No Country for Bad Ponies

“…Eleven…” Sprout announced his assigned number as he stepped through the chain-link fence door, following after one of his fellow inmates. The pony behind him recited his assigned number as well to the counting officer who stood by the gate, taking a headcount of all who were assigned to work detail today. The guys waited around outside the gate in small groups, their voices disappearing off into the early morning darkness and into the incessant glare from the bright light emanating from the flashlights shined in their eyes from the guards.

Once counted and checked, they line up in squads and count off once more by two, all of them standing at a loose and sleepy attention to wait for the daily assignment.

“They’s all her, sir. Ready to move out.” One of the guards reported to Mr. Buttercup while passing the clipboard over to him. Mr. Buttercup rechecked the list, approving of the count and ready to begin the day’s duty.

“Alight, let’s move out.” At the signal, all of them marched after the two lead guards in the column with clamor up into the two wagons, moving as quickly possible up inside, aware that that if they take too long the last pony on board was certain to be kicked in the butt by one of the guards.

Once loaded up, the wagons began to head out, bouncing and clanging over the rough and uneven dirt road that led down and away from the compound and then through an orange grove just to the west of the camp.

Sprout sat at the inner most spot on the benches in the wagon, closest to the front and next to Splinter Wood and across from Stargazer and Quickstep. Sprout hadn’t said much since arriving, letting the three other newbie guys do most of the talking. He’d barely said a word or two since arriving, still trying to get adjusted to being here.

“Hey, boy?!” A husky voice called out from the semi-darkness of their wagon, aiming his comment at Sprout. Sprout sat quietly withy his eyes closed, wishing he could disappear into the dark crevasse of the corner he sat in.

“Hey, boy?!” The voice called out again, more insistently, followed by some soft mocking chuckles from the other guys in the wagon. Sprout slowly opened his eyes and turned his head slightly to see who it was, but he knew just from the sound of the voice.

“What’s up, Ace?” Sprout was actually glad his throat was so dry at that moment, giving his normally smooth middle tenor a gruff, gravely edge, aging his voice and making him sound older and more world-weary than his actual years.

Ace Thunderhoof; the only pony in the work camp sentenced to life without parole for murder. He was physically the biggest stallion in the camp, nearly twice the size of any pony else in the camp as well. He’d been the first one sentenced to the work camp more than two decades ago and had seen many a pony come and go out of the work camp. But up to this point, no one as young as Sprout had shown up here.

“What’s this I hear ‘bout you bein’ some ex-pony of the Law?!” Ace looked around at some of his close fellow inmates, all of them wondering about this small tidbit of information they’d learned and eager to find if it was true.

“Where’d you hear a story like that?” Sprout did not want too much of his background to get found out, worried about retribution from those who felt angry towards an ‘unjust’ society. He kept his cool and kept his voice dead even when answering.

“A lil’ pony princess done flew in thru the window last night to tell us!” Ace made a few of his friends laugh a little with the smart remark. He continued on with his inquiry. “An’ what was that she say you gone an’ done? Tearin’ down new houses with a tractor while drunk off ya’ ass?!”

More of the guys laughed when hearing what act Sprout had committed to get himself sent to jail. Splinter Wood, Stargazer and even Quickstep couldn’t help but smile a little at the ridiculous way Sprout’s crime had been misconstrued by these ponies, blown completely out of proportion.

“What kinda cockamamie thing was that to get yourself thrown in the clink for?! You sure are dumb, boy!” Ace thought it a great laugh for getting into trouble doing something so dumb. To him, if you’re going to commit a crime, it’d better be something worth going to jail over.

Sprout only shrugged and wore a rather blasé expression, glad that it was so skewed in their heads from the truth about what he did and his involvement with Sunny and the others. He gave an equally non-caring answer. “Yeah, well, you know how it is; small seaside town with not much of a nightlife going on. Nothing to do but settle old grudges to pass the time.”

The other guys bought it, laughing a little at his laissez-faire attitude about the repercussions of his actions. Splinter Wood, sitting right across from Sprout, was winking at him for keeping his cool like he did and letting the older guys razz him a little. It was part and parcel for these guys to give newbies like them a tough going. He knew how intimidated Sprout was about being here.

The small wagon train exited the grove, reaching a stretch of roughly graded road that jostled and bounced all of the inmates as they rode along on it. It was only about a fifteen-minute ride to their destination, but just trying to stay in one’s seat made the ride seem longer than any of them wanted it to be. The wagon they were riding in was at last slowing down and coming to a stop along the side of the road.

Sprout, furthest from the small window in the wire-mesh rear door that locked them in, could see the sun coming up over the horizon and how the white clouds were painted a soft pink hue as the first rays light touched them. It reminded Sprout briefly of an early morning sunrise back in Maretime Bay, causing a small twinge of homesickness.

Suddenly, a black shadow appeared at the rear door of the wagon, blotting out the view of the sky to all of them; the sound of jangling keys and the distinct metallic click of the padlock unlocking. Then, the metallic sound of rusty hinges squeaking on rusty pins pierced the early morning air as the door swung back and held open by that dark mass.

“Every pony out! Let’s get moving!”

Sprout recognized the voice barking out the orders in the opaque early morning; it was the head of security, Mr. Buttercup holding the door open. Ace and High Stakes were the first two out the door, followed by Augusta and the others. Sprout was second to last out, following after Stargazer and under the ever-watchful eyes of Mr. Buttercup.

In the dim light, Sprout spotted one of the guards was now perched up in the back of the open wagon that had followed them out to the worksite. He watched as the other pony inmates walked right over to the wagon and waited in line.

“I guess we do likewise?” Stargazer looked at his friends with a small shrug, figuring this was the thing to do. They wait at the rear of the line, watching how each stallion before them was passed some kind of sharp cutting tool, the type used for cutting heavy undergrowth or tough weeds and brier patches.

They watched how Ace and the others all strapped these sharp-bladed yard implements onto either their left or right foreleg and then stand about in a cluster to wait for further instructions. The line quickly moved up. Sprout fund himself looking up at then guard who was looking down at him with an appraising look, as if sizing him up to what he would be best at doing on the work crew.

“Right hoofed or left?” The guard scanned his collection of remaining tools in the wagon for the correct implement.

“Um, right?” Sprout gave a small shrug, not sure what this guard had in mind.

“Here, strap this on.” The guard passed him a heavy steel weed whip to attach to his right foreleg. The cast iron wishbone-shaped fork suspended a wickedly sharp double-edged serrated blade between its two arms at a forty-five-degree angle. Its stubby metal base, anchored in a hard wood shank, was bound in a hard leather pad with three brass center-bar buckles straps to attach to the foreleg with. Sprout and his fellow newbies quickly figured out how to strap them on and cinch the buckles down tight enough so they would not move on their legs. It was a snug fit but not enough to call it uncomfortable.

“Get movin!” Mr. Buttercup is about to tell you punks what the work is for today.” The guard pony pointed towards their fellow inmates who, at the moment, stood about in a loose group while Mr. Buttercup was reviewing some paperwork with another guard.

The four of them made their way over to the group, hobbling a little when encumbered like they were from the items strapped to a foreleg. The blade on each of their weed whips hung a good four or five inches below their hooves, forcing them to rely on three legs to walk steadily on. It took a bit getting used to it but they caught on quick enough and adjust their walking to accommodate this burden. They stayed towards the back of the group, listening.

“Alright, listen up,” Mr. Buttercup got their attention and the small chattering among the inmates died away, “this week, we are to get the rest of the underbrush and scrub grass cleared up along this road ahead for the new railroad cut the surveyors have marked out with the red field markers.” Mr. Buttercup held up one of the markers to show them; a thin yard-long metal stake with a red plastic flag attached to the top. “The crew from the railroad company will be beginning the land grating and drainage operations by mid-week so this clearing work has to get done quickly. That last thing the warden wants to hear is the railroad company complaining that we’re goin’ too slow and holding up progress.”

A small grumble percolated among the seasoned road crew members, understanding that they were going to be worked hard to get the work completed in a week. Failing to do so meant feeling the warden’s wrath. And that meant curtailed visitations, loss of free time or the supply of cold drinks suddenly unavailable in the barracks. Those were privileges to have, and those could be taken away at any time for not keeping the warden happy.

“I want two rows of ten ponies on each side of the cut to clear the tall weeds and the four of you with the brush axes,” Mr. Buttercup point to Ace and the three other large ponies standing slightly off to one side, “to concentrate on any thicker growth at the head of each row. Concentrate on cutting anything the smaller blade can’t cut and keep ahead of every pony in the lines. Every pony understands what to do?”

“Yes, sir.” The group of ponies somewhat lethargically responded, not looking forward to the long day of hard work they were going to be driven at. There was almost a collective sigh of resignment at the sound of the words coming from each pony’s mouth.

“Good. Get to work.” Mr. Buttercup pointed on down further the empty dirt road that waited their attention. Moving swiftly, the two dozen stallions formed into two loosely stung out lines of workers spaced about twenty feet apart on each side of the road. Ace and three other ponies headed a bit further down the road, perhaps another twenty feet in lead of each line to begin clearing the tougher growth from their work direction.

Sprout and Splinter Wood paired up on one side of the road while Quickstep and Stargazer got in line on the other size of the road almost opposite them with in their line. The four of them quickly caught on as to what to do, watching how the other ponies started swinging the sharp brush blade strapped to their forelegs back and forth like a clock pendulum.

It wasn’t hard to do; swinging the weeding-cutting tool and walking slowly backwards at the same time, clearing out the length of roadside until reaching the spot the pony behind them had started from. Sprout quickly figured out the secret was swinging a large arc, letting the weight of the tool falling in the swing to do most of the cutting. He just had to give it a little umph of force with each pass.

Once done with clearing the spot of brush and overgrowth, the crew moved to the next area along the road of tall grass to stand single file again and repeat the same cutting. The score of ponies repeated this process over and over down the length of this road. No pony spoke or chatted up a conversation while working, conserving their energy to make it through the long day ahead of them.

The sun rose more in the sky. All of the work crew could feel the steady rising air temperature. While the early morning air had been comfortable when they’d arrived, now a few hours into the job the air was becoming uncomfortably warm, adding to the strain each of them was under while toiling away.

“Hey, fella, you’d best be slowin’ yourself down some. You’s ain’t gonna make it through the day at that pace.” One of the inmates warned Quickstep, seeing the newbie awkwardly chopping at the tough grass with his weed whip instead of swinging it like he should. One of the other stallions came by with the water cooler, ladling out the cold liquid in small tin cups to all who asked for a drink. Mr. Buttercup allowed them to stop.

The brief break and cool drink were a relief for Sprout, managing to keep up with the others but the sun’s heat was making it that much harder for him. The sun’s blazing glow was only broken up by some high cloud cover that would block the light for a minute or so. They got back to the work, cutting and clearing the seemingly endless stretches of tall grass and overgrowth along this road. Sprout paused his work long enough to look further on down the road. The length of road disappeared off into the direction of the horizon, giving it a seemingly endless length from the perception. Sprout turned back around and groaned to himself as he again began to swing his weed whip, trying to not think about how long this road must go on for.

The temperature crept higher and claimed it first victim. Quickstep had been struggling with the work and was tiring out. He paused his work, breathing hard from the physical exertion and seemed to be wobbling on his legs.

“Hey, you alright there, fella?” Augusta saw how this newbie was faltering on the line, sure to hold up the work for them.

“I… I just need to catch my…” Quickstep tried to breathe deeper, but his head still felt incredibly light and no matter how deep a breath he took, he could not shake this creeping dizziness he felt. Quickstep felt his body go limp and he keeled over, flopping to the ground in a heap.

“We got a pony down on the line here!” Augusta called out to the guards, trying to get Quickstep back up to his hooves. One of the guards came over to check on Quickstep’s condition to be sure he was not faking it just to get out of work.

“Get’em in the wagon and get back on the line.” The guard ordered after giving Quickstep brief look-over, checking his eyes and his breathing. Sprout was already moving towards his friend who was in need of help. He and Augusta managed to carry Quickstep back to the wagon and help get him inside, laying him out on the floor of the wagon.

“There's a water canteen up front of the wagon. Get it for him.” Augusta had seen this before from other new arrivals before; similar in outcome for those unaccustomed to the heat and working under the sun like they had to. It wasn’t uncommon for one or two newbies to drop from the heat on the first day. Heat prostration was a common occurrence out on the work line.

“Right.” Sprout hustled up to the front of the wagon and found the ice chest that kept their drinking water cold for them. Popping open the lid, he took out the water canteen that was full and got right back to the back of the wagon, finding Augusta was up inside the wagon and getting Quickstep in a more comfortable position. Sprout climbed up into the wagon and passed Augusta the canteen.

“Here.”

Augusta took the canteen from Sprout just as Quickstep eyes fluttered open half-way at the sound of Sprout’s voice.

“Wha…? Wha….? Quickstep mumbled in his delirium, not sure what was going on or where he was.

“Take a drink before you try talking, pal.” Augusta opened the lid of the canteen and helped Quickstep hold it up to his parched lips to drink its contents. Quickstep gulped down the chilled water, slaking his dry throat and cooling his innards briefly.

“Here,” Augusta motioned with his head for Sprout to join him up in the wagon. Sprout clamored up and tried to squeeze in alongside Quickstep. “Take over and take care of your friend. I gotta get back on the line before the walking guards get upset.” The roan stallion motioned for Sprout to take over propping up Quickstep and helping him drink from the canteen. Augusta got out of the wagon but stopped and turned around to warn Sprout before returning to the work line.

“Don’t take too long with him. We still got plenty of work to do today.”

Sprout saw the serious look in Augusta’s eyes, aware that he was trying to be helpful to some newbies and not get into trouble.

“I’ll be right there. I just want to make sure he’ll be alright.” Sprout would keep his word and not linger. He helped prop up Quickstep against the side of the wagon, making sure his head was leaning back.

“Yo… You go, Sprout. Leave me here.” Quickstep managed to get the words out between pants of breath, his head throbbing from the heat and exertion he’d overdone on himself. Thick rolls of sweat ran down the sides of his neck and his mane was mated to his coat.

“Not until I make sure you’re going to be okay in here.” The heat in the wagon was just as bad as it was outside, only difference was at least the sun wasn’t beating down on your back. He stayed for only a minute or so longer, seeing that Quickstep was as comfortable as possible. With some of the water from the canteen, Sprout wetted a clean rag from a pile that were conveniently lying about on the seats. He held it against Quickstep’s forehead, trying to cool down his friend. “Just rest yourself for now.” Sprout passed the canteen back to his weary friend who clung to it momentarily like a life preserver. Sprout wondered to himself if Quickstep was ever accustomed to such hard work.

“I… I’ll be okay.” Quickstep panted as he again took a few more quenching gulps of water from the canteen and poured the last bit of water over his head, trying to cool off. Hoping for the best, Sprout clamored out the back of the wagon as best he could while hampered by the long implement strapped to his right foreleg. Sprout had no choice to leave his friend and return to a spot in the work crew.

“How’s he doin’? He gonna be okay in there?’” Splinter Wood had been cutting both his and Sprout’s length of tall grass along the roadside while Sprout was absent, fearful of letting the pace of work slow and draw ire from the guards.

“He’s suffering from heat exhaustion and needs some time to recover.” Sprout slipped into his position on the work line and returned to the steady swinging motion of his foreleg, slaying the long grass.

“Hope he don’t lay about too long in the wagon. They don’t take kindly slackers out here on the road.” Augustia gave a friendly warning to the two ponies who were talking just ahead of him on the work line.

Back-forth, back-forth, back-forth. Sprout swung his right foreleg like a clock pendulum, cutting wide swaths of the tough grass. Sprout and the others worked through the first couple of miles, pausing their work only long enough to take a drink from the water cooler before resuming their spot on the work line under the relentless sun. Worse, the air was still and not a single breeze to relieve them from the heat.

Sprout felt his energy fading, becoming slightly lightheaded from the exertion and starting to wonder if he was going to go the distance on this first day of roadwork. Ponies like Ace and High Stakes and a few others seemed to be unaffected by the heat or pace of work. Sprout endured on more, trying to keep up.

Mr. Buttercup checked his watch again, seeing Short Grub had the mid-day meal percolating away in one of the big pots on the portable kitchen mess set up in the back of one of the open wagons that had come along to feed them. He watched as Short Grub reached for the striker and began ringing the chow bell.

Cla-cling-cling-cling! Ca-cling-cling-cling! The loud, brassy clang of the metal triangle rang out in the air, telecasting its alert far enough for all the crew to hear.

“Alright, every pony, let’s eat them beans!” Mr. Buttercup announced for them to hear. Almost simultaneously, the entire crew stopped what they were doing and hobbled over in the direction of the meal wagon as fast as they could as encumbered as they were. Sprout, Stargazer and Splinter Wood walked more slowly up to the chow line, letting the others go ahead of them.

From off the serving table, Sprout and his friends took one of the tin plates off the stack and picked their bowl out from the collection in the wood crate they’d been kept in for transport. Short Grub, the pony cook who cooked for them at the jail as well as here out on the road, ladled out a large amount baked beans into each of their bowls followed by a thick slice of cornbread that was flopped onto each tray. Finally, from the second pot that was simmering on the stove came a ladle-full of molasses to mop up with the cornbread. The trio move further down to the end of the serving table where canteens of cold water awaited their selection. They join the rest of the crew who were hunkered down under the shade of some nearby trees. The three of them sat together to eat, sitting slightly apart from the rest of the crew.

“How’s Quickstep doin’? Think he’s commin’ out for lunch?” Splinter Wood eagerly spooned another mouthful of baked beans into his mouth, glad to have something to fill his belly with.

“I hope so. I’ll go check on him after eating and make sure.” Stargazer thought it best to do so and make sure Quickstep was alright in there.

Sprout was rather surprised by how hungry he was, quickly consuming his bowl of beans and slab of cornbread. Sprout smacked his lips when lapping up the molasses from off his tin plate, using the last piece of cornbread to mop it up with. Splinter Wood thought it funny to see Sprout devour his meal as fast as he did. Stargazer thought it funny, too, watching the youngest inmate eating like a starving pony.

“Hungry young fella, ain’t he?” Splinter kidded some and Stargazer chuckled a little while chomping off another mouthful of cornbread.

Sprout, satisfied from the meal but tired from the morning’s work, yawned and stretched his forelegs out in front him, trying to loosen up some of the tightness in his muscles from the exertion. He had the inclination to grab a quick nap, seeing a few other fellow work ponies lying about in the shade with eyes closed. Even one or two guards were resting under other shade trees nearby, resting their eyes. Only Mr. buttercup stayed on his hooves, keeping an eye on the road crew.

“Excuse me, fellas, but I’m going to try to rest my head for a bit before getting back to work.” He slid over on his butt the few feet to the big tree trunk so as to lean his back up against it.

He gave a big sigh of relief, trying to get a little comfortable against the gnarly bark of the tree. As best as Sprout could, he tried not to think about the remaining work but instead thought of his old hometown of Maretime Bay and recalled happier times.

“Sure. We’ll check in on Quickstep.”

The other ponies that sat nearby paid the newbies little mind, each trying to eat their meal and rest themselves as well. Spotting Sprout sitting off to the side and looking rather fatigued at that moment, Ace made an off-hoof comment to High Stakes who was sitting just off to his left flank.

“Bet you a cold drink he ain’t gonna make to the end of the day.” Ace bit off another mouthful of cornbread from his slice, smirking with assuredness of Sprout’s failure by being so young and smaller than the rest of them. High Stakes glanced over to see Sprout resting under the tree nearby, his eyes closed. He thought for a moment about his prospects, cocking an eyebrow while the pondering of his odds of winning such a wager. He nodded to himself, silently agreeing with his decision.

“You’re on.” Wiping his mouth with the back of a foreleg, High Stakes put down his bowl and slid his wire-frame glasses up closer to his eyes, scanning about to spot a fellow inmate. He gave a toothy whistle to get his friend’s attention.

Fweet! “Hey, Small Time, get over here!” Hight Stakes waved over the pony he was looking for. Over bounded a brown bay, a twinkle in his eyes about the prospect of money exchanging hooves.

“Hey ya’ fellas,” He was all smiles, always ready to do some business. Small Time whipped out his ever-handy little spiral bound notebook from his shirt pocket and a pencil from behind his right ear. “What’cha all need from ya’ good friend Small Time, eh? Uh, placin’ a little wager, are we now?” Soft in voice when speaking, but those shifty steel blue eyes bespoke of a shadowy deviousness as his focus of attention went back and forth between the two guys, ears perked and ready to listen.

“Cold drink bet between High Stakes an’ me.” Ace motioned with a head nod towards where Sprout lay up against the tree trunk, seemingly asleep. “The newbie over there ain’t gonna make it to the end of today. Dis’ heat here today,” Ace looked up at sun in the sky, “gonna be too much for that little punk ass. High Stakes be thinkin’ otherwise.” Ace looked over at his long-time fellow jailbird with slight smirk.

“He’s got the stuff to go the distance.” High Stakes reasoned since this was Sprout’s first day ‘on the line’ and learning of his police training, figured the red earth pony had more stamina than Ace was giving him due. He would have bet two cold drinks but thought better of it. He still wanted to play poker tonight with the others and needed every cent.

“I am to understand the recompence of said beverage shall come from either of your accounts in my possession then, along with my usual fee?” In spite of Small Time’s known history of ‘shady dealings’ in the outside world, he was the only pony here that all the inmates trusted enough to act as a cash register; being he had worked in the banking industry in the outside world. For this duty, Small Time charged two-and-one-half percent ‘processing fee’ for all bets, loans, purchases or anything else requiring money. Begrudgingly all of the inmates agreed to this, their fear of being robbed of what monies was greater than the small tithe they would pay to entrust Small Time with this responsibility.

“And make sure that’s the only money that is moved around, ya’ hear?” Ace warned, aware of Small Time’s ‘creative bookkeeping’. But Small Time was struck with such pique by the remark.

“Why, Ace, how could you even think of such a thing. I would never be so deceitful and underhoofed as to pilfer such moneys, not from such fine gentle-ponies such as yourself or-”

“Just keep the ledgers straight, Small Time, alright?” High Stakes warned as well, cutting off Small Time. The bookish stallion only shrugged, giving up eliciting any good feeling towards him and finished the entry into his notepad.

“Do you think Quickstep is okay in the wagon? He’s been in there all morning resting up; you think he’s recovered by now?” Stargazer wondered aloud to Splinter Wood, now finished with his lunch and unsure how much time they had left.

“I’ll go get him up an’ out here. I’m hopin’ he’s rested up enough.” Splinter Wood got to his hooves headed for the wagon parked a short distance from where they sat under the tree. Stargazer took Quickstep’s bowl over to Short Grub’s wagon to scrouge up what he could for his friend to eat. He scooped out what remaining beans were left in the cooking pot in the wooden bowl as well as what remaining chunks of cornbread left on the baking tray that he dumped on top of the beans.

By the time Stargazer had returned to their sitting spot under the tree, Splinter Wood had gotten Quickstep out of the wagon and was helping him over to join them. Stargazer could see Quickstep was still looking a little pale and tired from the morning’s workload. No sooner had Quickstep plopped down and Stargazer passed him his meal bowl, a loud metallic whistle suddenly pierced the air.

Ftweeeeeeet!

“Alright, that’s the end of mealtime, ya’ll get back to work.” Mr. Buttercup ordered them to their hooves and the work gang got to their hooves quickly. All of them dropped off their bowls on Short Grub’s serving table as they passed by the meal wagon on their way back to the road. Mr. Buttercup walked over to where Stargazer, Splinter Wood and Quickstep were. Sprout was on his hooves quick enough when hearing the whistle blow but stood to watch what was unfolding before him.

“You three; get to back to work.” Mr. Buttercup ordered with a scornful glare and both Stargazer and Splinter Wood who started to head away, averting looking at the head guard but who continued to look back at their friend as they departed. They understood not following orders was going to cause ‘problems’ for Mr. Buttercup and that flick-stick strapped to his right foreleg looked like it’d seen some heavy use in its day and probably on those who didn’t listen to him the first time. Mr. Buttercup looked down at Quickstep, still holding his bowl in his hooves. He’d only had one mouthful of beans before being ordered back to work.

“Get to work.” Mr. Buttercup ordered, looking down at Quickstep.

“But… but Sir, I… I haven’t eaten a thing all day. I’m hungry.” Quickstep tried to appeal to the straw bosses’ compassion, looking for some ‘wiggle room’ so he could eat.

“I said, get to work!” Mr. Buttercup staring harder at Quickstep, barking the order louder but apparently failing to communicate clearly enough to this slow-witted pony.

“But… but, you don’t understand. I was resting from-” Quickstep never got the chance to finish his explanation as the shock and surprise of what unexpectedly happened next stopped him cold.

Flick! WHAM!

The impact from the flick-stick Mr. Buttercup wielded knocked the bowl of beans from Quickstep’s forehooves and struck him upside his head as the bowl went sailing off in another direction. Most of the bowl’s contents spattered over Quickstep’s head, leaving a gooey mess of baked beans, sauce and cornbread crumbs dripping from his mane and side of his face. Quickstep reared back cry out in fear.

“You hear me, newbie! I said to get to work!” Mr. Buttercup lorded commanded and then shoved Quickstep hard with the baton, forcing him to get to his hooves quickly and heading back in the direction of the road.

“Hey?!” Sprout snapped sharply and took a few steps forward, shocked and angry at the rough treatment of his friend. Mr. Buttercup’s head whipped around to now look right at Sprout, his fiery eyes burned through Sprout like a blowtorch. The expression of ire on Mr. Buttercup’s muzzle made Sprout stop cold in his tracks.

“You got some problem there, boy?!” Mr. Buttercup shouted and then pointed his baton right at Sprout. “Open that sassy back-talkin’ mouth of yours again an’ I’ll give you somethin’ to be upset about, boy!”

The warning came through loud and clear; Sprout had better shut up. For the first time since arriving here, Sprout felt truly powerless and afraid, helpless and at the mercy of some pony else’s whim. Seeing the young earth-pony clearly startled by his threat, Mr. Buttercup leaned in on the two laggers.

“Now you get your asses back to work!” There was no cleared order even given to the two and, keeping his head down and avoiding eye contact, Sprout swiftly moved to help collect up Quickstep, getting his fellow newbie to his hooves. He fetched Quickstep’s bowl for him, trotting after the work crew with his friend and making sure to deposit the bowl on Short Grub’s serving table as they raced by it. Quickstep was fumbling terribly to get his harness strapped on as he waked, still tired from the lack of food and having only recovered somewhat from his heatstroke.

Sprout hustled his friend along as best he could, slipping the weed whip’s harness back on his right foreleg fairly quickly and then assisted Quickstep with his harness.

“Wait, it’s twisted up a little; let me undo this part.” Sprout tried getting the buckles on the three straps straightened out with Quickstep’s foreleg already in the harness, making it much more difficult to correct the strap’s orientation. Quickstep could see Mr. Buttercup and the other guards heading right for them, looking none too happy to spot them not working yet.

“Oh-h-h-h, hurry up Sprout!” Quickstep fearfully moaned and he tried squeezing some of the slimy food goo out of his mane. It was gross. Not only was he still hungry, now he smelled like baked beans in BBQ sauce. Already there were some flies buzzing around him, attracted by the smell of food.

“Almost there…” He managed to get two of the straps flipped around correctly, the one closest to Quickstep’s hoof was too tight and Sprout couldn’t get the buckle flipped over so it wouldn’t dig into his skin. But Mr. Buttercup and thew other guards more almost there and, fearing getting hit from the baton, Quickstep hustled away from Sprout’s assistance, grateful for the help.

“It’s fine…it’s fine. I’ll make do. Th… thanks Sprout.” Quickstep stammered a little as he hurried back to a spot in the work line, quickly getting to swinging the weed whip back and forth like the other ponies. Sprout, aware of his precariousness of getting caught not working, quickly moved to the nearest gap of the closer work line, standing right behind one of the inmates from the barracks he’d not spoken to yet, but thought he’d seen hanging around Ace and some of the others. He smiled pleasantly enough as he greeted Sprout, watching the red earth-pony quickly get into position just behind him.

“Hey, how ya’ll doin’ there, Sprout?” He caught the young pony a bit off guard by calling him by name while seeing Sprout, looking rather embarrassed at that moment, unable to recall his name. Sprout’s hesitation could be read as not wishing to insult any pony by calling him by the wrong name and maybe be seen as some wise guy. Before Sprout could answer, Mr. Buttercup and one of the guard ponies were passing by but stopped briefly to give Sprout a warning.

“Don’t you start laggin’ behind, boy! I ain’t got time for no slackers, ya’ hear?” Mr. Buttercup gave Sprout a hard poke in the ribs, hard enough to cause Sprout to wince and suddenly tighten his chest in reaction. Sprout knew this guy was holding back on him because he was young, and this was his first day. Mr. Buttercup could have easily cracked his ribs with that baton if he had wanted to. The message got through loud and clear; don’t screw up again.

“Yes, sir. No slacking off, sir.” Sprout kept his head down and didn’t dare look up at the older pony lording over him, fearing that this guy could strike him should he say the wrong thing. At least they moved on and left Quickstep alone.

A small snicker came from the pony in front of him on the work line, looking up to see, again, the same bay stallion looking back at him, smirking a little.

“What?” Spout didn’t know what was so funny.

“First day out on the line and you go annoy Mr. Buttercup somehow? You got a lot of balls there, young fella.”

Sprout didn’t want to appear like some troublemaker and earn the ire of his fellow inmates by ‘not keeping order’ like as the rules dictated to him by Sugarfoot demanded.

“I… I guess.” Sprout was not sure how to answer and only shrugged a little.

“The name’s Sketches; a pleasure.” He turned around to extend a forehoof with a smile for a quick hoof-shake and Sprout reciprocated with a nod of greeting. They both quickly got back into position on the work line, focusing on the cutting again.

Sprout kept looking over at Quickstep, working almost parallel in position on the opposite side of the road. Splinter Wood was right in front of Quickstep, but Stargazer was working away several positions ahead of Sprout and was busy just keeping up with the pace.

After only an hour or so, Quickstep was slowing down with his work. The lack of food and being a little ‘out of shape’ as compared to the rest of his fellow newbies, was extinguishing his energy faster than any other pony out here. As they worked along, Splinter Wood would try to slow up his cutting rate, trying to give Quickstep enough time to clear the tall grass in his vicinity before they had to move.

Sprout watched how Splinter Wood would do this, helping out as best he could in order to make up for Quickstep’s faltering efforts. In spite this effort to cover for his friend, Quickstep was steadily fading, unable to get through one area of cutting without stopping to rest or requesting a cup of water to drink from the water pail.

“Step it up, ladies! We ain’t got all day!” Mr. Buttercup snarled, annoyed with insufficient pace of clearing.

Mr. Buttercup kept watch on Quickstep’s cutting, seeing how sloppy or uneven he was cutting it on his walk-byes up and down the length of the work line. Splinter Wood cleaned up the spot once Mr. Buttercup and the other guards had moved on to another spot to observe the inmate’s work.

Psssst! “Hey! Hey! Quickstep!” Splinter Wood hissed softly to get Quickstep to look up at him from staring down at the ground. “You’d best step it up and not make him mad by donin’ lousy cuttin’. Mind your work more and don’t give him no reason to stop near ya.’”

“I’m still hungry!” Quickstep whimpered softly; his plight not lost on his friends. Both Splinter Wood and Sprout hated to see their friend suffer but they knew the only thing they could do was to just endure this first trial.

“I know, but ya’ gotta keep goin’. You’ve gotta tough it out or that Mr. Buttercup fella is gonna have ya’ hide for supper. I know his type; I’ve fussed with one o’ them ponies at another work camp I was servin’ time at. They like nothin’ better then to break any pony who don’t pull their weight on the road crew.” Splinter Wood gave more insight to the newbies about life on the ‘inside’.

“Just imagine how much you can eat once we’re off the road and back at the compound. Heck, just look,” Sprout gave a sideways nod with his head to indicate which way they should look over at. Sprout got them to see that the meal wagon was already departing. ‘See? Short Grub’s heading on back to get supper started. You just have to hang on for a while longer, Quickstep. I know you can do this. Just try to focus and the time will go by faster.” Quickstep gave another groan.

“Aw, I don’t know fellas,” Quickstep panted hard, having never worked under such conditions before in his life. This was nothing like his gardening business back in Green Hill County, where he was from. “I’m not sure I can make it to the end.”

“Here, just try to mimic my foreleg’s swingin’ rhythm with your foreleg too and it’ll take less umph to cut.” Splinter Wood quickly demonstrating how Quickstep should swing his weed whip.

Splinter made wide swings of his left foreleg, taking a step or two back after each swing. “See? Let the momentum and weight of the blade and your leg do the work. Don’t chop at the brush with them tiny swings like you be doin’. Do big ol’ grand-stallion clock kind-of pendulum swingin’.”

Quickstep got in position several feet behind Splinter Wood, swinging his left foreleg back and forth like his friend was showing him. After just a few swings, Quickstep could see how he’d been going about the job wrong and found the cutting to be easier like this. The weight of the weed whip on his foreleg really helped the cutting, just like Splinter Wood said.

“See? Much better. Now, c’mon, we’ve got to get this done or there’s gonna be trouble.” Splinter Wood got things back on track just in the nick of time. Within a minute or two, Mr. Buttercup and two of the guards were heading their way, heading down the center of the two columns of workers, only to slow down enough to look over Quickstep’s progress.

Sprout held his breath as he silently watched from out of the corner of his left eye, keeping his head down and concerned as to what they might say or do to his friend. Those were some very tense seconds of watching Mr. Buttercup and the two guards observing Quickstep and Splinter Wood working cutting the tall grass close to the ground while not uttering a peep as they did.

They watched for about ten to fifteen seconds, seeing how Quickstep was cutting now rather than how he’d done earlier in the day. Satisfied, Mr. Buttercup and his assistants moved along down the railroad cut, looking over the others as they worked.

All three friends gave a big sigh of relief and could relax a little. Having averted any potential wrath towards Quickstep for now, all they could for now was just try to get through this afternoon’s work. The thought of a cold shower and laying down for a while after this workout was drove Sprout on, willing himself to get through this.

Mile after mile and hour after hour, Sprout and his fellow work ponies toiled away at the duty of clearing the railroad cut of brush and grass under the hot sun. Slow and plodding, they ground on until the sun dipped in the West, nearly a third of its spherical shape having disappeared below the horizon already before relief came from Mr. buttercup’s whistle.

Fetw-e-e-e-et! The note could be heard for the quarter mile on ahead where Ace and the other more brawny stallions worked at cutting the tougher undergrowth up ahead at the lead of the work lines. All of them stopped what they were doing and looked up, their attention now on were the sound was coming from.

“Alright fellas, that it for today! Go an’ drop your tools off at the tool truck an’ get abord the wagon!” It was the command they were all waiting for him to give. None of them moved swiftly, the wear on them from being worked so hard showing on their expressions and mere moseying pace.

On the walk over to the tool truck to deposit their cutting implements, Sprout, Splinter and Stargazer huddled around Quickstep, all of them grinning at their friend and giving Quickstep pats on the back for successfully making it to the end.

“Great job, buddy. A lil’ slow startin’ out but ya’ got the hang of it.” Splinter Wood was relieved that Quickstep caught on like he did and got past the watchful eyes of Mr. Buttercup, keenly aware of what ponies like Mr. Buttercup could be like when upset or angry.

“This is really hard work, fellas. I have my floral business back home in Green Hill and have a pretty green hoof for it, but this is nothing like I’ve ever experienced. It’s never this hot even in my greenhouse in the middle of summer.” Quickstep confessed to his fellow newbies, winded and dizzy from the hard work he’d done. They were all sweaty and tired from the labor, but they could see how much more taxed their friend was.

“Well, no need to fuss about it more. We’re done for today and now and in a little while,” Splinter Wood passed his cutter up to the guard pony waiting in the back of the tool wagon, and now stood by the tailgate of the wagon to wait for his friends, “we’ll be back at the compound and get the chance to rest our bones.”

Finally relieved of their sharp cutting instruments and flexing their respective forelegs from the strain of having those weighty implements strapped on all day, they wait at the end of the line to climb up into the transport wagon. As Stargazer clamored up into the wagon, he noticed how Mr. Buttercup and the other guards watched over them, as if annoyed and impatient about how long it was taking.

As he was the last one in line and struggling to climb the short steep steps up into the wagon with limbs as weary as they were, Sprout paused for a second to collect his strength for a final pull up. Annoyed with the delay, Mr. Buttercup gave Sprout a sharp kick in his butt, startling Sprout and making him to spin his head around to see who’d done that. His angry scowl was quickly stifled when he saw who’d kicked him in the butt.

“Get your sorry ass up in there already!” Mr. Buttercup’s ordered, impatient with Sprout’s slow pace. Sprout quickly had remind himself where he was and what could happen to him for getting out of line. He bit his tongue and turned back around, keeping his anger in check and hauled himself up and into the back of the wagon. He’d only taken a couple of steps inside the wagon, passing right by Ace and Hight Stakes, who sat together on one side of the wagon’s bench, discussing something. He paused just long enough to say something to the two of them before seeking out a spot to sit.

“Oh, don’t forget; you owe this pony a cold drink.” Sprout made a nod towards High Stakes while directing his comment to Ace, momentarily interrupting their conversation. He’d overheard them making their wager about him getting through this first day during lunch break. He’d proved himself in a small way to the two of them today and left them to their conversation, moving on past them and then sitting down next to Small Time on his left and having Quickstep sitting to his right. Sprout gave Small Time a small nudge with an elbow to get the flaxen Chestnut-colored stallion’s attention. Small Time turned his head to face Sprout on his right.

“How much did I cost Ace for proving him wrong?” Sprout was only mildly interested in knowing, having gone the distance and proving Ace wrong that he wasn’t a weakling.

“Meh, only two bits; a nothing bet for either of them, kid. Sorry, but you weren’t an expensive wager.” Small Time let Sprout down gently, impressed with the young pony’s mettle and desire not to be seen a week or a target for the other incarcerated ponies.

“Keep you nose clean for now, Sprout. I saw how the walkin’ boss gave you that boot in yer’ backside like he did. Best not to get on that Mr. Buttercup’s bad side.” Splinter Wood reminded his young friend, aware of their precarious positions as newbies here. They were still under close scrutiny by the guards and the warden; making sure they weren’t troublemakers.

Quickstep looked up at his new friends with a small smile of gratitude. “Thanks for helping my you did today, guys. I don’t if I would have made it to the end.”

“Just wanted to lend a hoof.” Stargazer casually waved away the praise, feeling these three guys would probably done the same for him.

Splinter Wood and Sprout nodded with Stargazer’s comment; they just wanted to help out. For Sprout, it was a fleeting moment of satisfaction that touched his heart when getting a chance to help another pony out. It reminded him of his time as Hitch’s deputy; helping out a fellow earth-pony from Maretime Bay when called on. As fleeting of a happy moment it was, the stark present quickly brought him back down to reality of where he was and why he was here.

Traveling along those same bumpy dirt roads the wagons had traversed this morning to deliver them to the work site, they now retrace the route back to the camp compound, bouncing and jostling those who rode inside. Hot, tired and dirty from the work, conversations between most of them were at a minimum too tired to talk. After a short time of travel, the wagons carrying them finally ambled up to the fencing of the compound, coming to a stumbling halt.

They waited in silence for only a few seconds before the locked rear door of the wagon gave a few clicks from the lock tumblers before the door swung open on its hinges.

“Every pony out and line up for inspection.” Mr. Buttercup ordered and one by one, the stallions exited the rear of the wagon and lined up side-by-side in numerical order along the fence line with the line’s head standing just under the sign that hung over the chain-link fence door entrance. Once every pony was out and standing in the line, Mr. Buttercup opened both the inner and outer fence doors for them to walk through. Standing by the innermost chain-link door with one of the guard ponies assigned to camp patrol, and with his trusty clipboard in hoof to check the inmates as they entered, he gave the next command.

“As you pass through, count off!” He ordered and Ace moved on through the doorways and barked out his number.

“One!” Ace trotted off towards the barracks, ready to clean himself up with a shower.

Kibble, the pasty white stallion with red mane and tail who handled the hounds here at the workcamp compound, passed through the doorways and announced his number. “Two!” He quickly followed after Ace.

And so it went for all of them, passing through the twin chain link fence doors and yelping out their assigned numbers as they did.

“Eleven!” Sprout yelped out his number but only went a few feet beyond the door, turning around and waiting for his new friends to enter before going together back to the barracks.

“Seventeen.” Quickstep recited his number to Mr. Buttercup and was about to join Sprout but was suddenly stopped by a wooden baton thrust out to block his way.

“Hold it!” Mr. Buttercup ordered and the guard standing next to Mr. Buttercup stuck out the baton strapped to his left foreleg, preventing Quickstep from leaving. “You, Quickstep; we were watching your work today. I don’t like it when ponies slack off and do half-ass work, especially out on the road. But I’ve got a solution that should get your head right about what you need to do to keep up with the rest of the crew.” He motioned for another guard to come over with a wave. A pale green guard pony trotted right over to his commander, ready to do as ordered. Quickstep’s fear quickly grew, imagining some terrible fate was to befall him just then. Were they going to beat him? Torture him? Starve him to death? A thousand thoughts raced through Quickstep’s mind, almost paralyzing him where he stood from the fear.

“Put’em in The Stall for tonight; maybe that’ll get through to him about not slacking off on the job.” Mr. Buttercup coldly commanded.

“But… but… I was sick from the heat! I couldn’t work-” Quickstep meekly objected but the guard pony was already pushing Quickstep along with that extended flick-stick the guard pony was wearing. Quickstep looked back at his new friends who were watching this happening, seeing them unable to do anything to stop this. Sprout saw the fear in Quickstep’s eyes, none of them sure just what ‘The Stall’ was after all. It had been a vague threat of discipline up to this point.

“Move it, slowpoke, that way!” The guard pony ordered with another shove from his flick-stick, making Quickstep stumble a little. Qiickstep turned his head forward again and headed towards the tiny wood shed some twenty or so yards away from the entrance to the compound, isolated from any other building.

As Sprout watched his friend being escorted away, he heard the rest of the road crew enter the compound, recognizing some by their voices as they counted off.

“Eighteen!.... Nineteen!.... Twenty!....”

Sprout heard hoof-steps come up from behind him, Splinter Wood and Stargazer coming to stand by his side to observe first hoof just what kind of discipline they could be subjected to while incarcerated here. It was something they would not forget after seeing for the first time.

“Get that shirt off with you!” The guard pony ordered as he and Quickstep got to the door of the Stall.

“Yes, sir.” Quickstep did not look up at the guard pony as he removed his work shirt, fearing any further retribution from his keepers should he have the audacity to look them in the eye. The guard removed a keyring from around his neck off and inserted a key into the lock of the door, giving it a small turn to the left to unlock. The guard swung back the door to the tiny structure allowing Sprout and his fellow newbies to see with their own eyes just what awaited Quickstep.

The Stall was a tiny, white-painted clapboard, windowless rectangular box with only a screen vent at the end of each gable for ventilation. It was so small that no pony could walk in and physically turn around in. A pony had to enter by walking in backwards, and then only having mere inches of space on each flank before touching the bare stud-walls.

“Get in there!” The guard ordered again and Quickstep, still not looking up at the guard, walked himself in backwards inside the Stall. Once ensconced inside, the guard placed on the dirt floor in front of Quickstep a squat white porcelain pot with a lid. Sprout instantly recognized what that antique item was from some of those old magazines his mom had on the subject of antique housewares. It was a chamber pot. Quickstep would have to relieve himself into that vessel and have it will him all night. The space was so small that if Quickstep wanted to get off his hooves, he would have to sit on the pot because there simply wasn’t any room else to sit.

Sprout and his friends could hear Quickstep whimpering with sadness of this punishment as the heavy wood door closed in front of him. The guard pony locked the door and placed a wood bar across the door for good measure. With the prisoner secure and the key once again around his neck, he left Quickstep in the Stall and went about his guard duty.

Hearing Quickstep so miserable and tormented like this was very hard for Sprout and Stargazer to hear. Their friend had done nothing wrong, just being a little slow at work and nearly collapsing from a heat stroke. How was this a punishable offence?

“This is awful.” Stargazer only stated the obvious, feeling bad for Quickstep and impotent to fix this.

“It’s why I kept tellin’ ya’ to not get yourself on the wrong side of that Mr. Buttercup fella. You’ll end up spendin’ a night in the Stall just like Sugarfoot was warnin’ us.” Splinter Wood had spent enough time ‘sent up the river’ and wanted his new compadres not to have an easier time while here. He knew what to expect while here and could give them some warning.

“But what about him getting cleaned up first? Or eating?” Stargazer craned his head around Sprout’s to ask Splinter, seeing him now looking at him.

“No shower; he’ll get nothin’ but bread and water for supper. And I hope he don’t have to take a big shit or nothin’ ‘cause he’s goin’ to have that smell with him the whole time in there. Let me tell ya’ Brother,” Splinter Wood gave Sprout a little nudge to get his attention and Sprout turned his focus to Splinter, “that is something I would not wish on an enemy.”

“It’s…it’s not fair!” Sprout groused and he stomped a forehoof and turned back to look at the Stall. “Quickstep’s not a goof off and tried his best to keep up! It’s so hot working out on the road and he got sick from the heat. Don’t they understand?”

“I don’t think Mr. Buttercup, the warden or any of the guards really care, Sprout. He, and the three of us,” Stargazer got both of their attentions, “had better do our best to keep up with the other guys while out on the road. This was one rough day and I’m sure tomorrow isn’t going to be any easier.”

“C’mon, we’d best get on inside and get cleaned up for chowtime.” Splinter Wood headed away, but Sprout didn’t move, still looking at the Stall and thinking about poor Quickstep inside. Stargazer kept walking on, but Splinter Wood stopped and turned his head back to see Sprout wasn’t moving. He quickly stepped over to his young friend who was still looking at the Stall with a look of dread on his muzzle.

Splinter Wood tried to corral Sprout along with a foreleg around the red earth-pony’s neck in consolation. “C’mon, Sprout, no sense standing out here frettin’ over Quickstep now. He’ll be let out in the morning.” After a few more seconds. Sprout silently relented to the older pony’s desire for him to depart and join him and Stargazer. Sprout didn’t like Splinter’s rather blasé ‘fatalist’ outlook on the situation, but he had to agree with Splinter; there wasn’t anything they could do about it now.

They were the last ones inside the barracks, seeing some of their fellow inmates were already out of their work shirts and waiting for their turn for a shower. Others, like Small Time and Kibble were already done with their shower and were standing about their bunks, drying their manes and tails while chatting.

Though there were two dozen inmates housed in this barracks, there were only six shower heads available at a time. That meant everyone had to wait their turn. Everyone, that is, except Ace. He, High Stakes and a few other long timers got to go first, giving them the most time free after washing up to relax before eating. While waiting a turn for a shower, the inmates would do an initial ‘scrub down’ at the wash sinks. This cut down time spent in the shower, and they could get out quicker and relax sooner.

Showers were kept to about ten minutes each and Sugarfoot was unafraid of startling those who indulged in long showers with loud banging on the shower door from a forehoof of his, followed by his loud bellowing for whoever it was in that particular shower stall to ‘get their mangy hide out’ because some pony else needed to shower. Everyone’s shower, that is, except Ace’s. No pony told him to get out of the shower.

There was only a forty-five-minute window between the time they returned from working out on the road to the time Short Grub served their supper, so there wasn’t much time available to get cleaned up and dressed in a clean shirt before mealtime. Sprout and his two friends stepped up to the sinks to try to wash of some of the grime off their forelegs and muzzles. The cold water splashing up on his muzzle felt great and was a welcome relief for Sprout. Stargazer was done first, quickly getting out of his dirty shirt and tossing it into the laundry bin by the showers and waited his turn. Sprout and Splinter Wood took their time, making sure to wash off as much as possible before hitting their shower.

From over by the bunk area strode Ace, showered and dressed in a clean shirt, ready for relaxing and the evening’s meal. He plunked himself down at the table where High Stakes and Augusta were seated, the always-present deck of cards was being shuffled by High Stakes for a few quick hands before they ate. Ace spotted Sprout and Splinter washing up by the sinks. Having cost him the price of a cold drink to High Stakes for making it through his first day, Ace felt like giving a little poke at the young red earth-pony.

“Lookey here boys. Seems like one of the newbies couldn’t hack it today and went and got himself sent to the Stall for it.” Ace started in, a bit of sarcasm in his voice as he got some of the guys to chuckle some at Quickstep’s misfortune. He was directing the comment towards Sprout and Splinter, trying to elicit a reaction by targeting their friend. “They ain’t a smart bunch when the get here. They all end up in The Stall until they learn to shape up hard and fast for this gang. We got rules around this here joint. In order to learn’em you got to do more work with your ears and your back then with your brain and your mouth.”

Sprout choked back a small laugh, hearing Ace getting up on a soapbox and preaching about ‘how things work here’ while in jail. It didn’t go unnoticed by Ace and the others, and they turned to look over at Sprout and Splinter washing up at the sinks.

“Some pony say somethin’ over there?” Ace raised an eyebrow at the sound of some pony’s contempt for his statement, raising his ire slightly.

“No, I didn’t say anything, Ace.” Sprout did not look over at Ace and the others seated at the table, still focused on his washing. A brief moment of silence hung in the air before Ace spoke up again, questioning his friends seated around him.

“What we got here, Augusta?” Ace motioned with a nod of his head towards Sprout, forgetting the names of the newbies already.

“You got Sprout Cloverleaf.” Sprout answered, still not looking over at Ace and the others, focusing on rinsing the soap from off his forelegs. Another moment of silence fell between every pony there, not sure what to make of Sprout just then.

“Nah. See, that’s your birth name. Ace has to come up with a name for you; something that, you know, sorta’ encapsulates your persona.” Hight Stakes kept shuffling the cards, casually explaining things to Sprout with a small smile and trying to keep the mood light.

Ace looked about his friends at the table, thinking up some moniker for this young punk pony. “Maybe we should call’em ‘No Ears’ ‘cause he don’t listen." His attention turned to Sprout again. "You don’t listen too good, do ya’ boy?” There was a bit of insult in Ace’s tone when asking his rhetorical question.

“I haven’t heard much worth listening to. Just a bunch of guys laying down a bunch of rules and regulations about this thing or that thing.” Sprout shook off the water from his forelegs and reached for a nearby towel that was stacked conveniently on a shelf above the wash sinks. As he dried his forelegs, he reflected more about the choices in life he’d made, both in the past and more recent ones, and what those choices had brought upon him. His drying slowed as he continued.

“I spent the past several years of my life following some pony else’s rules and regulations; for all the good it did me. Never thought trying to do the right thing would land me in here of all places.”

It sounded more like Sprout was talking to himself than actually responding back to Ace’s question, as if he was having a conversation with himself right then. Small Time broke up the odd silence, licking his lips before speaking.

“Hey, uh, you know what, Ace? The newbie here looks like the card-playing type. What you think, High Stakes?”

“Yeah, sit down and join us, kid, for a few hands before supper.” High Stakes slid his wireframe glasses up closer to his eyes with the back or a forehoof before waving him over with a smile.

“Eh, wouldn’t surprise me at all if he was. Bet you he’s got a five spot of pocket cash on him when he came here. That’ll buy a whole hoof full of cards to play with so you in or out, boy?” Ace was already scheming at trying to win money off of Sprout. Ace didn’t like losing a bet, even if it was just a bet for a cold soda. He was eager to hear Sprout’s replay of yes.

Sprout finished up his drying and had to let them down. “Sorry. I haven’t got a single gold bit to play with; I’m broke. So, I guess I’m out.” He tossed the towel into a nearby hamper and was about to follow after Splinter Wood to get on line for a shower when High Stakes informed him of an important fact.

“Don’t sweat it; I’ll front you a five spot until Friday when we get paid.”

This caught Sprout’s attention, causing him to stop in his tracks and look at High Stakes, questioning. “Paid?” The guys around the table gave a small chuckle at his naiveness at being uninformed about this place. Ace clued him in.

“Yeah, motorhead, paid! Didn’t you hear him? You get ten bits a week cash for working out on the road. We all do.” Ace saw the incredulous look on Sprout just then. “What? You thought this was some ‘slave labor camp’ kind of deal ‘round here?” Ace laughed a little at Spout. “What damn turnip truck did you fall off, boy?” The guys seated around Ace chuckled a little more.

Sprout let the jab slide, wanting to get along and not cause a fuss at the moment. He kept it cool. “A very poor one because I learned to never gamble with another pony’s money and to stay out of debt. So, if you’ll kindly excuse me,” Without another word, Sprout departed from their company and headed back towards the shower area to wait with Splinter and Stargazer. While a part of him was pleased with himself for making it through this first day, he was relieved beyond belief at not getting tangled up with Ace and his crew. The last thing he needed was to get in debt to one of these guys from card playing. Who knew what kind of ‘debt payment’ could be extracted from him should he fall into such a predicament.

“You okay back there? Those guys say anything to you?” Splinter was glad to see his friend was unharmed by saying anything foolish or insulting to Ace or any pony else.

“Fine. Just letting those guys go on talking like they want about me. I’m not going to tangle with Ace or any of his bunch.” Sprout sounded sure of himself, as if he could isolate himself from the others and get by without dealing with them.

“That means they’re curious about you. Might do some good to sit down with them and play a few hands. How did you leave it with them?” Splinter was pleased that Sprout could make some inroads with some of the older fellas here.

“I said maybe. One of them said we get paid ten bits a week for working out on the road like we were.” Sprout watched another stallion head into the showers as another one stepped out. The line was quickly dwindling, and he was looking forward to getting clean.

“Sorry, I forgot to mention that to you and the other fellas. Yeah, we get a stipend for working. It ain't much but it can pay for a few things to make time here more bearable.” Splinter completely forgot to tell Sprout or the others about this, too busy today with just getting into the swing of working on a road gang. Two more ponies emerged from the showers and two more entered, now it was just he, Sprout and two other waiting to get in.

“Yeah, well, I’m going to try and be careful around those guys. They seem pretty sharky when it came to their card games.” Sprout felt it best to keep to himself and not draw too much attention for now.

Just then, three more of their fellow inmates emerged from the showers, freeing up enough room for Sprout and Splinter to finally was off the day’s grime from their bodies.

“Like I said before, just be cool with them and it’ll be alright.” He headed for the showers with Sprout following right after him.

“Trust me, I’ll be a cool as a cucumber. The last thing I want to do is piss any of them off for any reason.” He’d played it cool so far and made it through the first day. There were many more days ahead of him and there was no way of know what was in store. All he could do was take it one day at a time.