(AN: Hello Fellow readers. SirRedFox here posting a new installment of "The Good, The Bad, and The Wilde." First off, if you're reading this, YOU'RE AWESOME! And, thank you.
I try to answer questions at the end of every story. A few people have an interesting questions about the story, and I try to answer all of them as much as I can. I try to answer them at the very end of this installment. I also try to give new story followers a treat into the next installment
In the Previous Installment: Nick Wilde and bad Duke Weaselton just pulled off one of the biggest robbery. Robbing the 3:10 to Zootopia. A sum of $500,000 gold coins. Heist went off without a hitch, except when one of Weaselton's guys almost murdered a family in cold blood. They grabbed all they could and escaped. For what lies ahead, you'll have to read on.
So enjoy this new chapter of "The Good, The Bad, and The Wilde." And please, fill free to leave a review or comment. Thank you.)
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Ch. 8, Among Thieves:
"Whoa. Looks Like when they made this fella,
they forgot to put in the quit."
- The Ballad of Buster Scruggs, 2018
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The Riders rode ahead. They had set up a meeting point after robbing the train. Nick decided to be at the back of the posse. Made sure every creature kept up with the group.
Up front of the posse was Weaselton. Nick only imagined how big that grin of his was on that weasel face. Behind him were the heyna, Billy Stone, the timber wolf, Lugh, and that strange sheep with the 1860 Spencer, sharpshooter, rifle.
Behind those three, Walker riding, on Spot, with Flitch saddled behind the mountain lion. Finnick was driving his wagon and feeling squished between Hugh and Bart. Weaver hung off the back of the wagon with his strong gripping bat claws. In between the wagon and Nick riding in the back, were the riders Weaselton brought.
They rode off the beaten trail and down a grassy hill. There the whole posse came to a stop. Taking a good look around the plain was flat with fresh green grass that was tall enough to hide one's boots when wearing them. Their were a few rock settlements of different sizes and smooth at the top. They weren't too far from a trail that ran through a canyon with red dusty rocky cliffs on each side of the trial.
Weasel ton, the first to dismount his horse, the rest followed. Finnick yielded the reins on his mules having them come to a stop. Hugh and Bart jumped off from their seats. Nick dismounted Argo, took his duster off and laid it across the back of Argo's saddle. Padded the dust off his black vest and pants with his black gamblers hat.
Finnick, Flitch, and himself poured water for their horses and mules. The rest of the posse drank hefty from their canteens while the best they rode on heaved heavy breaths in the heat. Weaselton gave his horse, Storm, water once having his own fill.
"Good to know someone not just taking care of themselves," Nick spoke to Weaselton.
"I think sometimes that Storm here might be the only creature that I can be honest and true to me. Sometimes it will be just me and him on the trial together for days, who else to be my perfect companion.
"I know what you mean." Speaking on behalf of him and Argo, who trotted around in circles in the green grass.
Nick looked at the posse and found his target. He marched up to the lug Lugh. "Hey!" Nick shouted out to Lugh. Lugh looked down at Nick and puffed up his chest. "You were the one that shot that bat on the train, right?"
"Yeah. That was me, and youthat fox that bashed my nose." His nose did have a shade of black and blue, and caked with blood.
"Sorry about that, I meant to bash something else." Nick sent his pointed dark brown boot straight between the timber wolf's legs. Lugh howled in pain and clasped to his knees. He moaned as drooled from the pain. Nick unholstered his New Army revolver and made a fist with his hand. Lugh squinted his eyes in pain as he mustard to look up at Nick, only to see Nick's fist with the gun in hand. With a loud "SMACK!" Nick smashed the right side of Lugh's face with his gunned fist, sending Lugh to the ground hard.
"You nearly killed a little kit's father." With anger in his voice, standing over Lugh and pointing his fox claw at him. "And for what?! A pearl necklace?! Were you hoping it be better on you?" Lugh spat dirt and blood from his mouth. With two fingers he reached into the back of his mouth to give a hard pull to a loose tooth.
"Did you even stop to think how traumatized you made that kit, almost making him watch his father die. Or how it would leave his mother empty inside. That kit was barely eight years old and you nearly took his whole life away from him. Never to see his father again until he sees him up there standing at the gall-" Nick stopped talking. Realized he was no longer talking about some kit bat or the kit's father, but that of a certain fox.
Lugh spits a bit more blood out his mouth. Every mammal had stopped to look at Nick in his moment of outrage. Nick knew that every eye on him. He stood tall, regained his composer and walked off to one of the large rock settlement piercing up from the ground. Argo trotted and followed behind Nick. The rest of the gang watched as he walked away. From behind, Lugh shout profanity, how he swears he would kill him.
Nick climbed a top the flat boulder, with his feet dangling off the side. Argo was there for some comfort, standing right under him. Nick lowered himself off the boulder on to Argo's saddle. He petted his paw down Argo's long neck and scratched behind the horses pointed ears, which made give a satisfying whine.
Nick rumbled through Argo's saddle bag. He pulled out a book filled with sketches and bound in a thin sheet of leather from a horse and a piece of coal whittled to be held better and draw with.
He tossed them a top the boulder. The last two things he grabbed was his flask, which he took a giant gulp from. The brown liquid gave him a shutter as it burned from his throat to his gut.
Argo turned his head at Nick with his flask and gave a loud horse whine. "Don't worry, you cry baby. I made sure I left some for you later."
Nick dug back into the saddle bag, putting back the flask, and pulled out a long silver case and jumped back up on the boulder to take a squat. He put his Gambler Hat by his side and the silver case next to the hat. He opened up his sketch book and flipped through the pages. Most were designs for different holsters, saddles, and gun belts. Other sketches were of what was around him. The mammals and the surrounding land.
Flipping through the pages to a fresh sheet, thinking of what to draw before putting the charcoal pen to the paper. He's been told that his father drew sketches all the time and loved crafting pictures of metal and leather, the land, and the surrounding mammals. His mother still had some of his father's original sketching around the old house. Mostly of him and his mother. He always wonders if his father sketched while fighting in the war. If he did, Nick never found any of them. Most likely confiscated, burned, or torn.
Walker, sitting on top of Spot, riding towards him. It gave Nick that ideal image in his mind to put on paper. He put the point of charcoal pen to the paper and started sketching.
"Putting your mind to pen and paper."
"Better than what that horde of idiots are doing." He scratched the pen across the paper. "We're still in the middle of a heist, and they're getting drunk like its all over."
"Did you, or didn't you, just drunk from your flask a second ago?"
"A victory sip at most."
Nick slapped his leather binder closed and shoved the sketching back into Argo's saddle bag. He grabbed and opened up the long sliver case. The case opened up like a jewelry box. On the inside was a red velvet padding that contained a comb, a pair of scissors, and a straight razor.
Inside the top of the case was a mirror. The rectangle mirror was cracked on the left side, forming a slanted "Y" shape. When Nick looked into the mirror, the point of the crack rested over Nick's left eye. In the mirror he watches Weaselton walking up behind him.
Nick took one of the combs and ran it threw the fur on his cheeks and a top his head. Weaselton walk up the cluster of rocks. "How's your boy doing after I gave him that smack to the face." Nick packed up his silver case and put his hat back on. Weaselton only chuckled, telling Nick what makes him think he cared.
"And I told you to back off!" Finnick shouted at one of Weaselton's crew, a fat long horn bull. Finnick was unlocking the back of his wagon, when the bull thought he might climb in the back of Finnick's wagon. Finicky stopped him and shoved the bull back with the barrel of his sawed off shotgun and shouted at him.
The bull marched up to Finnick. "This might be your wagon, but that loot belongs to us and I don't like you hording it all like a greedy fox."
"Is that a stereotype? I wonder if a bull with its guts blown to bits is a stereotype?" Finnick raised his sawed off scatter gun up. Seemed to be the right time for Nick to intervene.
"Gentlemen, what seems to be the problem?"
The long horn pushed Finnick's shotgun barrel out of the way to confront Nick. "The problem is, your little fox friend is hoarding our loot in his wagon. First the loot from the train cart, and now he's going to lock up the money from the passengers."
"Of course. Finnick's wagon is just as secure with the loot as any bank vault, maybe even more so."
The fat bull looks in disbelief. "You know I'm tired of you having final say over things. Who the hell put you in charge?"
"Well no one. We live in a state of democracy, so let's take a vote on who should make serious decision. Are there any nominees?"
"I vote for Nick," came Finnick's voice. He had his shotgun across his arms and struck a match to light his fat cigar.
"I second that," came Walker.
"I accept. Do you have anyone to nominate you, Mr. Longhorns. Sorry, I don't know your name. I was going to call you fat bull, but I try to be respectful." Nick hears the chuckles of Weaselton behind him, still sitting on the massive boulder.
"Yeah, I got someone to nominate me, and he's right here." The fat bull slapped his holster, carrying his six iron, that rested on the right side of his hip.
Nick got the hint what the fat bull was gesturing. Nick slid his left boot backward, making his body harder to hit, and lowered his arm to the side of his Army Colt. The fat bull lowered his arm as well. Nick gave a lit tap with the palm of his fox finger, to the handle of his Army Colt, waiting for the fat bull to make his move. "Well by all means, go ahead and let your gun nominate you and eliminate the competition."
They locked eyes with one another, each waiting for the other to make their move. Nick notices the sweat run down the bull's face, just as could feel the sweat run down his own face.
The fat bull tried to make a quick draw to his gun. Nick made a quick draw to his Army Colt and drew it out of the holster. He aimed at his target, made a rapid move pulling back the hammer, and fired. The revolver spat fire and smoke. Before the fat bull pulled his revolver out of his holster, Nick's Army Colt blasted his thumb right off.
The loud "CRACKLE!" of Nick's gun echoed out, then came the screams of the bull. He lifted up his hand that was now red with blood and missing a thumb.
"Ah, shit. Sorry about that. My aiming was a bit off. Rush of adrenaline and all, makes me a little hot headed and can miss an inch or two." The bull tried as fast as he can with his bloody hand. The slick blood made the handle slip from his hand. "What I meant to do was this..." Nick, as quick as he was, pulled the peacemaker from his left holster just as fast and fired. The gun "CRACKLED!" and the bullet collided with the handgrip on the fat bull's revolver. It flew out of the holster and bounced on the ground, broken. The whole posse hollered with laughter at how clumsy the bull was being.
"Well, the backer for you being nominated is, well... broken. So, how about we get back to the matter in hand. Finnick, why don't you open the door to your wagon and secure the loot?"
"Whatever ya say, Nicky" said Finnick.
Nick holstered both the peacemaker and Army Colt. He turned back around and went to go sit back on the boulder he was on previous. Walker praised his shooting . Nick waved it off as if his shooting was nothing to make a big deal out of and sat back down. Again, squatting between Flitch and Weaselton.
Weaselton seemed distracted. Watched over at the posse he had brought with him. Flitch ran over, shuffling in his jacket. He praised in amazement at Nick's shooting. Nick couldn't help but laugh and shake his head at how excited the kit was. He asked if the fat bull's hand had finally stopped bleeding?
"It finally stopped bleeding, but I'm sure feel the pain for quit awhile. I have to tell you Mr. Wilde that you've given me a chance at all of this."
"Nothing at all, kit. Suppose you'll be want'n to head off your own way once you get your share of the cut?"
"Oh no Sir. I hope to stick around and learn everything you know. Heck, play my cards right, I could be as fast as you." Flitch, gave a hearty laugh.
The Loud "CRACKLE!" sound echoed out and a quarter size bullet pierced Flitch in the center of the chest, killing him in an instant. Nick and Walker turn to know who it was that fired. At a distance Nick, the odd sheep with the long rifle pointing the barrel in their direction.
Nick turned back to Walker where the shadow of some mammal pointing a revolver cast over him and fired two shots into Walker's chest. Blood splattered out from Walker's chest and sprayed on to Nick. He lied back on top of Spot, dead. Spot reared his front hooves in anger before turning and galloping down the canyon path as fast as he can.
Nick grabbed his New Army revolver and pulled it halfway out of the holster when he felt the cold steel barrel of Weaselton's Remington pistol. "Don't even think about it Nicky. You're not fast enough."
Weaselton cocked back the hammer on his gun. Nick faced the facts, that he's not fast enough, not today at least. Nick slides his New Army back into the holster.
Nick watched as Weaselton's men open fire on Bart, Weaver, Hugh. Bart didn't even have time to react he was the first to go down. Weaver who was shot down by three different mammals, but was able to get off one shot at Weaselton's men . Hugh was the next to go, took five different mammals to take him down, with his shotgun and Bowie knife in hand. The firing stopped, leaving his whole crew dead, all except Finnick in his wagon
Finnich quickly tried to close the door to his wagon. The fat belly bull stuck his good hand inside the wagon to keep the door from closing. Finnich with all his might tried his hardest to get the door to close, while the long-horned bull rammed himself into the door to bust it open. There came a loud cry as the bull retracted his hand from the doorway. Finnick slams the door and locks the door from inside. From inside he bolted the door with three locks that he had helping keep the door nicely shut.
The fat long horn bull stumbles while he cradled his right hand. When he lifts it up so the damage can be seen. Stabbed deep into his left hand was a fork. The bull continued to howler and cry. Nick laughed at his karma served.
"Looks like Finnick has become a real prick to your solider over there." Nick chuckled and shook his head. "So thieves among thieves."
"Not exactly." Nick looked up at him. Weaselton flipped open his jacket, revealing a badge with "RANGER" imprinted on the silver badge. Nick turned back to the posse Weaselton had brought with him. The pack was reloading their weapons or pulling out blue scarfs with badges pinned to them.
"I don't understand."
"What does it matter Nicky? You won't be alive long enough to care." Weaselton jabbed the back of Nick's head with his revolver's barrel. "Tell that pointy earned bastard to open the door to his wagon. Now!"
"And why would I do that?" Nick with heavy sarcasm. "Is their something special in the wagon you want, oh-" Nick said. "That's right. There's $500,000 dollars locked in there. Oh well, shit luck for you."
Nick watched as the fat long horn bull yells out a loud moan when pulling the fork from his hand. He grabs an ax, mumbling angry words of profanity, and struts to the door of Finnick's wagon.
He swung the ax as best he could and impales it into the door. He swings the ax again, this time having a strip of wood rip from the door. The bull cursed at Finnich inside, promising to chop him up into tiny little pieces.
The bull stands back, getting ready to make another heavy swing with the ax. He charges the door, when the little slot in the door opens up and two loaded barrels poke out. A blast of fire comes from both barrels. The bull takes both blast to the chest, sending him flying backward, dead.
"Well, I guess a bull with his guts blown out is a stereotype. How about that." Finnick yelled out the slot in his door.
"Tell me him to open up that door, or we rip the whole wagon apart."
"I'm curious," Nick to Weaselton. "Why haven't you shot me dead yet?"
Weaselton laughed. "Because, Lugh, that timber wolf you slugged, asked if he can have the honor of tearing each limb from your body, one by one."
"Wow. I didn't think you would ever have the capacity to share." Nick reaches over to his chest pocket. Seeing this, Weaselton jabs him with the barrel of his gun. Nick takes the hint and moves his hands slowly to pull a slim hand rolled cigar out of his chest pocket. Nick holds up the cigar to show Weaselton the thin cigar in one hand and a match to lit it with, in the other. "So," Nick, ran the slim cigar through his wet lips. "You and your posse of dimwits is going to ride off hoping that Mr. Big never catches on, how you stole from him."
"You got it all wrong, Nicky" Weaselton said. "Were not stealing anything." Weaselton opened his coat again for Nick to notice the "RANGER" badge pinned to his vest and tapped it with the barrel of his gun. "See me and my fellows just happened to come across the very same mammals that robbed the 3:10 to Zootopia." Weaselton smiled and made his cheeks curl, like the ends of his mustache. "Once we had you surrounded," Weaselton continues with his story. "We hopped that you all would surrender peacefully, but instead forced us into a shoot out were, sadly, none of you make it out alive."
Nick felt as if his whole body shuttered with a cold chill. There has to be a way out of this. His eyes darted back and forth in search of something, anything, to put him in favor of getting his sorry ass out alive.
Nick put the slim cigar between his lips and reached down to strike the match on his boot. Looking down, Nick saw the stick of dynamite he had shoved into his boot earlier, with the fuse leading of his boot. Now thinking about it, there was a lot more dynamite strapped to Argo's saddle. Nick struck the match and lit the tip of his slim cigar.
"Well. You got us beat, so I'll try my best to talk Finnick into opening up, but he really doesn't like other mammals trying to get into his wagon. He might retaliate in a huge messy way."
Nick scotched around so Weaselton was on his right and that Argo was on his left. Close enough to run and jump on his back. He puffed on his cigar making the tip glow red. From his mouth he blew a thick white smoke, and cleared his throat out loud.
"Hey Finnick!" Nick called out, hopping his friend could hear him. "Right now, Weaselton got his pea-shooter pointing at me ready to fire! They said they are going to rip your wagon apart to kill you, but the've asked me if I would talk you down into coming out, so it be easier to kill ya! So, what do ya say..."
There was a pause for silence waiting for Finnick to answer from his wagon. The little slide view window opened up and once again two barrels poked out and blasted in direction. One mammal fell to the ground screaming bloody murder. It appeared that Finnick was able to clip the side of some mammals left side. The mammal screamed and cursed at the fox pinned in his little wagon.
They all looked up at Weaselton, who simply gave a single nod. The whole posse group surrounded the wagon and took aim with whatever fire arm they had. Most caring a rifle or a scatter gun.
Weaselton shouted to his men to fire. Every mammal opened fired, piercing bullet holes into the wagon, and having strips of wood be blow'n off. Surprisingly, the mules attached to the wagon were too stubborn to move or even react to the gun fire. The posse of mammals never let up. Some would fire, reload, and fire again. One mammal, once out of rifle shells tossed the weapon down and pulled two matching Remington pistols out of their holsters and continued firing.
While all was distracted, Nick leaned down and grabbed the stick of dynamite from his boot. Had to be ready when he saw his chance to take.
The firing eased to a stop. Finnick's wagon had strips of wood ripped out of it, and covered mostly in bullet holes. They all try to lean closer in, wanting to make sure they didn't hear the scurrying of some risky fox. Weaselton cupped his free hand to shout. "Grab the hooks. Two on each side of the wagon."
Six of the mammals, with iron hooks and chains attached, inched closer and closer to the wagon, afraid Finnick my still be alive and wanting to shoot something or someone. The mammals stab the hooks into the walls of the wagon.
After a quick check, making sure they were secure, they retreated as fast as they could. They tied the chains to a few of the horses saddles. With a hard slap to the horse's rear, they galloped off causing the hooks to rip apart each wall of Finnick's wagon, leaving only a cloud of dust in its wake.
Every mammal inched closer and closer. Nick had a tight grip on the stick of dynamite, still smoking his slim cigar to look calm.
From the center of where the wagon stood, came a blast of fire and spitting lead bullets from left to right in a 180 degree fashion. A gust of wind cleared away the dust from Finnich's wagon. There, standing there, operating behind a Slim Colt Gatlin Gun that was mounted to the center of his wagon, was Finnich.
He turned the Gatlin Gun's crank as fast as he could. Moved the weapon from right to left, and left to right. The mammals didn't know what hit them. The bullets the Gatlin Gun sprayed out, ripped into them and cut them in half.
Weaselton had a surprised look on his face while his posse gang was being massacred. Nick knew about Finnick's secret weapon and smiled. Now they know what was under that tarp in Finnick's wagon.
Nick gave one last puff from his cigar making the tip burn red. He removed it from his lips and lowered it to the dynamites fuse, where a simple touch made it spark. Weaselton turned his Remington revolver towards Finnick and his contraption.
"Hey Angle-eyes." The moment Weaselton looked down, Nick flicked the burning cigar right into Weaselton's face. Blinded, this was Nick's chance. He got up and tossed the lit fuse of dynamite at Weaselton. "That's something I've been meaning to give you." Weasel got the dynamite in his hands.
When realizing that he what he held was a lit stick of dynamite, Weaselton cursed out loud for all to hear and tossed the stick of dynamite straight up in the air. Midair, the dynamite exploded with a loud "BOOM!"
The explosion shook a few of the horses. It even got those two stubborn mules to get moving. Finnick was running out of ammo, fast. Nick jumped onto the back of Argo and had him gallop as fast as he could. Once Finnick fired his last bullet, he ran and crawled to the front of the wagon to take the reins hooked up to the two mules. Nick and Finnick race down the rocky canyon terrain in hopes of escape.
Nick was able to take a look back at Weaselton and his men. Finnick did a number to the amount of Rangers Weaselton started with. What was once thirteen rangers, now was only six.
Riding, as fast as they can down the rocky trail, Nick and Finnick rode side by side. They loud crackle of gun fire behind them as the sound of bullets zipped past them. The six remaining rangers were too far back to get a good shot at the two canine foxes. Nick knew what he had to do, and he didn't like it.
"Finicky!" Nick yelled out to be heard over the galloping horses and the gun fire behind them. "Toss me as much of the loot that I can carry. I can lead them away and you get the rest of the loot somewhere safe."
Finicky didn't cry back that he understood. He nodded his head and wrapped the mule's reins a wooden arm post on the wagon. He scurried to the back of his demolished wagon to where the bags of loot. There were seven bags of loot, six containing the $500,000 pieces of gold and one carrying the lot of billfolds stolen from the passengers of the 3:10 to Zootopia.
Finicky picks up one of the burlap sacks and tossed it over. Nick reached out and was ready to grab what ever sack Finnick would throw at him. The first two sacks that Finnick threw felt light and was easy to catch. Nick made quick knots, tying the burlap sacks to Argo's saddle, one on each side.
The third bag Finicky threw was heavier than the rest. Nick was able to catch the bag, but being so heavy the bag almost pulled him off of Argo's saddle. With all his strength, Nick pulled himself and the bag of loot up and tied the sack to the saddle. Nick waved his hand at Finnick as to say 'no more.'
From behind, Weaselton and his rotten crocked Rangers were catching up and still wildly firing to hit their targets, him or Finnick. Up ahead was a hard turn up in the trail. This might have been his best chance to get Finnick out to escape with the majority of the loot. "Up ahead!" Nick yelled out to Finnick. "You keep going! I'm going to try to slow them down and hopefully they'll try to come after me!" Nick yelled. Finicky did not have to yell back. He understood Nick's plan and nodded his head, then scurried back up to the front of the wagon.
Rounding the corner, Nick got to a safe distance and brought Argo to a halt. Finnick carried on down the rocky terrain, each side encased in a rocky cliff side. Nick pulled out his New Army and Peacemaker out from their holsters. He had Argo stand still, while he aimed. In the distance was the roaring thunder of horse hoofs, growing louder by the second. Nick took a deep breath and constantraitied on keeping his hands steady.
The second the first Ranger turned the corner, Nick open fired with his Peacemaker. He saw a blast of dirt and blood pop in the center of the rider's chest. He rolled off his horse and hit the ground, dead. The horse panicked and kicked up hits front hooves, forcing the other riders to come to a halt. Nick fired his New Army. He did not know exactly what he was aiming for? The whole point was to buy Finnick time to escape and force the Rangers to follow him instead.
Nick continued firing, keeping the rangers at bay. His Army Colt empty, Nick shoved the gun back into his father's holster.
He still had the bag of dynamite. There were only a few sticks left. Nick grabbed one of the sticks and threw it toward Weaselton and his rangers. With careful aim, Nick fired his Peacemaker and pierced the dynamite while it was still airborne. The stick of dynamite erupted into a loud blast of fire and smoke. This was Nick's chance, while they were all disoriented, he kicked Argo into high gear and raced as fast the mustang could.
The rode down the trail. No sign of Finnick, hopefully meaning he got away. The loud posse was right behind him gaining speed. Up a head, down a long stretch of the trail, Nick noticed a fork in the road leading left or right. Nick thought it over. 'If Finnich was smart he would have taken the passage on the right and head back to Zootopia. So the left trail is where he wanted to make them think they went.'
Looking down into the bag of dynamite and grabbed one that had a five-second fuse. He struck a match on Argo's saddle. Lighting the fuse put a smile on Nick's face, even more so when he dropped the lit dynamite back into the bag. Nick swung his arms around and around with the green bag in his hand. When he finally let go, the bag filled with dynamite flew up in the air, hitting the rocky cliff side. The bag stumbled down until the strap hit a rocky grove and was caught. Nick turned tail and galloped off
Nick continued to count down the timer on the fuse. "6... 5... 4... 3... 2..." From behind came the loudest explosion Nick has ever heard. The dynamite worked! The explosion caused the rocky cliff to break apart and block both right and left trails. The dust and smoke in the air was thick.
Oh, how he wished he could have seen Weselton give a flustering frown. Sadly there was no time for that. Nick gave Argo a soft kick to head off. Every other second Nick would glance behind him to make sure none of Weaselton's rangers were back on this trail. He saw a few of the Rangers trying to climb the rock slide. Weasel ton and awhite figure climbing over the blocked trail.
It was no worry. Without a horse, there was no way they would be able to catch up. Nick sat up straight, feeling he could finally catch his breath.
From out of nowhere, something hot, small and with sharp teeth bit him right on the back. Then he heard the "crackle" echo of a rifle. It hurt and felt like he was on fire. 'A bullet,' Nick thought. A bullet was what pierced his back. They finally got a good shot on Nick Wilde.
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(AN: Thank you for reading, and Thank you for reading this. Again, YOU'RE AWESOME! I hope you enjoyed this new installment. Leaving you to wonder if everything is going to be alright with Nick, while Weaselton is on his tail. Well, It's going to be awhile till the next chapter, but all will be answered.
I always like to try and incorporate true Western folk lore and tail into this story. The story of a bullet ricochets off the hid off an armadillo is based on a true story. I use a lot of mix mashed names of true western legends. Billy Stone is the name of two dimwitted outlaws. Once again, Nick plays up the Butch Cassidy role. Finnich does a little bit of the Sundance Kid in this chapter. To the commenter named Wolf, they did have trenches during the civil war, but they were more like big mud pits to hide in or behind. I know this because I help build one and had to act in one of these pits.
As I said before, please leave a commit on how you'd rather have future chapters come out. Thank you!
- Sir_RedFox)