For a Few Bits More

Chapters

1. King Longhorn
2. Some Assembly Required
3. Lucky Number 7
4. Living In the Mild Mild West
5. The Handsome, The Winged, and the Rhymer
6. The Wild Bunch

1. King Longhorn

Ñaco didn’t think of his hometown as dusty, but that was largely because he had never been to any other. Sure, his mother liked to keep the house clean, but dust always still managed to get into everything, sooner or later. Everything in the village was the same way, from the town hall, to the small saloon, the miller’s, the blacksmith’s, everything and everyone. Ñaco didn’t mind, though. Dust kept the biting flies away, at least a little. More importantly, it let the earth pony foal blend into the rocks and scrub better, since the white splotches of his pinto coat were almost always covered in brown.

“¡Te encontré!” A call went up from only a few dozen feet away. Ñaco looked up – stupidly, really, since it gave him away – and saw Tamale charging straight for him. He let out a laugh and turned to run. Tamale was taller than Ñaco, but Ñaco was still faster than the similarly pinto colt, or at least he liked to think that he was.

The two foals galloped as fast as their hooves could carry them, through the scrub and brush and rocks that surrounded the southern parts of the town, a frequent play area for the foals of the dusty place, at least when chores were done and the current harvest of maize was in – which it was. The adults were gathered together at Chicha’s saloon, having a serious discussion about something or other. They all seemed worried for some reason, Ñaco didn’t really know what. But the foals were allowed to play, and so they were doing just that – every foal in town, a big game of hide-and-seek tag.

Ñaco almost tripped over where Tortilla, Tamale’s younger sister, was hiding. Tortilla let out a squeal of surprise and laughter and shot off in a different direction. Ñaco would have thought that Tamale would break off and head after his sister, since an older brother rarely missed an opportunity to torment a little sister, but Tamale kept after him instead, like he had the past few times. Some small, budding part of Ñaco didn’t really mind the attention that Tamale had been giving him lately, but most of him simply didn’t want to get caught, and so he kept galloping.

It wasn’t enough this time, though. With a shout, Tamale leaped at Ñaco, tackling the other colt to the ground near where the brush was broken up by one of the only two roads that lead into or out of town. The tackle didn’t last long as Tamale then leaped off of him. “¡Tú la traes!” Tamale exclaimed, turning around and running off even as he shouted his head off. “¡Ñaco la trae!”

Ñaco growled a little at being caught by Tamale, again, but then let out a long sigh, sitting back on his haunches to catch his breath, close his eyes, and start counting. “Uno…dos…tres…”

He heard hoof beats down the road, but kept his eyes closed, not wanting to give Tamale or Tortilla or any of the other foals a chance to think he was a cheater. “…ocho…nueve…¡diez! ¡Listos o no, ahí voy!”

Ñaco opened his eyes…and immediately found himself looking at gray fur. Glancing up, he found himself looking into the eyes of a tall, powerfully-built bull, wearing a black Stetson hat between his pair of long, forward-curved horns and a poncho over his back. He wasn’t alone, either – two other bulls and a cow were with him, as well as a smaller figure in a simple brown, hooded cloak. Glancing down the road, Ñaco could see a whole herd made up of a mix of cattle, ponies, even a few buffalo.

Ñaco looked back to the bull leader. “B…buenos días…” he ventured.

The bull smiled. It was probably supposed to be a pleasant one, but Ñaco decided then and there that he didn’t like it. “Buenos días, potrillo,” he responded, his voice gravelly. “¿Habla Ecuestres?”

The colt blinked a few times. He did speak Equestrian, at least a little…but he didn’t want to let the bull know that for some reason. He shook his head. The bull only shrugged at that, though, not seeming too concerned. He leaned down, so that he was eye level with Ñaco “¿Dónde están tus padres?”

Mazorca de Maíz did his best to keep his expression even, to not show any outward sign of worry, as he watched King Longhorn enter the town, accompanied by a trio of cattle that each pulled an empty cart, a cloaked, pony-sized figure – and, worryingly, just about every foal in the village, who had been playing out in the scrub and brush but who had apparently been rounded up by Longhorn’s gang. Out beyond the village, far down the road leading to it, Mazorca could just about see the rest of Longhorn’s group. They called themselves Los Ladrones de Ganado – the Cattle Rustlers. Mazorca wasn’t sure if the name was supposed to be some kind of joke or pun. If it was, Mazorca didn’t find it funny.

Longhorn came to a stop in the middle of the village, the foals still near him. He had the attention of everypony, of course, mares and stallions all standing at their doorsteps or at the entrance to the saloon, all looking on in desperate worry. Most of them had a foal down there. All of them wanted to act – but with their foals so near…

Longhorn glanced down at a the foals, then made a small shooing motion with one hoof, sending them on their way. The foals didn’t need much of an excuse to go running off, galloping to their parents. Mazorca’s own grandfoal Ñaco rushed on by his legs, all but plowing into his parents, Tallo and Seda de Maíz. Mazorca heard them asking if he’d been hurt or threatened, and Ñaco said no. There was that, at least – Longhorn wasn’t the sort to hurt foals, at least not at the moment.

Mazorca turned around, motioning for everypony in the saloon to leave out the back entrance. It didn’t take much to convince them, as they quickly hurried away with their foals, heading back out to their farms. Mazorca, meanwhile, turned around and trotted out, approaching King Longhorn cautiously and openly.

“Buenos días, señor Longhorn,” he said, trying to sound pleasant. He switched to Equestrian, which Longhorn had a better grasp of. “You are early, señor. We were not expecting you for a week, or more.”

Longhorn didn’t look directly at Mazorca at first, instead still looking over the town, and the fact that all eyes were on him and Mazorca. The earth pony wasn’t very tall to begin with, while Longhorn was large even by bull standards. The sight of the village leader before the bull had to be intimidating. Certainly Mazorca was intimidated.

At length, Longhorn looked down to the earth pony. “We were in the area,” he said. “Hola, mi amigo. How long’s it been? Four months?”

Longhorn was mixing in some Caballerian, trying to show that he could be friendly – most likely a good sign. He even spoke the language fairly well, but then in this part of the world every being spoke at least a little Caballerian, and usually a Buffalo language or two as well. “Sí, señor Longhorn,” Mazorca said. “Four months.”

Longhorn nodded again, looking away, scanning the villagers. It was a habit of his, long periods of silence and examination of the surrounding area. Probably he was looking for an ambush, a challenger, somepony who would be stupid enough to attack him. There wasn’t such a pony in the village, though, not with Longhorn’s troupe waiting just outside of town. And that was for the best, since it meant that Longhorn didn’t have a reason to get mad.

“The trail leadin’ here’s a pretty long an’ dusty one,” he said, breaking out of his reverie, though not looking Mazorca’s way.

“Of course, señor,” Mazorca said, stepping aside. “And a thirsty one too, ¿sí? Come into el salón.”

Longhorn glanced over his shoulder, to the three other cattle, and nodded to them, indicating they should wait. They didn’t seem to mind, settling down onto their sides right in the middle of the town square. From packs slung over their backs they drew out canteens, maybe containing water, probably containing something notably stronger, and began to drink. The hooded figure that was with Longhorn, meanwhile, accompanied him.

The saloon belonged to a pony named Chicha, yellow with a white mane with a cutie mark of a jug of juice. She was still behind the bar of the saloon, and probably would be ‘til the end of her days. She fixed Longhorn with a rather pointed stare as he fit inside, a feat made easier thanks to the doorframe being wide enough to accommodate the buffalo that occasionally made their way through town as part of their migratory lifestyle. Longhorn, for his part, didn’t seem to notice or care for Chicha’s look, picking a seat where his back would be to a wall and his eyes could note every door and window in the place.

Mazorca couldn’t stop his surprise from showing, though, when Longhorn’s cloaked companion at last removed her hood, revealing black and white stripes across her coat and mane – a zebra. Surely that was something that Mazorca had never thought to see in his life! He knew that Longhorn’s Cattle Rustlers were an eclectic bunch, but he hadn’t thought them that eclectic. Then again, given the way the zebra pointedly took a seat as far away from Longhorn as possible, and that she didn’t look particularly happy to be here, maybe there was something more complex going on.

Regardless, it was certainly not something Mazorca wanted to get involved in. He stopped by the bar. “Tres güisquis, por favor,” he said, remembering from last time that Longhorn didn’t much care for the chicha maize-based drink that most of the villagers preferred and which was Chicha’s namesake, instead having whisky.

“Dos,” Longhorn corrected before Chicha could begin pouring out three glasses, “an’ a water. Mah friend Zecora here don’t drink.”

Mazorca nodded at that, then carried over the drinks, setting them down, and bringing the bottle with him. He waited for Longhorn to have a swig before taking one of his own. The zebra, meanwhile, had only a small sip of her water.

“Ah can’t tell ya,” Longhorn said at length, “what a pleasure it is to see a village like this.” He looked directly to Mazorca at last, even as he refilled his whisky. “So much restlessness an’ change in the outside world. Folk no longer content with their station in life.” He shook his head. “Everythin’ changin’. Last month, we were in Tía Tarta – a rich town. Big clocktower an’ courthourse an’ town hall. Not like here.” He waved a hoof around the saloon. “Ah imagine this here’s yer town hall, eh, ¿amigo? Anyway. Ya think we’d find gold candlesticks an’ a poor box full to overflowin’.” He shook his head. “Ya know what we found? Brass candlesticks, an’ almost nothin’ in the poor box.”

“Lo siento mucho,” Chicha mumbled under her breath from behind the bar, sarcasm dripping from her voice. Probably she had thought it was too quiet for anyone to hear – but Mazorca heard, and Longhorn did as well. The bull stood up faster than something his size should have been able to move. Mazorca stumbled backwards and away from him, while Chicha held up her own hooves in placation, eyes wide. The zebra Zecora, meanwhile, only took another sip from her water.

Longhorn eyed Chicha and Mazorca a moment. He didn’t sit back down, though he did take another swig of whisky. “We took it anyway, of course,” he said, continuing his story with a notable edge to his voice now. “’Course we took it anyway. What if y’all had to carry my load, huh? To provide food, like a father, for the mouths of mah Cattle Rustlers? Bandages, medicine, shoes, weapons. Y’all know how much money that costs? Huh? ¿Cuánto dinero?”

Mazorca had a pretty exact idea of how much the food cost, at least, but he couldn’t say that. He only shook his head, eyeing Chicha as he did. Thankfully, she also shook her head, though she wasn’t hiding her scowl.

The bull didn’t seem to be too concerned about mere bad looks. Longhorn didn’t sit back down, though he did take another swig of whiskey. “Course ya don’t know,” he said, looking away. “Once there were ponies an’ cattle an’ everythin’ else travelin’ everywhere here, after the war. Gold in the streams an’ fruit in the trees. Now there’s nothin’. Now I gots ta’ hunt with a price on mah head and Rurales on mah hooves.”

Mazorca wondered at that. After the war? Surely Longhorn didn’t mean the Caballero-Equestrian War of twenty years and more past. How long had this bull been a bandit – all his life? Had he known any other life? No wonder he thought nothing of robbing poor farmers of their food, and called it just for the sake of his Cattle Rustlers.

Longhorn took another swig of whiskey, then tucked it into the poncho he wore and started towards the door. Even as he did, he took out a trio of pesos, setting them on the counter, enough both for the bottle of whiskey and the zebra’s water. Probably he thought himself noble for paying for the drink. Zecora also stood, following Longhorn out the door.

Mazorca glared at Chicha for a moment at her antagonizing Longhorn. The mare, at least, had the good sense to look away in chastisement. “Lo siento,” she said softly.

Mazorca shook his head, following Longhorn and Zecora out, wondering what the zebra was even doing here. Longhorn, meanwhile, nodded to the cattle who had followed him into town. They nodded back. Familiar with what Longhorn wanted after he had been extorting them for years, the villagers had already begun loading up the empty carts that the cattle had brought with burlap bags full of maize and jugs of chicha. Longhorn observed all this dispassionately for a moment, then turned to Mazorca. “It ain’t enough,” he noted.

Mazorca blinked at that. “S…señor,” he tried. “We give you what we can…but we must eat too, ¿sí? If we cannot eat, we cannot farm…we give you what you took last time.”

Longhorn shook his head. “Ah know ya gots yer problems. Ah got mine.” He trotted down to the cattle. “Ah’ll get the rest when Ah come back. Gots a job ta do. We was just stoppin’ by. But we’ll be back.” He eyed Mazorca pointedly, then back around at the rest of the village. The blacksmith, the saloon, the mill, the shop, the half-dozen other buildings that made it up. He looked out, at the maize fields nearby, the stream that fed those fields, the scrublands to the south. He glanced up at the sun.

“Ah love this town,” he said, then turned about, heading out of it, cattle following him. “¡Adios, mis amigos! Ah’ll be back soon. Maybe a month.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Maybe less.”

The zebra lingered a moment, glancing to Mazorca, and around the town as well, appraising it. After a moment, however, she followed the bull, pulling her hood back over her head. Mazorca watched her go, and King Longhorn, and three of his Cattle Rustlers…and a huge portion of their last harvest of maize, what Equestrians called corn. Months of planting and tilling, of squeezing enough water out of this dry and dusty land just disappearing, not into their bellies, but into the bellies of thieves and marauders, looters and pillagers, no doubt killers, even, to those who resisted them too much.

And now Longhorn wanted more?

“We cannot keep doing this,” Tallo insisted to his father that night, when the moon was high in the sky and the stars glittered. The leaders of the town, such as they were, had gathered together in the saloon, while the foals were watched closely at home by the rest. With Longhorn gone, the whole conversation was in Caballerian, of course. “If Longhorn steals one more harvest, we may as well cut our own throats and be done with it!”

Mazorca glared at his son at even suggesting that, but Tallo was well past the age where a simple glare from his father would intimidate him. Besides, he had a point, and he knew it. “The harvests aren’t going to be good this year,” he continued. “We all know it. If we were just looking out for ourselves, we would make it. But not with Longhorn and his gang stealing from us!”

Tallo was right. The village was entirely earth ponies, eighty in all. That was their strength – it meant that their maize grew faster than it might otherwise have, their natural magic allowing them to pull three or four harvests from the ground each year without depleting the soil of its vital nutrients. But even earth pony magic had its limits. The river was running drier than normal this year, as was the underground aquifer that supplemented it. Longhorn’s group constituted another thirty or so beings, many of them cattle and some of them buffalo, which were much more voracious than ponies when it came to their food needs. And they took enough that they ate hearty meals besides…

“We could leave,” said another pony, Ají Amarillo. “Go to the mountains, back towards Caballeria proper. Or south towards the sea.”

“And leave our homes?” Chicha demanded from behind the bar. “Our farms? This is our land! We plant it, cultivate it, work for it. What do Longhorn and his thieves do to earn our maize? Why do they deserve it?”

“We could hide some food,” suggested one stallion. “Longhorn can’t take what he can’t find. We’ll just tell him it was a bad harvest.”

Mazorca shook his head sadly. “If he finds out, he will become angry. You all remember what he was like when he was angry, the first time he came to town.”

They all did, vividly. “Maybe we shouldn’t do anything,” another mare suggested. “Hope for the best.”

“We must do something!” Chicha insisted, stamping a hoof on her bar. “We cannot continue like this!”

“If you wish to end your plight,” said a new voice, in Equestrian, “then you shall find that you must fight.”

There were more than a dozen ponies in the saloon, and every one of their heads turned to the door at the sound, a deep female voice that none recognized – which, in a village this small, should have been impossible. Mazorca, and probably Chicha, recognized her instantly – it was the zebra, Zecora, the one who had accompanied Longhorn into town. Even though the other villagers didn’t know her name, they did remember that fact about her, and every villager stood.

Zecora took them in for a moment. “You will forgive my use of the Equestrian tongue,” she said, “but my learning of your language has only recently begun.”

Caballerian wasn’t an especially hard language to learn, at least not its basics. Mazorca wondered if her sticking to Equestrian had anything to do with the fact that she had just rhymed both her sentences, the first that he had heard her say.

“Fight?” One of the ponies in the saloon at last asked. “Are you crazy? We’re not fighters!”

“What would we fight him with?” another demanded. “Mares and stallions against cows and bulls?”

“And ain’t you with him anyway?” A third inquired.

Zeocra took their words in stride. “It is unwise to travel the desert alone,” she said, looking to the third pony who had spoken, “and King Longhorn’s nature I had not known. His services I procured ‘til my journey’s end, but now that I know his demeanor I must make amends.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “In my homeland there are many like him, who make the lives of poor farmers so grim. I will not stand by while he torments this town – King may be his name, but he deserves no such crown.”

She looked to the crowd as a whole. “Longhorn will come again and again, until you starve – what shall you do then? To fight his herd is your only recourse. Your claim to this land you must reinforce.”

“We are not fighters,” Mazorca de Maíz spoke up, eying Zecora. He didn’t trust the zebra, even if everything she was saying was true. “Longhorn and his Cattle Rustlers are. We may have them outnumbered three to one…but they have no foals to protect, and are experienced in these matters. And we have no weapons here. Bare hooves and machetes against his gang? We are farmers. We know how to plant and grow, not to fight.”

“This I cannot deny,” Zecora said gravely. “But you must learn…or you surely will die.”

Author's Note

Most of the dialogue above that isn't Zecora's is cribbed to some greater or lesser extent directly from the opening of The Magnificent Seven; this will be the only time I intentionally do that during this story, though.

King Longhorn shares a name and appearance with his counterpart from the MLP comics, but otherwise his personality is going to be completely different - I'm mostly thinking of a villainous version of John Wayne as I write him.

This is the third (and final) story in my "World Tour" trilogy (they're not directly connected to each other), the first one being The Great Dragon Coronation, featuring Raindrops and Cheerilee, and the second being The Glass Kingdom, featuring Lyra and Trixie. I've never written a Western before, or for a bandit king, so this should be fun. Also much as how I used Coronation to flesh out Solrathicharnon a bunch, here I'm trying to introduce more information about Zecora. She isn't one of the Magnificent Seven, though - currently she's taking on the role of the old man, but her role might change.

This is also going to be pretty challenging because, while I don't want everything to come down to a pie fight, I also don't want it to be a bloodbath the way the actual Magnificent Seven goes. Hence the "Everyone" rating.

As usual, all non-English is provided by Google Translate or other sources; I only speak two languages: English and Bad English. The Spanish should be basically accurate in this case, though. I am, specifically, shooting for Mexican Spanish, so if anyone here a) speaks Spanish and/or b) knows adjustments to word choice to make things sound more Mexican (i.e., like using "boot" for British English instead of "trunk" for American English), feel free to offer corrections.

Anyway, hope y'all enjoy!

2. Some Assembly Required

Carrot Top awoke, saw the bright sunlight streaming in from outside, and started to panic. “Shoot!” she exclaimed, throwing herself from her bed. “Oh no, I’m late!”

“Huh?” Ditzy Doo asked from the next bed over, blinking rapidly. She, too, noticed the sunlight. “Oh, darn!” she exclaimed herself as she beat her wings in panic. “I’m late too!”

“I have to till the south field today!” Carrot Top exclaimed. “That one’s always full of rocks for some reason, it takes forever…”

“I have to get into uniform!” Ditzy said herself, as she joined Carrot Top in rushing for the bathroom, the two mares managing to get stuck in the door as they both tried to wedge their way in. “And make sure Dinky heads off to school okay!”

“I mean, I’m a little ahead, that’s why I agreed to go to the Mild West…”

“It’s been a slow month, but that’s no excuse to show up to the Post Office late…”

Carrot Top made it in first, found her toothbrush, and started pumping water from the faucet. It was hoof-powered, which made things difficult when one was also trying to put toothpaste on a toothbrush and fit the brush’s loop around one’s hoof so as to actually use it.

Ditzy, meanwhile, had rushed straight for the shower, or where the shower should have been. Instead she only found a blank wooden wall. “My shower!” she exclaimed. “What happened to – oh, there!” she glanced up and saw that somehow her shower had become just a faucet sticking out of the ceiling, also hoof-powered, and not separated from the rest of the bathroom. She started pumping, bracing herself for a burst of cold water, but the water that came out was actually surprisingly warm. Not hot by any means, but much warmer than it should have been.

Carrot Top let out a cry of surprise as some of the water hit her as Ditzy fanned her wings. “Hey!” she exclaimed even as she stuck the toothbrush in her mouth. “Karefuh!”

“Sorry!” Ditzy exclaimed. Then she paused, and Carrot Top did likewise, each looking at the other in confusion.

“What are you doing in my home?” They asked at the same time, Carrot Top somewhat less than intelligibly thanks to the toothbrush. Then they looked back out the bathroom – which looked nothing like either of their bathrooms – and at the two-bed hotel room that, in fact, did not resemble either of their homes at all.

Ditzy brushed some of her sopping wet mane from her eyes. Carrot Top took the toothbrush from her mouth. Both mares looked to each other, and once again spoke in unison.

“We cannot tell the girls about this.”

My little pony, My little pony
Ahh ahh ahh ahhh...
My little pony –
We’re as close as friends can ever be!
My little pony –
So come on take a trip with me!
A big world tour; new people to meet
New sights to see; and new things to eat
When you’re seeing the world with your friends
The fun you’ll have will never end!
You have my little ponies –
We’ll be seeing all of you real soon!

Ditzy felt bad about it, but she couldn’t remember the name of the most recent town that they had stopped in – after a while they had all started to blur together. She felt particularly bad due to the reason that she and Carrot Top had come down south to Caballeria and the Mild West: a little more than twenty years ago, Caballeria had gotten itself into a war with Equestria, and lost. Ditzy couldn’t remember all the circumstances of the war (she felt bad about that, too) other than it having something to do with Caballeria’s poor economic state and King Espada Doblada wanting to distract the Caballeros from that fact, but what she did recall was that Caballeria had gotten a new King out of it, a former pirate-turned-freedom fighter named Pabellón Pirata. Caballeria was now a client state of Equestria’s, protected by the larger nation while it sorted out its economic and political woes. The status of client state was set to end within the next ten years, or sooner if both Luna and King Pabellón agreed.

Regardless, after twenty years, the precise reasons for the war, the fact that it was the Caballeros who had started it, and that King Pabellón had been hailed as a hero upon taking the throne, was starting to be forgotten by the Caballeros. A small but notable section of its populace was starting to think of the whole event as a naked power grab by Equestria and Pabellón, and questioning the continued presence of a token Equestrian troop deployment in Caballeria. This concern had only been exacerbated when, a little over a year previously, a certain six Equestrian mares had become the bearers of the Elements of Harmony, the most powerful magic in all of ponydom – and yet another advantage for Equestria, a kingdom that seemed to only ever rise.

Thus, Carrot Top and Ditzy’s arrival in the region. Princess Luna had hoped to re-assure the Caballeros that the Elements were just normal ponies, not some kind of elite warriors or mages that Equestria would use to force their will on others. They were not living weapons, but simply ponies like any others. Some part of Ditzy wondered if she and Carrot Top had been chosen since they were particularly normal amongst their friends. After all, Trixie was Luna’s personal student, Lyra was a bard and musician of incredible talent, and Cheerilee, while a simple schoolteacher now, had led a very full and storied life. Even Raindrops had incredible strength for a pegasus, a fact that storytellers tended to play up.

By comparison? Ditzy Doo was a simple mail-mare and single mother, and Carrot Top a carrot farmer, most of whose product was sold simply in Ponyville or nearby towns, or occasionally in Canterlot. Of all their friends, they had the least amount of extra-ordinariness about them. Not that Ditzy thought of this as being a bad thing. Her earth pony friend, on the other hoof…

“Um…Carrot Top?” Ditzy asked. The two were sitting at a thoroughly disreputable saloon, or the closest that this town could manage to such. Ditzy strongly suspected that the disreputable appearance was part of the appeal – the weapons on the walls looked like replicas, the “dirt” on the tables and floors was, on close inspection, simply a paint job, and the wait staff had been very friendly (and for that matter, Ditzy had never heard of a disreputable saloon with a wait staff, or menus).

Carrot Top had been glaring – maybe, she wasn’t very good at glaring – out the window they were sitting next to, and shook her head at Ditzy’s voice. “Sorry,” she said, then nodded her head outside. “Look across the street though. Through that store’s window.”

Ditzy attempted to do so, but with one eye wandering low today, insisting on keeping an eye on the table, it wasn’t easy. She covered that one with a hoof and squinted with the other. “I see…a barrel of apples?”

Carrot Top nodded, squinting a little herself. “The barrel has the Apple Trust’s logo on the side.” She let out a long sigh, turning back to her menu of thoroughly disreputable dishes. You could tell because of the names – ‘Bandito Burritos’, for example. “I just wish that we could go somewhere without being reminded about them…”

Ditzy frowned as she looked back to Carrot Top, taking a moment to blink a few times and rub her eyes. She had a feeling that she was going to need glasses someday. “I thought you and Applejack were getting along now,” she said. For a very long time, Carrot Top had lived in envy of Sweet Apple Acres and the Apple family, whose extensive business conglomerate had a virtual monopoly on apples throughout Equestria, and a heavy stake in apple markets beyond.

Carrot Top nodded. “We are. But still…” she sighed, setting down her menu and looking to Ditzy. Like all of Ditzy’s friends, she had long ago learned how to look at Ditzy without staring at her walled eyes. “I don’t know. I think I get jealous like some ponies get allergies, it comes and goes. Most days I’m just fine and happy with what I have. But some days…” she leaned on one hoof, looking back out at the apple barrel. “Wouldn’t it be nice to have a Golden Harvests logo on a crate full of carrots over there?”

Ditzy considered for a few moments. “It would be,” she conceded, as she looked back to the menu. Desperado Dulce Patatas, probably. Maybe she’d try some of the chicha the menu mentioned as well? The non-fermented version it advertised, though. “But I don’t think now’s the time to be worrying about that. We’re basically on vacation right now.”

Truth be told, this was probably the closest thing that Big MacIntosh had taken to a vacation in years. Which to him only suggested that he needed to get a better travel agent.

The big red stallion trotted along at a comfortable pace, heedless of the weight he lugged along behind him from the train – said weight being an entire apple tree, not yet in bloom but still with bright green, crisp leaves. The base of the tree’s trunk was still surrounded by dirt and wrapped in cloth, both kept moist to ensure that the tree would survive its journey into the Mild West. The tree was twenty feet tall if it was an inch, and weighed in at a good seven or eight tons, but Big Mac hardly noticed it. Granted, that was mostly because it was on a nice wheeled flatbed cart hooked up to his harness, but it was still an impressive weight for most. Many of the mares at the station – and no few of the stallions – had eyes locked on Big Mac in amazement.

“Easy there, Big Mac! Don’t want Bloomberg to get all the way here just ta’ break him now!”

Except Applejack, of course, since even leaving aside the subject of their relation, she had eyes only for the tree. Which she had named, because of course she had. “AJ, one a’ these days, you and me are gonna have to have a talk,” Big Mac noted as he started cantering clear of the train. It was bound for back inland, while Bloomberg was heading out to New Appaloosa, and needed to wait for the next train.

Applejack only grinned wickedly at her big brother. “Ah seen yer Smarty Pants doll,” she said in a low voice.

Big Mac couldn’t stop himself from sputtering a little at that. “Not so loud!” he insisted, glancing around. He wanted to be the kind of stallion who could just own up to still having a Smarty Pants toy from his childhood, but he couldn’t quite muster it.

Applejack’s only response was a laugh and a playful bump with her flank against Big Mac’s own, though she quickly dropped back a few steps to make sure the action didn’t shake Bloomberg loose. Big Mac did his best to ignore Applejack proceeding to talk to the tree. The train had pulled away by now, heading south and then east. The town they were now in – it was called Monte Rey, even though Big Mac couldn’t see a single mountain – was on the furthest western edge of what was broadly considered to be “settled” Caballeria. Beyond the river that bordered it the Mild West began – vast stretches of desert, scrubland, and prairie with few meaningful landmarks, and where the concept of ‘national borders’ essentially didn’t exist, or at least couldn’t be enforced.

Big Mac frowned at the thinning crowd in the station as he unhooked himself from the cart that carried Bloomberg (consarn it, now he was using that name…). “Shouldn’t Braeburn have met us here?” he asked.

Applejack glanced up from Bloomberg. “Shoot,” she said, looking about herself. “D’ya think he missed his own train?”

Big Mac thought over what he knew of Braeburn. “Ah’ll go look for him, you stay with Bl…the tree,” he said, though Applejack didn’t miss his near slip and chuckled. Big Mac himself only grunted. “Be back in a jiff.”

Monte Rey was fairly large by the standards of the region, but it was still tiny next to even Ponyville. The whole town couldn’t have been more than three or four dozen buildings at most, stretching out on the east side of the rail tracks in a simple square bisected by two major roads, one stretching north-south and the other east-west. Everything of interest was right along those two roads, and as Big Mac trotted through the town, his eyes swept it over. Despite its small size, however, the earth pony was a little concerned. It was still big enough that searching the whole place would take an hour, maybe two, and that was assuming that Braeburn Apple wasn’t moving himself – and that he was even here. At this time of day, as well, there were dozens of ponies out and about, going through their daily routines. Now where in tarnation was he going to start…

“Amáyuštaŋ ye!” He heard suddenly, the Buffalo words cutting through the Caballerian that everyone else was speaking in. Turning to look, he saw what had to be the smallest buffalo he’d ever laid eyes upon dash out from an ally. She was wearing a band around her head with a pair of eagle feathers in it, and glancing behind her as she ran from a pair of ponies that, if one didn’t know any better, one might think were related, what with how close their yellow coats and green eyes were to each other. One of them was older-looking and thinner, with a cutie mark of a ring of keys and a mane that was a bright orange, while the other was much younger in appearance, with a two-toned sandy mane and a cutie mark of a bright red apple. Both wore Stetsons to keep out the sun’s light, and the younger one was twirling a lariat over his head even as he galloped.

“Braeburn?” Big Mac asked curiously. Most ponies were scattering out of the way of the charging buffalo cow, but Big Mac stepped directly in front of her and braced himself. She saw him, narrowing her eyes, and put more effort into her gallop. But Big Mac was larger than her and had to have half again her weight, plus he was an earth pony…

It felt like getting hit by a freight train. Big Mac felt the air get blasted from his lungs as the buffalo cow hit him head-on, nearly bowling him over. But he redoubled his efforts, pushing himself forward. The buffalo had wanted to charge over him, but instead found herself slowing down – but not stopping, much to Big Mac’s dismay, pushing him back thirty feet or more before she changed tactics. She started wiggling to get out of his grasp, but by then Braeburn and whoever he was with had caught up, the former tossing his lariat around the buffalo and pulling her away, tipping her over.

“Consarn it, lady!” The older earth pony said as he skidded to a stop beside Braeburn, panting and wheezing as he did. “What did ya have to start runnin’ for?” The buffalo was rising again, but Braeburn was atop her, weaving his rope around her legs and body and hog-tying her with practiced skill.

“There,” Braeburn said, taking off his hat and wiping sweat from his brow. He glanced over at Big Mac. “Howdy, cuz.”

“There enough of ya?” The older pony asked, looking Big Mac up and down with no small amount of incredulousness. He had the silver star of a Royal Equestrian Marshal on his hat, with the name Fetter Keys emblazoned on it. “Ah ain’t never seen no pony strong enough to stop a buffalo once she start chargin’.”

Big Mac decided not to point out that he’d only slowed her down, not stopped her. He looked down at the buffalo cow, who was struggling against her ropes, then back to his cousin. A small crowd of Caballeros were gathering around as well, trying to listen in while also trying to avoid looking like they were doing such. “What’s goin’ on?” he asked.

“Ah dunno,” Braeburn said, nodding towards the other pony. “Ah got involved more-or-less same way you did, only ‘bout a minute or two earlier.”

“I will tell you what is going on,” the buffalo spoke up suddenly. The three ponies started, glancing down. Her Equestrian was surprisingly good, with only a faint Buffalo accent to it. “I am being treated unfairly by ponies! How does that surprise you? I came to this town looking to trade, but I was not two steps in when your law-keeper tried to arrest me!”

“Ah did no such thing!” The Fetter Keys exclaimed. “Ah just wanted to ask some questions! Tía Tarta was attacked by bandits two months back and Ah’m just lookin’ for leads, is all. Y’all came in from that direction, an’ the bandits had some buffalo. Ya might’a known somethin’!”

The buffalo’s eyes narrowed. “Because I am bison, I must know all other bison?”

Big Mac thought that the lady had a point there, and looked expectantly to Fetter Keys. He held up his hooves. “Now wait just one cotton-pickin’ minute,” he said. “Ah ain’t said nothin’ like that. Tía Tarta’s out in the Mild West. This lady here’s the first anything 'sides tumbleweeds to come in to Monte Rey from there since the post pony what carried the news. Ah woulda’ asked questions of any bein’ come that way.” He looked down to the buffalo. “Seems mighty suspicious to me that a law pony come up to you askin’ ‘bout ‘asking questions, an’ the first thing ya do is run.”

Fetter Keys had a point there, too. The buffalo had begun to open her mouth to speak again, but Big Mac held up a hoof. “Sounds to me,” he said, “that nobody’s done anythin’ wrong that we know of, an’ this was all a misunderstandin’.” Big Mac leaned down, untying the rope around her – much to her own surprise, from the looks of things. She got quickly to her hooves and backed away several steps once free, though she didn’t flee.

“If’n ya want to get technical, like,” Fetter Keys said, “fleein’ a law-pony like that is a misdemeanor.” Big Mac affixed him with a look, however, and the much smaller pony swallowed. “But Ah’ll let it slide. You just carry on your way, miss.”

The buffalo dithered a moment, considering. “King Longhorn,” she said at length. Big Mac, Braeburn, and Fetter Keys all reacted to the name, recognizing it. “That was the name of the bull who led the attack on Tía Tarta. It was he, and his gang. I heard this through my…friends.” She bristled, jabbing a hoof at Fetter Keys. “None of whom are members of his gang, and nor am I! And I know nothing else except that we bison count the days to King Longhorn’s final defeat. He is as much a scourge to my kind as he is to yours. He is wakan sica.”

“Gesundheit,” Fetter Keys said.

“A devil,” Braeburn translated. Big Mac looked to Braeburn in surprise, as did the buffalo. The other Apple stallion shrugged. “What d’ya think they speak out in the Mild West, cuz? Griffin?” He shook his head. “Old Appaloosa taught some hard lessons. One a’ them is that we gotta learn more ‘bout the bison if we’re gonna live together an make New Appaloosa work.”

“But still you hog-tie me,” the buffalo noted.

Braeburn jabbed a hoof at her. “Ah saw somebody runnin’ from the law an’ acted as anybody should. Ah don’t regret it. An’ it’s all worked out, ain’t it?”

The buffalo cow considered that a moment. “You are right.” She said. “I overreacted, and I apologize. My name is Cikala-Cante-Wasake, daughter of Siha-Waki-Ya Oyate Wikaya-Numpa. In your language, this is Little Strongheart, daughter of Thunderhooves of the Two-Feather Tribe. You may call me that.” She paused a moment. “Or just Little Strongheart. That may be faster.”

“May well be,” Braeburn said, tipping his hat. “Name’s Braeburn. This here is mah cousin, Big MacIntosh.” He waved a hoof at Fetter Keys. “An’ Ah suppose that star there means he don’t need no introduction.”

Big Mac, however, was frowning as he remembered something. “You said you’d come here to trade?” he asked, looking her over. “Trade what?”

Little Strongheart blinked a few times, then her eyes widened. “Wosiliyagle! My wares!” she exclaimed, taking off again. Fetter Keys took off after her, taking a moment to tip his hat to the two Apple stallions as he did.

Big Mac looked to Braeburn, who sighed. “That ain’t really mah fault. Ah had no earthly idea what was goin’ on.”

“Eeyup,” Big Mac noted.

“Ah still gots to go make sure she gets her stuff back safe, though.”

“Eeyup.”

Braeburn let out another long sigh as he started cantering off in the direction that Little Strongheart had galloped. “An’ me already runnin’ late. Applejack is gonna kill me…”

“Eeyup.”

“Padre, ¡mira!” said Tallo, pointing to the big red stallion as he cantered off, the smaller yellow one in tow. Both wore ponchos to ward off the dust of the trail, and sombreros to keep the sun from their eyes, and right now were also standing in an alley to take advantage of a building’s shade. Mazorca also carried a pair of saddlebags, which he kept checking every few minutes. “Did you see that? I have never seen a pony strong enough to stop a charging buffalo! And his friend, tied her up so she couldn’t escape…”

Mazorca couldn’t deny that. They had been following the big stallion since they’d spotted him near the train station, trying to work up the courage to talk to him. “She was very small,” he noted, keeping his voice low. He was surrounded by dozens of ponies that he did not recognize, and didn’t want to stand out.

“She was still a buffalo,” Tallo said, his own voice low for the same reasons. Buffalo, as a close cousin race to cattle, did not have the inborn connection to the land that earth ponies had and were not generally quite as strong at lifting or dragging things…but once they started moving, Mazorca had thought them impossible to stop except by putting solid stone in front of them.

“Maybe they can help?” Tallo continued. “They must know more about weapons than we do, anyway. Not that it would be hard for that to be so, since we know nothing…”

Mazorca chewed his lip a moment, then checked his saddlebags one more time. At length, he nodded. “Very well,” he said. “We will try – ”

“’Scuse me there,” A female voice said. Both stallions jumped, looking behind them and seeing an orange pony wearing a Stetson hat and a very unhappy look on her face. “Ah’m not so sure Ah like you two standin’ in a dark alley lookin’ at mah brother like that.”

Carrot Top and Ditzy were standing over a fallen set of saddlebags in the middle of the road. They were made from what looked like dozens or even hundreds of reeds, all woven together tightly to create a pack just as sturdy as any made from cloth. Whoever they were intended for must have been gigantic, however, given both their size and how loaded down with goods they seemed to be.

“Now who could have dropped this?” Carrot Top asked, poking at the saddlebags with one hoof. One of them had spilled open, revealing a plethora of items, mostly woven clothing in the form of ponchos and cloaks, decorated with feathers, beads, and what looked like real fur, all carefully stored.

“Rarity looking to set up a new boutique here?” Ditzy asked with a smile, closing the saddlebags and attempting to lift them up. With some help from Carrot Top, she succeeded.

“Not her style,” Carrot Top said with a smile. “Okay, so where’s the local lost-and-found – ”

“Habye!” A voice suddenly exclaimed. The two ponies jumped and skittered away from the bags, and found themselves looking at what looked like a buffalo cow, if not for how small she was. “Habye! Away from my wares!”

“We weren’t going to touch them!” Carrot Top objected, holding up her hooves. “We just found them!”

“We didn’t take anything,” Ditzy confirmed herself. “We wouldn’t have, I promise.”

The little buffalo cow eyed them and opened her mouth, probably to start accusing them, but then a red foreleg was rested on her withers. “They didn’t take nothin’,” its owner assured them. “Ah know these two.”

Carrot Top blinked a few times as she found herself staring at an unusually familiar face. “Big MacIntosh?” she asked. “What are y – ”

Her voice broke when she saw one of the ponies with Big Mac, and next to her Carrot Top was aware of Ditzy’s wings suddenly and instinctively spreading wide as she caught sight of him too. He was, in a word, gorgeous – his mane, a very similar color to Carrot Top’s own, was long and wavy about his head and neck, tucked beneath a somehow immaculate Stetson hat despite the perpetual dust that lingered on the edge of the Mild West. His fur all but shined, too, the muscles beneath it taut and tight but also supple and yielding when need be, most notably in his uncovered hindquarters, which looked immensely strong from what was probably many seasons of bucking apples from trees…

Carrot Top only came to her senses when she realized somepony was talking to her – the other pony with Big Mac, who wore a Marshal’s star in his hat that identified him as Fetter Keys. “Huh?” she asked, shaking her head. She nudged Ditzy to break her out of her own trance. “S-sorry, what?”

“Ah was thankin’ y’all for lookin’ after Miss Little Strongheart’s stuff,” he said. He glanced between the two mares, the two Apple stallions, and back again. “But Ah’m startin’ t’ feel a mite hurt now.”

Ditzy blinked rapidly a few times at that, then stepped forward. “Sorry!” she apologized. She pointed to Big Mac. “W-we just know Big MacIntosh here from Ponyville, where we’re from. We weren’t expecting to see him here. It was a surprise, is all.”

“Uh-huh,” Fetter Keys said, not sounding convinced at all. “Right, Ah am officially done, then. Y’all have a nice day.”

Little Strongheart, evidently the name of the buffalo cow, watched him go, then looked back to the ponies. “I too must leave,” she said. She breathed in deeply, then out again, looking to Big MacIntosh. “I…owe you one, I believe is the Equestrian saying. For helping me with the law-pony. Thank you. Taŋyáŋ ománi pe.” With that, she left as well, heading for the town’s trading post.

Carrot Top looked back to Big Mac, unsure of what to say next and fighting hard to keep her eyes from drifting to the other pony. “Um…” she said, glancing to him anyway. “Are you going to introduce us?”

The other pony stepped forward at that. “That’s mah bad,” he said, taking off his hat and shaking his mane a little. He had to know the effect that had on the two mares. That didn’t mean Carrot Top wanted him to stop, though. “Mah name’s Braeburn Apple. Big Mac here is mah cousin.”

Carrot Top looked between the two ponies. She could see a little family resemblance, and Braeburn definitely looked like he might have had some relation to Applejack – a thought that the mare wasn’t sure she liked having given some of the other thoughts that had been bouncing around in her head earlier.

Ditzy stepped forward then, apparently having a somewhat easier time of keeping her mind in check, though her wings were fidgeting fiercely and her tail was flicking just as much as Carrot Top’s own. “My name’s Ditzy Doo,” she said, and indicated her friend, “and this is Carrot Top.”

Braeburn’s eyes widened at that. “The Elements a’ Harmony?” he asked, looking at their necks and noticing the gilt jewelry that hung there for the first time. “Shoot! Y’all are them, ain’t ya?”

Carrot Top nodded, feeling a little embarrassed as she glanced down at the ground, pawing the dirt a little. “I mean, yeah…sort of…it’s just sort of a thing…”

“Well Ah’ll be,” Braeburn continued, looking up to Big Mac. “How’s it that you never told me you knew the heroes of Equestria, cuz?” He looked back to the two of them. “Now Ah have to insist y’all come with me to the saloon. Ah wanna get back to New Appaloosa and say Ah had a drink with the Elements a’ Harmony!”

“Eenope,” Big Mac interjected. Braeburn looked at him – and Carrot Top all but glared – as did, she noted with more than a little dismay, Ditzy – but Big Mac took it all in and remained resolute. “We gotta get back to mah sis.”

That soured Carrot Top’s mood. Sure, she’d become friends with Applejack, somehow, maybe. It was complicated. And sure, she was over her inferiority complex. Mostly. But somehow, Applejack was still coming in between what she wanted even though Carrot Top was trying so hard to not get jealous! And she was pretty sure that was making her more jealous…

Wait, who said anything about wanting Braeburn? No, she just wanted to share a drink with this fine stallion, maybe, and…and, maybe she was panicking over nothing. Maybe Applejack wasn’t getting in her way. Big Mac had two sisters, after all. Maybe he was referring to Applebloom! And that would make sense, Applebloom was only a filly. Wherever Big Mac had left her, he wouldn’t want to leave her alone for long. She couldn’t begrudge the red Apple stallion's responsibility like that…

“W-well,” Carrot Top ventured, “we could come with you! Maybe get a drink afterwards. Me and Ditzy don’t have any real plans…and it would be nice to talk to some Ponyvillians after spending so much time away from home.” She put extra emphasis on nice to make it clear how nice it would be, even if Applejack turned out to be there instead of Applebloom.

Ditzy and Big Mac both eyed her strangely, but Braeburn didn’t seem to notice. “Sounds like a plan to me,” Braeburn said. “C’mon, let’s get goin’ back t’ the station.”

Applejack listened to the two Caballeros while she lugged Bloomberg over to the water tower. She wasn’t quite as strong as her big brother, but with a little effort she could still move the tree around as long as he was on his cart.

“…so, señorita Applejack, you see our plight,” said the younger one, Tallo de Maíz. “Please, a pony as large and strong as your brother must be able to help us, show us what weapons to buy. He is a trained fighter, mi padre and I can tell.”

Applejack reached the water tower, positioning Bloomberg’s roots beneath its funnel, then trotted over to the young filly who was tending it and hoofed over ten pesos. She put them in a drawer and nodded back to Applejack, who tipped her hat to the filly and then went over to the tower’s pump. “Y’all would have a better time a’ things hirin’ ponies rather than buyin’ weapons that y’all don’t know how t’ use,” she said as she looked over the hoof-powered pump. She set her hoof down on it and got to work, and after a few moments a shower of water started falling from the tower and down onto Bloomberg. “An’ mah brother ain’t a trained fighter, not fer what yer after, anyway. He’s just a big n’ healthy pony, is all.”

Applejack grimaced a little at that even as she said it. It wasn’t quite the truth. In fact Big Mac had won several wrestling and hoof-boxing matches in his day, and of course he had on occasion done some bounty hunter work – a job that did not and never would sit well with his little sister. But these ponies here weren’t looking merely for a fighter. They wanted somepony who could lead the defense of an entire village against a band of thirty bandits. Big Mac had never done anything like that before as far as Applejack was aware – and if he had, and hadn’t told her, then Applejack was going to have some very pointed words to say to him.

The two Caballero ponies looked between each other. “Señorita, ¡le suplico!” the older one, Mazorca de Maíz, exclaimed as he stepped forward. He slung his saddlebags from his back and held them out to Applejack. “Please, this is everything my village has! Everything! We must find aid somehow. If we must buy defenders instead of weapons, we will! How much for your brother’s help? For yours?”

“Whoa, hold on!” Applejack exclaimed, stopping her pumping of water and holding off her hooves, warding off Mazorca shoving a bag of pesos into her hooves. “Ain’t this a job for the Rurales anyhow?”

The Rurales were Caballeria’s range police force. They were supposed to be cutting down on the banditry that plagued Caballeria, but evidently they were not doing as good a job as they should have. Mazorca’s grimace confirmed that as Tallo stepped forward. “Sí, señorita Applejack, it would be. But the Rurales are spread thin on the border. Equestria helps with Marshals as well, but they, too, are few, and the Mild West is so large, and so little of it truly claimed. The policía are focused on the coasts, where trade and commerce happens. We are deep inland. The Rurales will not come in time – we do not know when King Longhorn might return, but it will be soon.”

Applejack blinked a few times, resuming pumping water onto Bloomberg as she struggled not to let what the two Caballeros were saying get to her. It was a losing battle, of course. These ponies were decent, hard-working folk being terrorized by a band of thugs. There was no way the orange pony could just let that slide, or pass it off as ‘not her problem’, not now that they had come to her. Not without making at least some effort on their behalf to help them.

“Okay, look,” she said. “Mah brother’ll be back soon. Y’all can talk to him then, he might have some advice. But I ain’t makin’ no promises, y'hear? An’ Ah’m not gonna let mah brother just go off into the Mild West to fight thirty bandits neither, not even if yer whole town is helpin’. Y’all are green at fightin’, said so yerself. He might as well be on his lonesome.” Applejack took off her hat and ran a hoof through her mane, scratching the scalp beneath in thought. “He’d need, like, six other experienced ponies to help, at least. Yer village got no real high ground or nothin’, right? Open on all four sides?” At a confirming nod, Applejack gave one of her own, putting her hat back on. “Then yeah. Seven ponies. One for each direction, two in the center to go where they was needed in case things wen bad, and one to coordinate.”

Applejack considered what she was saying, and rolled her eyes at her own words as she finished pumping water into Bloomberg’s roots. “Mind, with odds like yer sayin’, they’d have to be a mighty magnificent seven…”

Author's Note

I...couldn't resist.

On an unrelated note, I've decided to standardize that Caballero (or Caballera for mares) refers to the ponies while Caballerian refers to the language. No particular reason.

3. Lucky Number 7

It was Applejack, Carrot Top saw to her dismay as she trotted alongside Ditzy, Braeburn, and Big Mac. Because of course Applejack was here, stealing time Carrot Top could have spent getting to know Braeburn from her. But the mare forced herself to put on a gracious smile as she came up to the Apple family mare.

“Applejack!” Ditzy spoke up first, wings fluttering in a pegasus welcoming gesture. “What are the odds?”

Applejack looked away from two Caballeros she was speaking to, eyes widening at the sight of Ditzy and Carrot Top. “Ditzy? CT?” She asked, pulling her hat back a bit. “Shucks, Ah can’t even guess what you two are doin’ here. Well…” She paused a moment to look pointedly and smile ruefully at Big Mac and Ditzy for some reason – prompting an annoyed whicker from Big Mac – then stepped over to Braeburn to give her cousin a friendly nuzzle that was swiftly followed by a bonk to the head with one hoof. “And where have you been?”

“Ow,” Braeburn deadpanned, rubbing where Applejack had hit him. “So that’s what they mean when they say no good deed goes unpunished…”

“No, Ah know ‘bout the buffalo,” Applejack said, gesturing to the two Caballeros. “These two señors filled me in on the particulars there. But you was supposed to already be at the train station waitin’ for us! What were ya doin’ in town?”

Braeburn shrugged. “Sometimes trains don’t run on time the other way. Ah arrived hours ago, and Ah love ya, cuz, but not enough t’ stand in the desert heat waitin’ all day for ya. That’s far too thirsty a business. Ah been at one a’ the saloons, listenin’ for the train whistle. Woulda’ come here right away but for the buffalo part. And before ya go an’ make any accusations, Ah’ve been havin’ water n’ lemon and soda pop, nothin’ stronger.”

Applejack rolled her eyes as she turned around to the other two Ponyvillians. “Mah cuz the drunk,” she said, though without any malice or true belief in what she said. “So what does bring the two a’ ya ta’ Caballeria?”

Carrot Top blushed a little. “Um…Princess Luna,” she said. She tapped the Element of Harmony she’d almost forgotten that she was wearing. “We’re basically supposed to be doing some kind of good-will tour, show the Caballeros that we’re good ponies.”

Applejack grimaced a moment at those words for some reason, then let out a long sigh as she scuffed the dirt with one hoof. “Every little thing…” she mumbled, glancing back to the two Caballeros, who looked more than a little pensive but were apparently waiting on her. They kept eying Big Mac and Braeburn both, particularly the former.

“Applejack?” Carrot Top asked. “What is it?”

Applejack pulled her Stetson over her eyes a moment, letting out another sigh, then indicated the two Caballeros. “This here is Mazorca de Maíz an’ his son, Tallo de Maíz. They’ve got a powerful need of help from mah brother.” She brightened as she looked between Ditzy and Carrot Top, eyeing the Elements they were wearing. “But maybe y’all can help, too!” She looked to the two Caballeros. “Surein’ y’all have heard of the Elements a’ Harmony.”

“Sí…” the older one, Mazorca presumably, said, looking between Ditzy and Carrot Top. He didn’t seem convinced that the two were the heroes of story and legend, though Carrot Top couldn’t blame him on that front. “Pero…are you saying these are those mares?”

Applejack’s grin widened, and she rubbed her front hooves together. “Right, Ah may have a thought formin’ of what t’ do,” she said. “First, lemme get Bloomberg – ”

“Who?” Ditzy asked.

“The tree,” Big Mac supplied. “She named the tree.”

Braeburn groaned and covered his eyes, while Ditzy’s own went a little further askew than normal at the thought. Carrot Top glanced away and hummed quietly to herself, suppressing a sudden desire for peaches.

“As Ah was sayin’,” Applejack insisted, even as she put a comforting hoof on Bloomberg, “lemme get Bloomberg situated somewhere safe, an’ then Braeburn, show us t’ the nearest saloon, seein’ as yer familiar with ‘em already. Then we’re gonna have ourselves a talk ‘bout what the de Maízes need an’ how we can help ‘em.”

The saloon that they had ended up in was even more “disreputable” than the one that Ditzy and Carrot Top had dined in earlier, though this mostly took the form of it being smaller, with tighter seating and smaller windows that let in less light. It also featured a wind-up phonograph that was currently playing the scandalous flamenco music that was popular in northeastern Caballeria, albeit not too loudly.

After getting their drinks (Ditzy stuck to a Surly Temple from the kid’s menu, and everypony else also kept to non-alcoholic drinks), Tallo and Mazorca had taken turns explaining their situation to Ditzy, Carrot Top, Big Mac, and Braeburn.

“Wait, King Longhorn?” Braeburn asked at the end, scratching his head. “The same one what attacked Tía Tarta?”

“Sí,” Tallo replied. “The same, señor Braeburn. You have heard of this?”

“Not a half hour ago,” the yellow stallion replied. “From the bison Big Mac n’ me stopped. Marshal Fetter Keys was investigatin’, but Little Strongheart – that was the bison – didn’t know nothin’ ‘cept King Longhorn was the bandit.”

“I’m gathering banditry is problem in this part of Caballeria?” Carrot Top asked.

“This part? Nah,” Braeburn said, pointing down to indicate the land beneath him. “But once you get out into the Mild West proper, yeah, you’ve got yerself a problem, from Naqah down to Alpaclan. Too much land, too few beings in it t’ keep track a’ everything, not enough water t’ make a decent fort. New Appaloosa lucked into a great big oasis, but most places can’t support more n’ a hundred ponies at most.”

“And los búfalos do not appreciate the creation of forts or large towns in any event,” Mazorca said. “And claim most oases for their tribes, who wander and do not settle. Los búfalos have no love of bandits, of course, but most bands have un búfalo o dos to navigate and allow them to avoid the tribes’ migration patterns.”

“When the tribes are not fooled outright,” Tallo added. “Who is to say if the beings you meet are bandits or merchants? Especially if they are willing to sit and trade and smoke a peace pipe?”

“That ain’t the bison’s fault,” Braeburn insisted. “The only solution there’d be to attack everythin’ they meet, or not trade with any being.”

“Or be more careful, ¿sí? I do not think that it would be so hard – ”

“Look, that’s a fascinatin’ discussion a’ black market economics n’ all that y’all have brewin’ there,” Applejack interrupted, holding up her hooves, “but it don’t solve nothin’.” She looked to Big MacIntosh. “Now, the way Ah see things, what Mazorca an’ Tallo need is somepony t’ help them find someponies to help them. Fighters. An’ we gots two right here,” Applejack nodded to the two Elements of Harmony. “An’ Marshal Fetter Keys surely will want t’ help take down King Longhorn, so that’d be three. Only he can’t be here by his lonesome! Surely he’s got himself some deputies.”

Applejack leaned back, smiling and nodding. “So Marshal Fetter Keys bags hisself King Longhorn, our heroines over here get t’ show Caballeria their stuff like Princess Luna wants ‘em to, an’ the de Maízes get their village saved. You an’ me an’ Braeburn an’ Bloomberg get to head on t’ New Appaloosa like we’re supposed to. Everypony wins!”

There was several long moments of silence.

“Eenope,” Big Mac said.

“That’s a terrible plan,” Braeburn followed up.

“We’re not fighters!” Ditzy objected.

“I can honestly say that ‘run away’ has been my preferred option for every real fight I’ve been in,” Carrot Top confirmed.

“If señor Fetter Keys had deputies, would they have not helped him against la búfala he chased?” Mazorca asked.

“He also looks older than mi padre,” Tallo noted.

Applejack’s eyes fluttered rapidly at the universal objections. She looked to Tallo and Mazorca. “Look, it’s like Ah said, Ah ain’t lettin’ mah brother go by his lonesome to yer village!”

“Ain’t nopony said nothin’ ‘bout him goin’ by his lonesome,” Braeburn pointed out, tapping a hoof to his chest. “Ah’ll go. Ah’ve been in a few rough an’ tumbles. With Big Mac, even.” He grinned slyly at the far larger, stronger, and redder stallion. “Ah even beat him in our last match of tug-of-war.”

Big Mac snorted a little at that, but didn’t deny it, instead glancing away with a mix of scowl and a grin. The two Caballeros looked Braeburn up and down, impressed. “¿Eso es la verdad?” Mazorca asked.

Braeburn nodded. “If there’s one thing Ah know, it’s ropes. Cross mah heart, hope to fly, stick a cupcake in mah eye.”

“Oh, you say that here too,” Ditzy noted absently. She looked to the two Caballeros then. “As for me and Carrot Top…I don’t know if we can help. I don’t really think of myself as a fighter, and I know my friend doesn’t either. But if we can help, we will!”

“I’m sure there’s something we can do,” Carrot Top noted, tapping a hoof on the table as she thought over what she’d heard about the layout of the village. She felt the Element of Generosity around her neck keenly. “Even if it’s just to lend a helping hoof to everypony else. It’s our job.”

Applejack threw her hooves in the air. “That’s what Ah said!” she said. “It’s yer job!” She looked to the two Caballeros. “It ain’t that Ah’m unsympathetic t’ yer plight, señors, but Ah have Bloomberg an’ New Appaloosa t’ think about! An’ so do you two!” She pointed at Big Mac and Braeburn. “If’n we didn’t have an eight ton apple tree sittin’ out back, Ah’d be more n’ happy t’ help! But Ah need Big Mac to get Bloomberg all the way t’ New Appaloosa n’ plant him ‘cause…he’s better at it than me.” She admitted the last part through grit teeth and in a low voice, but continued at a normal volume. “If Big Mac is moseyin' on off into the Mild West an’ takin’ Braeburn with him, what’re we gonna do with Bloomberg? Huh?”

“First, Ah’m gonna have t’ ask about the tree,” Marshal Fetter Keys insisted.

“Ah don’ wanna talk about it,” Applejack responded as she scuffed a hoof in the dirt road, even though it was Big Mac who was hitched to the cart carrying Bloomberg, not her. Big Mac, for his part, was trying to move the cart into a position where it wouldn’t block as much of the road as it currently was doing.

The de Maízes came up to Fetter Keys while Big Mac did so, explaining their situation, the fact that their town was being used and drained by King Longhorn, was in danger of starving to death because of him. “Te suplico,” Mazorca finished. “Señorita Applejack said that we would need at least seven ponies to defend our village from King Longhorn. We have five – and surely you and your fellow marshals will double that number!”

“Triple, even!” Tallo suggested hopefully.

Fetter Keys blinked at that. “Not hardly,” he admitted, stepping aside and pointing into his office, which was on loan from the local police. There was nopony inside. “It’s just me by mah lonesome,” he said. “Truth be told, Ah’m supposed t’ just telegraph what Ah find out t’ the capital, get backup if’n anythin’ big happens.”

The two Caballeros looked between each other at that in worry. “How long until support arrives?” Mazorca asked.

“Well,” Fetter Keys said, leaning against his doorframe and looking up to the sky as he thought. “That depends. First there’s gonna be a discussion ‘bout whether this should be a Royal Marshal job, seein’ as it’s a marshal what’s askin’ for help, or a Rurales job, seein’ as this is Caballeria n’ all. That’ll take a day or two. Then they’re gonna need t’ round up enough ponies t’ deal with the Cattle Rustlers. That’ll take a week, week n’ a half. Then they’re gonna need to get down here, that’s a few days. So say two weeks, three on the outside.”

The de Maízes looked to each other in worry at that. Ditzy came forward. “These ponies don’t have two or three weeks, Marshal,” she said. “King Longhorn could be back any day. They need help now.”

Fetter Keys put a hoof to his mouth at that, rubbing the short stubble that he sported. “There’s ‘bout thirty in Longhorn’s band, so I hear,” he said. “But he’s got a lot a’ cattle. They’re big eaters, get hungry fast. And bandits ain’t exactly known for their restraint, doubt they’ll ration the food they’ve already got, ‘specially not with them thinkin’ more is on the way. Hold ‘em off for a few days, make ‘em go hungry, mebbe give ‘em a good lickin’ t’ show we mean business…” He looked to Tallo and Mazorca. “’Course, a hungry cattle – heck, a hungry anythin’ – ain’t somethin’ t’ laugh at. You people willin’ to fight?”

“Sí, señor,” Mazorca answered, as Tallo nodded along. “Of course. But we don’t know how, not beyond a bar-room brawl.”

The Marshal nodded again, then heaved a big sigh. “Shucks, Ah didn’t want t’ live forever anyway. Ah’ll telegraph Ciudad de Fresas, let ‘em know where Ah’m goin’ n’ such, they’ll send help when they can’. We shouldn’t expect none in a timely fashion, though. After Ah’m done, we’ll head out. Meet me at the end of the west road in an hour.”

Fetter Keys went back into his office, and the small herd of ponies (and one apple tree) turned about, heading for the road. Carrot Top bit her lip as she looked around the town. “Shouldn’t we maybe try asking some of the other Caballeros for help?” she suggested. “There has to be more ponies in town…”

“What, like, raise a militia?” Braeburn asked. “More trouble n’ its worth, Ah find. Militia is good for defending their own home town. But move on past that an’ things tend to get disorganized n’ rowdy. Might end up doin’ more damage t’ the village than King Longhorn would.”

“More mouths t’ feed, too,” Big Mac observed. “Ain’t much use in pushin’ off Longhorn if’n all the food’s just gonna be gobbled up, an’ plantin’ season’s only just started here, so there ain’t a lot of food t’ go ‘round for supplyin’ a militia. Smaller is better.”

Carrot Top hadn’t considered that. The de Maízes had already mentioned that they were anticipating a lean growing season this year. Adding enough extra ponies to make a sizable militia would certainly not help with that, especially with them not being certain when King Longhorn would return other than some time in the next month. What if it took the whole month? Feeding dozens more beings during that time would probably strain the village too much, at least as much as the Cattle Rustlers would have stolen anyway. And bored, hungry ponies were liable to probably do something foolish, and probably regrettable. Not to mention the impact that Monte Rey suddenly losing a sizable chunk of its population, all of them presumably able-bodied, fit ponies who were needed for their own rounds of farming.

Carrot Top slowed her trot as they passed on by an apothecary, biting her lip again. “Hold on a moment,” she said to the others, and looked to Ditzy. “We’re definitely going into a fight…I want to go in prepared for a change.”

Ditzy looked over the apothecary herself. “Good idea,” she said, looking back to the other ponies while Carrot Top headed in. “We’ll just be a few minutes. We’ll get bandages, medicines, rubbing alcohol…anything else?”

By the time Ditzy made her own way into the store, Carrot Top was already deep in among the shelves, looking over the various reagents and chemicals closely. Princess Luna had granted them a stipend to spend while in Caballeria, and Carrot Top strongly suspected that she was about to spend most of it here, on the grounds that she was heading into a fight and so it would be better to have something and not need it than the reverse.

While Carrot Top’s special talent may have been in carrot farming, she also had quite the eye for alchemy, if she said so herself. Her grandmother had left her quite the “cookbook”, which her own grandmother had left her, back and back Carrot Top couldn’t even begin to guess how many generations, and added to by all of them. Of course, there were legitimate recipes in there, too…but sometimes Carrot Top would turn a page in it and wonder what in the world had required one of her ancestors to figure out how to make fulminating silver, aqua fortis, or alchemical sleep gas. Then she considered some possibilities and decided she didn’t really need to know if one of her ancestors had been some kind of bomb-throwing anarchist that eventually settled down or went into hiding.

It was certainly coming in handy now, at least. Most of what she was looking for was easy to find in any store across the land – it was amazing what one could do with common products if the conditions were right. As she was browsing, she found Ditzy next to her, clutching a number of more mundane bandages and other medicinal items, all of them already piled into a doctor’s bag that she’d also be buying, and looking at Carrot Top strangely. “What are you looking for?” She asked.

“Oh, this and that,” Carrot Top responded.

“I thought we were getting first aid supplies.”

“We should,” Carrot Top confirmed, nodding as she did. “But not just those. You focus on the first aid stuff, I’m going to get ingredients for some…other things, that might give us an edge.” She offered a smile to Ditzy. “You remember some of the things that Zecora has cooked up when we’ve run into her? I think I might be able to manage those as well.”

Ditzy smiled herself at that. “We could use an edge like that,” she said, helping Carrot Top with the supplies she’d already grabbed by also loading them into the medical bag. After a few minutes of quiet, though, Carrot Top noticed Ditzy staring at her. “You’re…going to be okay, right?” the pegasus mare asked. “I mean, we were just discussing the Apple Trust, and then all of a sudden…”

Carrot Top shook her head. “I’m fine, Ditzy,” she said, having picked up a jar of powder. She held it in both hooves, smiling at the pegasus. “I mean, yeah, it’s kind of strange that Applejack and Big MacIntosh would just be here, out of nowhere, more than a thousand miles from Ponyville. At exactly the same time we’re here. Carting around a huge apple tree for the Trust’s latest venture. But it’s just a coincidence! Just luck! Just – ”

There was a crack, and suddenly Carrot Top was holding the remains of a jar in her hooves, and the powder was on the floor. She looked down at it, even as the pony running the store looked at her from across the counter rather pointedly. “I’ll pay for it!” she assured the pony, dashing up to the counter. “Even help clean it up! Where’s your dustpan and broom?”

Ditzy watched Carrot Top impassively as the earth pony and the store owner went back and forth as to who should be cleaning up the mess the former had made, before the two finally settled on the store owner holding the dustpan while Carrot Top swept. Once the mess was cleaned up, and the two Equestrians bought all the supplies the wanted, Ditzy made sure to trot close to her friend. “So…” she ventured. “You’re fine?”

Carrot Top bristled, but relented under the incessant stare of Ditzy. “Okay, no, I’m not fine,” Carrot Top admitted as the two trotted. “I wish I was! But I’m not, and I hate it…” she let out a long sigh. “Applejack is supposed to be my friend now…what kind of friend gets so jealous of their friends?”

Ditzy shrugged a little. “We all get jealous,” Ditzy said. “There’s tons of times when I wished I made as much money as Trixie or Lyra. And I wish I owned my own home, like you do. You’re only equine, Carrot Top.”

“I know…”

The two paused as they rounded a corner and reached the edge of town. Applejack was standing in front of her brother and cousin, the former still attached to Bloomberg’s cart via harness, and looked like she was trying one last time to convince the two that this venture was a bad idea. Fetter Keys stood off a little way, meanwhile, talking to Mazorca and Tallo. To her chagrin, Carrot Top noticed Ditzy’s wings twitch a little when she looked Braeburn’s way, no doubt taking in the sheen of his coat, the way the wind slightly tugged at his orange locks…the pegasus noticed Carrot Top’s look, and grinned a little as she leaned over. “Mind, there’s some definite advantages to not being an Apple…if you know what I mean?”

Ditzy giggled a little as she began trotting again, but Carrot Top waited a moment before continuing. She felt herself getting a little angry at Ditzy…and immediately felt herself getting angry at herself, too. Braeburn was hardly claimed. She hadn’t made any kind of statement concerning him. In fact, who said she was going to? He was an Apple, after all! Even if only a cousin to Applejack, Carrot Top still wanted none of that.

She pointedly ignored the fact that she had to put a little effort into keeping her tail from swishing a tad higher than was proper as she began trotting again, towards Braeburn – no, towards the group. And she picked up her pace a bit so she arrived before Ditzy, too. “Hi!” she exclaimed in her most friendly voice. She looked between the other ponies, unconsciously giving her mane a little shake when she glanced at Braeburn. “Ready to go?”

Applejack heaved what had to be the mightiest sigh since the creation of the world. “Ah s'pose,” she intoned. She looked to the two Caballeros amongst the Equestrians. “Look, señors, Ah’m sorry if’n Ah’m bein’ a pain. Ah gots me and mine to look after in New Appaloosa, just as you got you and yours. But seein’ as mah brother and cuz ain’t taken ‘no’ for an answer,” she glared a little at the other two Apple ponies a moment, then looked back, “Ah’m along too. An’ Ah promise, Ah’ll give it mah all.” She held out a hoof.

“Muchos gracias,” Mazorca de Maíz responded, tapping his own to hers. “And I take no offense, señorita Applejack. I understand. Without your help and recommendations, we would not even be this far.”

“Pero,” Tallo noted, scratching the back of his head under his sombrero, “did you not say that we would need at least seven? We have only recruited six…”

“Nah, there’s one more on the way,” Fetter Keys said, trotting over. “She’ll be here any minute. Just needed to finish up her business in town…”

“It is finished,” said a new voice. Everypony, even Big Mac, nearly leaped from their coats at the sound. Turning in its direction, Carrot Top – one hoof to her chest to try and steady her heart – saw a small buffalo cow, with a headdress of two feathers and a set of saddlebags that seemed like far more than she should have been able to carry.

“Lil’ Strongheart?” Braeburn asked in surprise.

“Eeyup,” Fetter Keys said, trotting up to the buffalo and turning to face the rest of the group. “Ah remembered what she said ‘bout not havin’ any love for King Longhorn, an’ asked her if she wanted to come along. She said yes.”

“I said much more than that,” Little Strongheart said, looking between each of the gathered ponies. “But that was the general intent. King Longhorn has been a scourge on…my friends. And the Mild West. I would see him removed from this land.”

The ponies looked between each other. “Don’t suppose any a’ your friends can help out too?” Applejack asked. “Y’know, as long as King Longhorn is a scourge n’ all.”

“They always help me,” Little Strongheart responded, one ear flicking, “though they are…skittish. Easily startled. And there are none here at the moment. But if I see them or can contact them, I will.”

Carrot Top blinked a few times, looking to Ditzy, who glanced back. That answer had been…vague, somehow, though Carrot Top might not have picked up on it at all had she not been friends with Trixie Lulamoon. However, the buffalo had offered help, and they could certainly use it. “Well, welcome on board,” Carrot Top said, determined to get off on the right hoof with this being, at least. She trotted forward, holding out a hoof. “And thanks.”

The buffalo looked at Carrot Top’s outstretched hoof a moment, then to Carrot Top. “I will accept your invitation and gratitude, gladly, and in a moment we shall smoke from the peace pipe,” she said. “However, first, there is something I must know.”

“Sure, anything,” Carrot Top said, looking to the rest of the group. They all nodded, not knowing of anything they’d want to keep secret.

Little Strongheart looked pointedly at all of them. “Why are we bringing a tree?”

Author's Note

Bah. This took too long to write. At least this chapter's done, though.

I had originally intended to complete the seven later, out in the Mild West, with Little Strongheart joining after she'd somehow already gotten ahead of them, paralleling Kikuchiyo, Chico, and Red Harvest. However I kind of wanted to get them all together in this chapter, and didn't feel like stretching it out further.

Featuring Applejack prominently in this story is sort of meant to be a "final apology" to the character, after how she was mishandled in Season 1. Here I'm trying to get across more of my intent for her original personality: she's still basically a good pony, but looks at the bigger picture in lieu of the details, and priorities her family before anything else. Applejack really would be happy to help the Caballeros here if not for the fact that Bloomberg needs to get to New Appaloosa, and in fairness she does have a point that lugging around an eight-ton apple tree isn't exactly conducive to any of the efforts they'll be making against King Longhorn. But, her brother and cousin have got it into their heads that they need to help the Caballeros, so Applejack is going along.

Basically, I think of M!Applejack as being Lawful Good (follows the rules and cares about everyone), while L!Applejack is Lawful Neutral (follows the rules and cares about friends and family), though leaning towards good.

4. Living In the Mild Mild West

The Mild West, or at least the parts the impromptu herd were trotting through, consisted of rolling, dry, flat plains as far as the eye could see. Yellow grass with only a few hints of green was the dominant feature, with the occasional scrub bush or short, hardy tree. There was little protection from the Sun, but then at this time of the year it at least wasn’t too hot. It also meant, though, that there was little to do or see other than each other. Which suited most of the herd just fine – they were none of them unsociable beings – but after just an hour of travel…

“I still don’t understand,” Little Strongheart said once more, eyeing Bloomberg.

Applejack was a stubborn mare and more than willing to start explaining the necessity of bringing an eight-ton apple tree to the de Maíz’s village once again using slightly different wording. Fetter Keys, however, jumped in before she could. “’Cause we ain’t got noplace to leave it back in Monte Rey,” he said.

“An’ mah cuz is a bit crazy,” Braeburn said as well. Applejack glared at him, but Braeburn only laughed. “Ah think we all are! A rodeo stallion, three farmers, a bison trader, a mail-mare, one marshal all by his lonesome, an’ a tree, all goin’ t’ take on a band a’ thirty banditos. We’d have t’ be crazy.” He smiled widely, and wildly. “Only way this’ll work.”

“Oh, it’s not so bad,” Ditzy ventured from above. With so much open, flat ground and nothing else in the sky besides the occasional bird, she was taking full advantage of the freedom to soar and glide to her heart’s content without fear of hitting anything, something she had little space to do in the more hilly, tree-filled environment of Ponyville. In fact she had barely flapped her wings once taking to the air, instead only adjusting them minutely to catch every little thermal and zephyr and buoy herself comfortably a few dozen feet above them, though she flew down a little lower so that she could be heard easier. “At least they’re just normal, regular beings. We might even be able to reason with them.”

“That is unlikely, señorita,” Mazorca called up to the pegasus. “King Longhon has been active in this region for years now, ever since the war. He will not give up so easily. Y, many of his beings have known no other lives either.”

Ditzy frowned at that. “That can’t be true,” she insisted as she banked slightly to catch a slight breeze to keep herself aloft. “No being can be one thing, all the time. And I refuse to believe that anyone would choose to be a bandit unless they didn’t think there were other options.”

“Well, we’ll try,” Fetter Keys said. “Just don’t go and expect much in the way a’ results. An’ even if we do get results, they’ll still have t’ pay for what they’ve done over the years.”

Ditzy nodded, not denying that. Kindness didn’t mean ‘instant forgiveness’, after all. She soared back up a little higher with just her wings catching the thermals with the slightest adjustment of her primaries, watching as the horizon seemed to expand before her as she did, giving her a commanding view of the Mild West. Mostly, it was miles and miles of miles and miles, but to a pegasus – or at least to Ditzy – that was an incredible sight. There was just so much space, so much room, almost enough to even make her forget that the view from the ground, and the rear of their herd, wasn’t so bad either, albeit not for the landscape. She didn’t suppress her foalish giggle at that thought as she let herself drift back just a smidge and looked to where Big Mac and Braeburn trotted alongside one another. No, it wasn’t a bad view at all…

Carrot Top saw Braeburn glance behind him and up, and looked herself. Ditzy had climbed to two or three hundred feet in the air and allowed herself to drift backwards a bit, following them almost like a kite in the breeze. Mostly her eyes were focused on the air around her, but sometimes she looked down at the herd…at where one pony in particular was.

The farmer felt her fur bristle at that, and she looked away from Ditzy so that she wouldn’t be glowering. Clearing her throat a little, she picked up her trot so that she could sidle up next to Braeburn, albeit not too close. “S-so,” she said. “You’re from Appaloosa?”

Braeburn nodded, though he glanced Little Strongheart’s way as he did. The small buffalo cow wasn’t looking at them, but her ears had swiveled their way – she was paying attention. “New Appaloosa…an’ Ah I was at the old one, too.”

Carrot Top thought a little about that. “I’d heard something happened…a disagreement with the buffalo, or something.” She shook her head. “What happened?”

“Long story short?” Braeburn asked. “Damned foolishness from beginnin’ t’ the end. Ponies buildin’ a town where there shouldn’t a’ been one, right in the way of a bison herd’s migration path.” Braeburn sighed a little. “Some bison tribes don’t settle down much, live as nomads, but that don’t mean nothin’. Imagine if somepony came t’ Ponyville an’ just started blockin’ the streets with new buildins’. Then gets ornery when you object to it. Folks buildin’ Appaloosa didn’t think to make sure the town was outta the way. Or more like, didn’t care. Buncha bison of the Black Rock tribe come by two years later, see the town…”

Braeburn got quiet, then, but by now Little Strongheart had come over, and nodded at him. “There was foolishness on the part of my kind as well,” she said. Braeburn looked grateful at not having to point hooves in accusation. “A town cannot be picked up and moved quickly, and while we bison know our paths through the Mild West, they are often not marked in a way that ponies could see.” She looked to Carrot Top. “The town should not have been built where it was. But the Black Rock should have given the ponies more than one day to collect their belongings and leave before stampeding.”

“Why was it built at all?” Carrot Top asked.

“Good farmland,” Braeburn said. “Bison don’t tend to much care what happens outside their paths, long as it won’t hurt ‘em. An’ ever since the war Caballeria’s been drawin’ down its military. Lotta ponies need new work that don’t involve pointin’ sharp objects at other folk. The Apple Trust was contracted t’ help set everythin’ up, but didn’t do ‘nuff research into the place.”

Carrot Top fought down another bout of jealousy at that, knowing that it would be incredibly out-of-place and wrong of her. Still…the Apple Trust was large and wealthy enough that it could be contracted to establish entire towns? She instead focused on Braeburn and Little Strongheart, who both looked more than a little maudlin at the subject matter. “B-but New Appaloosa is doing fine, right?” She asked.

Braeburn brightened at that. “Eeyup. Few miles away. Land’s not quite so good, but give earth pony magic time. An’ the Apple Trust don’t want repeat mistakes with any new towns, so they got folk workin’ with bison tribes now, learnin’ the migration patterns, tradin’ with ‘em more too.”

Little Strongheart nodded back to her saddlebags – she’d clearly personally benefitted from the increased trade, as her bags were now loaded down with various goods and sundries that were difficult for nomadic wanderers to make. “Change is…new to my people. We are always slow to embrace it. But the world beyond the Mild West is changing, and we will not be left behind.”

Carrot Top nodded a little at that, understanding the sentiment well enough – it was relevant to the small farming town of Ponyville too, after all. She looked once more to Braeburn. “So what about you?” She asked.

Braeburn looked away from Little Strongheart, and to Carrot Top. “What about me?” He asked.

“Well…” Carrot Top said, in what she hoped was a leading fashion, “if we’re going to be defending a town from bandits together, I’d like to get to know you more as a pony.” She smiled in a way that was very friendly, and asked in as casual and conversational a voice as possible, “any special somponies?”

The yellow stallion apparently believed that she was just being inquisitive. “Not recently,” he said. “Work in New Appaloosa’s kept me busy. Not that I’m sayin’ I’m necessarily out of the market, mind.” As he said this, he looked to the horizon and flicked his mane a little, causing it to positively glow as it caught the sunlight.

Carrot Top did her best to suppress a contented sigh at the sight.

Applejack and Big Mac saw what Braeburn did with three of the four females in the group looking on longingly, exchanged a glance with one another, and then as one rolled their eyes. The worst part was that Braeburn didn’t even notice the effect he was having on most of the female members of their little herd – although not always noticing the attention they got was something of a recurring trait among Apple stallions, Applejack mused as she glanced at Ditzy soaring through the sky just a little behind them. And that was in spite of Big Mac doing a terrible job hiding the shine he had for the mare…

Personally Applejack would have preferred if Big Mac had taken a fancy to a fellow farming pony, somepony who could come to Sweet Apple Acres and help work the land; she didn’t see Ditzy ever quitting the post office. But who her brother took a shine to and who he didn’t wasn’t really her business beyond making sure that the pony was a good one, and Ditzy Doo left no doubts where that was concerned. She must have once been a darned fool of a mare to have had little Dinky Doo so young, but then it wasn’t like the Apple family as a whole didn’t have a plethora of darned fool mares and stallions in the family tree itself – hay, her own parents – and Ditzy had clearly grown as a pony as a result of it.

The earth pony suppressed an annoyed wicker at her thoughts. It was a bit early to be hearing wedding bells; so far all Ditzy and Big Mac had done was exchange kind words and stood a bit closer to each other at social gatherings than was entirely polite for friends. And she needed to focus on the task at hoof. After making sure Bloomberg was okay for the time being, Applejack cantered over to Fetter Keys. “So, you’ve done this sort a’ thing before, right?” she asked.

Fetter Keys offered a slight shrug. “Marched t’ mah certain doom? No, Ah’ve made it a point to avoid doin’ that.” He chuckled, and Applejack couldn’t help but share in the mirth. “Ah’ve been in tussles and scuffles, sure, when makin’ an arrest. Enlisted in the army back durin’ the war, but by the time Ah made it through trainin’ Caballeria had surrendered. Came down for peacekeepin’, mustered out as a corporal, then joined the marshals.”

“You remember basic trainin’?” Applejack asked, just to be sure, and then got a confirming nod. “That’s good. When we get to town, you’re gonna need to organize the townsfolk into a proper militia.”

Fetter Keys almost missed a step at that. “Beg pardon?” He asked incredulously. “Miss Applejack, the whole point of us seven commin’ down is so as the townsfolk don’t have t’ fight themselves, ain’t it?”

“Sure, six ponies an’ the smallest buffalo cow Ah’ve ever seen against thirty banditos.” The farmer rolled her eyes once more, taking a moment to glance over the dry and dusty Mild West plain that surrounded them. “That’ll go real swell.”

“And a tree,” Fetter Keys observed dryly.

Applejack felt prickling on her side, and realized she’d stepped close enough to Bloomberg for his branches to poke at her. “He ain’t a fighter,” she said with finality, “but the villagers asked for help in learnin’ how t’ fight, right? Last thing they want is King Longhorn out only for another bandito t’ show up an’ pick up where he left off.”

Fetter Keys considered that for a moment before nodding, conceding the point. He looked forward, at the two de Maíz stallions leading them to their town. “Well, Ah’ve seen worse lookin’ recruits. Was one mahself. But we ain’t got time for nothin’ fancy. Basic trainin’ in the army is ten weeks, we’ll be lucky t’ get three – plus it’s been awhile for me, y’know?”

Applejack nodded. “Right, here’s what Ah know about the town…” she spent a few minutes going over what the de Maízes had told her of their home, and her own thoughts on how to organize a defense – one pony at each of the cardinal points with a troop of local townsfolk, two ponies in the center of town to reinforce as needed, and a third staying in the center to organize everything. She also outlined some of her thoughts for defensive measures, based on what she’d been told about the terrain.

Fetter Keys let out a low whistle. “Well, you got everything figured out, boss. I’mma be callin’ you boss, by the way, on account of you bein’ the leader of this little shindig.”

Applejack blinked a few times at that. “Leader?” she asked. “Ah thought you’d be the leader. You’re the marshal.”

“Well, seein’ as mah plan up to this point amounted to just gettin’ the locals to make a bunch of pointed sticks, pointin’ ‘em at the banditos, an’ hopin’ for the best, Ah’d say that ain’t a job Ah’m qualified for.” He paused a moment, then patted down the loose jacket he wore before letting out a low curse. “Darn, Ah meant t’ grab some deputy badges, but I left ‘em back in Monte Rey. Well, Ah’m here, so y’all are deputies anyway. Any other marshal shows up and tries t’ tell ya that y’all are actin’ as vigilantes, just give ‘em mah name.” He smirked at Applejack. “Then get ‘em t’ lend a hoof.”

Applejack smiled herself, and nodded. “Will do.”

The herd travelled with light conversation to pass the time for most of the rest of the day, and made camp next to a stand of a few dozen bur oak trees that must have been tapping a deep well for water. In spite of the apple tree that Big Mac was lugging, the de Maíz ponies informed the group that they’d made good time, and would likely be reaching their hometown some time the following evening if they could keep up the pace, which nopony (or bison) could think of a reason why they wouldn’t. None of the beings present were opposed to grazing on the grass of the Mild West, which wasn’t the most nutritious option but also meant they hadn’t needed to carry any supplies with them. Water that was as fresh as could be was provided by Ditzy, who rounded up a few wild cirrus clouds from high in the sky and burst them open over waiting canteens, though she hadn’t been able to gather enough to stop Applejack fretting over Bloomberg. The fallen branches around the bur oaks had also been plentiful enough to get a decent camp fire going.

Once everypony had settled down a bit, Braeburn took the opportunity to mosey over to where Little Strongheart was standing, a few hundred feet from the fire. In one of the more awkward things he’d ever felt the need to do, he coughed into one hoof to get her attention. “So…” he said. “Not sure how t’ say this right, but…thanks, for bein’ so understandin’ about what happened at Appaloosa.”

She looked to him, then nodded as she looked back out across the Mild West plains, glancing up occasionally at the stars overhead. “It was not my tribe,” she said. “As I said, the Black Rock are at least somewhat to blame. Some good may come of it, even, in the long run, for both ponies and bison.” After another moment’s consideration, she looked back to Braeburn “Thank you as well, Braeburn, for calling my people bison.” She shook her head. “I cannot even begin to guess how it is that ponies started calling us buffalo when none even live on this continent…”

Braeburn chuckled at that, cantering up to stand next to Little Strongheart. “Kinda’ got that distinction pounded into me. Ah’ll talk t’ everyone else ‘bout it. Speakin’ of, would you prefer Cikala-Cante-Wasake?”

Little Strongheart shook her head. “I am used to Bison and Equestrian versions of my name. Pequeña Corazón-Fuerte as well, in Caballerian.” She offered a small, almost guilty smile. “But Little Strongheart is my favorite. I think it makes me sound exotic.”

It didn’t sound that exotic to Braeburn, but he guessed that had something to do with Equestrian being his native tongue. They stood in silence for a few minutes, just watching the stars. Braeburn was about to speak, but then then Little Strongheart’s turned slightly, looking off to the side and to the edge of the copse of trees where they’d made camp, eyes widening. “Haho!” she whispered excitedly. “I knew he was about…”

The bison started moving slowly towards the copse, Braeburn watching. “Uh…somethin’ Ah should be concerned about? A rattler or somethin’?” The last thing he needed was to learn that they’d set up camp near a rattlesnake colony…

Little Strongheart shook her head, however, though she didn’t look at him. “Hiyá. No. Please give me a moment…” As Braeburn watched, she advanced up to the edge of the copse of trees, one hoof going to the saddlebags she still wore and taking out what looked and smelled an awful lot like a granola bar. Each step that the bison made took several moments, as though she were approaching a frightened or at least unsure animal, though Braeburn couldn’t see a thing. At length, Little Strongheart set the bar down on the ground, then backed away slowly and settled into a sitting position. Braeburn decided to copy the motion.

“Hiyú we,” Little Strongheart intoned to whatever she was looking at. “Miyelo ca kola, hiyú we…”

She was asking something to come out from where it was hiding, and Braeburn finally realized what he was looking at. He suppressed the urge to vocalize it and instead hunkered down a little more, not wanting to ruin Little Strongheart’s efforts. After several more minutes, the granola bar (or whatever it was) that she’d set down seemed to move on its own, lifting itself up slightly and then disappearing entirely with a faint shimmer. Another long wait, and then something shimmered into being where the bar had been – a small creature, looking almost like a prairie dog, but with iridescent fur that glimmered in the faint starlight and fire-light from the camp over yonder, and the bushy tail of a coyote. After a moment, it hopped towards Little Strongheart, but its motion was almost like someone had lowered the gravity for it, or it was underwater – it bounded forward like it was floating, and when it stopped it still hovered just a few inches off of the ground. To top everything off, it was see-through, at least partially.

“Well Ah’ll be,” Braeburn said softly, as Little Strongheart extended a hoof to the effervescent creature. “So you’re one a’ them shamans. That’s what you meant when you said you always had friends t’ help you.”

Little Strongheart smiled as the spirit animal sniffed at her hoof, then bounded up and over her back, though its feet still didn’t actually touch anything. “Yes,” she said, looking to Braeburn. “You know that this is no ghost, then?”

Braeburn nodded. Spirits were genius loci, the native creatures and protectors of a given place or object. They weren’t ghosts or wraiths – though some ponies thought they were, and that the bison who called them were wicked necromancers – but rather a distinct, ephemeral creature that inhabited a world that was near to and somehow bound up with the material one. Braeburn didn’t know all of the details beyond the fact that the spirits seemed to have a special relationship with bison, some of whom – shamans – could call them up and offer them gifts in exchange for help, usually with finding sources of water, or scouting out an area that they weren’t certain was safe.

“What’s his name?” Braeburn asked.

Little Strongheart shook her head. “Spirits don’t have names as you and I do. If I were to ask, he would simply indicate this place,” she nodded towards the trees. She looked them over. “My people call this place Standing Trees, so I suppose that is the spirit’s name as well.” She laughed a little as the spirit bounded around her and towards her saddlebags, looking for more food. She shoo’d it away gently. “Habye! You have been fed! And I have asked nothing of you!”

Braeburn chuckled as well. The spirit seemed insistent on getting more, but Little Strongheart just stood and trotted away to join Braeburn further from the trees. The spirit followed for a few feet, but then stopped as though it had encountered a physical wall – the limits of its place. It couldn’t go any further without aid, which Little Strongheart wasn’t giving. After a few minutes of trying, the spirit let out an annoyed huff, then disappeared.

Braeburn and Little Strongheart both chuckled again at the sight. “He ain’t gonna hold a grudge, is he?” the stallion asked.

Little Strongheart shook her head. “The spirit of Standing Trees is a simple one. If I were to call him again, he would only remember that I gave him a gift.” She nodded to herself. “It is good that he was awake. If we had camped here and I had not given him something, I don’t doubt he would have made some mischief the next time I came through. Missing wares, half-eaten food…” she shook her head, clearly speaking from personal experience.

Braeburn and Little Strongheart started over to the rest of the herd. “If we are lucky,” the bison said, “then the de Maíz’s village will have spirits near it who are willing to help. Perhaps I could even convince a few to ride with me.”

The stallion didn’t know what Little Strongheart meant by that, but he supposed he’d figure out sooner or later. “If’n ya don’t mind me askin’, what’re the odds that King Longhorn’s band will have a shaman in it?”

“Low,” Little Strongheart said. “We are not many. But…it is not impossible, and spirits are not as concerned with matters of right and wrong as we are. If King Longhorn has a shaman who has already befriended the spirits, it will make it much more difficult to entice them.” She bowed her head. “I am more concerned with the ponies’ reactions. I have been accused of necromancy before.”

She looked at Braeburn pointedly, and he knew what she was driving at. “Ah won’t tell nopony, promise,” he said.

Little Strongheart looked at him oddly. “So you will tell somepony?” she asked.

“No, Ah…” Braeburn began, but then noticed the bison smiling at him. “Oh, har har. You gonna call me on that, Ah’m gonna start insistin’ you use contractions.” He gave a playful bump with his flank as he finished.

“Should that not be y’all?” Little Strongheart countered, returning the bump, then dodging Braeburn’s next attempt. She took off at a gallop, laughing back at him as Braeburn gave chase.

Tallo de Maíz looked at the herd that he and his father had managed to gather. Applejack and Fetter Keys were deep in conversation, discussing strategy, with Big MacIntosh adding his own thoughts now and then. Ditzy Doo and Carrot Top were nearby as well, Ditzy helping Carrot Top with some of the ingredients and reagents she had bought back in Mont Rey, mixing something together. And Braeburn and Little Strongheart had returned from their excursion and seemed to be more comfortable around each other than they had been – Tallo decided to not make guesses as to why that could be.

What was more important, though, was their attitudes. None of them looked frightened, concerned, or nervous, as Tallo and Mazorca were. Despite the knowledge that they would soon be standing up to King Longhorn and his band of thirty banditos, they all seemed determined and at-ease. Then again, given that two of them were the Elements of Harmony, had fought evil necromancers and powerful dragons and emerged triumphant, Tallo supposed that it wasn’t surprising that they were so unconcerned – and if Tallo had been as large as Big Mac, he certainly wouldn’t fear much, either.

“Father, I think this might actually work,” Tallo said. “Looking at them…I think they could take on King Longhorn all by themselves!”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Mazorca cautioned his son. “I am certain we, and everypony else in the village, will have many long days of work ahead of us.” At Tallo’s faltering look, Mazorca held up a hoof. “But we certainly have a better chance than we ever did on our own. We can stop King Longhorn.”

Tallo nodded, and smiled. “I can’t wait until we get back to the village and show everypony. And I’m glad we listened to Zecora.”

Author's Note

So as I think I mentioned, last year was, for a variety of reasons, the worst year of my life (so far), for reasons that I'm sure you're tired of hearing me bitch about. Things have been looking up since about March of this year, but it's taken me 'til now to get out of my funk.

Plus, it's been more than a year since any of my stories updated, which kind of caused a depressive cycle of me feeling awful about how long it had been, and then me feeling awful robbing me of the will to write, delaying things more.

But enough of that.

Anyway. This chapter (a year and 3 months in the writing, a personal record! Yay...). So, for one thing: bison have shamans! Who talk to spirits! And apparently ride with them! Whatever that means. I'm kind of trying to strike a balance here with Little Strongheart, in that I don't want to dive head-first into Native American stereotypes but at the same time kinda' like the pop culture lore around things like medicine men and shamans and so on. I figure as long as I don't show her scalping anypony, doing anything to get a bottle of "fire-water", or looking at the camera and shedding a single tear when somepony drops some garbage, we'll be fine.

There's also a subtle writing game I'm playing vis-a-vis Braeburn, Big MacIntosh, Ditzy Doo, and Carrot Top (that started in the last chapter), but it might be too subtle for my own good so I'm willing to bet no one's noticed it.

Not much has happened in this chapter other than some character development, but given that this is supposed to be following the beats of The Magnificent Seven, that's to be expected; this was the "journey to the village" act.

Anyway, I'll try not to take longer than, say, eight months before updating this again. Ten on the outside.

5. The Handsome, The Winged, and the Rhymer

Ñaco hadn’t been let outside to play since his father and grandfather had headed off to Monte Rey, looking for help. None of the foals had been let out at all, in fact, unless it was with their parents. His mother Seda de Maíz hadn’t really been able to explain why to him – she just looked sad and scared at the same time whenever he tried to ask – but Ñaco knew that this was something important, so he hadn’t pushed it, instead focusing on doing his chores around their small home, or out in the fields (staying near to his mother the whole time, of course) and not making trouble for his worried mother.

When not attending his chores, he spent most of the time at his home’s window, looking in at the town. The adult ponies there mostly seemed to be doing the same things they did every day, but a tent had been set up just beyond the limits of the town. Smoke occasionally came from within it, and at night Ñaco thought he could hear chanting in a strange language. The town’s newest resident, the zebra Zecora, was hard at work on something while Ñaco’s father and grandfather looked for help from Monte Rey for the problem with King Longhorn. So far she had been the only pony who seemed to do anything. Everypony had their own ideas, but nopony could agree on any of them. Ñaco himself thought that running to Monte Rey, the whole town asking for help or taking shelter there, was the best idea, but apparently it wasn’t for reasons that nopony had really adequately explained to him.

It was when the town’s bell rang one evening that the routine of the past few days was finally broken. Ñaco and his mother had been out in the fields tending to the latest crop of maize when it happened. They didn’t hear shouting or panic from the village, so assumed that it must have been a town gathering, somepony having finally decided what to do with King Longhorn. So Ñaco and Seda made their way into town to see what the plan was.

By the time they got there, with the sun low over the horizon, all eighty ponies that made up the village seemed to have gathered around the town’s bell tower. Seda and Ñaco had to push a little to see what the commotion was, though the ponies parted a little for them. They learned why when they got to the front of the crowd.

“¡Papá!” Ñaco exclaimed when he saw his father, and galloped up to him. His mother was right behind him, and the two nuzzled the returning Tallo, and soon after Mazorca as well.

Seda began peppering Tallo and Mazorca with questions, but Ñaco’s eyes were drawn to the other ponies who had come with the two of them, framed as they were by the light of the sunset. His mouth dropped open at the size of one of the ponies, a huge stallion, bigger than any in town, who’s red coat barely hid the powerful, toned, hard muscles the stallion had clearly spent his life working on. Very nearly as impressive was the golden-coated stallion who stood alongside the red one, not as large or as outright powerful as the other looked, but who’s every movement seemed full of confidence and surety and who was wearing and easy smile that put Ñaco instantly at ease, removing all the worry of the past few days.

There was also another, older stallion, three mares, a small buffalo cow and a…tree?...but Ñaco found it hard to look away from the first two ponies he had noticed. He swallowed a little as he walked up to the big red one. “Ho…¡Hola!” he said. “¡Me llamo Ñaco! ¿Como te llamas?”

The stallion looked down at him, even as he unhooked the harness he wore from the cart that the apple tree was attached to. “Big Mac,” he provided, then pointed to the other ponies with him. “Y, Braeburn, Applejack, Fetter Keys, Ditzy Doo, Carrot Top, y Little Strongheart.” His voice had an Equestrian drawl to it, not dissimilar to what King Longhorn’s had possessed, but the stallion – Big Mac – didn’t fill Ñaco with nearly the same nervousness. Or at least not the same kind of nervousness.

A number of the other foals in town were coming up now, clustering around the strange new beings – now that Ñaco thought about it, the first to come to the town in years and years, as long as one didn’t count King Longhorn and his band – wanting to get to know them. It wasn’t long before the adults of the village joined in as well. Ditzy Doo’s wings were a major attraction, as the village contained no pegasi and hadn’t for generations. Carrot Top’s own orange tresses got her a fair amount of attention too, for looking almost like she’d just gotten them professionally done despite having spent days on the prairie. Most of the other foals crowded around Fetter Keys, wanting to look at his shiny Marshal’s badge, while one of the more rambunctious foals, Atole, actually tried to climb up onto Little Strongheart to look at the feathers she wore in her headband, something the buffalo cow allowed with a laugh.

The adults were more focused on Applejack, Braeburn, and Big Mac. The mare of the trio had asked where the town kept its water, wanting to slake the thirst of the tree that they had brought to town, while Braeburn and Big Mac took turns introducing their group to everypony around.

“Un momento,” Ñaco’s mother said at length, after the initial excitement of meeting new beings had faded. “Se suponía que debías encontrar armas. ¿Dónde están?”

Mazorca looked a little nervous, but Ñaco’s father only smiled. “No necesitamos armas,” Tallo said. “¡Tenemos héroes!”

“He just called us heroes,” Carrot Top provided for Ditzy Doo, the only one in the group who couldn’t speak Caballerian. “Said they didn’t need weapons since we’re here.”

Ditzy grinned nervously at that, then let out a slight yelp when she felt somepony tugging on one of her wings. Glancing, she found a foal that was too young to know better biting one of her primary feathers. Carrot Top and the foal’s father were there in a moment, and after a little cajoling were able to get the foal to let go, the father apologizing profusely. Ditzy waved it off, though she did raise her wings high to prevent a repeat in case any of the other foals were bitey. “I think I’m the only pegasus in town,” she noted.

Carrot Top nodded; she hadn’t noticed any unicorns, either. The ponies here must have farmed the old-fashioned way, relying on the natural weather and, if Carrot Top had to guess, an underground aquifer for their water, since it didn’t look like it rained very often here if the dust was any indication. She started a little when one of the mares of the town poked a hoof at the gilt necklace around her throat. “Es hermoso…¿de dónde es?” She asked in Caballerian.

Carrot Top glanced down a bit, though her own snout got in the way of actually looking at the necklace as she touched it. “Oh, um…es el Elemento de Generosidad.”

The mare’s eyes widened at Carrot Top’s words, and suddenly the rest of the crowd grew very quiet – save the one foal that was still climbing on top of Little Strongheart, anyway. Several hushed whispers and looks of amazement were rapidly focused on Carrot Top, along with Ditzy Doo once the ponies realizes how similar one of Ditzy’s own necklaces was to Carrot Top’s.

“¿Los Elementos?” Somepony asked. “Los Elementos de Armonía?”

Carrot Top glanced to Ditzy, who looked back with a nervous expression that matched the earth pony’s own. “¿Sí…?” Ditzy ventured.

There was another moment’s pause, then the town erupted into hoof stomps and loud, exultant cheers that could probably be heard all the way to Ciudad de Fresas. “¡Lucharon contra Corona!” Exclaimed one pony.

“¡Y dos dragones!” Added another.

“¡Encontraron Andalantis!”

“¡Detenido un ejército de muertos vivientes!”

“¡Golpeó a Catrina en la cara!”

“Wait, what?” Carrot Top asked. “Who’s Catrina – waagh!” She didn’t get any answers, just an increasing swarm of ecstatic ponies surging forward to shake her hoof or embrace her and Ditzy. It was too much for the latter, who beat her wings and took to the air to get space, and Carrot Top felt more than a little jealousy for the pegasus’ wings at the moment. The Caballeros were only held back from all but running her over in their enthusiasm when Big Mac, Applejack, and Mazorca and Tallo stepped in to help extract Carrot Top from the crowd and hold it back.

The Caballeros settled down after a moment, looking a little sheepish as Ditzy joined Carrot Top back on the ground, Carrot Top using one hoof to help guide her down while she tried to keep a wary eye on herd of ponies. “That’s…new,” the earth pony said. “We don’t get treated like this in Equestria, or even back in Caballeria proper…”

“Town of mares an’ stallions at the end of their ropes just had the next best thing t’ Princess Luna show up offerin’ t’ help,” Fetter Keys noted as he sauntered up to the two mares. He nodded to the Caballeros, who were talking amongst themselves again, smiling and laughing and looking confident, a confidence that grew with each glance Ditzy and Carrot Top, and to the rest of the herd that had cantered into town as well. “Y’all just set some high standards t’ meet…but y’all just rekindled their hopes somethin’ fierce, too.”

Carrot Top and Ditzy glanced to each other at that, then back to the Caballeros. “Oh,” Carrot Top observed, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. “W-well, um…better get to work, then. We shouldn’t just stand around, right? We have to get ready for King Longhorn.”

“Eeyup,” Fetter Keys agreed. He trotted over to Mazorca and Tallo, telling them as such. Mazorca waved a hoof in the air, getting the attention of the Caballeros, then explained the basics of the current plan to them as Applejack had explained it to everypony else: that the seven of them were there to help, but that they expected the village to pitch in too. Every able-bodied mare and stallion had to be formed into a militia, and would get training from Fetter Keys, Big Mac, and Braeburn. Applejack would work with Mazorca and some of the others in the village to work on its defenses, try and find a way to turn the flat and open plain into an advantage rather than a liability. Little Strongheart and Ditzy Doo would be serving as scouts, keeping their eyes open for the Cattle Rustlers; on hearing this, Ditzy immediately took off, looking to gather whatever stray clouds could be found to set up a lookout post for herself high in the air (something that got a lot of gasps and oohs and ahs from the Caballeros).

As for Carrot Top, she would be set up at Chicha’s saloon, since the distillery that the saloon had for making corn alcohol was the closest thing the village had to an alchemy lab. Carrot Top was going to be the Caballeros’ ace in the hole against the Cattle Rustlers, the alchemical concoctions she could brew up something that, along with the superior numbers of Caballeros, would work to not just tilt the coming fight in their favor, but perhaps make it so much so that King Longhorn was decide that the village was not worth the trouble in the first place.

Carrot Top steeled herself at the thought of having so many ponies relying on her. She’d never been anypony’s ace in the hole before, but she intended to rise to the challenge. She adjusted the saddlebags on her back, then asked the nearest Caballero where the saloon was so that she could start getting set up. The stallion led her on to one of the larger buildings in town and took her inside, where she encountered what actually, for the first time coming to the Mild West, looked like a disreputable saloon, though probably just because of the omnipresent dust. Most of the tables had been repaired a dozen times, and the place lacked booths or chairs; one had better be comfortable with just sitting on the floor. The wall behind the bar was well-stocked, at least, and a yellow-coated, white-maned earth pony was sitting behind it, talking to Zecora. Despite the disreputable look of the place, though, it still seemed cozy enough –

Carrot Top froze and did a double-take, and confirmed that yes, sitting at the bar was Zecora the zebra, minion of Corona. Zecora herself had glanced to the door when it opened, and also froze when her eyes met Carrot Top’s.

“Oh,” the stallion with Carrot Top said in Equestrian. “Have you two met?”

Some part of Carrot Top wanted to cry out for help; another part of Carrot Top wanted to tell the stallion that yes, the two had met a few times before, then demand what Zecora was doing here. It was very surprising to most in the room, then, when Carrot Top did neither of those things and instead found herself leaping straight for the zebra, front hooves outstretched and letting out what she guessed was a battle cry.

Zecora didn’t miss a beat herself, rolling backwards from the bar and away from Carrot Top. She came up on her hind hooves, while her forehooves now gripped the hook-ended staff that she’d had back in Tambelon, which had been lying across the bar. Zecora could use the hook to help her throw potions and vials, but Carrot Top didn’t see any on the zebra. So she charged forward, shucking her own saddlebags and their contents as she did and ducking under a jab from the staff, coming up alongside Zecora, spinning around, and trying to buck the zebra in her chest.

But Zecora remained quick and dodged away from the attempted blow. Carrot Top didn’t slow down, trying to keep close so that Zecora’s staff would be more of a liability than an asset, something she’d learned from Raindrops and Cheerilee. The zebra for her part caught on quickly and dropped it, trying to buck herself. She was more successful than Carrot Top had been, catching the mare in a glancing blow across the jaw that had Carrot Top seeing stars, but the earth pony reacted quickly, cantering backwards and using one hind hoof to kick the staff away and out of Zecora’s reach.

The zebra hadn’t gone for her staff, however – Zecora had dashed for the rear entrance to the saloon. Carrot Top let out another cry and chased after her, ignoring the shouting in Caballerian behind her as she skidded in the dusty ground out back. She found herself looking at a rather large cloth awning set up near a large pot, in which sat a green bubbling liquid. A makeshift shelf had been set up as well, full of mostly-empty vials, while a nearby table held a host of crushed flowers, dried leaves, and stranger ingredients.

Zecora had picked up one of the full vials, full of something red. Carrot Top’s eyes widened as she recognized it from Tambelon and dashed back into the saloon just as Zecora threw the vial. It crashed and shattered where the earth pony had been, and an angry red smoke began to rise; the smoke would cause burns on pony flesh, Carrot Top remembered. She had meanwhile reached her own saddlebags – still ignoring the shouting in Caballerian – and quickly pulled out a few choice ingredients, poured them into a clay pot, shook it a bit, and then threw it outside. The pot landed in the middle of the red cloud and burst, a green smoke rising where the red had been, negating the alchemical concoction quickly – within moments, the air was clear again.

“Two can play that game, Zecora!” Carrot Top shouted – to her own surprise – as she dug back down into her saddlebags and pulled out a vial she had pre-mixed in case of trouble on the journey here from bandits or ornery monsters. In a flash, Carrot Top was back outside. She spotted Zecora quickly, who had readied another grenade and threw it at the same time that Carrot Top threw her own.

Zecora hadn’t been expecting Carrot Top to be armed, while Carrot Top had needed a moment to spot Zecora, aim, and throw; thus, neither managed to avoid the other’s grenade. Carrot Top’s aim was true as her vial struck Zecora across her flank; as soon as the contents of the vial were exposed to air, the concoction actually exploded into green, sticky goop with a size that far exceeded what the size of the vial had suggested. Zecora’s entire rear end was coated in the goop, which latched on stubbornly to the ground and held her in place.

Unfortunately, Zecora’s aim had been just as good, and her throwing leg had been struck by Zecora’s own vial. And the exact same concoction came splashing out of it, a green sticky goop that spread across Carrot Top’s leg, chest, neck, and flank and anchored the earth pony to the ground.

Carrot Top was unarmed; she tried to pull herself away, but couldn’t. She glanced at Zecora in worry, but found that Zecora was no better off than her, latched too far away from any of her own alchemical grenades to throw another one.

It was only after several seconds of both equines struggling that the others in the village finally started to appear, some coming from around the saloon, others heading through it. Carrot Top looked to each of them. “Stay back, everypony!” she called out, then remembered the potential language barrier and switched to Caballerian. “Stay back! You’ll get stuck too!”

“What’s going on?” Mazorca, who’d come through the saloon, asked, sticking to Equestrian. He looked between Carrot Top and Zecora. “Why were you two fighting?”

Carrot Top started to respond, but Zecora spoke up. “There is a history between the Elements and me,” she said, still struggling against the goop that held her fast. She settled down after a moment when he saw she wasn’t getting loose, and closed her eyes. “I might have known I would be tracked to the Mild West, although their timing is far from the best.”

“We didn’t even know you were here!” Carrot Top objected as she settled down herself, knowing the goop would lose its potency in just a few minutes. Then her eyes widened as she looked to Mazorca, realizing what he’d implied. “Wait, you did?!”

“Yes,” Mazorca informed her. “Señorita Zecora is the one who helped convince us that to defeat King Longhorn, we must get weapons. She is the reason that Tallo and I went to Monte Rey for help, and she agreed to help us as well.” His head tilted to the side. “Didn’t I mention that?”

Ditzy Doo was sitting very still and keeping both eyes on Zecora. Zecora, for her own part, was sitting within the saloon in a strange pose with her hind legs crossed and forelegs held up, a position that even Ditzy’s double-jointed-everywhere friend Lyra would surely have found uncomfortable. The zebra’s eyes were closed, but her ears were upright and attentive, so she was definitely paying attention to what happened around her.

The conversation – between Mazorca, who seemed to more-or-less be the village’s leader, and Applejack and Carrot Top – was entirely in Caballerian, so Ditzy couldn’t follow it. So she settled on glaring, even if Zecora wasn’t paying attention to her. Ditzy was good at glaring, even if it made her eyes hurt to keep them focused on a single thing. It came with being a mother – a stern look was sometimes better than a spoken word when one’s foal was misbehaving.

One of Zecora’s eyes opened, then the zebra jumped when she saw the look on Ditzy’s face. She settled down after a moment, however. “So, Dame Ditzy Doo, what is it I can do for you?”

“Tell me why you’re here,” Ditzy responded immediately. “What’s Corona planning? You have to be here because of her. Does she have something to do with King Longhorn?”

Zecora chuckled at that. “Queen Celestia seeks to rule a nation; to ally with Longhorn would be far beneath her station. And while I came to the Mild West on a quest for my queen, my being here was most unforeseen. I made a mistake I wish to amend, once that is done, my time in this village will end.”

She still rhymed everything she said, apparently. Ditzy’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure I can trust a single thing you say. The very first time I met you, you tried to get me eaten by sirens. Three sirens, actually.” One of Ditzy’s eyes was beginning to hurt quite a bit from keeping them both so focused, but she did her best to ignore it. “You’re the one who put a curse on Ponyville. Never showed up to make amends for that, either.”

Zecora nodded, not denying anything. “I do apologize for my actions once upon a time…I have no desire to commit a crime. But I must be at Celestia’s side – the path I have seen cannot be denied.”

Apologize. She was just saying sorry for almost getting Ditzy and her friends eaten by sirens…and yet, inscrutable as Ditzy knew from experience Zecora could be at times, her apology really did seem genuine. As well, Ditzy also couldn’t forget that Zecora and Lyra had briefly been imprisoned by the demon ram Grogar back on Tambelon, and had worked together to escape his prison. But…

Ditzy shook her head and closed her eyes, as much to give them a break as in consternation. “Look,” she said. “Applejack and Carrot Top aren’t going to want to set aside what happened – ”

“We’re going to set aside what’s happened,” Carrot Top interrupted as she and Applejack trotted over.

Zecora burst out laughing, while Ditzy’s wings flared high at that as she spun to turn her glare on her earth pony friend. “What?”

Carrot Top froze mid-step at the look Ditzy gave her. “We don’t have a choice!” She insisted. “Zecora’s been helping out the village, brewing up a storm of alchemical potions with what she had on-hoof to help them against King Longhorn. The villagers trust her. And she really was the one who suggested they go get help!”

“An’ much as Ah might have a bone or two t’ pick with her,” Applejack said, glaring at the zebra, “we plain don’t have the pony-power needed t’ be puttin’ her under arrest right now an’ guardin’ her.”

That made sense, as much as Ditzy hated to admit it. She turned around to look to Zecora. “But afterwards,” she said, “she’s going back to Equestria, with us, under arrest, right? She can join the beings we arrest out here from the Cattle Rustlers?”

“Goes without sayin’,” Applejack confirmed.

Zecora looked like she was suppressing a chuckle. “Listen to you talking so bold…Zecora has proven she is not so easy to hold.” She tapped her hooves on the ground three times – reminding Ditzy of the three times in the past that Zecora had been captured by somepony and yet managed to escape. She held up her hooves before anypony could object. “But as I said, I must make amends to these folk, and so I swear the trust you place in me will not be broke.”

“You also have to tell us why you’re out here,” Carrot Top insisted.

Zecora took a moment to gather her thoughts before responding. “If it helps to bring about trust, then telling the truth is surely a must. I sought a library lost through a magical fold – the archive of Tambelon known as Spellhold. When the two alicorns fought the lich Grogar, the library was accidentally sent somewhere quite far. I searched and searched the great seas of sand, but in the end I found naught but King Longhorn’s band. The King Longhorn I met wore a pleasant façade, but I quickly learned how it all was a fraud.” She looked to the three ponies pointedly. “I had a life before following the eldest alicorn, and my homeland has suffered from the likes of Longhorn. I aided his band without knowing its goal, and even young Zecora would have been less of a foal. So now I aid the Caballeros how I can, as a younger me could not aid her clan.”

The three ponies looked between each other. “So…” Carrot Top ventured, “you came out here looking for this Spellhold, couldn’t find it. You met Longhorn and accidentally helped him. Now you feel bad about it and want to help the Caballeros.”

Zecora nodded.

“Now wouldn’t that have been easier t’ say?” Applejack asked.

The zebra’s eyes narrowed at little at that, though she didn’t respond. Ditzy, meanwhile, noticed that Carrot Top either hadn’t noticed, or hadn’t mentioned, how Zecora had said something about her own clan falling victim to bandits like Longhorn – and how a younger Zecora hadn’t been able to help her people. There was something personal, or almost personal, tied up in this for the zebra.

The pegasus breathed in deeply, then let out a long sigh. “Okay,” she said. “If there’s something we’ve learned since Tambelon, it’s that Corona…somehow…can be trusted. She keeps her word. We’re going to have to trust that’s rubbed off onto you as well.”

“In the forest of Everfree I gave no word to keep,” Zecora objected, “but I give it now if it will help you sleep.”

“None of us are turnin’ in yet,” Applejack pointed out.

“She rhymes everything she says, there’s going to be some hyperbole in there,” Carrot Top said.

Ditzy and Zecora couldn’t keep from glancing at one another, each having an identical look on their face: this is going to be a long truce. Zecora pressed on. “I swear to you, Elements of Harmony, that on this matter I will perform no treachery, not to you or any of your friends. Peace shall reign until I have made amends.”

“Darn right it will,” Applejack said. “Okay, then. Let’s get t’ work.”

Author's Note

Boo!

6. The Wild Bunch

Since it had been late in the day by the time the seven of them had arrived in the village, there wasn’t much that could be done to begin preparing the village. Ditzy finished constructing her cloud-platform and spent the night up in it, though she told everypony that given that she’d spent all day traveling to the village there was little chance of her being able to remain awake the whole night. Fortunately that didn’t matter much; Mazorca assured her that the Cattle Rustlers only ever came during the daytime, and he doubted that King Longhorn or any of his band had much of a taste for wandering around in the dark, nor would they have any reason to suspect that anything was amiss, so it was unlikely that the great bull would send any scouts ahead of his band.

Actual work, then, began early in the morning. Big Mac was up before even the Sun, though it was lightening the horizon as he rose from where the seven of them had been put up – as the village lacked a proper inn or hotel, space had simply been cleared on the saloon’s floor, and straw mats had been brought in. It wasn’t the most comfortable arrangement, but it was better than the hard ground they’d slept on the night before out in the Mild West, so it suited the seven of them fine. Zecora had slept outside, next to her brewing pot and makeshift alchemy lab as she had over the previous few nights since coming to the village; the first thing Big Mac did was check on the zebra, but he found her curled up and still asleep. Working with her did not sit right with him, but they really didn’t have much of a choice.

With that out of the way, Big Mac went out to scan the skies – and found himself being joined by Applejack, still rubbing sleep from her eyes. “How in the hay is it that you can lug Bloomberg for near t’ two days straight across the Mild West an’ still be up ‘fore me?” she asked quietly.

Big Mac only grinned and chuckled in response, which naturally earned him a light jab in the barrel from one of Applejack’s hind legs as she trotted over to where Bloomberg lay behind the saloon. Big Mac successfully continued to keep his mouth shut as she started talking to the tree, asking it if it had slept well and if it was thirsty. He instead focused his eyes skyward, looking for Ditzy’s cloud. He hadn’t heard much wind last night, but a cloud didn’t need much wind to move, and it could easily have been pushed miles from the village…

“Ah think we may need to get Bloomberg into the ground,” Applejack said after a few minutes of doting on the apple tree, as she joined Big Mac again. “This village ain’t got the pumps needed to draw enough water up from the wells for him, an’ Ditzy can’t be roundin’ up enough clouds for him an’ keepin’ an eye out at the same time.”

“Eeyup,” Big Mac conceded, nodding. “Tonight, though. Need t’ get the lay of the land first.”

“Eeyup,” Applejack echoed, joining her brother in looking around the sky. At length, she pointed west. “Over there, Ah think…Ah see some clouds, anyway.”

Big Mac squinted, then nodded as both noticed the cloud starting to move against the faint morning breeze – which would only be possible if a pegasus was pushing it. “How d’ya suppose Ditzy’s drawing skills are?” Applejack asked as she took off her hat, revealing that she had a rolled up piece of paper and charcoal inside. “She’s got a better view than any of us.”

“Ah think a cloud’s a mighty wet place for charcoal an’ paper,” Big Mac pointed out.

Applejack nodded, conceding the point. “Well, Ah’ll go t’ the village’s high ground then…” She nodded her head at the only bump of land tall enough to be called a hill for miles around, the top of which was surrounded by a wooden fence painted black, and much of which had stone markers across it. “Which…looks t’ be a cemetery. Great, it’s Nightmare Night come early…”

Big Mac chuckled again as Applejack trotted off. “Don’t get bit,” he called after her. Applejack just snorted. Big Mac, meanwhile, trotted out a ways from the village – given that the whole place at its longest was less than four hundred feet, it didn’t take long – so as to meet Ditzy when her cloud finally pulled up near to the town. She also brought it down lower, where there was less wind, finally stopping it a hundred feet off the ground. The blond pegasus then let herself gently drift to the ground in lazy circles, waving at Big Mac on her way down; he reached up a hoof and caught her own when she was near enough, helping guide her to the ground rather than leave her landing up to her lackluster depth perception.

“Thanks,” Ditzy said as her hooves touched dirt. She pawed at it a little, then offered a grin at Big Mac. “Now I know why Rainbow Dash puts so much effort into keeping a cloud home near Ponyville. I don’t think I’ve ever slept on a more comfortable bed.”

Big Mac nodded. “Think a’ how much you’d save on washin’, too,” he pointed out as the two trotted back into town and towards the saloon.

He’d meant it as a joke, but Ditzy actually glanced upward a little in thought. “You might be on to something there…then again I’m not sure I’d want to have to build a whole new bed every few days.”

“Might get old,” Big Mac allowed.

“Plus, only a pegasus could hop onto it…” Ditzy mumbled under her breath. After a moment, her face turned a little red and her wings fluttered as she realized that she’d just spoken out loud. “I – I mean…not that I really have anyone else on my bed but me, s-so that’s not really a concern…n-not that I’m opposed to it! But…I mean…”

“You hungry?” Big Mac asked with a grin.

“Starving,” Ditzy said immediately, obviously grateful for the out he’d provided her.

“Right, so this is what we’ve got,” Applejack said, holding out the map she’d drawn up while the seven of them sat around one of the saloon’s tables. The map showed the small cluster of buildings that made up the town, split by two roads, a main one that ran east-west and a smaller one that went north-south. The town as a whole sat on slightly sloping land in the crook of a river’s turn; the river framed the north and east of the town, with a pair of simple wooden bridges stretching across its length north and east, beyond which lay several of the town’s farmsteads, though the majority were to the south and west of the river on the same side as the town.

The cemetery in the southwest was the only natural high ground in the whole village. At the base of the hill were a pair of houses, then across the east-west road to the north was the community corn crib where the locals would store and dry out the maize they harvested, considered more economical than each farmer maintaining their own cribs. East across the north-south road was the largest cluster of houses, as well as the barber shop and blacksmith, as well as the smaller of the community’s two groundwater wells. South, across the east-west road again, was what amounted to the economic hub of the village – the land office, the general store, and the saloon that the seven currently sat in.

And that was it – sixteen buildings total. The whole thing could have occupied just a single block of Ponyville.

“Doesn’t look so bad,” Ditzy said as she munched on her breakfast – eggs, beans, and cheese in a corn tortilla, washed down with black coffee thick enough that she could have stood a spoon up in it. Ditzy pointed to the river. “We’ve got this for defense. Like a moat in a castle, right?”

“Not really,” Fetter Keys explained. “Went out and looked at it. River’s maybe ten, maybe fifteen feet wide – that’s good – but stand in the middle an’ even a mare like yourself could see over the banks. An’ the water’s runnin’ low. Call it eighteen inches deep at best. Might slow down bandits…won’t stop ‘em.”

“It’s still our best bet,” Applejack said. In addition to her breakfast tortilla, she had produced apples for all of them, and was munching on one now. “What we could really use is some rain, get the river deeper, the ground all muddy-like, make a stampede dangerous an’ liable to break a leg…ain’t much chance of arrangin’ that with just one pegasus, though.”

“Sorry,” Ditzy apologized automatically, though Applejack waved her off – it wasn’t like they’d planned to be here. “What if they don’t come from the north or east?”

“They will,” Braeburn said. “The locals said that the Cattle Rustlers took off east to…wherever they was goin’, so they’ll be comin’ back that way too, at least at first.” Braeburn put a hoof to his chin, thinking. “We should pull out both a’ the bridges, an’ once we get the militia trained up put ‘em on the west an’ south banks. That’ll keep a charge, force the Rustlers to head along the river an’ find some other point to cross it.”

“If’n we’re real lucky, they’ll split up,” Applejack said, waving a hoof across the river, “but more likely that Longhorn’ll keep his band together. Still, least we can control their angle a’ attack an’ prepare for it. We’ll have to cook up some surprises for the south an’ east parts of the village.”

Carrot Top grinned around her cup of coffee. “I already have some ideas,” she said. “And…Zecora, too. We spoke a little last night, and we’re going to be comparing notes this morning.” She frowned a little. “I…really don’t like the idea of giving her ideas, though, stuff she could use against us in the future…”

Applejack grunted at that. “Ah don’t like it either…even less since Ah doubt Ah’ll be the one who has to deal with it. But we can’t be holdin’ back here.”

“I will tell you what it is I don’t like,” Little Strongheart put in, and used a hoof to indicate the farms that lay beyond the river. “These. We will not be able to defend them from attacks, nor any inside of them. Their owners will have to move into the village until we have defeated Longhorn and his band.”

Ditzy blinked a few times. Even she could see how sound a tactical move it was…but she also saw the problem. “The Caballeros won’t like that,” she said. “If this turns into some kind of siege, the Cattle Rustlers might destroy those homes out of spite, to try and make the Caballeros give in.”

“No, my friend, they certainly will,” Little Strongheart confirmed. “Which is something we must tell them. Homes can be rebuilt, farm fields can be resewn, but lives…”

“Eeyup,” Big Mac said in a low voice, nodding in agreement. “Ah’ll break the news to ‘em.”

Ditzy ground her hooves into the floor beneath her at the thought of telling ponies they’d have to abandon their homes, probably even watch them be destroyed. “I’ll help,” she said.

Applejack eyed her. “You don’t speak the language, an’ we need your eyes in the sky,” she noted.

Ditzy bit her lip. “I know, but…the Cattle Rustlers won’t come today, will they? It’s still too soon. And you’re asking ponies to give up their homes. I want to help with that, to convince them that it’s for the best.”

Fetter Keys put a hoof to his chin, then grinned. “Actually, Ah can think of a way to maybe soften the blow…”

“¿Qué chingados? ¡No lo hare, pendejo!”

Ditzy didn’t speak the language, but the stallion’s tone and expression was all the translation she needed. “Hey!” She exclaimed, stomping up to the larger earth pony and affixing him with her best glare. “That wasn’t very nice! You could at least hear us out!”

The Caballero didn’t understand Ditzy either, but her own expression and tone were just as loquacious as his had been. He glanced away with folded ears and muttered a lo siento, before remembering his anger and looking back to Ditzy and Big Mac. He started speaking again, but in a lower voice and with occasional respectful glances at Ditzy.

“What’s he saying?” Ditzy asked.

“‘bout what you’d expect,” Big Mac said. “His family’s lived in that house for six generations, he was born in it, he ain't leavin', an’ so on.” He waited for the Caballero to finish, then spoke back in Caballerian himself, his words just as measured and steady as always. “Ah told him ‘bout where we expect the Rustlers to attack, an’ what they’ll do to the homes on the other side of the river - an’ the ponies inside a’ them.”

Ditzy nodded, looking to the Caballero as he took in this information. He was looking around, at his house, at the river and the town beyond it, wrestling with the obvious truth verses his need to defend the place he had been born and, in all likelihood, the place he had expected to die - albeit decades from now. She went up to him, reaching out her hooves and grasping one of the Caballero's own. "Sir," she said, and Big Mac translated quietly as she spoke slowly, wanting her emotion to get across, "we were brought here to protect you...but we can't do that if you're out here. But you can help us, your home can help us protect you and protect the whole village if you'd only let us. We can't do this on our own. We can't do this without you and your help. But then when this is all over, we'll help you put everything back together." She lightly tapped a hind hoof on the ground. "Right where you left it."

The Caballero seemed taken aback at first at the earnestness of Ditzy's voice, but at length, he nodded. "Sí. Bien. Lo haré."

Ditzy didn't need Big Mac to translate that, or the expression the Caballero had. "Gracias," she said, the first word she had made sure she could say right in Caballerian. She let go of the Caballero and stepped back, ruffling her wings. "Here, we'll even help. Where do you want to get started?"

The stallion paused at that question, looking over his home, a single-story, building with probably only three or four rooms in the whole thing, before nodding his head at its south side and walking over there, Ditzy and Big Mac following. When they reached the nearest wall, the Caballero turned around, lifted a hind hoof, and kicked it in.

Thirty earth pony volunteers were, in some cases, feebly twirling rope around and trying to get it to do what they wanted. In many more cases, they'd managed to somehow tie themselves up. Some of them had managed to physically hit the scarecrows that Braeburn and Fetter Keys had set up, but not get a loop around them.

"Luna wept," Fetter Keys mumbled. "You'd think that statistically speaking at least one a' them would know their way around a lasso..."

Braeburn grimaced, wrapping up his own lasso from the demonstration he'd been trying to give. "Rodeos are more popular in Equestria."

"Rodeo is a Caballerian word."

"Ah know, Ah can't account for it." The two looked at each other with a grimace, then back to the Caballeros, who at least had the decency to look embarrassed as they untangled themselves. He switched to Caballerian for the ponies. "Alright, alright," Braeburn said, switching to Caballerian. "That was pretty typical for a first try. Ah don't expect any a' you to be winnin' competitions here, just get good enough."

Fetter Keys stepped forward, standing up tall as he could. "Pound for pound, earth ponies are stronger than bovines," he said. "It's in our blood, it's our magic. Bull or cow twice yer size still ain't as strong or tough as you on average; you buck one and they'll feel it. But bovines have magic of their own. Once their hooves start movin', once they get to chargin', long as they're touchin' ground, they can't be stopped, don't matter how strong you are. Just a few days ago Ah watched the biggest stallion Ah ever seen nearly get run over by Little Strongheart, the little buf...bison cow we came here with." He caught the appreciative nod from Braeburn at his correction, and returned it. “Put a mountain in their way, a big stone wall, that’ll stop ‘em. We ain’t got those, so we gotta get creative. That’s what the lasso trainin’s for. Pull a leg out from under a bovine, they go down, you stop the charge.”

Braeburn cantered up to a few of the Caballeros who were still tangled and helped get them loose. "Right, we'll go from the top," he said, taking out his own rope and tying a loop quickly enough, something fortunately the Caballerians were already adept at and didn’t need to be trained in. He did his best to take his lassoing slowly as he showed the Caballeros how to twirl a lariat overhead with his teeth without getting dizzy or losing sight of the target, and then throw it forward, hooking the scarecrow and yanking. It went down easily.

The Caballeros gave slight applause, but Braeburn waved them off quickly. “No, that weren’t me showin’ off. You gotta do it yourself. Then you can cheer.”

By the end of the hour, most of the Caballeros could at least hit their targets as long as they weren’t more than ten feet away, and nopony was getting themselves tangled anymore. Braeburn was pretty sure that he could get them up to at least Apple Family foal-level lassoing by the end of the day, which meant consistently hitting a target at twenty feet, as long as the target was stationary. Tomorrow they’d start on moving targets.

He was in the middle of helping a mare who’d spun her head a little too eagerly, and had spun herself in place and fallen over, when he caught sight of something that begged investigation. “Uh…” he said to Fetter Keys, stepping away. “Gimme a minute.”

“Huh?” the other stallion asked, looking where he was going and seeing the problem. “What in tarnation…?”

They’d been in the field to the west of the community corn crib practicing, and must have been doing a good job of it because nopony had seen Little Strongheart somehow climb onto the roof of the crib…and stand right at its north edge, barely balanced twenty feet up on the roof and reaching out into what appeared to be thin air with another one of her bars of granola, like she was trying to give it to something just out of reach..

Braeburn stopped beneath the crib, staring up. Little Strongheart looked down and smiled, but she looked terrified. “This o-one is stubborn,” she said nervously. “He will not come out of h-his tree.”

Braeburn stared at Little Strongheart, then at the empty air she was reaching into.

“The spirit world does n-not always exactly match up to the real one!” she snapped, though Braeburn guessed it was mostly her nerves – she really did not look happy up there. “It might have shadows o-of what could be or might have been or once w-was. There…there are trees here, if I look h-hard enough I can see them. Not many, b-but they are here, and one of them is occupied.”

“Ah’ll take your word for it,” Braeburn said. “But, uh…maybe you want a rope or somethin’?” He waved the rope he held.

Little Strongheart leaned forward a little more. “Wh-why?”

“In case you fall.”

She had certainly been aware of the possibility, but Braeburn vocalizing it didn’t do her any favors. Little Strongheart teetered a moment as she kept reaching out, then let out a yelp as she realized she’d tilted too much of her weight forward. Her front hooves flailed as she tried to back up, but instead she only ended up slipping on the roof, stumbling, and falling.

Fortunately, it took enough time that Braeburn could run beneath her, jump up as high as his earth pony muscles would take him, and catch her on his back before she could fall to the unyielding earth. It knocked the wind from him, but he managed to come down on four hooves rather than tumble.

He took a moment to catch his breath, then looked back at Little Strongheart. “Everythin’ okay?”

The bison had her eyes screwed shut and legs bunched up. After a moment, she opened one eye, noticed she hadn’t fallen and broken a limb or killed herself, and let out a sigh that was also partly a subdued, high-pitched whine, going limp on Braeburn’s back. “I do not like heights,” she explained, then glanced up, saw something, and threw up her hooves. “Ečéš! Now you leave your tree?!”

Little Strongheart climbed off of Braeburn, muttering in Bison to herself as she watched something only she could see as it appeared to fly through the air. “What’s it look like?” Braeburn asked.

“A pain in my flank,” Little Strongheart returned without hesitation, as she started trotting, still looking up and following the spirit’s invisible flight. Braeburn couldn’t stop himself from laughing, and she did too. “An eagle, for the most part,” she continued after a moment as Braeburn joined her trot. “I must ask around the village and its goings-on, try and better judge this spirit’s temperament. An eagle-spirit would be very helpful to ride with.” She blanched after a moment. “Frightening…but helpful.”

“You said that before, riding with spirits,” Braeburn said. “What’s it mean?”

Little Strongheart looked at him, but only to stick out her tongue playfully. “Let me have my surprises. I might not be able to do it at all.” She glanced back up, but let out a low curse as she stopped trotting. “He disappeared more fully into the spirit world, I cannot see him anymore. He will come out in his own time…or not. Spirits are like that.”

“Sounds like heardin’ cats,” Braeburn observed. Their short trek had taken them to behind the saloon, where Bloomberg still lay on its side. Braeburn came up to the tree and tapped his hooves against the trunk. “Don’t worry, Bloomy, we’ll get ya in the ground tonight…Hay, listen t’ me. Now Applejack’s got me talkin’ to the tree.”

Little Strongheart grinned as she joined him. “I talk to invisible spirits that only I can see. I am no one to judge.”

“Your spirits are actually there. More or less.”

“More or less.” Little Strongheart pressed a hoof against Bloomberg as well, considering. “I have never planted anything before. Will you need help tonight?”

Braeburn shrugged. “The more the merrier”

“If you are going to keep staring at the Apple out there, you may as well leave and get out of my hair,” Zecora said to Carrot Top.

Carrot Top jumped a little at the accusation, turning to look at Zecora. The two were inside the saloon at one of the tables, near a window that faced out back and through which the mare had a good view of Braeburn and his…Braeburn-ness. But that was just a coincidence by the way the window was facing. “I wasn’t staring,” she said.

Zecora has been looking through her tome of alchemy, but glanced up. “The summer heat is coming soon, but you are not a filly to sway and swoon. If you find yourself distracted by the stallion there, then go out and prove you are a mare. A timid pony will be passed by - only action will catch the Apple’s eye.”

Carrot Top’s head tilted to the side. “Are you giving me dating advice?”

“Not at all, Carrot Top, I just want your distractions to stop. Ignore the stallion or roll in the hay, whatever it takes to return your focus this way.”

The mare felt her cheeks blushing furiously. “I’m just going to pretend you didn’t say that…” Carrot Top said as she felt a great pang of sympathy for Trixie. Whickering a little at the bemused chuckle of Zecora, she back to her Granma’s cookbook. The two of them had spent the morning mixing and brewing up the basics – tear gas, smoke bombs, tanglehoof bags, sleep gas. Carrot Top had been sure to prepare plenty of herb-soaked bandages for injuries, and Zecora had also brewed up more of her alchemist’s fire. Carrot Top couldn’t read Zecora’s book, since it was in Zebra, but she had been surprisingly helpful, even improving on some of Granma’s recipes - and Carrot Top had surprised herself when she’d shown Zecora how to more efficiently mix tanglehoof slime, a way that would give the same results with smaller portions of the ingredients.

Unfortunately, Zecora had been traveling light, and Carrot Top hadn’t exactly brought an entire alchemist’s lab with her either. Without knowing how long they’d have to hold off the Cattle Rustlers, it was worryingly likely that they’d end up running out of alchemical surprises, at least the standard variety. The town didn’t have a dedicated apothecary, just a general store that was happy to let its wares be raided but didn’t have a great variety of wares to raid that would be useful for the two alchemists.

“Perhaps we are not viewing this right,” Zecora ventured. “We are thinking of a prolonged fight. But perhaps a show of force right from the start will convince the bandit Longhorn to depart.”

Carrot Top considered. “Something really big, maybe fool him into thinking that we’re more dangerous than we look...good idea.” Zecora nodded in approval. “It’d have to be big, though...”

Zecora turned her tome around and pointed out some pages in it. Occasionally there were stylistic illustrations, and this one came with...it looked like a flat field suddenly having a volcano erupting out of it.

Carrot Top’s eyes went wide at that, pretty sure she knew what Zecora was driving at. She flipped through Granma’s cookbook and found it, along with a note in the margin in red ink: NEVER AGAIN!!!

“You can’t be serious...” she looked back to Zecora, who looked totally serious. Carrot Top considered. “Okay. Fine. Just promise we won’t actually use this on any being. Just scare them.”

“Scare them? No, my friend of orange...locks, this will terrify them out of their socks.”

Carrot Top stared. “I don’t think any of them wear socks.”

“We do not know that for certain, it could be - “

“You almost tried to rhyme ‘orange’, floundered, and made the first rhyme you could think of.”

Zecora glared a moment, then looked out the window in surprise. “Oh, look, the mighty stallion and Ditzy return. I am jealous of how she may watch both Big Mac and Braeburn...”

Carrot Top only barely caught the end of that as she found herself already outside with her friend. “Ditzy! How’s watching the skies going...”