Starfox Alternative: Big Iron
Bill Grey rode alone. An early morning visit from the silver-tongued Panther Caroso had seen him called, sans posse, to meet with Wolf O'Donnell just outside of town. He had only met with the outlaw once before, back when he had first been given stewardship over the town's law enforcement. The wolf had been very clear; leave us to conduct our business and we'll stay out of the town, if not, then there would be hell to pay.
And hell to pay there had been.
The first instance had been that of an overzealous deputy thinking he was right for taking down the gang, either by his own paw or seeing them hanged through judicious application of due process. In the end, whatever approach he may have had in mind mattered little, his body was found nailed to town's welcome sign several days later. It had been more than a warning, it was a threat, a threat Bill Grey had to heed, lest he wanted to see more of those under his command meet the same fate. Now, he had another incident on his paws, one concerning a certain out-of-town fox and the unwanted attention he had drawn. McCloud's stubbornness may well have ruined what was otherwise an amicable, albeit deeply lopsided, relationship between the town and the O'Donnell gang.
"Would have thought the hell be beat out of him back there might have given him cause to change his mind."
With the town disappearing behind him, window lights still flickering in the early morning twilight, Bill pushed his horse onward, galloping across the desert plains. The meeting spot was several miles out of town, a secluded gully between two mesas where they were unlikely to be disturbed. Naturally, Bill had his reservations. The canine had learned long ago that the law in these parts was merely a matter of perspective. As much as he may have the written form of it on his side, pieces of paper counted for little when bullets were involved. And so he had made his deals, run his little side business and generally kept himself a step above the rest, even if in doing so he might allow the occasional misdemeanor to go unnoticed.
Perhaps more than occasional.
The mesas loomed ahead, silhouetted against the steadily brightening sky. Bill slowed his horse to a trot, weary of the disadvantaged position he would be putting himself in when he finally entered the gully. Whatever vestiges of honour Bill Grey once had had long since left him, but it would be fair to say the he was still appreciative of the concept. Wolf O'Donnell, on the other hand, was rotten to the core.
"O'Donnell!" He yelled as his came to the entrance to the gully, his voice carrying through the depression. "I'm here, just like you done asked."
The response came in the form of a bullet fired from a bolt-action rifle. The supersonic round cut through the air with a crack and sliced deeply into the flesh of his horse. The unfortunate creature reared up, blood erupting from its mouth and nostrils as the vital fluid was pumped into the shredded lungs by the still-beating heart. With a guttural shriek, it fell sideways, taking Bill Grey with it. He landed hard, pain rocketing up through his leg as the bone snapped under the weight of the horse. Pinned and unable to move, his paw shot for his pistol.
The second round pierced through the flesh of his wrist, all but removing his paw.
Bill clutched at the mangled remains of the appendage, screaming in agony. For a good two minutes he did little else, the entirety of his senses overwhelmed by pain and the smell of blood. He had never been shot before, and was completely unprepared for the fiery sting that now assailed his every nerve ending. Slowly, the sensation subsided from blinding torment to the utmost, throbbing ache. With it, came a measure of control.
"O'Donnell you mongrel!" he cursed, his voice raspy and harsh from the screamin.
There was no response. He lay, immobile and vulnerable and without the means to retaliate, expecting the final shot to come at any moment.
It didn't.
Barely discernable among the rocks and vegetation, the figure of Wolf O'Donnell made its way down from the ridgeline marking the edge of the mesa towards where Bill lay. He carried no longarm, suggesting that the shot had come from one of his stooges. Casually as if he was simply passing by the way, he strutted up to the canine, opening his arms as if to embrace a friend.
"Well, well, Sheriff, fancy we should be seeing you out here all by your lonesome." he mocked.
"Cut to it, O'Donnell." snarled Bill. "What do you want?"
"What do I want?" replied the Wolf. "I want for that deal we struck to mean something. Seems that the folks in town have gotten it into their heads that perhaps we're somehow not worth the time of day no more. Wasn't that something you were supposed to handle, or maybe I wasn't clear enough the first time!"
"I heard ya, what do you expect me to do, shoot every passer by we get?"
"Might be a start. Maybe then you wouldn't be having so much TROUBLE!"
Wolf delivered a vicious kick to Bill's ribs. The canine doubled over as the pain returned, more brilliant than before.
"I swear." said Wolf, removing his own pistol from its holster and pointing it at Bill's head. "I swear by my fluffy grey tail, I will end whoever sees fit to take me. Perhaps you was thinking that fox was the one to do it, huh? Maybe he'd come by and I'd not be your concern no more? Is that it, Bill? Is that what you was thinking?"
"No, Wolf, I..."
Wolf fired, depositing the round several inches to the left of Bill's head.
"No you what?" No you didn't think so? Maybe you thought that you and those useless boneheads you keep around would be enough to muscle some drifter into doing what he was told."
Another bullet, this time to the right.
"Maybe I'm overthinking." He continued, shrugging. "Maybe you're just incompetent. I see no reason why you'd want to try and slip me up. You wouldn't do that, would you?"
Bill shook his head vigorously.
"But you see, Bill, I'm in a bit of a bind. I can't go blaming all this on you, one of my own made a right mess of things, something that makes us both look like fools. So I'm heading in to sort it out, make sure no-one's under any delusion as to what happens when you step out of line."
"Wolf." said Bill, his voice as calm as he could manage. "If you're after Fox McCloud, you go right ahead and take him. I want no part of this anymore, ya hear?"
"That's the plan." said Wolf, crouching down and nudging Bill's head with the barrel of his revolver. "But we can't just let this little shortcoming of yours slide, now can we?"
"Please...no..."
"Aw hell, Bill, I ain't gunna shoot you. I'd have had Panther take your head off with that fancy rifle of his if that was my agenda. Besides, no fun in shooting a man while he's down."
Wolf reached behind him and pulled out a second revolver. Removing all but one round from the cylinder, he dropped it in the dirt next to Bill.
"Don't look to me like you're going anywhere in a hurry." he said. "Perhaps if you holler loud enough someone might hear you. I'd say you've got yourself maybe a day; get's right hot out here."
As if to illustrate the point, Wolf reached down, opening Bill's saddlebag and retrieving his waterskin.
"Panther's gunna need this." he continued. "Poor fellow's gotta lug the Maxim all the way into town. Right heavy work, that."
"What? Maxim? As in gun? No, you can't!"
"Oh I can." said Wolf with a grin. "And I will."
Bill looked at the revolver lying beside him. For a brief moment, he considered picking it up and putting a bullet into the outlaw. Of course, such an action would be suicidal; O'Donnell wasn't stupid, whoever had made those first two shots was almost certainly still covering him. He'd be dead before he'd even sighted his target.
Resigning himself to his fate, he spoke one last time. "Just go."
Tucking his own pistol back into its holster, Wolf O'Donnell simply walked away without another word.
It would be the last time either of them spoke.
Fox awoke. He was aching, perhaps more so than he had been the preceding day. His cracked ribs throbbed painfully, the fractures exacerbated but the escapades of the previous evening. A hurt, but a hurt that was worthwhile. Slowly, he eased himself into a sitting position, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and placing his feet upon the floor. It was well past sunrise, with light streaming into the room and the temperature steadily rising to uncomfortable levels.
"Darn, what time is it?"
He glanced around for a clock, but found none. Instead, he located his clothing, freshly pressed and folded on a tattered and frayed armchair at the foot of the bed. He spent a good ten minutes dressing himself, taking care not to further aggravate his wounds. The sounds from the barroom suggested that the working day was well and truly underway, Falco no doubt wringing his customers for every cent they had, and Krystal bouncing about, cheerfully serving drinks and food.
"Krystal..."
Fox grinned. It had been a good while since he had enjoyed such fine company, fine enough that he might consider sticking around if and when O'Donnell had been taken care of. His own share of the bounty the wolf would bring in could see him here for another two weeks. He could certainly use the time off.
Fox collected his revolver from the bedside table, thrusting it into his holster, before throwing his duster over his shoulders and making for the stairs. The day was getting on, and he still had a job to do, broken ribs or not. He grimaced, hiding it as best he could as he picked his way down the staircase and onto the barroom floor.
"Well, the prodigal son awakens."
"And a good morning to you too, Falco." replied Fox. "What time might it be?"
"Ten past the eleventh hour by my reckoning."
Krystal was moving behind the bar, filling glasses with ale and whiskey. She flashed Fox and smile and a wink as she responded to a call from a customer, giving a little skip as she pranced across the floor.
"Wonder what's put her in a good mood." mused Falco. "We was downright morose last night when you ended up in that there water trough. Though, it doesn't seem to have done you much in the way of harm."
Fox grasped at his side. "You might say that, friend, but if you could feel what I be feeling, you might be singing a different tune."
"Didn't mean to presume."
Fox accepted a glass of whiskey from the bird and downed it in one gulp. The sensation was pleasant, even if it were the first thing that had touched his lips that morning. He briefly entertained the thought of a second, but pushed the idea aside. It would be unbecoming for a ranger to be anything but sober on the job.
"Here you go, handsome!"
A steaming plate of food, piled high with sausages, eggs and bacon, was deposited in front of Fox by a broadly smiling Krystal. The smell assaulted his olfactory senses, greasy and tempting. Realising that he hadn't eaten since arriving, he immediately set to work devouring the meal, hunger overwhelming all other concerns for a brief few minutes. Once finished, he sat back, leaning on the bartop with a satisfied grin.
"Damn, can't be sayin' that I've had a meal that fine fixed up for me in quite a while"
"Glad you liked it!"
"What's the charge?"
"On the house." interjected Falco. "Figure the least I can do is give a mean a free meal before he up and puts his life on the line."
"A lot of folks been saying that." replied Fox. "I haven't seen hide nor hair of O'Donnell so far. For someone so feared, he does an awful lot of hiding."
"Don't go pushing it, twenty men before you said the same thing. Talking don't get you too far out here."
"Noted." said Fox. "Though rough as he reputation may be, he's gunna be needin' to answer for his crimes before a court of law. Ain't no escape."
"I'm thinking he might disagree with you there." said Falco. "Law's a fickle thing."
"I've been coming to realise that myself."
Pacing back towards Fox with an armful of dirty mugs, Krystal spoke again. "Seconds?"
"No, thank you."
Fox admired the vixen's shapely form as she returned to the kitchen for all of five seconds before a shot rang out in the street.
Wolf O'Donnell stood, smoking revolver held high above his head, in the street outside the Lone Falcon saloon. His tan leather jacket was festooned with bandoleers, and his belt sported two holsters. Beside him, Panther hefted the Maxim gun, lugged the dozen or so miles from the Sargasso mine, onto its tripod and set about loading a belt of ammunition. People rapidly took cover. The sight of the wolf, while a rare occurrence, was enough to turn the blood even the most boastful gunslinger cold, and see him seeking shelter.
The wolf spoke, loudly and with a commanding voice. "I know you're in there, McCloud. All these fine folks want to see you come out and take me down. You game?"
Another shot into the air, followed by a few screams.
"No?" he continued, pacing about in the dirt, his spurs clinking against the heels of his boots. "Didn't expect so. Seems no-one here is willing or able, McCloud, least of all you. You expecting someone to do your job for you, hm? Perhaps you thought you could wave your forty dollars about and someone would take the fall for you, make the slip in your stead."
Wolf motioned to Panther, a silent nod. The big cat, having finished the lengthy loading process, racked the action of the machine gun and took up a crouching position behind the weapon.
"I'm going to give you until the count of ten to come on out, Mr McCloud, and I suggest you do or my friend here is want to do something nasty."
"Enough!"
Krystal had appeared, standing defiantly in the entranceway, he dress billowing slightly in the breeze.
"Ah, the lovely Krystal, so nice of you to join us. Why don't you be a darling and run back inside and fetch McCloud for us, we've got ourselves some business to take care of."
Krystal took a few steps out onto the wide, covered verandah. "Fox isn't here, you just missed him. Last I saw he was making for that dump of a mine you live in. Maybe if you run on back you can catch up with him, or better yet, save us all the trouble and just bury yourselves in it!"
'Now, now." Said wolf, chiding the vixen. "I don't come out all this way just to get scolded by some blue furred harlot. Get. Me. McCloud."
"Go hang yourself, O'Donnell."
"Pity." he muttered, waving his paw towards Panther. "Open her up."
Panther depressed the trigger on the Maxim, and the gun roared to life.
As soon as the first shot had sounded, Falco had grabbed Fox by the lapels of his duster and hauled him over the bar, slamming him into the ground. Stifling his own yelps of pain as his injured body hit the hard wooden floor, Fox could hear Wolf O'Donnell shouting loudly and brashly at anyone who cared to listen.
"...You Game?"
Fox moved to get up at the sound of a second gunshot, but was held down by Falco.
"Stay down, you fool! If he knows you're here, we're all dead!" hissed the bird.
The raucous proclamations on the part of the lupine continued for a while before finally coming to an end, replaced instead by the very angry and irate voice of Krystal.
"Enough!"
Falco's eyes went wide. He stood up, vaulting the bar in a single, smooth motion and sprinted towards the vixen.
"NO! KRYSTAL!"
He was too late. Ten feet short of the door, the shooting started anew.
Panther raked the line of fire across the front of the saloon, spitting out over five hundred rounds per minute and the recoil operated mechanism slammed back and forth.
The first three rounds impacted Krystal just below the collarbone, tracing a path downward across her chest. The thirty calibre bullets tore through flesh, fabric and bone with ease, spraying the facade of the saloon with blood and pulped organs. The next few tore through her lower abdomen, taking with it a good portion of her liver and kidneys, depositing the shredded remains just inside the saloon. Krystal slumped to the ground, falling face-first as the weapon continued to thunder, shattering windows and splintering the building's wooden exterior.
Patrons inside the saloon threw themselves to the ground, avoiding the majority of the fire while still copping the occasional shard of glass or wood. Falco, however, was not to lucky. The blue avian caught a round in the shoulder mid-stride, causing him to trip and stumble before crashing into the wall opposite the entranceway.
Panther didn't release the trigger until he had put over two hundred rounds into the Lone Falcon. The frontage of the building was a mess, every window shattered, the doors hanging limp and destroyed from the their hinges, and the cries of one wounded bird. Wolf stepped forward, calling out for the fox.
"Don't make me ask again, McCloud."
Fox hauled himself painfully to his feet. His boots crunched on glass as he ventured out from behind the bar. The barroom was a mess. The floor was covered in shards of glass and splinters of wood, the walls peppered with a vast multitude of bullet holes. Whiskey and ale cascaded down the rear wall from a score of shattered bottles. Limping towards the door, he came across a sight that made his heart sink.
Falco was sitting against the wall, his features stained with blood and his cheeks with tears, cradling the lifeless body of Krystal in his arms, blood pooling rapidly beneath them. A red trail marked where he had dragged her corpse, in spite of his own injuries, back through the door and behind the wall. The vixen's form was barely recognisable, such was the magnitude of the damage. Even a cursory glance told Fox all he needed; she had breathed her last, and would breath no more.
"Wolf O'Donnell." began Fox, his voice trembling slightly. "My name is Fox McCloud, I'm here on behalf of..."
"I know who you are pup," came the reply from outside, still out of sight of the fox, "and I know why you've come."
"I'll give you a chance to come quietly, Wolf. We've had ourselves enough shooting for one day."
"You're a long way from home, McCloud, perhaps you don't know how we do things out here. You want to take me? Fine, go ahead. Step outside. You and me, right here, right now."
Fox glanced about. He understood his situation fully; it was either comply with Wolf's ultimatum, or imperil everyone in the saloon. Falco shot him a pleading look.
"I told you...I told you to leave her out of this."
The wind blew in puffs, kicking up small clouds of dust that skittered their way across the town.
Every resident of Agua Fria had their eyes glued to the fox as he slowly made his way from the saloon onto the street. His paces were weary and disjointed, with a pronounced limp. This was not the first time that O'Donnell had put down a taker, and nobody seriously doubted it would be the last. Try as folks might, the wolf was simply unbeatable when it came to gunplay, as the fox would be soon to find out.
Wolf's paw twitched about his pistol, eager to settle affairs with the fox.
Yet, for all his apparent shortcomings, there was a steely determination in the fox's eyes; a focus and gile seldom seen. He walked, painfully and obviously impeded, but with a purpose. While he clutched at his side, cradling an unseen wound, his gaze was fixed upon his target, unflinching and cold. The gathered crowd watched in silence as he stood, holding his ground, facing off with the wolf. For those from more civilised parts of the country, such events would be considered barbarism, yet out here, in the wilds of the New Mexico territory, the old ways still held true. Everyone knew what was about to happen.
"Is this how you want it, O'Donnell?"
"Doesn't matter what I want, this is where we stand."
Fox focussed intensely on his foe, noting the revolver waiting eagerly in its holster, and the snarl on its owner's face. His concentration was heightened, and he took in all that his senses offered him. The pain in his ribs, the sting over the overhead sun in his eyes, the smell of gunpowder still lingering in the air.
Wolf's paw twitched again.
The distance was forty feet.
The movement was imperceptibly small, a tightening of the tendons in the paw as wrist, and the slightest movement downward. Wolf had always been quicker, quicker than the twenty who had came before, quick enough for each of those twenty shots to be loosed before his victim's had had their chance to respond.
Wolf's fingered grasped the wooden grip of his revolver, squeezing tightly as he drew.
The barrel of hadn't even cleared the holster when Fox's shot rang out, resounding, earsplitting, and vociferous, the thunderous report of the fifty calibre round echoing across the town.
All those watching saw Wolf move first. Without question, without the slightest bit of doubt in their minds, they knew the wolf had caught the fox.
It was with the speed of a bullwhip that Fox had made his move. The shot was sudden and utterly without warning, an ambush on a mountain trail, a bolt of lightning from a clear sky. The gathered crowd collectively blinked in disbelief, awaiting the wolf's move, the move that should have put the fox in the ground. The move that never came. Paw still grasped around his weapon, Wolf O'Donnell took a single, stumbling step forward, looking up at the fox one last time before collapsing in a heap, a half inch hole blasted clean through his heart.
He was dead before he hit the ground.
Fox lowered his weapon, the pistol that had ended the life of the most notorious outlaw in New Mexico. He flicked open the cylinder and thumbed the extractor, collecting a single, spent cartridge. Inspecting the five empty chambers, he replaced the revolver in its holster and limped towards Wolf's body. Around him, the murmurs came, quietly at first, but steadily gaining in volume and joviality.
"He's dead..."
"The fox took 'im, he took 'im for real!"
"Like lightning, ain't never seen something so fast."
Fox, for his part, ignored the crowd as they gathered around Wolf's corpse. Idolatry and praise were something he'd rather avoid, not for lack of appreciation, but for the simple fact that his was a world where growing close to others was inadvisable.
The body of a certain blue-furred vixen was testament to that.
Beyond any notions of justice or righteousness, this was his job, and it was not yet done. With his good leg, he kicked Wolf's corpse onto its back. The lupine's front was slick with his blood, his face frozen in an expression half way between shock and denial. His eyes were glazed over, unblinking and still. It was all Fox needed to see.
For some, this would have been a grand occasion, worthy of boastful stories told under the influence of a dozen shots of whiskey at the nearest saloon. For Fox, however, it merely marked the end of his time in town, and the start of his journey back to Phoenix. His plans for rest and relaxation, and possibly more, had died with Krystal. Agua Fria was now just another dot on the map for him, a backwater he wouldn't see again.
Leaving the crowd to cart the body off, he limped back towards the saloon. Standing on the verandah, clasping at his wounded shoulder, was Falco. Barman and ranger simple stared at each other in silence for a good while before the bird finally spoke.
"My guess is that you'll be leaving then." he said, not really caring for the answer.
"That I will be."
Untying his horse from the water trough, Fox hauled himself painful and with a great deal of effort into the saddle. The ride would be hard, but he relished the opportunity to be alone again.
"You take care now, Fox McCloud. Can't be saying this is a parting of friend, but you've done this town a service."
Fox didn't respond. With a quick kick, the urged his horse onward, riding south.
"Heard a whole bunch of shooting, sonny, you starting a war down there?"
Fox slowed his horse to a trot as he passed the old Pepper homestead. The old dog was just where he left him, rocking back and forth on his front porch in his creaky old chair, shotgun slung across his lap.
"No sir." responded Fox. "Just taking care of that business I might have mentioned yesterday."
"Sounded like you done started a right ruckus."
"That may be so, old timer. Perhaps these here parts can't be tamed. One dead body turns into a dozen, and before the day's out, no-one's really sure who done started it, or what it was all about in the first place."
"Aw hell, I could have told you that and saved you the trouble" said Pepper, shifting in his chair. "Seems you've been through a rough patch. Heads up, young fox, your father would be right proud to see you now. Useless old geezers like us will just fade away, they'll remember you out here, mark my words."
"I'm guessing I should be thanking you for the kind words."
"Bah. Don't waste 'em, just get going."
Tipping his hat to the dog, Fox took off at a gallop. The homestead reduced to a speck in the distance as he made for the Arizona border, riding into the setting sun.
Legends are told, some truthful, others embellished with outlandish praise or unwarranted derision. In time, the names of Fox McCloud and Wolf O'Donnell would be forgotten. The shootout at the Lone Falcon would be little more than a footnote in a history book to be written in the far future. New outlaws would take the places of the old, and new lawmen would rise up to combat them.
One thing, however, would be remembered, clear as the day the shot was fire.
That an Arizona Ranger, with naught but a single round, came to the town of Agua Fria on a fine spring day. He was swift as a shadow, quicker than thought, and he crashed like rolling thunder. All that would be remembered was the inhuman speed at which the shot had rung out; not the ranger, not the outlaw, just the speed.
Oh, and the big iron on his hip.
A/N: And that's it! Just a little something, nothing special. Any comments and criticism would be greatly appreciated, I am thinking about doing some more in this style, perhaps the next one will be a really cheesy, old-school noir detective fic? Anyways, thanks for reading!