The Mare They Couldn't Hang
Part One: The Mare They Couldn’t Hang
Another Tartarus-damned letter waited for her in the mailbox. Sure, there were a couple letters from relatives and flyers that made her want to check the mail, and not many ponies ever had the chance to grow sick of letters from the princess, but writing the same refusal letter a dozen times could try any pony’s patience.
The smell of an Apple breakfast drew her back into the house, where she sat at the kitchen table and started sorting through the mail. Granny Smith set a plate in front of her granddaughter. “Got some oatmeal and pancakes on the table for ya. Cooked Spartan apples in ‘em this morning, figured it was your turn for your favourite. Mind taking some out ta Applebloom on your way to the fields? I don’t think she came in from the barn last night.”
Applejack shook her head. “I know I’m one to talk, but that filly’s pushing herself too hard. She needs to take a rest from these projects of hers to get some decent sleep. Lucky she hasn’t nodded off cuddling a welding torch.”
Granny sat across from Applejack with her own plate. “I see ya got some letters,” she said, eyeing the elegant stationery.
Continuing to chew, Applejack rolled her eyes at her grandmother. “I see what y’er lookin’ at, Granny. No point in opening that one, I already know what it’s about.”
“Now hold it right there, missy.” Granny Smith shook a hoof at her granddaughter. “I didn’t raise no filly who ignores a letter from the princess. You read it and answer it, even if it’s the tenth time you’ve done it.”
“Baker’s dozen, actually.” Still, Applejack listened to her grandmother and opened the letter. Clearing her throat, she began to read:
Dearest Applejack,
As you might have guessed, I am writing to ask of you a favour. I know you are busy with your farm and your family, but I am in need of a mare whose honesty and integrity are known to be irreproachable. The Canterlot Police Department sinks deeper into corruption every day, and I believe that you are the mare to head its reconstruction.
Your work policing Ponyville and the surrounding area with your brother is known across the country. Organized crime leaves Ponyville alone, knowing that no bribe or threat will move the Apple family or the community supporting them. I need that reputation here in Canterlot.
As before, you need not worry about the farm or your other responsibilities should you accept my offer. I will take the necessary measures to see them taken care of, and you will receive a generous salary. Canterlot’s need is pressing, but take your time and think this over. It is a difficult decision. I look forward to your response.
With love,
Your princess,
Celestia
Granny Smith shook her head and smiled. “Well I’ll be. My granddaughter, getting a letter that familiar from the Princess, with an offer for a job! Might be the thirteenth, but it still does this old mare good to see something like that.”
Applejack rose from the table and put her hat back on. “Enjoy it while you can, Granny, ‘cause I’m turning her down again. My place is here with my family, my friends, and my town. I’m not leaving for some big city when I’ve got responsibilities here.” Leaving the letter on the table, Applejack headed out the door with food for her sister.
Granny shook her head and started cleaning up. “Silly filly. She’ll come to her senses soon enough.”
The sparking hiss of a welding torch coming from the barn told Applejack that her sister was still hard at work. Tipping her hat down over her eyes, she opened the barn door and hollered in, “Got some breakfast for ya, Applebloom. Time for a break.”
The torch fell silent and a welding helmet framed by a bright red mane popped out from behind the safety curtain. “Breakfast? You’re not telling me it’s morning, are ya?”
A small grin snuck out the corners of Applejack’s mouth. “How about you take off that helmet and take a look out the barn door?”
Her sister quickly complied, revealing squinting eyes, followed by a frown. “Horseapples, that’s daylight! What time is it?”
The grin grew. “About half past six. What are ya workin on that kept you up all night?”
A blush bloomed on Applebloom’s cheeks. “Just a little something to help Snails. I want it ready for the harvest dance.”
“Well, it can wait till tomorrow then. You need to eat, get cleaned up, and take Granny into town. If you hurry, you’ll probably have time for a nap before you leave.”
“Just leave the food on the counter there. I’ll clean this mess up before I eat.”
Applejack nodded and set her sister’s breakfast down. She turned and trotted out the door, a happy smile tugging at the corners of her mouth again. It was nice to see her sister displaying the strong work ethic that her family had spent the last 18 years trying to teach her.
Fondness for her grandmother joined those tender feelings when she found a bagged lunch waiting for her in the wagon. The empty cart was easy to pull, and the damp earth and a morning breeze greeting Applejack by the nose spurred her into a full gallop. Her workload was smaller today, with nearly all the cider apples harvested and the cider press—thanks to Applebloom—in perfect working order. As much as she loved her friends and family, Applejack was eager to finish her work so she could spend the day relaxing in the fields. A girl needs some time to herself once in a while. Rarity and Fluttershy might spend their off time at the spa or gossiping over tea, but for Applejack, little could compare to the welcoming silence of her orchard. She would never admit it, but that was likely her older brother rubbing off on her.
Everything she needed to harvest the last of the cider apples had been set up the night before, so work progressed quickly. Soon, she lost herself in the repetitive strain of simple labour, relaxing into the work the way Mac had taught her. Thump after thump, apples fell into the waiting baskets. One thing marred this serenity, though: the princess’ letter.
She had responsibilities here in Ponyville. The farm needed her, her family needed her, and the whole community relied on her. When Twilight wasn’t around to fix things, Applejack was the go-to mare. Whether it was averting a stampede or rebuilding after an accident, the town expected her to take the lead. Then there was the law enforcement. While Ponyville lacked an official police force, Applejack and Big Mac were the town’s honourary sheriffs, and had kept the town safe from serious crime for the past decade. Even if the Princess covered all these responsibilities, what would her parents think if she left her farm and family to help a bunch of other ponies? A whole city of ponies, who could use her help...
Applejack came up to the last tree, one of the largest in the orchard, and tapped it on the trunk. “What would they think, Shiver Bark? Pa always knew the right thing to do.” She turned and kicked the tree, sending a good portion of the apples to the baskets below.
The farm mare could remember the last lesson her father ever taught her, before she left for Manehatten: there’s the easy thing to do and the right thing to do, and you’re damn lucky if they’re the same thing. It would be easy to stay home and keep doing what she was doing, but was it the right thing to do? Or was it right to let somepony else handle things around Ponyville for a spell, and help the folks in Canterlot?
Of course, that was the perfect time to remember what her mother always told her: “There’s no easy answers.” Mac was away with Twilight, Pinkie, and Braeburn, so she couldn’t ask any of them. Rarity and Fluttershy were likely the wrong ponies to ask about this sort of thing, and Rainbow Dash could be fanatic in her loyalty to the small town. Another thump, and more apples went down to the baskets.
Thump. She couldn’t ask Granny and get an objective answer. The old mare would love to see her oldest granddaughter go off and be a somebody in Canterlot, especially if the farm work would be taken care of. She was getting on in age, and wanted to see her grandchildren successful.
Thump. Ponyville was practically crime free, but no pony in Canterlot was safe. Canterlot needed her help, but if she left, would Celestia’s replacements keep Ponyville safe?
Thump. A shower of leaves settled onto Applejack. She turned around and saw that the apples were clear from Shiver Bark, and the last few kicks had knocked down leaves and left dents in the bark. “I’m sorry, Shiver, I didn’t mean to take this out on you,” she said, hanging her head.
Hitching herself to the wagon, Applejack made quick work of retrieving all the baskets. It would be a heavy pull back to the barn, though, and the noontime sun bearing down on her said that now was a good time to break for lunch. Resting under Shiver Bark’s shady branches, she opened her lunch and found a solid meal of apple turnover and fried-oat sandwiches. Granny Smith’s cooking never stuck around for long, and Applejack soon found herself nodding off against the tree, her belly full and her hat hanging on a branch.
* * *
Applejack slowly became aware of movement around her and what felt like a rope around her belly. Pinkie was probably back and had cooked up a prank with Rainbow Dash. She thought it best to pretend she was still sleeping and get the drop on them when they weren’t expecting it.
A monotone, masculine voice broke the silence. “Make sure you have a good grip on that rope, Slim.”
Leaping to her feet, Applejack charged at the source of the voice. She was stopped by a firm tug against her chest, and saw that there wasn’t just one pony holding on to the rope. Four ponies had different ends of the ropes tied around her waist, all standing at different angles, and the stallion she had charged was watching her with interest.
“Miss Applejack, I presume?” The unicorn extended a well-dressed hoof towards the mare, his suit contrasting with the fields around him.
Applejack snapped her teeth at the offered hoof. “Who in Sam Hill are you, and what in tarnation are you doin’ on ma farm!”
The raging farmer had shouted spittle onto the unicorn’s suit. “Clean Cut, at your service,” he answered, taking out a handkerchief and wiping himself down. “As to what we’re doing on your farm; let’s call it, ‘proactive marketing.’ Allow me to demonstrate. Slim, go fetch us a few of those baskets. Move the apples into the other baskets, please, no point in leaving a mess.”
The skinniest pony in the group let go of his rope and went to trot over to the full apple wagon. Applejack lunged at the pony opposite to him, forcing Slim to grab hold of the rope again. She had nearly made it to the stallion before the others pulled her back to the middle.
Clean Cut watched the altercation without batting an eyelid. “No wonder Mr. Shine sent me along with you gentlecolts. Slim, try to be quick this time when you let go. The rest of you, spread out into a triangle. You did learn that shape in school, did you not?”
The lackeys all nodded, quickly following the expressionless unicorn’s instructions. Applejack noticed that Slim was especially careful not to leave any of the extra apples out of a basket when he collected them for Clean Cut.
The well-dressed stallion approached Applejack and met her fierce gaze with his own cold eyes. “Miss Applejack, are you aware that your alcohol-free cider products compete directly with the more illicit wares of my employer in Canterlot? To put it lightly, he doesn’t like competition.”
Noticing Applejack’s face turn white, Clean Cut paused. “Ah, I see you are catching on. No doubt you are remembering the warning Mr. Shine sent your family 18 years ago. Even with the loss of two of its most capable farmers and all of their cider equipment, the Apple family recovered and started pressing cider once again. Quite admirable, I must say, but I can’t let personal feelings affect the execution of my orders.”
Applejack lunged at the pony again, snarling and dragging her captors with her. “You son of a whore!” she shouted. “Who’s this Shine that killed ma folks! Ah’ll kill him! Ah’ll drop anypony who stands in my way and tear apart anywhere he hides brick by brick!”
Again, Clean Cut took out a handkerchief and wiped down his face. “Once again, Miss Applejack, your convictions are admirable. Had he been present, you may have frightened Mr. Shine with that display. I think that Slim just soiled himself. However, you are not in a position to threaten anyone.”
The unicorn turned away and levitated the baskets into a neat tower underneath one of Shiver Bark’s higher boughs. He then tied a noose to the bough, and turned back to Applejack. “I have been instructed to hang you, burn your cider operation, and leave both your body and the wreckage as a warning to your family and Mr. Shine’s other competitors.”
Applejack relaxed her pull on the ropes. “That so? I guess it’s a good thing the rest of my family is in town.”
“Indeed, Miss Applejack. I would hate to incur any collateral damage. You need not worry about petty theft or vandalism to the rest of your farm; I will keep these rapscallions in line.”
Clean Cut picked up Applejack in his grey aura. The ropes around her middle untied themselves, one wrapping around her fore hooves and the others falling to the ground. “Coil and store those ropes properly, gentlecolts. I do not want to find that anypony has left them knotted. Then head to the edge of the orchard. Go no further, I will meet you there.”
The lackeys hesitated, unsure of which order to follow first.
“Now.”
They sped off, trying to coil the ropes as they went, tripping over the loose ends and their own hooves.
His grey aura lifted Applejack higher, passing her head through the noose and letting her down, her weight tightening the noose and leaving her just enough slack for the tips of her hooves to reach the baskets. “Any last words, Miss Applejack?”
“I’ve got one question. Not to joke, but you seem like a pretty clean-cut stallion. What are you doing workin’ for a fella like this Shine?”
Clean Cut let a small smile through his stoic expression. “I apologize, Miss Applejack, but we all have our secrets. Anything else?”
Applejack nodded, little as she could. “Yep. Tell this Shine that he had better watch his back. He’s about to have some of the most dangerous ponies in Equestria on his tail.”
“I will be sure to pass along the message.” The stallion trotted off a ways and turned back to her. “My apologies, Miss Applejack.”
“Don’t worry about it, Mr. Cut. Thanks for bein’ professional about this.”
The grey stallion nodded, and pulled down the baskets with a flick of his horn.
The bottom of Applejack’s stomach fell out with the baskets. She quickly flexed against the tightening noose, but the rope burned her neck trying to slide the loop closed. Her breath came far too slowly, and the vision in the corner of her eyes was starting to fade black. The harder she strained against the bonds around her forehooves, the quicker her vision faded.
Images passed through her mind of her family returning to the farm, finding the cider press in ashes and her hanging from Shiver Bark. She remembered returning from Manehatten, eager to see her parents again, but finding only a pair of tombstones. Those bastards had hung her ma and pa. They’d come back to Ponyville and hung her. They’d go on and break up any other families that stood against them, in her town. No. Not in her town.
Applejack’s heart beat faster, stronger, and her vision came back red. Swinging her legs back and forth, she strained with her core to pivot at her neck. With a forceful grunt, she brought her hind legs up above her head, twisting in the noose and leaning against the back of her neck. Quickly snagging the rope between her hooves, she rested for a moment, breathing just a little easier. She knew her neck was burned and bleeding, but the pain wasn’t getting past the memories and the rage.
Taking as deep a breath as she could, she let herself fall back down and caught the rope in her teeth. Hanging from her jaw, she worked at the rope, grinding her teeth and kicking up and down. Even with her weight off the noose, it was still deathly tight. She could feel her muscles giving way. Her jaw was growing numb and her legs couldn’t kick quite as hard. Memories surfaced of her mother’s gentle voice encouraging her, and her laughing father asking if his little shot of whiskey couldn’t kick like her namesake.
Narrowing her eyes, Applejack stared up at the rope and gave one last kick with everything that she had. She watched the rope slacken and coil a tiny bit, then straighten back out with a twang, jerking at her tired jaw. The rope held, and she let her eyes fall shut.
A creak above her broke the silence. Her ears and eyes perked up to the bough above her, watching for anything. It creaked again, bending. The bark cracked, followed by a tear in the wood. Finally, the bough snapped, dropping to the ground with Applejack and tearing a strip of bark along with it.
Gasping for air, she tore at her bonds with her teeth. Free of the rope around her neck and forehooves, she lay there for a moment, breathing as deep as she could. She didn’t have the luxury to lay there and relax though, so she forced herself to her hooves. There was work to do on the farm.
She rested a hoof against Shiver Bark, eyeing the tear in his bark. “Thanks for your help, Shiver. You’ve always been there for me. I should'a known that my favourite tree wouldn’t let me hang. I’ll patch up that tear later, but momma’s got work to do right now.” Picking up her hat from the base of the tree, she pushed it onto her head and started galloping towards the house.
She'd need a plan. Do your thinking beforehand, and you'll catch problems as the come. That's what her Pappy always told her. Those thugs hadn't had anything flammable with them in the orchard, so they would probably need to find something on the farm. Carrying a bunch of fuel and kindling would draw too much attention to themselves. That gave her time, and time was all she needed.
The edge of the orchard was coming up, so she slowed to a trot. They would probably split up and look for fuel, knowing that everypony else was in town, and she was supposed to be hanging in the orchard. There was plenty of wood and diesel fuel in the barn, so she'd have to head there first. It was just as well: she'd get to deal with one of those thugs and pick up a little help from her pappy at the same time.
Rather than leave the cover of the trees, she crept along the inside edge of the orchard. It was a good thing she did; there was Clean Cut, standing stock-still by the cider press. As she crept along the inside edge, she kept an eye on the grey stallion. He was a mystery to solve, that one. The farm mare was an unrivaled judge of character, and she knew she was watching a stallion with standards. What could make such a pony work for a thug like Shine? That didn't matter right now, though. She was coming up on the barn, and it held both a thug for her to wrangle, and everything she needed to clean up her farm.
The stallion wouldn't have to be a professional to hear her come in the door; she really should have got Mac to oil those hinges before he left. Lucky thing those hay bales had been stacked below the loft window. Air burned in her windpipe and the burns on her neck screamed at her as she jumped up the bales. No matter though; the pain was just fuel for the fire, and those bastards were going to burn.
Applejack eased into the loft, sure to keep her hoof falls on the scattered hay. No need to tell him she was there; she wasn't the element of generosity, after all. Scuffling and cursing came up from the barn floor, she slowly peeked over the edge of the loft. There was the thug, struggling to work a barrel of diesel oil onto the barrel dolly. Applejack felt the fire in her chest fade: the goofy bugger couldn't be older than Applebloom, a typical teen aged gang recruit looking to make a name for himself. A little insulting actually. Really, she figured that she had earned herself enough of a reputation that Shine would have sent ponies at least approaching his best. That's probably where Clean Cut came in, though.
Nothing worth complaining about, though. Any country filly worth her salt could make do with what she had, and Applejack was more than happy with what she found in the loft. A burlap sack and a greasy old bandanna would be perfect for dealing with this kid.
It was about then that the colt gave up trying to move the barrel and smacked it with his fore hooves. "Damn barrel! How the hay am I supposed to get you on the dolly?"
"Tip it off the skid, right it, then work the prongs underneath it. Let its weight do the work for ya."
"You're right, that is much easier! Thanks! Hey, wait a minute..." the colt looked up to see a grinning dead-mare dropping onto him with a burlap sack in her teeth.
It didn't take much after that for a champion rodeo mare to drag him over to some rope, hogtie him, gag him with the greasy bandanna, and throw him in the tool closet.
As much as the search for fuel and kindling slowed down her foes, Applejack didn't have time to kill. The first thug stowed away, she grabbed a few lengths of rope and tossed them over her withers. Taking a key out from her hat band, she made her way over to her desk in the corner of the barn. The key clicked in the lock of the bottom drawer, and it opened to reveal an ornate apple wood box, carvings of boughs laden with apples wrapped around it. Rushed as she was, Applejack opened the box gently and took a moment to gaze at the treasure within.
A massive, hoof-held revolver rested in the box. The apple wood hoof guard and the metal frame both gleamed with loving care, little dents and scratches showing the years of faithful service. Bark from the first apple tree her pappy planted was wound around the trigger bit, cushioning the user's teeth. Applejack ran a hoof along the metal base-plate, tracing the heart-shaped apple engraved upon it.
"She really was your heart and soul, wasn't she, pappy? I know y'all are watching over me, but I need a little extra help today. Hopefully Peacemaker lives up to its name, and I won't have to shoot anypony."
Slipping her hoof into the guard, she snorted. Enough reminiscing, with all those thugs about. She didn't have time for that. A flick of her ankle opened the cylinder, five .45-70 rounds finding their way home. As long as those thugs were still split up, she'd make short work of them on her farm.
She had one down and four to go, but she needed the next part of her plan. As foolish as it sounded, she trusted Clean Cut's word that he would keep those hoods away from the house, so she could cross it off the list of the places to look. That left the narrow alleys between the outbuildings, and that suited Applejack just fine.
She leaned against the back door of the barn, Peacemaker on her right hoof and held at the ready. Holding her breath, she peeked out the door, side-stepped out on her hind legs and turned, sweeping her sights from one end of the alley to the other. Everything clear, and some scuffling coming from around the corner.
Dropping back to all fours, Applejack lightly trotted up to the corner, ears cocked. Somepony was round the other side, trying and, if his cursing was any clue, failing to break up some wood. He was muttering, something about, "better than nothing." No point in getting complicated: the direct approach had always worked for her before. Rearing up on her hind legs, she brought Peacemaker up to chest level and side-stepped around the corner.
"Ya might have an easier time with that wood if'n you were using something sharp. 'Bout anything other than a shovel, really."
The stallion dropped the shovel from his mouth and stared at her, slack-jawed, eyes caught on the burns on her neck. "How the hay are you alive?"
"This is my orchard, sugar. No tree of mine's gonna let me die hangin' from its branches. I'd suggest that you get down on your belly with your forehooves behind your head."
"Ya, no kidding," the stallion said as he laid down. "That's quite the heat you're packing. What calibre is that?"
".45-70," she answered, taking the rope from her withers, tying his fore legs together, and his hind legs to his barrel.
"Ya, you won't get any funny business from me. Hey, they'll feed us decent in prison, right?" he asked as she dragged him behind the scrap wood by his bindings.
Applejack dropped the rope and raised an eyebrow at him. "Sure they will, sugar. They're not gonna let ya starve."
"Not bad. One less mouth for momma to feed, then."
The strange conversation was interrupted by a frightened yelp coming from behind the chicken coup.
"That'll be Slim," the stallion piped up. "He's a regular piker, shouldn't give you much trouble. I'd take care of him next, if I were you."
"Sorry, a what now?”
"A coward. He's yellow as a daffodil."
"Right, thanks. What's yer name, partner?"
"Name's Side Streets. You can call me Street, if you like."
"Well Street, you seem like you might be useful. Y'all might be hearin' from me soon. Don't get your hopes up, though."
"All the same to me, filly. Prison or you, as long as I get fed, I'm happy."
Right, that was unexpected. Never know when a fellow like that can come in handy though, so good to keep him in mind. Not particularly criminal or ambitious, just happy to be fed. Hard to buy off a fellow like that as long he's got a decent job and three-square a day. No, make that four-square.
She couldn't see anypony else about, and Slim hadn't come out from behind the chicken coop, so Applejack cantered over to the outbuilding as quietly as she could—all in the hoof falls, just have to make sure they cycle smoothly underneath you, instead of popping you up and down. Just slide along, legs turning like wheels. She stopped for a moment, letting her heart slow and listening. Some pony was around the corner, moving things around awfully quiet. If what Street said was true, probably afraid something would hurt him. Same drill as before, then: up on the hind legs and step to the side.
"Slim," she said, firmly, but quietly. The stallion's head popped up from the crates he was poking through, and his eyes went wide. "Get down on your belly, now."
Slim stared at her a moment, still wide-eyed, not moving a muscle. Then piss streamed down his legs, his eyes rolled up into his head, and he keeled over.
"Aw, consarnit," Applejack cursed as she dropped back down to all fours. "Pissing himself, that's just icing sugar on the apple pie. I really am insulted, now." Not that she was a prissy mare, but who wants to truss up a grown stallion that's just pissed themselves? Holding his forehooves behind his head, she tied them together, and dragged him around to the door of the chicken coup. She threw the other end of the rope over a support beam, pulled Slim up to the tips of his hind hooves, and tied off the rope on the next support beam. "Sorry about this girls," she said, nodding to the chickens. "I know it ain't pleasant company, but he won't be here long. If it makes ya feel better, he won't have a fun time in prison." Shaking her head, she walked back out the door and bumped into the last hood, the pegasus.
Big surprise, he staggered back, eyes wide open with shock when he saw a mare who was supposed to be dead packing some heavy heat on her hoof. The real surprise was when he pivoted on his front legs and tried to buck her in the face. Dropping down to her barrel, she let his hooves pass over her before sweeping them to the side with her left foreleg and launching off her back legs to land a quick right jab just below his rib cage with Peacemaker's hoof guard.
The thug staggered back, curling his side where she had struck him, but he lunged forward again, snarling, with a heavy flap of his wings. Applejack caught his forelegs with her own, meeting pegasus speed with earth pony strength and brought him into a grapple. This one's a tough one! she thought with a smile. It always was better when they put up a decent fight. Come to think of it, she probably shouldn't enjoy this part as much as she did, but now wasn't a time for picking apart her own noggin. Not a bad idea though, using her noggin. Smiling wider at the humour, she let him push forward and pulled him along by his withers, ramming her forehead into his muzzle and following with a right cross to his jaw. He staggered back, and she took the opportunity to pivot on her forelegs and hit him with the pride of Apple family applebucking right in the barrel, sending him sprawled out on his side.
Applejack leaned back onto her hind legs, taking her time, and cradled her right foreleg with her left, Peacemaker's line of fire hovering just below the hurting stallion. "I wouldn't get up if I were you, pal. My pappy's revolver don't take to kindly to thugs tryin' ta hang his eldest daughter."
The stallion narrowed his eyes at her and spit out a bloody tooth. "You Celestia-damned bearcat. I work for Shine! No broad with a gun too big for her chassis's gonna bring me in!"
Applejack trained her revolver on the thug, struggling to stand, and nosed the trigger bit. "You stay down, ya hear! Don't make me shoot ya!"
"Ha!" the stallion barked. "Like you can even handle that revolver." Back on his feet, he started circling to her left, and she could see a mouth-held semi-auto in the holster on his hip. He saw where her eyes were looking, and his face lit up with a smug grin.
Applejack slid her left hind hoof forward, steadying her stance. "Don't you even think ab—"
The damned fool had all ready dropped down and brought his muzzle round to his hip. A quick intake of breath to steady her, and Applejack bit down on the trigger bit, sending one .45 round right through the curve of his neck. She couldn't help but cringe as he dropped, blood gurgling from his mouth and the gaping wound where half his neck used to be.
"Damn it! Damn him ta Tartarus!" If she hadn't let herself get distracted by Slim, she could have ended it better, could have brought him in. But no, the stupid bastard had to try and take her out. Applejack took a deep breath, emptying her mind. It was him or her, and that made it no choice at all. She had done the right thing.
Damn it all, she didn't have time to let this bother her. She looked around, letting the situation run through her mind. "Son of bitch. He’s gonna check up on this. Better cut him off."
It was like hide and seek, really. She knew Cut was looking for her, and Cut knew that she knew he was looking for her. A game, each pony trying to outthink the other and get a better position. Applejack could feel the smile tugging at the corner of her lips, and she shook her head. No! This wasn’t a game! No getting excited, no thinking herself in circles; she needed to empty her mind, just like Mac taught her, and let the plan come to her.
First, she needed cover. Speed was more important than stealth here, especially after that gunshot: Cut should have a decent idea of where she was. Wearing a wooden hoof guard with a metal base-plate wasn't great for her stride, but she made good time to the barn and flattened herself against the wall. She let her breathing slow, and listened for hoof falls. Good, nothing yet. That meant he was taking his time as well. That meant she had time to think.
This was her farm, her home field. That gave her an advantage, and Cut was sure to know that. There was no underestimating this fella if she wanted to see tomorrow. He was likely in no rush, checking the alleys between outbuildings and any door or window he came across for an ambush. Probably doubling back and checking behind him as well, a genuine professional. Applejack had to stop herself from snorting in laughter at that thought: she was feeling a lot less insulted, if Shine had chosen Cut on purpose. It did a filly's pride good, knowing an enemy sent his best.
He breathing back to normal, Applejack started moving along the side of the barn. There would be no ambushing this fellow, just outmaneuvering him around the outbuildings, outflanking him at best. He hadn't been hung, or fought any thugs today, and could probably draw faster than her with that horn of his: her only advantage was knowing the farm. He'd be coming from the cider press, and would likely take a route around the outbuildings to avoid giving her the advantage of fighting between them. Nodding, she quickly cut around the corner of the barn and slunk through the alley. She could use that, cut through the middle and across to the edge of them, maybe come out behind him.
Coming up to the corner of the pig pen, she slowed her pace to a crawl, stepping carefully and straining her ears. Hearing nothing, she reared back onto her hind legs and rested her left shoulder against the side of the pen. Little steps forward, one at time, left food leading and right just behind, keeping her stance and cradling her right foreleg with her left, holding them close to her body. She reached the corner, planted her left hoof firmly just short of the edge, took a deep breath, brought Peacemaker up to eye level, and swept her right leg around to bring her into the alley.
Clang went the two guns meeting in the turn and wide went the eyes meeting each other, one set green and the other grey. Applejack hopped backwards and held her stance, left hoof forward and her revolver trained just below Cut's barrel and off to the side. Cut calmly took a step back, pistol held in his grey aura, also trained just down and to the side. Intent on keeping her eyes down Peacemaker's sights, she watched Clean Cut in the corner of her vision. When he didn't move, she let her eyes focus on him. Much as she would have liked to keep her poker face, an eyebrow slipped up at what she saw: Clean Cut was smiling, broad as a barn door, and drinking her in like a tall glass of sweet tea. He actually didn't look half-bad when he let a smile through that stony expression of his.
"A genuine pleasure to see you again, Miss Applejack. It seems that our little game of hide and seek came out a tie. Great minds think alike, no?" Though he smiled, he didn't drop the sights of his pistol any lower.
Applejack smiled as well, keeping her revolver just as steady. "Same to you, Mr. Cut. Always a pleasure ta speak with a well-mannered stallion such as yourself."
"Thank you," he said, inclining his head in a little bow. "It's always a brighter day when somepony appreciates proper manners. Might I say, your form is flawless. Not many ponies could hold center-axis relock quite so elegantly, or for quite as long as you are."
"You may. I had a pretty good teacher. Pappy taught Mac, and Mac taught me. He's awfully patient, that pony."
"An admirable quality, one I would like to think he and I share. I'm going to guess that revolver was your father's? It's not often you see a custom made Contender in .45-70, much less with a mare's cutie mark engraved on the baseplate. That is some beautiful hoofwork."
"Why thank you, Mr. Cut. Pappy made the hoof guard himself. That's an awfully nice pistol you have as well. That a custom High Power, nine-mill parabellum? You've got some mighty fine taste in firearms; no pony made 'em quite like Browning."
"Excellent eye, Miss Applejack, that it is. Capable of emptying its magazine quickly and accurately in the aura of an experienced unicorn such as myself."
"Care to see whose gun is better, Mr. Cut?"
"Not particularly, Miss Applejack. I don't like my chances against your father's Contender. If you're strong enough to escape a noose, I imagine you're strong enough to take one or two nine millimeter rounds, then proceed to accurately place a most unfriendly calibre in my vital organs. The famous Apple vitality has been most vigorously displayed today."
"In that case, I guess you and I get to share each other's company for a while."
"That we do, Miss Applejack." He paused for a moment, examining her stance. A subtle shake of his head and a twitch in an eyebrow was all he let through, but Applejack figured that little bit was a lot coming from him. She also couldn't help but smirk a little in satisfaction at the impression she was making.
"Most impressive, Miss Applejack." He raised his eyes from her figure and looked her in the eyes. "May I ask you a question?"
"I guess so, since ya asked nicely."
"Not that I would expect any less from such a distinguished daughter of the Apple family, but you are being considerably more polite than one would reasonably expect towards somepony who just tried to kill you."
"That sounded more like an observation, sugar cube." If he was going to stare like that, she was going to have some fun with him.
"Take it as an invitation for comment, should you wish."
"All right, then. You were polite to me when no pony would expect ya to be, so I'm returning the favour. It might also be that I've spent the last few years chasing' off bootleggers and stallions that think they're hot enough stuff to bed one of Ponyville's most eligible mares, so a bit of polite conversation is appreciated.” Applejack locked her gaze on his, her smirk growing wider. “Most important, though, is that I'm pretty sure there's more to you than just a hired thug. If I had to bet a bit on it, I'd say you weren't given much of a choice in workin' for Shine. I like a challenge, and you're seven different kinds wrapped up in one package. The only stallion Shine seems to have who's a match for me is also a mystery for me to solve? I think I can spare some manners for ya."
"Miss Applejack, I would not be exaggerating if I rated you as the first worthy opponent Mr. Shine has set me against. I take it that I need not amend the message that he will soon have, "the most dangerous ponies in Equestria on his tail?”
"Ya could just say that the Apple family's comin' for him. From Appleloosa to Vanhoover, I'll have the entire clan organized to deal with whatever shady deals he might have goin' on."
"Wonderful. I do so enjoy a challenge. It seems that is a trait we share."
"Ya did say somethin' about great minds," she replied with wink and a nod. "Seein' as I need ya ta deliver that message, and neither of us feel like gettin' shot, how about we part ways for now? I reckon we'll be seein' each other soon enough."
Clean Cut inclined his head once again. "Until then, Miss Applejack. I look forward to it most eagerly." Holstering his pistol, he turned around and trotted away, posture firm and pace easy. Applejack let herself drop back down to all fours, and watched him go until he reached the orchard. That was the nice thing about working with another professional, even if you were on opposite sides of the law: professionals have standards, and keep their word. She knew when she was dealing with a professional, and Clean Cut was one through and through.
She would need a wagon to take her prisoners into town. Look at her, though, flirtin' with Cut like that. She really was hard up for decent conversation. Maybe there would be some decent stallions in Canterlot, and she could work in the occasional date. As busy as she'd be, it would probably be best for her sanity. The last thing she needed was that kind of tension with such a dangerous pony. If Cut was taking orders from Shine, the bastard must have something awfully big over the poor stallion. Blast it all to Tartarus, there she went calling the bugger who tried to hang her a poor stallion!
If she was going to be head of Canterlot P.D, she'd probably have to shmooze it up with some high society types. Maybe she could set up a dinner date with that Fancy Pants fella. He was mighty important in Canterlot, clean as a whistle, far as she knew, and it would drive Rarity mad. Not a bad plan.
It wasn’t far from the Acres to Ponyville, and she was only pulling a few city stallions, so it wasn’t long until she made her way into the Ponyville telegram office. No pony was at the counter, though.
"Al!" she shouted. "I need to send some telegrams, fast, quick, and in a hurry! You busy?"
A grey unicorn with a copper mane backed out from the rooms behind the counter, dropping various tools from his magical grip to their proper places as he went. "Not too busy for you, Applejack, how can I help you tod—heavens above, what happened to you? You look like you've been to Tartarus and back! Are those burn marks on your ne—somepony tried to strangle you!" He quickly moved to grab her a chair. "Please, sit down! Let me call for an ambulance!"
Applejack raised her hoof and fixed him with a hard stare. "I appreciate your concern Al, but I just dragged a wagon with a hoof full of prisoners all the way from the Acres after they tried to hang me. I'm runnin' on adrenaline and willpower, here, so let's do this quickly."
Nodding, the unicorn trotted back around the counter. "Right then, Alexander Facsimile, at your service!" Taking empty telegram sheets and a fresh pen in his magical grip, he nodded at her. "Ready when you are."
"First one's to Princess Celestia, go ahead and send that one on the Element Line. Applejack will take job, stop. Conditions: immunity for Side Streets of Canterlot for crime to be reported, will explain. Position for Side Streets as personal assistant, stop. Position for Barbara Seed, Manehatten, as Two-I-C, stop. Need pony I can trust, stop. Will write with details, arriving in Canterlot soon, full stop."
"Second telegram?" Facsimile asked without looking up.
"To Barbara Seed, Private Detective, 221A Baker Street, Manehatten. Cousin, have job for you working with me, reporting only to princess, stop. Pay good, high profile, can make it so only your name is known, work behind scenes, stop. Please meet me in Ponyville ASAP, full stop."
"Anything else, Applejack?"
"One more thing, Al. Call a paddy wagon for those fellas I've got trussed up outside." Her fore legs buckled, and she strained to force them straight. "You can go ahead and call that ambulance too, since you asked," she said as her hind legs buckled. "I think I'm just about done for the day."
With that, she fell onto her side and let her eyes slide closed.
