburn and Big Iron.

Braeburn squeezed his eyes shut, just willing for whatever happened to be over with quickly.

Big Iron couldn’t stop staring as the weapon pointed straight as his head for a split-second that felt like an eternity. His grip on Braeburn shifted and tightened, into something more like a titanic hug than a weapon. Smokestack swung his hoof out in one last desperate attempt to control the shotgun, but instead he clipped the stock and sent the sawed-off 10-gauge spinning around so that it struck the floor mightily, flat on its side.

Thunder erupted, and everypony screamed.

The screaming stopped, except beneath Braeburn.

The cowpony’s eyes were wide open now, his lungs burning, sides aching as and Big Iron’s hooves fell from around his sides, reaching instead to his flank, where the shotgun had gone off and sent a shell filled with rock salt and dried pinto beans ripping into the thick muscle of his thigh. There was a moment of collective shock and confusion, the expected death and gore infinitely less horrific than anypony’d been thinking it would be.

“What the Hell, Morton?” Smokestack snarled over the bar, his usual preference for sounding sophisticated lost in the injury of his harness mate. “Rock salt?”

“You’d’ve rather Ah used coyote-shot?” Morton snarled back at him. “He’d be dyin’ then, not just wishin’ he was!”

Various townsfolk were moving to try and help Big Iron, the previous quarrel forgotten in light of the more immediate concern. Braeburn shot off of the stallion like he’d been loaded into the other barrel, ears ringing as he rushed out through the door.

He couldn’t hear if anypony was following him, and didn’t dare look back to find out. He’d been through scenes like this before, in Manehattan, in Tall Tale, in Applewood, at home. He didn’t need his ears to tell him what was probably being shouted behind him, or at least snarled between those who’d been willing to fight for him before that sucker punch.

Filly fooler.

Always thought he was a bit mare-ish, if y’know what Ah mean. Didn’t wanna say nothin’ though, on account of ‘is luck with the ladies.

Pervert.

But- but Ah’ve been with him! Her. Whatever he-she is!
Ah ain’t no filly fooler, ah know it was in me, what was it?!?

Liar.

Why the hay would Sundancer think that knocked her up?

Freak.

Teach that little so’n’so what a mare oughta be like!

He-she.

Oh, Celestia, I thought it was watching my fillies in the market!

Monster.

Get it!

Braeburn ran hard, and he ran fast, not knowing and hardly caring where it was that he went as long as it was away from the mob he knew had to be forming up behind him. He’d have to get to the station, get a coach out of town before word spread. Where could he go, where could he hide? Who would take him in this time, who wouldn’t get word from somepony in town and find out in the space of a week? Only one place he could think of… he hated to impose, but this was something of an emergency.

Braeburn was so fixated on the question of where he was going to run away to that he forgot to worry about where exactly he was running. He finally slowed down, panting hard, coat slick with sweat as his eyes darted back and forth, looking for landmarks so he could get his bearings and find the railway station. He’d just have to hope he could hire a coach without running into any more of Lead Belly’s friends.

He rounded the corner, heading towards the station… and walked right into a tower of steel grey fur and muscle. Well, he hadn’t run into Lead’s friends.

Just the stallion himself.

“Well, well, lucky me,” Lead sneered down at him.

“Yeah… lucky you,” Braeburn muttered, ears flat, crouching down as he backed away from Lead. “Where’s your posse?”

“They’re comin’, don’t you worry ‘bout that. Y’oughta be glad it’s just me, Braeburn.” Lead followed him forward, looking him up and down with new appraisal that didn’t sit well with the cowpony at all.

“The rest of the boys ain’t inclined t’be so gentle.”

Author's Note

Oh my... looks like things are about to get rough, don't they?

Chapter 3: Finding Trouble

Silverstar was rushing through the town, following the trail Braeburn had left when he’d taken off. At least he thought he was. He’d thought he was twice before though, and been wrong each time. Mort was keeping most of Appleoosa under control while Doc tended to Big Iron’s flesh wound, but that still left the rest of Lead Belly’s posse on the run too, and searching through the town with a fresher trail, more eyes, and not having to follow their own Discord-damned tracks through half the town!

At least now he had Caboose off the trail… or, at least, following along his.

“I’m telling you, Sheriff, we all saw very clearly that your deputy is disguising herself as a stallion!”

Unfortunately, so was Smokestack.

“She had the whole community fooled Sheriff, nopony’s going to blame you, but you have to admit that she hasn’t been honest with you! You don’t have to –“

“An’ what makes y’think he ain’t been honest?” Silverstar snapped, shutting Smokestack up for a blessed moment.

Unfortunately, that moment ended entirely too soon.

“Well, well, well… so that explains it.” Silverstar turned to glare at Smokestack, whose grin was right back in place as he stood up and leaned back against a wall.

“You shut that trap, Smokestack, this ain’t one o’ your Applewood dramas, an’ Ah ain’t lettin’ you take me off the chase!”

“Oh no, Sheriff, perish the thought!” Smokestack grinned. “This is a peculiarly Appleoosan drama though, isn’t it? I can just see it now, those long nights making sure there’s no trouble in town. Long evenings, out avoiding the attentions of a frigid wife you tried to leave back in Fillydelphia. Don’t deny it, everypony knows you were in a foul mood when she came out here to join you. But then, isolation is just as bad as having a frigid wife, isn’t it?”

Silverstar’s nostrils flared as he caught on to what Smokestack was suggesting.

“Git your mind back where it belongs, Smokestack,” he muttered. “Ah happen t’like keepin’ the gutters clean here in Appleoosa.”

“Guys?” Caboose called back from further up the street, where he was picking up on a scent that stung his nostrils with a metallic tang, a little bit like sparks flying off the track.

“Oh, I’m sure you do, Sheriff,” Smokestack continued smoothly, ignoring the voice of his friend up ahead. “I’m sure that’s exactly why you keep this town’s filth under very close watch. A pity you didn’t watch and make sure it wasn’t foaling around with married mares. But, then, I suppose a pony such as yourself might not recognize that some couples make a point of remaining fidelitous.”

“Oh sweet Celestia,” Caboose whispered as he remembered the last time he’d seen or smelled something like this, back when Braker’s partner had fallen off the train during an emergency stop.

Silverstar lunged, rearing up and whinnying as he brought a hoof down against the wall on either side of Smokestack’s head.

“You shut yer trap, colt,” the Sheriff sneered. “Ah’ve already got enough t’lock you lot up fer assaultin’ an officer o’ the law.”

“It’ll never stick if you touch so much as a hair of my mane,” Smokestack sneered back. “I’ve got you pegged, Sheriff, and you know it. You try defending that little freak and everypony in town’s going to know exactly why, even if I don’t say a word. If I do though? You’re going to be the one warming a cell in Canterlot, for corruption of the office.”

“No, no, Lead, no y’weren’t s’posed t’let it get like this!” Caboose muttered under his breath, drawing closer to the corner. “Weren’t s’posed t’do this!”

“Ah ain’t never touched Braeburn like that, Smokey. Ah kin say that, an’ it’ll stick. But just what do you think Lead’s gonna say if’n Ah tell him about those letters that come from outta town, addressed to Sundancer? An’ how ah just so happen to recognize the mouthwritin’ from somepony’s signature on the deed to a little place out here she happens to visit oncet in a while, while he’s in town with his crew?”

Smokestack was pale now, looking to see how closely Red Caboose was listening. Fortunately, his crewmate seemed to be preoccupied further down the street.

“What’s Red got up there?” He asked.

“We got an understandin’, colt?” Sheriff Silverstar demanded, not letting Smokestack change the subject.

“Look, it looks like –“

“Ah said” Silverstar barked, stamping a hoof against the wall of the shop again, “have we got an understandin’?”

“Yessir.”

“Good. Ah recommend you keep your hooves t’yerself, as well as yer baseless accusations against the only two lawmen who’d give a flyin’ feather about findin’ any shallow graves y’might be fillin’ if certain ponies found out about y’all’s indiscretions.”

“Yessir.”

That was when Red rounded the corner, and saw a pony’s body curled up and collapsed on the ground, a pool of blood spreading slowly from it and staining the thoroughly trampled dust a deep, burgundy red in the darkness of the evening.

“Oh Celestia,” he moaned, turning his head away. He’d seen worse in his days on the railroad. It happened once in a while; a train would get away from them on the way down a hill and take somepony out on the way down. A brakeman would fall off a car and be caught under the train.

Accidents, all of them.

Heads didn’t get smashed open like that by accident.

“That’s good,” Silverstar obliviously told Smokestack, unaware of what was further down the street. “Because Ah don’t ever want you –“

“Sheriff, quit yellin’ at Smokey an’ git yer flank down here!” Caboose wailed pleadingly. “Somepony’s dead, an’ Ah don’t wanna be the one t’find out who without you watchin’!”

“Shit!” Silverstar swore, dropping down to all fours and galloping over to Red Caboose. He swallowed hard when he saw the body; he’d seen his own share of corpses, working in law enforcement, protecting settlers from coyotes and other frontier threats. Unlike Red, he’d seen bodies that were put there on purpose. He’d seen things every inch as awful as the murder in front of him.

It didn’t make his stomach twist and churn any less, but he knew his duty.

“Red, you run back an’ get Doc… tell ‘im t’git over to the Pale Pony an’ wake the undertaker, they’ve got work to do.”

“I could go,” Smokestack started to say.

“Oh no, Smokey,” Silverstar told him grimly. “Ah wanna make sure all your worries are put t’rest that Ah’m handlin’ this by the books. No special favors. Now git yer worthless, two-timin’ flank over here.”

It occurred to the Sheriff that there was something a little strange about the scene. The body seemed about Braeburn’s size, maybe even a little bigger. Usually, without the breath of life or a puffed up posture like his deputy’s, a body looked smaller after being cracked open.

A few steps closer, and he realized why. The body didn’t have Braeburn’s vest, his hat… nothing.

It wasn’t Braeburn. Instead, Lead Belly lay there in a heap, his head cracked wide open by some mighty blow to the back of it. The sort of thing an applebucker might pull off, if he had the right angle on somepony coming up behind him.

“You said it yourself, Sheriff,” Smokestack spat out as he came up behind Silverstar. “By the Celestia-damned books, no special favors. Now, let’s find that freak deputy of yours before it gets away with murder.”

“He, y’consarned, slick-talkin’, two-timin’ son of a snake!” Silverstar snarled back at him. “An’ Ah’ll find him all right.” He turned and stalked off angrily, tail lashing behind him as he tried to think of where Braeburn would’ve gone.

Where ever it is, Brae… ah hope you don’t find easy.

Author's Note

Oh Braeburn... what have you gotten yourself into now?

Chapter 4: The Morning After

Bic Macintosh returned from the market early in the day, humming a tune to himself, two large sacks of oat flour and one of sugar slung across his back, a smaller burlap bag dangling from his mouth. He happily breathed in the heady smell of warm bread, fresh from Sugarcube Corner.

A lot of ponies didn’t give Big Mac much credit for being quick on the uptake, since he was so quiet all the time. What they didn’t know was that the brain power Mac saved on talking was spent taking in everything around him. The currents of the wind, the shifting of the sun, the taste of an unscheduled storm on the horizon… all of these things were part and parcel of running a farm on the edge of Everfree. Long years of listening to Granny’s lessons on nature’s signs, and his father’s explanations of which signs were magic, and which were nature being itself, had taught Mac well, and sometimes Applejack would brag that he knew exactly how many blades of grass were on Sweet Apple Acres and when that number changed.

Mac just thought of it as being prudent. Just like it was prudent to run into town before breakfast for flour and sugar for the apple-oatmeal cookies Granny was going to want to make later. She always wanted to make them when company came over, and Mac had a feeling exactly that was going to happen. No particular reason, it just seemed that way to him, when he woke up early in the morning, while even the rooster was still sleeping.

When he came up to the path leading up to the Acres, Mac realized his hunch had been right. There were two sets of fresh hoofprints there, hoofprints that were shoed. Both of them were on top of his, and one on top of the other, the mud beneath them still fresh, where the other set had begun to dry out.

Mac shrugged his shoulders and kept on walking up to the house. He’d find out who it was soon enough.

Meanwhile, up at the house, Granny Smith was puttering around the kitchen while Applejack scrambled around her to get breakfast together.

“Ah’m tellin’ ya, Silverstar, Braeburn ain’t been in Ponyville since the last reunion,” Granny rasped out, squinting at a jar in the cupboard. “Landsakes, Applejack, what are you doin’, keepin’ arsenic in the cupboard with the spices?” She demanded, looking back her granddaughter.

“Arse-“ Applejack rushed over to look at the jar and sighed. “That’s allspice, Granny. Not arsenic. That’s out in the woodshed along with the Everfree’s Mercy.”

“Everfree’s Mercy?” Sheriff Silverstar asked dubiously, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s a plant out in the Everfree Forest, with bright red berries, a mite like cherries,” Applejack explained. “Granny uses it when one of us splits a hoof or needs patchin’ up, but we keep it in th’shed on account of not wantin’ t’take it by mistake. The arsenic’s fer varmints; don’t let it get around we use it fer that, though, Fluttershy’d be mighty upset, an’ we only use it fer particularly persnickety cases.” She took the Sheriff’s nod as sufficient explanation and pressed on.

“Now, why would you come all th’way out here lookin’ fer Braeburn? Reckon he’d be more likely t’run off with the buffalo than t’come out here.”

“Buffalo come back through Appleoosa every year, Miss Applejack,” Silverstar sighed. “An’ Ah reckon Braeburn ain’t plannin’ on comin’ back.”

“Oh Celestia,” Granny sighed. “Girl got herself spotted ag’in, di’n’t she?”

“Granny!” Applejack scolded.

“What? Ah’m just sayin’ what we all know already, lookin’ at Sil! Ah know you an’ Mac humor her, girl, but parts is parts! Can’t blame me fer callin’ a spade a spade, even if it is fixin’ t’be a plow! Besides, Ah reckon th’folks out in Appleoosa wouldn’t be so cross as they were back in Tall Tale.”

“Granny, they tried –“

“Granny Smith, Miss Applejack? Please, Ah reckon Ah need y’all t’focus. Braeburn’s in some mighty serious trouble. Yes, he,” he emphasized the word for Granny’s benefit, “got spotted, but that ain’t the half of it. One of the stallions what did the spottin’ was already fixin’ t’split his head when it happened, on account of his bein’ told somethin’ that weren’t quite true. When Brae took off, he went a’chasin’, an’ when Ah caught up with him….” Silverstar sighed and shook his head.

“It looked like Brae’d given him a good solid buck t’the noggin’,” he said softly, so that Apple Bloom wouldn’t hear if she’d started down the stairs. Granny and Applejack both froze hearing that.

“Sheriff, Ah reckon if this feller was lookin’ t’hurt Braeburn, he had it comin’,” Applejack said solemnly. “Mighty sorry for ‘im, an’ Ah hope he gits better, but –“

“Ain’t no gittin’ better from this sorta buckin’, ma’am. Split his head clean open. Ah reckon you’re right about him havin’ it comin’, but Ah’ve gotta bring Braeburn back until we git things sorted out, an’ they said at the station that he hired a private coach t’bring him to Ponyville. Ah figured he was probably comin’ out here. Ah followed on the train, hoped Ah might beat him out here, but he had a few hours head start by the time they had a new dray lead picked out an’ all. “

For once, Applejack was glad she was the Element of Honesty. It helped in situations like this, when you had to convince somepony you were telling the truth.

“Well, we ain’t seen ‘im,” Applejack told him, looking him in the eyes without a hint of difficulty.

“An’ ah reckon we ain’t gonna see him,” Granny said firmly, not hestitating to use the preferred pronoun this time. “He’d know better than t’come out these parts if’n he’s in trouble with the law! Why, you can see Canterlot from here, an’ he knows AJ couldn’t fib t’keep her own head on her shoulders, let alone his!”

The front door swung open, and Macintosh stepped into the house.

“Went into town fer s’me s’pplies, Gr’nny,” he called back around the bag in his mouth. “Reckon we got comp’ny comin’. They had some fresh oat bread out at Sugarcube Corner too, picked it up for breakfast!”

“Thank ‘e, Macintosh, bring it out here,” Granny called back to him. Silverstar raised a hoof to his lips and stepped back into a corner of the room. Granny scowled at him and shook her head.

Mac walked into the room, not noticing Silverstar as he sat the bag down on the table, then sat to let the huge sacks slide off of his back.

“Picked up some supplies fer your oatmeal-apple cookies,” he explained to Granny. “Anypony been by the house?”

AJ’s eyes twitched involuntarily back towards the corner, and Mac followed them to see Silverstar trying to hide there without looking like he was hiding.

“Howdy, Sheriff,” Mac said evenly, waving a hoof. “Braeburn holdin’ down th’fort back in Appleoosa?”

“Afraid not, Mac,” Silverstar sighed, stepping out of the corner. “Don’t suppose you saw him in town, did you? Maybe that company you reckoned was coming?”

“Eenope.” Mac sat down at the table, the better to get out of the way of his grandmother and sister. “Ain’t seen ‘im since th’last reunion, an’ not as long as Ah’d’ve liked then.”

“Hah!” Granny cackled, shaking her head as she went about starting breakfast. “Applejack, you git some butter out’f the fridge fer that bread. Sheriff, y’might as well stay for breakfast. Maybe the coach ain’t gotten here yet. They don’t always go as quick as trains, what with not havin’ bridges an’ engines an’ all them new-fangled magic geegaws and gimcracks built in ‘em.”

“I suppose that’s possible,” Silverstar granted, taking a seat himself. “If’n y’d care for any help, ma’am?”

“Nope, nope, Ah reckon as long as Applejack kin handle the runnin’, we’re set,” Granny said dismissively.

“What’s wrong with Braeburn, Sheriff?” Mac asked him.

Silverstar turned to look at his neighbor at the table. He hadn’t seen Mac since he was a teenager, but that deep baritone still spoke of the simple, honest farmer he’d been back then. There wasn’t a hint of fear in those bright green eyes, just concern for family that might be in trouble.

“He got in some trouble back in town, Mac. Got outed in front of half of Appleoosa, an’ then chased down by a pissed off rail-dray. Seems the fight got a mite… serious,” he explained, not wanting to go into details again. “Far as Ah know he’s fine, but Ah’ve gotta get him back t’town t’face a jury fer what happened. Ah don’t reckon it’ll be bad as all that, but… well, Ah’m worried about ‘im, ah don’t mind admittin’ it.”

“Ah’d be worried too,” Mac said darkly, frowning in thought as he looked away from the Sheriff. “Juries don’t take kindly t’ponies like him. If’n they even git juries.”

“Now Mac,” Silverstar protested, “Appleoosa ain’t like that! It ain’t Tall Tale, or the ol’ farmsteads outside of Fillydelphia an’ Manehattan! Ah made sure ah didn’t take anypony like that with us!”

Mac looked back at Silverstar evenly. He could see the conviction in Silverstar’s eyes, that he was right. He could see the worries that he was wrong too, leaking through the cracks. And something else, something... more personal.

“Sheriff, if he walked through that door right now, what would you want me t’do about it?” Mac asked. “Tackle ‘im for you? Or punch you so hard y’couldn’t tell what way the door was until he was out of town, because you know Appleoosa’s gonna be mighty sore about this for a long time?”

Silverstar was quiet for a long moment as the sounds of cooking filled the kitchen, the scent of oats, cinnamon, and apples as Granny ripped open one of the bags and started mixing batter while breakfast cooked.

“Mind if’n ah don’t answer until after Ah’ve had some vittles in me?” He finally answered quietly.

Mac snorted and shook his head, settling down with a sigh.

“Frankly, Sheriff, ah don’t think it’s a worry. Braeburn ain’t comin’ here. He knows you’d check with family first of all. Ah reckon he just caught the coach here so he could get a train somewhere else, somewhere they don’t know ‘im.”

“Breakfast’s ready,” Applejack called upstairs to Apple Bloom. She returned to the kitchen and put a bowl of fresh, hot cream gravy, speckled with pepper and herbs, into the middle of the table. A tray of butter and large plate of fresh biscuits were next to join the still-warm oat bread. A plate of apples, green with patches of light red, followed. Silverstar chuckled when he saw them, shaking his head slightly.

“Sundance?”

“Eeyup,” Mack nodded. “Fresh harvest from yesterday. Actually, AJ, Granny, Ah’ve already gotten mahself geared up t’work, headin’ into town. If’n y’all don’t mind, Ah’ll take a mine t’go, and git started fixin’ up the old plow. Reckon it’s near time t’clear the truck garden for squash.”

“Macintosh Apple, we have a guest,” Granny scolded him. “Unexpected, but all the same, t’ain’t right t’leave a meal when we have company!”

“It’s all right, Granny,” Silverstar said dismissively. “Reckon Ah wouldn’t care t’eat with somepony fixin’ t’lock up Braeburn myself, if our places were switched. Right, Mac?” He asked understandingly. Mac just stood up and shrugged, snagging the bag he’d had the bread in earlier and loading in some biscuits and apples.

“Eenope,” Mac said simply, breaking off a hunk of the bread and dipping it in the gravy, tossing that into his mouth before he started for the door. While he chewed, he had a chance to think, to work things over in his head.

Mac swallowed his quick breakfast, selecting a stalk of tall grass and biting it off with practiced ease, rolling it around with his tongue so he could chew on the end of it. He turned down the path leading out to the barn, and glanced down at the well-trod dirt there. He couldn’t be sure, but he was almost certain that the second set of hoofprints he’d noticed, the only set that trailed back to the barn, was Braeburn’s.

There were days he was a mite jealous of the extra attention Applejack got, being the Element of Honesty and all. Today wasn’t one of them thought. Applejack was too honest for her own good some days, and certainly too honest for Braeburn’s good right now. If she did see Braeburn, she’d have a hard time not telling Silverstar about it.

Oh, she’d mean well, of course. Send him back home to work things out. Clear things up. Appleoosa wasn’t like Tall Tale, they wouldn’t try to lynch him as some sort of a freak. But juries could be fickle things, country juries more than most. The least hint they’d misjudged you, and decades of trust could be pissed away in a flash.

Mac heaved a mighty sigh as he reached the barn, and walked on past the plow, dulled by the spring planting and in need of sharpening. He opened up the door to the barn, and tossed the bag of biscuits he’d brought out with him down to the floor. He picked up the whetstone in his pastern, looking around the quiet of the barn, ears twitching faintly as they picked up each and every sound.

“Brought you some breakfast,” he called out to the seemingly empty structure. “Ah won’t be back in until the Sheriff’s gone. We’ll talk then, Braeburn.”

With that, he turned around and walked back out, closing the door behind him. There was silence for a few minutes more, but then a soft sound echoed through the otherwise abandoned building.

It was the sound of a mare trying hard to bite back a desperate sob.

Chapter 5: Secrets and Lies

A few hours later, Big Macintosh clopped his hoof against the barn door three times, paused, and then two more. He waited a moment… and then a minute. Then another one. Finally, he heard a gentle tapping against the door, five quick raps with a hoof. Taking the handle in his teeth, he dragged the door open enough to step inside and closed it behind him. Braeburn was sitting in the middle of the room, looking miserable. The bag from earlier in the morning looked like it hadn’t been touched.

“Y’ain’t eaten?” Mac asked softly, putting down the whetstone and walking over to the blonde cowpony, gently nuzzling his shoulder.

“Ain’t hungry,” Braeburn muttered, poking at the bag with a hoof. “How’d you know I was in here?”

“Nopony here wears horseshoes down to the barn,” Mac pointed out. “Brae… Ah know you’re in trouble. But Ah don’t care. Ah still love you, that ain’t changin’.” Braeburn snorted, closing his eyes and lowering his head.

“Sure y’do. Y’always have, ain’t ya? Mac, Ah –“ Macintosh cut him off, leaning over and wrapping his neck around Braeburn’s in a gentle, reassuring hug.

“Ah know y’got in a fight. Ah know it got bad. Ah kin guess how bad from the fact Silverstar came lookin’. Ah know you, Brae. Y’ain’t the sort to hurt a pony who don’t deserve it.”

“Ah hurt you,” Braeburn murmured after a long moment.

“That’s different, Brae,” Mac countered. “Now you tell me what happened. Why’d you get into all this?”

Braeburn shivered, pressing into Big Mac, taking in his strong, powerful scent. He remembered that scent, feeling safe with it. Feeling protected. Feeling like, for once, he wasn’t a monster.

Mac didn’t hate him. Applejack didn’t hate him. Granny didn’t… well, Granny tolerated him, at the very least. That was why he’d come here in the first place.

But they deserved to know, if he was going to stay. He heaved a deep, shuddering sigh, trembling against Mac as he fought his way back into the night before through a haze of exhaustion, alcohol, and adrenaline….

“Yeah… lucky you,” Braeburn muttered, ears flat, crouching down as he backed away from Lead. “Where’s your posse?”

“The rest of the boys ain’t inclined t’be so gentle.”

Braeburn didn’t like the sound of that, not one bit. He turned to try and run again, hoping he could outpace the huge dray, but Lead wasn’t about to let him do that. He reached out with his teeth, grabbing Braeburn by the tail and swinging him around like a rag doll. The world spun around Braeburn as he was lifted up into the air, his tail feeling like it was about to be ripped out by the root. He lashed out with a hoof instinctively, and felt it connect with Lead Belly’s neck. He was flying through the air unassisted then, at least for the short distance left before he slammed into the wall. He was still trying to catch his breath when Lead wheeled around on him.

Lead snorted, even more enraged now as he closed on Braeburn and bit down, hard, on the cowpony’s rump. Braeburn yelped, kicking out again, his hooves glancing off of Lead’s barrel even as his tail flagged up for a moment on raw instinct. Braeburn brought it down again a moment later, clamped down tight over the parts Lead seemed to be interested in. The larger stallion snarled, wrapping his hooves around Braeburn’s trunk and awkwardly half-mounting him.

“Teach you t’go touchin’ a good filly, y’damn freak!”

“Didn’t… touch… her!” Braeburn snarled back, his hooves kicking out once… twice… then on the third attempt, they found their target, colliding with stiff flesh with a satisfying ‘crunch.’

Lead’s eyes flew wide as he felt the impact, all the air knocked out of his body and thought out of his head as he felt two apple-bucking hardened thighs putting all their force behind a solid kick to his swollen sheath. Incredibly tender, sensitive flesh buckled beneath the impact, blood vessels rupturing inside the skin, filling the rest of the organ with blood like some sort of obscene water balloon. The once-mighty stallion collapsed to the ground, curling into a ball, all thoughts of punishing Braeburn annihilated.

Braeburn just felt the weight falling off of him, and didn’t think twice. He ran as hard as those apple-bucking, stallion-destroying legs could carry him. He reached the train station and, seeing there wasn’t another train for hours, hired a coach to take him to safety. He didn’t think twice about where he was going now, there was only one place he might be able to hide.

Ponyville.

Big Mac’s eyes were squeezed tighter than Granny’s girdle as his treacherous mind forced him to imagine every excruciating detail of Braeburn’s story. His legs were pressed together almost as tightly. His mouth worked one sound over and over again.

“Eeeenopenopenopenopenopenopenope!”

“Sorry, Mac, but that’s what Ah could reach,” Braeburn pointed out ruefully. “Sweet Celestia, bet Ah practically gelded the poor bastard. Ah mean… ah know ‘e had it comin’, but Ah didn’t mean t’hit him there! Think that’ll… Ah dunno… think that’ll help anythin’? Considerin’?”

Mac managed to wrestle his focus back into the present day and the present issue. He rolled over what Braeburn had told him in his head. And then he rolled over what little he knew about the case against his cousin.

Something just didn’t feel right about it.

“Ah don’t know, Brae,” Mac admitted. “Reckon th’fact that he started it oughta count fer somethin’, but… ah don’t know. Especially ‘considerin’.’ Fella in your place bucks somepony… well, y’know? Reckon a jury might not care who started it, they might think it was just plain cussedness on your part.”

“Jealousy, you mean,” Braeburn sighed. “Mac… what’m Ah gonna do?”

“Fer now, you’re gonna stay here, Brae. Y’may not care for it, but yer still mah m- mah special somepony. Consarned potions notwithstandin’,” he muttered to himself.

“Potions?” Braeburn asked, cocking his head.

“Long story, ‘nother time. Ah gotta go think, an’ ah gotta work… try eatin’ somethin’ though, okay Brae? Y’all’re gonna need t’keep up yer strength, in case Silverstar catches on t’where y’are.”

“Ah’ll try, Mac,” Braeburn sighed. “Thanks. Just wish I could pay y’back… the way you deserve,” he added, leaning up to nuzzle Mac’s face.

“Don’t need to, Brae. Just love me back, as you can. Ah’ve gotta go out an’ get t’work though, or AJ’s gonna start askin’ questions.”

“Can’t have that,” Braeburn agreed, smiling faintly and turning to kiss Mac’s cheek. “Let me know when Ah can come up t’the house? Or at least if?”

“Probably gonna be a while,” Mac warned him. “I’ll sneak some dinner down for you later, and blankets. You take care, Brae.”

“I will, Macintosh,” Braeburn promised. “Now git goin’, afore y’git caught out here with me. Again,” he smiled with a wink. Mac chuckled and started out, doing his best to look like he’d just gone in moments before.

Outside, Applejack was just coming up from the west field, cantering up to the barn with the sheen of a good morning’s work on her coat.

“Howdy Mac,” she said, slowing down to a trot and meeting him at the plow. “Looks fit t’pull,” she observed, looking over the job he’d done on the edge. Mac shrugged and picked up a Macingold from a nearby basket in his forehoof. He tested its weight and balance for a moment, then tossed it against the blade of the plow. The apple was sliced neatly along the middle, and Mac gave a satisfied nod.

“Eeyup,” he agreed, moving around to start loading it onto the cart so he could get it to the field.

“Let me help y’with that, brother,” Applejack warned him, pushing the cart around behind the plow and hopping in, tipping the back of it down to the ground. “Ah’ll lift th’handles, you help push it on?”

“Eeyup,” Mac agreed, getting into position. “Careful now,” he added, looking up at his younger sister.

“You be careful, Mac!” She scoffed. “After all, Ah ain’t the one pushin’ the sharp end!” Like most good farming stallions since the dawn of agriculture, Mac just rolled his eyes, ignoring the validity of her point in favor of a mental grumble about sisters. Applejack crouched down under the handles, standing up slowly to life it up with her powerful hips and shoulders.

Mac put his hooves on the other end of the handles, pushing back as AJ slowly walked sideways, helping to move the plow onto the cart.

“So, what’re y’thinkin’ about… the trouble with Braeburn?” Applejack asked him cautiously as they moved.

“Right mess,” Mac answered briefly. “Fella probably… had it comin’ though.” He spat out his hay, focusing entirely on the plow and the conversation. “Gelded the bastard… if it’d been me.”

“Reckon killin’s bad enough!” Applejack countered. Big Mac froze when he heard that, leaning his head over to look at his sister’s face.

“Killed him?”

“Careful, Mac!” Applejack scolded as the plow started to slip a bit towards her brother. “Keep pushin’! An’ what’d you think the Sheriff was out here about? If’n it’d just been a fight, reckon he’d’ve waited a while t’come out, let things blow over a bit!”

Mac tried absorbing the information as he pushed back on the plow, getting it most of the way up onto the cart. Braeburn hadn’t said anything about killing somepony.

“Reckon Brae knows the feller died?” He asked evenly, trying to keep from betraying his own source of information on the subject.

“Well, Ah reckon it’s hard t’be confused on the subject when y’go an’ bust a feller’s head wide open in the – Mac!” Applejack shouted as she felt the plow slide off of her back, starting to drop towards an already-stunned Macintosh Apple. He realized what was happening and moved to get his hooves back in place, but they slid off the wooden hitch of the plow when he didn’t get the grip quite square. Applejack watched in horror, trying to get up and bite down on the hitch to keep her brother from having hundreds of pounds of hardened, sharpened steel fall onto him.

Her teeth closed around the hitch, but she could already tell that she’d break her neck before she stopped it. She bit down harder, willing to do just that, when she saw a blur of orange, brown, and yellow leaping out of the barn, tackling Mac and throwing him out of the way. She lost her grip on the plow, but as it tumbled on its end and plunged into the ground there was nopony in its deadly path. Braeburn let out a yowl as it came down on the end of his tail, driving the hair into the dirt and yanking hard on the flesh and bone it was attached to.

“Mac, Brae, are you two all right?” Applejack demanded, jumping down off the cart to check out the two stallions… or, at least, stallions as she’d thought of them for years. She found Braeburn clinging stubbornly to her brother, who was still shocked and still beneath him.

“Mac?” Braeburn asked, sounding sick. “Please tell me Ah got ya in time, Mac!”

“Braeburn, y’all swear t’me that you di’n’t kick the feller but the way you told me?” Mac asked after a long, tense, worried moment.

“Macintosh Apple,” Braeburn shouted, “quit thinkin’ about that an’ tell me y’all’re okay!”

“Ah reckon he’s okay if he’s thinkin’ about that,” Applejack pointed out. “Cousin, ah know y’all’re in trouble an’ all, but ah ain’t never been so glad t’see you!”

“Lemme think!” Mac roared from beneath Braeburn, shutting them both up. “Brae, answer the question.”

“Yes, I’ll swear it! It’s Celestia’s own truth!” Braeburn protested. “Reckon that kick was all he needed!”

“Applejack, who told you his head was busted open?” Mac turned to look at his confused sister.

“Sheriff Silverstar, who else?” She asked, trying to put pieces together with only a handful of the puzzle to work with. Mac didn’t have much more, and he was almost sure that Silverstar didn’t even have all the rest, but he knew the pieces he had weren’t fitting with the picture the Sheriff was seeing.

“First, we’re gettin’ that plow off Brae’s tail. Ah’d say thanks, cousin, but Ah reckon it ain’t enough fer what you just did. Hopin’ that what Ah’m gonna do next is though.”

“And what’s that?” Braeburn asked, still pinned down by his tail, but not especially concerned now that it wasn’t pulling at him too much more.

“Ah’m findin’ Silverstar an’ gettin’ to the bottom of this. Ah reckon you ain’t killed nopony, an’ Ah aim t’prove it afore you get in trouble for what y’ain’t done!” Mac crawled out from under Braeburn, moving around to the plow and starting to tilt it up enough that Braeburn could get his tail out from under it.

“Ah am sorry y’ended up havin’ t’save me like that,” Mac said quietly when he saw the shorter tail that came out from under it, bits of hair stuck in the ground.

“Eh… reckon Ah should’ve cut it sooner, if Ah’m s’posed t’pass as a stallion,” Braeburn shrugged. “Ah… do hope y’all ain’t gonna tell the Sheriff Ah’m here yet?” He asked, looking at Applejack in particular.

“Ah kin cover for ya, long as he don’t ask me direct-like,” Applejack promised, moving in close to hug him. “Yer family, cous’. Granny’d tan mah hide if ah turned you in. All the same, Mac….”

“Ah’d better git what the Sheriff knows an’ figure out what really happened,” Mac nodded. He took a long look at Braeburn, and then moved in impulsively, giving him a peck on the lips. “Fer luck… you should stay under cover for now, just in case.”

“Yeah… reckon Ah should,” Braeburn nodded. “Go git’em, Mac.” He leaned forward, kissing Mac back just as quickly before he stood up to get back into the barn, wincing as he put weight on one of his legs.

“Applejack, think you can help me in? Reckon Ah twisted somethin’ when Ah made that jump.”

“Lucky y’didn’t git yerself cut in two,” Applejack snorted. “Come on, hero. Lean against me, Ah’ll make sure y’git taken care of.” She stepped up next to Braeburn and led him inside, leaving Mac on his lonesome.

The farmpony looked at the plow, on its side now, waiting for later use. He rolled the disparate facts he’d gotten today over in his head, and he bit himself off another piece of hay.

He had to talk to Silverstar, put all of this together. Maybe then… maybe then he could try and work something out with Braeburn.

Chapter 6: On the Hunt

“Well, Sheriff?” Smokestack demanded as Silverstar walked up to the group at the train station in Ponyville. “Any luck yet?”

“Not yet,” Silverstar muttered. “Ah reckon y’all ain’t had any luck either, on account of y’ain’t got shit-eatin’ grins an’ some story about an ‘accident’ tryin’ t’catch Braeburn.”

“Now Sheriff, why would we four simple railroad drays, try to take on a proven killer like your deputy?” Smokestack asked dryly. “Unarmed, even? Why, Braker here even left his lever back in Appleoosa,” he pointed out, nodding towards the palomino, whose customary axe handle was now missing from its place on his back.

Silverstar didn’t even dignify the defense with an answer, snorting his disdain and shaking his head.

“He wasn’t out at Sweet Apple Acres, Ah know that much,” he continued instead. “Family ain’t seen ‘im. So that leaves us with the rest of town t’search. Prolly oughta start out with th’bakery, from what Ah remember there’s a filly workin’ there who knows most everypony in town.”

“That’s your plan?” Smokestack asked disdainfully. “Talk to the locals? I don’t imagine that Braeburn came into town and announced himself, Sheriff.”

“You got a better plan?” Silverstar growled.

“Yes. I say we all spread out and hunt down your pet head-cruncher. At least that way, four of us are going to want to catch him.”

“Now you listen here –“

“No, you listen now, Sheriff. All right, I admit it, I was seeing Sundancer on the sly once in a while. She’s a very pretty mare, and Lead wasn’t always the sort of gentleman she deserved. Right often he wasn’t, an’ Ah can’t say as I blame her for strayin’.”

“You couldn’t, since she was strayin’ your way,” Silverstar countered. “Don’t see what that’s got to do with –“

“Damned little, except this. Lead might’ve been a lousy husband, but that doesn’t mean he deserved to get his head split open by some filly-fooler that likes to play dress-up. I’m a real good judge of character, Sheriff, a real good judge. You learn to be one, growing up in a city where every waiter and street sweeper’s ‘just one lucky break’ away from being the next Clark Hayble or Billygoat Wilder. And I don’t judge you overly kindly, Sheriff.”

Silverstar’s scowl darkened.

“Is that so.”

“Yes, it is. When we were back in town, you changed the subject by trying to blackmail me with my running around with Sundancer. Well, now Lead’s out of the way, so I don’t imagine anybody cares about that. I’m still not so sure you aren’t rutting that little crossdressing freak of yours though. Just like I’m not sure you actually talked to the Apples.”

“You keep runnin’ your mouth like that, Smokestack, an’ it’s liable t’get you in trouble,” Silverstar growled. The rest of the posse had the decency to look uncomfortable, keenly aware of the lack of other ponies to see what might happen, aside from the ticket and concession workers at the station. But Smokestack just kept puffing away.

“On what charge, Sheriff? Of wanting to make sure you actually bring a killer to justice? I don’t think you asked them if Braeburn was there, because I think you know damn well it was. I waited here while you went out to Sweet Apple Acres because I thought it might come traipsing out of its carriage, but it ain’t. No, I think it did beat us here, and it went out to family. And when you found it, I think you told them all to wait while you got us off searching the rest of town, so Braeburn could come back and catch the next train to points unknown.”

“That’s a lot of damn-fool thinkin’, for a pony who thinks he’s so smart,” Silverstar snorted. “You don’t trust me? Fine, then go on out to Sweet Apple Acres your own Celestia-damned self, an’ Tartarus take y’all! Ah’m gonna check out the rest of town, an’ if y’all want to waste your time? Enjoy yerselves.” A wicked smile curled Silverstars lip as he stepped up close to Smokestack, the taller stallion leaning back as their necks almost touched.

“One thing Ah think y’all oughta know though, Smokestack,” Silverstar sneered. “Ah might not be th’most faithful stallion, but ah ain’t been ruttin’ mah deputy. Ah’m just somethin’ y’ain’t dealt with often in Applewood. Ah’m a good damn Sheriff, even if it means bringin’ in a friend o’ mine. An’ it means Ah’m gonna be damn sure Ah got the right pony on the end o’the rope for Lead getting’ killed. Just how long were you alone, after you lot split up an’ afore Ah found you, Smokestack? An’ did you think that y’all just admitted havin’ a motive afore you opened yer fat yap?”

Smokestack scowled at Silverstar, two pairs of stubborn brown eyes glaring into each other.

“I’m heading out to Sweet Apple Acres to double-check your story,” the dray growled. “Big Iron, you stay here; rest your leg and wait for when Braeburn shows up thinking the coast is clear. Braker, you come with me, and Red? Keep an’ eye on the Sheriff here. Don’t give him another chance to warn his little filly we’re comin’.”

“Sure thing, Smokey,” Red nodded uncomfortably, moving to try and separate the feuding stallions.

“Y’feel like wastin’ yer time, feel free.” Silverstar shrugged and turned to head into town for his own investigation, leaving Smokestack and Braker to start making their way down the trail to the farm.

~~~===~~~

“Thanks ag’in for jumpin’ out an’ savin’ Mac like that,” Applejack said quietly as she helped Braeburn into the barn.

“Couldn’t live with m’self if Ah hadn’t,” Braeburn pointed out, standing up without a problem once they were under cover. “Hope y’don’t mind, Cous, but Ah didn’t really twist m’leg. Just wanted to talk fer a bit.”

“Reckon Ah can handle that,” Applejack sighed, rolling her eyes. “You didn’t have to fake a hurt leg to do that, though.”

“Ah did if Ah wanted t’talk about Mac without him here,” Braeburn countered. “How’s he doin’?”

“’Bout as well as can be expected,” Applejack smiled, reaching back to close the door so they could talk without being interrupted. “Still thinks y’cain’t stand ‘im after… well, you know.”

“Ah reckon it’s fer the best, Applejack!” Braeburn protested, stamping a forehoof. “You know it ripped ‘is heart out when Ah told ‘im how Ah am!” Applejack just sighed, walking back up next to her cousin and nuzzling his neck.

“Ah know, Braeburn. But it weren’t what you thought! He kinda thought it was his fault in th’first place. Like he’d gone an’ done somethin’ wrong. Y’remember what happened, Brae? What really happened?” Applejack clarified.

“Ah remember Mac lookin’ like I’d just bucked him in the teeth,” Braeburn sighed, hanging his head.

“An’ then he hugged you, an’ said he still loved you,” Applejack pointed out. “He meant it, Cousin. He tries t’move on oncet’in a while, but it never lasts long, mare or stallion.”

“Mare or what?” Braeburn looked up at her suddenly.

“Heh… figured y’didn’t know,” Applejack smiled knowingly. “Apple Bloom an’ her friends set him up with Miss Cheerilee, the schoolteacher, for a while, but it just didn’t work out. But before that, Mac had been seein’ Caramel on the sly. He still thinks Ah don’t know, but… well, he ain’t the only one who notices things ‘round these parts. Reckon it worked out better with Caramel than Miss Cheerilee, but then, Ah reckon their first date didn’t end up with him payin’ off a weddin’ band from the bottom of a pit neither.”

Braeburn stared at her dumbly, like he’d been the one bucked in the teeth this time.

“Ah tried t’tell y’all at the last reunion, but y’weren’t listenin’.”

“Y’sure you want to be tryin’ t’set a killer up with your brother, Applejack?” Braeburn asked guardedly.

“Shoot, Braeburn, if Mac says y’didn’t do it, Ah reckon he’s prob’ly right. An’ Ah reckon he meant it when he said he’d prove it, too. He’s mighty stubborn when he thinks it’s fer a good cause.” Applejack leaned back against a hay bale, patting the floor to get Braeburn to sit next to her.

“He’s stayed stubborn fer you ever since you really were a filly,” she added.

Braeburn sighed deeply, closing his eyes.

“Applejack… it ain’t fair. Ah know he loved me as a filly, but… Ah ain’t a filly!”

“An’ Ah’m just sayin’ that he don’t care, Braeburn. For what it’s worth… Ah think you’d be good for him, once this is all sorted out.”

“Ah cain’t be his mare, Applejack. Ah just can’t live like that, an’ you both know it. Please don’t –“

“Ah ain’t askin’ you to be his mare, Brae,” Applejack winked. “Ah’ve got some work t’do, while Mac’s off getting’ you off the hook, but Ah’ve got somethin’ up at the house y’might find… useful. Ah’ll bring it on down when Ah take a break later.”

“Heh… thanks,” Braeburn shrugged, trying not to let his mind wander too much as to what it might be. “Guess Ah’ll see you then?”

“You betcha,” she grinned, nuzzling his neck. “But first, you remember where the ol’ club house is?”

“How could Ah forget?” Braeburn laughed. “That old thing still standin’?”

“Good as new, down in the west fields,” Applejack grinned. “Why don’t you mosey on down there t’hide for a spell? You can keep an eye on Apple Bloom an’ her friends, just don’t let on why you’re there. Oughta be safer than hidin’ out up here, so close t’the house.”

“Y’sure that’s a good idea, Cous’? Last time Ah was down there….”

“Last time y’all were down there was a rough day for everypony,” Applejack pointed out. “Besides, ain’t a question about if it’s a good idea, it’s a bad one stayin’ here. Y’all git goin’ now!” She stood up and started towards the door, pausing to turn back to him before she stepped out.

“An’ don’t you worry. Mac knows what he’s doin’, Ah’m sure.” She left to head out to the fields, leaving Braeburn alone to gather this thoughts.

“Ah sure hope he does,” the cowpony murmured, snagging the bag of biscuits and slipping out the barn to find his way back to the clubhouse that he, Applejack, and Big Mac used to play in when they were foals.

Not for the first time, he wished that life could go back to being that simple again.

Chapter 7: Guests at Sweet Apple Acres

Mac was cantering down the path to Ponyville when he saw trouble headed his way. Trouble, in this case, came in the form of a soot-maned, tan-coated stallion and the palomino at his side. Mac didn’t recognize them from in town, and while they might be customers, their purposeful posture suggested they were hunting cowponies. The grin that near-about split the face of the tan stallion when he noticed Big Mac didn’t do anything to put the farmpony at ease. There was something just not quite right about that grin… two rows of even, white teeth, teeth that’d never bent a bit, or cut a chaw.

The teeth of some fancy pony, in the body of a workhorse.

“Well hello there!” White-teeth called out cheerfully, trotting up to Big Macintosh, slowing down as he realized just how large the farmpony was; nearly the size of Lead Belly, and with more lean muscle across his whole body, instead of just in the legs and shoulders. “My name’s Smokestack. My friend, Rock Braker, and I are looking for Sweet Apple Acres. Your cutie mark looks like an apple half to me; would you happen to be part of the family?”

“Eeeyup,” Mac said neutrally, slowing to a walk and coming up to the two of them. He paused, waiting and watching them. He didn’t need to get to town that quickly, if somepony else was going to be poking around for Braeburn. He just had to wait until…..

“Excellent,” Smokestack said after an awkward moment spent waiting for Macintosh to ask why they were on their way out. Mac had looked like he was in something of a hurry to get to town, but now he was calm enough… maybe he was making sure the path was clear for his cousin. “And your name is?”

“Big Mac,” the farmpony answered laconically, leaning over to bite off a bit of grass to chew, watching them carefully. Their eyes kept darting between him and the road, and then the sides of the road, like they were watching for somebody else coming down it. The only thing it made sense they were waiting for was Braeburn. But why would the Sheriff have sent them back out to look for Braeburn on the…..

Ah. That made sense. They didn’t believe the Sheriff, and probably wouldn’t believe him if he said Braeburn was gone. He’d have to come up with some other way around them… some way that kept them from finding Braeburn while he was finding the Sheriff.

“Ah, Big Macintosh, Braeburn’s told us about you!” Smokestack grinned. “We’re friends of his from Appleoosa.”

Mac stood there, giving them the half-lidded, mostly disinterested look that he’d perfected over long years of practice. That seemed to be the best way to get more information out of Smokestack, and Mac wasn’t about to complain.

“Well, we heard he’d had some difficulties back home and absconded to Ponyville,” Smokestack continued on, getting into his peculiar patter. “We were hoping to make sure he was all right, weren’t we Braker?”

“Right,” the palomino nodded. “Worried the Sheriff might find him before we did. You seen him?”

“Eeenope,” Mac shrugged, coming up with a plan on the spot. “Welcome t’come wait for ‘im back at the house, though.”

“We would be most grateful for the opportunity,” Smokestack grinned. “If you could just point the way for us, we’ll let you continue on into town for your business.”

“Better show you,” Mac decided after making a show of thinking about it. “T’ain’t right t’be unsociable, you bein’ Brae’s friends an’ all. Come on,” he said, turning around and starting back down the road he’d just come up at a steady canter, the two hard-running drays keeping up with him easily.

~~~===~~~

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to try one? Just one little bite?” Pinkie Pie grinned broadly at Sheriff Silverstar and Big Iron, holding up a platter of distressingly bright pink deep-fried tortilla shells. “They’re chimicherrychangas, and they’re really tasty!”

“Chimi-what?” Silverstar asked, staring dubiously at the still-steaming… treats? He supposed that was the word for them, given that they were the sixth in an increasingly unusual line of baked (or, in this case, fried) goods the apprentice baker had tried foisting off on them.

“Chimicherrychangas! They’re rice and mashed up cherries, all mixed up and served in a fried tortilla! Go on, try them, they’re on the house! Or on the tray,” Pinkie trailed off, finally broken out of her sales pitch.

“Ah’d… love to, ma’mph!” Before Silverstar could finish speaking, he’d sealed his own fate. Pinkie had popped one of the freshly-fried, crunchy tubes of fruit and rice into his mouth, and was in the process of doing the same to Red.

“But I don’t like cherrmphle!”

“Silly, who doesn’t like cherries? Even Applejack likes cherries, and she’s always eating apples!” Pinkie rattled on. “Aren’t they super-scrumptiolicious?” She grinned broadly, looking at the two stallions with an expression not unlike a puppy standing proudly over a freshly-slain pair of slippers.

No matter how badly you wanted to smack it, it was just too innocently adorable to take any truly offensive action against.

Instead, Silverstar and Red started chewing, bright, fake smiles of their own on the whole time as they tried to work the massive ‘bites’ down to a size that wouldn’t choke them each.

Suddenly, Pinkie gasped and started bouncing in place. Well, bouncing more haphazardly than usual, as though her entire hind end were twitching up a storm.

“Duck and cover!” She shouted in warning. Silverstar, his reflexes honed by watching the pink party pony at work in the Battle of Appleoosa, did as he was told without question, diving under one of the tables outside the bakery. Red, more than a little distracted by the taste of hot cherries, and without the benefit of seeing Pinkie survive a stampede of buffalo being distracted by flying apple pies, looked at her as though she had finally lost it completely.

That was when a fifty-pound sack of sugar fell on him.

Red Caboose lay in an unconscious heap on the ground as Pinkie cautiously looked out into the air above the bakery.

A muscular little pegasus foal fluttered in the air, his unicorn sister looking out the window, both looking rather sheepishly down at Pinkie.

“Pumpkin Cake! Pound Cake! How many times do I have to tell you, you have to open the sack before you dump it on somepony’s head!”

“Sowwie,” Pound pouted.

“Pinkie,” Pumpkin continued.

“Pie,” Pound concluded.

“Oh… what am I gonna do with you two?” Pinkie sighed dramatically. “Get back inside before somepony gets hurt!”

“Ah reckon it’s a little late fer that, ma’am!” Silverstar said grimly as he crawled out to look at Red. “Well Ah’ll be… still breathin’!”

“Of course he is, silly!” Pinkie giggled. “You don’t think I’d teach little foals to pull dangerous pranks, do you?”

“But… they dropped a fifty pound sack of sugar! On his head! From the second story!” Silverstar sputtered disbelievingly.

“Well duh! I only let them use light sugar for these pranks!” Pinkie grinned. “You’d better hurry up and get back out to Sweet Apple Acres. Tail-twitch, left-hind-hoof shake, back itch! That means there’s something super-duper dramatic about to happen!”

“What?” Silverstar asked, staring at her as though he wasn’t sure which of them had just gone crazy.

“You’d better trust me!” Pinkie sing-songed. Then she pulled the upper half of the door to Sugarcube Corner closed, whistling as she went back to work, leaving the bewildered Sheriff with little other choice but to accept that, frankly, she was probably right.

~~~===~~~

“Comp’ny Granny,” Mac called out as he walked into the farmhouse. “Friends o’ Braeburn’s,” he added.

“Well, it’s good to hear he still has some,” Granny Smith called out from the kitchen. The oven slammed shut as she finished sliding in a dish of apple cobbler for dinner. “Come on back, I’ve just finished cooling some snacks!” She sat down at the table, breathing a sigh of relief and snagging one of the freshly-prepared treats for herself.

“With pleasure, ma’am!” Smokestack said smoothly, used to country hospitality from his years on the rails. “Name’s Smokestack, and this is my harness-mate, Rock Braker. Two humble railroad drays from Appleoosa way.”

“Don’t talk so humble,” Granny observed. “Macintosh, have a seat, you can stick around for this company at least!”

“Oh? You’ve had company today?” Smokestack asked, slipping a cookie into his hoof and taking a bite. They were surprisingly good; hearty and still soft, but with a bite of apple and cinnamon. “I don’t suppose it was Braeburn, was it?”

“No, young’in’, it wasn’t. It was the Sheriff,” Granny tsked. “Out looking for the poor colt.”

“Yes, we had heard he was in some trouble,” Smokestack said sympathetically. Big Mac sat down at his usual seat, and Braker took the one across from him, leaving Smokestack and Granny opposite each other on the other sides. Each took another cookie and settled in.

“Some trouble!” Granny snorted. “Sheriff thinks he did some poor feller in. Couldn’t have done it, of course.”

“Well, he is a sturdy applebucker,” Smokestack observed, indicating Macintosh. “I imagine your grandson here wouldn’t have much trouble doing such a thing, if he had a mind to.”

“Hah! Mac’s got a born stallion’s legs under ‘im, but he ain’t got the heart to do something like that.” Granny got up and worked her way over to the small icebox for a pitcher of milk to go with the cookies.

“Well, Braeburn’s the other way for half of that, perhaps he’s got the heart as well,” Smokestack said casually. Granny’s grip on the pitcher slipped, sending it crashing down to the floor to shatter.

“Oh my!” Granny gasped, holding a hoof to her chest, staggering back from the mess. “Mac, fetch a towel, and be careful! There may be glass down there!”

“You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?” Smokestack asked, darting up to his hooves to help Granny back into her seat as Mac followed orders. “Didn’t step on anything?”

“No, no… just startled,” Granny panted. “What was that, about Braeburn being the other way?”

“Dear, I thought you knew!” Smokestack frowned. “I shouldn’t have said anything, never mind. Let’s get this mess cleaned up. Braker, there’s a cloth by the sink, make yourself useful!” The palomino sprang into action, the two newcomers making themselves busy cleaning up the mess as best they could.

“Whippersnapper,” Granny said calmly, “Ah’ve spent most of my born years livin’ outside the Everfree Forest. Ah’ve seen things that’d turn even your mane white, whatever you meant, Ah kin take it.”

“Well, it’s just… I would have thought that Braeburn would have told his own family!” Smokestack protested. “If he didn’t, then I’m sure he meant to keep it a secret for a good reason, but… well, you do know that he was born a mare, don’t you?”

Just then, Mac came back into the room with a towel, which Granny snapped away from him and tossed down onto the remaining mess.

“Macintosh Apple, you go git some cider for us,” Granny told him evenly. “Since Ah’ve been so clumsy. Ah’ll finish cleaning this mess up here with these nice young colts.”

“I’m sure I can handle it, Granny,” Smokestack smiled uncomfortably, his face showing nothing but concern at having betrayed a secret. “Braker can help Macintosh with the cider, I’m sure it’s awkward bringing it up from the cellar.”

“Cellar? Bah, that’s too much trouble,” Granny said dismissively. “Mac, fetch it from the barrel by the woodshed, that one’s already tapped. Take Braeburn’s friend with you, if’n he likes.”

“Reckon I should, ma’am,” Braker said, tipping his bowler to her and following Mac out.

“Now… tell me everything you know about mah… niece,” Granny ordered Smokestack grimly.

Jackpot! Smokestack thought to himself. Always the elderly who’ll come to their senses first.

“I really hadn’t wanted to upset you, ma’am, but I suppose it’s for the best,” the tan stallion sighed before launching into his story.

Chapter 8: The Final Pieces

Meanwhile, Macintosh led Braker out to the woodshed, more certain than ever of the necessity of his plan. He’d hoped it would go a bit more smoothly than this, but Granny seemed to realize it was necessary to keep her cool as well, keep them thinking they didn’t know everything.

Mac’s plan was just a bit different.

“Ah knew about Braeburn,” he confided in the palomino at his side. “About his not bein’ like other colts.”

“You did, huh?” Braker asked him gruffly. “Reckon she’s not too popular out here.”

“Actually, he’s still mah favorite cousin,” Mac observed. “Ah know what it’s like, keepin’ secrets from ponies y’love,” he added pointedly as they reached the shed. Inside, firewood was stacked up, across from a number of shelves with various implements for the day’s work, including four weathered wooden mugs.

“What’s that s’posed t’mean?” Braker frowned as Mac sat the mugs on a tray.

“Ah saw th’way y’winced when Smokestack called ya his harness-mate,” Mac shrugged. “Reckon y’all’re out a long time atween towns , bein’ rail-drays an’ all. Don’t judge y’for it,” he added, looking back over his shoulder and meeting Braker’s eyes. “After all, ah’m head over hooves fer m’own cousin. Just got one question though.”

“Y’can shove it, if it’s about Smokestack,” Braker muttered, looking over at the sharp axe that was embedded in a nearby stump.

“It’s not,” Big Mac said easily, taking advantage of Braker’s distraction to reach back to the collection of loose herbs for first aid. He snagged a dark black root out of the pile, crushing it under hoof and sweeping part of the fresh powder into a mug. “It’s about Braeburn,” he clarified, taking the spiked mug and one other in his forehooves to walk around the shed to the cider barrel that was stored beneath it, buried part-way into the hill to keep cool even on the hottest summer’s day.

“G’on,” Braker said, returning to watching the scarlet stallion.

“Ah was wonderin’,” Mac said as he drew two full cups of cider, “if’n he bucked somepony’s head open, why didn’t y’all follow his tracks right there?”

“Don’t rightly know,” Braker shrugged. “Wasn’t there when they found ‘im. Don’t like t’think about it much. Y’can ask Smokey when we get back up t’the house.”

“Fair enough,” Mac nodded, offering Braker the mug he’d spiked. “Ah meant what Ah said, Rock. Ah don’t judge. Had me a coltfriend mahself a while back, tryin’ t’git over Brae.”

“Huh… guess y’wouldn’t then,” Braker mused, looking at the sediment floating in the cider. “What’s this crap floating in it?” He asked with a scowl.

“Heh, that’s what proves y’ain’t ever really had cider,” Mac chuckled. “If it ain’t cloudy, it’s just juice. Look at mine,” he pointed out, holding the mug out for Braker’s inspection.

“Think I prefer the look of that one,” Braker decided. “Mind switching?”

“…Why not,” Mac shrugged after a moment, rolling his eyes to hide his fresh panic at having to find some plausible reason to swap back before they drank. The two of them switched mugs, and Mac raised his to his lips, thinking fast.

“Just how far would you go fer Braeburn?” Rock asked him, taking a drink from his new mug.

“How far’d you go fer Smokestack?” Mac asked him, privately grateful for the delay. Rock scowled at the question he’d gotten back.

“Farther’n he’d be grateful for,” the palomino answered grimly.

“Sounds like y’got some regrets,” Mac observed.

“Who doesn’t?” Braker shrugged. “Smokey’s a pompous ass who chases more tail than a kennel… but ah reckon he’s mah pompous ass. Least until he went an’ knocked up Sundancer.”

“Sundancer?”

“Lead’s filly… Lead Belly, used t’be our lead dray. Up ‘til your cousin busted his head open.” Another deep drink of cider, tasting the bite of the well-fermented juice pouring down his throat, loosening his tongue.

“Sounds like Smokestack got lucky,” Mac observed.

“You shut yer damned trap!” Braker snapped. “He didn’t… damned Sheriff thought the same thing, but Smokey didn’t do it! Ah know that much!” Mac nodded, putting the last of the pieces together.

“Here’s t’doin’ stupid shit fer the ponies we love,” he said, raising his still-full mug in a toast. Braker snorted, lifting his own up before tipping it back to drain it.

That was when Mac swung his mug, putting his full strength behind the blow that landed against the side of Braker’s head. The dray staggered, stunned by the blow as Mac lunged to tackle him.

“Y’did it, didn’t you?” Mac demanded, rolling on top of Braker and trying to pin him down. “Knew he’d find out… about Smokestack?”

“Fuck you!” Braker snarled, pulling his own powerful legs up under Mac and kicking out hard. Mac was startled for a moment; he’d been in fights before, but in Ponyville, even a pony like Snowflake couldn’t out-muscle him. But ponies like Snowflake weren’t used to hauling tons of rolling wood, iron, and steel behind them, with nothing but a primitive steam engine to lighten the load. Braker was, and while he was small for a dray, that just meant he packed more strength into a smaller package. His four hooves lifted Mac up, sending the farmpony flying through the air while Braker staggered to all fours… and made a break for the wood axe nearby.

Macintosh’s head was reeling after he landed. He was fairly accustomed to the ground being beneath him, the air above him, and dangerous ponies who needed to be held down were between him and the ground. For a stomach-lurching split second, the natural order had been completely inverted by said dangerous pony, sending Mac spinning through the air. His impact with the ground, back-first, hadn’t especially helped to fix things. Unless, of course, by ‘fixing’ things you meant asserting that the ground and sky had not changed places, but rather Mac’s head and hooves. Mac had known that, academically, during his brief flight, but the forceful confirmation on his landing drove the point home.

And, he couldn’t help but note, probably into several rather important bits and pieces inside of him.

He was just getting his bearings again when he heard a creaking from the old wood-splitting log. Twisting towards the sound, he realized his biggest mistake yet.

He’d gone and taken a mug full of cider to an axe fight.

Mac rolled out of the way just as Braker shifted the axe into his hooves and threw it. The blade bit deeply into the earth just where Mac had been a moment before, but the palomino didn’t wait to confirm the miss before leaping into the farmpony.

Solid, steel-shod hooves crashed into Mac’s sturdy body, a hail of blows that kept him staggering. It was only by Celestia’s good graces that he managed to keep his head from getting hit, twisting to keep his powerful torso the part that was exposed. His opening came when Braker had to pause for a heaving breath, but one opening was all he needed. Mac finished twisting around, leaning forward and collecting all of his strength in his hind legs. His body tightened, compacting together as all that lean, thick, corded muscle gathered into a motion that was as natural to Big Mac as breathing.

His body exploded backwards, erupting into Braker with enough force to splinter a full-grown oak, or to drag a house off of its foundation without breaking a sweat.

The palomino realized what was coming at him and fell backwards, making no effort to resist the blow, going limp and letting all of that force push him harder into the fall. He skidded backwards, ripping up grass as he slid into the stump behind him, but he knew the gamble had paid off; he was still in once piece.

Mostly in one piece, he mentally corrected himself as he tasted blood flowing down his throat, twisting to spit out some teeth that had been knocked loose by the hit. He saw the axe, just two or three lengths away from him, and saw Macintosh moving to get it under control, much closer. Braker twisted around, leaping for the weapon, and reached it at the same moment Mac did.

The two stallions snorted and grunted as they fought over the axe. Mac knocked it out of the ground, then Braker knocked it out of his hooves. It fell to the ground as they traded blows to the face, Braker’s steel horseshoes making up the difference in force that Mac’s greater strength gave him.

Mac staggered back, stepping onto the axe and feeling the haft break beneath his hoof. He kicked the blade away, and Braker grinned, slipping around Mac and snagging the handle in his mouth. Looking at the insane, bloodthirsty gleam in Braker’s eyes as he gripped the axe handle, matching his cutie mark, Mac knew he was looking into the eyes of a pony who not only wouldn’t hesitate to kill him.

He hadn’t hesitated to kill a pony who’d counted him as a friend, either.

“Y’know,” Braker panted, “Br’b’rn… m’de it d’mned easy! Lead didn’t even put up a fight…. Not like you!”

Suddenly, two apples came rocketing out of nowhere, splattering against the side of Braker’s head. He dropped the handle; Mac didn’t even bother to look to see if it was Braeburn, Applejack, or Apple Bloom who’d come to his rescue, he just leaped towards the palomino. He landed in front of the dray, and reared up. All his strength came down in a carefully controlled blow to the back of the murderer’s head, and Braker dropped like a marionette whose strings had just been cut.

“What in tarnation’s goin’ on?” Applejack demanded as she galloped up to the scene of the fight. Mac’s sides heaved, slick with sweat as he staggered over to the woodshed.

“He’s th’killer,” Mac explained gruffly, snagging the remaining half of the root of Everfree’s Mercy and chomping down on it, letting the bitter juices flow down his throat, rapidly taking the aching pain away. “Lock ‘im in here. Friend of his… in th’house with Granny!”

“Aw horseapples,” Applejack breathed. She and her brother hurried to drag Braker into the shed, bolting the door with the broken axe handle before they both started towards the house at a run. They burst through the back door, and then came to a dead stop, seeing Smokestack seated casually across from Granny Smith.

The tan stallion had a pistol looped around his leg, the exposed trigger just waiting for a twitch of the hoof to fire on the elderly mare who was sitting, glaring defiantly at her captor.

“Well well, so I take it that that little fracas outside didn’t work out so well for Braker. Of course, two on one, I suppose it makes sense. So he figured out where you’re keeping the little freak?”

“Ah keep tellin’ ya, we ain’t keepin’ him!” Granny muttered. The oven timer went off, and she stood up from her seat.

“Sit back down, Granny,” Smokestack warned her.

“Fiddlesticks! If y’all’re gonna shoot me, I’ll spit that bullet right back atcha!” She snapped at him. “What harm’s an old biddy checkin’ on her cobbler an’ makin’ sure the place don’t burn down gonna do ya?”

Smokestack scowled; she’d called his bluff on that count. He shifted the gun to point at Applejack.

“Fine, but one false move from any of you and the lovely young filly’s not so lovely anymore.”

“Sidewindin’ son of a mule,” Granny groused as she made her way over to the oven slowly.

“Now,” Smokestack demanded again, ignoring the green-coated old mare, “where’s Braeburn? And what’d you do with Braker?”

“Yer friend’s takin’ a nap in the woodshed,” Mac told him. “Tried t’take an axe handle to me, after tellin’ me he’d done the same t’yer friend in Appleoosa.”

“Bullshit,” Smokestack snorted, keeping his eyes on Applejack, ignoring Granny as she opened up the oven. “Why would Braker do something like that?”

“Because,” Mac replied evenly, “for some damn-fool reason, he went an’ got hisself a crush on you.”

Smokestack’s eyes snapped over to meet Macintosh’s, deep brown meeting bright green. A snarled twisted Smokestack’s handsome face into an ugly mask as he started bringing the pistol to bear on Macintosh. The huge farmpony dropped to the floor, just before he heard the gun go off. The bullet ripped through the air above Mac, punching a hole through the door behind him.

Everypony’s ears were ringing from the explosion of gunpowder in the confined space, but Granny didn’t hesitate. While Smokestack was trying to recock his gun, she curled her lips back behind her hotpad and bit down on the tray beneath her cobbler, yanking her head back with all her strength and hurling the steaming, bubbling evening meal at him.

Smokestack’s eyes widened as he realized what was coming at him, and he threw his hooves up in front of his face, the pistol clacking against a hoof. The ceramic dish shattered as he tried desperately to knock it away, but the mostly-liquid contents carried on, coating his legs, splashing onto his face and chest, covering him with boiling sugar and caramelized slices of apple. The surface cooled quickly, trapping in the heat against Smokestack’s body, where hair scorched and skin blistered.

Ears ringing or not, there was no shutting out the scream that erupted from Smokestack’s scalded, scarring muzzle. Applejack and Macintosh moved quickly, darting into the nearby bathroom to get some water to throw over him, but Granny just sat there with a look of grim satisfaction on her face.

“That’s what you get for thinkin’ Ah’m just a harmless old biddy!” She snapped at him, letting Mac and Applejack worry about trying to stop the damage from getting any worse.

Chapter 9: Wrapping Up

Silverstar sighed as he heard the last of the story. Braeburn had come up to the house now, while Nurse Redheart and several orderlies were carefully loading the badly scarred Smokestack into an ambulance. Braker was bound in the corner of the kitchen, all four hooves cuffed and with one of Granny’s kerchiefs wrapped around his muzzle for good measure.

“Hell of a story,” he pointed out. “But now that y’mention it, Mac, it is a mite queer Ah didn’t see any hoofprints leadin’ away.”

“Ah swear, Sheriff, Ah didn’t even know Lead was dead until Applejack an’ Mac were talkin’ about it,” Braeburn said, crossing his heart with a hoof. “Ah just reckoned I’d be best off gettin’ out of town afore anypony else came after me like he did.”

“An’ Ah believe ya, Braeburn,” Silverstar promised. “Ah just couldn’t think of anypony else, ‘cept Smokestack, an’ that was mighty thin. Sure, he’d been foalin’ around with Sundancer, but he weren’t the only one. Just wish the damn fool filly hadn’t pointed ‘em at you in the first place. Thought she had more sense than that.”

“Ah reckon ah know why she did,” Braeburn muttered. “Reckon she just told Lead t’talk to me, figured Ah’d be able t’talk him down. Too scared t’say who the real sire was.”

“She should’ve sent ‘im t’talk to the real Daddy,” Silverstar pointed out, planting a hoof hard on the table. “Ah told’er as much!”

“Reckon things might not’ve worked out too well fer the real one,” Mac pointed out. “She didn’t know about Brae?”

“Aw hay no!” Braeburn snorted. “Silverstar’s the only pony who did, an’ that counts the fillies Ah did hook up with!” All the Apples there looked at him incredulously, while Silverstar just laughed.

“Ah’ve never asked, reckon Ah didn’t wanna know.”

“Creativity,” Braeburn shrugged, leaning back with a sigh. “Sheriff… Ah don’t think Ah can go back t’bein’ yer deputy now. Not right away at least.”

“No… no, Ah reckon’ y’probably can’t,” Silverstar admitted. “Still don’t think anypony’d go lynchin’ you, but… Deputy’s a different story. Ah’ll try talkin’ with ‘em though. Appleoosa won’t be the same without ya,” he said fondly.

“Nope… but who knows, right?” Braeburn smiled uneasily. “Maybe they’ll decide they miss me enough t’realize they want me back no matter what sorta pistol Ah’m packin’.”

“Well, maybe if’n Ah hire Salt Lick as mah new Deputy,” Silverstar winked. “If th’thought of givin’ him a badge don’t scare some sense into ‘em, nothin’ will!”

“Hell, Ah’m thinkin’ it might scare me int’takin’ mah chances with comin’ back after all,” Braeburn murmured. Mac leaned over and gave him a light nuzzle.

“Eeenope. Make ‘em beg,” he said simply.

“’Cause if y’don’t, he’s gonna, is what the big galoot ain’t sayin’,” Granny observed wryly. “Applejack, when y’see yer sister next, tell ‘er t’get the guest room made up.”

“She’s off crusadin’, Granny, prolly won’t be back until dark,” Applejack pointed out. “If Mac can go out an’ actually get some work done today, Ah’ll go git it fixed up. Reckon the day’s pretty well shot anyway.”

“Lousy choice of words, Cous,” Braeburn winced. “This it, Sheriff? Gonna take him back an’… well, you know?” He asked, nodding towards the bound Braker.

“Take him back an’ try him, at least. Reckon he might just get a prison term, dependin’ on how the judge looks at it. Near ‘bout defendin’ Smokestack from gettin’ killed, given Lead’s temper,” Silverstar pointed out as he stood up.

“You frontier ponies,” Granny tsked. “Always handlin’ things with yer hooves.”

Silverstar looked back at the pony who’d probably scarred Smokestack for the rest of his life, raising an eyebrow dubiously.

“Reckon all you Ponyville ponies really are nuts,” he observed, shaking his head. “Well, Ah’ve gotta be off t’round up Big Iron an’ make sure he doesn’t try anythin’ stupid himself. Though ah reckon when he gets the full story, he an’ Red’ll help lead Braker back with me.”

“If he doesn’t, you’ve got a Princess an’ guards ready t’back you up at the library,” Applejack promised. “Just look fer the big tree with the door in it.”

“An’ ponyfolk wonder why Ah quit the Manehattan force t’head up the settlers,” Silverstar murmured, grabbing Braker’s lead in his mouth and giving it a yank before he started back towards town with his prisoner.

“Still reckon y’want to stick around Ponyville for a while, Braeburn?” Granny asked him, just a little bit testily. “With all the crazy folk?”

“Ma’am, ah am a cowpony at heart,” Braeburn said solemnly, taking off his hat and holding it over his heart. “An’ if Ah couldn’t tame me a wild bull or two, Ah would have to hang up mah hat. Yer stuck with me, as long as you’ll have me,” he grinned shyly.

“Just don’t go givin’ Apple Bloom no funny idears about mares an’ colts,” Granny snorted. “That wingy friend of hers goes blurrin’ them lines enough!”

“Deal,” Braeburn promised. “Mind if Ah help you clean up? Reckon it’s mostly mah fault such a mess got made in the first place,” he pointed out.

“You kiddin’?” Granny smirked at him. “That’s mare’s work. Now git goin’, help Applejack clean up that room o’yours so she an’ Mac can git out t’the fields ag’in!”

“Yes’m,” Braeburn said politely. Applejack smiled and led him upstairs, leaving Mac and Granny alone in the kitchen.

“Thanks, Granny,” Mac said, leaning over to nuzzle her gently.

“Y’kin thank me by helpin’ clean up this damned mess,” Granny told him, cuffing his ear lightly. “An Macintosh? Ah swear, if you end up wearin’ frills an’ ribbons, Ah’m gonna up an’ bury m’self. Things change fast enough round these parts these days! You understand me?”

“Eeeyup!” Mac chuckled, heading back into the bathroom to fetch the cleaning supplies.

Chapter 10: A Hero's Reward

That night, Braeburn was quiet as he lay in his new room. Dinner had been late and simple, with all sorts of questions from Apple Bloom that nopony’d wanted to go into too much detail about. She’d been lucky, dodging most of the ugliness of the day out with her friends. Those couple of hours Braeburn had spent with them in the clubhouse answering questions about being a settler had been… fun, actually.

Just visitin’ for a spell… been ages since Ah got t’spend any real time with Mac an’ Applejack….

Simple little lies, and he was pretty sure that the three fillies had seen straight through them. Applejack had given him something to think about, something that’d had him distracted all day long. And now he was looking straight at it.

It was a simple enough device, really. A strap-on carved out of applewood, with all the care of a master craftsman, sanded smooth and lacquered up to keep it from splintering. He had two or three just like it back home, for those flings who weren’t satisfied with ‘creativity’ and weren’t experienced (or discerning) enough to realize that certain organs ought to be a bit warmer when you first touched them.

Well… not just like it. Not according to Applejack.

Ah’ve seen toys like that before, Cous, reckon Ah’ve got bigger back home, he’d joked when she showed it to him.

Not like this, Braeburn, she’d told him seriously. Twi… Princess Twilight, that is… she made this for me when Ah asked if there might be any way t’help you an’Mac.

Y’told her about me? Braeburn hadn’t seen it, but judging by Applejack’s quick reaction, he was sure the look of hurt and betrayal on his face matched what he’d felt at that moment.

Ah only told her it was a mare who didn’t like bein’ a mare, wanted t’be a stallion, Applejack had sworn. She weren’t so keen on the idea at first, but… well, Ah guess once she got herself some wings, she realized what it must feel like, bein’ born somethin’ an’ suddenly knowin’ you were s’posed t’be somethin’ else. Ah was gonna give this to you at Hearth's Warming but... well, since y'all're here, might as well git it over with. She’d scuffed her hoof sheepishly against the floor.

So… what’s it do?

What do you think it does, Braeburn? All y’got t’do is take it, put it on, an’ say….

“From inside to out, mistakes be undone,” Braeburn whispered, having already donned the enchanted toy while reminiscing. “If mah destiny’s true, mind and body become one!” He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, and waited for some sort of bright light, heavenly music, a twisting and cracking sound in his pelvis, anything that might indicate alicorn magic being unleashed. When nothing happened, he almost felt worse, looking down and expecting to see that nothing had happened.

Instead, he saw a perfectly normal, respectable specimen of stallionhood between his legs, dangling from a perfectly natural sheath. Not huge, but not especially small either, just… normal. No sparkling, no lights, no… nothing. Nothing to indicate it was magical, nothing to suggest it wasn’t a part of the pony it was attached to.

Braeburn had never wanted so badly to run out, jump a line of royal guards, and kiss a Princess in his life!

Instead, Braeburn carefully sat down on his bed, looking down at the new organ between his legs. He licked his suddenly-dry lips, almost afraid to touch it for fear it would disappear in magical smoke, or that he’d wake up and realize he was dreaming. He had just about overcome his fears, telling himself that if a Princess had made this, it would work as it was meant to, when the door to his room opened.

“Brae?” Macintosh asked, sticking his head in through the door. “Mind talk –“ Braeburn’s heart leapt into his throat as Mac’s jaw dropped when he saw the mottled orange-and-black stallion’s member dangling between his cousin’s legs.

“Y’like it?” Braeburn asked weakly. “Applejack says a friend of hers made it for me… for us” he added, trying to swallow the burgeoning panic that Mac wouldn’t be interested in him anymore. He’d never told Mac that he’d had a stallion’s heart even that first fumbling time they’d made love as a colt and a filly. Hadn’t told Mac until afterwards, and never thought that it might make Mac think he’d ‘broken’ him somehow, like Applejack had suggested earlier.

Hadn’t thought, until just now, that maybe Applejack hadn’t known her brother as well as she’d thought. That maybe now that the outside matched the inside, the big stallion’s carefully preserved love for a confused little filly might not be able to survive when presented with a newly-minted stallion.

“Ah’m sorry, Mac, Ah just had t’use it, Ah had t’try,” he started to ramble, squeezing his eyes shut to hide the tears that were forming. He wouldn’t trade actually being a stallion for anything… but if there was something that could make him consider it, it would be losing Mac. He kept trying to explain, each attempt shorter and more jumbled than the last, until he felt Mac’s strong forelegs on his shoulders.

“Braeburn,” Macintosh said seriously, nuzzling his nose. “Look at me.”

Hesitantly, Braeburn opened his eyes a crack. They flew wide open when Mac leaned in and kissed him hotly, plunging his tongue into the cowpony’s startled muzzle with hunger Braeburn had almost forgotten existed.

Almost, but not completely. Braeburn started kissing back, his tongue dueling with Mac’s as he felt a stirring that was somehow familiar and utterly alien at the same time between his thighs. When the two stallions’ lips parted, Mac looked down between them with a grin. When his bright green eyes came back up to meet Braeburn’s, they were practically sparkling.

“This ain’t a bad thing,” Mac promised, sinking down and taking Braeburn’s stiffening cock-head in his mouth. The smaller cowpony sat bolt upright, gasping with shock at the sudden intensity of the sensation.

“No it ain’t,” he breathed, quickly losing the capacity for coherent words, or thoughts for that matter, as Mac started working his tongue and muzzle up and down the sensitive, ramrod-stiff meat.

Mac, for his part, was in heaven. Nopony’d ever guessed it, even the ones who had known about he and Caramel, but he’d loved doing this ever since he’d first tried it out. He pressed his forelegs onto either side of Braeburn’s legs, taking his musky cock into his mouth and deep back to his throat. He looked up into Braeburn’s eyes, and saw the same eyes looking down at him that he’d seen so very, very long ago….

Their eyes met, Braeburn’s shocked at the pleasure her slightly older cousin had just introduced her to. Mac’s shone back up at him, practically radiating how much he loved sharing this sort of pleasure with the pony he loved. Braeburn’s hooves slid along Mac’s mane, helping to haphazardly guide the more experienced stallion to the ways that helped give him the most pleasure. Macintosh’s tongue curled around, exploring tender, untouched flesh, drinking in the scent and taste of pure, untouched pleasure and wonder.

Now, just as it had been so long ago, it didn’t take long. Mac may not have been the most experienced teenager around, but he’d been good enough to do the job with an inexperienced filly just come out of her first heat. Tonight, he had plenty more experience, and it was all being focused on a colt who, for all he’d slept with half the single mares in Appleoosa, might as well have been a virgin for all his ability to resist the inevitable. When Mac sank down to the root, burying his nose against Braeburn’s new sheath and taking his flare barely into his throat, he might as well have popped the cork off a shaken bottle of cider.

Braeburn gasped wordlessly as he erupted into Macintosh’s muzzle. Thick spurts of hot, creamy, faintly apple-flavored stallion-seed flowed down Mac’s throat as though it had been made for the job. The older stallion held his breath as best as he could as he felt Braeburn’s flare pulsing just inside the top of his throat, stretching it in that unique blend of pleasure and pain that only pushing his body’s limits to bring his lover to climax could give him. When Braeburn finally collapsed onto the bed, Mac crawled up into it with him, the frame creaking slightly at the extra weight while the two stallions snuggled.

“No wonder y’couldn’t do much after that first time,” Braeburn murmured, stunned and drained by the experience. He kissed Mac languidly, pressing his tongue into the bigger stallion’s mouth, tasting his own seed in Mac’s mouth.

“Oh sweet Celestia,” he moaned. “Can’t believe this is real.”

“If’n you’d like, Ah kin pinch ya an’ see if you wake up,” Mac teased lightly. Braeburn smirked up at him, and gave his nose a playful lick.

“Gimme a few minutes Mac, an’ you can do a lot more’n’that!” He promised with the wickedest grin Macintosh had ever seen, on stallion or mare.

“Reckon Ah like that idea just fine,” Mac rumbled, leaning in for another kiss as he settled into what would hopefully be the first of a great many nights with the stallion he’d loved since the day they’d met.

Author's Note

And there we go! Some smut to pay off those poor souls who muddled through my thriller/drama/whatchamacallit!

In case it wasn't obvious, I was experimenting with slipping back and forth between times in Braeburn's head during the sex scene; a technique worth putting some more development into?