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Slaughter At Stringybark Creek

Chapter Four

(c) Cederwyn Whitefurr

2nd December, 2017

All Rights Reserved.

Riding down old game trails, Lachlan frequently doubled back on the Mare to confuse and bewilder anyone who might be looking for them, concealing the trail from time to time and frequently forcing the mare to go off the game trail and forge her way through the thick scrub. He knew he could not take any chances, so ensured the trail back to where he and Clanton were living, would be as difficult to find as he could manage. A part of him knew it was just paranoia and fear, but another part remembered Clanton's warning to him - that Sgt. MacGoven wouldn't rest until Lachlan and quite possibly, Clanton himself, were buried in unmarked graves.

*

Lachlan left the Mare tethered to a short bush on the outskirts of town, giving her a gentle petting on the neck, to which she replied with a soft nicker.

"Shhh" Lachlan whispered, before he double-checked the knot, just in case he needed to make a quick escape.

As quietly as he could, he crouched and moved to the nearest building, flattening himself as best he could against the rough sawn timbers, his blonde ears twitching too and fro. As the adrenaline began to surge through his body, Lachlan's muscles twitched and convulsed, his paws drumming a nervous staccato against his thighs, as he squeezed his fingers into fists and bit his tongue, trying to control the fear that lanced up his spine and made his nape hairs prickle.

He sighed quietly, heart thudding in his chest, as he swallowed in a dry, constricting throat. He'd never done anything like this in his young life, and his body quivered with apprehension. He glanced fearfully around the corner, before pulling back and crossing to the next building, once again flattening himself against the timber wall, feeling like every eye in the town was suddenly going to be turned on him.

"Steady, Colt - " Lachlan admonished himself, fighting a losing battle against the fear that began sinking its claws into his heart. "You can do this - "

Moving position once more, Lachlan accidentally bumped the old barrel filled with water, and even the slight slosh of it nearly made him whinny and bolt, so tightly wound were his nerves. For ten minutes, he hid beside the barrel, fully expecting to hear angry voices and the sounds of rifles being cocked, but only a few distant voices reached his twitching ears. Finally, regaining his composure, Lachlan stealthily moved towards the Saddler. All was quiet, as Lachlan slipped in the back, barely enough torchlight outside to offer dim illumination, as he trailed his fingers along various tools and other objects - more going from feel than actual vision.

He found a thick long duffel coat, then slipped it on, thankful for the warmth and relative anonymity it provided. Carefully, he searched more around the back of the shop, finding some leather offcuts and some thin yet strong rawhide strands - which he knew from experience, would be plaited into whips and such. He felt sickened, taking that which did not belong to him - but necessity drove him, as he knew his hooves would make loud noises on the timber floor, and these items might just muffle them...

Hiding in the bush again, Lachlan busied himself with fashioning some crude hoof-boots - nothing more than leather wrapped around his hooves and tied with knotted rawhide strands to muffle the clopping his hooves would have made if he'd left them unbound. Creeping back to the edge of the buildings, Lachlan had never been so scared in all his life. His heart thundered in his chest and his ears twitched violently, he'd never been so scared in all his life - as he was now. Moving as quietly as he could, Lachlan edged ever closer, his nerves on edge and ears twitching as he listened to the unmistakable clopping of hooves - unsure if it was the Troopers horses, or just a passing stock-man.

"You can do this - " Lachlan whispered to himself, before unclenching his paws and moving again - finally finding the back door to the Doctors combined shop/home.

Experimentally, Lachlan reached out and his large calloused right hand gripped the crude handle - fully expecting it to be locked, then to his surprise, with only a light twist, the catch disengaged and he carefully cracked the door open - senses on their highest alert, before he pulled the door towards him carefully, finally breathing a sigh as the well oiled hinges didn't squeal and screech as he'd expected. Slipping inside, his leather clad hooves barely making a sound, Lachlan felt his nerves tightening like a spring as he moved carefully through the dimly lit back room. An old saddlebag lay on a chair, and Lachlan's fingers curled around the thick straps before he lifted it up onto his shoulder.

"Steady Colt - " Lachlan chastised himself, staring at his fingers as they trembled with the repressed fear and nerves. "Clanton needs help, and this is the only way..."

*

Striding imperiously through the Township, Sgt. MacGoven was a man who was a walking, snarling pile of rage and hate. Anyone who saw him coming, made way with hurried steps; mothers clutched their children protectively and hurried out of the way. Sgt. MacGoven bristled with rage and seething hate, sneering disdainfully at the Anthro's as he past, then savagely grabbing a young Red Deer buck by the throat and physically slamming the terrified young Stag against the wall of the Pub.

"What the hell are you looking at?" Sgt. MacGoven roared at him, the strong scent of alcohol clinging to him.

Whimpering, the terrified young Buck stared into the Sargent's eyes, his basket falling from his fingers.

"Well?" Sgt. MacGoven growled like a feral dog. "Answer me!"

With a whimper, the young Stag's eyes widened and he almost imperceptibly shook his head, before a low, gasping croak come from his constricted throat.

"Nothing...sir - " Wept the Stag, as he wished he was anywhere but here.

With a snarl, Sgt. McGovern released him, then as the Stag tried to scurry away, the Sargent laid into the trousered rump of the Stag, sending him sprawling into the mud and manure streaked road, before bellowing in laughter and staggering down the street, glaring insolently at everyone he met - just looking for an excuse to exert his authority - and preferably - to take out his anger and hatred on - but many saw him coming, and fled the narrow street.

*

Sgt. MacGoven looked over the disarrayed containers, tins and shelves, tipping his hat back and scratching his head.

"What else was taken?" He groused at the old man, who was Stringybark's Doctor.

Agitated and still angry, the Doctor snorted. "How do I know? All I saw was my saddlebag over his shoulder, then when I yelled out, he panicked and ran off...but he did drop this - " Walking away, the old man rummaged around in the back of the shop, before returning and laying a revolver on the counter, holding it like one would a venomous snake. "I don't even know that he dropped it - I shouted, he panicked and fled into the bush..."

Sgt. MacGoven raised a single eyebrow, the hangover pounding between his ears like a sledgehammer, as he grunted and snatched the revolver up, not even bothering to look at it and tucking it into his belt.

"I can't help if you don't give me details - " Sgt. MacGoven growled. "What did the thief look like? Human - animal - what?"

"I - I don't know!" Exhaled the Doctor. "It was dark...he was wearing some sort of coat - all I saw was his ears, those long ears - the gold colour unmistakable...."

Sgt. MacGoven's eyes narrowed, and a cruel, predatory look come over him, which vanished as the Doctor turned to look at him, almost as if it had never existed...

"I'll look into it Doctor...don't worry, the criminal will get caught...and dealt with - soon enough..."

*

Lachlan's heart thudded, almost as loud as his hooves, as he fled into the bush, sharp branches slapping at him, scratching at the fur and clothes alike, as he kept a tight grip on the overflowing satchel he cradled in his golden arms. He hated himself for resorting to stealing - he had been brought up to respect others, but he knew he couldn't bring Clanton - as sick as he was - to the doctor in Stringybark creek. Desperation drove him - and this called for Lachlan to abandon his previously held convictions...even if he had no idea in reality what he'd taken - or even if it'd work...there was one way to find out - he just hoped he was doing the right thing...Clanton was ill, growing more so with every passing hour - and Lachlan cared for Clanton...and he felt sure, that Clanton would do the same...

*

A veritable black cloud hovered over Sgt MacGoven as he slammed the police station's door open making the wooden door slap back against the wall with a crack like thunder, startling the young Filly Constable who sat at the desk, her ears swishing backwards and flattening, as she visibly trembled and her eyes widened.

"What do you think you're looking at?" Roared the Sargent, before he stormed across the room and slammed the pistol onto the desk. "Well?"

"Nothing - " Whimpered the filly, as she hung her head, completely cowed and intimidated.

"I despise your kind...any of your kind..." Sgt. MacGoven raged, his fists clenching as he felt the rage building within him. "If I had my way, I'd have you all hanging, if your corpses didn't smell so bad..."

Nervously, the filly swallowed, her nostrils flaring and she placed her paws on the table - in preparation to push back, but this only invited the fury of the already dangerously aggressive Sargent. With a sharp crack, he spun sideways, the back of his hand snapping against the Filly's left cheekbone which whipped her head to the side and tears instantly streaked down her cheeks.

"Get out of here..." Sargent MacGoven screamed, his rage boiling over like an untended kettle. "I swear, if I find out you're protecting one of your own...you'll wish for a quick death - compared to what I'll do!"

Sobbing heart-brokenly, the filly dashed from the police station, her iron shod hooves clattering again the timber floor, before she vanished out of the Sargent's vision. Disgusted, Sargent MacGoven strode with venomous purpose to the nearby tavern, where he burst through the doors like a cyclone - his eyes blazing and general demeanour one of bloodthirsty desire to inflict incomprehensible violence - be it directed at an anthropomorphic, or a human - right now, he didn't care - and knew none of the settlement's population would dare stand up to him, so thoroughly had he enforced his power and authority...

To Be Continued...