the Tragedy of Hoofbone Bill

They say the only good zebra is a dead zebra. At least, That's what they USED to say. That was back when the west was wilder than a mare in heat, and you had to shoot anypony you disagreed with. In those days the cider was cheap, and the mares were fresher than desert roses. You had to walk miles to reach any remotely civilized neighbors, But I got none of that. I was a Nagger, see? A zebra. And zebras were doomed to slavery from birth. The work was cruel, The unrelenting sun scorched our backs all day, and even at night the dirt we walked could burn your ankles black. Those were the days of the Old West, and the tyrant gunslinger Chain-Hide Charleyhorse. Charleyhorse was known across the Foaljave desert as the deadliest unicorn in the west. He was fast as lightning, mad as a dog, and could blast the guts out from between a stallion’s legs before they knew what hit them. old Charleyhorse and his men had torn across the west, slaughtering mare and foal alike, and anypony who dared to disobey his orders got the bullet. One couldn't help but tremble at the sound of his name. I’ve known ful-grown stallions to damn near piss themselves when recalling the horrors he committed on their families. just about anypony you asked would have been craving the end of that bastard. Strangely enough, this man would be my salvation, my obsession, and my worst enemy…