The scarred pony was with his group as they pulled into Dodge City just to the East of Appleloosa. They were riding in a covered wagon with metal wheels and metal plated frame. The city of Dodge was large and alive. Everypony was going about their day, polite and content. The pony with the scar walked away from his group and went to a telegraph post, leaned on it, and lit a cigarette. He inhaled for a long time, held in the smoke and exhaled slowly. A young colt came up to the pony and began to talk to him.
“Wow sir is that your wagon?” asked the colt.
The scarred pony looked at the colt and kept smoking. He then put his head down and covered his face with his hat.
“Um… okay? But I have to ask, why did you put metal all over it?” the colt questioned.
The scarred pony lifted his hat and looked at the young colt.
“How long have you been here in Dodge, mister…?” the scarred pony finally replied.
“Mr. Tumbleweed, Dusty Tumbleweed. I’m new out here but I come from a place not to far called Appleloosa. I came to look for gold, I travel to my site tomorrow morning and, well, I’m taking a covered wagon like yourself but I was wondering about why you have one in metal,” said the colt.
The scarred pony laughed and threw away his cigarette.
“You’re a keen boy Dusty. There is a reason I have a covered wagon made of metal that is very important for survival. Follow me and I’ll show you.”
The two walked towards the wagon. The others in the scarred pony’s group looked at Dusty as they walked up to the wagon. The pony with the scar shook his head, signaling to his unit not to do anything to the pony.
“So Dusty, this metal wagon is a piece of ingenuity. You see, in the west here, there are a lot of elements that try to kill a pony. You know what I mean? Savage buffalo, wolves, bears, yada yada yada, but the biggest threat to a wagon is fire. For you see, all it takes is one ember and - poof! Your whole wagon is toast with everything you own, leaving you no chance against any of the other dangers I mentioned.”
Dusty was in awe.
“Wow, I had no idea that fire was such a problem.”
The gang chuckled.
“Oh yeah,” said the pony with a scar, “and the number one thing to be on alert for is the outlaws of the west. There is one group that uses nothing but fire when they attack.” The scarred pony began to walk on, then turned back and added, “Oh, real quick, take a look at this bar right here. It’s important to know this one if you make a metal wagon yourself.”
Dusty put his head up to the bar and in a flash was on the ground unconscious. At that, a large boom bellowed from the bank as ponies screamed in terror. Gunshots began to explode everywhere and a few banditos ran towards the metal wagon. One was shot and killed by a sheriff pony. As the bandito dropped to the ground, a bag full of bits and gems flew along the dirt road. The scarred pony whipped out his arm revolver and shot the sheriff pony. He then picked up the half full bag of bits and placed it next to Dusty. He also tied a bandana on his unconscious face and placed a gun next to his hoof. At that moment, a frightened gang member came up to the scarred pony and began to pull him.
“Loco, we need to go.”
The pony with the scar nodded and lit a match, flinging it into a pile of hay. The hay pile ignited and set blaze to the storage barn. Ponies were running and screaming all around them as the group piled into the metal wagon and rode off with the bags of bits and gems. As they left the city of Dodge into the Badlands, two large black clouds of smoke covered the skies. The screams of ponies could be heard from the valley below.
The blinds were closed except for a thin ray of light that shined through an opening. Dust blew in between the light, which shinned all the way to a chair in the middle of the room. In the chair was a tied-up and bloody stallion who was breathing heavily.
“Please,” he said, “please let me go.”
The ponies that were around him were wearing bandanas and cowpony hats. Bandoleers and belts crossed along their bodies; all except for one colt. He wore an old ripped bandana sainted in splatters of blood around his neck. He had a deep scar across his left eye. His bandoleers contained dynamite instead of bullets and wore hoof cups riddled with spikes so if he were to kick a pony would inflict serious injuries. He spoke in a Spanish accent.
“I am afraid I can’t do dat Señor Collinsfoal, for you see my employer, he wants something you have. Please comply quickly, my employer, he is not a patient pony”
Mr. Collinsfoal began to cry, “please it’s my lively hood, what will I do with out it.”
The pony with the scared went close to the poor stallion’s face and looked him in the eyes.
“I do not give a damn, just sign the paper, and this will all be over.”
One of the other ponies lit a cigarette and blew the smoke into Mr. Collinsfoal’s face.
“HEY!!!,” The pony with the scar yelled, “give me that fucking thing, no fucking smoking here, you are being rude to our guest.”
He grabbed the cigarette from the ponies mouth and pushed it into the stallion’s open wound across his check.
“AHHHHHHHHHHH!” the stallion screamed in agony. “Please stop please, I sign the papers please you can have my land, just let me go.”
Mr. Collinfoal signed the deed to his homestead apple orchards.
The scared pony smiled and said, “Muy bien mi amigo, thank you so much very much. Wait here for a minute I need to talk to my employer.”
The scared pony trotted towards the door, where a large, grey donkey in a sombrero held a shotgun and stood guard. He moved aside to the pony with the scar through into a very fancy office with fine carpets and curtains. Oil portraits of ponies hung from the wall there was a 1860 military pony with a musket fixed with a bayonet, a countess mare dressed in a white dress, an a contemporary stallion in a white suit. Above the grand fire place was a griffon’s head mounted onto a gold plate. The scared pony trotted up in front of a large finely crafted desk. On the other side sat a pony in a fine white suit with a cow skull bolo made of ivory. He also had a white silk lined cowpony hat. He sat in his leather chair with his back turned to the scared pony. He was smoking a cigar and looking across an apple orchard outside his window.
“He sighed it Jefe, now what?” asked the scared pony.
The pony in white blew out a large cloud of smoke and said, “make sure our new business partner is taken care of, and by that I mean kill him.”
The scared pony smiled and walked back to the other room. Both rooms were so quiet that only hoof-steps were heard for a brief second…POW… Then the sound of a match that struck on a hard surface, then…Wooshhh….. Mr. Collinfoal was on fire.
