The ponies of Appleoosa stared as the strange creature walked into town. Most ponies saw the signs of hardship and never crossed the town's border, but this wasn't a pony. It was tall and stood like a minotaur, but unlike a minotaur wore clothes. Pants of some thick material, along with worn boots. The shirt was a button up, like some of the farmers wore on off days, but was mostly covered by a large duster that was draped over its shoulders. The duster did nothing to hide the large iron pistol on its hip, metal worn enough to be dull, while the holster was smooth from frequent use. The whole town was talking in hushed whispers, a few claiming he was an outlaw, and a few more saying he was obviously a member of the gang that took over the town less than a week ago. The stranger could hear them muttering, but didn't deign them important enough to care about, simply adjusting his flat brim hat and looking over the town. He paused beside a pony unfortunate enough to be alone. "Howdy, where's y'alls saloon?"
The pony gawped, before shaking off the miasma of fear that had gripped his heart. "Second building on your left. It has a spare horseshoe on the door."
The stranger nodded, wiping some dust off his lapel. Then the pony noticed a single, minute detail. There, on his lapel, sat a single accessory. An iron star. The words had long since been worn away, but it stood there proudly. The pony stared for a moment as the stranger walked towards the saloon. With only a moment's hesitation, he ran off. The stranger's turned slightly, before refocusing on the saloon.
The Pits was the only place to get a drink in Appleoosa. Braeburn was sadly more familiar with it than his mother would have liked. He raised his glass and slung down the shot like a depressed student from Canterlot, letting the heat of the alcohol warm him as he slammed the glass down with a thud. "Celestia damned ranch wreckers. How'm I supposed to work the farm if'n I gotta referee every bar fight those rabble-rousers start here?"
The owner of the saloon, one Apple Pits, grabbed the glass and began cleaning it. "Watch what you say there Braeburn. Nopony wants to see you beat down in front of the whole town because you got drunk and started running your mouth."
Braeburn opened his mouth only to get cut off as the saloon doors were forced open, and the bartender stared at the being responsible in horror. Braeburn turned to look before his face quickly mirrored Pits. A creature, unlike any he had seen before, walked through the saloon, before sitting down on a stool beside Braeburn. The stranger looked over the empty saloon, before grunting. He reached into his pocket, before pulling out a small stack of bits and placing them on the table. "Whiskey, neat."
Pits nodded, putting the shot glass down and filling it with whiskey. He grabbed a single bit before the stranger pushed the rest of the small pile towards him. "Keep 'em comin' boss. I'm planning on drinking for a little while."
Pits nodded while the stranger slowly sipped his whiskey, turning slightly to face the door to the saloon. He sat in silence for a minute, before Braeburn finally worked up the nerve to talk. "Well, howdy stranger. What are y'all looking for in Appleoosa today?"
The stranger smirked beneath his hat, letting out a chuckle as if Braeburn had said a joke. "Nothing, but I have the strangest feeling that some work will walk through those doors any second now."
Braeburn looked from the doors to the stranger. "Now what makes you say that stranger?"
The stranger leaned back, resting his arms on the bar before he slung back the rest of his shot. "Because I'm pretty sure whatever lowlife varmints have been messing with this here town know I'm here. And once that happens..." He smiled wide. "Things tend to get a mite bit exciting."
Braeburn stared before he heard a few shouts from outside the saloon. The stranger put his glass down on the bar before tapping it softly against the car. "Make it quick barman, I'm about to have some guests." Pits filled the shot glass rapidly, but before he could retreat the stranger spoke again. "Leave the bottle friend, I have a feeling it'll be useful here in a bit."
The stranger stood, and Braeburn looked to his hip. Resting in a holster that shined dangerously was perhaps the biggest pistol he'd ever seen. A revolver that sat fat and squat in its leather home. The stranger rubbed at his lapel, before slamming back the shot in a single gulp. He put it down behind him before once again resting his arms against the bar without a care in the world.
A moment later the saloon doors exploded outwards, four ponies with large rifles hooked to their sides. They stared at the stranger with amusement in their eyes. Braeburn thought for a moment it would be peaceful until the unicorn in the back floated up a small pistol with a murderous shine to his face. The one in front was the leader, well known for beating any pony in town who got in his way, though none knew his actual name. "Well now, seems like some freak got lost in my town." He trotted up slowly, staring down the stranger with an appraising look. "We heard there was a marshal in town looking for trouble, that you?"
The stranger let out a short laugh. "Trouble? Me? No. I'm just here looking for a drink." He reached behind him, grabbing the whiskey bottle. He took a swig from it, before offering it to the boss.
The boss stared at it for a moment. "Maybe in a minute freak, quick question. You a Marshal?" The stranger shook his head, the devil-may-care smile on his face never faltering.
There was a pause as the boss stared at him, before noticeably relaxing. The thugs behind him did the same, with the unicorn looking almost disappointed at the peaceful way things were resolved. At least, until the stranger spoke again. "Fun fact though, my mom always called me that." There was a moment of confusion before the bottle slammed over the bosses head.
The saloon was silent as the boss slumped to the floor, the stranger inspecting the still intact bottle. "Weird, normally these bottles break when I hit someone that hard." The pause seemed to stretch as he shrugged, taking another long pull from the bottle. "Now then, what say we start this dance?"
The saloon exploded into action, gang ponies readying their guns as the stranger kicked down a table, crouching behind it. Braeburn stared as the ponies fired a few rounds at him, while he merely kept up that damn smile. The stranger glanced at Braeburn. "You see, you ponies are really bad at making gunpowder. Can't even get through this weak table." He pulled his own revolver through his holster, before spinning open the cylinder. Five red circles peeked from the end Braeburn could see, before the stranger snapped it shut. "My folks though, they make it right."
The stranger listened as the rounds stopped, and Braeburn took this moment to jump over the bar, landing beside Pits. He glanced at him. "You know this guy?" Pits shook his head, and Braeburn sighed. He peeked over the bar and saw the stranger placing the snub barrel of his revolver against the wood of the table. He carefully shifted it slightly to the left, before thumbing back the hammer. When he pulled the trigger, the world seemed to explode. The sound of his pistol seeming to envelop the whole world.
Braeburn Idly noted that a single pony from the thug's group had gone flying, exiting the saloon through a window as the sheer force of the stranger's pistol sent him on a very final flight. The stranger might have said something, but the ringing now filling every ponies ears meant none of them heard it.
With a flick of his free hand, the stranger's duster seemed to fly backward, and he jumped the table. With the thugs distracted by his first shot they never stood a chance. He aimed while still in the air, centering his sights on the lone unicorn of the group. The world exploded again, with the stranger at the center. The unicorn skidded on the floor, coming to rest when he solidly hit the wall. The stranger then turned to the last pony, leveling his sights on him.
Nopony heard what he said, but the pony seemed to pick up on the fact he was still alive and bit at his rifles retaining strap, letting it drop to the floor. The stranger held firm, his smirk never leaving even as the ringing in Braeburns ears faded. Finally, he could hear the strangers deep voice again. "Now then, can you hear me?"
The thug nodded, and the stranger smiled. "Well then, let's talk business. Do any of y'all have a pretty little bounty on your head? Preferably for dead, cause you and your boss are the only lucky two who got to leave this little showdown alive." The thug nodded again, and the stranger nodded. "Good, then listen up. I'm trying to lay low myself, so I'm gonna let that fine fella behind me turn all y'all in for the bounty, he gets half for the trouble. Assuming he agrees I'll be back for my cut in a few days. But after I leave you're gonna be a perfect little prisoner. 'Cause if you ain't then I'm gonna show back up in whatever little shit-hole you go hiding in. And neither God nor a pretty pony princess is gonna stop me from tying your neck 'round a tree and leaving you for the crows. You understand?"
The thug nodded again, and Braeburn nearly dived beneath the bar again as the stranger looked to him. His hat had gone up in the melee, and now his face was on full display. Furless, and with a long scar going from his forehead to his chin. The eye the scar crossed was milky white, betraying its lack of sight. The stranger smiled softly. "Well then, think that's a fair deal?" Braeburn nodded, and the stranger spun his revolver in response. Calmly sheathing his piece, he reached back into his pocket. He pulled a small sack from it, before tossing it to the bar. "Well then, sorry about the mess."
With that, the stranger turned to the exit, whistling as he left the bar. The thug looked at him, before slumping to the ground. "By Celestia, what type of demon did we just see?"
The stranger's voice called from outside. "No demon, just The Marshal."
The thug's eyes widened. "I hope I never see him again."
Braeburn nodded. "Y'know, despite the fact he stopped you lot. I can't help but agree." They froze as they heard a chuckle from outside, but the Marshal had left. WIth only bodies and a sack of bits in his wake.
