The Yellow Rose
In the far east of Equestria, past the lush green landscape of the Canterlot Valley, the untamed darkness of the Everfree Forrest, and past the stretching golden wheat farms of the Bread Basin Plains, there is a place where the vibrant green grass shrivels and dies, turning into the coarse yellow sand that makes up the Summerland Desert. For as far as a desert goes, this one isn’t much different from any other desert, except for one piece of it.
To the center north of this dead stretch of land, there is a place called the Coffin Valley. This place earned its lovely name because of the average temperature. In the winter, we have to get our sweaters out so we don’t catch a chill for the days that get below eighty degrees. And if a tourist is interested in going somewhere warm, the average one hundred and eighteen degree summer days should suffice.
Coffin Valley is not hot because something or someone decided to make it that way, but there is a reason for this madness. To start, it is a valley, it naturally is a large hole in the ground, and they say at its lowest point the valley is below sea level. The elevation of the area allows for the sun to really dry out the air, and since it’s trapped in the valley, there is no way for the dry air to escape and absorb any moisture. If it were any other place in Equestria, our high temperatures would probably be offset by rainfall. But if pegasi ever wanted to bring us precipitation, the nearest open body of water to Coffin Valley is past three mountain ranges, and each range creates something called a rain shadow. As clouds full of moisture are brought our way, they have to travel past the mountains, but as they get higher up the mountain, they get colder and heavier. Most of the clouds can't be kept together and they transform into rain even before they get past the first mountain, let alone three.
The climate of the area is just made to be hot. The planet’s natural tilt give us direct sunlight each summer. To the north, the Griffin Kingdom experiences a high pressure cold front from the north pole once every eleven years and the high pressure forces their warm summer air south, we take the displaced air, and the gusts stagnate around the desert.
Then, there is "La Fil", an unexplainable weather anomaly. The most talented weather pegasi and the smartest unicorns cannot explain why or how La Fil happens, but they can explain that it is a warm water current which distorts the air above it in the ocean once every 4 years. As the warm air passes by the normally wet coastline, it sucks all of the humidity out of the air and takes it back to sea, drying out the entire region. What this means for our valley, though, is that our average rainfall of about a dozen inches a year, is reduced to zero. Heck, if it were at all possible, we would probably have negative rain during the summer.
If any of these variables change, then the weather of Coffin Valley may be wildly different. But, through these chances, the strangest thing may happen, Harmony. Like a celestial alignment, all of these seemingly odd variables can work together to create something that they could never hope to achieve without each other. When the time comes where the Summer sun’s heat and Coffin Valley’s elevation and mountain ranges work with the Northern wind as well as La Fil something extraordinary happens. It’s the reason why this inhospitable scrap of a valley is known around the world.
It was the hottest day of the century in the hottest place on the planet, and we were going to be a part of it, part of history. Coffin Valley, the place that we all called home, was going to go into the record books as having the hottest day in decades and setting the new record at one hundred and forty eight degrees Fahrenheit.
That day started out somewhat normal, for as normal as any self-respecting Colt Scout could be, because it just so happened that on this monumental day, our Troop was going to go out and camp in the desert. I could go on and on about getting ready and how crazy hot it was out there, but the real story begins right before the day was over.
We got to our camping spot before nightfall. We put up our tents and cited our Scout books on the proper procedures on how to make a fire. After that, we all were finally able to relax, as the most monumental day in our lives ended. Everypony was set up in the camp and was sitting around a fire.
The Scout dads, who had chaperoned for the trip, had set a bonfire only for themselves and passed around bottles of that very old apple cider that made them act weird and very noisy. That being said, we were not being quiet by any means. Our group was busy talking, telling stories and singing songs. Heck, that was probably why we didn’t see him sneak up and take a seat with us.
It was somewhere between seventy-nine and seventy-eight bales of hay on the wall that the rest of us scouts noticed we had a new addition among our ranks.
As we sang and stomped to the tune of the song, we heard a voice cut through the melody of our Marshmallow induced states that caused all of us to go mute and shift our attention to one side of the gathering.
“That was some day, huh colts?”
The new member of our midst had definitely wandered over from the adults’ fire. He was sitting on his rump, and even though he was using his front hooves to keep him stabilized, he still had a strange sway to his posture. Also, the light from the crackling sticks and dancing brush illuminated his eyes, which looked a little bit redder than usual.
If the oldest pony among us was twelve years old, then our newest arrival would be older than us all by fifty-eight years. His coat, a tomato red color, had been thinned out so badly by his old age that his sun burnt skin could be seen even now by the faint light of the campfire. The light of the flame reflected off of his golden teeth, and glowed against his silky black hair. To everyone else, his name was Speedy Express. But to me, he was just “Grandpa”.
Grandpa, being old and all, was starting to get a little…well…crazy. But nopony could really tell why he was getting that way. In some ways ponies say that his mental state was because of our combined heritage. His mom was a mustang, he was half mustang, my dad was a quarter mustang, and I was an eighth. But, it wasn’t that he was part mustang–he, dad and I had the same black mane and shared the same earthy coat color-but his antics were still a bit odd. Like with the old teachings, he still wore hawk feathers in his mane, he still kept the evil spirits away by pining snake skins around his house in the Fall, and he still kept a jar of smelly mushroom around for his ceremonial full moon celebrations.
But, if it wasn’t his devotion to the old ways that made him the way he was, then it was probably because of all the time he spent in the sun. Being Coffin Valley’s mailpony for fifty years often forced Grandpa to be subjected to some extreme heat in order to make sure that everypony received the proper coverage of the Equestrian Mail Service. So, from sun up to sun down, Grandpa would pull the feathers out of his mane, put on his Postmaster cap and lug his bags across open stretches of barren deserts and sunbaked mesas. Grandpa even won the Equestrian Mailpony of the year three times in a row. I guess that working that hard would go to anypony’s head… but at the same time, Grandpa must have liked his job or else he wouldn’t have done it for so long.
So anyway, Grandpa waited a moment for the rest of our group become aware of his arrival. They slowly turned and focused on him. “That was a real scorcher, Huh? Well, it’s kinda funny, I remember back when I was yer age we had one heckofa day just like it.”
“Really?” somepony asked, “You were around for super hot day too?”
Grandpa nodded, but did not speak. Instead, he snorted through his nose and moved his jaw up and down in his closed mouth sucking his lips in, until he spat, shooting out a brown bullet into the fire and toppling over a log. “Yes-sir-ee-Bob! Now that I think of it, it was seventy years ago exactly. I got a story for y’all if yer inner’ested.”
The other colt scouts nodded their heads and encouraged my grandpa to continue. I couldn’t help myself from freezing up over the question. If I didn’t know better, I would have tried to stop him. But I knew from experience that whenever Grandpa got his mind set on something, be it showing anypony who would listen his wallet full of family foal pictures, teaching “life lessons” on not eating raspberries, explaining how -in his day- he had to walk to school -both ways- in the rain every day, or, most importantly, reciting the principles of the duties and authority vested in the Postmasters of the Equestrian Mail Service, there was nothing that could stop him. So, to say the least, I was a little hesitant to agree to my Grandpa's story. But the will of the many outweighed my experience in this matter, and so he began.
"Well, it was like I said. I was about yer ages seventy years ago. Back then, Bone's Crossing was nothin' more than a street with two rows of shops on it. Back then, our lil' line in the sand was the furthest town between most of Equestria and the East'rn Coast.”
"But what about-" someone around the left side of the fire blurted out, but, being an elementary school kid, he stopped and raised his hoof out of reflex, like he was in class. He waited for a moment, looking at Grandpa to call him to speak, but after darting around the fire at every pony staring at him he realized how dumb he looked. "But, I thought that Appleoosa was the furthest town to the east of Equestria until a few years ago?"
Grandpa nodded and continued, "That’s right. But back then, Bone's Crossing was founded before the tribal lands were declared by the Princess. So we weren' in Equestria anymore, technic'ly speakin’." Grandpa waited for a moment to make sure he had everyone's attention again. "So I remember it like it was yesterday. The winter was bone dry. The days were gettin’ longer n' longer, and it was getting hotter n' hotter with each passin’ day. It got so darn hot one day that you could boil water by settin’ it out in the sun. On the next day it was so hot that you could cook an egg on the roof of the hotel. It even got so hot that nopony in their right mind would go outside durrin' midday, and that was a week before the hottest day."
By now I was rolling my eyes at the kooky old stallion. While he seemed to be on track right now, I was anticipating his train of thought to derail and go off and explain the virtues of putting on sunblock once every two hours, to brush your teeth before bed, or to somehow relate this to the respected position of the Postmaster of the Equestrian Mail Service. But then I heard him say something unexpected, something that sounded so different from what I had anticipated that I had to make sure I wasn't just hearing things. Outlaws. I had to interrupt and ask Grandpa to go back a few words to make sure my hearing wasn't getting as bad as his.
"Sure thin’, sonny. It was gettin' so hot that nopony in their right mind was setting hoof out in the sun, not even outlaws. But on the eve of what was fercasted to be the pinnacle of hot, we saw a group o’ shadows off on the horizon commin' our way. We knew that nopony would take this kind o' heat just to visit Bone's Crossing, so we assumed the worst. N' wowee were we right. As it turned out, we were goin' to be hosts to the roughest, toughest, meanest gang in the east, the Rowdy Colts."
Everypony around the fire gasped. At the time, I had never heard of the band, and I doubt all of the other colt scouts did, but, out of prior knowledge, peer pressure, or just the heat of the moment, everypony was sitting silently and waiting for Grandpa to continue.
“They was the worst bunch o' outlaws ever to ride the east. There was four of ‘em and each one was worse than the last.
"The first was Cholo Joe, he used to be a crossbow-er in ‘er Majesty’s Army before he decided to use his bow to make more money hustl’n on the frontier. He coulda shoot the wings off a fly sittin’ on a spit-bucket from two-hundred paces. Then there was Ol’ Green Eyes, nopony really knew his name, but those who were fated to cross paths with ‘im were either robbed blind, or were never seen again. Next, we had Deadwood Dixon, now he was a bit special from the rest o’ the bunch cuz he was a Mustang, just like me and my colts. But he was some sort o’ nasty. this guy had a ritual of sorts, you see?”
“A ritual?” somepony asked.
“Yeah… He had a tendency that he wouldn’ hurt nopony who wouldn’ look him in the eye.”
At that moment, Grandpa scooted himself up from his sitting position and stuck his head out, stretching his neck so that the fire lit up his face. The flames flicked and flipped light around his face, making his cheeks, snout, and forehead visible, but making his eyes seemingly disappear, like they had been removed from his skull altogether. Then he continued, “So whenever he kill’t somepony, he’d get up right in their face and make them look ‘im right in the eye… right before he gets ‘em!”
The fire jumped out from the pit and rose up around Grandpa, making his big, bulging, batty eyes light up and reflect the fire out for all of us to see.
A few of the coltscouts around the fire jumped, many among us –including myself- shrieked, and a few even ducked for cover behind whatever they were sitting on. But after a few seconds of shivering, crying, and kissing their butts goodbye, everypony heard the whistling “hee hee hee” of Grandpa’s laugh as he stuffed a few well burnt marshmallows into his mouth.
He wallowed in his victory over the trick for a moment, wearing a big golden and yellow smile while he waited for the rest of the scouts to settle back to continue the story. “Finally, there was the leader o’ the bunch, Rowdy Red Pepper. Now, colts, I could spend all night tellin’ y’all how big and bad ol’ Red Pepper was, but let me say this. He was wanted by the authorituhs in all territories on the Frontier as well as by at least a dozen mares across the continent. He once heard what his bounty was n' thought that it wasn’ good 'nough so he robbed a dozen banks and used the money as a consolation prize for the bounty hunters.”
“Wow…” somepony said, while the rest of the colts around the fire were quiet. We all took a moment to look at each other. “Is that true?”
“Yep,” Grandpa said, “Every lick n’ spit of it. When we saw 'em on the horizon, everypony panicked. By the time that they made it to town, everypony in their right mind was hoppin’ out o’ there like some Marexican Jumpin’ Beans on a hot griddle. When the dust settled, the only ponies left in town were the Banker, the Barber, the Hotel owner, the Welldigger, and my Ma, Pa, and brother; n' them goons took over while we were playin' possum.”
There was a bit of a pause, a strange habit Grandpa had whenever he said something about my late Great Uncle Dusty. But as he took a moment to reminisce, the rest of us scouts took a moment to take mental notes and ask a few questions.
“If the bandits were coming, why didn’t you all do something against them?”
“Yeah, why didn’t the Sheriff stop them?” another colt added.
“Or the Marshall?”
“Or the Army?”
Grandpa woke up from his memories with a chuckle as he looked at all of us. “It’s like I said, colts. We weren’t in Equestria back then. So even if they did know, the Army couldn’ cross the border without the consent o' the tribes or ‘er Majesty’s direct Inn’er-vention. The Sheriff n’ the Marshall… well… they were the first to leave! My Pa couldn’ do nothin’ cuz he was just the Mailpony!”
The ponies who had asked Grandpa their questions waited a moment for their minds to be satisfied. But while they waited, the same colt who had raised his hoof earlier to ask a question nervously scooted closer to the fire and asked. “Well… if they were so dangerous… and the cops were scared away… why did your daddy stay?”
I cringed as soon as soon as I heard it and Grandpa got a familiar twinkle in his eye. Like a soldier at bootcamp, Grandpa sat up straight and locked his jaw tight. With a hoof over his heart and a tear in his eye, he solemnly stated, “Nor rain, nor sleet, nor snow, nor hostile occupation will prevent me from performing my duties as a mailpony of the Equestrian Mail Service.”
I could see that this was only the beginning, Grandpa was starting on a tangent that nopony wanted to wait out. I had nip the weed in the bud. “What happened when the Rowdy Colts came to town?” I asked, interrupting him before he could go any further.
Grandpa stopped reciting the Mailpony’s Pledge when he heard me speak and shook his head slowly, “Oh you boys don’t wanna hear about that, no-sir-ee-bob.”
Either he intended his reluctance to egg our curiosity on, or the rest of the colts truly wanted to hear the rest of the story about how he experienced a day as hot as it was today, because the next few seconds were filled with a combined “Aww C’mon” as well as several other begs.
“Oh, alrighty.” He said after a while. “If y’all really wanna know, then I may’s well tell ya. The Rowdy Colts wandered into town n' decided they liked the place. They took over the saloon n' had their fill of the food and the drinks. They sacked the bank n' took whatever they wanted ‘round town. Rowdy Red Pepper was even in my house.”
A gasp overtook Grandpa’s audience.
“No way!” I said.
“Yes-sir-ee-bob!” Grandpa spit some more of the chewing tobacco into the fire. “He broke into our family’s house and tied my daddy up in the cellar.”
“What’d he do with you?” somepony asked.
“Actually, nothin’ much. Since we was the only two colt left in the town, the Rowdy Colts had us do some work for ‘em. My lil' brother was told to sit outside n' watch in case the cavalry show'd up. Me, well, I was turned into Rowdy Red Pepper’s servant of sorts.”
The rest of the colt scouts and me stared at Grandpa and sat silently for a moment. All of us were thinking the same question, what exactly would an outlaw want from his servant?
But, before anypony could ask, Grandpa answered the question that was on all of our minds. “Ol’ Rowdy Red Pep didn’t really have me do too much. All he really wanted was fer me to do simple stuff for him, like…” Grandpa gruffed his voice up and made it sound gritty and grouchy, “Hey you, savage, go get me a drink. Hey you, Savage, go get me some water. Hey Savage, go get me some food. Savage, go clean the latrine for me.”
“Why did he keep calling you ‘Savage’?”
Grandpa was shocked for a moment, but then his eyes light up, and his eyebrows raised like he had just had an epiphany. “Sorry colts, I suppose y’all’s too young to know. Well, nowadays ponies say it n’ don’t bat n’ eyelash. But back then, calling a mustang of any degree a Savage was straight up the plumb-meanest thing to say to one.” All of us, mustang heritage or not, winced at the answer.
“Yeah, colts. That Rowdy Red Pepper was some sorta bad. ‘e went through the ol’ Express Homestead n’ ripped down all the family photos, tracked mud on the ol’ carpet, sat with ‘is legs up on the ol’ couch, and left the outhouse seat up.”
Now, let’s remember that Grandpa's mind had been through a long and hard life, so, to him, it may have like that was a terrible thing to do; but even then, the others and I were scratching our heads at the strange acts.
Anyway, Grandpa Continued, "So, it did look a lil' bleak for the rest o' us who stayed in Bones Crossing. But then the next day came, and the temperature jumped to its record of a hundred n' forty eight.”
"What'd they do?" Somepony asked.
"Nothin. Abs-o-lutely nothin'. It was so darn hot that not even the baddest o’ the bad could muster the strength to do badness."
Once again, the strange change of Grandpa's tale took us by surprise. But, as always, he soldiered on.
"So imagine this, my brother n' me wake up in the mornin', sweated wet. Go to the kitchen and have breakfast next to one o’ the most wanted outlaws in the east, and after that we all jus' flop down inta chairs cuz it was just too hot to do nothin'. But then, outta nowhere, my brother Dusty comes a chargin' in from his post and says he sees somthin. Red Pepper grumbles and gets outta my Pa's chair and goes to look and says, "Naw, yer jus' seein' Mirages," n' sends him back. A couple a minutes later, he comes back and says he sees it still. Red Pepper grumbles some more, says somethin’ I shouldn' repeat, n' then says "Yer just see some vultures feastin’," and sends him off again.
“Now, at about an hour before noon, Dusty comes back in again and says he knows he sees a pony headin' towards town. Red Pepper gets up one more time and gets ready to lay a slap across Dusty's mug when he gets a good look outside n’ stops. I go over to a window n' look too, n' I swear, as clear as day, n' in as right of a state o' mind as I am now-“
That particular statement made me snort a repressed laugh at Grandpa.
“-I sees a traveler out in the desert, walking through the valley n' headin' towards our town. Now, at this distance, the heat was playin' tricks on our vision, n' the only shape we could make out of the stranger was a black spot among the yella, but that was 'nough fer Ol' Red Pepper to rally the Rowdy Colts. They got inta their positions, Rowdy Red Pepper n' Deadwood Dixon were loiterin’ on the porch of the General Store, waitin' in the shade. Cholo Joe took himself an umbrella n' took up a hidey hole atop the water tower, n' Ol’ Green Eyes… well, he just kinda wandered off n' hid somewhere ‘round the town.
“We waited n' waited, n’ about a few minutes before the sun was at the Zenith, we finally saw what wandered into town… and wowee were we shocked.”
“Who was it?” someone asked.
“Were they Bounty Hunters?” another said.
“CowColts?”
“More Mustangs?”
“A rival gang?”
“No children,” Grandpa said, shaking his head, “it wasn’t any of those. It was just one pony.”
I remember that at that moment, we all released a combined whisper “what?”
“Y’all heard me right, colts. It was just one pony walkin’ all by their lonesome in the hottest part of the desert on the hottest day in a century. I remember it like it was jus’ yesterday. They were wearin’ almost all black, from their sand covered boots, to their ol' Stetson that was so sunburnt that the leather was shriveled and cracked. The stranger had a ol’ pair of razor spurs attached to the back of their boots, just like what they army used to wear, and it every step made a… a…”
Grandpa looked around, trying to find something to help him show what he meant. Eventually, he found something it in his bag, a keyring with several keys on it. He repeatedly dropped it on the ground and picked it up again with his mouth, making a “tsnk tsnk tsnk” sound.
“But what I really remember though, was the eyes. Their face was all wrapped up with a bandana, one around their chin n' mouth n' a ‘nother one ‘round the forehead. I remember that, because there was almost nothin else exposed, the only thing there was to see was the’r yella eyes… just there… starin’ straight ahead. It was bone chillin’ to say the least.”
“I remember when the stranger wandered into town... It was one of the most intense lil' moment in my whole life. The Rowdy Colts were layin' n' waitin’ fer ‘em, and they just moseyed right into the town like it was nothin'. They couldnta' had a clue what was waitin' fer em, n' neither coul' we."
As we listened to Grandpa’s tale, I began to notice a bit of a change in him. Before, his cheeks were a little flustered, and he would lazily sway as he looked at us to see what we were doing for feedback. Now, he was almost dead still. No swaying, no looking up to see how we were reacting, he just sat and kept his gaze forward into the fire. His eyes looked empty, and when I tried to figure out what he was thinking about, the only thing I could see were the flames of his memories stoking up, bringing back what had happened seventy years ago.
“Where were you?” somepony asked.
“I was hidin’ off with my Ma n’ brother in the front window of our livin’ room. Everypony else left in town was doin’ the same, hidin’ near their windows n' bein’ too afraid to step out but too afraid to not watch. I had a front seat to when the stranger finally made it into town… n’ it was quite a sight.
“The air was still, everypony was completely silent. The only thing that was makin’ a sound was the tumbleweeds as they rolled out from the alleys and down the street. The stranger walked into town right down the center of the street, and everypony got a good look at ‘em, ‘specially Rowdy Red Pepper. He stepped out from underneath the porch, havin to cover his eyes cuz the sun was so darn hot, but he managed to walk inta the center o’ the street while Deadwood Dixon backed him up.
“Rowdy stopped the wanderer n’ accosted them, demandin’ what theys’ was up to and called 'em a bunch of un-flatterin' words.”
“What did the stranger say?”
“Nothin. We waited n’ waited, but the stranger didn’ really talk. Instead, it whispered… Now, I don’ really know how, but even though it was really soft n’ all quiet-like, it felt like everypony could hear it. It was like the wind whistlin’ past your ear, or water splashin’ in a well, ‘Rowdy Red Pepper… Rowdy Red Pepper… I’ve come for you.’”
“What did he say back?”
“He laughed n’ said that they weren’ the first to say that. Then he motioned for Deadwood Dixon to do his dirty work. Now, I can imagine how you may be feelin’ right about now, and I’m bein’ spittin’ true, I was feelin’ the same. Deadwood Dixon had this big ol’ grin on his mug as he muscled his way up to the stranger n' stood right in fon’a them. Deadwood Dixon n’ the stranger just stood there for a moment, because it just so happened that Deadwood was ‘bout a head taller than this other pony, so he couldn’ really tell if they was lookin’ inta his eyes-”
“Cuz if they didn’t look into his eyes, he couldn’t get em’, right?” somepony interrupted.
“Yep, that’s right.” Grandpa said, still gazing into the fire. “He couldn’… so with one swift flick he knocked the stranger’s hat right offa their head. I went stiff. I was afraid what was goin’ to happen, becuz there was no doubt what the two were doin’. Now the air was so darn hot, n’ I was so flat tail-‘tween-my-legs scared that I felt like I was bein’ smothered by nothing but air when the two finally challenged each oth’r.”
Grandpa took a moment to breathe, almost as if he had to prepare himself for what he was going to say next. “Now, I forgot to mention to y’all, but there was a ol’ preacher stallion who had a ol’ church jus’ outsida town; n’ even though he probably didn’ know ‘bout what was goin’ on outside ‘is ivory tower, he started strikin’ the bell cuz noon had just rolled 'round.
“The bell struck three times, an’ nothin’ happened. It struck three more times, n' Dixon laughed as he got his tomahawk ready. The bell struck three more times, n' that dirty ol’ mustang Deadwood taunted that Stranger by flippin’ their sweaty bandana offa their head. Now colts, this is the honest ta goodness truth, yes-sir-ee-bob, I was shakin’ like a leaf on a tree. Even though it was ‘bout a hundred n’ fifty degrees at the time, I started sweatin’ in places I didn’ even know I had. Deadwood, with some big ol’ evil lookin’ smile on his mug, used the tip of his tomahawk to slowly pull the rag coverin’ the stranger’s mouth down.”
Grandpa paused, he was sitting still and looked like he was seeing it all happen again, but couldn’t find the words to describe what he was seeing. “What happened next, Grandpa?” I asked.
“He took his time, the rag was off by the time the tower chimed all twelve bells; n’ what everypony saw, me, Ma, Dusty, Dixon, and the rest o’ the town, shocked us all.”
“What was it?”
“It looked like a pony, a raggity ol' yella mare with a wispy mane that was all but gone. But it was somethin’ else. I remember my Ma was frozen stiff n’ the only thing she could do was whisper, ‘The Yella Rose…’”
“The what?” somepony asked.
“My Ma was a full blown Mustang from the Desert tribe. Ya see, we believe in spirits, a spirit for rain, a spirit for the hunt, the spirit for love, everythin'. Well, what we had just had wander into our lil’ town was the embodiment of one of those spirits. The Yella Rose was the spirit that would help the helpless, the one that could save our doomed town. The Yella Rose was the spirit of the thing that makes us do anythin'… hope.
“Now, I know you colts don’ believe me, but I tells y’all this, y’all would if y’all was there to see it with your own eyes.”
“How did you know it was a spirit?” another colt asked.
“Well, colts, I’d be lyin’ if I telled ya that I believed it at first. But I’ll tell ya who did. Deadwood Dixon was a Desert Tribe Mustang like me n’ my Ma. N’ as soon as he pulled that there hankie off, he dropped his tomahawk, cuz he knew full well that he couldn’ stop no spirit.”
Precisely seventy years and twelve hours earlier…
The Tomahawk fell to the sand with a thunk, and shortly behind it fell several tears, as a wanted killer was reduced to a sobbing mess.
“Momma…”
The wrinkly-old-mare-looking creature said nothing as it looked into the eyes a once hardened killer. Instead of speaking, it slowly pushed the back of its poncho aside, revealing the holster strapped to its leg…
"...Whu... What happened?” Judging by the tone of the question, the colt who asked had faith in Grandpa's memory, and the idea of what a whimsical spirit could do to somepony made him feel on edge.
"Well, it was kinda fast, but I remember. The Yella Rose stuck 'er hoof out and touched Deadwood Dixon on the chest. At firs' it didn' look like nothin', but Deadwood fell on the ground like he just lost his ghost. He didn' look like he was kill't, but I knew he was deader than a clinched nail. Rowdy Red Pepper was straight, jaw droppin', stutterin', 'n frozen-in-fear shocked."
There was silence for a moment, but Grandpa continued, "Durrin' all the excitement, I think that everypony forgot that there was more goin' on than jus' these two. Cuz when we noticed that Ol' Green Eyes was sneakin' up behind The Yella Rose it was alread' too late. Green Eyes was hidin' somewhere n' watchin' it all happen when Deadwood dropped, 'n as soon that happen'd, he started runnin' over to light 'er up with his crossbow. He hauled n' hauled, and when he was right behind 'er he leveled his 'shooter and fired. But, before anythin' happen'd, she was gone.
"Where'd she go?"
"She looked like jus' an earth pony, but she was a spirit... She left our world fer a second n' then reappeared later.”
"Where?"
"On toppa the waterin' tower, righ next ta' Cholo Joe. I gotta admit, colts, I didn' see 'er myself. But I did hear Cholo Joe fall, and I saw ‘im land... Jus' like Deadwood Dixon."
"But wha-"
"Green Eyes ran over to Rowdy Red n' tried to wake ‘im up so they could get outta town, n' then she appeared again right behin' 'em.
“She got Green Eyes first, n' when he fell his crossbow wen' n' fired, n' the bolt blew open my family's livin'room window. My Ma took a facefull of glass, n' Dusty started cryin', but I tried to keep watchin'. Ma went 'n tried to grab me n' keep me safe, but I fough' n' wormed my way out. When I got back to my broken'd window, I saw Green Eyes was in the dirt n' The Yella Rose was standin' over Rowdy Red Pepper, makin' him admit his wrongs n' repent..."
"Then what did she do?"
"Yeah, what happened?"
"Well," Grandpa said, "She let 'im speak, she let 'im apologize, n' she allowed ’im to say 'is prayers, then she wen' n' chopped 'is ear off."
Seventy years and eleven hours fifty-four minutes earlier...
"Rowdy Red Pepper?"
The outlaw gangleader coughed, but nevertheless nodded.
"You've been stealing medical aide intended for the frontier and mustang reserves and selling them for profit."
He smiled and wiped his mouth clean, "Yeah, so what? I've done worse."
The stranger, who was mere moments from taking claim to the achievement of putting down the once feared gang, stood still, saying nothing at first. The mare's yellow eyes watched and studied the outlaw like a psychology experiment. Rowdy Red Pepper, having witnessed others being in the position that he currently was in several times before, mustered the last of his wild spirit forward and did the only thing he could, laugh.
But the next thing his aggressor said made the outlaw eat the courage in his mouth, "My client has asked me to return with... proof of your pacification..."
When I think back on it, I’m pretty sure that I only jumped in my seat, but everypony else around the campfire had a different mix of shock, from those like me, to a few who started to gag; and one of the scouts ran off so that the rest of us didn’t have to see his marshmallows come up to say hello.
I didn’t see who, but while we were all reacting to our different degrees of shock, I heard a trembling voice somewhere ask, “Why…why did she take his… ear?”
Like he had been daydreaming while telling us his story, Grandpa almost seemed to wake up. His solemn and stoic storytelling demeanor broke, and he seemingly returned to his normal kooky self. He put a hoof on his chin and nodded up at the stars as he thought for a moment, “Well colts, ya’ll know that if you’re good then ya go to heaven n’ if you’re not then ya go to heck.”
Those among us who could, nodded.
“Well, what The Yella Rose was doin’ was takin’ a piece of Rowdy Red to the Undertaker, ‘cuz there’s a ‘specially bad place that they take the worst o’ the worst, like him.”
“What happened after that, then? What did she do?”
Grandpa smiled, “This is where our tale ends. The only thing that was left fer the Rowdy Colts was to put ‘em in the ol’ ground, n’ all the Yella Rose did was grab ‘er hankies, put ‘er hat back on, and walk off into the sunset. I’ve been lookin’ ‘round, readin’ ‘round, and listenin’ to the traveler’s tales whenev’r I can, n’ I haven’ heard a lick or spit of ‘er since then.”
Now, at the time I was just ten years old, and, even then, I didn’t believe most of the myth behind Grandpa’s story, so I wanted to ask him a few questions. But before I could speak, the dads from the other campfire came and interrupted our story saying that it was too late and we all needed to get to bed.
The harmonized chorus of disappointment groans that followed after that statement made me figure out that I wasn’t the only one who wanted to dig deeper into the story. But, as we were told, we threw sand and water on our fire and tidied up our campsite before we all headed off to our respective tents. Before I got ready to sleep I saw Grandpa heading off into the desert. I knew right then and there that if I wanted to have my questions answered, before it drove me crazy thinking about them tonight, now was the time to ask him.
So, under the false pretense of relieving myself for the night, I snuck off and intercepted Grandpa as he walked seemingly aimlessly out into the dark.
Looking back to when I got to Grandpa, I suspect that he had been expecting me to go after him when the adults crashed our campfire, but he didn’t mention it. Under the cover of the stars above reflecting against the sunburnt sand, Grandpa heard me come to his side, and without saying anything he kept walking, gradually increasing the tempo to get away from the rest of the troop and be by ourselves.
When I felt ready, I asked him, “Grandpa, I know you said that the stranger was a spirit and all, but how do you know that for sure? I know you said that she looked like the spirit and had some supernatural powers, but how are you sure that it wasn’t just a sleight-of-hoof magic trick show? It just seems to me that with Rowdy Red Pepper and his gang being as bad as you say and also taking his ear and all, it sounded like you just ran into some kinda bounty hunter who came to collect the reward on their hides.”
I could tell Grandpa smiled because the light of the stars reflected on his teeth. “I know what yer’ thinkin’ cuz I was yer’ age when it happen’d ta me. I didn’ believe what my Ma said either. So later after some o' the excitement cooled down later, I snuck off inta the desert to chase ‘er down myself. I wasn’ sure if I’d catch ‘er, n' I wasn’ sure I knew where I was goin’ but I do remember one thin’. It was gettin’ dark n’ I was thinkin’ bout turnin’ tail and headin’ home. But just then I saw somthin’. A burnin’ light fly up inta the sky and off inta the settin’ sun. I ran as fast as my legs coul’ take me, and I knew I found where the Yella Rose turn’d inta its spirit animal and flew away.”
“Where?”
Grandpa lit up a match and dropped it into the sand. “Here.” he said.
Hidden in the dark, Grandpa and I were standing before a wooden cross sticking out of the ground. Two sturdy pieces of tinder were bolted together by some old and rusty nails and were being supported in the sand by a wreath of stones at the base. In between these stones was a hatch of wild desert roses, as yellow as the sun at high noon, reaching up and wrapping around the base of the grave marker.
“The Yella Rose is the Spirit of Hope. Our little town of Bone’s Crossing was completely helpless on that day seventy years ago. But because of ‘er inn'erventin', we were able to hope again, n’ for as long as I live, I’ll never forget what sh’ did for us.”
At the top of the cross, sitting like a vulture on a perch, a ratty old Stetson hat with sun baked leather and cracks among its brim was placed at the top of the tomb, serving as silent witness to what had happened.
The wandering stranger walked through the desert as the sun began to set, and for the first time since stepping foot in the hotbox of Coffin Valley, things finally began to cool down. But it did not take time to relax, nor did it take a break from the still sweltering heat, for it had a rendezvous to make.
It walked past a few mesa, and found its contact, largely hidden by the sand.
In an unmarked and forgotten spot in this vast desert, there was a grave, either the marker of a passed individual's final resting place, or a monument in solidarity to all of the creatures that have perished within the confines of this crucible of a canyon is unknown. But upon this tribute to the fallen stood something quite strange for this part of the world. An animal that was the epitome of rebirth, redemption, and fire stood at the head of the memory of the past, with a crown of feathers and a royal cloak of red plumage.
The one who had handed out swift justice upon the wicked approached the waiting courier and reached into its pocket. It pulled out a bag and offered it to the talons of its opposite. The covered stranger ordered the messenger to promptly take the gift to their Mistress.
The silent messenger nodded and opened its wings, spreading its fire into the coming night and taking flight into the sunset.
As soon as its end of the job was done, the stranger removed the Stetson from its head and returned the article to its previous owner, the perch atop the grave.
Then, like the tales of the east, the stranger wandered off into the desert, fading into the obscurity of myths that are only passed down through the word of mouth, like one of the many legends that could be heard being whispered among campfires, living in memory for as long as the wind blew and the sun shined.
