Some words from the author: Apparently, I've been bothered by a song, and somehow an idea came to me, and therefore I started writing. Here it is. As always, I'm looking forward to criticism, reviews, and comments!
Disclaimer: I do not own the song, or Zootopia or any of its contents as they rightfully belong to their owner, and I do not claim ownership to any other copyrighted contents that were used anywhere in this story. I only claim ownership to my own OCs.
RATED M
The morning sun poured its unrelenting heat down on the barren desert of the Old States as the wave of scorching hot wind rushed through the bush of prickly cactus near wooden staircase of Jonathan's Golden Times Tavern. Sitting on the third step of the stairs was a hazel-fur mammal, and in-between his set of fangs was a lit cigar that was already almost halfway through. The cougar breathed out a hazy cloud of scented smoke from his maw as he straightened his back and turned his body from one side to another in a sluggish manner. Being an owner of a bar that runs almost all night every night was already exhausting enough, not to mention the drunk bastards who would ramble about breaking the furniture and raiding the alcohol crates. The Jimstone brothers were always the ones to stir up troubles in the room, whether that be throwing insults at other patrons, or throwing drinks across the room. Sometimes, but rarely, guns would be drawn and cocked.
Jonathan himself was getting too old for those kinds of thing. He had considered hiring some muscles to keep the place in order, but then the daily cost would be quite an impact to the tavern's profit. Mr. Hayes from the grocery store across the street offered to lend the fifty-four-year-old mammal a hand; He said that his two sons were doing nothing other than causing troubles for others and thought that sending both of them over to the bar to help out would at least cease the mayhem. So far, the barkeep was still alive, and bullet holes hadn't riddled the roof yet.
Jonathan squinted his eyes as another gush of desert wind came through. The brown pair of lazy iris followed a tumbleweed as the dry, dead bush happily skipped its way down the sandy main road of Pueblo. He stopped tracking the tumbleweed, however, as soon as his eyes caught something else in his field of view. Something out of the ordinary of Pueblo, something that didn't belong to the town that situated in the middle of nowhere.
Mrs. Hernandez stopped in her task of squeezing the last few drops of water out of her husband's shirt and diverted the desert fox's full attention to the oncoming stranger from the south side of town. From a distance, she was able to make out the basic form and shape of the approaching mammal and came to the conclusion that the stranger was a fox; but he wasn't one of the kinds that she had spotted in the surrounding regions, judging by a glimpse of the fiery orange coat of fur shown on his neck and arms. The rest of his features were shrouded by a brown poncho that hung from his shoulders and covered most of his body, accompanied by a brown, classic cowboy hat that hid part of his countenance and made the eyes a treasure to seek.
Mrs. Hernandez observed silently as the red fox strolled into the little town with his head kept straight, and his boots steadily thumped on the road. One of his hand was holding the hat down so the wind wouldn't blow it flying away. The desert fox resumed her task and sunk the shirt deep into the bucket of water before pulling it back up and twisted it with all of her strength. She repeated this motion until the crimson stain on the shirt had been partially washed off into the water, revealing a better look at the holes on the piece of white garment. That was the last time she ever had to go through the hassle of cleaning the shirt as there were no one else that could fit in it. At least, she would never have to experience this again.
The widowed fox couldn't help but perked her ears up and listened to the stranger, who had by then stopped in front of the local tavern and turned his head from side to side cautiously. Once again, she paused her work and stole a glance at the mammal in the distant, only to find that he was staring straight in her direction. Reacting naturally, she looked away and returned to the task at hand, not actually knowing whether the red fox was looking at her, or the church behind her. Maybe the cemetery, or the sheriff's office. Whatever it was, the desert fox kept on working for a short while before glancing up once more from the bucket of water, curious for another look at the stranger, but he had disappeared behind the door of Jonathan's bar.
Alejandro darted his eye up from the bar counter at the sound of the entrance doors creaking. A riddled brow rose as he watched the small stranger standing at the entrance with his head held low. The bar immediately ceased their shenanigans and lousy arguments into private whispers at the sight of a foreigner. The mysterious aura from the stranger was mostly responsible for the sudden change in atmosphere, but the rest came from the glimpse of a silver gun barrel on the right hip of the red fox - the only part where the brown poncho couldn't fully cover.
"Looks like one of them goons," whispered one of the patrons to another.
"You see that thing? That ain't no ordinary pistol." Another said in a quiet tone.
"Might be a sheriff." Came from another mammal. "Come to replace the one that died yesterday, I think."
While the whispers went on, nobody in the room raised his or her voice at the red fox. Not a single question came out of anyone's mouth as they silently watched the mammal approached the bar step-by-step. The conversations resumed as soon as the stranger took his seat on one of the wooden stool, but the voices were at a much lower level than they were before.
The bull tending the bar felt an unusual tense sensation in his muscles as he watched the fox climbed onto the wooden seat and settle down with both of his hand on the bar surface. Then, a strange swell in his throat prevented him from making any sound as he stood there with an empty glass in his hand.
"A whiskey, please." The stranger made the first move before the barkeep could open his mouth for a greeting.
Without a reply, the bull turned to the rack of alcohol behind him to grab the bottle of requested beverage. There was a sense of hesitation when he turned his back on the fox, and he wasn't able to comprehend the reason behind it. Maybe he was just cautious when he caught a glimpse of the revolver on the stranger's hip. Or perhaps it was the fear that the moment he has his back on the mysterious mammal, the fox would draw his gun and put a bullet in his head. While Alejandro was a massive mammal with the attributes of a fighter, he wasn't much of someone who would be throwing punches and shooting shotguns. The bull was more of a pacifist who wouldn't want to hurt a fly, let alone a fully-grown mammal. In fact, he thought that it was a miracle that he'd survived this long in the wild west; in a town in the middle of a desert that less than no one cared to stop by.
"Thanks." The fox muttered as the glass of alcohol was placed before him.
He picked up the drink in his hand and gazed at it for a while. His nose wrinkled a few times as his hands lightly stirred the content in an anti-clockwise motion, and then did it again in the opposite direction before bringing the glass to his maw and finished the drink in a gulp.
Satisfied, the red fox set the glass down in a gentle manner and proceeded to sit there without saying anything further. As guesses came and went, the fox remained in his seat and was the subject of many curious eyes and low whispers. He didn't order a second drink, either, and quietly sat at the bar with his head held low and his sights lower.
Alejandro, having finally mustered up enough courage to approach the stranger again, held the same bottle of whiskey that he had before and stood in front of the fox. To him, it looked like the mammal was dozing off, so he hesitated for a moment before deciding to ask anyway.
"Care for another glass?"
Contradict to his belief, the fox was still fully awake as he responded with a sober tone: "No, thank you."
"Gotcha'" The bull complied and turned around to put the bottle away, but stopped mid-way as the fox spoke up.
"I'm looking for someone."
The bull turned his body toward the voice, and for a short moment, he felt his heart skipped a beat, and his muscles completely cramped up when the fox reach down at his revolver. He thought someone had sent a bounty hunter after him and that he was going to die, despite knowing that he had done nothing wrong to anyone over the past few days, or months, even. However, a subtle sigh of relief escaped as he noticed the stranger reached past the weapon. Seconds later, a sheet of paper was unfolded and laid out on the bar counter. On the paper was a rough sketch of a mammal's headshot drawn in black ink, and below it was a set of number with many zeros in it. On top of the sketch was the word "wanted" printed so large that even a giraffe could read it if the paper was set at its feet.
Alejandro cocked his head to one side and put a frown on his face as he tried to recognize the mammal described on the poster. A minute passed before the larger mammal made a sound that resulted in the red fox raising a riddled brow, though the bull couldn't see it as the cowboy hat was covering part of his face.
"I might have-" The bull paused for a moment as he reexamined the image. 'I... I'm not sure. I might have seen him here once."
"He goes by many names: Danny Dukin', Cashin' John, Martin Robbie, or Red Texas." The fox went on to list all known alias of the fugitive, in case if any of the names ring any bells.
"No, never heard of any of those." The bull shook his head as he looked up from the sketch. He vividly remembered a coyote that came to the bar once, but his name never came up in any of the conversations that he had with the local patrons.
"This coyote is wanted for numerous murder of civilians and sheriffs," The fox explained as he reached a hand underneath the poncho before pulling a badge out and set it on top of the poster, "I'm on a hunt to track down this fugitive and put an end to his menace. Dead or alive."
By then, some of the mammals in the bar had noticed the poster and the shiny gold star on top of the bar counter, and more chattering about the stranger erupted from one end of the room to another. Having known that the stranger was actually a Ranger, most mammal in the room eased up their nerves and returned to their casual routines. All except for one mammal who had been keeping watchful eyes on the red fox ever since he came walking in, and when the poster and the badge appeared, he quietly stood up from his game of poker and snuck out of the tavern.
By the time it was noon, the Ranger was still settled in the same seat at the same bar while the herd of mammals inside had begun to thin out, leaving a few patrons left. The fox didn't say anything much aside from ordering drinks and then took forever to finish said drinks. He wasn't in a rush, though, so time wasn't much of a problem for the fox. He could sit there at the bar for the rest of the day if he wanted, and maybe stay the night before moving on at dawn of the next morning. He had all of the time in the world.
As the Ranger brought the glass of whiskey to his mouth, a single loud boom rang in the distance from outside. His ears twitched at the sound of people clamoring and running to their houses or whatever shelter they could find to protect themselves.
"Ranger! Come out, come out!" A deep, gravelly voice pierced the sound of chaos as another shot was fired.
The Ranger set his cup of alcohol down and sucked in a large breath before haling it out steadily. He grabbed the badge from the counter before hopping off the wooden stool and strolled toward the exit, leaving the poster behind.
The Ranger made a small huffed at the ominousness in the air as he stepped outside and onto the sand-covered road of Pueblo. After a slow right turn, the red fox was then facing a mammal about forty or thirty feet down the road, who he recognized instantly without a doubt. The red fox pushed his hat up a bit as he stared down at the notorious criminal, who had just holstered his revolver and was spotting a malevolent grin on his canine face.
"Heard you're looking for me." Came shouting from the criminal. "Ready for a rematch?"
The Ranger gave no reply as he swiftly flicked the poncho over one of his shoulders, revealing the teal blue shirt underneath and a gave everyone who was watching from the windows a full view of the silver gun holstered on his right hip, and along with that was another badge hanging on the other hip. The badge on his hip was very much distinguishable from the one that the red fox had just pinned on his shirt near his heart; the crooked star hanging on his belt was missing one of its triangles, leaving a jagged edge in place of where one of the sides was, and a faint, yet noticeable smear of crimson tainted the shiny coat of gold that the badge possessed. The crooked badge wasn't his.
A strong wind current traveled by and knocked the Ranger's hat off his head, finally exposing his handsome, gentlemammal appearance to the people of Pueblo. His emerald eyes kept straight ahead as they vigilantly observed every single movement from the coyote. His ears entirely perked up and listened to every audible sound: the random rattling from one of the establishments, the whistling hot wind, the vultures circling in the sky as they patiently waited with their signature caws. He could hear the deadly silence of the town settlers coming from somewhere in the town. Nobody dared to make a sound as they anxiously watched the two mammals from behind their safe cover. Everyone rooted and feared for one of the mammals for they knew he was about to meet certain death just like every sheriffs and bounty hunters who had come after the menace.
"Guess I'll send you off to your partner, then." The coyote snickered after a long wait that felt like an hour long and brought his hand down to his gun. He was confident that the Ranger would be a neat addition to the notches on his pistol.
Until the first shot rang through the ghost town.
The cocky grin on the coyote's face slowly morphed into a look of anguish and surprise as his knees failed him one by one until his lifeless body slumped over on the sandy road which was quickly painted with the blood that poured out of the outlaw's heart. The coyote never had the chance to pulled his pistol out.
Nicholas watched as the coyote's body slammed on to the road and lied there motionless before holstering his own pistol. The job was done. The criminal has met his demise under the swift barrel of justice, and he had got what he wanted. While it was a victory for the sheriff department and the town, the fox simply saw it as a repayment for his own loss. But even then, with the killer of his partner dead, he knew that she wouldn't come back, and there was nothing he could do about it.
When it was all done, the town folks came out of their hiding places and began to flood the main road and formed a circle around the body of the coyote as they all wanted to take a look at the outlaw. Some were amazed and started praising the excellent work of the Ranger, others were confused about what just happened, but rejoiced nevertheless. But as they turned to honor the mysterious Ranger, he was already gone far in the distance.
Yes, you might have figured out by now that this one-shot is heavily inspired by Marty Robbins/Johnny Cash's "Big Iron." If you haven't listened to this awesome piece of music yet, I highly recommend that you go and give it a try.