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?