(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.
In the Previous Installment: The Hopps family has Stu on bed rest and is in terrible shape. Only to to make things worse, Wilson Banking Co. stops by demanding that the farm and land is now his proprietary. Thankfully, Bonnie was able to scare off Warren, for now. Also, a train carrying a fortune heading to Zootopia is on its way. In fact, Judy can hear the train blow its whistle out in the distance.
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, 7, The Great Train Robbery:
"I'm so damned fast I can wake up at the crack of dawn,
rob two banks, a train and a stage coach,
shoot the tail feathers off a ducks's ass 300 feet,
and still be back in bed before you wake up next to me."
- The Quick and the Dead
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A small wooden travel wagon, sat in the middle of a closed cannon, like a black dot on a target. One of those wagon types that only hold one rider, possibly two, having a curved wooden roof, with a wooden door in the backshut tight by three different iron key locks. And a small wooden door on the front of the wagon, also locked, big enough for a small mammal to crawl through. The type of wagons traveling sales-mammals would use to sell their snake oils and over priced trinkets.
The wagon once had the painting of a red and green out layer on the wood. But now the paint had faded and chipped away from the sun and its usage. Hitched to the front of the wagon where two long legged mules. The two mules shook their heads and swatted their tails to keep the flys off.
On the back of the wagon were two full size Stallions tied to each side of the wagon. One, black with white spots approberly named 'Spot,' and the other named Argo, a solid brown mustang with white stripes running down the front of the horse's face, belonging to a certain wild fox. Both were saddled and hitched with some gear.
Flitch, an armadillo, the new mammal in the current group of five and in charge of the menial task. Task that might as well be called chore work. Cleaning up their campsite, feeding horses, and putting out the fire. He stomped out the remains of the their fire from last night with the heel of his boot. Stomping on the smoldering embers on the ground, spreading the ashes as if there never a fire in the first place.
He wore an oversized dirt brown duster that crinkled at the wrist and engulf his whole body. His gun belt, light brown with cracks in the leather, and on top of his head was a straw hat with the sides curved upward.
Looking up at the wagon, he saw the polar bear sat on the wagon's bench. The polar bear, named Hugh, who wore black overalls and looked like he had almost shaven himself bald just to withstand the heat. With a rag in hand, he ran it across his face, the back of his neck, his chest, both arms, and under his pits. He had built up so much sweat that he would lean over the side and have wrung out the collection of sweat he had built up. All while cursing and muttering at how hot the sun had made the land.
As comfortable as the polar bear could be, sitting on that wagon bench, with a growl on his face, the wagon did not belong to him. The wagon and the two mules hitched to the wagon belonged to a short pointy-eared fox named Finnick. Flitch had the displeasure of meeting the little fox, who always seemed angry as he slung his sawed-off double barrel scatter gun. His wagon, he would demand out loud. No one but him could go inside. Flitch much rathered the company of Finnick's best friend named Nick. Who some-mammal like Nick could stand the company of Finnick was beyond him.
To the right of the wagon, sitting on a smooth flat boulder, was a bat named Weaver, who was occupied crushing some kind of green mud into a mortar and drenched tightly wound straw bulbs into the green mud. Usually, when lit, the straw bulbs would burn black or of heavy smoke, good for distractions and trying to get away, but Weaver's special concoction gave the straw bulbs a different kind of power, one to knock out an army.
He used his leather wings as protection from the sun. The beard and mustache hairs on his face were white and silken, and gently blew with the breeze. He wore a brown vest and gun belt to match. His thick brown bowlo hat was tipped down to cover his eyes, and, finnaly, he wore a pair of brown spectcals with very heavy dark lens to shield him from the sun.
Standing in the bushes, hoping for privacy as he vacated out whatever cactus juice, water, and whiskey they had left last night, out of his body was Bart. He was a tall white dingo wearing brown pants and a thin white cotton button up shirt. To finish off, he wore a red bandanna around his neck and a dark brown gun belt hung low on his right side. Done relieving himself in the bushes he buttoned up his pants and looked up at the large step rocky hill side.
"Hey Walker!" Bart shouted up at the top of the hillside. "You see anything yet?"
At the very top of the rocky hill was a mountain lion, lying flat on a boulder, named Walker. He wore a black duster covered in dirt and a a well worn brisa black hat. Poking out from under his hat was his spyglass which he had his eye pressed up to the lens. Taking his eyes off the lens he clapses the spyglass and pockets it inside his jacket. He stood up and looked down at Bart and the rest of the gang. "Yeah!" Walker shouted back down. "Just now able to see the head of the engine as it spewing black smoke from the chimney. I'd say, we got no more than fifteen minutes to leave here and get in place for the signal."
"Well everything clear down here. You're the only one with a horse, and if you don't ride her either me or Weaver will gladly take your place, then it all be set."
"Good." Walker started his descent downward to the campground, long jumping from one boulder to the next.
"Why can't I ever get a horse to ride?" Hugh huffed. "I want a horse. Be better than riding on this damn wagon all the time."
Bart laughed at Hugh's whining. "You? I would love to find the horse that you can ride on without breaking the poor thing's back." Weaver and Flitch couldn't help holler and giggle at Bart's comments. "The only horse I can imagine you riding is the one from those talltales we tell to kits. You know, the one that was born during the coldest winter turning the stallion blue and as large as a small mountain. I think even that horse would have trouble carrying your fat ass." All mammals except for Hugh bursted with laughter.
An angery Hugh pulled a Bowie knife from his belt and pointed the sharp blade at Bart. "You forget, You're riding with me during this heist and I'll have no problem pushing you off the wagon or sticking this in your gut. He stabbed the knife into the small wooden door behind him. Hugh wiped the sweat from face with his rag and examined the wooden wagon he was sitting on. "What the hell do you think that little pointy eared bastard has in here anyway?"
"Ha!" Bart laughed and gave a big smile. "Your asking the wrong mammal. He don't let any body in there, hence all the locks he has keeping that door shut."
"What's inside ain't important," Weaver said. He looked up from his work on the straw bulbs for the three mammals, but not enough for the sun to pierce. "What's in there ain't important. What is important is what we'll be putting in there. That is considering if we pull this off."
"I'm a little concerned if these mules can keep up with Argo and Spot?"
"No need to worry. You'd be surprised just how fast these mules can run."
Walker was nearing the bottom of the rocky hill. He wanted to mind his step as he slid down and jumped from one boulder to another. He takes a second to catch his breath and wipe the sweat from his brow. He takes off and flaps his hat in front of his face to extinguish the sun's heat.
A small dust cloud off in the distance catches his eye. It put a worried look on his face. He scrambled over to the farthest boulder on the rocky hill, Hoping not fall off and break his own damn neck. Walker dug into his pockets for his spyglass. He had to know, if what he was seeing was true, and for once he hoped he was wrong. The spyglass out and Walker's eye to the lens, he saw what it was, and it was exactly as he feared.
"Riders!" Walker shouted down at his mates. "Riders, coming straight this way!" Bart and Flitch start shouting out questions in a panic. How many riders? Is it the law? How long before they get here? "I count about fourteen, maybe fifteen, riders, approaching this way." He slid down the rocky hill only a few feet and crouched down low behind three boulders to hide himself. "You boys know what to. Bart, toss me the Carbine."
Against a smooth boulder leaned what was known as a Remington "Cattleman's Carbine" rifle. The Carbine could be a good sharp shooters weapon. The center piece of the Carbine looked like a regular .44 caliber navy revolver, but with the butt and barrel of a rifle. Bart grabbed the Carbine and tossed it upward toward Walker. He caught the Carbine by its long barrel. Behind the three boulders, Walker positioned himself to have a clear shot and also be well covered.
Hugh hopped off the wagon, which made it shake left and right due to the polar bears weight. He reached behind the wooden bench and pulled outea long double barrel shotgun.
He let the barrel lean on his shoulder as he ran, more like skipped, closer to the canyon mouth. Figuring if he found a good hiding spot up front the loud blast from the barrel could scare them off, or keep them trapped inside the canyon to be dealt with.
Weaver took flight up on the rocky hillside behind the wagon. A good spot to shoot down apon the riders.
Bart helped Flitch up onto the wooden wagon. He put the reins in Flitch's left hand and his six iron in the other. Bart used Flitch's oversized Duster to make the armadillo seem bigger. He had the long crinkled sleeve hide the revolver Flitch held. He puffed up the back of the collar of Flitch's coat. Last thing Bart did was tilt Filtch's hat a little bit down, making it harder for anyone to see his face.
"Now listen," in a stern tone. "If any of them ask, tell them you're on your way to sell the two stallions you got in the back."
"Question?" Flitch with curiosity. "Why am I the one being left out in the open to be shot at?"
"Because, you're the smallest. It will be a harder time trying to kill you. Plus, you're the only one of us that has a husky armor like shell on their back." As if Bart was knocking on wood, he knuckled Flitch's back. Making a low 'thud, thud,' sound.
"That doesn't mean it's bullet proof," Flitch squealed.
"Hey, hey, hey," trying to calm the panicking armadillo. "You don't know that? For all you know, someone could try to take a shot at your back and have it ricochet right back at them." Bart gave a confident smile at Flitch. "One more thing, in case things go south. Jump, or fall, between the two mules and back rear up under the wagon. It'll be the only cover you get."
Out in the distance the loud stomping of hooves headed their way. Bart left Flitch to the wagon and ran for cover. As he ran he tried pulling out his revolver, but kept having trouble with it getting stuck in its holster. Bart stopped for a second and pulled the revolver out of its holster, but running and jumping behind a couple of large boulders for cover.
Flitch tightend his grip on the reins. The loud sound of more than a dozen galloping hoofs were headed his way. He was glad that his long sleeve covered him holding his six iron, because he couldn't seem to get his hand to stop shaking and rattling with fear and nervousness.
Coming around the corner, Flitch could only watch as the hooves of horses gallop toward him. From Flitch's point of view he watched half of the hooves gallop to the the right as the other half galloped to the left of the wagon. Four pair of hooves stopped in front of the two mules and wagon. Flitch could sense the two separated riders from the left and right, cross each other behind the wagon and circle around in front where they all came to a stop.
One of the four head riders had his black horse gallop forward. "Howdy," the rider spoke in a soft voice. Flitch greeted him back. "What's your business around here?" the rider asked. Flitch told the lie Bart told him to tell, trying to sell the two stallions to the hitched back of the wagon. A second or two passed before the rider started laughing.
Flitch looked up to at the rider. Wearing black boots, black pants and jacket, black gunbelt housing a 1858 New Army revolver with a golden brass trigger guard, and the black flat rim of his Stetson Hawk hat on his head; all worn by a tall and lean weasel. His mustache greased and almost curled upward.
To his right were two canine mammals, a large gray timber wolf and a black spotted heyan with a wide tooth filled smile. To the left of the weasel was a fat furry sheep in a big coat made from other sheep wool and pointed a Spencer 1860 Rifle at him.
"Walker!" the weasel shouted out to the rocky hillside. "Walker!" He shouts out again. "Walker come out so I can stop talkin to this kit."
"Weaselton?!" Walker shouted out behind a few boulders. "That you Angel-eyes?" The one called Weaselton cried back'Yes! ' to wherever Walker was hiding. "What the hell are you doing riding up with a posse like your looking for a shoot out? I could'd shot and killed you."
Weaselton laughs and walks his horse in circles. "I'd love to watch you try" Weaselton said with a smile and his laughter slowly dying. "So, are you and the others going to come out, or do I have to ruff up this kit to tell me where y'all are?"
After Weaselton stopped talking, the sheep fired a shot close to Flitch's head, piercing the wagon behind him. The shot made the little armadillo flitch in fright. The Sheep reloaded and took aim.
"Alright, I'm coming out. I'd be mighty greatful of you not shooting and killing me."
"I promise." Wealston smearked. "I wont be shooting or killing you for the time being."
Walker raised the Carbine up in the air, along with his free hand. He steps out behind the boulders and makes his way down the rocky hillside. He called for Hugh, Weaver, and Bart to slowly come out as well. They all came out with their weapons and hands raised, closing in on Wealston and the posse he rode in with.
"Who's the new kit sitting on the wagon there?" Wealston asked.
"Someone new that Nick brought in, saying that the kit got potential. You've brought some new help as well." Walker looked at all the riders behind Weaselton. "Did Mr. Big send them with you? I know he said we might need some extra help on this job, but I didn't think he meant a damn army."
"Trust me. We pull this off, we'll all be getting what we want. Or at least, what most of us deserve." Weaslton gave a twirl of his mustache and a tongue and cheek grin.
"These three beside you look all cozied up on you, " Walker said. "Now a know this hackling bastard here," pointing at the heyna. "But not fimilliar with the rest on each of your side?"
"Well, The timber wolf beside me is named Lugh. A strong working open thats good to have incase things go side ways. And to my left is Doug. Let's just say he's a hell of a sharp shooter."
'Well, all were waiting for our guy on the inside to give us the signal," Walker said. "It shouldn't be long now."
Every seat in the traveling train cart was full with every type of mammal heading for Zootopia. It was only one of the five traveling carts for passengers. The carts were so packed it made it hard to walk down the center of the aidle.
Walking down the aisle in a dark brown duster and a gamblers hat on, was the red fox, Nick Wilde. Walking in front of him was his good friend Finnick who was a small and large pointed eared fox, dressed in children cloths and holding in his hands was a wooden toy train. Nick and Finnick keep walking down the aisle towards the front of the train.
In one of the seats, an elderly female zebra looked down at Finnick. "Oh, doesn't he look precious" the old zebra said.
Nick leaned down and pressed his cheek to Finnick's cheek. "I know right?" Nick said in a cheerised like voice. "This is his first time riding a train, and he's been crazy about them since they've become so popular. He even has his own toy train. Go ahead and lift up your train and show her, buddy."
Finnick, with a child's smile, raised the toy train in his hands for the elderly zebra to see. The zebra made an'awe' sound at Finnick and his little toy. "And if you can ma'am, we have to be moving toward the front."
Nick and Finnick kept moving up to the front of the train. All the way up to the front where one door opened up outside to where the conductor was. Nick banged on the conductor's door. Took a second, or two, before the conductor opened the iron door to the engine. He was an elderly badger wearing blue overalls and hat. There was black smoke from the engine covering the conductors face, which he wipped off with a red rag. "Can I help you?" the conductor ask.
"Yes sir, you can," taking off his gambler's hat as a show of respect. "My son became fascinated by trains and just had to meet you." Finnick turns away, like a shy child, and into Nick. "Oh, I'm sorry. He's just a bit shy meeting his hero," acting as a protective father and covering Finnick. "He even brought his own toy he wanted to show you. Go ahead budy, show him." Finnich turned back to the conductor.
The conductor bent down to be eye level with Finnick. "What is it little fellow?" "You want to show me your toy? Let me see what you got?"
Finnick spiraled around and the loaded barrels of a sawed of shotgun was rammed under the badger's chin. Finnick chocked back both hammers on the gun. The conductor looked at Nick with confusion and fear. Nick slid his gambler's hat back on.
"If your wondering if what's under your chin is the feel of two loaded barrels, you would be right. As to your confused expression, wondern what's happenen, let me reassure you that this train robbery" Nick said and slowly lefted up his handkerchief to conceal his identy, Finnick followed his lead. "So, you can go ahead and bring this train to a nice slow stop, while I go ahead and signal off a nice victory 'toot' 'toot. ' Nick grabbed the handle to the steam whistle and gave it two long pulls, making the train give two loud screeches.
From the top of a grassy hillside, Walker riding on Spot with Flitch on the back, watches the train through his spyglass. The train gives two loud screeches from the steam whistle. "That's our signal boys!" Walker shouts for all to hear. "Lets ride!"
Like agataed ants that spouted out the top of an ant hill, the riders ride down the hill. The wooden wagon, with Hugh and Bart up front and Weaver hanging on the back by his bat claws from behind. Walker rode on Spot with Flitch riding on the back. A few of the riders had torches that were lit ablazed. All of them had masked their faces and charged the train that was coming to a slow stop.
A few carts behind the engine, almost directly in the middle of the train were two metal carts filled with soldiers, and was separated by a Iron Cart. The Iron Cart in the middle would be the housing of the fourtune they'd be seeking. The sliding door for the cart was locked tight with chains and several brass locks. A hopeful scerutity system that would not be tampered with till their arrival to Zootopia.
The train had come to a complete stop. The windows, to the two carts housing soldiers, opened up, and stuck army issued Springfield Model 1863 rifles out. It fired and hit one of the rider's horses, making him jump off the horse before he got hurt. More windows opened up with the shining New Army musket barrels. They all fired blindly, hoping to hit someone or something. The riders Weaselton brought started fired right back, hoping for the same out come. One of the charging rider's horse got shot, tumbled, and tossing the rider off it's back. Two more soldiers from inside the cart took aim and fired, striking two of the riders. They flip and barrel-roll off their horses, dead.
One of the riders with a torched, held up a whiskey bottle, stuffed with white shredded fabric and ethanol inside, to the flame. Once the white cloth was lit he tossed the bottle aiming for one of the windows. The bottle smashes next to the window, sending scorched flames in all directions. The window closed shut. The rider took out another bottle, as well as the other torch riders.
Weaver spread out his wings and took flight. With a shascal over his arm and a torch in his claws. He flapped his wings hard and fast, wanting to be out of the firing line of sight. As weaver flew to the top of the carts, he did hear a bullet or two 'whizz' right by his ear. Landing on top of the train cart, Weaver pulled out of his scatchel with the green caked straw bulbs. He lit the ends of the green bulbs and starting dropping them down into the carts with the soilders, through the little vent holes on the top of the cart roof. Every vent on every cart, except the middle cart, he passed, drop a lit green bulb into.
It took more than a few seconds for the green bulbs to do their work, but soon thick white smoke came out the windows housing the soldiers. The soldiers inside could be heard coughing for air or passing out from the smoke. A few soldiers tried climbing out the windows, only to realize the could not fit. Other soldiers fired up at the ceiling, trying to blast Weaver off the top, to which Weaver danced around as their bullets pierced through the roof.
Once it seemed that all soldiers were passed out, from Weaver's green bulbs, Weaver puts two claws into his mouth and gives a high pitch whistle. Hugh and Bart kept the wagon at a safe distance, not wanting to get shot or damage the wagon before moving in. Weaver whistling to them, meant it was there time to ride. Hugh, reins in hand, whipped the mules to move.
The passengers in the traveling carts had become uneasy. With the train coming to a stop and the sounds of gun fire coming from outside. Lots of them moved to the windows hopping to catch a glance something, if not anything. Other passangers were getting up from their seats, demanding for answers.
At the front of the travelers cart, where the door to the conductor was, Nick opens and enters. His face was still covered, but now both of his pistols were drawn from their holsters. He held the Army Colt in his right hand and the .40 caliber Peacemaker in his left hand. Seeing all the confused and scared mammals in front of him, Nick fires off one shot with his Army Colt into the ceiling of the cart. The loud blast from his gun got mammals attention and made them quiet.
"Evening folks," Nick said, trying to sound pleasant. "I'm sure the lot of you have various questions, mostly being: 'Why has the train stop?' 'Why is there the sound of gun fire outside?' and 'Who is this dashing looking fox behind this mask?'" No one laughed at his stupid pridful joke. Everyones a critic, he thought. "The answer is, that me and a few other fellows happen to be currently robbing this train as I speak." A few mammals gasped at what Nick was saying. He waved his gun's barrels downward as if to calm them before they became reyleied up again. "Now, I know what I just said sounds scary, but if you all can sit down and let us work we'll be out of here in no time and you good mammals will be on your way to zootopia in no time." The crowd still looked a little shooken up and didn't know how to react. Finally, one by one, the travelers sat back down in their seats. "It's much appreciated, thank you" Nick said with kind manners. "Now a few of my guys are going to be walking down the aisle with a burlap sack. The ladies and kits, y'all have nothing to worry about, were not interested in you, so you don't have to hide your jewelery or anything like that, were not interested and we like believe that we have a touch of class. However, gentlemen, we are going to ask that you give up your bill folds into the bag as it comes around, thank you."
Flitch and a several other riders, two in each cart, climbed in guns raised and masks secured on. Flitch came in from Nick's side, trying to keep a strong posture and look scared or nervous. The other rider, a large gray timber wolf, started from the back of the cart went down the aisle collecting all the billfolds.
Nick stuck his head outside the train to see what was going on. Down the past the five traveler carts and to the iron locked cart. He could see Finnick running, shouting, and pointing at Hugh. Finnick, out of frustration, pulled Hugh out of the riders seat and Finnick took his place. It was Finnick's wagon after all.
In front of Nick, only a few inches a way, was a step-ladder to the roof of the train cart. Holstering the Peace Maker, he reached out with his left hand grabed the iron ladder leading up. Once on top of the train cart, Nick holster his New Army Remington revolver back in his father's holster. What bother him, was having to adjust the pistol till it felt secure, seeing how his father's holster was made for one specific gun.
Secure, Nick took his walk toward the iron locked cart. It was only a few yards and a six or seven jumps between carts to get there. Nick took a squat and looked down at the riders working on wrapping dynamite to each side of the door. His eyes searched the whole party before his eyes fell to Weaslton. The hyena that rode with Wealston, by his side. Looked up to see Nick, starring down at them.
"Well, if it isn't Nick Wild-'EEEEEEE'"the heyna chuckled up with his rotten teeth and bad hygine.
"Billy Stone," Nick said to the hyena. "How many times are we going to meet, and you finally figure out that the 'E' in Wilde is silent?" Stone only kept on laughing. "God damn!" Saying out loud. A few riders looked up, but it was weaslton's attention that he wanted. Wanted him to look up with his so called 'angel-eyes' and stare directly into his own. "I knew we'd be getting some help to pull of this caper, but I didn't think it be getting our own army?"
Weaselton, who took a quick look around and make sure he was clear to do so, lowered his mask. "The more the marrier I say."
Nick removed his mask as well. "Why is it when you say 'marrier' I can't help but get a sick feeling in my gut?"
Nick inched his way down from the top of the cart. The dynamite was tied and ready to be lit. Inching down the side with the door's henges, he could hear faint muttering coming from within the train cart. Putting his whole ear to the door, he regconized that voice and speak pattern. Nick gives a good hard knock on the door with his fist.
"Flash!" Nick yelled. "Flash? Is that you in there?"
"May... be..." Nick finally heard back. He couldn't help but smile. Flash was a sloth that he's met on a couple of capers. Always working as a personal accountant and security guard for mammals money. The sloth has had his chances of firing at him, though it's easy to step to the side, out of the barrels way. He couldn't help but laugh at the fact.
Usually, the response Nick has when someone points a loaded gun, in hopes of killing him he would simply shoot first. However, with Flash he can't help but have a little fun. A bit cruel perhaps, but it was fun making Flash believe he gets closer to besting him.
"We need to stop meeting like this, at least were there's not a heavily locked door between us. How many times would this be now? About the third time I've had you and some heavy locked door between me and my earnnings?" Everyone except Nick, the riders collecting bill folds, and one of the riders were backed far away. Ready for the dynamite to explode. Nick took a slim cigar out from his vest pocket.
"I... can't... say? I've... stopped... keeping... track. You... should... know... that... I'm... heavily... armed... in... here."
The possum rider beside him strapping the dynamite to the door picked himself up another bundle of red TNT logs. He started strapping the logs to the hinges of the cart door. Nick took a look at the strips and bundles already wired to the door. The rider was about to stick another red log onto the door, when Nick snapped it out of his hands and waved the red log at the rider, as if he was wagging his finger in disappointment. "That's more than enough dynamite to bring this door down," Nick said. He took the stick of dynamite in his hand and shoved it into his boot. "Put the rest in the bag and save it for later."
"Now, Flash. I believe you when you say your heavily armed in there, but you need to know that WE are just as heavily armed out here. And there are a lot more of us then you."
The rider held up the fuse to the dynamite and with his other hand strike a match against a patch of iron on the door with his other hand. Nick grabbed the match from the rider and held it up to the end of his slim cigar. It only took a few puffs for the end to glow red, then extinguishes the match flame with one or two waves of his hand. Nick gave a quick inhale and tasted the burning dried tobacco leafs. He exhaled the smoke slowly from his puckered fox lips. "So how about we skip the whole guns and dance routine, where you try to kill me?" Nick continued talking through the door. "Me and the boys will be in and out in a jiffy. How bout it?"
There was a long pause of silence before he heard Flash say the word: 'okay.' The rider doubled checking his work making sure all the fuses were bundled together. "Well, I'm glad we come to terms on such matter," Nick said. From the mouth he took the slim cigar out and replaced it with his thumb and ring finger to give a high pitched whistle. From around the the trailer came the loud whine of a horse and then Argo appeared. He galloped all the way down to Nick's side. He gave a nice scratch behind Argo's ears and petted the horse's long neck with his paw.
"One last thing Flash" Nick said. "I recommend you get behind a desk or something solid, because in a minute or two, once this fuse is lit, this door is going to blast open. And that minute or two starts, now."
Nick ignited the fuse, which was still in the rider's hand, with the burning end of his cigar. Once the rider noticed the lit fuse in his hand, he quickly took off running. Not even to grab the back with the remaining dynamite.
Nick wanted to yell after him, telling him that he forgot to take the bag full of dynamite with him. The poor mammal was too busy saving his own life by running and tripping over his own two feet. Nick only shook his head and stuck the slim cigar back into his mouth. Argo blew a raspberry and shook his head watching the possum run trip and fall. "I know right?" Nick said to Argo. "Just, hard to find good quality help these days."
Nick took the back of remaining dynamite and strapped it to Argo's saddle. With one great heave, he jumped up and positioned himself onto Argo, before galloping to safety where the rest of the gang was waiting, for the big boom.
It was always the hardest part when comes to working with explosives; the wait time. The anticipation of the explosion. And trying to figure out what would happen. Wondering: How loud will it be? Is it going to blow now? Was the fuseset too long? What if the fuse snuffed out before igniting the dynamite? Or even worse, what if the dynamite doesn't explode at all?
There was a quiet second, till... BOOM! The train cart erupted into a large blaze of fire. Iron and wooden shrapnel flew off in different directions. Black smoke and dirt from the ground were kicked up into the air. They all watched as the iron door squeaked and squeld till the entire freight door fell forward leaving the entire cart open. They rode in to collect their reward.
Nick was the first to approach the opening, black smoke and dirt still clouded his vision. One of Wealston's riders, the possum, came up from behind ready to jump into the cart. Nick grabbed the back of the mammal's suspendures and pulled him back. Before the fellow could question or complain, Nick took the mammal's hat from his head. With a long stick, Nick put the hat on one end and raised it up to the opening. A loud blast of a shotguncame from inside, and the hat on the stick was ripped to shreds. Nick grabbed the hat before it hit the ground and slapped it on top of the possum's head, thenclimbed into the cart.
Standing behind a large heavy desk was a sloth wearing a green visior and red vest. In the Sloth's hands was a double barrel shotgun the sloth was trying to reload as fast as possible which was the slowest he's ever seen someone reload a gun. Nick walked up and took the shotgun out of the sloth's hands.
"God damn it, Flash," Nick mumbles loudly with the slim cigar in his mouth. Nick takes the slime cigar from his mouth and places it on the corner of the desk. "I thought we had an agreement that we weren't going to do the whole gun and dance thing," Nick says playfully. "Yet, you try to pull a fast one and blow me away and nearly blew this poor bastards head right off," slapping the top of the possums. "I thought we had become closer than that?"
"Sorry... Nick..." Flash, the sloth, said. "Only... trying... to... do... my... job..."
"Well, you deserve a raise if you have to keep dealing with mammals like me. In the mean time best if you sit in that comfy chair of yours and let us work." Nick gently pushed Flash down into the a large wooden chair behind the desk. In three large locked cages, was the money they were after. A total of five hundred thousand dollars in single bills. It would only take a minute or two to break through the locks and start bagging the loot.
Nick picks back up his self rolled cigar off the corner of the desk. Looking up, he sees a nice surprise for himself. Pinned to the wall of the cart was a 'WANTED' poster with a drawing of him in the center. I'll be, Nick thought and pulled the 'WANTED' poster from the wall, careful so not to damage too much of the poster.
Nick sticks his head out of the cart. Finnick was backing up his wagon. He shouted away all the riders surrounding his wagon with his, sawed off double barrel. Screaming that this was his wagon and only gets to step inside. Nick commented that it was better to do whatever it was Finnick asked of the gang. Finnick has been known to have a temper and heavy finger wrapped around the trigger to that scatter gun. Finnick moved to the back of the wagon pulling out a set of keys to unlock the hard wooden door on the back of his wagon. Those trying to peek inside, it was much too dark for them to see. The only thing they could see was some large object in the center, wrapped in a thick tarp.
Nick took the last few good puffs from his slim rolled cigar, and disgarded it with a flick of his finger. "Hey Finnich, look what I found," Nick said while raising the wanted poster of himself. "They finally raised the bounty on me to the point of being infamous. And look, they finally were able to capture all the best features of my face. They got the jaw line and muzzle structure, they got the eyes right, and just the right amount of drawn fur. This is defiaitely going in the scarp book that I will never make," Nick joked.
He folded the wanted poster in half two times, then shoved the poster in his duster's inner pocket. The first filled bags of loot were through'n down and given to Finnick so he could secure the money inside his wagon. All going smoothly, he thought.
Nick hopped down from the cart. He wanted to go a check how the other riders and Flitch were doing? Once Finnick's wagon was filled up with every dime in those cages, he wanted to be out of here as fast as they can ride. He once again covered his face before entering the passenger carts. Flitch already had a full bag of bill folds, best to easy to passengers state of mind and let them know they would be leaving soon. "You fellas keep up the great work, I'm going make sure Flitch and that other mammal have things under control.
Nick pulled out his New Army revolver from its holster. Almost all the way to the back of the cart that he was in, he could see Weaseltons man, the large blucky timber wolf, still collecting bill folds from passangers. "Ladies and gentlemen," Nick said out loud to all of the passengers. "We want to thank you for your patience." Towards the back of the cart, Nick faintly heard some commotion, arguing between two mammals. "In just a few minutes we will be leaving and you all can have a fairly nice ride to Zootopia."
Towards the back of the cart came the loud 'CRACKLE' of a gun shot and the loud scream of a woman. Nick looked up to find the large gray timber wolf pointing his gun down at a bat couple in their seats. Smoke swirled from his barrel of his .45 Colt Bisley revolver that he had just fired. Thoughts were racing through Nick's head. His main thought was why the hell did he just open fire? Nick rushed to the back.
Nick saw the male bat in a black suit and bow-tie lying across his wife, as if he had jumped in front to save her from getting shot. The well dressed bat had his hand on his left side covering his wound. The female bat wore a beautiful blouse and a pearl neckalace around her neck. The closer Nick got, he saw that there was a kit bat sitting with them, most likely being their son, and dressed like his father, but with fancy black shorts.
Nick kept moving toward them as fast as he could. Lugh reached out at the female bat. He grabbed her beautiful pearls and ripped them from her neck. Lugh pointed the Bisley revolver at her. He pulled back the hammer, ready to fire another shot. In the nick of time, Nick grabbed ahold of Lugh's firing hand and raised it straight up. The gun gave a loud blast and pierced the ceiling.
"What the hell are you doing?!" Demanding an answer.
Lugh looked Nick up and down. It was like he was surprised that someone would talk to him in such way. "Doing what I do best," an angry growl in his voice.
"Doing what you do best," Nick repeated. "Well here's me doing what I do best." Nick twirled his Remington revolver with his finger and stopped once the barrel pointed down. Nick swung down with his pistol, bashing Lugh's nose with the hard metal of the Remington. Lugh cried out for his broken and bloody nose. Nick pushed him to the back exit, hearing Lugh cry and complain. Gone with the timber wolf, Nick holstered his revolver and quickly side stepped back to the injured bat.
The bat lying on the floor turned sideways. Nick could see there was a lot more blood coming out of the back wound when the bullet passed straight through. "Damnit" Nick said out loud. He had no choice, and pulled and ripped at his hakerchief covering his face. With one good pull, the hakerchief came untied. Nick used it as a bandage for wound in the back. He asked the kit bat for his name and was told it was Wayne, Bruce Wayne. Nick told the kit to put his hand where his was and to press down and not let go. He next told the mother, Martha he believes her name was, to press down on the bullet wound on the front. Telling her the excat same thing as Bruce, to not let up until they were with a good doctor in Zootopia. The wounded bat laughed at that last statement. Supposedly he was to be the new doctor for Zootopia.
Hurrying out side, Nick whistled for Argo. When Argo came racing by, Nick jumped, landing on the horses back. He rode Argo up to the engine. He unsheathed his Damascus knife, tied to Argo's saddle. Inside the train engine was the train conductor that him and finnick had bound by his hands and feet. Nick cut the rope that binded him. There was no time for Nick to explain his actions to the conductor, only that he had to get this train moving to Zootopia as fast as he can, Now!
Scared for his life if he did not do as asked, the conductor got the train engine working again. Nick, on the back of Argo again and turned the horse around and raced back to where was the rest of the gang. They were almost finished filling sacks with money. Feeling the train start to move, they quickly shoved every piece of dollar bill into the sack and jump from the slow moving train. Finnick threw the rest of the money in the back of his wagon and locked the door with a large Iron lock. Taking his seat up front with Flitch and Bart, and Weaver hanging off the back. Nick stayed behind to make sure no one was left. Seeing everything was clear, Nick gave Argo a swift side kick and they galloped off and catch up with the rest of the gang.
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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 Judy will be able to save her father in time? The next chapter will reveal what happens to the gang and unfortunate they have just stolen.
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. A Texas man fired his gun at an armadillo, only for it to ricochet back and blown his own head off. A lot of Nick's personality in this story is based of Butch Cassidy who enjoyed the heist rather than the money they made from robbing banks. And if you didn't catch it, there was a Batman reference that I thought would be funny to add in the story.
As I said before, please leave a commit on how you'd rather have future chapters come out. Thank you!
- SirRedFox)